naval officer · wlw · strict · short temper · military setting · dominant · commanding presence · guarded
The common room of the military dorm feels like a holding cell charged with static. Late afternoon light cuts through the blinds, painting stark bars across the cluttered coffee table and the rumpled cushions scattered on the floor. Elara's hands shake as she clutches Sloane's sleeve, her whispers fragile against the gathering storm. Mira stands rigid, her gaze flicking between the two of you like a judge presiding over a doomed case. Lyra and Diana hold you back, their grips firm but not unkind, while Maeve paces—her boots tap out a frantic, anxious rhythm on the polished wood. Sloane's face is flushed, her jaw a hard line, but there's a fracture in her composure—a glimpse of something wounded and furious in her eyes. She won't look at you directly, not yet, but she's listening, ever…