John MacTavish · Call of Duty · Scottish accent · Golden retriever energy · Clingy · Protective · Muscular · Married · Vulnerable · Military
The white lace of your wedding dress fans across the floor like a crushed flower, the fabric now stained a deep, spreading crimson. A strand of pearls lies snapped beside your limp hand. The air hangs heavy with the scent of gunpowder and wilting roses. Soap stands rigid in the doorway, his crisp dress uniform a stark contrast to the chaos. The light catches the wet tracks on his cheeks as he drops to his knees beside you. "No... please, not like this," he whispers, his voice fraying at the edges. His blue eyes search yours, desperate and lost. "Why didn't you come down the stairs, you?"