#drunk vi

[itssimmerin]

A dash of foreshadowing anyone

[thimbleandakiss]

I'll Take Care of You

Reader x Pit-Fighter!Vi

Summary: You find Vi wasted in a bar after the Pits. It's been almost a decade since you were the unofficial medic of your little group, but that doesn't mean you care about her any less.

Content: alcohol, fluff, angst, and cursing

Cross-posted on Ao3

Playlist used to write

Fuck, she is so drunk

You watch from a little ways off to the side as an obviously over-inebriated Vi half-slumps over the bar and orders another round. Your nose wrinkles in disgust as the mug is slammed before her. Nit at Vi, no, at the bartender for agreeing to serve her. 

Can't he see she's had enough?

Well, enough is enough, you decide, and wade the short distance through the crowd until you're beside her, nothing but quiet concern etched on your face. 

"Who the fuck are you?" She slurs; her wrapped hand clenched tight around her wooden mug. 

You smile tightly, your chest aching at her appearance. The oily, smeared makeup; the shitty, charcoal-esque hair dye that turned all but the very tips of her hair from dark pink to black.

"Oh, Vi..." You murmur softly, "Are you really so drunk you can't even recognize me?"

Vi's hand goes slack against her drink and her eyes snap to you, wide, wild, even. She recognizes you, alright, but she almost seems... scared of it. Of you.

"No..." She breathes, shaking her head as if to clear it, then clutching at it as her world tilts around her. "No, you're... you're not real. You can't be real."

Your heart breaks all over again. You know you should've found her sooner, but... she was difficult to track, always just too far ahead. So, when the rumors you'd been chasing after centralized to the pits, you'd come running. 

Doing your best to maintain eye contact, you subtly slide the mug of alcohol away from Vi, and she's so damn out of it, she doesn't even notice.

"I'm real, Vi," you assure her, repeating her name in the hopes thar will somehow jar her enough to believe you. "And it's time to go home."

You're being gentle with her. You always had been. Back when you were all kids, and your biggest worry had been pissing off Vander. Back when your major concern has been patching them (mostly Vi) up after getting into fights. 

Vi vehemently shakes her head again, rambling nonsense you can barely understand, and shoves herself away from the bar. 

She makes it all of about three stumbling steps before she's careening towards the floor. 

You dash forward, ducking under her arm and bearing most of her weight on our shoulders. You grunt when she lands, your legs suddenly straining to keep you both upright. 

She's... heavy, to put it kindly. Far heavier than you remember her being. Granted, she'd visibly gained plenty of muscle since the last time you'd had to help her walk, both barely fifteen. 

You decide to play her game. "If you're so convinced I'm not real, then there's no harm in letting me take you home, is there?"

You've already spoken to Loris. You know where it is. 

Vi scowls, grumbling complaints, but ultimately doesn't argue, only sagging further against your shoulders. 

Her little one-room apartment isn't far, but the trek is harrowing with a half-conscious, volatile, drunk pit-fighter depending entirely on you for support. 

You didn't believe your heart could hurt for her any more than it already does, until you open the door she hadn't bothered to lock and see the state of her living space. 

Her sheets are splotchy and stained. Liquor bottles of varying states of fullness and other garbage litters the ground. Several holes have been punched into the walls. Her mirror is shattered. 

You blink, and determinedly push into the room, carefully lowering Vi onto her bed. Part of you feels guilty that you can't change her sheets first, but there isn't time for that. Besides, you doubt she has clean replacements anywhere nearby. 

Leaning over her, you fold her singular, pitifully flat pillow in half and gently prop her head on it. You catch her eye. She's staring at you like she's watching a ghost, and you can see the unfathomable guilt and sadness she carries hidden behind her grey-blue eyes. 

You give her a soft, reassuring smile, unable to resist the urge to smooth a hand over her head before grabbing a bowl, filling it with water from the sink, and picking up the cleanest-looking cloth you can find. 

"Wadderyou doin'?" You're mildly surprised to hear Vi's mumble from the bed. You thought surely she'd be passed out by now. 

"Shh," you soothe, coming to sit beside her, the mattress groaning and dipping beneath your added weight, "I'm going to take care of you."

You dip the cloth into the bowl of water and use the soaked fabric to gently wipe off her makeup. 

She doesn't protest the way you expect her to. She just lays back and watches you, brows pinched together. It's only when you make a swipe on her left cheek, uncovering a VI tattoo on her cheekbone, does she speak. 

"I left you," she mutters, and though it sounds more sober, that only makes the self-loathing in her voice all the more evident. 

"You didn't mean to," you reply gently, rinsing the cloth off in the bowl before returning it to her face. 

You'd heard enough whispers on the street to know she'd been stuck in jail for nearly a decade. And you didn't blame her for choosing to go after her sister instead of immediately finding you. That's just who Vi is. Her commitment to her family is one of the things you love most about her. 

By the time you've finished washing her up, the water in the bowl is a murky grey. As you lean over to place it on the dresser, Vi catches your wrist, preventing you from moving away. 

"...Do you hate me?" The question catches you so off-guard, you nearly drop the bowl of water. 

It's something she'd only dare to ask from the bottom of a bottle. 

Looking back at her, you think that maybe, you can afford to be just a little selfish. The likelihood of her remembering this moment is slim to none, anyway. 

You lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. "No, I don't hate you. I never have, and I never will. Now, get some sleep, Vi. I'll be here in the morning."

She's unconscious before you even finish speaking. 

A/N:

I really love this concept and might do a part 2 of the next morning, where reader helps Vi nurse her hangover.

Do you think we could throw Cait out the window just for the sake of this fic if I do make a part 2? 👀

[writingisabitch]

don't tease the pitfighter

reader insert fanfiction

Vi’s used to waking up bruised, drunk, and alone—until you stumble into her life and refuse to look away from the parts she hides. You clean her wounds, her apartment, and maybe a little bit of the rot she's been carrying around for years.

But caring for Vi is messy. Loving Vi is worse. She pushes, you push back. She breaks, you break with her. And somewhere between a drunken kiss, a forgotten toothbrush, and an accidental confession, the two of you start building something real out of the wreckage.

Vi leaned against me, one arm slung over my shoulders as I helped her walk. She’d had another awful night—too many drinks after the brawl. Even though she’d won every round, she felt wrecked. Sore. Defeated. Restless.

When we finally reached her place and she pushed open the door, a wave of stench hit me immediately. Alcohol, grime, vomit, cheap hair products, sweat—all of it tangled together in a single, suffocating smell. My nose wrinkled, but I stayed quiet and guided her inside the dim, miserable apartment.

She let herself crash onto the mattress, and I sit on its edge. I reached out and gently stroked her back.

Then I took in the room around us. Empty bottles cluttered the floor. The mattress was ancient, sagging, stripped of blankets and even a pillow. Across from us sat a tiny sink and a cracked mirror, littered with half-used hair products and rolls of bandages. A punching bag hung in front of the bed, swaying slightly in the stale air.

I looked back at Vi—really looked—and saw her at the lowest point of her life. And all I could do was crumble into quiet tears. Seeing her like this broke my heart.

Then Vi glanced at me, and muttered "I don't need your pity, cupcake."

“Obviously, you do. This place is terrible, Vi.” I respond. “And my name is Y/N”

Vi closed her eyes, rolling over to her side, her back facing you. She wasn’t used to having people around. In her head, your presence there was just a waste of your time. However, she didn’t have the energy to argue with you. The fight and the alcohol had really taken away her strength. She remained quiet for a while, then whispered a question. “Why are you here..?”

I look to the side, my cheeks heating. “Why can’t you believe that some people actually care about you?” I ask, throwing her a half hearted glare. “Believe it or not, Violet, but I actually like you.”

At my words, Vi suddenly opened her eyes, a bit surprised. She looked at me over her shoulder, still lying on her side. Her voice was harsh. She didn’t believe my words, not even for a second. “Are you an idiot or what? No one cares about be. I don’t belong to anyone, and no one belongs to me.”

That cold and defensive attitude was just a front to avoid the pain of knowing the truth. At that moment, she felt more vulnerable than ever.

I stalk closer, anger at her and the way she treats herself, lets other people treat her, leading your movements. I corner her against the wall, pressing my hand against her chest to keep her still. She inhales sharply, surprised at my boldness. I stare in to her eyes as I almost spit out every word.

“I. Care. About. You.” I bring my face closer to hers. “I. Like. You.” Even closer. Our noses are almost touching, but I don’t break eye contact. “And if you can’t see that; can’t admit that, then you’re the stupid one.”

“Why? Why do you care?” At that, I release her and step back, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t fucking know.”

Vi takes a deep breath, finally being able to breathe properly after I step back, but she remains leaning against the wall, staring at me. She swallowed again, glancing away.

“You don’t know?”

“No. Because every time I get close to you, you shut me out. Every time I express sympathy, you insult my intelligence. Yet nonetheless, I’m here. Take a guess as to why.” I sigh and slump down on a chair across from her.

She looks at me, breath still uneven. She pushes off the wall slowly, wincing as her bruised body makes its way across the room to me. Then she sinks down to the floor in front of me, back against the bed frame like a caged animal running out of space to run.

“Because you’re to stubborn to leave?” She murmurs, voice low, almost playful. But it lacks bite. After a pause, softer: “Or… ‘cause you see me.” She finally brings her eyes to me, and there is pain in her gaze. “And nobody’s seen me in years.”

Finally at a loss for words, I kneel in front of her, tenderly bringing my hadn’t to her face, hoping she’ll let me, hoping she’ll sink in to it, hoping she’ll do more.

She closes her eyes at my touch, a sigh escaping her lips. She leans in to my hand just slightly, her cheek against my palm. This is a new side of her I haven’t seen before.

I look at her lips, heat pulling within me, but I chastise myself. She’s drunk. She’s not thinking clearly. Still some par of me wishes she’d tell me— what? That she loves me? I huff in amusement at my stupidity.

She opens her eyes, noticing me staring at her lips. The heat between us is almost tangible.

She blurted out, voice barely above a whisper: “Kiss me. Please.” My eyes shoot wide open.

“Vi…” I whisper, wanting to kiss her so much, but doubting her judgement. “You’re drunk.” Her eyes flutter, breath unsteady. She shakes her head slightly, stubborn even in her drunk stupor.

“I know. I’m drunk. I’m broken. This room’s a wreck.” Her voice drops, rough but sincere. “But I know you. I know your your name. I know your face. And I’ve known for weeks—sober or not— that you’re the only thing… the only good thing left in this mess.” She reaches up slowly, callous fingers brushing the back of my hand where it’s still rested on her cheek.

“Kiss me, Y/N. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it means nothing tomorrow.” A weak smirk tugs at her lips, but her eyes are pleading. “Just let me feel something real for once.”

“That’s the thing though.” My voice breaks. “I want it to mean something tomorrow. I want you to mean something that I know you don’t.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I look away, embarrassed.

Vi freezes at the sight of me crying. She reaches out, slow and shaky, and brushes the tear away with her thumb. Her breath catches. She doesn’t look away like she usually does. She couldn’t.

“I do mean it.”

Her voice comes scratchy, low and raw. “I just… I don’t know how to be what you want me to be. I’m a mess, Y/N. I drink too much, I fight for blood boney, I push everybody off a cliff before they can jump first.” She swallows hard, eyes glistening in the dim light.

“But you… You stay.”A broken laugh escapes her lips.

“Even when I call you stupid. Even when I act like a jackass.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead against yours, her breath uneven. I can hear her pounding heart.

“So if you want it to mean something tomorrow… then yeah.”

“It does.

I do.

Gods help me… but I do.”

Almost before she’s even finished speaking, before I can convince myself otherwise, my lips crash in to hers.

Vi lets out a soft gasp. For a split second, she remains still. Then suddenly, she responds. She kisses me back, her rough hands grabbing my clothes, pulling me close. The kiss is clumsy and sloppy, but she doesn’t seem to care.

Her hands leave my shirt, coming up to cup my face, holding me there as she deepened the kiss, her tongue brushing at my bottom lip almost desperately. I open my mouth, letting her in and her tongue pushes against mine.

Vi flips me over, pinning me against the floor, her mouth moving fiercely against mine. I break the kiss to gasp for air and she goes for my neck.

“Vi!” I gasp, tangling my fingers in her short red hair.

She growls low in her throat. Her mouth burns a trail down my neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to make me shiver.

“Say it again,” she demands, voice ragged, between kisses and nips. “Say my name.”

“Vi,” I whine desperately, tilting my head to allow her further access.

Her right hand pin both of mine above my head, her body caging me in. With her other hand, she caresses my side, like if she let go, I’d vanish. Like she was trying to brand me with touch alone. The drunk haze was still there… but this? This was something else.

Need.

“P-please—” I stammer, then shake my head. “Vi, wait. I want— we should—”

She freezes instantly, suddenly aware, suddenly ashamed.

She pulls back slowly, breathing hard, straddling my waist. Her eyes were wide, with that raw look of someone realizing they’d almost lost control all over again.

“…Shit. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” Her voice breaks as she scrambles off me gently. “I shouldn’t have— I wasn’t thinking straight…” I sit up too.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I rush towards her, secretly missing the weight of her body on mine. “I liked that, but… I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re drunk.” I bite my lip, my eyes tracing her figure before I can stop myself.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice rough.

A clear lie.

I tentatively reach for her, my hand grazing her waist, eyes asking for permission. Her breath hitches, her body shuddering beneath the feather light touch of my fingers. She arches ever so slightly into my touch, as if subconsciously seeking me out.

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally responds— rough, almost pleading. “Please...”

I let my hand rest on her waist.

I want so badly to kiss her, but instead I lean my forehead against hers.

“Can…” I swallow, wanting her to ask me to stay.

Her eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling. “Stay,” she whispers.

[chalkdaws]

Early morning really shitty drunk vi sketch

[too-gay-for-rainbows]

Tequila is my best friend 😍