Summary: You've had a crush on Vi for ages, following her to her favorite clubs and bars, just to have a chance to be in her presence. And, to fill your blank pages with more images of her, of course.
Based entirely off this cosplay:
Content: Drinking, cursing, drawing, flirting, and dancing
The music in the Last Drop is loud enough that you can barely hear the scratch of your pencil across your sketchbook paper.
It isn’t exactly your kind of scene, but you’re not here for your own enjoyment. You glance up at your unwitting model and smile gently to yourself. Vi’s lounged back in a chair a stone’s throw away, wearing a leather top and swirling a drink in her hand.
She seems to be flirting with the tall, elegantly thin woman leaning over the table in front of her, her dark pink hair falling perfectly across her forehead. You ignore the mild twinge of jealousy you feel. You know it’ll never be you in the tall woman’s position; you just simply don’t have the self-confidence for that.
You lower your head again and frown at your sketched version of Vi’s likeness. No… that’s not quite right. Her hair falls just slightly further across her eyebrow than that. You erase and draw over the offending lock a few times, reshaping and nudging it into just the right position, your head cocked slightly, bent over your sketchbook.
The sound of a whiskey glass slamming on the table in front of you has you nearly leaping from your skin. You quickly snap the cover closed, your pencil marking your page.
“Sulking in the corner again, pretty girl?” Vi purrs, cocking her head at you.
She’s so close, that after you remember how to breathe right, you can smell the alcohol on her breath.
“Y-you know parties aren’t really my thing, Vi-” you stammered, leaning back in your seat, trying to make some room for air-
“Oh, bullshit,” She dismisses, placing her hands on the backrest of your chair, boxing you in, “you wouldn’t come if they weren’t.”
You give her a nervous chuckle and smile, shrugging. Her eyes fall to your lap, and before you can even react, she’s scooped up your sketchbook, the volume automatically falling open to the page your pencil marked.
“No-” you gasp, reaching desperately for it but she steps deftly out of your reach.
Her brows furrow when she sees the sketch, and for a moment, the playful light in her eyes vanished.
“...You drew this?” She demands, gesturing to me with the book.
Your hands clench and lower to your lap, expecting her immediate rejection, “Yeah…”
She looks at you, eyes narrowed, then back at the drawing.
You believe you may become a puddle from sheer relief when her mouth quirks into a smirk and she huffs a small laugh.
“Damn. You made me look hot as shit .” She says appreciatively, closing your sketchbook and setting it on the table.
You reach out for it, but she grabs your wrist and tugs you to your feet.
“Oh, no. No more antisocialism. You’re coming with me.”
“Nope,” she swiftly cuts you off, shaking her head. “We’re dancing. And there isn’t shit you can say to stop me.”
Your heart leaps into your throat at the way she smirks at you, and you’re powerless to resist her as she pulls you into the mass of mingling bodies.
She catches your eye and holds it, her light eyes sparkling. She’s tipsy. Drunk, even. She’s gotta be. There’s no way she actually wants-
Your train of thought is cut short when she picks up your other hand and steps forward, bringing your chests together, then stepping away to arm's length.
Oh. This dance. You know this dance. You’d learned it together as kids. A grin breaks out onto your face despite yourself, muscle memory taking over. Forward, backward, forward, backward, then-
Her grip on your hands shifts, and suddenly the bright lights blur as she spins you, your back landing against her chest.
“Let me buy you a drink,” she breathes into your ear before she’s twirling you out again.
Forwards. “Vi, you know I don’t-”
Backwards. “Oh, I know,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Forwards. Backwards. This time it’s her turn to spin into your arms. “I just make it a point to offer one to every girl I feel like taking home.”
Your face heats considerably, and you’re sure you’re blushing to your ears. Her spin out is all on her, because you’ve suddenly gone stiff.
She takes one look at your face and laughs . She drops one hand on your shoulder. “Sweet Janna, you should see your face,” she snickers, and starts nudging you towards the bar.
“Come on,” she pleads, “just a shirley temple?”
You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders sagging. You never could tell her no.
Vi orders your (non-alcoholic) drink for you, and as you chatter back and forth, you find yourself… having… fun. And not just fun, but fun with her. With Vi .
You try to write off her flirtatious comments as Vi just being Vi, but as you sip on your grenadine-flavored soda, analyzing the look in her eyes, her quip from earlier, the way she left that sexy-as-sin woman from earlier for you , you can’t help but think…
