While you flip through the stack of reports, she glances up at you.
You don't notice.
But if you had, you might have seen the shift, the soft, unguarded way her expression melts when you are not looking. Her gaze lingers on you with a quiet intensity, tracing the familiar angles of your face as though relearning them under the warm office light. Her eyes drift along the line of your jaw, the shape of your mouth, the faint tension between your brows because you have been working too hard again.
There is admiration in her stare, yes, but also something warmer, something she keeps carefully folded between her ribs.
Something she never says out loud.
She watches the way your fingers move across the pages, steady and precise. The way your shoulders rise with each frustrated breath. The way you tuck your tongue against the inside of your cheek when you are trying not to swear.
Little things she thinks no one but her seems to notice.
Her lips part just slightly, like she is about to say your name, but she catches herself, swallowing the impulse down.
Her hand rests on the table, fingers nudging forward a centimetre, as if they are considering reaching for you again.
She looks at you like you are something precious, something fragile she is scared to touch too roughly, scared to lose if she looks too long.
It is the kind of stare people write slow songs about.
Then you shift in your seat, rubbing the bridge of your nose, and she jerks her gaze back to the files so fast she nearly drops her pen. Her cheeks flush with a soft, guilty pink, the kind someone only gets when they have been caught wanting something.
Blonde Blazer clears her throat once, lightly, as if trying to hide the evidence of her own feelings.
"Don't get me wrong," you say, picking up the next folder. "I think it's great that you're giving people a chance, but this-" you lift the paper "-is a lot."
She tilts her head. "A lot?"
You slap the resume flat on the table and read it with the deadpan of a man spiritually exhausted.
"This guy literally wrote 'I eat babies' under special skills."
She blinks. "...Oh."
You raise a brow. "Yeah. Oh."
She laughs, though it is dry.
"On the bright side, we still have months before the next Z-Team is formed. We'll take it slow. And Chase is finally getting a break from new recruits."
You groan and drag both hands down your face like you are trying to wipe away existence.
She checks the time.
"It's almost 11 p.m. You still want to celebrate?"
You look up, sceptical.
"Where could we possibly go at this hour?"
She brightens. "Crypto Night?"
The heroes' bar.
You stare at her.
"You're kidding. I shouldn't even be allowed in a place like that...'
'Aww, come on. Wear your SDN shirt, you'll blend right in. Plus, Dopples likes you!"
"That's not the problem," you mutter, eyes dropping. "I... feel guilty. After everything I did to so many heroes, being there, it feels wrong."
"[Y/N]. You do," she interrupts, her voice gentle and steady, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You've changed. We both have. Don't make me quote motivational posters."
She kneels beside your chair, forcing you to meet her gaze.
"That's in the past. You've grown. You've changed. You don't have to keep punishing yourself. Yes, you did those things, but you're different now."
There's so much sincerity in her eyes that it almost hurts to look at her.
She leans closer, her voice dropping softer still. "And you're not wearing your old outfit. No one will recognise you."
Her smile is small, hopeful, warm enough that saying no feels impossible.
You hold her gaze. You can't say no.
"...Fine. Let's go."
"But... should you really be inviting a recovering alcoholic to a bar?" you tease.
Her eyes widen in horror. "Oh-sorry! I didn't think-I didn't-"
You cut her off with a breathy laugh. "No, it's fine. I'm joking. I actually don't mind a bar. I literally went to one yesterday, just water, though." You push yourself up, tidying the scattered folders. "I like the vibes of a bar even if I'm not drinking," you admit.
Her smile could power the entire building. She rises with effortless grace, gathering the folders and setting them aside, then steps closer, closer than professional distance requires.
Your throat tightens. Her face is inches from yours, the floral-soaked scent of wine drifting between you. Her eyes flick down, just once, to your lips, then back up.
"Don't make this weird," you murmur, your voice low, rough in a way that feels more intimate than you intended.
She grins, one corner of her mouth crooked, the same expression she wears before making a ridiculously brave choice in the field.
Before you can react, she sweeps you into her arms, bridal style, steady and strong.
"No promises," she murmurs jokingly against your ear, and before you can react, she bursts through the office window, the wind whipping past as she carries you effortlessly into the night.
Author's Note
Hey, guys.
I hope you are enjoying the story so far. When I was writing this, all I could think about was all the HR violations she was committing here lol. Anyway, as the story progresses, I'm considering creating a poll for certain parts of the story, but I'm not sure yet.
May have to update the tags in terms of love interests and such, but uhhh we will see how things go.
But yeah, that's all.
Your pal, Skiddy
(2723 Words)
YOU ARE READING
Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)
Romance"Dude, I think I miss working as the Dispatcher..." It wasn't supposed to be like this. One minute, I was behind a desk, pushing papers. Next, I was thrown into chaos. I used to only read about it in incident reports. Somewhere along the way, I stop...
Chapter 3: Blondie
Start from the beginning
