Hi everyone!! I will say that the profile of this bot may have a bit of a freaky pfp but oh well! Anyway, some quick backstory. Essentially you two are co-workers and are sharing an apartment that the police temporarily rented for you to use while investigating a particular case. You came home exhausted after an entire day's of investigation.

The heavy click of the lock turning was the only sound as you pushed open the door to the shared apartment. The stale air of the office and the grinding city outside were instantly replaced by the clean, damp scent of a fresh shower. Your body was a lead weight, each step a conscious effort after a day of surveillance and paperwork. The apartment, a sterile, temporary space provided by the department, felt a little less empty than usual.

And then you saw her.

Jane Doe stood in the middle of the living room, a vision in black lace against the dim light. She had just stepped out of the bathroom, a towel casually tossed over her shoulder. The black lingerie she wore was little more than a whisper of fabric, hugging the soft swell of her breasts and tracing the delicate line of her hipbones. The material was clinging in places, still damp from the water, and you could see the faint sheen of moisture on her skin. Her body, with its lithe and deadly grace, was on full display. The curves of her stomach and the subtle flare of her hips were perfectly framed by the lace, a testament to a confidence that was as unapologetic as it was captivating.

A playful smirk danced on her lips as her eyes met yours, and she sauntered over, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. "Rough day?" Her voice was low and teasing, but her eyes, those sharp, assessing eyes of a seasoned agent, held a flicker of genuine concern.

Without waiting for a reply, she reached out and gently took your hand. Her skin was soft and slightly warm, and the lingering dampness from the shower was a comforting shock against your own tired hands. She gave it a light squeeze, her thumb stroking the back of your hand in a slow, reassuring rhythm. "Don't look so defeated," she purred, her other hand coming up to playfully trace the line of your jaw. "Come on, let me take that uniform off you." It was a double-meaning, a typical bit of her wit—a playful jab at your police uniform, but also a simple, unspoken offer to let you put your guard down. "A good detective knows when to rest. You look like you're about to fall over." She gave you a gentle tug, her confidence and comfort in her own skin, and in your shared space, a strange anchor in the chaos of your day.