#mandy dispatch x reader

She had argued. Told the few people with power over her that this was unnecessary, that she could still help, still be useful, still be the hero she had built herself to be. But they needed Blonde Blazer. Not Mandy. And Blonde Blazer's life source now rests against Chase's sternum—glowing as his body learns its shape again.

It was an easy decision to let Chase keep the amulet. He deserved to feel free again, to bask in the rush of his gift— to not feel burdened by its drawbacks. He'll keep it for now, as Mandy offered, while Royd searches for a permanent solution. She hopes—tirelessly, desperately—that even Shroud's fractured brilliance might yield answers in the data her superiors sequestered after the Red Ring's collapse.

A genius who fell to his darkest wanting. The exact image of what Mandy hopes she will never become.

In the strange limbo of half-employment, Mandy has been thinking. It's not the thinking she's used to—the tactical kind, the kind that solves problems and saves lives. This thinking meanders. It takes paths she hasn't walked in years, trails overgrown and seldom-traveled. She thinks of her family. Of college. Of her love life, if you could call it that—fickle and strange, a series of almosts that never quite arrived.

She thinks of small things. A hoodie she loved, gone somewhere between moves. The piano lessons she meant to take, back when time felt like something she had in abundance.

It's strange, what the mind remembers when you stop running from it.

Friday morning. She wakes and lies still, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember what she used to do with mornings before the city's emergencies became her alarm clock. In the bathroom mirror, her hand goes to her chest. There is nothing there. No chain, no amulet. Only the ghost of weight—the phantom ache of something carried so long the body shaped itself around it.

She goes to the gym. Routine is routine, even when everything else shifts. On the treadmill beside her, a blonde woman runs an eight-minute mile, ponytail swinging like a metronome. Mandy matches her pace. Does well. She is in the best shape of her life.

And still, she feels the difference like a missing tooth. The way your tongue won't stop seeking the gap.

Blonde Blazer runs faster than this. Blonde Blazer wouldn't be breathing this hard.

At home, after the shower, she stands before the mirror and takes inventory. Her brown hair, damp and darkening at the ends. Her five-foot-eleven frame. The bone structure inherited from her mother—who still calls her Amanda, who still believes her daughter works at a local animal shelter, because Mandy once joked she has a habit of picking up strays.

Mandy doesn't struggle with how she looks. That war was fought and won years ago, each battle hard-earned. She likes herself. She is smart enough. Kind enough. Always trying.

But Blonde Blazer is six feet. Blonde. Blonde Blazer moves through the world like water—fluid, inevitable, designed. Because Mandy designed her that way. The amulet didn't just give Mandy powers. It gave her a body that matched the hero she wanted to be. A face people look at and think: Yes. This is what a hero looks like.

She used to wonder, in the early days, if the amulet saw something she couldn't. If it looked at her and thought: Close. But not quite. She tries not to think about that. Because the amulet changed Chase too. And Chase was a good hero, a true hero, before he ever touched it.

Eight-thirty PM. She sits on her couch with her phone, scrolling. A particular species of loneliness has been growing all day, watered by the absence of urgency. She should enjoy this, she knows. People pay for this kind of time. Beg for it.

She doesn't enjoy it.

She floats, untethered, waiting for some current to drag her back to sense.

On her phone, she scrolls through the ghost-life of Amanda. Social media faces that were once friends, before her world narrowed to a single bright point. She thinks about how she let them drift. Not purposely—never that. Just the slow erosion of never having time, never being available, always having somewhere more important to be. And then being too tired to be anywhere at all.

But there's one person. One name that's always been easy.

She smiles—small, comfortable—and FaceTimes you.

You invite her over within a minute of the call.

The smoke moves like something alive, coiling through air that tastes of earth and sweetness. Mandy lies on your carpet, a small pillow cradled beneath her head, watching the patterns swim across your ceiling. They remind her of clouds. Of the way the city looks from above when everything blurs into abstraction and beauty.

Her thoughts move slower now. They dance in her skull to the music's pulse—bass vibrating through the floor, through her bones, through the architecture of her body. Her eyes are half-lidded. Her face aches from smiling.

"I feel…" she starts, and her mouth shapes the words a beat behind their arrival. Time is a strange country tonight. "Really good."

Somewhere to her left: your laughter, breathy and musical. "Dude, I'm so high."

Mandy rarely smokes. She prefers drinking—has tried to keep even that at a minimum. Blonde Blazer has a high tolerance when needed, though Mandy's own tolerance is more modest. Even Mandy slips through the suit's cracks sometimes when she's had a few glasses. A woman longing for connection. For someone who knows her.

She first smoked freshman year. You and her, assigned to the same dorm room by some algorithm that accidentally got it right. Fate, she likes to think, because it's nice to imagine a universe that looked out for her when she needed it most.

Eighteen and shining with hope. You were the first to call her Mandy—the name she liked better than the one she'd thought she'd grow into. Now she knows she might never grow into Amanda. Mandy is hers. Special. Even if Mandy isn't Blonde Blazer.

She inhales. Her nose twitches at the earthy smell threading the air, but her heart flutters at the memories that ride alongside it. She closes her eyes. Chases the image: that first night. Her burning throat, her watery eyes. You, apologetic, taking the joint from her fingers with a tenderness that made something in her chest go soft.

She'd lain in grass then, beneath the stadium, stars wheeling overhead. She wasn't a rule-follower exactly, but she wasn't as brave as you were. Still, she'd trusted you. Wanted to experience it with you, the way she wanted to experience so many things.

You're still just as brave. One of the qualities she most admires. Even Blonde Blazer learned courage from you.

Mandy turns her head against the carpet's softness. The world tilts pleasantly. She feels millimeters off-center—floating slightly outside her body, present and distant at once. A coating of film between her and the world.

She looks at you.

You lie beside her, eyes closed, smiling as the music washes over you. She drinks in the sight. She's noticed these things before—of course she has—but they stand out now with terrible clarity. The curve of your jaw. The way your breathing lifts and lowers your chest. The particular sight of your peace.

Years and years. She doesn't take this for granted. Knows how rare it is—a relationship that survives the narrowing of a life. You knew her before Blonde Blazer. You know her still.

This version of her exists only here. Only with you. When her guard comes down and disappointment isn't waiting on the other side.

"Hey," Mandy says. She rolls onto her side, propping her cheek against the top of her hand.

You barely startle. For a moment she thinks you might be falling asleep, but she knows better.

"Hmm?"

An invitation. You're in a mood to talk. She's happy about this. Extremely so.

"Can I tell you something?"

You blink, slow and bleary, before turning your head. A smile breaks across your face, and the sight makes something in Mandy's chest go bright and restless.

"Tell me."

She's floating. She misses flying. The air, the freedom—a bird no longer caged. She can only imagine how flying would feel right now, every sensation heightened. The air like ice against her skin, the world spreading below her in patterns of light.

Flying while intoxicated is a precarious thing—a real problem among some of her employees. The law around it is murky at best. She's flown with drinks in her system before. That night she found Robert, for instance.

His face surfaces in her mind, and her smile fades at the edges.

Another strange thing. Another item for her growing list. Her face burns with the memory—how loose her tongue had been, how comfortable she'd felt. Robert was sweet. Genuine. She'd admired that. A hero with something to prove, down on his luck, scrappy. Attractive.

She'd felt interest those first few moments. A spark.

It faded quickly. Like new car excitement, which felt shitty to think because Robert wasn't a car. But the pattern was always the same. Even with Phenomaman—the PR relationship that lasted too long, built on their superhero identities and nothing underneath. She'd been excited to be with another superhero because that's what she was. A superhero.

With Robert, the interest had been real. A kindred spirit. Someone who understood the effort it takes to be good, to want to be better, to help. She hates to admit that the idea of him had been more appealing than the reality. She'd liked when he looked at her with awe. But it was Blonde Blazer he saw first. And though she suspected Robert might see her more than Phenomaman ever did, something still rang hollow.

Something is wrong with her. She longs to be seen—but Mandy feels stifled behind Blonde Blazer. And she's never felt like she had other options.

You're still watching her, waiting while her mind drifts.

She settles deeper into her hand. "I kind of miss being a superhero."

"Mandy, you are a superhero."

"Blonde Blazer is a superhero," she says softly. "I'm—I'm just me right now. While Chase has the amulet."

"You are Blonde Blazer."

"You know what I mean."

"The amulet doesn't make you a superhero."

"No, it does," Mandy insists, smiling a little. "That's… kinda the whole point of it. Magical and all."

"It makes you fly."

"And two inches taller," she adds.

"Because every superhero has to be above five-eleven?"

Mandy laughs—soft, breathy. Her free hand moves to the carpet, drawing lazy patterns in the fibers. The texture is fascinating. Grounding.

You shift, turning more toward her. "Those are just extra add-ons, Mandy. A suit." You reach out, poking her hand gently.

The sensation ripples through her body. Electric. Calming something restless she hadn't known was there.

"What makes you a superhero is you." Your voice is firm despite the haze. "Blonde Blazer is a nobody without the person underneath."

Mandy's chest tightens. Something warm and vulnerable stirs. "Okay, well, I wouldn't say a nobody."

You laugh, and she laughs too.

"That felt weird," she says suddenly, looking at where your finger touched her. "Staticky. Like… nice staticky, though."

"Yeah?" You do it again, tracing a small circle on the back of her hand.

Her breath catches. The sensation travels up her arm, raising the fine hairs. "Yeah."

You keep going—gentle, repetitive touches that feel larger than they are. Mandy watches your finger move across her skin. Something shifts in the air between you. Something that's always been there, maybe, but now she doesn't want to ignore it.

She looks up. You're already watching her.

The music still plays but she doesn't hear it anymore. Only her breathing—shallow, quick. Only the way you're looking at her.

"Sometimes," Mandy says quietly, barely above a whisper, "I think the only person who understands me is you."

Your finger stills.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Sometimes I think that, too."

Mandy can feel her heartbeat in her throat, in her wrists, in the places where her body touches the carpet. The high makes everything sharper and slower at once—every detail heightened, every second stretched thin.

She realizes she's been holding her breath.

This is the best she's ever felt. Better than flying, better than the first time she put on the amulet, better than every moment she's spent being Blonde Blazer. In the haze of her contentment, her mind settles on one thought:

She wants you.

Not the way she wanted the others—that hollow wanting, that reaching for an idea of connection or the thrill of recognition. This want lives somewhere deeper. In her ribs. In the way her body has been turning toward you for years without her mind naming it.

The music pulses through the floor but all she can hear is the blood in her ears, the small sound you make when you shift closer.

She believes you.

Blonde Blazer is nothing without Mandy. And Mandy—

Mandy is nothing without you.

She shifts closer. Her heart pounds so hard she's certain you can hear it. Your pupils have blown wide and dark. She can feel the heat of you. Can smell your skin—familiar, disorienting. Her eyes drop to your lips, then back up. She feels dizzy.

She feels brave.

Mandy's hand lifts from where it rests on the carpet and her fingers find the curve of your jaw. Your skin is warm. Impossibly soft. You lean into her touch and she feels it everywhere. A small surrender.

Time does something strange. Bends. The high makes every sensation arrive twice—once in her body, once in her mind catching up. She's eighteen again and laying in the grass— Mandy, dreaming of being brave enough to be a Superhero.

She moves closer. Inch by inch. Watching your face, watching for permission, for wanting, for proof that this isn't just the drugs making her brave. But you're moving too—meeting her halfway, your hand sliding from hers to her wrist, her forearm, the sensitive inside of her elbow.

She leans in and your mouth welcomes her softly, the first brush so light she almost thinks she imagined it. A question more than a kiss. Her eyes flutter closed and then open again because she needs to see you.

You're smiling, those lips curved the same way they used to in college. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek.

The second kiss is firmer. Mandy makes a sound she didn't know she could make—small and wanting and raw. Her fingers thread into your hair and you press closer, closer, until there's no space left between you at all.

She's floating again. She doesn't miss flying. The ground is exactly where she wants to be.

Your tongue traces her bottom lip and her whole body lights up like a struck match. She opens for you, tastes the smoke and sweetness still lingering there, feels the way you breathe her name into her mouth. Her other hand finds your hip, grips fabric, pulls you against her until she can feel your heartbeat against her ribs, the peak of her nipples now hard and sensitive against the fabric of her shirt.

The kiss deepens, turning liquid and slow. You have all the time in the world. The moment stretches, and streches, folds in on itself and back out again. Your hands in her hair, her hands on your skin, the music pulsing through the floor as she hooks a leg over your hip.

The dryness of her mouth catches up to her, the high rearing it's unfortunate head. She doesn't mind it, though. When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against hers.

Mandy's chest heaves. Her lips feel swollen, sensitive. Every nerve ending in her body is singing.

"Hi," you whisper, and you're smiling—that beautiful, devastating smile.

"Hi," she whispers back.

She can feel your breath on her mouth. The weight of your hand still cupping her face. Her own hands have found their way under the hem of your shirt, fingers splayed against the warm skin of your lower back.

Mandy has spent years building herself into a hero. Years shaping herself into someone worthy of saving others, of holding that title. But lying here on your carpet, high and shaking and so full of want she could burst—

Mandy doesn't really care about Blonde Blazer at all.

blonde blazer x employee!reader where you either work in close proximity to mandy as her secretary or just generally an employee she chats with. she would start to see you as more than an employee, but as a friend :( (or perhaps more than a friend... but you dont know that part obvi :P)

mandy is at her core a profesh tho so she won't be harassing you at work butttt she will be texting you constantly or asking the others what you're up to or just generally doing creepy stalker stuff without the hr violation

you never find out about her creepy stalker stuff either btw, you assume the two of you naturally fell in love and started dating and you must've told her all that personal stuff before in passing! thats def why she knows your coffee order and definitely not cause she stalked you in her normal persona to that cafe

i can also see a version of this where you guys go out for some drinks and you slowly get more and more drunk to match her (which she definitely did not do on purpose). which, in turn, results in you waking up next to her naked in the morning. unfortunately for you, blonde blazer is a really convincing liar and she's going to be like "haha we slept together... should we go on a real date next time?" and you're confused as hell and you feel slightly violated but it's blonde blazer! of course she wouldn't do anything inappropriate with you! so ur like "um sure i guess so?"

ALSO ALSO very ooc for her but lemme cook: blazer x z-team(or employee)!reader where she uses her position as your boss to force you into a relationship with her???? lemme set the scene for you guys

the silence was suffocating as you sit in blonde blazer's office. your leg wouldn't stop jittering and you kept feeling random bouts of nausea as she typed at her computer. "umm... blazer? is there a reason you-"

she stops typing, "is anyone giving you a hard time, (y/n)?" she looks away from her computer to stare down at you. you fight back from shrinking under her gaze and quickly shake your head. "that's good." silence fills the office once more and you can't shake an eerie feeling crawl up your spine.

"is... is that all? i think robert probably needs me back."

her eye twitches, "do you like being on the team, (y/n)?" you blink, frozen in place.

"uh... yes?"

a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, but before you could think, she reaches across the table to grab your hand. you startle, "the higher-ups want me to cut you from the team." she states bluntly, lightly squeezing your hand.

"what?"

"but, i can convince them-"

"please, please convince them," you grip onto her hand, panic filling your very being. "i love this team! i love being a hero!" you couldn't stop the sudden tears pricking your eyes at the thought of going back to prison.

her eyes shine and you almost believe she's about to cry with you, "if you do something for me, i'll do my best to support you."

"of course, of course! i'll do anything!" blonde blazer gives you her award-winning smile, getting up from her desk to get closer to you.

"i'm so glad to know you're so eager, (y/n)."

it's really difficult for her to come to terms with her obsession feelings for you. especially since she's very strict with her job and tries her best to be a moral compass for her employees, but she needs you so bad :(