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nightingale-ghost-writer · 1 year

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Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Summary: In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter

Author’s Note: Not me thirsting after Soap for 5.1K words instead of finishing the companion piece I started for Maybe… also, my first ever shot at writing reader-insert! Anyway, here’s a really plot-lacking, self-serving piece for anyone interested

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive, borderline smutty? No actual explicit smut, but let’s call it NSFW to be safe

Shrike /SHrīk/ noun

a songbird with a strong sharply hooked bill, often impaling its prey of small birds, lizards, and insects on thorns

a 10-foot (3-meter), 400-pound (180-kilogram) U.S. air-to-ground missile designed to destroy missile batteries by homing in on their radar emissions

Icy water enveloped you. Pinpricks instantly broke out under your skin, dancing through your blood and your bones. For a blessed moment, your mind went blank. Then, survival instinct kicked in. You kicked your already numbing legs as hard as you could, launching yourself back toward the night sky. Just as you thought your lungs might burst, you broke the surface, gulping in the crisp mountain air. It burned the back of your throat as you bobbed in the current, trying to get your bearings.

What should have been an hour-long intel collection mission had gone to shit in less than a minute.

You and Soap had been dispatched to a safehouse of Makarov’s in the Russian countryside to gather intel. You were anxious- excited to be out with Soap, nervous about the actual infiltration. Soap’s signature flirting melted that anxiety quickly. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed missions with him so much… and one of the reasons you got so flustered around him.

Tensions with Russia were high, so rather than sending a full team, the pair of you had been dropped off by helo three clicks from the site. You’d go in, get the intel, get to the safehouse, and wait for evac. Barring any immediate danger, you’d be holed up there overnight, hiking out early the next morning to be picked up. Price was unhappy about sending you in without comms or backup, but Laswell was concerned with radio traffic and her sources had told her it would be empty.

Laswell’s sources had been wrong.

You’d taken a long, cold hike up the frozen mountainside to a deteriorating stone building that might at one time have been a castle, but was now little more than half-crumbled walls and hastily built wooden shacks. There had been no indicators that anything was amiss- no footprints in the snow, no pings on Soap’s heartbeat sensor, no noise. Laswell’s intel had seemed good.

Then you’d opened the door to one of the shacks and been met with a full squad of soldiers. They clearly hadn’t been expecting you, and you had the distinct advantage. Before they could react, you’d grabbed the nearest soldier, using him as a human shield while you put him in a headlock. Soap had sprung past you, shooting two others before ducking behind a desk. An overeager and overconfident soldier had fired several shots at you, nearly grazing your arm, but killing his teammate in the process. Soap had lunged at him, baring him to the ground and stabbing a combat knife deep into his throat.

The three remaining soldiers raised their weapons, shouting to each other. You’d killed one with a well-placed throwing knife as you threw yourself behind a table and watched in horror as another launched himself at Soap. You raised your gun, but there was no clean shot with them grappling as they were. Then, you were blindsided by the last soldier. He leapt at you as you tried to line up a shot on his teammate, knocking your gun to the ground and grabbing one of your wrists.

Instinct took over as you wrestled, and before you knew what was happening, you and your attacker were flying through the nearby window. You both rolled down a steep, snowy hill toward a frothing river, each trying to get the upper hand. Before either of you could, you went straight into the icy river, sinking instantly. Luckily, you recovered first.

After taking a moment to breathe, you dove back underwater, looking around for your attacker. He was close enough to reach out and touch, back to you as he tried to get to the surface for a breath of air. You swam toward him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hoist yourself up, and stabbed him. Once in the neck, once in the ribs, and then once in the chest for good measure. His body had gone limp at the first thrust, but you couldn’t be too safe.

As soon as his body floated out of your arms, you realized the bigger issue- the current, and the cold. You were already being dragged downstream, the tide splashing over your head and threatening to pull you back under. You swam for the bank, but your progress was minimal. Your muscles were already starting to freeze up. You looked around frantically, desperate for something to hold onto. Just as your fingers met with a sharp rock, you heard Soap’s voice calling your name.

You looked up to see him scrambling down the hill, sliding on snow and loose bits of shale. Blood dripped from his temple and he seemed to be cradling his arm to his chest. You tried to pull yourself out of the water to meet him on the banks, but your muscles refused to work. The icy water was doing its work and you could feel your body beginning to shut down.

“Soap,” you called weakly. He had almost reached you. “I can’t move.”

He waded waist deep into the water, reaching out for you with the arm that wasn’t held carefully to his side. “‘S alright, hen, I’ve got you. Take my hand.” You shakily, slowly, tried to reach for him, barely managing to brush the tips of your fingers against his, and he managed to lean just a bit further out to wrap his hand around yours. He tugged you toward him, and after a moment, was pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing, Shrike,” he murmured, rubbing your arm for a moment. You were shivering violently, barely able to move.

“I am,” you said, teeth chattering. “Your head.” Soap waved you off as he looked around, gaze settling in the direction of the town where you were supposed to wait for evac.

“The intel-”

Soap cut you off, shaking his head. “Forget the intel. Price said if anything went wrong, we get to the safehouse.” His eyes scanned your body, looking for any injuries, as his hand rubbed over your arms. “Are you okay? Can you make it back to town?” You nodded, your violent shaking making it nearly impossible to tell. You reached for his wrist, pressing on it gently. You were no medic, but it didn’t feel broken to you.

You held his wrist with one hand as the other reached up to wipe the blood from his temple. “You okay?” you asked. He winced as you wiped at the blood, but nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief when only a shallow cut was visible.

“Just a sprain,” he said. He pulled his wrist carefully from your grip and unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.

“W-what are you-”

“You need it more than me,” he said. He walked around behind you, tucking you into the jacket before zipping you up in it.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested. Soap only shook his head, offering a lopsided smile.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

You were afraid your legs would refuse to move, but were so grateful when they didn’t. The warmth that bloomed in your chest at Soap’s sacrifice warmed you more than the jacket itself, although it did keep out the worst of the biting wind. You both trudged through the snow toward the village, teeth chattering and bone-cold. You walked in relative quiet, broken only by Soap’s soft inquiries.

“How’re you holding up, hen?”

“I can’t feel my toes, Soap.” “Hang in there, Shrike. We’re almost to the safehouse.”

As the town came into view, your vision began to swim. You’d been given the safehouse address. Now you just had to find it so you could lie down and bundle up until Price could send someone to get you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Soap found the house, prying off one of the address numbers to reveal a key. He opened the door, revealing a tiny studio. It took less than a minute to clear- the only room with a door was the bathroom. While Soap dug out the radio system hidden under the sink, you turned the heater on full blast and looked for blankets. You found a pile in a cupboard, dropped them onto the foot of the bed, and headed toward the kitchen in search of a kettle to heat some water.

You only vaguely heard Soap talking to Price through the fog in your mind, something about getting some rest and pickup in the morning. Then, very suddenly, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling, wondering when you’d stopped shivering.

“Shrike? Shite!” You only realized you’d fallen when Soap pulled you upright. “Shrike?” He raised one hand to your neck, feeling for your pulse. He cursed under his breath, muttering in an unintelligibly thick Scottish accent as he hauled you up against his chest. You were vaguely aware of being carried into the small bathroom and deposited on the countertop there. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to stay awake. You were suddenly so sleepy.

You opened your eyes when you heard a squelching sound, freezing as you watched Soap strip off his clothes. You’d seen him without a shirt, but only in passing in the halls on base. Never this close, and never with no one around to check your gaze. Nevertheless, you’d memorized his scars the last time you saw his bare chest. He had some new ones since then. You stared at his rippling muscles as he unbuttoned his pants, peeling the wet material off his toned legs, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but his dog tags and boxers. You tried not to stare at the outline you could see in the fabric as he took one step toward you to stand between your legs. Then his hands were on his jacket, the one you were wearing, pulling the zipper down and your arms out of it.

“Stay with me, Shrike,” he murmured. His hands shook as he unbuckled your tac vest and pulled it off. You raised your arms as he pulled up your hoodie, then your shirt, leaving you i n just a sports bra. You let your own hands rest on his chest as you lowered them.

You giggled, tracing patterns across his pecs and down his ribs. His muscles jumped under your fingertips. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

His cheeks reddened as he glanced up, dutifully keeping his eyes on the task at hand as he hastily pulled off your boots and pants.

“I’m trying to get you warm,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you out,” you said boldly, arching an eyebrow at him and smiling. You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from, but you’d had a crush on him since day one and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of this opportunity. He had just reached up to grip your hips and he faltered for a moment before pulling you down off the counter. He turned you around, walking you toward the bed with his hands on your waist until pulling back the covers. Soap sat, pulling you down between his legs and back against his chest. He pulled up the extra blankets, wrapping them around both of your shoulders. You giggled again, wiggling back against him as his arms wound around you. You couldn’t tell whether he shuddered or whether it was just his shivering. You’d started to shiver again, yourself.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. His body trembled around you, proof that he probably should have kept his jacket after all. His hands rubbed your shoulders, occasionally tracing the straps of your sports bra, and he curled his legs up, bringing yours with them. His knees held yours together and he shifted one arm down to circle your waist, keeping your back pressed to his chest and your hips connected. One hand brushed your hip and he tilted his head so that his chin rested in the crook of your shoulder. His hold on you was tight, but reassuring. You savored the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

Your bare skin felt numb, even under the pile of blankets.

Everywhere Soap’s skin touched felt scalded.

“You’re so hot,” you murmured.

You felt as much as heard when Soap chuckled low in his chest. “I’m actually freezing.” His voice shook when he spoke.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, turning so that your cheek touched his. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered.

“I know,” he smiled, eyes fixed on some point across the room. “I’m just trying to save you from saying things you don’t mean, so you don’t regret them later.”

When you cocked your head at him, shifting in his arms to better face him, his smile dropped. “C’mon, Shrike, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Hope flared in your chest like a bonfire. Your mind ran through all the possibilities of that statement, and every one of them suggested attraction to your lovesick mind. You stared blankly at him and he tipped his head back against the headboard, heaving a sigh. “I’m sure Gaz would be none too pleased if I made a move on you when you were only flirting because of hypothermia.”

“Gaz..?” You didn’t understand what Gaz had to do with Soap making a move on you, and you were too confused to focus on either the fact that he said that he might, or that he had just admitted he knew you were flirting with him. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You barely dared to breathe.

Soap’s face flamed as he looked away. He had stopped shivering so badly, but his voice still shook a bit when he spoke. “You and Gaz. I know you’re… well, something. I’d never-”

You hadn’t imagined it. Your snort cut him off. “Gaz and I are friends, that’s it.” Now it was Soap’s turn to stare blankly. You fought to speak normally, not with the giddy optimism you felt. “Remember the day Price introduced me to you all? Gaz was the first one to shake my hand, and then he showed me around base? I knew right off the bat that Ghost didn’t trust me and I thought you wouldn’t either, since you two were clearly so close.”

That brought a smile out of Soap. As much as Ghost tried to play it off, the two had definitely become good friends over their time working together. Soap loved to flaunt his position as the resident boogeyman’s right hand, to anyone who would listen. But mostly to the boogeyman himself.

You turned again, snuggling closer into his hold. His arms tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, yeah- Gaz was my first friend. But he’s just my friend. Nothing more than that. You and Ghost are Batman and Robin, Gaz and I are Mario and Luigi.” Soap barked a laugh, and you grinned.

When his cold nose nudged behind your ear, you couldn’t even pretend your shudder was from the cold. You gathered the last of your courage, waning with the arctic chill in your bones, but bolstered by his near-confession. “So tell me, Sergeant.” You’d lowered your voice, turning up all the charm you possessed. “What am I making ‘harder than it needs to be’?” Soap froze, and panic washed over you like water as cold as the river you’d come out of. He hadn’t been confessing anything. It had been nothing more than his usual firefight flirting, harmless and silly and just a little cocky and oh-so-hot and why would you ever think he could actually be interested in you and-

Soap flipped you, one arm around your waist as he lay between your legs, propped up by the elbow next to your shoulder. Before your mind could catch up with what was happening, he leaned down, lips a hairs’ breadth from yours, and hesitated. It was the longest and shortest second of your life. You could feel his warm breath on your parted lips as his eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. You half expected him to lean back up, all mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, and tease you. He knew. He knew how you felt and he was going to mock you for it. Then he leaned down, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed yours softly, barely touching, and your mind went blessedly quiet. Your body responded of its own accord; your knees came up, framing his waist and squeezing lightly; one hand went to his bicep, lightly grasping there; the other slid to the back of his neck.

You pulled him closer.

The kiss turned feral in a heartbeat.

The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you half up off the bed, as he let more of his body weight rest against you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You happily gave it. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance as you each tried to deepen the kiss even more. You raised a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he groaned your name into your mouth. When you pulled on his mohawk, his head fell to your neck as he sucked softly on your collarbone.

“Johnny,” you breathed. He swore, lifting his head to kiss you again. He pulled his arm out from under you, running a warm hand across your bare skin from your hip to the back of your knee where it wrapped around him, before wrenching you up against him. You gasped at what you felt. If you’d had any doubt before, there was none now- Johnny was packing. You could feel the heat of him through both your underwear and his boxers. Time seemed to slow as he rocked gently against you, pressing his forehead to yours as your hands cradled the back of his head. He was panting, pressing light kisses against your face. He dropped his head to your shoulder, tucking his face into your neck. He seemed to be steeling himself, trying desperately not to move.

“Not kissing you,” he whispered. It took you a moment to think through the haze of lust and realize he was answering your earlier question. “What am I making harder than it needs to be?” “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Some of your earlier boldness had returned, shored up by his clear physical response. “Only that?” you whispered back.

The groan of your name on his lips was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“What?” you teased. “That’s all you want?”

He tugged at the back of your knee again, pressing you against himself. You both stifled moans. “You know damn well that’s not all I want. I want you. All of you.” He turned his head, ghosting his lips against your cheek. “I’ve wanted all of you from the moment you asked me why a ghost would need soap.”

You started, turning his head with your hands so you could look into his eyes. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you.” He nodded, gaze unflinching. His eyes smoldered, but there was a softness in them you’d only seen a handful of times over the years. When your brother joined the military, following in your footsteps. When your best friend’s husband cheated on her. When your mother died. Any time you’d cried in his arms.

“T-that was the day we first met,” you stuttered out. Again, he nodded solemnly. He turned his head in your hands, kissing your palm.

“I knew right away,” he whispered. Soap had laughed, a fully belly laugh, and clapped you on the back. Ghost had rolled his eyes, and you’d hoped his reservations about you would fade. Not only so you could get closer to the devilishly handsome, charming Sargeant who followed his every step. When you didn’t say anything, he released your leg, mumbling apologies and sitting back on his heels. The loss of his body weight and heat, along with the blankets, made you shiver all over again. Johnny didn’t see it- he was running his hands over his face, head hanging. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I had no right, please forgive me-”

You reached out a hand, grasping his wrist to stop him from retreating any further. “Forgive you for what?” you asked softly. His face was pained as he struggled to hold your stare.

“For taking advantage,” he began. But you shook your head, reaching out your other hand to touch his cheek. You didn’t think he even realized that he leaned into your touch.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything.” You scooted forward on your knees, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You leaned up, kissing along his jaw, before licking a stripe of skin just behind his ear. He trembled under your touch as you ran a hand down his arm and pressed yourself against him. “I want you, too. So you should take me.”

“Steamin’-,” Soap groaned your name. “You can’t just say that to me,” he whined, breathless. His fists were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as your fingertips skimmed his skin.

“And why’s that?” you teased. You were sure that nothing could ever match the rush you were getting from his reactions to you.

“Because,” he ground out. He’d lost the fight to keep his hands off and they now rested on your hips, intermittently squeezing the flesh and hovering. His pupils were blown, nearly eclipsing his irises. You’d never seen hunger like that in your life and it set you on fire. “If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was lower, hoarse. Desperate.

You scooted forward until your knees touched his, pressing as much of your body against his as you could. His entire body quivered in his struggle not to devour you whole. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, pausing when they brushed the shell of his ear. “Then I suggest, Sergeant, that you don’t stop.”

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke up to a soft thudding sound in your ear. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but then you remembered you were on the field. Your head snapped up, looking around the tiny room. The thudding had stopped, and when you looked down, you realized why.

You’d been sleeping with your head on Johnny’s chest, his heartbeat in your ear. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, face turned toward yours. He looked younger asleep. No worry lines creased his handsome face, and his brows were relaxed instead of their usual serious, lowered state. His lips were just slightly parted, breath softly fanning across your shoulder.

The night came back to you in one big wave. Kissing Johnny, straddling him, holding him close between your legs, his mouth on your neck, your mouth on his shoulder, your name on his tongue, being pressed to the wall, the stretch of him, and both of your hands seemingly everywhere at once. You ached everywhere in the most delicious way. Even your throat was sore from moaning his name over and over and over again as he made good on his promise that his mouth was good for more than just talk.

Your cheeks flushed remembering.

As if sensing your racing heart and thoughts, Johnny stirred. His arms tightened around you, pulling you nearly on top of him as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled when his eyes settled on you, slow and lazy.

“I thought I dreamed all of that,” he said softly. His voice was husky with sleep, accent thicker than normal, eyes soft as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

You quickly weighed whether or not you were prepared to deal with the cockiness that would come with your next statement. “Certainly good enough to be a dream,” you whispered. The grin that split Johnny’s face was instant and radiant.

“Oh, aye?” he asked. “Would you say it’s everything you’d dreamed of?”

“I love you,” he’d gasped, holding the back of your head to his shoulder as you fell apart for what must have been the tenth or hundredth time. “I love you,” he’d repeated as he lost control, trembling violently in you and in your arms. “Oh, God, I love you,” he’d whispered as you cried out his name and carried him in a vice grip right over the edge with you. You’d never dared to confront your feelings for him too deeply, refusing to dig beneath the surface of the crush you’d harbored for him. In all your wildest dreams, you’d never begun to imagine him putting to words what you felt- and never in the most intimate moment of your life.

“Better than my dreams,” you mumbled, turning your head away from his and pressing your cheek to his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a purple bruise you’d sucked into his shoulder. You winced, raising your head to apologize, but before you could even open your mouth, Johnny turned your head and kissed you softly. You kissed him back, and then smirked as a thought crossed your mind. “Dream of me often, then?” you asked.

Johnny’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down for a searing kiss. “Every night,” he whispered. You shuddered. You could already feel his body responding beneath you as you kissed him again, smiling to yourself when he groaned. He reached for the tiny bedside table, muttering about a clock, and found the alarm there.

He turned a wicked grin toward you. “We’ve got time for round two.”

“Round two?” you shrieked. Johnny snickered as he lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Round five was no less impressive than the first four, in no small part due to the added feat of Johnny holding you up against the cold shower wall while the hot water beat down on you both.

“I can’t believe,” he’d panted “That we could have been doing this all this time.”

“You should scold Gaz for getting in your way,” you’d panted back. Johnny had practically growled at that, picking up his pace.

“I’m about to scold you for saying another man’s name while I’m inside you.”

He came undone the moment you moaned his name in his ear, pulling you off the ledge with him.

By the time you’d actually managed to get clean, your clothes had miraculously dried despite laying crumpled on the tile floor all night. You were thankful as you both stepped out into the flurry of wind and snow to trudge up the hillside toward the evac point. You hiked in companionable silence, only breaking it once you could see the ridge where you’d be picked up.

“How’s your wrist?” you asked. You’d been worried about it all night, but Johnny either hadn’t been in pain or hadn’t been in enough pain to pay it any mind.

“It’ll be fine,” he answered, smiling at you over his shoulder. “How’s your… you?” You both snickered at that.

“It’ll be fine,” you parroted. Your Scottish accent was horrible, but Johnny beamed at it all the same. You were about to pull yourself up by a rock when he grabbed your wrist, nudging you until your back touched a tree. He tilted your chin up with his knuckles, lowering his head slowly to kiss you tenderly. You sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close by your waist. His lips tugged at yours softly, lightly dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to look at you intensely. He seemed to be trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“We can’t tell anyone, can we?” you whispered.

For a long moment, Johnny was silent. When he finally answered, his voice was low. Sorrowful. “I don’t know,” he said.

You nodded, pasting a smile on your face even as your heart throbbed. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, we will.” Your smile felt a little more genuine after that. You trekked the last bit up the hill, and by the time you reached the top, you could hear the whir of the chopper. You shared one last longing look at each other from a respectable distance before the bird touched down. When the door opened, Ghost’s skull plate greeted you.

“You guys injured?” he shouted. You both shook your heads, clambering in and strapping yourselves into harnesses on opposite sides of the chopper. Ghost slammed the door, strapping himself in again on your side.

He stared at Soap, some look you couldn’t quite read. When you glanced to Johnny, his eyebrow was raised at his partner.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ghost rumbled.

Soap looked to you, then back to his friend. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We didn’t get much rest- too cold,” he said evenly. If you didn’t know it was a lie, you’d have believed him. But something in the way Ghost held his stare told you that he didn’t. He could read everyone like a book, but especially Johnny. You needn’t have worried, though. Soap started right in on recapping the mission for his friend, chattering away as he always did, and you watched as Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit while he listened. His gaze flicked to you every so often, and you added to the tale where you saw fit. Ghost took your words as truth- he trusted you now, years later, after you’d proven yourself to him and the rest of the team.

You smiled to yourself. It would be good to see the rest of the team, to be back on base, in the comfort of your own bed… and you were sure Soap would find his way there, too.

#john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap #john soap mactavish x reader #cod mwii #nightingale writes

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mariacallous · 1 month

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On March 2, she was gone. The Belize-flagged, British-owned bulk carrier Rubymar sank in the narrow water lane between the coasts of Yemen and Eritrea. The Rubymar was the first vessel that has been completely lost since the Houthis began their attacks on shipping in the Red Sea—and its demise, with 21,000 metric tons of ammonium phosphate sulfate fertilizer, spells ecological disaster. A similar substance—ammonium nitrate—caused the devastating explosion at the Port of Beirut in 2020. It had been stored there after being abandoned on a vessel and authorities intervened to prevent an environmental disaster.

Because the Houthis have no regard for the environment, there are likely to be more such disasters. Indeed, groups set on destruction could also decide to attack the carbon storage facilities now beginning to be built underneath the seabed.

For two weeks after being struck by a Houthi missile in the Red Sea, the Rubymar clung to life despite listing badly. The damage caused by the missile, though, was too severe. At 2:15 a.m. local time, the Rubymar disappeared into the depths of the Red Sea. The crew had already been rescued by another merchant vessel that had come to the Rubymar’s aid, but there was no way anyone could remove its toxic cargo.

The ship’s owner had tried to get it towed to the Port of Aden—where Yemen’s internationally recognized government is based—and to Djibouti and Saudi Arabia, but citing the environmental risk posed by the ammonium phosphate sulfate, all three nations refused to receive it.

Now enormous quantities of a hazardous substance are about to spread into the Red Sea. IGAD, a trade bloc comprising countries in the Nile Valley and the Horn of Africa, points out that the Rubymar’s fertilizer cargo and leaking fuel “could devastate marine life and destroy coral reefs, sea life and jeopardize hundreds of thousands of jobs in the fishing industry as well as cut littoral states off from supplies of food and fuel.”

Not even shipping’s option of last resort, salvage companies, seems available. “The salvage companies that normally recover vessels are reluctant to go in,” said Cormac Mc Garry, a maritime expert with intelligence firm Control Risks. That’s because salvage ships and crews, too, risk being targeted by Houthi missiles. “If a salvage company knows it’s likely to be targeted, it will hesitate to take on the task. It has a duty of care for its crew,” said Svein Ringbakken, the managing director of the Norway-based maritime insurance company DNK.

It was only a matter of time before a Houthi missile brought down one of the many tankers and bulk carriers that still traverse the Red Sea every day. (In the first two months of this year, traffic through the Red Sea was down by 50 percent compared to the same period last year.) “The Houthis have no regard for life and even less for the environment,” Ringbakken said. “They shoot missiles at ships even though they know that there are humans and hazardous cargo on them.”

For years, the Houthis allowed an oil supertanker ironically named Safer that was moored off the coast of Yemen to rust away even though she was holding more than 1 million barrels of crude oil. By the beginning of last year, the Safer was close to disintegration: an event that would have cost hundreds of thousands of Yemenis their livelihoods because it would have killed enormous quantities of fish. Indeed, had the Safer’s oil leaked, it would even have forced the Houthi-controlled ports of Hudaydah and Saleef to close, thus preventing ordinary Yemenis from receiving food and other necessities.

It would, of course, also have caused permanent damage to all manner of marine life, including coral reefs and mangroves, in the Red Sea. Then the United Nations pulled off an almost impossible feat: It got Yemen’s warring factions, international agencies, and companies to work together to transfer the oil off the Safer. Disaster was averted. “It was a massive undertaking,” Ringbakken noted. “But for years and years and years, the Houthis were adding impediments against this undertaking, even though the Safer was sitting just off the Yemeni coast.”

Indeed, maritime terrorism itself is not new. “Besides guerrillas and terrorists, attacks have been carried out by modern day pirates, ordinary criminals, fanatic environmentalists, mutinous crews, hostile workers, and foreign agents. The spectrum of actions is equally broad: ships hijacked, destroyed by mines and bombs, attacks with bazookas, sunk under mysterious circumstances; cargos removed; crews taken hostage; extortion plots against ocean liners and offshore platforms; raids on port facilities; attempts to board oil rigs; sabotage at shipyards and terminal facilities; even a plot to steal a nuclear submarine,” researchers at RAND summarized—in 1983.

Now, though, the Houthis have upped the nihilism, and unlike the guerrillas, terrorists, and pirates of the 1980s, they have the weaponry to cause an ocean-going vessel to sink. The joint U.S.-U.K. military operation against the Houthis has failed to deter the Iranian-backed militia’s attacks; indeed, not even air strikes by U.S. and U.K. forces have convinced the Houthis that it’s time to stop. On the contrary, they’re escalating their attacks. They do so because they’re completely unconcerned about loss of life within their ranks or harm to their own waters.

It’s giving them a global platform. That, in turn, is likely to encourage other militias to also attack ships carrying toxic substances—even if it ruins their own waters. The local population is hardly in a position to hold a militia accountable. Indeed, militias interested in maritime terrorism could decide that the world’s growing sea-based infrastructure is an attractive target. And there’s a new form of sea-based infrastructure they could decide to make a preferred target, not just because it’s set for explosive growth but because attacking it would guarantee a global platform: CO2 storage.

With the world having failed to reduce its carbon-dioxide emissions enough to halt climate change, CO2 storage has become an urgent priority. Through this technique, carbon dioxide can be captured and buried underground, typically underneath the ocean. Norway has, for example, begun auctioning out licenses for CO2 storage exploration on its continental shelf. So has Britain. The United States has 15 carbon-storage sites, and another 121 are being developed. Even Big Oil has discovered carbon storage. ExxonMobil is buying offshore blocks to use for carbon storage instead of oil drilling.

Carbon storage sites are, of course, designed to withstand both natural perils and man-made attacks, but that won’t prevent destructive groups—especially ones backed by a powerful state—from trying. And because groups like the Houthis are so unconcerned about all forms of life, it won’t matter to them that releasing concentrated CO2 would cause extreme harm to the planet—including themselves. Even a tiny carbon-storage leakage of 0.1 percent per year can lead to additional CO2 emissions of 25 giga-tonnes, researchers have established.

Until recently, sea-based infrastructure was only lightly guarded, because it was in everyone’s interest that it worked. The sabotage of Nord Stream and various other pipelines and undersea cables over the past two years have demonstrated that such peacefulness can no longer be taken for granted. The new CO2 sites will need not just AI-enhanced monitoring but regular patrolling to communicate to potential attackers that it’s not even worth attempting an attack.

And for now, attacking merchant vessels remains a promising and economical strategy for the Houthis and their ilk. It doesn’t seem to matter that ammonium phosphate sulfate will soon be poisoning Yemeni waters and thus depriving locals of their livelihoods. Indeed, other bulk carriers and tankers may soon join the Rubymar on the bottom of the sea, poisoning the future for even more Yemenis.

For the Houthis, what matters is not the outcome: It’s the attention. That’s what makes them such a vexing problem for the U.S. Navy and other navies, shipowners, maritime insurers, and especially for seafarers. But there is another group that should be just as worried about the rampant insecurity on the high seas: ocean conservationists.

There is, in fact, a woman with an unsurpassed green platform who could make the growing scourge of maritime terrorism her new cause. (Nearly) everyone would thank you, Greta.

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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Hiya star!!! Happy 100 umm

“Louder. Let them hear you.” With Jake okay bye

Hi Pike! Thanks for this ask, Lovely! It kind of ran away from me, and is way longer than I expected. But, I hope you like it!

Complete Mess (You Make Me)

It wasn’t often that Miramar had two squadrons operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. After all, NAS NI already had the Dagger Squadron permanently stationed on the premises. But sometimes, a mission came up that required two squadrons. Twenty-four of the Navy’s best on one tiny air station already stuffed to capacity with ego and testosterone. It’s a nostalgia trip for most of your squadron, yourself included. It’s been four years since you’d graduated from Top Gun and you are wholeheartedly looking forward to running amok in San Diego with your squadron in tow.

Of course you hadn’t expected to see some old friends when you walked into the Hard Deck. Fanboy, Bob, Rooster and Phoenix, you adored. It was great to see them all again and to introduce them to your own squadron. It was Jake Seresin, or Hangman you couldn’t stand. He’d been in your Top Gun class and every day had been an endless competition between the two of you. He’d cut into you with every word he spoke and you’d returned fire just as readily. It had gotten so bad that at one point in time, Cyclone and Warlock had forcibly separated the two of you. You’d been forbidden from flying with him, but there was only so much they could do when the two of you were flip-flopping in and out of the number one spot. And now, so help you, you need to somehow work with him for this mission.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Starling!” He’s smirking when you walk up to the pool table with Fanboy’s arm around your shoulder. “Are you living up to your birdie flying name yet?”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t ole Hangy!” You lean over the pool table and nab the eight ball just as he tries to hit it, tossing it idly from hand to hand. “What’s up, old man? Leave anyone hanging? Or are you still letting your juniors get the better of you?”

You don’t even try to hide your smug smile as he fumes at you. The rest of the night, you happily avoid Hangman as much as humanly possible, smirking in his direction only to see him squirm as you dance with Rooster a bit later.

That one set of interactions sets the tone for the rest of the training for the mission. It’s like being back at Top Gun the first time all over again. Except this time, it’s worse. The chip on your shoulder is bigger than ever and he seems to get under your skin more than ever too. It’s just pure luck now that the two of you can run the training course blindfolded when you’re paired up. So even if you’d like to avoid him, you can’t. It doesn’t help either that he’s so damned hot now that you can see past his ego. You’ve woken up more than once in the middle of the night dreaming of his hands on your skin and his smart mouth occupied by other things.

But your mouth is just as smart as his, and you shouldn’t have said what you did in the heat of the moment. The two of you had been walking back to the pilot’s ready room while discussing your latest run. He’d been on you since the two of you had landed about your prowess, or lack thereof on one of the maneuvers Admiral Mitchell had the combined twenty-four aviators practicing today.

“Starling, you have to move faster! When we hit the inversion at the top of the course, you have to drop down and pop the first missile immediately! If you wait any later, you’re going to miss the shot every time!” He’d actually been pretty nice when he’d said that.

“I know, Bagman!” Your frustration at yourself was at an all time high as you spat the words out. “I just can’t get the targeting to stabilize when I level out.”

He’d been smarmy as he replied, “Oh, baby. You just need to get fucked, then everything will level right out.”

That nearly innocent comment, though you’ve heard it before, sets you off. You poke your finger into his chest as you spit, “I’m not your baby, Seresin. And honestly you’d be the last man I want to get fucked by. Isn’t that what your ex-fiance said that night in the Hard Deck when she dumped your ass for your brother’s? What makes you think that you’d be good enough for a fellow pilot when you couldn’t even keep someone your equal in intelligence?”

You’re not expecting to hear the entirety of both your squadrons fall silent as they’re chatting in the background. You’re also not expecting to see Jake’s face blanch before a blush sets high in his cheeks. He surges forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as he herds you towards the nearest wall. The thud of your head smashing against one of the many pictures on the wall is loud in the silence. As your ears ring from the impact, you can hear the whispering from the others as they stare at you in shock. You can also see the pain swimming in Hangman’s eyes as he stares down at you.

“What the fuck is your problem, Starling?” His voice is a growl as he glares at you. “My observations up in the air were right and you know it! You don’t have to bring up something that happened four years ago because you don’t like that I’m trying to keep your ass alive when we get sent up there every time.” His voice is a dry chuckle as he pulls his hands away from where they’d been wrinkling your flight suit. “Yeah, y’all heard right. The womanizer Hangman. He got left in favor of his own fucking brother. I’m a terrible human being. I’m unlovable. There’s a reason why I stick around for a good time, not a long time.”

You’re futilely reaching for him when he whirls around and strides out of the room with his shoulders up around his ears. That’s when the full weight of your words hits you. When you step away from the wall, glass pieces tinkle to the floor. You feel terrible, and even more so when you see disappointment on your friend’s faces. Things between Hangman and Rooster have never been smooth, but even he’s looking at you like you fucked up. The worst part is, you know you did. The shadow of your words follows you as you slink out of the room, going in search of Jake.

He’s pacing in the hallway outside, dragging his hands through his hair as he tries and fails to calm down.

“Umm, Jake?” Your voice is hesitant as you reach for his arm.

“What do you want, Starling?” You’ve never heard him so dejected, so beaten down.

“I need to talk to you.” You’re wringing your hands together when he places his hand on your elbow and pulls you into a nearby supply closet.

“You’ve got me. Now talk.” Your heart aches, hearing the pain in his voice.

“M’sorry, Hang - Jake. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Please, let me make it up to you. I was wrong to throw that in your face. And you were right about our training run.” You can barely see his face in the dim light bulb’s light.

His snort is derisive. “So what? You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His breathing is heavy in the small room. “I’ve been trying to be nice to you, to be friendly the entire time we’ve been training for this mission. And you’ve been a real bitch, you know that? The worst part is, you’re gorgeous, gorgeous and smart and sweet. You’d be perfect for me if you’d just get over whatever it was that you think I did and just give me a chance. But that’s not possible right? I’m just dumb unlovable Hangman to you.”

You can’t help yourself, not anymore, when you surge into his arms and smash your lips to his. His stuttering intake of breath is incredibly sweet as his hands rise up to rest gingerly on your hips. It’s a gentle press of your lips to his for several moments before you pull away.

“I was wrong, Jake. So wrong. Give me that chance? Please? You’re under my skin. So far, I don’t know where it even started. Let me prove that you’re worth loving?” You can see his lips part before he dips down to kiss you carefully again. This time, you taste the coffee on his tongue, as well as something intoxicating, something Jake that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of. It’s not long at all before you’re panting against his mouth as his hands divest you of your flight suit. It’s wet and filthy as he presses you up against one of the walls, facing it, and tugs your panties to the side.

“D’you want this, sweetheart?” His voice is tense, and your combined ragged breathing fills the small space as you try to think of the words. His blunt, calloused long fingers are teasing your sopping cunt with each word, before he tugs the cups of your bra down. The first touch of his hands on your skin has you finally gasping your response.

“Yes, Jake. Please! I want you. I want you so badly. M’on birth control. Please.” His answering groan as he presses a kiss against the side of your neck is paired with his cock pressing gently into your waiting heat. Inch by inch, he presses into you, the stretch of his length as he splits you open sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. Your mouth is spread in a silent scream when he finally bottoms out in you.

“Y’good, baby doll?” His voice is a barely contained hiss in your ear as he pulls you close, his hands trailing soothingly along your sides.

“M’good, so good.” You’re nearly delirious already, strung out on the feeling of his thick length buried deep in you. His answer is to begin to piston his hips. Each thrust sends electricity through your veins as you’re squished between the wall and his muscular body. You’ve got your hand over your mouth, muffling the strung out squeals he’s wringing out of your mouth as he plows into you. You’re going to feel him on you for days.

“Louder. Let them hear you. Y’feel so good for me, gorgeous. Gonna make you feel so good. We gotta prove you’re mine.” His words send even more arousal dripping through your veins. You can feel the building ache of your orgasm as with each thrust he hits that spot in you that makes you see stars.

“Jake.” Your voice is a punched out hum as you scrabble to reach for his face. You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Gonna cum. Cum with me, darling?”

“Yeah, baby doll. I’m with you.” It’s only a couple more thrusts before you’re sagging in his arms as the aftershocks of pleasure sing through your veins. In the dim light, he carefully drags a paper towel over your tender folds, pressing a kiss against the small of your back. It’s an uncoordinated fumble as he carefully pulls you into his lap after cleaning you up.

“Where do we go from here, baby?” He still sounds so tired. It makes your heart ache. “Tell me what you said was true? That you’re going to prove to me that I’m worth loving? Cause I don’t think I can go back from this. Not now. Not when I know what you feel like when you cum in my arms.”

“Jake,” You nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms carefully around his waist. “I meant every word. I’m going to make up for being a bitch. And I’m going to show you that you’re not what she said.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he kisses you for your words. It’s a feeling, along with the soreness in your cunt, that sticks with you for the rest of the day, especially when he winks at you when the two of you walk back into the pilot’s ready room a while later. Though you definitely wish you had a polaroid camera to memorialize the face Rooster makes when Jake asks you to dinner after the final hop for the day and you tell him to pick you up at 6 that night.

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