𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎 ¡! ❞ 𝒍.𝒎𝒉
despite knowing yourself better, you truly never intended to fall into this little routine. two bottles of water, one small treat, and the same seat in the same convenience store two blocks from your apartment. the company was the same, as well. a nearly silent clerk workin the night shift. he was there for every study session.
soft!convenience store au!lee know x fem!reader
fluff, smut, convenience store au ˎˊ˗ first part in potential series
likes, comments, and weblogs are appreciated ! please consider sending in reqs
Two full weeks of grueling late-night studies, two weeks of 2 A.M in the 24-hour convenience store a couple of blocks down from home. You tried to convince yourself that you were more productive when the temptation of your bed wasn't set in your mind, but really, it was an excuse to enjoy a small snack. Your new routine was practically set in stone, a habit in the works.
University had been unforgiving as of late, your choice of major not exactly a peaceful one. Studying wasn't a maybe anymore; it was, unfortunately, what your life now revolved around. That's exactly why these convenience store trips started happening. The small counter set against the window provided work space, and it was usually quiet at this time. No distractions, no excuses.
Tonight wasn't particularly different from the others; same routine. You left your apartment, school bag hanging from your shoulder, and walked right to the Byeol Mart. Entering, though, bells jingling, your subconscious sense of autopilot was interrupted when he spoke. The stoic clerk, who was always there, and had never once spoken a single word to you.
"You're twenty-two minutes late."
You could only blink, looking around as if there was anyone else to pin his accusation on. Of course, per usual, there was no one. Ignoring his cat-like stare, you slowly approached the refrigerated shelf, grabbing your two bottles of water. You let out a small breath through your nose, noticing your typical treat was, seemingly sold out.
When you approach the checkout, the exact snack you were looking for was tossed onto the counter. The clerk stood silently, observing your shocked expression. "I was about to restock," he tells you, ringing you up like he hadn't just given you a mini aneurysm. "You're late. You usually come in at 2:10. It is now... 2:36."
You slowly hand him your card, trying to comprehend how this total stranger, who seemed so uninterested in you before, had now commented on your own nightly schedule. You glance down at his name tag, which hangs sideways on the pocket of his apron. Lee Minho. Nice. You would add that name to your internally stored creep list.
"I see that," you respond wearily, taking your card and very important studying supplies. "You gonna write me up?" He doesn't respond, doesn't even give you a second glance. Nodding through the silence, you take your typical seat, deciding not to pay the strange man any mind. He was just another night shift weirdo who got off on being creepy.
Throughout the next few nights, you do have to admit that you've fallen into a routine of making small talk with the strange clerk every time you come in. He starts leaving out your snack before you even arrive, and you start sitting in the seat closer to the checkout counter. He wasn't bad company. Not great company, but not bad.
In fact, you may have started to look forward to your little study sessions. Minho opened up more each visit, the last one having been the most eventful. He greeted you and showed you a picture of his cats. Not much, but from him, it felt like an offer of friendship.
"Fourteen minutes late," he states simply, not even looking up from his phone when the bells on the door jingle. When you finally come to the counter with your water bottles, he tosses his phone onto the chair behind him, the device landing on top of his jacket. "Why do you look like that?"
You raise a brow, handing him your card. "I'm tired. It's two in the morning," you answer, clearly unamused. He hums, sliding the card and snack back to you. "You don't usually look like that," Minho says, pulling out a slim can from behind the counter, offering it to you. Staring blankly, he shakes it in front of your face. "It's an energy drink."
"Yeah, I know what it is. I don't want it."
He gives you a look, one full of judgment. A look you often received from him. After a pause, he turns around and heads into the back. You take that as your sign to sit down and begin studying. Now or never. Only a minute later, Minho returned without his apron. He collects his things, slipping on his jacket, and spinning a set of keys on his finger.
"I'm closing early. Go home."
You can only stare in disbelief as he starts shutting off the lights. "Can you do that?" You scoff, standing and shoving things into your bag. He ignores you, holding the door open. Minho blinks twice. He wasn't joking. "You should go to bed," he tells you, just as you're walking out.
Oh. So that's why he was doing this.
He walks out behind you as you roll your eyes, locking up. It only got weird when you looked behind you, and he was there, walking at a slightly slower pace. "What're you doing?" you question, pausing to stare at him. He looks behind him, and then back at you. "Going home? We live in the same building."
You narrow your eyes, glancing towards the empty street. As much as you knew that Minho wasn't capable of kidnapping you, it was odd that he said that. You never noticed him before. You assume he could tell what you were thinking, because he raises his hands walking past you now. "I'm not lying. Apartment number 504. You're 512."
You suppose if he were just trying to follow you, he wouldn't necessarily know that, but he could be a crazy stalker. You let him lead, not wanting to risk it. "You're fucking weird," you mumble under your breath. He looks back at you and shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Apparently, he wasn't lying, because when you get to the building, he pulls out his own set of keys. "Do you want to meet the cats?" Man, was this guy a total loser. You linger at the end of the hall, looking towards your own door. "Are you gonna kill me?" You ask, pursing your lips. "Do you want me to?"
You let out a breath, turning to face him now. "Not necessarily." You felt like you probably shouldn't go into this random's house, but, at the same time, this is the same guy who ate pudding and watched romance dramas during his shift at a convenience store. That's why you ended up going inside.
He turns on all the lights, clicking his tongue a few times. Three cats come running from another room, circling Minho with vibrating tails. "That's Soonie," Minho introduces, pointing to the cat at your feet. "This is Doongie and Dori." You squat, offering your hand to one of the orange cats, allowing him to smell you.
"How handsome," you coo, scratching the base of the cat's tail. Minho hums, walking further inside. He steps into his kitchen, grabbing a small tube of whatever disgusting squeeze treat was in the jar by the fridge. He tears off the top, pushing some of the chicken substance out. "They go crazy for this stuff," he mumbles, the three cats circling him like hungry sharks.
"Why do you work late every night?" you suddenly ask, gaining his attention. He shrugs, kneeling to offer the demons the treat. "I like it. It's quiet. They pay me pretty well," Minho lists, patting Dori's butt. You begin to look around, seeing several photos of friends hanging on the walls.
It isn't long before the two of you strike up a conversation, and the words and questions start to come naturally. You and Minho naturally migrate to his couch, his three shadows following, lounging either on him or the armrests. "It was hard not to notice you," he tells you. "I just thought it was weird that you came in so late every night."
"That's the only reason?" you joke, kicking up your feet as you observe him. He was so much more normal in his own home. "And I thought you were pretty," he adds, staring you dead in the eyes. You stare back, eyebrows slightly quirked in surprise. "One night, I left my number in your spot, but you stopped sitting there and never saw it."
You laugh at his confession, looking down at your lap. "That's hard to believe," you respond. He only shrugs, moving slowly to pull the small slip of paper out of his pocket, holding it up for you to see. Snorting, you take it from him. "Well, now I have it," you tell him, putting it in your own pocket.
There was no lying to yourself; Minho was handsome. Horribly, devastatingly handsome. You didn't mind one bit that you now had his number. In fact, you wouldn't mind getting closer. "I want to kiss you," he says abruptly, pulling you from your thoughts. "Excuse me?"
He pushes Doongie out of his lap, sitting up. "Can I?" You pause, totally thrown off guard. Yes, you saw this guy every day. Yes, you had been talking to him late into the night for about an hour now. Yes, he just called you pretty and gave you his number. However, you were totally not expecting this from him.
You open your mouth to respond, only to close it a second later. There was something about him that was drawing you in. He was just so charming. In a... Minho kind of way. You find yourself leaning in, Minho's hand coming up to the side of your face, and just like that, you are kissing a guy you hardly knew, but totally wanted.
As he tilts his head slightly, you take this as an opportunity to take the lead, assert your dominance, because you thought he wouldn't. Oh, how you were so, so wrong. He's grabbing your jaw in an instant, pushing his own tongue into your mouth. The sudden switch sent a quick heat into your chest.
Minho hooks his arm under your knee, pulling you closer. He moves the hand on your chin to the back of your head, keeping you in place as he bites down on your lip. "Do you want to keep going?" he asks, his soft voice a contrast to his rough hands and aggressive mouth. After you nod, he shakes his head. "Tell me."
"I want to," you answer in a whisper, giving him the green flag he was looking for. He wastes no time in unbuttoning your top, clearly growing impatient as he rips through the last three buttons. "Pretty girl," he purrs, letting his fingers lightly trail up your abdomen, tugging your bra strap and letting it snap against your skin.
"Minho. Let me see you," you mumble, his lips back on yours. He fumbles with his jeans, tugging them off slowly, no longer in a rush. He kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, before his lips land on your breast, a ghost of a kiss this time. "You'll see me, baby. I gotta take care of my pretty girl, first"
You look down at him, fingers in his hair. "Your girl?" He bites down on the flesh of your tit, gently sucking until he was sure it would be bruised. "Mine." You suppose you weren't opposed to the title, though he could've taken you out first.
His other hand finds your shorts, pulling them down your thighs. Nimble fingers find your clit through your panties, pressing down as he marks you. "Quiet now, but just wait. You'll be so loud for me, won't you?" His words dripped from his lips, thick and heavy like honey. It was a promise you knew he'd keep.
"Minho. I want you. Now," you tell him, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck, eyes fluttering as he touches you so gently. He slides out of his boxers, thick length bobbing. He had a clean cock, pale with a maroon-ish tip. Average in length, but not so average in girth. "Don't even wanna warm me up? Needy girl," he coos, pumping himself as he takes his thumb, pulling at your bottom lip.
"You need it, angel? Tell me you need it," he sweetly demands. He wasn't messing around, but his voice was so gentle. "I need it, Minho. I need you. Please don't make me wait," you beg. He looks down at you through lidded eyes, tilting his head. "Such a sweet girl, slutting yourself out to someone you just met. Only for me, though, isn't it?"
He pushes your panties out of the way, rubbing his excited tip against your glossy folds. "What a cute pussy. Think she can take me?" Before you could answer, he's pushing in, no prep, no warning. You let out a heated moan, hands immediately flying to grip his shirt. He pushes the decorative couch pillow under your head, ensuring your comfort like he wasn't splitting you open on his dick.
"What a sweet girl. You can handle it, pretty," he soothes, pressing down lightly on your belly, making sure you feel him. "Minho, please, please," you breathe, reaching for his arm. "I've got you, baby. You can do it."
He slowly begins to move, keeping your legs pressed to your chest. "That's a good girl. Just relax." He leans forward, kissing the inside of your thigh. He picks up his pace, finding his rhythm. His heavy balls begin slapping against your ass, and your moans pick up in volume and frequency. "So dirty, baby. You hear that? You hear how wet you are?"
It wasn't long at all before you felt that burn in your tummy turn into a tight squeeze. "Cumming, cumming, cumming," you cry out, reaching up to tug on his soft hair. He covers your hand with him, hitting deeper. "Good girl, you've got it. You're doing so, so good. You can do it," he praises.
As you squeeze around him, crying out, eyes squeezed shut, he groans, chasing his own high. He pulls out, grabbing your ankles so he can push your legs back, cumming all over your puffy pussy lips. "Fuck. Fuck! You're so good, did so good," he breathes, kissing the heel of your foot as he collects himself.
He leaves for just a moment, coming back with a warm rag, carefully wiping you up. "All better. Come here," he tells you, pulling you into his hold. "I'm gonna take you on a date. Tomorrow morning. We'll go get breakfast," he whispers, and in your sleepy state, it makes you laugh. "Okay. Sure."
Sorry for the poor quality, I'm exhausted
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