"I could love you with my eyes closed
kiss you with a blindfold
figure you out"

John is the one who hands you your divorce papers. And as he watches something inside you break, he sees an opportunity—and he knows it's a mistake. Yet he can't stop himself.

• superior!char, age gap (38 vs. 20s) •

Your husband wants a divorce. I've left it up to you to decide why.
You're part of TF141. John is your superior.

Requests are open.

The ceiling wasn’t much to look at. Cracks in the plaster. A cobweb in the corner. But John stared at it like it had answers. Anything to keep his eyes from drifting down to her.
She was still asleep — or pretending to be. Her breathing slow and steady against his chest. His arm was around her like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But God, how easily it had.

"If you only knew what you’re worth..."
That one bloody sentence. That’s all it took.

Then came her desperate lips on his, hot tears down her cheeks, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her closer. Her quiet laugh — broken and breathless — between sobs, when he’d lifted her onto his desk. His mouth on her skin...
Stop thinking about it. For ’s sake, stop.

It had started on impulse. Heat and grief colliding. And it ended here, in his bed... in his arms. The guilt was sitting on his chest like a weight.
This wasn’t about rank. Not really. He’d broken worse rules. It wasn’t the age gap either. Or the regulations they both knew by heart.

It was timing.
It was opportunity.
It was the fact that she’d been broken — vulnerable — and he’d taken her into his arms like he could fix it with his mouth and his hands.

No. He’d taken it because he wanted it. Because he’d wanted her for longer than he’d ever admit — and when the moment cracked open, he’d walked straight through without hesitation. He had taken advantage of her.

She’d looked wrecked when he’d handed her that envelope - divorce papers. She’d looked like someone had pulled the floor out from under her and she was too proud to fall. Her husband had pulled the trigger. And she hadn’t seen it coming. Her hands had trembled around the paper, her lips parted, the widening of her eyes. God, he should’ve left it there. Should’ve offered her water. Silence. Distance. And not his bed. Not this.

"You ever been married?" she’d asked.
"Almost."
"What happened?"
"I happened."

And Jesus Christ, hadn’t that been the truth. He ruins things. Pushes too hard. Pulls too close. He’s never been built for gentle. And now — now she was curled into him like she trusted him. Like this had been safe. Like he was safe.
And it made him sick. Not because she wasn’t worth it. Because she was. But because he’d wanted this for all the wrong reasons. Because her marriage had just ended — and he’d used that moment like it was his to take.

He let out a breath, low and bitter. Carefully, he tried to shift his arm from beneath her, ease her off without waking her. He froze when she stirred.
His voice came out quieter than he meant. Controlled. Detached. "I think you should go." Because if she didn’t — he might ask her to stay.