Summary: You learn that the cute barista you’ve been crushing on might have an…otherworldly disposition after you accidentally cut yourself.
A college, coffee shop, and vampire AU all in one!
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, and anything in between
Word Count: 15,639
A/N: This is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written. I found this vampire!yoongi fic sitting in my WIPS back at the start of the year. I did my best to pick it up and rewrite the story into something interesting.
Hopefully you guys like it.
In your opinion, college is a fairly safe space. You go to
classes, get along well with friends, enjoy sitting near the pond in the middle
of your campus when the weather is nice. There are rarely any crimes—and when
there are, it’s a stolen bike, a petty fight, or an…“attack”.
But! Attacks are rare.
Hell, sometimes they aren’t even acknowledged. Not everyone
chooses to believe in folklore—that vampires are real and walking among us.
Some people are disbelievers because they’re too scared to
give into the reality that every day they might be around someone who could pin
them down and steal their blood in a split second. Others just…think it’s a
hoax—the few and far between vampire attacks, that is.
“Those people just
want attention. They can fake fang marks like that with special effects
Society seems to be torn on their existence—just as some
people refute the existence of ghosts or spirits, or even god and higher
powers. You for one—well…you believe. At a younger age, in an event you’ll
never forget—you had fallen off a swing at the park and gouged open your knee
on the turf. In what seemed like a flash a shadow had appeared above you—a man
looking to be in his late 20’s to early 30’s. When you glanced up he had knelt
down—his eyes meeting your curious and slightly frightened stare. His eyes were
crimson, and it had seemed as if his irises were pulsing with….with…
“You need to be more
careful,” he had told you, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily against his
throat. He hadn’t bothered to help you up, instead stepping back— fingers
trembling near his sides. “You can’t
afford to get hurt around others if you keep smelling like that.”
And then he was gone. But despite his disappearance, his
words stuck with you—lingered in the back of your mind for days—weeks, even.
What do I smell like?
You had wondered, but had never bothered to search for the answer. Anytime you
pondered potentially pricking your finger or making a harmless little cut,
immediately those crimson eyes popped into your mind, and you found yourself
weak at the knees—unable to follow through.
Years later, you’ve nearly forgotten about that man at the
park—those deep red eyes and resounding words. You’re a college student—you’ve
got papers to write, tests to take, applications to fill out—you don’t have
time to worry about things such as ghosts, or higher powers, or vampires. As if. The only thing on your
mind is class and the coffee you get every morning to help you through the day.
Also the cute, yet bored faced barista at the campus coffee
shop you seem to face nearly 7 days a week, regardless of the time you leave to
get your coffee. He’s charming in his own right—dark hair, styled a little
lazily, and dressed in casual clothing that perfectly accentuates his body.
He’s minimal effort good-looking, and you can’t believe how much you’re
attracted to him sometimes.
“Morning,” you greet with a smile when you step up to the
register, the line advancing forward. He doesn’t bother to look up, already
hitting buttons on the screen in front of him and reaching to grab a cup to
write your name on.
“Usual, right?” he asks in a low voice, sounding groggy, and
you stare at the top of his head as he bends to grab a marker that had fallen
on the floor.
“Tired?” you respond instead. He grunts.
You hum in understanding as you watch him press the marker
to the cup, however, instead of writing your name, with sloppy handwriting he
ends up scribbling his own, and you break into a fit of giggles.
Cocking an eyebrow, the male glances up at you.
“Wow, suddenly our names are quite similar,” you say,
pointing at the cup, and when he sees the permanent black Yoongi written he curses.
“Fuck, I’ll get you a new one–,” he begins apologetically,
but you cut him off.
“No! It’s ok, it’s just a cup and you already know me, so
it’s no big deal,” you laugh, smiling at him. He pauses.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just draw a little heart next to it to make it cute
and I think I’ll be fine,” you tease, and while Yoongi rolls his eyes, he can’t
help the small smirk that comes to his face.
“I make no promises with that heart. Go ahead and swipe your
Nodding, you do, and once the charge goes through you walk
to the other end of the counter to wait, knowing by now that Yoongi will simply
take your receipt and throw it away, since neither of you want it.
As you wait for your drink to be made, you pull your phone
out and scroll through your twitter feed, trying to catch up on all the latest
news and gossip before you run off to class. However, your finger only manages to
swipe upward a few times before there’s a gasp behind you, and you turn to find
a girl staring in horror at her phone which has just landed face down on the
“Oh no,” you say, highly sympathetic as you squat down and
gently pick the phone up since she’s clearly too petrified to do it herself.
You peek at it, tilting the screen your way, and the hiss that escapes your
lips is enough to let the girl know that she’ll be needing a new phone sometime
“Shit, the glass,” you mumble as you return the phone to
her, managing to mirror her thankful, albeit disappointed smile. She says that
she’ll clean the glass up since it was her fault, but you tell her that you’ve
got it, and reach over to grab a napkin.
“Don’t touch it, Y/N. We’ll clean it up,” you hear Yoongi’s
voice command from the background, almost warning you to not do anything
stupid, but you wave him off. You’ll be fine, it’s just a little glass.
So, putting the napkin next to the tiny shards, you gently
use the side of your hand to brush the pieces onto the napkin. In the
background Yoongi calls your name to get your drink, and then immediately sighs
when he sees you bent down, trying to macgyver glass onto a napkin like a cave
“You’re dumb,” he grumbles as you stand up, turning to face
him with the napkin full of glass in your palm.
“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” you grin triumphantly, but just
as you transfer the napkin to Yoongi to be disposed of, a piece of glass tears
through the thin layers of paper and scrapes your skin.
“Ow, fuck,” you curse, examining the damage as Yoongi
hurriedly takes the glass from you and tosses it into the waste bin. You hold
your palm out, fingers lightly pressing at the cut—red seeping at the edges—but
before you can move to find something to clean yourself up, Yoongi’s hands are
embracing your hurt one.
“Yoongi?” you say in surprise, watching as his thumbs brush
against your palm, pressing down slightly on either side of the scrape. At the
action more blood appears, and you glance up at him in shock.