IH6: hard liquor (mixed with a bit of intellect)
EVEâS 2K CELEBRATION đ€: meeting a cute stranger at a bar doesnât exactly go down the way you expected it to âŠâŠ ft. kiwi by harry styles
pairing: isack hadjar x fem!reader
word count:Â 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 Killshotâwhich, in all fairness, is a fitting name. Itâs 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 decentâso business at the bar is as good as any other day.
The lights are dim, alternating between honeycomb and dark red, while a song youâre not familiar with plays with a slow beat. Youâve never been a big fan of pool. Even when you gave college a chance a few years backâwhen your friends would insist on playing a round at the local pubâyou 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. Youâve always liked playing darts moreâyouâre infinitely better at it, too.
Stillâyou suppose today pool will have to do. Especially with how heâs 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. Youâve thought it since you first laid eyes on himâheâs 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. âNeed some help?â
You bite down a laugh. He might be attractive, but heâs not exactly subtle. You consider letting him make a move without calling him out on it. But, then again⊠whereâs the fun in that? You turn to him, blinking at him innocently. âAre you gonna put your hands around my waist to help me out?â
That gets a laugh out of him. âI happen to be a very good shot,â he justifies, tilting his head at you with a small smile. He shrugs his shoulders. âI could teach you.â
Even when youâre lifetimes away from your life in college, it seems things donât really change. If anything, things stay predictable. You suppose thereâs a silver lining, though. Especially when he happens to be your type.
âYeah, I bet.â 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 Isackâs 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 heâs already looking at you. The corner of your lip curves upward. âWhat did you say your major was?â
âPhysics,â he murmurs, looking at you with a glint you canât quite decipher.
âIs it useful for playing pool?â
âVery.â
You turn back to the table, following Isackâs 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 heâs already smiling.
âSee?â he asks, his voice warm and encouraging. His lopsided smile pushes you to be bolder. âI told you.â
âYou did,â you hum, leaning against the pool table and bringing him closer to you by the sleeve of his shirt. âLook at meâalready improving in just one game with your help.â You raise a brow, lips curving up teasingly. âMaybe I should keep you around more often.â
He leans closer to you, tilting his head. âMaybe you should.â His eyes flick down to your lips. Heâs quick about it, as if youâre not going to catch him doing itâbut you do.
You turn to look at the rest of the bar. Crowdedâprobably at its peak capacity for the night. You press yourself closer to Isack, glossy lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. âThereâs a guy by the bar thatâs been glaring at you.â
His thumb caresses exposed skin by your waist casually. âIs there?â he asks, but you can feel him turning his gaze in that direction. True enough, thereâs 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, Isackâs brown gaze flicking back to you near instantly. âHe probably wants to use the pool table.â
Isack scoffs. âWell, he can. No one is stopping him.â
âWe did kind of monopolize it.â You tug at his free hand, interlacing your fingers with his. âMaybe we should leave it to him,â you suggest.
Isack raises a brow, though his expression is knowing. âAnd what would we do then?â
You shrug casually. âI have a few ideas.â
The alleyway next to the bar is cold and damp and darkânot 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.
Isackâs hands are once again around the back of your waist, but you can feel him growing more confident. Soon enough, heâs trailing lower, kneading your flesh and smiling against your lips when you let out a sound.
Itâs tongue against tongue, teeth on teeth. Heâs a filthy kisserâwith the innocent face he has, you wouldâve never expected him to be this messy. Maybe youâre 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. âExcited already?â you ask, voice breathy.
He hums something you donât catch, his mouth moving to your jaw and then down to your neck. âYou have no idea,â he says.
One of his hands leaves you for just a second. Itâs easier to focus now that youâre not actively kissing him. Easier to keep your goals in sight.
Itâs 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.
âYou know, I almost didnât catch it,â you start, slowly. You search his face, something akin to amusement sparking in yours. âThose pretty eyes of yours must work wonders for you in this line of work.â
Isack narrows his gaze, his chest rising with measured breaths. âYouâre one of Wolffâs.â
âAnd youâre new. Very new. Which means youâre one of Hornerâs.â 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. âTell me,â you continue, âhow many hitmen has Horner had to replace this year? Four? Five?â You tilt your head knowingly, smugly. âWhat does that make you? Lucky number six?â
âWatch it.â His eyes are half-lidded as he meets your gaze. His jaw tenses for just a moment. âWhat was the plan?â
âI imagine the same as yours.â You shrug. âLure you out, shoot you, leave you for the rats or the cops to find.â A smile curls onto your lips. âSends a good message, doesnât it?â
âAs good as any,â 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. âI thought you looked familiarâwhen they gave me your photo. Shouldâve known.â
âYour boss has a thing for sending his people in blind,â you say simply, casually, as if that sentence doesnât have a bodycount. âItâs too bad. If we werenât in the same line of work, I wouldâve probably taken you home.â
Isack arches a brow, leaning closer to you despite the gun in his face. âIs that a threat or a compliment?â
âYou still have my lip gloss on your mouth, so why donât you tell me?â Isack scoffs a chuckle. His lips look bruised, and a part of you wants to finish what you started. You click your tongue. âWolff is paying good money for your head as a message to your boss. Pretty eyes or otherwise, a girlâs gotta eat.â
Isack doesnât seem intimidated, his gaze calculating. âYou shoot and I shoot. No one wins then.â
âMaybe,â you say, letting him press you back against the wall, waiting. âItâs still fun, though,â you grin.
âYouâre insane.â
Your grin widensâa cheshire smile. âDonât act like it doesnât turn you on.â
Isack blinks, and you use the brick walk behind you to push you forward, redirecting the line of Isackâs 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 Isackâs 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. âDonât take this personally.â 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. âHuh.â
âNot bad for a rookie?â Isack asks. Fuck, is it bad that you find him more attractive now?
Youâre 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.
âWhich way?â you hear a man with an Australian accent ask.
âWe shouldnât have waited. Briatoreâs not going to be happy,â a female voice says. Fuck. This night was supposed to be cleanâwhen 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, Briatoreâs 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, youâve 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 youâre alive.
You barely have time to spare a glance down. You didnât recognize them earlierâbut now, with guns in their hands, their faces click into place. Doohan and Pulling. Maybe youâve wronged Briatore far too many timesâin 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 openingsâmaking 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 youâre 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 yoursâbefore the sound of Doohanâs 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 didnât miss the open window on your way upâyou imagine he thought youâd gone inside that apartment as soon as he lost sight of you. Itâs not like thereâs 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. Youâre not quite in the clear yet, though.
âThat was close,â Isack says, quietly, cautiously.
âYeah,â you say, his back facing you. Rookie mistake. The click of a gun being loaded is near deafening. Isack stiffens. âToo close.â
He turns around, slowly, only to see you standing with a smaller pistol in your hand. He raises a brow. âYou have a second gun?â
âNow I definitely know youâre new,â you say, voice light and casual for someone holding a gun. Thereâs a certain sharpness curling around your smile. âNext time, make sure you carry a backup.â
He tilts his head. âNext time?â
âYou saved me from a bullet to the head,â you say, placing your gun back in the holster strapped around your ankle. âConsider this a thank you.â Isack doesnât move as you backtrack, heading towards the rooftop exit. You can feel his eyes keenly following your every movement. Youâre not worriedâif anything, you almost manage to look relaxed when you side glance at him. âAnd word of advice? Find a different employer. The last five didnât get as lucky as you.â
Isack scoffs, though it has an amused ring to it. He doesnât give it away in any sense, but you know. Heâs not gonna heed your advice. You wouldnât.
The beckoning innocence is in his eyes once again. Itâs a front, a lie, but it draws you in nonetheless. Maybe youâve grown soft. âSo, is this the end of our date?â Isack asks.
âSeems like it.â You grinâsharp, dangerous. âBut looking forward to the next one.â












