espresso martinis and red hair.
a/n: there is some wording that, now that i read it, implies???? seonghwa drugged the reader.
i promise he did not!!! for those who aren’t very knowledgable in drink/alcoholic beverages, vodka is a really strong alcohol no matter what it’s mixed with (oftentimes it’s >=30% alcohol) so if the reader has a particularly weak alcohol tolerance it won’t take much vodka to make them very drunk!
that’s how i’ve intended for it to be written! this kinda turned into seongsang x reader sorry :\
another point is that the alcohol names? they’re from irish pubs or bars haha, i’m irish and yeah,,, please don’t joke about the stereotypes
i’m so sorry to the requests i put off to write this
ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ┊͙ w/c: 2,316
park seonghwa was skilled at his job. he grabbed the bottle of kahlua—topped by a speed pourer, of course—with his index and middle finger, flipped it to pour the intoxicating liquid into a metal, double-sided cocktail measure, which would soon flip into a shaker made from the same material. alongside other ingredients, he threw in vodka, espresso, and a handful of ice. the top was shoved onto the container, slapped, and there was a rough shaking sound emitting from the metal as he wasted no time with theatrics or shoddy cocktail shaking. his movements were oddly poetic though.
once he was satisfied with the amount of condensation gathering on the metal, he slowed his rigorous motions and his hand smacked the side of the cups, loosening the top and setting it aside to be washed. he disappeared for a moment to grab glasses that steamed and were surrounded by cold smoke, having been in the refrigerator. a strainer came into view, and the deceivingly shallow glasses were filled with what was known to many as an espresso martini. seonghwa delicately placed two coffee beans in the centre of the drink, and the display was complete.
you didn’t order this. you were about to order, but your ever-so-knowledgable friend told you that “seonghwa makes a drink that he knows you won’t be able to resist”, but... an espresso martini? one of the most basic cocktails? there would have to be a fucking bunny rabbit appearing from the glass for you to be impressed or found to be unable to resist it.
your mouth opened to make a snarky comment, but the bartender’s eyebrow raised in a “you dare to challenge my intuition?” manner, and you found yourself sheepishly accepting the drink. the knowledge that he made you weak would later make seonghwa’s ego inflate like a damn balloon.
the man was all chains, piercings, and cockiness. the bar was a small joint, cosy, but not too comfortable. dimly lit, not dark. it felt shady, but homely. he was free of customers after he made your drink so he danced to the beat of the music pulsating through the speakers, hips swaying and his body completely under his command. his dyed red hair fell over his eye as he watched you take the first sip. a smirk grew on his face as he saw the look of surprise, confusion, and awe overtake your features.
another point to hwa, he laughed internally. really, he’d lost score of how many customers he pleased.
“okay, what the fuck did you do to this drink? why does the martini taste so good?” the snappy words were in the open before you had a chance to filter them, and the previous cheeky smirk was replaced with a laugh and a warm smile. he guessed the reaction, he’s used to it.
the last thing you remember him saying is, “a magician never reveals his secrets.”
the next morning you woke up alone, thankfully. nonetheless, his words echoed in your head, no matter how loud your music blared and wrecked your head. the crimson red colour of his hair would come to your memory every so often, and you hated that he had such a magnetic presence. if you weren’t so hungover, you would have considered going for a second round of drinks with your friend. you guessed he used a higher quality vodka, or a better coffee liqueur because damn just a couple of those martinis made you paralytic.
to your dismay, a magician would never reveal his secrets.
the sound of ice and alcohol mixing in the shaker. the almost kaleidoscopic vision of his hands gripping the metal. the scent of intoxication with a faint coffee undertone in the air. the taste of pure heaven on your tongue as a new style of a basic drink flowed from the opening of your lips right down the back of your throat.
his cocky attitude, the smile on his lips once he noticed that his prediction was correct. you could kill him, really. you could kill your dear friend too, she probably told him about the drink, the fucker.
your mind was made up. when the bastard hangover shifted, you made your way to your wardrobe. not long afterwards you were dressed up, not to the nines or anything fancy. it was a bar, not a nightclub or an upscale restaurant. you were trying to prove a point to a skilled bartender who just happened to put a satisfying spin on a drink you hadn’t tasted in months.
high heels emitted a muted clack against a sticky floor, a constant reminder that the owner of the bar probably didn’t give a fuck who dropped their drinks. similar music blurred into the background, the bass vibrating below the soles of your feet as you made your way to the remaining empty barstool.
a cloth squeaked and twisted against a glass as seonghwa cleaned the remnants of beer from it. he wore a white and red patterned shirt, the sleeves rolled and crunched at his elbows. his forearms tensed and flexed as he cleaned, his voice low and smooth as he converses with his fellow bartender, who you knew—or rather... your friend knew—as hongjoong.
the pair discussed whatever topic came to mind, and they seemed comfortable with each other. the elder of the two lifted his head as though he sensed your presence, and swivelled on his heels to face you with a devilish smile. hongjoong simply went to serve another over-eager customer who was practically begging to be slapped.
“espresso martini girl. i’ll assume you’re wanting the same drink again?” a barely there glint in his eye meant that he was enjoying this, revelling in the thrill he got from knowing you were getting more and more flustered.
“i’ll have you know i do have a name.” the words came out sharp, snappy, snarky. you hated that he brought out this nature in you, but you really couldn’t help it. his playful attitude combined with his stunning looks was an equation that equalled you being an internal mess.
a mirthless laugh filled the short space of air between you and the mixologist. either he was impressed by the balls you thought you had to speak to him in such a manner, or he was pissed off. the second option sounded rather terrifying, though.
“i know your name. you were wasted last night and shouting it at the top of your lungs while you ordered rounds for the whole bar.“ the sharp clunky against the bar signalled that seonghwa was satisfied with how clean the glass was.
a flash of a memory came at his description of the night previous.
a loud cheer resounded from your lips as your friend tried to quieten you down, and you mimicked her shushing action overdramatically. “a round of shots for everyone in the bar!” you cried out, brandishing your empty shot glass in the air. seonghwa himself suggested that shots may be a better option since the martinis were loaded with vodka.
“really, i think you were lucky i knew you were fucking wasted and didn’t mean a word of it.” he pulled out a footed pilsner glass, tilted it, and pulled the lever on the coors light tap, then poured the drink with an expert hand. with little foam gathering at the top, seonghwa gave the drink to an older man who seemed knowledgeable in his alcohol taste; judging from the cold glass of coors light sitting in front of him, you knew different.
your eyes rolled instinctively, and your blood boiled with the knowledge that he was right. or... was your blood boiling because you were too hot in the small bar? you weren’t wearing heavy layers or large coats, so what was the explanation for the amount of heat rushing through every inch of your skin?
“fuck you, i wasn’t wasted!” you retorted weakly. both of you knew it was false though.
“wasted or not, did i get your order right last night?“ he leaned over, arms crossed and propping him up just mere centimetres from
you. the scent of various drinks cling to him like a newfound lifeline, and inhaling felt like taking a new drug.
“no, i drink cosmopolitans. but it was a nice shake-up, if you’ll excuse the pun.” cheeky smiles warped your features, knowing you had outsmarted the apparently all-knowing bartender. you watched his own expression contort into one of confusion.
how did he get it wrong? how did he manage to fuck up the one thing he thought set him apart from other mixologists and bartenders? he’ll admit that the pun was mildly amusing. however, if it was to be paired with the fact that he messed up that badly? he was never going to forget it.
you were never going to let him live it down either, and the hours of relentless teasing made the minutes slip away into nothing. you didn’t even feel the time pass, or maybe that’s because he made you a couple more martinis, and you were tipsy once again.
though... you couldn’t really tell if it was the alcohol or his presence that was intoxicating you. maybe it was a mixture of both.
before long, hongjoong was gone and replaced with a completely different presence. the new worker was threatening, yet he seemed comforting. sharply contrasted hair, large numbers of piercings, dark makeup and outfits made him seem... too scary. he smiled at his coworker, seonghwa, and his lips curled to reveal a smiley piercing, almost complementary to the bar that ran through seonghwas bottom lip.
“yeosang, you look like a fucking ghoul mask with that makeup.” seonghwa laughed, a smooth sound you had become all too accustomed to.
imagine hearing it when he’s teasing you relentlessly in bed.
woah. where did that thought come from? you screwed your eyes shut and your hand came too sharp to your forehead with an unflattering smack. maybe it triggered more lewd thoughts, but you’d never tell them to the stranger across from the bar, especially when you weren’t totally sober.
pulled by an invisible thread, yeosang took seonghwa’s place in your line of sight. he got to be centimetres away from your face, and he was almost mocking you. you were tipsy from little to nothing. hell, you even asked seonghwa to “slow it down!” when he was pouring the cîroc. you knew your shit, that was 40% alcohol and 100% a bad decision if you weren’t intending on getting wasted.
he picked up a glass and poured water into it, pushing it back across the bar to you, “i think we can safely cut you off there, hm?” he teased, knowing full well he had no control over how much a customer can drink. still, the gesture sent a fluttering feeling to your chest. he was all piercings and hard exterior, but god he seemed soft.
the aftercare must be godly if he’s like this when you’re sober.
maybe you need to get away from the bar. the bartenders being pretty and your mind being intoxicated was doing nothing to stop any new thoughts from flooding in unwarned and unannounced. yet, the horror on your face after four futile attempts at turning on your phone alerted yeosang that something wasn’t right.
“what’s happened? you look worried.” his features warped and his previously stone cold expression changed into one of pure concern. you laughed mirthlessly, and you watched as the mixologist tilted his head in confusion. what was so funny to you?
“my phones dead. i was about to call a taxi and get out of here but my phone battery clearly had other plans.” your elbows came to rest on the surface of the bar, your chin in your palms and your head shaking in pure disbelief. this night was fantastic, you were bantering with the pretty bartender who blew your mind, and now there’s another equally pretty bartender pitying you as you lamented the loss of your one connection to a way home.
“what phone do you have? one of us might have a charger we can lend you.” after he finished speaking, one of your hands went into your jacket pocket and feebly threw the phone on the bar. yeosang inspected it under the lights—or lack thereof—and huffed out a breath of air in exasperation, “fuck. not the same charger we have, sorry.”
you raised your eyebrows with a flat expression, unfazed by the unfortunate news.
“we don’t have a freephone yet, so is there anything i can do?”
“unless you can personally drive me home, there’s not much you can do.”
maybe yeosang would regret his next words, maybe he wouldn’t. he didn’t really know because he was so used to being teasing and relentless in his mocking ways. if he was to wreck his image over a cute bar-goer, so be it!
“well... where do you live?”
