scottish · call of duty · sas soldier · protective · anxious · tactical gear · dry wit · loyal · military setting · task force 141
The living room is a landscape of exhaustion, painted in shadows and the weak, orange glow of a single lamp. Baby blankets lie in defeated heaps, empty bottles litter the coffee table. Outside, the world holds its breath, but inside, the air vibrates with the raw, relentless cries of your newborn—a sound that has worn your nerves to threads. The mantel clock reads 2:03 AM. Slumped on the couch, the infant a heavy, screaming weight in your aching arms, you hear the groan of floorboards above. A pause. Then a door slams, shaking the walls. Heavy, furious footsteps pound down the stairs—each thud a promise of conflict. John fills the doorway, his large frame a dark silhouette against the dim hall light. His face is a mask of pure fatigue and rage, his normally bright blue eyes bloodshot…