it’s the momentary confusion that marks the sudden disorientation when you stand; nauseating. there’s  a bustling crowd, not uncommon for a place that houses arrivals and departures, and it overlaps with the countless other places you’ve been. tips of your fingers guiding a slender and smaller figure through the crowds - hyenas really - trying to grasp at whatever they can manage.

except there’s no one there.

it’s déjà vu and it’s not.

and in the long list of things that you’ve given up in exchange for fresh air and this thin booklet in your hands are ties - now severed. it is no one’s fault spare your own.

in between the hum of the engines and the glass of red wine, you allow yourself to forget again.



it comes in the middle of the night while you’re trapped in your bed, oscillating between worlds of sleep and consciousness. your mind is buzzing with scenes and sensations of the evening—the satisfying weight of the best new actor trophy, kim tae hee’s gentle handshake, the bitter champagne you had with cha seung won at the afterparty. like an unexpected but not unwelcome guest, the memory of yifan’s smile appears like a comet, zipping past the sky amidst the cluster of stars. eyes snapping open and heart raging against your chest, you become hyper-aware of everything—from the way your lashes are frantically brushing against the pillow to the disappearing echo of yifan’s free, unrestrained laughter. it is all in your head of course, but the night has an uncanny way of making everything seem real and uncomfortable that the only thing you remember despite such an eventful day is how you have allowed yifan to be forgotten.

Anonymous said:  A; crying over your perfect krisoo gifs. Seriously senpai..., how did you find those perfect moments. Kudos!!

GOSH i’m no senpai ( ゚д゚) but thank you, you’re sweet >.<

awesometastic krisoo moments are in this playlist here!

KRISOO IS PERFECT,it’s practically law!(。・ω・。)ノ♡

Anonymous said:  IM SCREAMING AND YELLING MY HEART HURTS TOO MUCH. you are the gem of krisoo fandom is2g. thank you for the gifs and everything. it still physically hurts to watch growl and other music videos but ; ~ ; --kuro

krisoo makes me cry, they’re still so perfect it hurts ;________; I can’t watch anything post-kris, it just tears my chest >___<

you’re so nice, thank you for your lovely words XxoO Never stop sailing, love (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc) are you writing any krisoo?

Anonymous said:  your krisoo fics are soooo perfect i'm re-reading like all of them to get motivation and getting the feels \o/

because i have such perfect readers to write for!!!!! (*´▽`*) thank you so much, darl  ( ˘ ³˘)❤

krisoo YouTube playlist 

to all you krisoo stans in need of lovin’ or a sweet stroll down memory lane, check out this krisoo compilation okay? it’s a gem of a collection ^^”


OMGOD let’s just pretend that’s yifan kissing kyungsoo’s shoulder /dies

and look how all it takes is just one glance for kyungsoo to have yifan by his side.

title convenience storepairing krisoo &amp;otherslength 3200+warning second-person POV
Many people know you as the boy at the convenience store but you know many of your customers by the odd things they buy like organic soya milk, trashy American magazines or novelty condoms. You recognize the regulars by the volume of their greetings and their propensity to strike conversations while searching their purses for exact change. It’s not a job you enjoy because of its lack of profound interaction but it’s exactly why you enjoy it because of the ability to involve yourself in the lives of people without the emotional baggage and contrived pretenses of trying to have them like you.
You took the weekday morning shifts and you wouldn’t mind taking the evening shifts too, not because you needed the money but you had little to do. Unfortunately, the evening shifts were never allocated to you and scrutinizing the month’s roster made you realize that they were perpetually blocked by another one of your colleagues. You shrugged it off, thinking someone else needed it more than you did since the night shift paid more anyway.
There was every reason to like the convenience store—it was a space of familiarity and routine, a space that you turned into a place thanks to your preference for ocean breeze air freshener, immaculate display of canned tuna and spotless glass walls. The store was tucked away at a corner of a busy intersection but you had a quick mind and a knack for remembering people, histories and details.
For two years, a surly floppy-haired teen used to frequent the store to reload his T-Money card and purchase the 1+1 offer of the week. Sometimes, he indulged in cigarettes, puffing by the steps of the train station before disappearing below. In the summer of your sophomore year, that lanky teen with the permanent scowl was staring at you on every teen magazine you shelved every morning.
The headlines told you that he was an idol singer who gained a reputation as a sharp-tongued, teenage rebel, growing up too fast too soon before screens and lenses. You blamed yourself for selling him those sticks all those years but never had the chance to apologize because Oh Sehun ceased his need to top-up his T-Money card anymore.
There was also that assistant baker from the French bakery who liked sneaking you bread and pastries right before the end of your Wednesday shift. The tag stitched over his apron said “Yissing” and he never spoke a word of Korean—only smiled brightly before dropping the paper bag on your counter and sprinting back to the kitchen through the adjacent exit. His smile was sweeter than his bakes and the way his eyes lit up whenever you waved at him on the other side of the glass on your way home made you believe that friendships do exist beyond tangible transactions. He never came back after four months and you suspected he was caught for working in Seoul without a proper visa. For a whole week, your chest felt heavy at the thought of never seeing his dimpled cheeks ever again.
People came, left and never came back and your workplace provided you with an education that shaped your life in the city and expectations for the future. Your customers were life lessons personified, and you learned to pick out qualities you wished to emulate and discard habits you witnessed as detrimental.
Decked out in his plaid school uniform with a chunky DSLR slung over his neck, a certain fanboy took it upon himself to visit your store and inspect the magazine racks and beverage chillers every last Thursday of the month. The first time it happened, he demanded to know why the latest issue of GQ was missing, going so far to accuse your store of executing an agenda and fraternizing with gangs of anti-fans. He seemed menacing, with beady eyes and a sheathed wushu staff slung across his back as you calmly tried to explain that GQ’s stocks were always delayed. When you opened the shipment the next day, you weren’t surprised to find that it was Oh Sehun gracing the cover—again.
The boy returned that very weekend with a satisfied smirk on his face as you rang up his purchase of four GQ magazines and a dozen cups of yoghurt with Oh Sehun’s leering face disfigured by wrinkly foil. It sent you shuddering at the irrationality of obsession but it made you wonder if love truly demanded a high degree of investment but such low levels of reciprocation.
When you slipped in for your shift one spring afternoon, you found him hunched over cold coffee and wailing to a friend on the phone. While refilling the straws by the drink dispenser, you overheard him crying about how Oh Sehun had flicked his cigarette at him and shouted to keep his distance. You swallowed, thinking how you were responsible for the ashes of unrequited love.
The one thing that made you happy though, even for a while, was the sincerity of a busker, a bright presence by the grimy steps of the underpass in front of Seoul Music Academy just adjacent to your store. He was a toothy college dropout who performed traditional trot music on his whiny electric guitar and had weekly cravings for cheese and curry ramyun. Once, you slid him a 1,000 won bill in appreciation of his musical efforts and he smilingly presented you with an extra guitar pick in return.
"Once those deaf buggers figure out raw talent, that pick is gonna be worth 20,000,000 won! You’ll be rich, my friend!" he had crowed.
When you told him you did not need the money, he winked and urged you to keep the pick anyway.
You hid the fact that the “deaf buggers” abhorred his music (“like a cat birthing kittens”) and planned on calling the cops on him. With squinting eyes tipping scales behind designer glasses, the music professionals shook their heads in exasperation, sidestepping the busker to enter your store.
"Trot needs to die already," one of them huffed.
"Do you wanna get exiled, Joonmyeon? Trot is your heritage," his foreign colleague laughed.
"The only thing I know about trot is the graceful gait of a horse, not that neighing ruckus out there."
The group of them burst into obnoxious laughter.
You rolled your eyes as you swiped the barcodes of Evian over the scanner, cheeks flaming red at their snobbish tendencies and self-entitled elitism. A few weeks of the busker’s caterwauling, you never saw his pearly smile again, whisked off the street with a hefty fine and the label of being a public nuisance.
You pocketed the pick not for what it’s potentially worth but for what it already represents: an unwavering pride for one’s art. Art is subjective, you scoff, and art gains status from its platform of presentation. Shakespeare wrote plays for the enjoyment of the lowest common denominator but is now regarded akin to scripture. Never mind that you never sustained a passion or had a dream of your own; you had a totem to remind you that nothing could take away from being the best version of yourself no matter where it was you were. And if that meant being punctual for work, not selling minors cigarettes or alcohol, or ensuring the register had enough change before the end of your shift… you were happy enough to be giving your all.
The grocery store was also a little theater for you to witness varying degrees of love and though you wouldn’t admit it, your favorite type of love had to be romance. No matter how ridiculous it was, you’d be lying if you said that you’d never fantasized about meeting someone special at someplace so mundane.
You had the unfortunate experience of watching a pair of best friends destroy your store over some sort of long-distance squabble—a yelling spree that had you ducking for cover near the toiletries rack when they started firing Mars bars and pelting M&amp;Ms at each other.
"You never called me when you went back to Beijing, asshole! We’re supposed to be best friends! You didn’t even apologize for disappearing!"
"Watch it, I’m your hyung!"
"You’re not even Korean so to hell with honorifics!"
"What’s it to you? Why do you care whether I stayed or go?"
"You don’t just leave after a fight, idiot!"
"What? You told me to fuck off! So I did!"
"I bet you didn’t know I flew to Beijing to look for you?"
"Cut the crap, Jongdae!"
"You blocked me on every SNS imaginable! You could have died and I wouldn’t know!"
"Are you stupid going looking for me?"
"What did you expect me to do? Nothing?"
"I swear, if this is how you’re gonna be every time I date someone new, I’d rather end up a monk!"
"Good! I’d rather you shave your head bald than bone some undeserving asshole!"
"Yeah, because everyone is an undeserving asshole except for you!”
"When will you realize that not everyone deserves you?!"
It was when the Korean with the amazing lungpower slipped on an empty wrapper that there was an immediate ceasefire, causing the Beijinger to pull him up by the elbow before they collapsed back to the floor together in a mixture of punches, expletives and laughter.
You wanted to gouge their eyes for their blindness and stupidity—a classic case of best friends, soulmates and life partners in denial of their love for each other. You could already see their lives mapped out before your eyes and you had the satisfaction of knowing it before they did when they stumbled into your store four days later to buy a box of rubber, barely acknowledging your presence in their haste. They came in the secrecy of the night but you happened to there to help Baekhyun with stock-taking.
Since then, you were adamant in wanting to work in the evenings more often due to the quiet it afforded but secretly, you wanted to uncover more of the night’s best kept secrets. Mr. Lee never relented, claiming the nights were already reserved. With mild disturbances brought about by the onslaught of pubs in the area, Mr. Lee claimed that the evening shifts were unsafe for young men like yourself but you found his paternal tendencies suffocating.
For some unexplainable reason, Mr. Lee finally made the decision to upgrade the safety of the store. After the installation of strengthened glass walls, new security cameras and a high-tech alarm system, Mr. Lee finally gave you the time of day (or night), allowing you your first, independent 10pm slot.
You surreptitiously watched through the security monitor as a young couple in hooded sweatshirts shuffled into your store, grabbing a basket and heading straight for the snacks aisle. You had a palm poised over the alarm button as you intently studied them as soon as they started making movements with their hands, probably deciding on which bag of chips to buy. A bark of laughter resonated and you turned away when their lips touched for a quick kiss, you blushed—even a quick grope of the butt.
The taller one made a show of pirouetting to the alcohol chiller, basket wildly swinging in the air before he landed with a near-soundless thud. The quiet one retaliated with a dance of his own—a steamy butt wiggle and a hip thrust that had the dancer crumbling to the floor in laughter.
"Okay, you win, hyung! We’ll have corn crackers instead of Cheetos. Fair?"
They spoke with words and hand signs but you found that the romantic thing of all was that the entirety of their love was there for testimony, not in their communication, but in the teasing of their eyes, lightness of their feet and cheek-tearing smiles gleaming white beneath the fluorescent lights.
There was a tussle as they shuffled to the counter, shoving the basket at each other.
"You pay," the dancer grinned.
The other immediately signed him something dirty.
"I love you, too, Min-hyung."
You fought a laugh as Min-hyung squirmed at the sensation of having his partner gnaw playfully on his shoulders over his sweatshirt while he counted his bills.
Min-hyung caught your eye, moving his fist over his chest in a circular motion.
"He’s saying sorry for our behavior," the dancer translated, chin resting on his Min-hyung’s shoulder and arms wound around his abdomen, swaying to and fro.
You were still crafting a response while bagging their items, between a “Don’t worry” and an “It’s okay, you’re in love” but they had already dashed out of your store, bottles clinking loud as their laughter.
Their dynamics were enviable—a spark of friendship, a smidgen of obsession but two hearts worth of sincerity, fun, understanding and love.
And you swore you had never felt so much hope in your life.
Your ears perked up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, narrowing your eyes upon realizing who it was. It was Wu Yifan, the dark-haired store clerk who liked snitching food during his shifts but won Mr. Lee over for being handy with the technical aspects of the store—fixing broken bulbs, repairing coolers and chillers, even the cash register. He should not be anyone special, someone whom you saw once or twice a week, if the roster was in your favor.
Wu Yifan was also the one who was perpetually scheduled for the night, the one who took the coveted evenings away from you.
Consequently, your paths hardly crossed and unlike Baekhyun and you, you had never manned the store with Yifan before.
You gave Yifan a polite wave, still puzzled by his presence.
"Just peeked in and saw you here," he shrugged.
Your eyes widened as he grabbed two cans of coffee from the fridge, downing both in a single gulp each.
"You must be wondering how I’m going to sleep tonight," Yifan drawled, barely noticing how appalled you were, "Well, I’m not. Because I’ll be doing the night shift, too."
Why? I’m scheduled for the night!!! You scribbled on a receipt before shoving it at him.
He scoffed, perching himself on the counter as he slipped the blue vest over himself, “You don’t know how unsafe it is having drunken men or women walk into your store, breaking bottles, fighting and causing a commotion. Or what about shoplifting, or worse, robbery? Ever had that before?”
You frowned, scribbling. I’m doing fine.
"You’re doing perfect," Yifan affirmed, swinging his long legs over the counter and settling himself by your side, "But it makes me feel better knowing you’re not alone on your first night here."
Did Mr. Lee put you up to this?
"I’m not getting paid, if that’s what you mean."
Then why?
"Let’s just say I care about the store as much as you do."
You sat in the quiet, reading tabloid magazines and you would have found yourself dozing off if not for the steady, unwavering figure penciling Sudoku squares next to you. He offered to walk you through the new security system and you nodded, bored, when he started explaining the mechanical operations. Thereafter, he sat by the store’s makeshift patio for a smoke, and you tried not to notice how his cigarette breaks ended every time someone who was suspiciously drunk stumbled into your store. It kept you antsy but you handled every customer with the same professionalism and care, trying hard not to be affected by the extra pair of eyes studying you like a security camera.
Afterall, Yifan had been around longer than you had. He was even there when you walked in and applied for the job after leaving the countryside for the city. Yifan was the one who begrudgingly sat in for your interview with Mr. Lee, the owner of the store who finally confirmed your contract after several tests, trials and interviews.
Thankfully, the night went by without a hitch and the only eventful thing that happened was discovering some packets of bread that were already growing mold before the expiration date. You tried not to feel like a hero as you binned the spoiled items—a menial task that seemed anything but menial because you took pride in your efforts in keeping the store clean.
Yifan left the convenience store half an hour before the end of the shift, grabbing a tuna kimbap on his way out.
When morning came with a chirpy Baekhyun bounding through the doors, you ignore his jokes of your panda eyes, checked the register for enough change and stuffed the vest into your bag before making your way out the store.
"Are you heading east or west?" a voice called after you. You spun around, finding the same figure at the bus stop, unsmiling and unblinking.
You signaled “west” with your hands.
"You live near Hongdae?"
You nodded.
"Wanna take the bus back?" Yifan asked, tossing you the tuna kimbap. You hardly felt like eating but you caught it and shuffled over anyway.
Your eyes felt heavy as you boarded the bus back to your apartment, jostling for space with the morning crowd. Yifan maneuvered and slinked his way to the back, plopping down the nearest available double-seater and dragging you down with him.
"Sleep," he instructed, grabbing onto your backpack with a hand and your shoulder in another. You wanted to tell him you hated being manhandled and reliant on people but you closed your eyes against his the softness of his plaid shirt, breathing in the fading scent of ocean breeze air freshener.
You think you were slightly delirious from your messed up body clock, because you started wondering if Yifan liked maple syrup with his pancakes or whether he was a milk-and-cereal sort of guy. You wondered if he had friends or if he liked the bacon popcorn at the movie theatre. You knew from Baekhyun that he recently graduated as an electrical engineer (you never made it past high school) and worked hard to pay off his student loan.
Did he spend the evening shifts like you did, flipping through gossip magazines or working on electrical circuits for his college assignments? Did he earn As or Cs? With an uncontained yawn, you wondered if this was how he felt night after night, high from unsleeping but too physically drained to function proper.
You wished you could whisper in his ear, just to confirm if he was the one who convinced Mr. Lee in getting the entire security system retrofitted, if it was his idea to install the one-touch button that activated the nearest police station (just because you won’t be able to scream for help) or if it was really him who blocked all the PM shifts until the night was ready for you.It was a stretch and you knew you shouldn’t entertain such thoughts, but you couldn’t help such lovely things from decorating your mind when you were breathing against his arm, head pillowed by his shoulder.
You were jolted awake when the bus trundled over a hump at the precise moment that you were struck by a sudden, painful realization.
With everything set in place, you suspected that Yifan was breaking beyond the four walls of the convenience store for bigger things and loftier pursuits that his new certificate was able to offer. The soft, careful turn of a bend had you clutching hard onto his arm—you wanted to see him again, maybe have cold beers and dry ramyeon by the patio and find some sort of connection that transcended words and conversations.
"Can I trust the night to you?" his voice sounded beneath the rumble of the engine.
It didn’t matter that your salary would enjoy an increment, but with the people you will be meeting along the way, the stories you wished you could tell and the boy you think you were falling for, you knew you were ready.

title convenience store
pairing krisoo &others
length 3200+
warning second-person POV

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possesiveyoongi said:  So, at first, Taoris and Kaisoo were my ships. But when LIFE began to unveil before my tiny Asian eyes, IT WAS KRISOO THAT PREVAILED! Fighting Wu Yifan! ; ~;

and our krisoo circle just got bigger!!!!!!!!!! /throws love&confetti all around




all krisoo needs is to come back…

1 month ago  -  via 

d.o. teasing kris about his “nether regions” and kris pushing his hand away  (ᗒᗜᗕ)՛̵̖ 

or maybe kyungsoo just has a thing for kris’ crotch



Love is not the only closet 

I was told never to come out of.  

There was also the closet of Grief.  

The closet of Panic.  

The closet of Terror.  

The closet of Rage.  

There was also the closet of Awe and Want and Bliss.  

Every honest grit that we feel, 

the world will ask for a stencil instead, 

for the chatter of cordial manufactured polite.  

I want to jackknife out of that net.


my sunday morning


my sunday morning



pattu saree as onam present from ammamma (grandma)


pattu saree as onam present from ammamma (grandma)