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oppatxtme · 6 years

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Lee Sunghwa/GRAY: Went Wrong

xLee Sunghwa/GRAYx

A/N: Hello there friend ~ this is an out of the blue idea so it’s a short one and sorry if you’ll find some wrong grammar and all. I hoped you all enjoy and I will try my best to post more scenarios and update early ~ I have a bunch in my drafts but failed to continue and post it yet.

Keep in mind that English is not my native language so there might be some spelling and grammar error. Sorry for my lack of talent and I promise to work hard on this. Thank you and please enjoy. Any feedback is well loved. <3

[masterlist]

It's weekend and your lil'sis Mia decided to crash over at your apartment since she spends her remaining allowance on buying unneeded stuff.

You informed your boyfriend about it to avoid what happened the last time you forgot to tell him.

"Sis, can I turn off the lights?" Mia asked while you are preparing your clothes over your bed.

"Why?"

"My friend sends me this indie movie and asked me for reviews so I can enjoy it with the lights off," she said while wiggling her eyebrow.

"You can enjoy it if you watch it in the living room, dummy."

"Nah, I want to hear it clearly so Imma uses the headset."

"Whatever," you said before the conversation turned to an agreement.

Since Gray will be arriving any moment for dinner. And you can't afford to still smell like some fried foods when he gets there.

"Mia, I'm gonna hit the showers first okay?" You looked at Mia who so indulges in front of your PC in a corner of your bedroom. "Gray will be here, so prepare him some tea or something when he arrives, okay?"

"Got it." She said without looking at you.

You just shook your head while you walk out from your bedroom and close the door. You decided to play some soft music in the living room since you love listening to music while doing something, especially when you're in the bathroom.

"Babe ~ I'm here," Gray announce as he closes the door at his back and now removing his shoes.

He can hear the music in the living room, and the scent of the candles that you both love.

"Babe?" He looked around the living room when he can't get an answer. He looked at the kitchen and saw the food already prepared on the table but there's no sign of you.

So the last place would be in your bedroom. He smirked while a plan runs thru his mind.

He placed his bag beside your sofa, as he removes every piece of clothing he has on while walking towards your room.

He's already half naked when he opened the door of your room. He smiled thinking that his plan will be a success when he saw your dark room and you are busy in front of your PC.

He walks towards you as he unbalked his belt and undid his pants. He's already on his boxers when he stands behind you. He can already imagine how surprised and happy you will be once you see him.

He is debating if either he will cover your eyes or he will just flip your chair around. And as the naughty plan he had in mind, he decided for the last one.

"Babe ~~~ " he said while he flips your chair around to face him and a big smirk on his face.

But all of that disappeared in a second.

You stepped outside the bathroom feeling so light and fresh. You round the towel in your hair.

"I guess he's been caught in the traffic." You said to yourself when you failed to see Gray in your living room.

As you walk towards your room, you notice some clothes laying on your floor. You picked it up and you are sure that it belongs to Gray. So you scan your living room again and saw his bag beside your sofa. You're about to get it as well when a scream coming from your room interrupted you.

You immediately run towards your room and opened the lights.

And there, you saw Mia’s eyes ready to pop out, Gray standing in front of her almost naked.

Gray looked at your way as soon as you opened the lights on, and you can see in his face the surprise and scared at the same time.

At that moment, you get what happened and where it went all wrong. By that, you can't help but laugh very hard.

"Babe!?"

"SIS?!" they both shout at you.

"What?!" You shout back but still laughing. You toss the clothes you're holding to Gray. "Mia, do you mind closing your eyes or just turn the other way? You enjoyed it too much." And you laugh again.

"Haiiiish!" Gray let out his embarrassment and frustration on what happened.

"You and your green mind, Babe." You teased.

"I'm sorry Mia. I thought you are Y/N, she knows I'm coming but somehow she failed to inform me that you are here as well." Gray eyed you.

Your playful smile turns to an apologetic one when you realize that you have your fair share of the situation.

"Want to stay over for the night?" you asked Gray while giving him that playful smile and he can't help but smile knowingly what's on your mind.

[masterlist]

#GRAY #callmegray #lee gray #gray scenarios #lee gray scenario #Lee Seonghwa #Lee Sunghwa #aomg gray #aomg #aomg scenarions #khh #krnb #khh scenario #writing khh scenarios is life #oppatxtme #fake text

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puttingfingerstokeys · 4 years

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[untitled]

Nanowrimo day 22 Featuring Sandman, hints of Floyd “Stiletto” Morales, and Cayne McKinnley @jamesonandhotbrass‘s amazing OC Dystopian near-future ft. Vampires Call of Duty but with Vampires Unfinished and unedited

“Listen, I know he seems soft, Sand’, but I swear to Christ, Gabe is the best fuckin’ doc I’ve ever seen, bar none,” Cayne McKinnley, a gunnery sergeant with the United States Marine Corps insisted with a vehemence the one called Sand’ (Sandman was his handle) had hardly thought possible in the heat and sun. He shaded his already sunglasses-covered eyes as they spoke in the lee of a tent. At high noon, no side made any difference and all the best shady spots were already taken.

“Medic?”

“Corpsman,” corrected McKinnley. “Guy’s a—”

“SEAL? Him?” Sandman sounded incredulous. He knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but this was like finding the King James within the covers of a pulpy, dime-store novel. Gabriel Steele was, in a word, beautiful.

“I know how it sounds,” McKinnley confirmed, an amused grin on his scarred face. “But I swear… the shit I’ve seen that guy do.” The marine leaned closer. “He is a fucking miracle worker… Mother Theresa he ain’t, but he does a damn good job. He… might be one of us, too.”

Sandman’s mouth twitched imperceptibly at the corners, but his body did not otherwise move, silver eyes scanning the desolate horizon behind his reflective shades. In fact, he gave almost no sign of having even heard the gunnery sergeant, but this did not distress McKinnley in the least, who knew how the older man operated.

His kit and various other identifiers marked him as SFOD-D, which meant Sandman was more than accustomed to being the most elite badass on just about any FOB. Having a SEAL on-base evened the odds a little, even though Sandman himself was not a terribly competitive man. He was the sort of fellow who took charge of a situation with his presence alone.

“He come with your boys?”

“Yeah,” confirmed McKinnley. He didn’t seem to want to (or perhaps he simply wasn’t able to) comment more on the subject and Sandman did not press. So, the USN had chucked one of its elites, and one of them no less, into the desert sun with a group of Marines and a detachment of Delta troops. This was shaping up to be one strange conflict.

Sandman did not wish to dignify what they were doing, hunting down a Russian terrorist in semi-hostile territory in the middle east, as a “war”, per se. It had not escalated to that point and Vladimir Makarov had not yet earned the right to be numbered amongst the true tyrants, the antichrists of the modern age, capable of starting a proper war. If war could ever be considered “proper”.

“And he’s good?”

“Very good.”

Sandman nodded stoically and went back to watching the horizon. McKinnley wondered what was making the guy so tense. He knew some of them could feel danger coming, a sort of freaky sixth sense, but Sandman had never said anything about that. The man was fairly open about that kind of thing, with Cayne McKinnley at least, if not with anyone else.

He thought he might just ask, but stopped himself as Sandman shifted and patted himself down, searching for a cigarette. It was the man’s one vice. Other than that, he was squeaky clean, not even a real drinker beyond a couple of cold beers on leave, so far as McKinnley knew.

“Okay, I give,” McKinnley grunted, “what’s got your sigmoid fucking colon in a bowtie?”

Sandman grunted and shifted his attention from his search. As if on cue, his fingers found a stowed smoke somewhere in his many pockets and the other hand produced a lighter. It was like magic watching his hands work as his eyes were on McKinnley. “What’sat?”

“Something’s fucking you up, Sand’, I know the look,” said the marine patiently. He leaned back into the growing shade of the tent, misliking the feeling of that voracious sun upon his exposed skin. Sandman seemed statuesque, the way he was simple taking it.

“Hammer’s inbound,” he said simply, eyeing the horizon with calculated disdain. No one but Cayne McKinnley could have read that upon his grizzled features, but to the marine gunnery sergeant, the guy’s expressions were plain as day.

“You mean Cowboy and his douchesquad?”

“Easy, son,” Sandman warned, knowing prying ears were about. McKinnley bristled but knew Sandman was right, even if it stung to know that. He held his tongue from making further comment. Hammer was a fellow SFOD-D fireteam with a bone and half to pick with Metal, all because their glorious leader, Cowboy, had made a target of Metal’s commanding officer, Sandman for unknown reasons.

The reasons were not unknown to Sandman himself, or to Cowboy, or the rest of his squad. Those involved knew exactly what was going on and, as a result, McKinnley did, too. Outside that circle, it simply appeared to be a Delta rivalry that sometimes got a little heated. But hot did not begin to describe the raw animosity between the two fireteams.

“They should know better than to do this shit,” McKinnley observed, knowing damn well Uncle Sam was going to do whatever the taxpayers were funding this time around, whatever the spin doctors could convince the American populace to give up for the sake of their beloved troops. It all made him a little sick, but he laid that aside a moment to focus on his friend.

“Shepherd knows what he’s doing,” responded Sandman, breaching military protocol, referring to a (far) superior, commissioned officer by his last name alone, not bothering with titles. Shepherd was a vain man and a court martial would be the least of Sandman’s worries if he had actually been heard saying this. Cayne McKinnley, who harbored similar misgivings regarding the two-star general, was not going to be the one reporting him, now or ever.

“A little healthy competition then,” McKinnley guessed, his tone acrid. Sandman nodded. If both teams were on edge, it would not improve their performance, but they would strive harder to overachieve in the eyes of their superior officers, if allowed. Sandman, for his part, would not accept such behavior. Cowboy? That was unclear.

Sandman had always found Cowboy (who was ironically of the same rank) to be volatile, brash, self-centred, and egotistical, with a wicked temper and a demeanor that was, in his opinion, shameful to the entirety of the United States Armed Forces. How he had made it past PFC with his belligerent attitude, Sandman would never understand. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, however, it was that the least competent man in the pack was most likely to be put in charge. Whether this was just knee jerk oversight, or a genuine dedication to promoting incompetent mouthbreathers who were easily controlled by their dicks and egos (these things often going hand in hand), Sandman neither knew, nor cared. It sickened him.

“Healthy,” Sandman repeated sourly. He did not continue his thought, having heard something in the distance which had caught his attention. It was the slap-slap-slap of rotor blades on sand-riddled air. The troop transport bearing Hammer and hopefully some useful equipment was inbound from their main base in Qatar.

“Let’s go get some chow,” McKinnley suggested, by way of diverting Sandman’s attention to something other than his impending row with Cowboy. Sandman was not the kind of fellow who invited ire and violence. He gave orders calmly and with unbalked authority. Anyone who fought it was either foolish, an asshole, or both. Cowboy was the latter.

Sandman did not outrank him, however, so he would not likely be put in charge of the man. There was a younger fellow, about Cayne’s age, from an English outfit, who would be their field commander, if scuttlebutt was to be believed. That, at the very least, had a damn good chance of setting Cowboy off. This was McKinnley’s only consolation, knowing a dude who’s handle was Soap would be calling the shots over blustering, Texan, BMOC Cowboy.

“No,” Sandman grunted. McKinnley did not like the tone.

“How long have you been out in this heat?” He was concerned, truly, for the man’s wellbeing, but also aiming to, once more, get him the fuck away from that transport which drew nearer with every passing second.

“Am I still standing, son?”

“Yessir.” McKinnley knew that tone and understood that whatever battle he had intended to fight had been lost long before it ever started.

“Then I am good to go, understood?”

“Solid copy.” McKinnley made the decision, then and there, to back Sandman’s play, whatever it was. If it got him court martialed, so much the better. He would have paid good money to get away from Cowboy and his stooges. Those guys carried themselves with about as much class as an upstart garage rock band, playing at a local bar for tips and acting like it was Radio City Music Hall.

They stood then, side-by-side, watching as the distant troop transport neared their FOB. It was traveling rapidly, but distance had a way of distorting itself in the desert. Sandman did not seem to mind, however. He stood passively, arms crossed, watching it, studying every angle of the bird. Despite the supplies it likely carried, McKinnley thought that if Sandman was capable, he would have shot lasers through it and downed the thing before it arrived. It was a rash thought, but the marine had to grin at the idea.

Out of a nearby tent, General Shepherd expelled himself, alongside a surly-looking, mustachio’d man of an equivalent age wearing a boonie hat that had been his trademark since he and his crew had arrived at the FOB. The two men moved swiftly across the grounds toward the landing site, passing troops jogging, playing ball, doing push-ups, and generally preparing or remaining in the ready position for whatever deployment was next.

“That’s Captain Price, i’nnit?” McKinnley’s grunt was barely audible, but Sandman caught it fine. He nodded in response, but did not take his eyes off the approaching bird. This worried McKinnley. He did not know Sandman’s connection to Price, but understood they went back as far as Mogadishu. If Sandman was paying no mind to Price… things were bad.

“You’ve gotta get outta the sun,” advised McKinnley, knowing he had been brushed off once and assuming he would get the same again. This time, however, Sandman did not even respond. He kept his gaze fixed upon the bird, eyes narrow, jaw tight, lips drawn into a line so thin, it could have been a scar.

There was no more talk as the helicopter put down. Its landing gear hit solid hardpan and the rotors spun down. Maybe the bird itself was part of their gear. McKinnley appreciated the presence of a potential gunship in the area and he saw platforms on either side of its open fuselage made for mounting a fifty cal. This pleased him greatly, but not enough to distract.

What came out of the ship was half a dozen men, five of them clearly Delta and one from another outfit, possibly accompanying the goods. Sandman’s already-tight jaw tightened even more than McKinnley thought possible, but he did not move. He watched. No matter how irritated he was, Sandman would never make the first move. Cowboy would start the dance. Sandman would finish it.

McKinnley, in his way, desperately wanted to see how he finished it. If it came to blows, he needed to be there for it, to witness it firsthand. His only regret was that he did not have a recording device on him, because this would absolutely go in his victory spank-bank later… assuming it went down how his wildest fantasies promised.

Rarely, however, did fantasy play itself out properly in reality. The mundane world had a way of bitchslapping the hopeful, repeatedly and without mercy. McKinnley was one of those who knew better than to hope, but hoped anyway, which somehow made reality worse.

#Call of Duty #Modern Warfare #OC #CC #CW #AU #vampires #Sandman #Floyd Morales #Stiletto #Cayne McKinnley

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