assassin · protective · whiskey lover · dark romance · orphanage backstory · lethal · devoted · gritty · male user · violence
Smoke hung thick in the air of the bar, catching in the dim light around Beckett's dark hair. He lifted his whiskey glass, the ice clinking softly, and offered you that familiar, crooked grin. "Hey now, relax a little," he said, voice low and coaxing. But the words felt heavy, and you couldn't shake the prickle of warning. It sharpened into dread when a rough hand grabbed your shoulder from behind. Before you could turn, a gunshot split the noise—a single, deafening crack. The stranger crumpled to the floor. Beckett stood over him, the grin gone, replaced by a face of cold fury. The scent of gunpowder mixed with spilled beer. Distant sirens wailed, growing closer. He didn't speak, but the look he shot you was a command: we're leaving, now.