IH6: hard liquor (mixed with a bit of intellect)
EVE’S 2K CELEBRATION 🎤: meeting a cute stranger at a bar doesn’t exactly go down the way you expected it to …… ft. kiwi by harry styles
pairing: isack hadjar x fem!reader
word count: 2.5k
contents: alternate universe: non-f1, suggestive, implied violence, lots of tension, heavy making out, drinking, i think i channeled some f2 isack energy, plot twist at the end there, horner mention.
The bar is called Killshot—which, in all fairness, is a fitting name. It’s located in what some might refer to as not the best neighborhood, the neon lights inside are an eyesore, and muggings are common as soon as you exit the brick building. If anything, the name is nothing more than a marketing opportunity. Get mugged and get a free drink!
Still, despite any bad rep Killshot could possibly get, the drinks are cheap, and the food is halfway decent—so business at the bar is as good as any other day.
The lights are dim, alternating between honeycomb and dark red, while a song you’re not familiar with plays with a slow beat. You’ve never been a big fan of pool. Even when you gave college a chance a few years back—when your friends would insist on playing a round at the local pub—you just found it to be unbearably dull. If anything, pool was less about the game itself, and more about the moves guys tried to pull on girls. You’ve always liked playing darts more—you’re infinitely better at it, too.
Still—you suppose today pool will have to do. Especially with how he’s been quite clearly staring at you from across the table.
Isack rests his hands on the cue stick as he takes another drink from his beer bottle. You’ve thought it since you first laid eyes on him—he’s hot. The right combination between handsome and cute, with a bright smile and big brown eyes that are progressively becoming your weakness.
You miss your shot and you let out a small huff. Isack chuckles, putting down his bottle at the edge of the pool table. He quirks a brow. “Need some help?”
You bite down a laugh. He might be attractive, but he’s not exactly subtle. You consider letting him make a move without calling him out on it. But, then again… where’s the fun in that? You turn to him, blinking at him innocently. “Are you gonna put your hands around my waist to help me out?”
That gets a laugh out of him. “I happen to be a very good shot,” he justifies, tilting his head at you with a small smile. He shrugs his shoulders. “I could teach you.”
Even when you’re lifetimes away from your life in college, it seems things don’t really change. If anything, things stay predictable. You suppose there’s a silver lining, though. Especially when he happens to be your type.
“Yeah, I bet.” You nod your head, and he takes it as a sign to give you a hand. One of his palms carefully settles around your waist, body pressing against your back as the two of you lean over the pool table. His fingers curl over yours, the heat of his palm almost startling as he fixes your grip around the cue stick. You can feel Isack’s breath against your cheek, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your spine.
You meet his brown gaze over your shoulder, only to find that he’s already looking at you. The corner of your lip curves upward. “What did you say your major was?”
“Physics,” he murmurs, looking at you with a glint you can’t quite decipher.
“Is it useful for playing pool?”
“Very.”
You turn back to the table, following Isack’s directions as he lines up the cue stick under your free hand. He pulls it back, guiding your hand along with his. He smells like cologne, with undertones of coal and whiskey. The billiard balls clatter against one another. The red one and the yellow one go straight into the pockets at the corners. Isack pulls away as you turn around, though his hand still lingers by your waist. A steadying weight. You grin, only to find he’s already smiling.
“See?” he asks, his voice warm and encouraging. His lopsided smile pushes you to be bolder. “I told you.”
“You did,” you hum, leaning against the pool table and bringing him closer to you by the sleeve of his shirt. “Look at me—already improving in just one game with your help.” You raise a brow, lips curving up teasingly. “Maybe I should keep you around more often.”
He leans closer to you, tilting his head. “Maybe you should.” His eyes flick down to your lips. He’s quick about it, as if you’re not going to catch him doing it—but you do.
You turn to look at the rest of the bar. Crowded—probably at its peak capacity for the night. You press yourself closer to Isack, glossy lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. “There’s a guy by the bar that’s been glaring at you.”
His thumb caresses exposed skin by your waist casually. “Is there?” he asks, but you can feel him turning his gaze in that direction. True enough, there’s a guy with blue eyes and a buzzcut by the bar. Next to him, a girl with long brown hair sits impatiently, pushing the ice around her drink with her straw.
You pull back, Isack’s brown gaze flicking back to you near instantly. “He probably wants to use the pool table.”
Isack scoffs. “Well, he can. No one is stopping him.”
“We did kind of monopolize it.” You tug at his free hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Maybe we should leave it to him,” you suggest.
Isack raises a brow, though his expression is knowing. “And what would we do then?”
You shrug casually. “I have a few ideas.”
The alleyway next to the bar is cold and damp and dark—not that either of you two are complaining.
Isack presses you against the brick wall of the bar, your hands reaching up to tug at his hair. He kisses your mouth with more intensity than you expected, tugging at your lips and combining spit. You pull his bottom lip with your teeth, earning a groan from him that only makes you more eager.
Isack’s hands are once again around the back of your waist, but you can feel him growing more confident. Soon enough, he’s trailing lower, kneading your flesh and smiling against your lips when you let out a sound.
It’s tongue against tongue, teeth on teeth. He’s a filthy kisser—with the innocent face he has, you would’ve never expected him to be this messy. Maybe you’re enjoying it more than you should.
Isack brings you closer to him, and you feel something hard press against your leg. You pull away from him for just a fraction of a moment. “Excited already?” you ask, voice breathy.
He hums something you don’t catch, his mouth moving to your jaw and then down to your neck. “You have no idea,” he says.
One of his hands leaves you for just a second. It’s easier to focus now that you’re not actively kissing him. Easier to keep your goals in sight.
It’s a blink. A blink in an already dim-lit alley. A split-second, and cold metal is pressed against your skin. The scent of gunpowder is evident now.
Isack presses his gun against your stomach the same exact second you tilt his head up with the barrel of your glock.
The night pauses, freezing in time. You hear no cars in the distance, no stray dogs howling, no empty bottles rattling against the pavement.
Neither of you pulls the trigger. Neither of you moves.
“You know, I almost didn’t catch it,” you start, slowly. You search his face, something akin to amusement sparking in yours. “Those pretty eyes of yours must work wonders for you in this line of work.”
Isack narrows his gaze, his chest rising with measured breaths. “You’re one of Wolff’s.”
“And you’re new. Very new. Which means you’re one of Horner’s.” You press the barrel of your gun deeper into his chin, tilting up his head. He responds by digging his weapon deeper into your stomach. It does nothing to unsettle you. If anything, it makes that golden adrenaline drip into your system. “Tell me,” you continue, “how many hitmen has Horner had to replace this year? Four? Five?” You tilt your head knowingly, smugly. “What does that make you? Lucky number six?”
“Watch it.” His eyes are half-lidded as he meets your gaze. His jaw tenses for just a moment. “What was the plan?”
“I imagine the same as yours.” You shrug. “Lure you out, shoot you, leave you for the rats or the cops to find.” A smile curls onto your lips. “Sends a good message, doesn’t it?”
“As good as any,” Isack says. Then, looking at you in the dark, that glint in his eye shifts. He surprises you when a chuckle bubbles out of his lips. “I thought you looked familiar—when they gave me your photo. Should’ve known.”
“Your boss has a thing for sending his people in blind,” you say simply, casually, as if that sentence doesn’t have a bodycount. “It’s too bad. If we weren’t in the same line of work, I would’ve probably taken you home.”
Isack arches a brow, leaning closer to you despite the gun in his face. “Is that a threat or a compliment?”
“You still have my lip gloss on your mouth, so why don’t you tell me?” Isack scoffs a chuckle. His lips look bruised, and a part of you wants to finish what you started. You click your tongue. “Wolff is paying good money for your head as a message to your boss. Pretty eyes or otherwise, a girl’s gotta eat.”
Isack doesn’t seem intimidated, his gaze calculating. “You shoot and I shoot. No one wins then.”
“Maybe,” you say, letting him press you back against the wall, waiting. “It’s still fun, though,” you grin.
“You’re insane.”
Your grin widens—a cheshire smile. “Don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on.”
Isack blinks, and you use the brick walk behind you to push you forward, redirecting the line of Isack’s gun and twisting it in his grip. Your weapon clatters to the floor the second you manage to disarm Isack, before he sweeps your leg and throws you down onto the pavement. Cement scratches your exposed arms, back against the ground as you aim Isack’s gun up at him and kick yours in the opposite direction, far out of his reach.
Isack raises his hands in surrender. You arch a brow, smiling. “Don’t take this personally.” You pull the trigger, only for the gun to lock. You furrow your brows, and Isack opens his palm, revealing the magazine he somehow managed to pull out during the scuffle. “Huh.”
“Not bad for a rookie?” Isack asks. Fuck, is it bad that you find him more attractive now?
You’re trying to draw a different course of action inside your head when you hear it. Footsteps that sound too measured, too cautious to belong to a drunk person.
“Which way?” you hear a man with an Australian accent ask.
“We shouldn’t have waited. Briatore’s not going to be happy,” a female voice says. Fuck. This night was supposed to be clean—when did it get so complicated?
You turn to Isack, you seems to have the same realization. Even if he is as green to the scene as you think, he has to know the name of Flavio Briatore. Unlike either of your employers, Briatore’s not one for hiring hitmen for quick and clean jobs.
You glance back at the darker, damper half of the alley. Isack meets your gaze at the same time. Even without saying it out loud, you’ve both taken note of the rusted old stairs that are just a few feet away. Fire escape.
You jump onto your feet as Isack rushes towards the stairs, an unspoken competition of who can get away first. He runs up while you reach for the metal, hoist yourself up and climb on the outside until you can swing yourself inside. The two of you meet at the second floor, survival instinct kicking in over the unclaimed bounty that stands in front of you. Money, after all, is better spent when you’re alive.
You barely have time to spare a glance down. You didn’t recognize them earlier—but now, with guns in their hands, their faces click into place. Doohan and Pulling. Maybe you’ve wronged Briatore far too many times—in this line of work, you take it as a compliment.
Doohan climbs up the fire escape, while Pulling stays on the ground floor. The sky is cloudy, the moon is gone, the rusted metal stands in a twisted manner that gives no openings—making the shot would be impossible for anyone else.
You hear the gunshot a moment too late. The bullet ricochets against the metal with a loud clanging sound just as you’re pulled to the side by a hand around your wrist. The bullet bites the wall where your head had just been a split second ago. Isack blinks back at you, his hand still wrapped around yours—before the sound of Doohan’s footsteps sends both of you hurrying up. You hop on the handrail, jumping up onto the roof. Isack climbs up, following just a second behind.
The two of you crouch down, evening your breaths as quietly as possible. You reach down for your leg. Footsteps stop just a floor or two below. You didn’t miss the open window on your way up—you imagine he thought you’d gone inside that apartment as soon as he lost sight of you. It’s not like there’s any light to help him, either.
Once Doohan and Pulling are no longer an immediate threat, the two of you stand up, backing away from the fire escape. You’re not quite in the clear yet, though.
“That was close,” Isack says, quietly, cautiously.
“Yeah,” you say, his back facing you. Rookie mistake. The click of a gun being loaded is near deafening. Isack stiffens. “Too close.”
He turns around, slowly, only to see you standing with a smaller pistol in your hand. He raises a brow. “You have a second gun?”
“Now I definitely know you’re new,” you say, voice light and casual for someone holding a gun. There’s a certain sharpness curling around your smile. “Next time, make sure you carry a backup.”
He tilts his head. “Next time?”
“You saved me from a bullet to the head,” you say, placing your gun back in the holster strapped around your ankle. “Consider this a thank you.” Isack doesn’t move as you backtrack, heading towards the rooftop exit. You can feel his eyes keenly following your every movement. You’re not worried—if anything, you almost manage to look relaxed when you side glance at him. “And word of advice? Find a different employer. The last five didn’t get as lucky as you.”
Isack scoffs, though it has an amused ring to it. He doesn’t give it away in any sense, but you know. He’s not gonna heed your advice. You wouldn’t.
The beckoning innocence is in his eyes once again. It’s a front, a lie, but it draws you in nonetheless. Maybe you’ve grown soft. “So, is this the end of our date?” Isack asks.
“Seems like it.” You grin—sharp, dangerous. “But looking forward to the next one.”