Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: Crypto Night

Just to make the moment last.

And when she finally descends outside Crypto Night, the dim, neon-lit bar tucked between two tall buildings, she lands with extraordinary care. Not like she is setting someone down.

Like she is letting go of something she does not want to lose.

She eases you onto your feet, hands lingering at your waist a little too long before she pulls back. You do not notice the hesitation. But she does. She feels it like a quiet ache.

For a second, she almost scoops you right back up.

But instead, she breathes out, steady but reluctant, lowers her hands, and forces a small, playful smirk to cover the softness she is trying hard to hide.

"Here we are," she says, voice lighter than her heart feels.

Crypto Night glows beside you, neon shimmering against the pavement.

And Blonde Blazer steals one last look at you, the lights reflecting in your eyes, the breeze lifting your hair, the faint smile still on your lips.

She wishes she could keep you in the sky a little longer.

Just a little.

"Come on, Blondie," you say, the nickname rolling off your tongue with a warmth that wasn't always there.

It is no longer just a tease; it is trust, affection, something earned and quietly precious.

Her smile shifts at that, small and genuine, touched in a way she hopes you do not notice.

She follows you inside.

Warm gold light washes over you first, followed by a cool blue glow that crawls like liquid neon across the chrome fixtures. A low bass trembles under layers of chatter, a heartbeat that pulses through the room. Muted holograms float lazily over the bar, each looping stylised silhouettes of heroes in mid-pose.

It smells like citrus peel, warm sugar, and the sharp bite of expensive liquor, a scent uniquely Crypto Night.

Blonde Blazer stays close, her hand brushing your back just once in a guiding gesture she pretends is accidental.

You pretend not to notice.

She leads you to the counter where Dopple stands with his back turned, hands moving at a speed that should honestly qualify as a superpower. He is assembling a drink with the precision of a surgeon and the swagger of a man who absolutely knows he's the best bartender in the city.

"Hold up, finishing this one," he mutters, wrist flicking, shaker spinning, ingredients flying like he is conducting a symphony.

You grin. "Hey, Dopple."

He freezes.

Mid-stir.

Mid-breath.

Then he turns.

His eyes go huge, then his grin hits full wattage, bright enough to blind you. He abandons the half-made drink entirely... which still somehow lands perfectly upright on a tray like he telekinetically guided it.

"[Y/N]?!"

He practically shouts it as he strides over, ruffling your hair with that familiar, chaotic affection that only Dopple can manage. "Look at you! Where've you been hiding? Feels like it's been forever!"

You puff your chest a little. "Been sober thirty-two days."

Then, softer but proud. "Came to celebrate. With, you know... not alcohol. Mostly, I wanted to see my favourite bartender."