#Piltovers Finest has never been so accurate

[qvert]

Just because… girl those knees are going to need a little rest at some point

[thursdaysgrrl]

i bet on losing dogs \ vi x reader

pairing: vi x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: you bet on a losing dog and subsequently fall in love

warning: strangers to lovers arc, no actual nsfw but reader has a thing for boobs (girl same) and nm else. very fluffy and angsty tbh! + happy ending

a/n: just want to note that reader has a semi-established backstory. shouldn't affect reading experience <3

♬⋆.˚ "i bet on losing dogs" by mitski

vi had been a fighter for as long as she could remember. but when caitlyn left, she didn’t have any of that fire left. every night, she’d get into fights. the sound of spectators chanting was intoxicating. the taste of blood in her mouth almost as addicting as the shimmer she’d replaced cait with. but every night, she would be knocked down, walking down the damp streets of the undercity searching for an alley to call home. you were curious.

you always placed your bets on the same person. vi’d begun to be known as the “dog of the ring”, always kicked but forever returning. and you bet on her every single time. yet she never noticed; she’d fight, she’d come out bloody and bruised, she’d find some comfort in the bar’s never-ending supply of alcohol and it’s customer’s endless supply of shimmer, and then she’d disappear. you’d made it a point of yours to go to the same bar, to dance when your favorite songs came on. one time you anonymously paid for her tab. but never, not once, did vi look at you. she was too lost in her own world. you’d heard the rumors, of course. the undercity’s finest brought to her knees by piltover’s most praised enforcer. and then left by her. part of you wanted vi because of that; she really was a losing dog. you had a soft spot for strays.

you’d stumbled into the bar’s grimy bathroom, slightly dizzy from drinking… something. you weren’t actually sure what. you made a mental note to be more careful next time. annoyed and ready to throw up, you banged on the bathroom door. you were about ready to kick it down when you saw who walked out. vi. you were ready to say something, before your stomach decided to take the lead and… oops.

“dude, the fuck?” vi grimaced, trying to wipe your vomit off of the front of her shirt. “oh my god, i’m—i’m so sorry!” you try to wipe the chunky substance from vi’s chest, concerned, before blushing and moving your hand away. vi smirks. “hey, i know you. you come here all the time, don’t you?” wait, vi noticed? “i… yeah, i do. you’re, i mean, you’re vi, right?” real smooth. vi smiled at you more sincerely this time. “ah, so we are aquainted. and you are… ?” you introduce yourself, offering your hand to shake. she takes it. her hands are calloused and rough and disarmingly warm. the tingles in your fingers linger even after you pull away. “how about i make it up to you? drinks on me?” vi considers you for a moment. then agrees. the two of you walk back into the bar, vi zipping up her leather jacket to avoid getting stared at. after ordering your respective drinks, you each take a seat at the bar, knees touching slightly.

“you don’t fight, do you?” vi asks, taking in your appearance. you don’t, admittedly, look like a fighter. “n-no. just appreciate the sport, is all,” you stammer. a more accurate response would be just appreciate watching you play the sport. vi chuckles, seemingly considering the accuracy of your words. “i admit that i’ve seen it as more of a money maker these days.” “oh yeah?” “especially given the fact fight rings are getting more and more tight… they don’t let just anyone compete. i got my ass kicked earlier but a goddamn professional.” you notice the cut under her eye, a bruise blooming on her cheek. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it. “are you not a professional?” vi chuckles bitterly, but not unkindly. takes a swig of her drink. “no way. i’m here to get the bills paid.” “what are you, then?” your question is abstract and catches vi off guard. mostly because she’d been asking herself the same thing for months. “well. people ‘round her call me the ‘dog of the ring’.” “and you agree?” you tilt your head, leaning your elbow on the table. “i’m whatever gets the most people to bet on me.” you hold up your ticket with vi’s name on it. you bet on her. you always did. vi’s lips part slightly in surprise. “well. i’m sorry you lost your money tonight.” your response slips out before you can help yourself. “oh, i didn’t bet on you because i wanted to win.”

and that’s how you got here, sitting in your apartment, you tending to the scrape on her eyebrow with a warm towel. it’d turned out that you two had more in common than you’d previously thought. vi was tough, but there was also something so intimately human about her. you liked it.

vi winced as you pressed the cloth soaked in disinfectant into her wound, and you murmur an apology. “you don’t have to do this, y’know,” vi says through gritted teeth. your voice is calmer, soft in comparison to hers. “i know. i want to.” your pet dog—another stray—lazily nipped at vi’s ankles, curious about a new visitor. “that’s dog” you explain. this makes vi crack a smile. “wow. very creative name.” “i know,” you grin, feigning pride. vi can’t help but think that you have the best smile she’s ever seen. it’s softer than cait’s ever was. “in my defense, i didn’t want to give him something else in case his owners came looking for him.” you add, more quietly: “i don’t think he has anyone else, though.” vi privately thinks, just like me.

you place a bandaid over vi’s brow, rubbing ointment on her cut before looking down at the blood-soaked wraps on her hands. “want me to give you clean ones?” “you’re quite prepared, nurse lady,” vi muses affectionately. that makes you smile, too. “you never know when the dog of the ring is gonna crash your place.” you get up from your bed to get the necessary materials to re-wrap vi’s bandages, before sitting back down across from her. you carefully unwrap the bloodied bandages, lips tightning at vi’s bloody and bruised knuckles before you begin wrapping them up in clean gauze. vi’s taken aback by how tender your touch is; she hasn’t been cared for like this in… god knows how long.

once you finish, you stand back up, putting away everything you used to clean her up. vi watches you, wordlessly taking in your apartment. it’s small, one room with an open layout of a mattress, couch and countertop with kitchen island. but it’s cozy, and much better than the alleys she’s been staying in. your voice breaks the silence. “where do you stay?” vi pauses, before deciding to be truthful. “everywhere. sometimes nowhere, depending where'll take me in.” “this could be your where, if you want.” even your words catch you by surprise. “wait, really?” vi gauges your response, suspecting a cruel joke, but she finds none. only sincerity. “sure. you can take my bed. and before you argue, you’re the one who’s recovering. i have a couch for a reason.” vi stands up, walking towards you. “thank you. that’s really nice of you.” you turn around, leaning against the kitchen island. “yeah, sure. in case you didn’t notice, i have a thing for strays.” you motion to dog. vi chuckles, stopping in front of you “heh, yeah, i got that.” you pause for a moment, enjoying the proximity before pushing off the counter and going into your closet to grab some blankets and pillows. you assemble them on your couch where you’ll be sleeping.

“do you need clothes?” vi looks down at her dirt-stained clothes. and dirt-stained skin and… come to think of it, what’s the last time she washed her hair? “could i use your shower, actually?” she asks. “sure thing.” you lead her over to your bathroom, teaching her how to turn on the shower and regulate temperature. she nods gratefully, thanking you for the set of pajamas you laid out for her. you leave her to sort herself out, humming in the kitchen as you make a midnight snack for the two of you. reveling in how well the evening has turned out.

vi comes out looking like a completely different person. with the black paint gone from her face and black hair dye gone—you realise, laughing inside, that she must have used some really shitty dye, and make a mental note to pick up a better one for her—she looks softer. her natural hair is pink, and you realize just how captivating her eyes are. a steel blue that you know you’ll be seeing in your dreams from now on. but it’s how she looks in your clothing that really takes your breath away—oversized band t-shirt and boxers. apparently she ran hot and didn’t care for the flannel pajama pants you’d so conveniently set out. you observe through her shirt that she must have nipple piercings from the way they poke through. seems fitting for her whole image, ear and lip piercings only adding to her look. “hey,” you smile.

a few minutes later, you’re eating toast at the table, laughing about something or other. it’s strange how easy it is to talk to her, and vi feels the same way. she’s not used to people extending such kindness towards her, especially not pretty girls like you. she inwardly revels in how she smells like your body wash—cinnamon and vanilla. how comforting to live like you. dog whines at your feet, begging for some toast, which you scold vi for providing. there’s no bite in your words, though. you just like having someone to find annoying.

your house has been empty since your ex-girlfriend left. you didn’t think you would survive her absence; there were times it felt like the quiet of your apartment was more suffocating than your arguments ever were. maybe that’s why you took such a focus on vi: you needed somewhere to begin, something to care about. someone.

after changing into your own pajamas and giving vi a toothbrush (you especially enjoy your toothpaste that night, knowing it’s what she’ll taste like until the morning), you snuggle into your blanket pile on your couch, vi doing the same in your bed. despite her protests, you’d insisted she take it—at least until she recovered. or, you inwardly muse, you began sharing it.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

you wake up to the sound of dog scratching at the door. he wants to go for a walk, you realize, feeling guilty. you stretch, gently sliding out of bed as you pad across the wooden floors. you look at vi for an instant, and she’s—oh.

apparently vi had gotten even hotter in the night and decided to just… casually take her shirt off. yeah, that’s fine. you’re not at all turned on by the fact she’s sleeping on her stomach right now, breasts perked up. or the fact she does, in fact, have nipple piercings. look away! you force yourself to avert your gaze, certain she’ll wake up any moment and catch you staring. why’d i let her crash, again?

you quickly change into a sleeveless and cropped black compression tank-top, black cargo pants and combat boots. you know that you look hot in that top, but try to lie to yourself and pretend you just felt like wearing it for… no reason. you quietly open the door after putting dog on his leash, silently communicating to vi that you’ll be back soon. and praying she’ll be there when you return.

to your relief, vi is. you’d put her clothes in the wash last night, and she’s since changed back into them. ah, oh well. you smile at her; she’s standing in your kitchen making eggs. who knew vi could cook? “hey, where were you?” vi asks, flipping an omelette. you hold up the leash. “taking dog for a walk.” vi nods in understanding, grabbing a plate. “so… you found your way around here pretty quickly,” you observe, motioning to how comfortable she already seems to be in your kitchen. vi cracks an egg in the pan. and cracks a smile. “yeah, i, uh… wanted to be useful.” “well, that’s nice of you.” part of you wants to come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, but you repress the urge as she sets your omelette, topped with melted cheese and tomatoes, on the kitchen counter. “dude, this looks great!” and you’re right. if you could cook like this, you’d definitely be about 10 pounds fatter. vi beams at your praise: “why thank you. i’m glad you like it.”

vi watches you eat with a strange satisfaction. you’re smiling because of her. licking your lips because of her. your outfit doesn’t go unnoticed, either—she appreciates how your shirt hugs your body. which may be what gives her the confidence to say, “i hope you didn’t mind me sleeping shirtless, by the way.” you turn red. you hadn’t expected either of you to bring it up. “oh, uh, no problem!” your voice comes out much too squeaky for your own liking. “because, y’know, if it makes you uncomfortable, i could always put one on… “ “no!” you interject. “i mean—no, that’s fine. i don’t mind.” vi grins. “okay, princess.”

vi’s words echo through your head all day. she’d headed off to the ring hours ago, but you were still in your apartment, lost in thought. princess. her fucking grin. it’s these thoughts that fuel a painting—you swear you don’t get up for hours on end—of vi laying in bed, asleep and shirtless, light streaming through from somewhere off the canvas. you’d painted her a bit like an angel, hair hitting the pillow like a halo framing her head. you blush at your work, but are also satisfied. from just memory, it’s pretty impressive. you’ve been painting for as long as you can remember. your mother was an artist. your father was MIA for most of your childhood. but drawing was always your safe space. and, you realize, through the painting, you’d let vi into it.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

vi returns late at night. you’d made dinner that had long grown cold. “hey, princess, sorry, matches took longer than expected… “ she takes you in, sitting at the table in the dark, apron over a little dress. she walks over, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in hers. “i’m really sorry.” “ts’fine,” you murmur, meeting her gaze, your eyes soft. “was just worried about you.” vi thinks for a moment, before standing up. “we can heat this up, right?” she asks, motioning to the food you’d so caringly set out. she takes turns putting each item in the microwave, you watching her silently until she sits across from you at the table, food now warm. “this looks great.” that makes you crack a smile, and you enjoy a wordless dinner, though not uncomfortable. finally, you ask, “did you win your matches?” “yeah. all because a pretty girl patched me up beforehand.” vi grins as pink tinges your cheeks. the same color as her hair. “oh, by the way, i picked up some black hair dye for you. this one should survive wash day, though.” you set a bottle of hair-dye on the table, but vi’s eyes don’t leave you. “wow, maybe i’m the princess here.”

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

over the next few weeks, the two of you settle into a steady rhythm. vi makes breakfast. you make dinner, though you’d started serving it a bit later into the night. you wake up earlier than her to appreciate her body, she goes to bed later because she likes watching you sleep. you take turns walking dog. she goes to the ring during the day, you paint or go to the shops to sell your creations. in such a short span of time you’d become comfortable around each other, an odd little family. but you can’t deny the flutter in your stomach when she smiles at you, the blush that creeps into your cheeks when you tend to her wounds, just another excuse to touch her.

tuesday 7:13am

yesterday, i helped vi dye her hair black. god, it was a mess! got dye all over the floor and i swear my bathroom hasn’t smelled the same since… it was fun, though. it felt very… i don’t know. domestic. she got dye on her nose and i rubbed it off. why’s she so cute? you know what, i’m gonna go walk dog now. clear my head. hopefully clear her with it.

friday 9:40am

why am i up so late, you may ask? because last night vi was showering at 1 freaking am. either way, the sound woke me up and i had trouble falling back asleep. even though i bought her her own body wash—one that smells a bit more, i dunno, manly—she’s still using mine. i don’t know what to make of that. it’s a waste of money, that’s for sure.

saturday 8:46am

we kissed! oh my god, it was wonderful. she came home one night all bruised (as per usual. it’s starting to bug me, tbh) and i was just putting some ointment on her cheek and… and she kissed me. just leaned forward and did it. needless to say, i had to redress her wounds afterwards. haha, i’m so funny.

diary, i think i’m in love.

also, unrelated, but we started sleeping in the same bed. or related?

───────────────୨ৎ─────────────

vi thinks she might be happier than she’s ever been. happier than she was with caitlyn. happier than she was when her life’s mission was reuniting with jinx. much happier than she was fighting with no reason to win. now she fights her hardest every night because she doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think she can’t hold her own. god, she’s so pretty. it’s become a reoccurring thought in her mind. from when you wake up in her arms, hair messy and eyes blurry with sleep, to when you’re sitting at your desk with paint on your fingers, too focused to notice vi staring, you're pretty when you wear that tank-top or dress under an apron or even nothing at all. she’s more content than she’s felt in a long, long time

vi’s so in love.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

“you’re late.” your voice comes out harder than you want it to. more edged. but you can’t help it; vi’s been less punctual lately, coming home late into the night with bruises and scratches all over her skin. even your kisses don’t help as much as they used to. “i’m sorry, princess.” vi closes the door behind her, reaching for you as you stand, arms wrapped around yourself, next to the door she’d just entered through. you pull away. “you always say that. but when’re you gonna stop?” you look up, arms uncrossing, a new fire in your voice. “when’re you gonna leave that shithole and get a real job? stop wasting your potential in stupid little fights?” vi falters. for the most part, you were a calm person. but this was a side of you even she was unfamiliar with. colder. “s-stupid fights? those stupid fights make us money!” so she reverts to the only defense she knows—anger. “much more money than your drawings ever made us.” “i thought you—i thought you liked my art.” your face says it all. vi knows she fucked up. “wait, princess, I didn’t mean it like that—“ “whatever. i don’t want to talk to you right now.” you swat away vi’s extended hand, storming into the bathroom and locking the door.

vi waits for you to come out. you don’t.

it’s late, 3 in the morning, you’d guess, when you come out. your eyes are red and puffy from crying, and though you know vi’s likely mirror yours you can’t bring yourself to care. or maybe you are trying to pretend you don’t. vi’s sleeping on the couch, a fact that pains your heart—your traitorous heart which you quickly scold—and the bed feels cold to the touch without her beside you.

come back, princess. that’s the thought that fills vi’s dreams. when she wakes, you’re still asleep. she wants to climb into bed with you, wrap you in her arms and rock you back and forth until everything’s okay again, but she knows she shouldn’t. has no right to. she simply watches the steady rhythm of your breathing, trying to time hers with yours. she does this until she has to go back to the ring.

vi being gone when you wake is in instant reminder of your anger towards her. your first thought is that she’s gone. gone for good. and then you remember that’s not how it works, you remember, despite everything, she’s not your ex and you’re not caitlyn. though you curse your words, you have to admit their sentiment was true, even if they were expressed incorrectly. vi’s job does stress you out. you thought once you gave her a place to stay she’d find her place in the world. but she wouldn’t leave that filthy fight ring despite how much you pleaded with her to please be sensible. it’s not that you don’t trust her, as she’d accused you of when you first brought the topic up. it’s that you don’t trust anyone else.

so you go to the bar. the bar where you and vi first met. the bar where you invited her over. and once she arrived at your house, she never really left. you, once again, regret accepting a mystery drink, and as you stumble into the bathroom, banging on the door, you get a sense of deja vu. the nauseous feeling in your stomach. the bright—too-bright—lights, the person standing in front of you as they open the door.

“princess? princess, please don’t go.” vi grabs your hand as if she expects you to run away from her. instead, do the next best thing: you vomit.

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

“well, that’s a… full circle moment right there,” vi jokes, taking her shirt off and handing it to you as you begin scrubbing the sick off of it in your kitchen sink. she sits at the table. her voice becoming quiet when you’re unresponsive. “hey, princess, could we please make up?” you take pity on her. your gaze feels like the first sign of spring at the end of winter as you turn to face her. “vi, i was serious. i don’t like you fighting there. i don’t like you fighting, period. and i get it—i get that it’s a part of your identity. i don’t want to take that from you. i just—i just don’t want you to be taken from me.” vi stands up before she herself registers it, in two strides wrapping you in her arms. “pl-please put a shirt on,” you hiccup into her bare chest. “i will. just let me get this out first, okay?” vi inhales, as if ready to make a big speech. “i love you. and i get that, much like part of loving me is loving how i fight, part of loving you is loving how much you care. so we can compromise, yeah? i’ve been thinking, i mean, i’ve actually been thinking of this for a while now, that i could start my own academy. teach people to fight. a teacher, not a fighter.” you look up into her eyes. “really? you’d do that? you’d sacrifice that for me?” vi tousles your hair. “it’s not sacrifice. it’s love.”

“oh, i’m so kissing you after i brush my teeth.”

epilogue──

“hey, v?” you readjust your head on her chest so you can look up at her, your bodies tangled in sheets and bathed in morning light from the window. vi tangles her fingers with yours, absentmindedly rubbing your smooth knuckles with her calloused thumb. “what’s up, princess?” “you ever think about getting hitched?” vi sits up instantly, you grumbling as you fight to stay on her body. “what, like, married?” “yeah,” you say, your voice more nervous now. “you asking me to marry you, princess?” vi wraps her arms around you, planting kisses all over your face, messy and wet and so full of love. “haha, stop!” you protest, your face scrunching in a smile as you pull away, breathless and giggling, nestling your head into the crook of her neck. “your stupid hair’s tickling me.” you sigh, content. “hey, don’t speak that way to your wife.”

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

© 2025 thursdaysgrrl don't steal my work please !! (not that anyone would care enough to but js saying