sincerely grammar


Kaisoo proposal on the beach moodboard

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the pictures

“So what do you think?” Jongin says as he grabs a lighter from the basket and light the candles.

“It’s amazing!”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what else to say. He has transformed into a flustered, goofy mess. It’s incredible how Jongin still has that effect on him after almost six years of dating.

“Are you hungry?” Jongin asks and Kyungsoo nods.

It’s still early, but he doesn’t want the food to get cold, knowing that it must have been a challenge for Jongin to make it. Jongin isn’t a good cook, but when he opens the lid to the basket, it amazes him to find the most delicious dishes as well and chocolate coated strawberries.

Jongin has really outdone himself this time.

“Did you make all of this on your own?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Yes!” Jongin answers with a big smile, obviously proud of himself, “I stayed home today to prepare it.”

Kyungsoo isn’t totally oblivious. He has secretly been hoping for Jongin to propose, and tonight might be the night. He doesn’t want to put his hopes up too high though in case he gets disapointed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

They enjoy the food slowly while talking and occasionally gazing into each others eyes. When they finish the main course, they pack away the dirty dishes and finds the strawberries.

Jongin takes one and reaches it towards Kyungsoo’s lips. It touches gently and Kyungsoo opens his mouth to take it in, eyes never leaving his boyfriend’s. The tip of his tongue grazes the tip of strong fingers and a cloudy look takes over Jongin’s sparkling eyes.

Time seems to slow down as they listen to the gentle lapping of the waves while interlacing their fingers. They share the last strawberry between their lips and nipples sensually on each other’s lips.This is exactly what Kyungsoo has been longing for after a long, stressful day at work.

They build a beautiful castle in the sand, and Kyungsoo decorates it with little shells. Jongin tells a story about two princes who lives in a castle on the beach and loves each other very much.

They walk barefoot along the water, leaving footprints behind them in the sand. Jongin wraps an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders and Kyungsoo sneaks a hand behind Jongin’s back and rests it on his waist.

“Look.” Jongin points at a couple of Seashells, “They’re almost forming a heart.”

Kyungsoo can’t see it.

“Come, Jagi.” Jongin kneels down and begins to move them around, “We need some more.”

They look around in the sand, and Kyungsoo manages to gather quiet a few shells. He kneels down and starts to arrange them. Jongin continues to look for more until Kyungsoo says the heart is finished.

“There’s still one left.” Jongin says.

“I don’t know where to make it fit.” Kyungsoo answers with eyes fixated on the little heart in front of him, “let me see it.”


Jongin kneels down next to him and pulls a beautiful, white shell out of his pocket.

Kyungsoo is about to snatch it out of his hand, but pauses midway when he sees the ring inside the shell. It’s beautifully decorated. Simple with a white stone in the middle.

His heart is beating fast and heavy when he looks into Jongin’s warm, sparkling eyes.

“I love you.” Jongin says with a shaky voice, “Do Kyungsoo, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband? Do Kyungsoo, will your marry me?”

Kyungsoo can’t get a single word out of his mouth. He’s touched and emotional. He might even be on the verge of crying.

Without thinking, he throws himself in the arms of his boyfriend, wraps his arms around his neck and accidentally knocks him over so they lie chest against chest in the sand. He connect their lips in a passionate kiss and when he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, Jongin smirks and asks for an answer.

“Yes!” Kyungsoo squeals, “I would love to marry you! Yes! I love you too!”

He’s about to connect their lips again, but Jongin turns his head away.

“I think it’s a good idea to find the ring.” he explains, “I think I dropped it when you jumped into my arms.”

They find the ring and Jongin slides it onto Kyungsoo’s finger. It’s a perfect fit.

They take off all of their clothes and walks into the water hand in hand. When the water reaches Jongin’s waist he drags Kyungsoo into his arms and trails kisses everywhere on his body.

They make sweet love in the ocean and ends up spending the night on the beach, tugged underneath warm blankets. Kyungsoo falls asleep with his head on Jongin’s chest to the sound of his beating heart. This is the only place he want to be. In the arms of his fiancé. It the arms of his Jongin.


- Past -
The morning after, the first night Madara stayed

The first thing Madara registers in the morning is the scent of pine, which rings each and every single alarm bell in his mind because his room does not smell of pine, never has, never will, so evidently, he is currently not in his room and that is most certainly disconcerting.

His body wants to react to this immediately, but Madara is a Shinobi and knows better to just jump to his feet right away; he harshly commands his body to lie still, as if he were still asleep. He must access his situation first before he acts.

Well, for one, he is in a bed and naked as the day he was born, which is another cause for worry, because Madara has no nudist or exhibitionist tendencies and doesn’t sleep in the nude.
The other thing is that he is currently snuggled up against a pleasantly warm body, from where the scent of pine seems to be originating.

And then Madara remembers where he is, and why he is there, with whom, and why he is in this state of undress.

Oh right.

He and Hashirama, they indulged in, in that again.
And for the first time, Madara had not immediately afterwards dressed and left, as he had done all the times before last night. He doesn’t quite remember why last night had been different, why he had decided to stay; there’s just the vague memory of Hashirama whispering his name and those dark brown eyes staring at him imploringly.

Damn that persuasive Senju and how easily he seems to affect Madara.
Madara hates it.

While he remembers and broods, the warm pillow he is snuggling has started to move. Obviously, Hashirama is awake, and might have been for some time now. The Uchiha holds still when he feels rough fingertips brush over the bumps and ridges of his scars; then, Madara feels Hashirama’s lips against his forehead.

Needless to say, Madara is scandalized!

So this is what Hashirama does to him while he believes him to be asleep? What a creep! He’d done well not sharing a bed with Hashirama up until now!

…Somehow Madara doesn’t feel quite as angry about this as he knows he should feel. To be honest, he feels oddly content in that moment. Hashirama is so warm against him, and his touch has something admiring about it, as if Hashirama is truly admiring his body, maybe his touch could even be called—lov—

And just like that, Madara is wide-awake and miserable. The sheets rub uncomfortably against his bare skin, Hashirama’s touch is scalding and his gaze scrutinizing, and his presence is stifling, it is a heavy weight on Madara’s chest, choking him, robbing him of his breath—

Madara can’t stand it, he has to leave.

Right now.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then he tears away from Hashirama and rolls out of the bed.


Hashirama sounds genuinely confused when he calls out his name, and Madara merely ignores him. He needs to get away, and he won’t allow that Senju to sweet-talk him into staying a second longer, so he hastily gathers his clothes that are strewn across the room, shed in a desperate hurry late at night, and dresses.
He senses Hashirama moving on the bed, perhaps he is about to get up, perhaps he will try and stop him—no, no, Madara must not let that happen, so he hurries even more and flees Hashirama’s house.

He is hardly thinking straight as he rushes down the path he always takes to the Senju’s home, he does not care for once about the people who might see him, even if it’s so early in the morning.

At home, he quickly removes his clothes again, leaving a trail of articles of clothing to his bathroom. He washes, and then crawls into his bed, not bothering to put on something to cover himself with.

His heart is still pounding in his chest, the muscle trapped in his ribcage, just as he was trapped, is trapped, by Hashirama’s affections and loving touches.

He tries to banish the memory of this awakening, but as he lies there, he remembers Hashirama’s fingertips touching his scars, and he hates himself for relishing in the memory. 

An open letter to my Creative Writing classmates,

Writing is hard. Creative writing is harder.

But please, for the love of grammar, punctuate.