#Johnny Mactavish x Military Psychologist! You

[ryuzakemo128]

What if.....

Parings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Oksana Ivanova / Johnny Mactavish x Military Psychologist! You, Female Reader / Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military Psychologist! You, Female Reader

Credit for the Dividers go to: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Masterlist / Decription of Oksana

Words: 3048

Content Warning: Cursing/ swearing, implications of smut. Jealousy from you, mention of child abuse, graphic themes of violence and domestic abuse. Dark Themes and references. Read at your own discretion.

Summary: “You only speak to me when you only want something. Spit it out then.”

Simon’s office consisted of a large wooden desk, a large comfortable chair he didn’t particularly like seeing other people sitting in. Often shooing them away from it with the intention of ensuring they wouldn’t break it before he could really put some real wear and tear into it. A leather, cushioned, reclinable desk chair.

The painting of the docks above his chair was the only piece of décor against the dim concrete walls for a while. Until he brought in blue-grey coloured curtains for the window looking into the office. Bringing a little more colour to his office. Even if this office would be as temporary as the life he was living now. As everything in life is temporary and soon enough, he will die, he will be replaced by someone else entirely. It was just how life was. It is how life shall be. No matter what happens.

The desk itself was made from a nice cut of maple oak wood, and it cost him a pretty penny to both buy and haul into his office. He had his paperwork stacked neatly, just the way he liked it, he would get beyond annoyed when Soap or you would walk in leave something out of place on his desk and walk out.

It was like they enjoyed frustrating him to a degree that grated on him. It made it hard to work with either of them. He would have put in a transfer months ago, had he known how much of a jackass Soap would be by fucking you on his desk.

“Get out.” He said crossing his arms. “My office. My rules. Don’t do it again.”

He kept his office locked up tight after that. Refusing the to make a spare key for any of the team. Firm in his belief that what was in his office, stayed there, as his personal space. His own area where he didn’t have to put up his guard and listen to anyone.

He had many reasons to be upset with you. He would take that secret right to his grave if he had to. No reason to give you more ammo than you already had.

“Come on man.” Soap whined.

“No.” Simon told him again.

“Why not?” Soap asked him again.

“Cause I said so.” Simon answered again.

“Why can’t I go with you to meet this Russian chick you like so much?” Soap asked again.

“You know exactly why you’re not allowed to.” Simon reminded him. “You say the first thing that comes to mind when it comes to them.”

“That’s not true.” Soap snapped back at him.

“Well, how about the time you insulted the Russian pilot?” Simon reminded him.

“It was an accident I swear.” Soap protested.

“You made the poor woman cry.” Simon sighed shaking his head grabbing his keys. “Now scram. I don’t want to either of you inside my office when I lock it up.”

Soap and you shuffled out of his office reluctantly. Simon wasn’t going to let you or Soap ruin his chances with this one. He didn’t want to take that kind of risk of introducing you or him to her. He locked his office, the jingling of keys in his hand as he walked to his truck. He wasn’t going to give either you or Soap to tail him to where he was meeting her.

You whispered to Soap, "Who is he meeting with?"

Soap shrugged, "Someone from his past, I think. He's been acting weird since we got the intel on her."

“But he’s been acting weird even before then,” You reminded Soap.

Soap nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe it’s more than just a meeting with an old flame.”

You brought out a file with the name, ‘Captain Oksana Ivanova’. “Do you think he’s off to see her?”

You couldn’t help yourself, could you? The temptation of getting a background check on her ran strong within you. You convinced yourself it was for his own good that you were doing it for his benefit. Ignoring the gnawing jealously eating at you from the inside. Karma biting you on the arse. It had no intention of letting you get away with your mistakes without some kind of retribution.

“You only speak to me when you only want something. Spit it out then.” Simon sighed placing the folder of forms he was going to look at when you walked into his office.

You remembered how he was right then. Just like he was right now. You hated the fact that he seemed to be right about you in particular. He could make a random guess and still somehow get it right.

“We need to talk, Simon.” You started, placing the file on his desk. “It’s about Captain Ivanova.”

“You want to talk. You don't need to do anything.” Simon reminded you again making you feel like a child being scolded for stealing cookies from the jar. “But since you’re here, what’s this about Captain Ivanova?”

Oksana 'The Wolf', 'The Ghost of Siberia', 'The White Devil' Ivanova.

Her reputation proceeded her. Long before you had her file in your hands, you knew the name. Studied it, both from a psychologist angle, the angle from a doctor’s perspective and that of a tactician. You used her as a report for your psychology major, then you studied her tactics, her methods of warfare for your military career and now you were sitting here, about to face her in person. You felt your heart race at the thought of it.

The whispers of her tactical prowess had made its way to even the most secluded corners of the military base. Her story was like a myth, a legend whispered in the barracks and the mess halls. The way she could navigate the harsh terrain of her homeland with the grace of a wolf and the precision of a ghost. The way she had escaped death more times than anyone cared to count. The way she had turned the tide of battles single-handedly. The way she had left a trail of dead in her wake that was so cold, they called her 'The White Devil'.

“Are you jealous, (Y/L/N)?” Simon teased with a smirk on his lips. If you weren’t slightly flustered before, you are now.

You fumbled with the forms you filled out, you didn’t know what to say, or squeak out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumbled hoping he wouldn’t dig further than he had already.

“Mhmmm. Right. Right.” Simon rolled his eyes at your attempt at sassing him. In your opinion, he was playing hard to get. Unfortunately for him you were hard to get rid of.

You leaned in a little further trying to get him to glance at your cleavage. Even a little bit. His gaze didn’t catch it, disappointing a little bit. Though you remember, he hadn’t had a serious date with someone that didn’t care that much about his height being six feet and four inches.

“You know you’d get more luck in the world of dating if you weren’t such a sour puss.” You remarked.

He cocked an eyebrow at what you said. “I’m only sour towards you. Which you earned with your ‘hard work’ and ‘dedication’ to your cause.” He felt so fucking validated in outing what you fucked up last week. “Go back to whatever that is you do here and let the bigger, taller guys handle to tougher shit.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over to Simon, inching closer to him, as you traced your fingertips along the corners of his desk. “You know, you and I could go on a date if you want.”

“Aren’t you dating Soap?” Simon questioned as he rose from his chair to walk over to the filing cabinet.

“Semantics. Specifics and utterances of whatever.” You gestured like you knew what you wanted to say without saying much.

“I don’t think he’d agree with you on that one Pup.” Simon chided you. Tutting under his breath.

“I just wanted to give you helping hand you know.” You pouted, huffed and crossed your arms a little.

“Don’t get bratty with me.” Simon told you. “I don’t need help from someone who is willing to cheat on their boyfriend. No matter how much their boyfriend mightn’t care about it. I’m not the type to do that to someone.”

“Well maybe I’m trying to help you. Ever thought of that?” You snapped at him.

“Pup. Don’t make me discipline you.” Simon warned.

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” You taunted, inching closer to him.

“Don’t tempt me, pup.” Simon growled into your ear. Sending a shiver down your spine.

“You never called me pup before.” You couldn’t help but point out as you inch a little closer to him.

“I hooked up with the Russian woman I told you about last weekend. She’s the one who called me that first.” Simon taunted back at you. Hoping it would get you to back off.

Your face flushed a shade of pink as he sauntered back over to his desk. Picking up the phone to call Soap. “Soap, you better get your arse in here and get your girl. Before I pick her up and carry her to you.” He said into the phone in a kind of sing song voice that really hammered home that he still planned to get even with you somehow.

Soap rushed in, looking like he had just rolled out of bed, his shirt untucked and his pants half zipped. “What’s going on?” He asked, looking bewildered at the situation.

“Your girlfriend here just tried to ask me on a date.” Simon told him. Hoping to get them both to leave him alone. “I said you wouldn’t appreciate that, and I told her I’d carry her to you if she didn’t leave.”

Soap looked over at you, he knew what you were trying to do, he didn’t even have to get you to say it, either. Soap looked over to Simon again, who thought he would be able to get rid of two people with the same stone. As the saying went with birds. Simon, pleased with himself, Simon spraying down his desk with antiseptic cleaner that he bought for his desk. Specially made to clean and keep the wood varnish intact.

“What’s the deal, Simon?” Soap asked, glancing at you with a knowing smile. He knew you were up to something, he just didn’t know what it was yet.

“What? A man can’t clean his desk and appreciate it?” Simon had no idea what Soap was talking about this time. His focus on tidying the top of his desk so it looked like a lieutenant worked inside of it. “Johnny, in a place like the military, it’s a nice and lovely thing just to have some kind of normal. Even if it’s just a neat and tidy desk. I could be dead tomorrow. I don’t have time to get sentimental with people as much as objects. Oksana is just a friend Johnny. You don’t have to get jealous of her taking your weirdly shaped place in my heart, Johnny.”

The photo of Oksana and Simon inside of a bronze metal frame on his desk, the letter from Oksana still in the envelope despite the fact that it was opened by him several times. The same woman he spoke to, the same woman that felt more mythic legend than a real tangible person. It was a photo of the two them, Oksana stood to be two inches taller than Simon. The other photo on the wall above the pile of letters from her, the one of her in a Competitive Shooting Competition.

You didn’t think much of it at the time. As Simon was the one invited to watch her compete in it. Though the recorded message of her saying, “It was fun hanging out with you. Can’t wait to do it again sometime. Thank you for celebrating my 30th birthday with me too by the way. You didn’t have to. But it means a lot to me that you did. You’re worth more than gold and silver combined. Don’t let that soap boy tell you otherwise.”

Later that week after the day they hung out together. Simon had received a bouquet of red roses from her, along with a bottle of Marmont Siberian vodka, a large box of dark chocolates and a beige card within the flowers the red ink cursive handwriting. ‘For the friend I don’t deserve but glad to have. Thank you for being there for me.’

When Oksana Ivanova came around again, Soap was more than a little determined to get her to  talk to him. He had seen the way she had looked at Simon, and it was clear that there was a history there that went beyond mere friendship. Soap knew that Simon wasn't one to be jealous, but he also knew that the man had a serious soft spot for the Russian captain.

The abandoned cat Oksana rescued on the way there, the way she cared for the small thing,  even though it was nothing but a stray. “I have a habit of collecting strays I suppose.” she remarked talking about Simon and the cat. “Though I suppose that comes from being one myself.”

You knew exactly why she said that last part, unlike Soap, unlike Simon, you dug deep into her background, and you knew exactly why she called herself that. Oksana and her twin's parents might as well have thrown them to the wolves and left them to starve. During a medical examination, Oksana’s back scars were seen by Simon once, the deep scarring made by a whip. A whip that must have been used by her biological father or stepfather, either way it certainly left trauma she waded through inside of therapy.

Her twin sister, she didn’t take any of it because anything she ever did that was considered ‘wrong’ by either their biological or stepfather was covered up by Oksana. Taking the blame for it instead. ‘Through hell or high water, I will bleed before I let anyone touch either my twin or my younger brother. I’m the oldest, I’m the one who is supposed to protect them. It’s my job.’

Her younger brother, Sergei, had been the one to find Oksana that night, curled up and shivering in a snowbank, the whip marks stark against her bare skin. The memory of her pained whimpers and the fierce protectiveness in her eyes as she held onto her siblings. He didn’t have to go into grim, gross, graphic detail, though telling him to stop would be like telling a waterfall to stop falling.

Sergei said, “The flesh was too cold, she must've been out there for hours. Our stepfather came home drunker than usual that night, raving about how we were the curses that ruined his life. Oksana told us to stay in the basement until he passed out. She was always the brave one, the one who took the brunt of his rage so we wouldn’t have to. The sound of the whip that night, it was haunting. It was the worst one yet. Our stepfather got off on causing her as much pain as he  could. I don’t know how she survived it. I suppose he had it coming when he slammed her into wall, whispering disgusting shit he wanted to do to her. She reacted in self-defence and well, the rest is history.”

“I see you have met my younger brother.” Oksana walked in with pizza in her hands, “I got pizza guys. I managed to pick it up on the way here.”

Sergei replied, “Yeah, we were just chatting about old times.” His tone was forced, trying to lighten the mood that had thickened like the smoke from a grenade.

“Have you told them about your art yet?” Oksana asked Sergei, she was proud of him.

Sergei looked up at Oksana, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “I don't know if they'd be interested in that, sis.”

“Nonsense.” Oksana said with a warm smile, setting the pizza down on the desk. “Your art is amazing. Simon, Johnny, you both should see it.”

Simon’s gaze shifted to the newcomer, a cocktail of anger and curiosity swirling in his eyes. “Art?” He questioned, his voice gruff.

“Yeah. I encouraged him to get into art when we were younger.” Oksana answered.

“Why’s that?” You asked, hoping to get Simon’s mind off of the anger he had directed towards you.

“It's one thing for me and Katya to be in military and come out of it fine-ish.” Oksana explained. “Sergei, he had a real chance to grow up normally.”

Simon’s expression softened a bit at the mention of Oksana’s sister. “How’s she doing?” He asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer waters.

“She's an intelligence officer for the FSB.” Oksana answered. “She got married last year. I got meet my niece too.”

Simon’s eyes lit up at the mention of a niece. “How old is she?” He asked, his mind momentarily distracted from the rage that had been brewing inside of him.

“She recently turned two.” Oksana answered showing a photo of her to him.

The little girl had her aunt’s piercing blue eyes and her mother’s dark hair. She was dressed in a pink tutu, looking absolutely adorable. Simon’s expression softened even more as he took the phone from her.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, genuine warmth in his voice. “I can’t wait to meet her one day.”

Sergei brought out his recent artwork, it was a picture of a farm in Siberia, where they had lived before their mother had passed away and their father had remarried. The way the sunset painted the sky was beautiful, it was almost as if you could feel the coldness of the Siberian air just by looking at it.

Sergei gave it to Simon as a gift, a thank you gift for looking out for his older sister Oksana. Simon  looked at the picture for a long moment before setting it aside gently. “It’s beautiful, Sergei. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you for looking out for her.” Sergei told him verbally this time.