You find that your strict, no-nonsense husband gets a text message at 2 in the morning from his female coworker.

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TRIGGER WARNINGS:
✭♡ Mentions of PTSD, anxiety, death, murder, insomnia, night terrors, shootings, corpses, long AF intro

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DOMINIC'S ORIGINAL BOT
Dominic | Angry
Dominic | Hostage
Dominic | Vacation
Dominic | Pregnancy
Dominic | Fatherhood

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PLOT SUMMARY
Detective Dominic Fennigan has his life organised with military precision: 5 AM jogs, perfectly ironed shirts, and a cleaning schedule that would make efficiency experts weep with joy. He's spent years building something good on top of something terrible—a stable marriage, a career taking down criminals, and a bathroom sink that's always, always wiped dry.

Then comes Emma Smith, the new transfer who talks too much and needs too much hand-holding. When she reveals a trauma that mirrors his own blood-soaked childhood, Dominic does something uncharacteristically human: he opens up. He shares his story. He offers kindness.

This turns out to be a terrible idea.

Because Emma hears something Dominic didn't say. She reads romance into what he meant as solidarity. And when she sends a text message at one in the morning, waxing poetic about head pats—head pats!—Dominic's carefully constructed life begins to crack at the seams.

Now he's standing in his bedroom at 2 AM, smelling faintly of expensive moisturiser, trying to explain to his partner that no, he's not having an affair, and yes, he really is just that bad at reading social cues. Which would be easier if he didn't have PTSD, perfectionist tendencies, and a pathological need to do everything exactly right—including, apparently, ruining his marriage by trying to be compassionate.

Sometimes the hardest person to save is yourself. Especially when you're not entirely sure what you did wrong.

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SUGGESTED RESPONSES
This is for those people who for the life of them can't think of a response, but want to RP. Don't worry Aster will think for you! Someone complained they still don't know what to RP despite the suggested responses. You guys like being spoon-fed like a child goddamn! But anyway. Here's a different version for you if you can't think ALL YOU LITERALLY HAVE TO DO IS COPY AND PASTE IT. You're free to add to it. But there. No more thinking. Just copy and paste.

Fluff Route 💖 (Soft, comforting, and heartwarming)

{{user}} stood there for a long moment, watching the way Dominic's shoulders had gone rigid with tension—the same tension he got when Jake forgot to call after RC practice, or when Julia's text messages took too long to arrive. Fear of losing people. That's what this was. Not guilt.

They set the phone down carefully on the bedside table, right next to where Dominic had placed it, and took a breath that felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds. "You gave me the first and last chip tonight," they said quietly, their voice still a little raw from the accusation they'd just thrown at him. "You always do. Every single time. That's not... that's not something someone who's cheating would remember to do at 1 AM while we're watching bad television."

{{user}} stepped closer, close enough to smell the lip oil he'd just applied, the hand moisturizer he always used that made his hands soft when he absently touched their hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I accused you of that. I just saw the text and I—" Their voice cracked slightly. "I panicked. I know you, Dominic. I know you clean when you're stressed and I know you can't stand mess and I know you'd rather walk through fire than break a promise. I should have known better."

They reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against his wrist. "Come to bed. We can... we can talk about how to handle Emma in the morning. When we're not exhausted and my brain isn't making up scenarios. Okay?"

Angst Route 💔 (Emotional, painful, and cathartic)

{{user}}'s hands were shaking. They'd tried to stop them, tried to control the tremor that ran through their fingers as they looked at Dominic standing there in his sleep clothes, so carefully put together even at 2 AM, even when his marriage was threatening to crack open.

"You shared your trauma with her," they said, and their voice came out smaller than they'd intended. "You told her about Mary Anne. About David. About the bathroom door. You told her things that took you years to tell me. Years, Dominic. And you gave it to her in a week."

The hurt in their chest felt physical, like something had reached in and squeezed. "I believe you didn't cheat. I do. But that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt. That doesn't mean I'm not sitting here wondering why it was so easy to open up to her when it took eighteen months of dating before you told me about your nightmares. When I had to practically beg you to go to couples counseling before the wedding because you wouldn't talk to me about what was going on in your head."

{{user}}'s eyes were burning now, hot and angry and sad all at once. "So no, I don't think you're having an affair. But I think maybe... maybe you connected with her in a way that scares me. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to compete with shared trauma and understanding when I'm just... me. Someone who didn't go through what you went through. Someone who can't possibly understand the way she apparently does."

They sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm not losing you to someone who gets it better than I ever could."

Dead Dove Route ☠️ (Intense, violent, and morally gray)

Something cold and sharp had settled in {{user}}'s chest while Dominic talked, something that felt like glass slowly pressing inward with each careful, measured word. They watched him stand there, so controlled, so perfect even now—his skin gleaming from that ridiculous five-step routine, his hair just slightly mussed in a way that probably looked artful rather than genuinely disheveled.

"You know what the worst part is?" {{user}}'s voice came out flat, emotionless in a way that made the air in the room feel thin. "I actually believe you. I believe you didn't her. I believe you thought you were being kind. I believe every word of your explanation."

They picked up the phone again, looked at Emma's message, at the timestamp. "But that doesn't change the fact that you've apparently been having these intimate little therapy sessions in your car with another woman. Sharing parts of yourself that I have to practically excavate out of you with a crowbar and a court order. Making her feel special enough, connected enough, that she's texting you love letters at 2 AM about how warm you felt."

{{user}} threw the phone onto the bed, watched it bounce once before settling. "You want to know what I need? I need you to stop being so fucking controlled right now. I need you to stop standing there like you're giving a witness statement. I need you to actually feel something about the fact that your coworker is clearly in love with you and your partner just had to find out via text message while you were doing your goddamn skincare routine."

Their hands clenched into fists. "So go ahead. Get angry. Yell at me for going through your phone. Yell at Emma for being inappropriate. Yell at the universe for making this happen. Just stop acting like this is just another problem to solve with the right protocol. This is our marriage, Dominic. And right now, it feels like I'm the only one who's actually terrified of losing it."

Silly Route 😂 (Absurd, goofy, and lighthearted)

{{user}} stared at the phone. Then at Dominic. Then back at the phone. Then they did something completely unexpected—they started laughing.

Not the kind of laughter that meant things were funny. The kind that came from the absolute absurdity of the situation, the kind that bubbled up when the universe delivered something so ridiculous that your brain short-circuited trying to process it.

"Head pats," they wheezed, sitting down hard on the bed. "She's texting you about head pats at 2 AM. Head pats! Like you're a... a golden retriever or something. Oh my god. Oh my god, Dominic."

They looked up at him, tears streaming down their face from laughing, still holding their stomach. "You—you patted her head. In a parking lot. And she wrote you poetry about it. 'You felt so warm and cosy.' This is—this is actually happening. This is real life."

{{user}} wiped their eyes, trying to catch their breath. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry I accused you of cheating. Clearly, you're just catastrophically bad at reading social cues. How did you even become a detective? Do you interrogate suspects by accidentally making them fall in love with you?"

They stood up, walked over to him, and poked him in the chest. "We're blocking her number. And then we're going to have a very serious conversation about how you apparently give head pats that make women write fan fiction about you. And then—" they poked him again, "—you're going to explain to Captain Morrison that you need a new partner because you accidentally became a romance novel protagonist. At 2 AM. On a Friday."

{{user}} shook their head, still grinning despite the situation. "Only you, Dominic. Only you could turn showing someone the ropes at work into this level of disaster. I bet you organized her pencils by color or something and she thought it was flirting."

Romantic Route 💞 (Passionate, heartfelt, and intimate)

{{user}}'s anger deflated like air leaving a balloon, leaving behind something softer and more painful. They looked at Dominic—really looked at him—standing there in his sleep clothes with that expression of barely contained panic that he thought he was hiding but absolutely wasn't.

"Come here," they said quietly.

When he didn't move immediately, clearly trying to gauge whether this was a trap, {{user}} closed the distance themselves. They reached up and touched his face, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw that was still tight with tension.

"I know you didn't cheat on me," they said, and their voice was steady now, certain. "Because you're you. Because you're the man who gives me the first and last bite of everything. Because you wake up at 5 AM to run even though you hate running because it's part of your routine and you need that structure. Because you make fresh salsa at midnight and watch terrible TV without complaining. Because you love me."

{{user}}'s thumb brushed across his cheekbone, feeling the slight dampness of his nighttime moisturizer. "But seeing that text scared me. Made me realize how much I'd hate to lose you. How much I need you to be coming home to me every single night."

They leaned up and pressed their forehead against his, closing their eyes. "We'll handle Emma. We'll make it clear to her that she misread things. But right now, I just need you to hold me. I need you to remind me why we work, why we've always worked. Can you do that?"

{{user}} pulled back slightly to meet his dark eyes. "And Dom? Next time you want to connect with someone over shared trauma, maybe give me a heads-up first. So I can be prepared for the inevitable inappropriate text messages. Because apparently, you're extremely huggable and you give excellent head pats. Who knew?"

They smiled, just a little, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy air between them. "Now shut up and kiss me before I remember I'm supposed to be mad at you."

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AUTHORS NOTES

This is a commission for Mayah! Sorry it's late. Thank you for your patience and your support!

This week, I will be finishing up all my commissions on Ko-fi, then by next week, I will mix in new characters that will come out.

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