Vi was always getting into scraps. Seriously-- it was every other day with this woman. A bar fight, someone bumped into her, someone looked at her wrong-- her instinct was to throw a punch.

See, she was used to taking care of her own injuries. Messily done, yeah, but she'd do it herself. That was until she met you, of course.

She always felt some sort of resentment towards herself, when she found herself crawling in your fancy Piltovan window to get patched up by you. An enforcer-- god, if younger Vi could see her right now, she'd get the meanest kick in the stomach. But-- she couldn't help the butterflies she'd get when you'd fuss over her, she couldn't help the way her voice got softer when she spoke to you. She couldn't help how every muscle in her body relaxed with you-- even if she hated your job.

She hissed out as you checked on a nasty cut on her stomach, abs tensing, body jerking. Was she being a little dramatic to get some more babying? ... Maybe. But in her defense, it did hurt!

"Don't be so rough, you tryin' to make it worse?"

Vi whispered out playfully, her voice hoarse and raspy.