I'm Sphinx | Age? Old-Ass Millenial | She/Her | MDNI cause it's 18+ to get into this club | Racists, Homophobes and Transphobes can burn in hell 'cause that hateful shit ain't tolerated in said club. FUCK TRUMP.
Quick reminder that Kyle isn't boring. Not in the slightest. He's tired of everyone's BULLSHIT while struggling to hold himself to a standard of morality that simply doesn't exist in the career of necessary violence he actively chooses to be a part of on a daily basis.
Why? Because he legit thought that being the dark hand of fate would allow the rest of society to live in their light. But he quickly finds out how easy it is to slip into the ugliness of it all. Hell, he was already there from the start of the games.
Because remember, his first conversation with Price is, "Hey, Dad, WHY CAN'T WE DO MORE VIOLENCE TO GET THE RESULTS WE WANT VIA ANY MEANS NECESSARY?!"
That's not someone who is good, or soft or scared to engage with the enemy. That's someone who absolutely believes "The ends justify the means."
So yeah, stop writing Kyle as some paragon of virtue. He's just as deeply flawed as the rest of them. And that makes him awesome, interesting and yeah, just as hot as the rest of the 141.
I despise how the fandom erases him or accuses him of being "boring" because he hides his cracks better than everyone else. The fact that he hides his commitment to violence so well that he comes off as completely normal if you didn't know any better? Yeah, THAT IS THE SCARY PART.
Call me basic but I fucking love the trope of giving him that soft little pout, genuine hurt bleeding into your expression as he turns you down for the umpteenth time, voice trembling just right as you tell him if he won’t fuck you, you’ll go find some other man who will. There’s plenty of them out there who want a piece of this ass.
Spinning on your heel and storming toward the door, barely make it two steps before his hand lashes out, thick fingers clamping around your upper arm hard, yanking you back with a force that makes you stumble. Back slamming against the wall with a dull thud, breath punching out of your lungs as he crowds in, towering over you, bigger body caging you in, chest heaving, face dark and stormy. The polite, respectful mask he’s been clinging to finally cracking wide open.
(Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling in triumph as he leans over and murmurs in a low voice trembling with barely suppressed anger to repeat what you just said.)
reboot cod pisses me off so bad sometimes bc i've never seen something genuinely less interested in having characters
real quick, why is everyone afraid of ghost? he tends to work overwatch but his sniper skill is never mentioned or emphasised. he turns to soap for his sniping ability more than he displays his own. he isn't on overwatch to organically work in his skill, it's to write him out of the way so the player has more npcs to kill and tasks to complete but in doing so, it limits his actions to nothing but aura moments in cinematics and in the background of scenes the player can catch if they happen to look
he mentions being through guerrilla warfare and has the technical knowledge but we never see him implement it or find out how he got it in any meaningful way; he instead choses to just stab people as a stand in for a defining characteristic
imagine if in alone we see evidence of him utilising the same skills he teaches soap; improvised weapons and broken fans and proof of how versatile and deadly he is, things he didn't tell soap to do bc he physically isn't capable of doing them. soap being able to do everything he learned through "years of practice" just bc ghost tells him to makes it even less impressive bc it makes his skills easily replicable, undercutting the proficiency he's supposed to have and the implication of how bad those years were
other than the one drop down kill in the camera mission, there's nothing to suggest anything he does can't be done by another soldier. even the stealth attributed to him in alone by the scared shadow is also done by soap in that same mission and when we finally get to actually see ghost work, he's literally guided step by step by soap
we have no reason to think he's this scary boogeyman of the military to the point that international pmcs know who he is and are afraid beyond just being told he's this mythical soldier
that is such bad writing
09 ghost is shown to be the second in command of the 141 in the pre mission briefings when he's the one going through them with mactavish and he's also shown to be a tech guy and interrogator; in both things, he's the only one to do them, implying he's the best or the only one who can. he’s impatient but only when it comes to himself and his performance; when it comes to the men beneath him, he’s professional in his orders and invested in their safety. none of this is interpretation, this is all in the original game
in comparison? the villains are one note and their actions have no consequences so the writers don't have to be constrained by them, price was majorly defanged to make him less morally grey and less interesting as a result. gaz is probably the most well rounded since he's one of about three characters that get to actually have an arc; he goes from soldier cop to elite soldier and price's apprentice, we see him grapple with his morality, what he wants to do and what needs to be done and those decisions carry over in how he acts for the rest of the games. soap's probably the second emptiest bc he suffers from being a main player character, his actions have to be open to follow the player's choices, but at least there's hints of his loyalty, temperament and dedication to civilian safety and his specialties as a sniper/demolitionist
but the titular ghost? the main face of their marketing? he does nothing to back up his skill or reputation. he just is ghost, the embodiment of tell don't show, and that is so shit when he has the potential to be such an interesting character!
the hints at his backstory and his reticence to be more than part of a team or that they mean anything more to him than coworkers despite being in the 141 for years, just to latch onto soap and the team as a whole with his teeth, literally branding them with his image. the skillset the writers could make only him have; make him stand out in more than just appearance and his knives, he's lived through something terrible to have the knowledge he has, lean into it! have him use everything in a room to his advantage, have him recognise bullet casings and knife wounds bc there's no weapon or torture he hasn't seen before
let him be unsettling to anyone not 141 bc only they have his trust to let himself be human, give him a specialty mission that isn't aided by soap or laswell (it's been over two years and i still haven't forgiven that), have him reluctant to teach soap what he knows bc all he sees is the memories that come along with them and he doesn't want that pain for soap. stress that there's things only he can do and that's what makes him the ghost
it doesn't have to be spelled out, it doesn’t take an hour long cut scene to build a character; there's so much you can do just through implication if you just take the time to flesh him out
he has the bones! let him be a character not just an empty mask for gamer bros to imprint their male fantasies on
Gaz doesn't have a complex about his body. He doesn't. He knows he's fit, strong. He's beat men is arm wrestles with biceps the size of his thighs without breaking a sweat. He has muscle, he's just... lean.
It wasn't something he was self conscious about per say, but god damnit it was hard not to notice the differences between him and his colleagues sometimes. Especially when they all just happened to end up at the base's gym at the same time. Tav's arms in those damn muscle tanks he loved so much, Ghost's back rippling under his compression shirt with even the slightest movement, and don't get Gaz started on those tree trucks the Captian calls his thighs. Not that Gaz was looking, of course.
The one, count 'em, one thing Kyle had over the rest of his team, was his abs. Where the other men had a healthy layer of fat over the solid muscle of their stomachs, something that totally didn't leave his mouth watering, Gaz had a defined washboard of muscle.
So, yeah okay, maybe the sergeant had a tendency to wear shirts just a size or so smaller than absolutely necessary knowing they had a tendency to ride up whenever he lifted his arms. Maybe he sometimes used the hem of shirt to wipe sweat from his eyes that wasn't really there. Sue the man, he liked when he was the subject of the appreciative glances so often directed at his teammates.
Gaz did, unfortunately, seem to always miss the hooded eyes and hungry glances when they came from his teammates.
Again, Kyle is as precise, predatory and gloriously wretched as the rest of the 141 and has seen some shit.
"We don't stand a chance in hell with these rules of engagement, Captain. They can tell us where, tell us when... don't tell us how." — Kyle
Our boy is also EXTREMELY intelligent:
"Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture."
[Italics emphasis is mine]
"Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing.
Kyle's last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare.
Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost."
[Which pretty much translates to "He was out in the field doing some WILD, HIGHLY REDACTED SHIT 👀"]
A direct quote from our fave, resident deranged, extremely skilled in violence and underhanded shit, golden pretty boy:
"We move in silence, do our job, and melt away. No publicity, no media. It takes stamina, willpower, guts and brains. Got those, we'll welcome you a try at being one of us. If you haven't got all that, then off with you..."
Also, anyone out here doing full blown, deadly tactical missions while dressed in a high thread count, button-down, blue Oxford shirt has got to be a little nuts 😅 He's out here literally slaying and slaying 💅🏽
Man DOES NOT FUCK AROUND. Please feel free to write him accordingly.
A canon interracial couple exists "I just don't see their chemistry" proceeds to fanon ship [insert white character] instead, claiming they have more of a connection.
"It's not their skin color, I just don't like them for some reason, btw, here are my top 5 [insert white actors] I think are better suited"
"Not everything is about race". They say, as they prop up every white character over any character of color.
"Please stop bring race drama into the fandom". Which translates to, I'm comfortable in my racism and don't appreciate any criticism, thanks!
White person, "Yeah, I wrote character of color as an animal, doesn't make me racist".
"I love character of color, here's a fic where they act like as [insert white characters] servant/therapist".
Character of color is such a bad friend for having opinions of their own/taking care of themselves instead of putting their friend [insert white character] first.
A character of color is morally ambiguous or a villain, gets redemption arc. "They're awful and haven't been condemned enough of their crimes". Stans [insert white characters] who did the exact same crimes or was a villain who's redemption arc is praised.
"Can't believe that character of color had the nerve not to die as a selfless sacrifice for [insert white character]".
"POC actress/actor is too ethnic and they'd ruin the character".
"I haven't seen racism in the fandom therefore it isn't there".
"Character of color is the main character of the show sure, but let's be honest, everyone came for [insert white character]
"Character of color is alright but I can only relate to [insert white character]".
Feel free to add more, that you've come across. Sadly, it all runs together after awhile of being in a lot of fandoms. Special shout out to all who helped me with these comments!
bumping into your really nice alpha neighbour in the hallway (who you’ve been on again off again flirting with for weeks now), but squeaking out a little “sorry!” while having to rudely push past him so that you can get into your apartment before your heat gets out of control
vs
him being unable to resist following after you the second you scurry upstairs, every step he takes now getting a little more urgent, his blood hotter, until he’s pacing in front of your door, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; trying everything in his power to keep himself from knocking because the way he is moving now reminds him of a predator and he doesn’t like it - he’s nice, goddammit, he’s nice
The 141 is all sorts of pretty. Price is obviously the rugged type where you can find beauty if you look for it, most notably in his eyes and his personality.
Soap is the almost stereotypical pretty puppy boy.
Simon's eyes contrast his demeanor and appearance perfectly. You can find a warmth in them that you couldn't really get with anyone else.
Kyle does out-pretty all of them though, cause he's got the perfect balance of beauty and handsomeness. Kinda hard to explain, it's like if... a man and a woman had a baby
Alternative Part four of the boys getting dosed by Truth Serum but instead of Soap, Ghost, and Price, it was Gaz
When Gaz stumbled out of the holding cell, rubbing his temples like he'd just woken up from a nap in hell, everyone braced. He looked… normal. Cap on backwards, easy smile, that effortless charm that always soaked through him dialed up to eleven. Except his eyes were glazed, like he was about to narrate a rom com but with all the director's cuts included.
"Right," Price said, steering him into the debrief room with a hand on his shoulder. "Sit down, Sergeant."
Gaz dropped into the chair with the graceful flop of a supermodel, legs stretched out, arms draped over the back like he was lounging at a beach bar. He flashed you a grin that could melt steel.
Price took the chair opposite, elbows on his knees, wearing the look he saved for explosives and his own team. Ghost leaned against the wall, arms folded, and you could feel the amusement radiating off him even through the mask. Soap parked himself on the table, grinning like he'd bought front row tickets to a car crash.
Gaz blinked slowly, dopey smile blooming, eyes finding you and refusing to leave. "You're so pretty," he said, dreamy as a lullaby.
You startled. "I- what?"
He tilted his head, utterly earnest, like he was sharing the world's most important secret. "Proper knock-me-silly pretty. Like if you asked me to walk into a doorframe I'd do it, smiling, an' then say 'thank you.'" He squinted thoughtfully, smile never wavering. "Your mouth's my favorite shape on base."
Ghost's phone appeared in his hand so fast you almost missed it. The camera sound was not muted.
"Are you… are you recording this?" you hissed.
"Evidence," Ghost said, tone absolutely gleeful beneath the deadpan. "For… operational purposes."
"BLACKMAIL purposes," Soap corrected, grinning.
"That too."
"Truth compound," Price cut in flatly, ignoring them both. "Cognition intact, inhibitions nonexistent.”
Gaz nodded enthusiastically, like a puppy who'd just learned a new trick. "Cognition intact! Feelings… loud." His gaze did a slow, appreciative sweep down, then back up, taking his sweet time. "You're trouble, love."
You swallowed hard, feeling your face heat. "Kyle, maybe we should- "
"Define trouble, Sergeant," Ghost cut in, and you could hear the grin under the mask.
Gaz's dopey smile shifted, edges going sharp with heat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the room’s temperature jumped ten degrees. "The sort that makes me want to put you on my lap and see how long you can keep that clever mouth closed while I make the rest of you talk."
The room went silent.
Then he kept going, like he was warming to his subject. "And you've got this way of biting your lip when you're thinking- drives me mental. Makes me want to do the biting for you." His voice dropped, velvet soft.
Soap wheezed.
Gaz tipped his head. "I'd start slow. Trace my fingers down your spine, nice and easy, feel you arch into it." His hands moved in demonstration, graceful and deliberate, like he was already touching you. "Whispering how stunning you are while I kiss my way south. Take my time with it."
Your face was on fire. "Kyle- "
"Mm." He rolled your tone on his tongue, eyes going half-lidded with pleasure. "Yeah, say it like that again. Say my name all breathy and I'll be gentle about it."
His hand lifted, two knuckles extending to tip your chin up right there in front of everyone. You jerked back in your chair so fast your chair scraped across the floor. Your heart was hammering, face burning hot enough to set off the fire alarms, every nerve ending feeling exposed and raw. The way he was looking at you made your thighs press together involuntarily.
He smiled wider, lazy and satisfied. "There," he murmured to himself. "That's it. Pretty thing getting all flustered."
Soap slid a look at Price. “Should we… stop this?”
Ghost's phone was definitely still recording. “Don’t stop on our account, Sergeant.”
Gaz's attention snapped to you again, all heat and zero shame. "I'll take care of you," he said, voice dropping into that velvet register that should be illegal. "I've got a twenty-seven-step Korean skincare routine, love. Want you to have the nicest seat in all of London when you're riding my face."
Ghost went still. Then his shoulders started shaking.
He was laughing. Silent, full body, barely restrained laughter.
"Double cleanse, serums, slug it overnight; trust me, you'll thank me when you can't sit down without thinking about me."
You stared at the floor. The floor stared back. “That’s very… thoughtful.” you squeaked.
"I'm texting this to Laswell," Ghost announced.
"Don't you DARE- "
"Already sent. She says, and I quote: 'Put him in a medically induced coma before he gets someone pregnant via voice alone.'"
Soap howled.
Gaz settled back in his chair, looking utterly content, like he'd just won something. "I'd take my time between your thighs, love. Tongue exploring every inch, making you melt like honey on a warm day." He said it like he was describing a sunset, all reverent and sincere. "Want to hear those soft sighs turn into moans. Feel you grip my hair- " he mimed it, fingers curling, "- as I lick you deep, circling your clit until you're dripping for me."
"Jesus Christ," you whispered.
"Begging in that sweet voice of yours," he continued, completely undeterred. His smile went absolutely wicked. "'Kyle, please'- yeah, like that. You'd sound so good begging for me."
Soap fell off the table. Ghost's phone tilted. "Zoom function's incredible on this thing."
Price let out a breath, like he remembered that maybe he should be a Captain right now. "Garrick. How do you feel? Physically."
Gaz hummed, dreamy. "Like I could run a marathon. Or fuck for three hours. Probably both." He didn't even glance over when he answered, too focused on you. "Honestly? I've fantasized about you more times than I can count." He said it like a confession, earnest and unashamed, hand moving to his lap, gripping the crotch and adjusting a very obvious buldge that made your throat tight. You were not looking. You weren’t. "Pictured us in the back of a helo, miles above the ground."
His hands moved again, painting the scene in the air between you. "Your legs wrapped around me while I slide into you slow and deep, feeling every inch." His eyes fluttered briefly, like he was savoring the mental image. "I'd rock into you, hand over your mouth to muffle those gorgeous sounds you'd make."
He demonstrated, palm up, fingers slightly curved, so gentle it was obscene. "Whispering how perfect you feel, clenching around my cock. You'd come undone up there, all flushed and breathless." His voice dropped to almost a purr. "And I'd follow, filling you up just right."
"Kyle, please-!" you flustered, and he groaned, eyes fluttering like he was savoring the sound.
"That's it" Gaz's smile was radiant, delighted. "Even you just saying my name gets me going." He shifted in his chair, getting comfortable like he was settling in for a long chat. "Imagine you on top, riding me, hands on my chest- " he pressed his own hands to his chest, showing you, "- taking what you need, using me."
"I'm imagining being literally anywhere else," you squeaked into your hands.
Ghost's voice was warm with schadenfreude. "But you're not, though. You're right here. With us. Being serenaded by Garrick's horny poetry. And I'm capturing every second."
Gaz’s eyes went distant, dreamy. "I'd guide your hips, tell you how beautiful you look using me like that. How your body's made for this, wet, tight, perfect." The words rolled off his tongue like poetry. "Then I'd flip us over when you're close, pin you down and thrust deep until you shatter."
"Taking notes," Soap announced. "Wet, tight, perfect. That needs t' go on th’ highlight reel, Si.”
Gaz made a soft, satisfied sound. "Whispering 'that's it, love, let go for me' right in your ear. You'd feel so good, clenching around me, saying my name like a prayer- "
"Beautiful," Ghost said, dead serious. "Poetic. Really paints a picture."
Soap was fully on the floor now, gasping. "He's- he's like if Mr. Darcy joined Pornhub- "
Ghost nodded. "Already got the title for the video file: 'Sergeant Garrick's Horny Soliloquy: A Tragedy in Several Parts.'"
Price moved abruptly, chair scraping. "Hydration. Now." He shoved a water bottle at Gaz.
Gaz took it obediently, drank, then set it down with a satisfied sigh. His eyes found yours again, twinkling with mischief and zero self-preservation. "Wanna hear more?"
"No," you said desperately.
"Yes," Ghost and Soap said immediately. "Please. Continue."
"Lovely," Gaz said, delighted. "Honestly, I've fantasized about pinning you against the lockers in the armory. Your back to the cold metal, my hands warm on your hips- " he squeezed the air, demonstrating the grip. "I'd grind against you slow, letting you feel how hard you make me."
He mimed it, hips rolling in the chair with indecent grace. "Then I'd drop to my knees right there." He gestured downward, reverent. "Fingers slipping inside you, curling just right while my mouth works magic on your clit."
His fingers crooked in demonstration, and you wanted to die. You slid lower in your chair. If you tried hard enough, maybe you could phase through the floor.
"I'd edge you 'til you're begging, love." He pitched his voice up slightly, imitating you: "'Kyle, please, more'- yeah, you'd sound just like that." Back to his normal voice, going darker: "And then I'd stand, slide my cock in deep, thrusting with that perfect rhythm until you're clenching around me, coming so hard the whole base hears it."
He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes dancing. "But shh, our little secret."
Soap was making sounds like a dying walrus.
Gaz turned to look at him, genuinely concerned. "You alright, mate?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he swiveled back to you.
"Kyle- "
"You'd look so good on your knees," he said, voice dropping to something intimate and filthy. "Looking up at me with those eyes, lips parted. I'd trace your mouth with my thumb- " he brushed his own thumb across his lower lip, slow and sensual, "- then guide you onto my cock. Let you take me deep, slow. Set your own pace."
Soap crawled back onto the table, hair disheveled, eyes manic. "Cap- Cap- can we keep 'im like this? Please? It's like Shakespeare joined OnlyFans!"
Ghost nodded sagely. "'To fuck or not to fuck, that is the erection.'" He paused. "I'm putting that on a mug."
You choked on your own spit.
Price looked at Ghost. Just looked at him.
Ghost shrugged, still recording. "What? I contain multitudes. Mostly spite and blackmail."
Gaz leaned back, utterly unbothered by the chaos. "Can't stop the truth train, sir. Next stop: nasty."
"We're already there," you hissed.
"Oh, sweetheart." His smile went molten. "We haven't even started."
Ghost's voice was downright cheerful. "I've got two hours of storage left. Don't let me stop you."
Soap wheezed. “This is… romantic and obscene.”
“Pick a lane,” Ghost murmured, adjusting the camera angle.
“I refuse,” Gaz said cheerfully. He gestured lazily, as if rearranging furniture. “Then I’ll put you belly down, hips up, and take my time. Praise you until you’re glassy eyed. Make you ask for every inch.” He tipped his head, sleepy, sly. “If you’re good, you get to climb into my lap and take it how you want while I tell you how gorgeous you look.”
Soap’s howling, rolling like he’s been shot. “Stop! I’m gonna piss meself!”
Price rubbed his face with both hands. "Garrick. I'm begging you. Think about… operational security. The mission. Literally anything else."
"Can't, sir. Currently thinking about her on her knees, looking up at me with those eyes, lips parted- "
Price stood, hauling Gaz up by the collar with the efficiency of a man who'd done this too many times. "Med bay. Now. Before you charm the pants off of her. You two, stop encouraging him.”
Soap put his hands up. “Ahm merely vibing, sir.”
Gaz let himself be hauled up, loose-limbed and boneless, still talking. He stumbled slightly, caught himself, grinned at you over his shoulder. "I’m gonna mark you up real nice to everyone knows it’s my cock you’re bouncing on-"
Price physically turned him toward the door.
Gaz kept talking, voice carrying down the hall. "- made for me, every inch of you, and I'd worship every bit. Start with your neck, work my way down, make you writhe- "
The door shut.
His voice, muffled: "-and I haven't even told you about the shower fantasy yet- "
Silence.
Ghost stopped recording. "That was beautiful. Backed up. Encrypted. Sent to my secure server. This is never going away."
Soap was still on the floor. "I need a minute. Maybe several."
You dropped your head into your hands.
From down the hall: "- waterfalls, love, I'm talking waterfalls- "
Price's bellow: "GARRICK, STOP NARRATING- "
You slump against the wall, laughing weakly, your face on fire. “Next time, we send in a robot.”
The fact that Konig HAS MORE READER FICS THAN KYLE?! Proves how disgustingly racist this fandom is. That child-voiced ass Austrian merc doesn't even have a FUCKING FACE OR FIRST NAME and isn't even a main or side character that shows up in the plot. Yet folks are out here riding for him over a player protagonist in Kyle.
Honestly? Despite being in fandom literally longer than a lot of you have been alive, I shouldn't be surprised. Yet this fandom continues to be disappointing trash.
John "Soap" MacTavish
You hit him like a memory he never lived- bright, crackling, a whirlwind of laughter and bruises and stillness. The moment the neural bridge stabilizes, Soap gasps and feels you. The real you. The one you keep hidden under jokes and stubbornness. It's overwhelming, raw, intimate. He starts laughing halfway through the drift. "There you are," he whispers. "Fuck, I've been waiting for you." You steady him like gravity, like home. For the first time in years, he isn't shouldering the war alone. He's not fighting for survival-he's fighting with you. And when the Jaeger roars to life beneath you both, he knows nothing will ever break.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Drifting has always been a burden for Ghost. Too much pain. Too many ghosts. No one ever made it through more than a few seconds- until you. At first, he braced for rejection. But when the drift stabilizes, your presence cradles his mind. You don't push. You understand. You move through his trauma like someone who's known it too. There's quiet in the bond, but it's not empty. It's safe. Your memories pour in-music, fear, stubborn joy. And his? You take them like you've been holding out your hands for years. When he opens his eyes in the cockpit, his voice shakes. "Don't leave." You won't.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Gaz was skeptical. Drift compatibility? He'd tried four partners-burned through every one. But then came you. The moment the neural sync hits, it's like slipping into a song he forgot he knew. You move like him, think like him, but deeper-there's a rhythm between your thoughts. Like dancing. Like trust. There's a flash of your worst memory, and he steadies you before you stumble. Then he lets you see his. You don't look away. "You good?" he asks inside the drift. You grin. "Always." It feels like lightning, calm at the center of a storm. He's not alone in the fight anymore. You're his match.
John Price
Price had given up. Too old, too stubborn, too burdened by memory to match with anyone again. But you? The drift syncs before he even realizes it. And then there's you, in his mind, steady as a lighthouse in storm-wracked seas. Your thoughts curl around his grief without shrinking from it. You don't fix him-you anchor him. He lets you see everything. The war. The fear. The loneliness. And you take it all in like you were born to carry it beside him. "You were late," he teases softly. You chuckle in his head. "You're worth waiting for." His chest tightens. For the first time, he believes that.
Gary "Roach" Sanderson
The drift with Roach is chaotic, loud, fast- he's a storm of thoughts and sensory overload. No one's lasted more than ten seconds with him. Until you. You match his rhythm perfectly. Not by controlling it—but by joining the dance. Your mind wraps around his like wind to flame, wild and joyful. You laugh in sync. Memories flash like fireworks-your childhood, his nightmares, the warmth of sunlight, the chill of fear. But it fits. It flows. When the Jaeger moves, it's like riding the pulse of the earth itself. Roach bounces in his seat."We're so gonna get yelled at," you say in unison. It's perfect.
Nikolai
Most drift partners couldn't keep up with Nikolai-too quick-witted, too full of riddles and secrets. But you? You see through the smoke. The connection slides into place like a key in a lock, and suddenly the noise in his head quiets. You don't just match him-you get him. You chase his thoughts with your own, never behind, never ahead. He laughs in your mind, delighted. "You've been in my dreams," he says softly. "Or I in yours." The Kaiju war is still real, still terrible. But with you in the co-pilot seat, for the first time, it feels winnable. The world stops spinning
alone.
Alejandro Vargas
When the drift stabilizes, Alejandro gasps. You come in like sunlight-warm, fierce, relentless. He feels your courage first, then your hurt, then your fire. You don't flinch when his worst memories surface. You hold them. And when yours rise up, he holds you. "We're in this together now, sí?" you say. He grins through the tears stinging behind his eyes. "Always." You move in perfect sync, like two swords forged from the same flame. When the Jaeger takes its first step. he knows you're not just a co-pilot. You're the other half of his soul. And he'll never go into battle without you again.
Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra
Rudy was always cautious, always composed. Until the moment he drifted with you. You crashed into his mind like a warm tide, not overwhelming, but familiar. Gentle. Patient. The memories he buried long ago surface-but you don't recoil. You accept him. Entirely. He sees your pain too, the deep places no one's reached. And he doesn't look away. Inside the drift, you speak without words, breathing in sync, thoughts braided like prayer threads. He reaches for your hand in the cockpit. You've already reached back. Together, you are one calm force in a sea of destruction. "This," he says, "was worth the wait."
Valeria Garza
She resists the drift at first. Valeria doesn't like being seen-truly seen. But you don't barge in. You knock. And wait. When she lets you in, it's like someone pulled the trigger on something she's kept locked away for years. Rage. Guilt. Grief. But also love. And hope. She hisses, "Don't pity me." And you don't. You just stand with her, unflinching. And then you smile. She's stunned. No one's ever matched her fire. No one's ever lasted. But you do. "Cabrón," she breathes. "You're mine now." The Jaeger roars to life-and the war feels like something you might just win.
Keegan Russ
Keegan never thought he'd drift again. Too many failed syncs. Too many partners who broke under the weight of his mind. He expected you to crumble too. But when the drift hits, you don't flinch. You absorb him. The silence, the violence, the half-buried guilt -you don't fear it. You balance it. Your memories are different: soft, warm, persistent. They fill the cracks he thought were permanent. "You sure you're real?" he murmurs in the drift. You smile through the link. "You sure you are?" When the Jaeger moves under your shared breath, it's not like commanding a machine. It's like becoming one. With you, he's not just lethal. He's alive.
König
The moment your minds connect, König panics. He expects you to scream-to run-like everyone else. His thoughts are too loud, too fast, too fractured. But you stay. You don't shy away from the chaos-you wrap your mind around it like armor. In the drift, you don't try to quiet him. You join him. His childhood fears, the shadows in bunkers, the humiliation, the anger-you see them. And you stay. He trembles in his seat. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" you hear him whisper. Your answer is steady." Because you were always meant to fight beside someone. And that someone's me." For the first time, his hands don't shake on the controls.
Nikto
No one ever wanted to drift with Nikto more than once. His mind is a maze of scars and shadows-memories twisted, half- erased, some too sharp to look at. But you... you don't run. You walk into his mind like you've been there before. You navigate him. You meet his chaos with clarity, his pain with patience. You don't try to fix him -you anchor him. "You're not like the others," he mutters in the drift. "They always flinched." You reply, calm and certain, "I don't flinch. Not from you." The Jaeger breathes as one. And Nikto for the first time in years, stops fighting himself and starts fighting with you.
Krueger
Drifting with Krueger is like stepping into a locked vault-no light, no sound, just tension wound tight like wire. Most drift partners get lost. But not you. You find the thread of him buried beneath decades of missions, secrets, and silence. And you follow. He's stunned by how easily you move through him-how effortlessly your memories slip into his. There 's no judgment. Just understanding. You see the blood on his hands and don't look away. You let him see the gentleness in yours, and it reaches him. "I forgot what stillness felt like, he says, quietly. "Then let me remind you," you whisper back. And together, you breathe Life into a machine made for war.
Philip Graves
Graves is all swagger, but in the drift he's exposed-and he hates it. No one's been able to handle his mind. It's loud, fast, full of contradictions. But you-you ride the storm like it's second nature. You meet him thought-for-thought, grief-for-grief, and he realizes... you're just as wrecked. And yet, you shine. In your presence, the noise fades. "Shit," he mutters in the drift, swallowing hard. "You're dangerous." You grin. "Why? 'Cause I see you?" "No," he murmurs. "Because now I never wanna let $0.7 The Jaeger pulses beneath your joined minds. For the first time, Graves isn't out to prove himself-he's out to protect you.
Farah Karim
Farah has always relied on strength-hers and hers alone. Drift compatibility? A luxury. But the moment she syncs with you, something clicks. Not submission, not dominance-harmony. Your minds meet like a battlefield finally at rest. Her memories unfold before you: family lost, countries torn apart, resolve forged in fire. You don't pity her. You don't tremble. You stand with her. When your pain comes, she braces you. You fight side by side-past, present, soul." You're strong," she says. "But you don't have to be alone anymore." The neural load evens. The Jaeger shifts. Together, you're not just a weapon. You're a force of will.
Hadir Karim
Hadir is a wildfire-passion and fury' wrapped in tragedy. No one's been able to survive the sheer heat of his mind. Until you. You drift in like smoke and settle deep, no fear in your steps. You see the spark of vengeance, the guilt buried beneath it-and you hold it. "You see what I 've done," he says. "And yet you stay?" " stay," you whisper, "because you're not done becoming." The neural link pulses, charged. His rage doesn't consume you-it fuses with yours. When you fight, it's not for power. It's for peace. And Hadir for the first time, doesn't fight alone.
Alex Keller
Alex is all warmth and easy charm-but in the drift, you see the cracks. The weight. The loss. Most people see the smile and miss the scars. But not you. You drift with him and dive deep-into desert heat, into hospital lights, into the ache he never speaks aloud. And you hold him. Not like someone who pities, but someone who knows. "I don't have to pretend with you," he says, voice barely audible in the neural space. You smile, soft. "You never did. With you, his Jaeger moves freer, faster, more precise. He doesn't have to Lead. You dance. Together.
Kate Laswell
Kate never imagined she'd find someone she could trust in the drift. Too many masks, too many secrets. But then came you. The moment your minds connect, there's a stillness-like falling into deep water and realizing you can breathe. You don't demand anything. You just meet her. Intellect for intellect. Pain for pain. Her command, your compassion. It fits. When she falters, you catch her. When you doubt, she guides. "I could build empires with you," she says quietly. You answer without hesitation: "Then let's build peace." The Jaeger pulses. The war changes. Because now, she's not the strategist alone. She has you.
Vladimir Makarov
The drift was never meant to hold someone Like Makarov. His mind is a labyrinth of violence and vision-too volatile to share. He's broken every partner before you. But you don't break. You endure. You adapt. Your thoughts touch his chaos without fear, and he laughs-not mockingly, but amazed." You see me," he whispers, "and you don't run." You see the boy buried under the monster. The grief under the cruelty. The loneliness screaming behind arrogance." You're dangerous," you say. "And you're mine," he replies. The Jaeger trembles under your command. Together, you are terrifying. Together, you are undeniable.
Why does no one ever write any hate sex with Kyle? I know he comes off as the most sane and centered of the 141, but he's still a SAS operator. They're all UNHINGED, even Golden Boy Gaz.
This is a man who spends all of the Modern Warfare reboots being sassy as fuck, running his smart-ass mouth and being openly petty at authority. Like, his opening line is a sarcastic quip about how fuck stupid the London police are with running their poorly planned op with the pending terrorist attack.
He backtalked Laswell. To the point where Price gives him a warning look right after. Farah shoots him full-blown side-eye while Alex looks back at him, aghast. Or did the North forget?
Of course the hate sex would be him running his pretty mouth while fucking you into various surfaces around the house. With full consent, of course.
I'll probably work this into a future fic, we'll see 👀
“I'm making sure you want this because it's called being a bloody decent person!” Gaz huffed in between desperate kisses to you as you nearly ripped each other's clothes off.
“And when the fuck have you ever been decent?!” you snapped right before you sucked his delicious lower lip between your teeth.
His long, dark lashes fluttered along his cheeks as his whimper filled your mouth. Pulling away, his hooded gaze blazed with irritation. “Why can't you accept any bloody ounce of kindness?!”
“Why do you insist on treating me like I'll shatter and break at any given fucking moment?!” you snorted in disbelief.
“Maybe because I fucking wanna spoil you?! Madness, I fucking know!”
“I'm not yours to be spoiled in the first place?!”
Gaz threw up an irritated hand while his other one hauled you in by the back of your neck so you could capture his mouth in another brusing kiss. You were forced to retreat first, catching your breath as he swore against your lips, “Well, you fucking should be, you bloody hellion!”
You rolled your eyes, “Fuck you!”
“Not when I'm gonna fuck you first!”
“Well then, get the fuck on with it!”
“All you had to do was bloody ask!”
His smile was feral, the gleam of his teeth dangerous in the moonlight streaming in through the bedroom window as he drove into you with a precision unlike anything you'd ever known.
“You piece of shit!” you whined as he hoisted your ankle up to his shoulder to change the angle of his fucking into you. This way, he hit your sweet spot with every frantic thrust without a single miss.
“Yeah?” he panted with a wicked roll of his hips that sent you squealing. His twisted laugh echoed around you. “But I'm your piece of shit. ‘Cause who's dick are you falling apart on right the fuck now, princess?”
“D-did you just agree with me that you're a piece of shit?!”
“I…fuck no!...w-what-?!”
Your purposeful clench around him made him stutter and groan out your name, those soft lips pursed as he squeezed his eyes shut. The fucker had no right to look this beautiful so lost in your depths.
“Aww, look at that,” you jeered. “Poor, pretty, Kyle, all pussy drunk on this cunt,” you desperately thrust your hips up to meet him.
“Damn right. My cunt,” he swirled his thumb around your clit, making you beg out a broken moan, “‘Cause who else is gonna make you pop all over my big, fuckin’ dick, love?
“Fuck!”
“Wrong answer, babes,” he purposely stilled in you. “Who does this tight ‘lil pussy belong to, hmm?”
You vainly tried to get him to move again by pressing the heels of your feet into the back of his thighs and ass. It got you absolutely nowhere with a frustrated curse. He was too broad, too strong, too disciplined to let your annoyed kicking at him move him even a centimeter. Honed muscle easily trapped you in place.
Leaning over you, he pinned your wrists to the mattress above your head. “Who does this,” he slid his fingers along either side of your clit with such deliberate slowness that tears of frustration started leaking out the corners of your eyes, “Pussy. Belong. To?”
“I don't-!”
“Wrong answer, again,” he hissed into your ear as he shoved his hand from your lower lips. Bringing it up to his mouth, he sucked at his fingers like a man starved, honeyed eyes narrowed with predatory focus on your face.
“I asked you a bloody question,” he words danced along your damp cheek, “Who does it belong to? All you need to do is answer right and I'll let you come…maybe even a few times. Lucky I'm in a giving mood, sweetheart...”
Dear diary it’s now day 6 without Gaz in any promotional material for modern warfare 4 and I’m starting to lose hearing in my left eye and taste in my right.
Nah but like seriously where the FUCK is he cuz if he doesn’t show up in a trailer or some shit soon I’m calling it racism like how are u not gonna include the one black character I am SO fucking serious rn
