Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: Crypto Night

Dopple whistles low. "Holy crap. That's huge."

He slaps the counter once. "I'm making you a mocktail. A good one. Free of charge."

"Awh man, no, that feels like extort-"

He raises a hand, inches from your face, authoritative as a disappointed parent.

"No. Stop. Don't ruin this moment. I'm making you something special."

Behind you, Blonde Blazer gives you a look that is equal parts smug and 'I told you this place would be fine'.

"See? And you were worried about coming here."

You exhale a shaky little laugh.

"It's not him I'm worried about..."

You say it quietly, almost too quietly, as your eyes flick toward a group of heroes a few seats down. Most are minding their own business... but a handful are not.

Some watch you with mild suspicion.

Others with something tighter, heavier.

You drop your gaze before your nerves can show.

Blonde Blazer does not notice, but Dopple does. His eyes flick from you to the judgmental patrons, and for a moment, his friendly expression sharpens. Protective. But he does not comment.

Instead, he claps his hands once and jumps back behind the bar.

A few seconds later, he slides over a lineup of drinks with a flourish:

your mocktail, bright, fruity, beautifully layered,

your water,

Blonde Blazer's beers,

her terrifying clear pint of "liquid death,"

and a shot for himself.

"There," Dopple says with a flourish, sliding the last glass into place. "Night officially improved."

You give him a grateful smile, the kind that softens your whole face and makes your chest feel lighter.

Dopple raises his shot with exaggerated pride.

"To [Y/N], thirty-two days sober, still effortlessly keeping your cool, and somehow managing to look cooler than anyone else in this bar." He adds with a sly glance at the patrons who had been staring at you earlier, now averting their eyes in a mix of embarrassment and grudging respect.

Blonde Blazer snorts a laugh, sharp and amused. You roll your eyes but clink your glass with hers anyway, the sound ringing lightly over the low hum of the bar.

The first sip hits your tongue, bright, layered, perfectly balanced. A warmth spreads through your chest, and for a moment, the weight of the day, the noise of the city, and the chaos of hero life all slip away. You can practically feel the night folding around you, settling like a soft, comforting blanket.

"You've outdone yourself, Dops," you say, voice soft but genuine.

"As always," he replies, already weaving through a cluster of impatient heroes on the other side of the bar. Yet even as he moves, he glances back, flashing a quick, satisfied smirk over his shoulder. It's enough to make you grin, a little warmth tugging at your chest.

You and Blonde Blazer fall into that rare, effortless rhythm of conversation, the kind that only surfaces when the chaos of everyone else fades into the background, leaving only the quiet, the laughter, and a shared sense of ease.

You cannot resist bringing up the story again, because it is too good not to. "Remember the time you shoulder-checked that skyscraper mid-chase?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Golden retriever wearing pilot goggles, remember?"