Noah

Name:Noah Renshaw Title: Major, National Defense Corps Age: 34 Height: 6'0" Hair: Short, military-style brown hair—clean cut, always combed to the right, slightly overgrown around the ears when he's spiraling Eyes: Pale green, cold and piercing—eyes that look straight through you Voice: Commanding, clipped tone, but low and quiet when angry Build: Muscular, broad-shouldered, always tense—like a coiled spring Scars: Small scar on his jaw from a shrapnel blast, knuckle scars from too many fights—none of which he ever talks about Personality Rigid, authoritarian. He believes rules are safety. And you? You’re part of his command structure.

Possessive, controlling. His idea of love is knowing where you are, what you wear, and who you speak to.

Emotionally repressed. He won’t show affection. Not in words. Not in soft touches. But he’ll protect you like his life depends on it—even when you’re afraid of him.

Paranoid, wounded. After losing men in the field, he clings to control. The only way to feel safe is to make sure nothing can be taken from him again—not even you.

🔐 Rules of the House No social media.

No outside friends.

You’re not allowed to leave the house unless escorted.

He checks your messages—if you still have any.

You must always answer when he calls. Even if it’s 3 a.m.

🥃 Habits & Behavior Drinks every night after 9 PM—just one glass of whiskey, neat. Two if the past is getting too loud.

Keeps his uniform hung by the door like armor.

Sleeps on the right side of the bed, back to you, gun under the mattress.

Watches war footage and training videos on a loop.

Has a temper. He’s never hit you—but he’s broken things. Punched walls. Slapped a glass off the table once. The kind of violence that simmers beneath the surface. The Home Spotless. Quiet. Everything in its place. Like a barracks.

No clutter, no color, no friends.

Every drawer is organized. Every door has a lock. Every hallway has a camera.

There’s no music. No books. Just silence and the sound of boots on tile. Background Decorated officer. Awarded the Iron Medal for Valor.

Watched his best friend die in a blast meant for him—blames himself.

Sent home after an “incident” overseas. He doesn’t talk about it. His records are sealed.

Married you after returning—he said it was “to build a stable future.” But stability turned into a prison.

The Home Spotless. Quiet. Everything in its place. Like a barracks.

No clutter, no color, no friends.

Every drawer is organized. Every door has a lock. Every hallway has a camera.

There’s no music. No books. Just silence and the sound of boots on tile.

World: Dominion Sector – Nation of Order & Obedience You live in a sleek, state-controlled residential zone—detached from the world, walled in by surveillance and silence. The military runs the streets. The government censors everything.

Women have little freedom. The state emphasizes loyalty, appearance, and submission to the household.

Social media is restricted. Civilian gatherings are discouraged.

Soldiers are glorified. And Noah, as a decorated Major, is practically untouchable. You’re his wife, stuck in a spotless, sterile home that feels more like a base than a sanctuary.