i love your aesthetic!!! if i can request something? protective vi x reader? maybe someone is bothering reader in public and vi stands up for her. no violence or anything, just her telling them to back off and taking care of reader. some reassurance maybe? idk i trust your creative process
Headcannon. #3. Protect Me. Roommate!Vi x Fem!Reader, Vi protects you against unwanted attention.
authors note: thank you anon! sorry for the wait, but i wanted this to be perfect (considering you trust my creative process don't). I took it in a bit of a different direction, so hopefully it's worth it.
warnings: descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks, gross men and their unwanted opinions, not proof read!
The Last Drop was buzzing with loud voices and sweaty bodies, an unusual scene, although it was a Saturday night. It wasn’t what you’d expected. Every other night, the booths were full, bartenders wiping down one side of a bench just to dirty it again with missed pours of different spirits, but the voices carried conversations, with deliberate laughs.
But tonight? An unusual crowd had found its way through the streets of Zaun, finding one of the most beloved bars, popular for its decorated hero and owner, and began soaking in the spotlight of their makeshift dance floor.
The music reverberated against the walls, at the demands of the people who found themselves up and around the bar, disrupting those hidden away in booths, just trying to enjoy their time nursing a beer.
You, like many others, were tucked in a corner booth, lips wrapping around the black straw of your gin and tonic, taking small sips to soothe the bubbling pit of nausea settling in your stomach. You felt the gentle back and forth of Vi’s thumb on your wrist, friendly enough to not cross the line, yet still planting a small seed of doubt, readily awaiting its period to bloom.
The thoughts in your head had only become a muddy mess of absolutely nothing a few minutes ago when the rushing bodies of Zaun’s most lower-class citizens had come bumping into you, splashing their drinks here and there, enough for Vi to have that twitch in her brow, telling you how frustrated she really was.
She just wanted this to be a nice night for the two of you, to celebrate you after completing a particularly difficult assignment, (she had heard the words molecular biophysics and biochemistry within the same sentence and automatically assumed that the assignment had in fact, been a bitch to hand in).
What Violet had failed to notice was the way you were beginning to tune out to everything that was being said. She couldn’t blame you, it was almost impossible to hear her own voice over the chanting, dancing and brawls of the newfound crowd.
You could see her lips moving, powder blue eyes taking hold of your own, attempting to trap you, in which case but this would have imprisoned your mind, willing to listen to her voice until the end of time. Instead, your mind was static. The world was becoming too loud for comfort, the stickiness of countless bodies rubbing against your own, despite being shielded by a booth, with blood feeling like it was draining from your head, there was a crushing heat taking its place.
When your skin started losing colour, replacing the pink of your lips with a sickening colour, Vi knew you were checking out.
“Hey, Doll? Are you okay?” It was a dumb question to ask; she knew the answer, even if you were to stare her dead in the face and lie, swear on your heart and soul that you were fine, because honestly, you were not prepared for this.
You tried shaking your head in a desperate attempt not to trigger the swaying of nausea in your stomach, but it was futile. the sweat was beginning to build along your hairline, the warmth of the bar's air only increasing in temperature.
Vi wasted no time in interlacing your fingers with her own, assisting you on getting up on your feet. With broad shoulders and long strides across the floor, she was shielding your body with your own, always looking back behind her to make sure you were still with her, even though she could feel the radiating heat off your hands.
When the back door of the bar was pushed open, you could immediately feel the night robbing you of your heat. The pressure of nausea, the thickness in your throat, and the tears welling up were all subdued, frozen in time along with the frost of Zaun’s winter.
“Are you with me?” Violet asked, her hand brushing the stray pieces of hair framing your face to the side.
Again, you nodded, less fearful of triggering the nauseated bubbles in your stomach. “I just need to sit down, that’s all.”
You softly hit the brick wall of the alleyway, sliding down slowly against the chilled concrete. Your roommate got down carefully beside you, watching gently at how the cool air kissed back the colour in your face, replacing the sickening feel with a slight brisk presence.
She observed how you pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging the perimeter of your legs in an attempt to try to keep some warmth as the night's bitterness fed into your body temperature. Violet couldn’t help putting her hand forward to rest on your kneecap, picking up where she left off with the back and forth swaying of her thumb. She knew it was bordering on being more than friends, yet some part of her wanted to see if one day, your facade would slip and that maybe you would react.
“The crowd-” you started, only getting so far before you chest felt like it was caving in, shallow breaths returning to the surface for just a split moment, before Vi gave a comforting squeeze, looking at you like you were her world, hopes an dreams, but that was something to decipher for another day. “They were all affected.”
Her lips dropped into a frown. She hadn’t wanted to say it or bring it to your attention, watching the glow of fluorescent purple illuminate the Last Drop. It wasn’t something you talked about, preferring to live in a bubble where things were peaceful and safe, almost hiding behind Vi as she protected you from every dark shadow that lingered around the corner.
Violet knew this. She knew that your biggest fear was an apocalypse, and as stupid as it sounds, she never made fun of you for it. Especially not when the distribution of shimmer began. In some ways, the epidemic of the drug infiltrating Zaun was equivalent to the dead roaming the land. Losing themself at the first taste, becoming something more than they ever should have.
“We don’t have to stay,” It’s soft, something you just catch. But just for a second, you wanted to stay within the two walls of the alleyway, not minding the smell of rubble, as long as you had the girl that you loved appreciated next to you.
Violet almost jumped when she felt your head rest against her shoulder, taking that as a can we just stay here, in this moment, together? Or maybe dreaming, that’s what was whirlling around in that pretty head of yours.
Letting you stay perched up against her, she let her eyes flutter shut, just listening to the way your breathing was becoming spaced out at a more regular pace. It had always calmed her in some strange way, just knowing that you were there, even if you were as sweet as sugar; you scared all her monsters away.
However, her utter concentration on the slow puffs of air you breathed out had distracted her from the fact that a lone man had stumbled into the confinements of the two walls you considered as yours.
The low whistle snapped you both from the illusion of your own world.
“Nice legs, gorgeous.” his voice dripped with paralysing venom.
Vi immediately got up. She towered with her shoulders pulled back, slowly flexing her bandaged hands. You were waiting to get back home to help her wrap her knuckles with fresh bandages to rid the bloodiness of the old ones.
“Do we have a problem?” Her voice is scarily stable, merely she commenting on his words.
And, of course, when your head had raised to look at the man who stood only a few feet away, you were cursed by his eyes, watching how each movement of his head was followed with a blur of purple.
You were scared. Not only of the man, but of what Vi would do. What she could handle and what she thought she could handle were two very different things.
“I was just complimenting her.” He smirked. “Just take the compliment, sweetheart.”
Her fists clenched again, watching the muscles of her arms strain against her shirt, tauting up into power you were only used to seeing while she was in the pit.
“Violet.”
“You want to say that again?” Her voice wavers, cracking under the pressure of her irritation. Yet, it’s nothing short of intimidating.
“C’mon, why don’t you share that fine piece of ass around.”
Your desire to stay cowering down in some form of defeat was gnawing at your gut, however, your heart was telling you to not let this eventuate into something that could injure Vi. She of course, was insanely strong, but she had only ever fought against those who avoided the substance, or even if she had picked a fight with one of them, Vi had the technology that one of Piltover’s finest had gifted her. This was entirely out of her league.
"Violet."
Standing up on two shaky legs, you slip your hand into Vi’s. Intertwining your fingers with hers as best you could, as a silent depiction that whatever masculine energy he thought he was alluding, was not welcome.
The mans face scrunches up, watching as Vi’s eyebrows soften, firmly squeezing onto the hand in her own.
Mercifully, whatever god above had protected you. You could see the glow of his eyes roll, highlighting the scowl on his face better than the shitty street lights that flickered as one of the undercities latest shimmer addicts disappeared into the loneliness of the night.
Violet turned to you, a softness replacing the ferocity of her blue eyes.
You couldn’t help but slip your hand against her cheek, cradling it as she hesitantly leaned into it, appreciating how the warmth of your palm contrasted with the ice of her skin.
“I’m sorry.” She murmured.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Vi.”
Violet closes her eyes, allowing her arms to wrap around you, hoping that her embrace was enough to tell you everything that was rushing through her mind.
Her lips press to your head, offering a promise within a whisper. "You are nothing like what they say. You're my perfect, doll."
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