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The first time it happened, it wasn’t even a proper attempt…more just a breath in, a slight parting of her lips, and then nothing. Like her body had quietly decided, absolutely not, and shut the whole thing down before it could begin.
She looked away immediately after, jaw tight, staring at the wall of their bedroom as if it held the answers to the universe. “Sorry,” she muttered, too quick. “That—just—ignore that.”
It happened gradually over the weeks. A question Caitlyn almost asked—and didn’t. A glance she held a second too long when Vi’s hands were on her. A hesitation that Vi noticed, even when she hoped she wouldn’t.
“What?” Vi asked one evening, catching her mid-thought. She was leaning back in the chair, boots up on the table, that infuriatingly perceptive look in her eyes.
Caitlyn felt the walls closing in around her, the familiar press of shame against her ribs.
“I don’t know how to ask for it,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped so tight her knuckles were white. “I want—”
I want you to…
I want…
I need…
She couldn't finish the thought. Her skin was hot, prickling with sweat and embarrassment so thick she could taste it, metallic and bitter at the back of her throat.
The words caught like glass in her throat.
She closed her eyes, just for a second, and gathered what little courage she had. She thought about the dinner parties, the scrutinising eyes, the way her mother’s friends whispered about who was marrying whom and what scandals were brewing. What they would they say if they knew.
She had been raised in a house where love was abundant, freely given. Her mother's arms had always been open, her father's laughter always easy. She'd never wanted for warmth or affection. But she'd learned early—without anyone meaning to teach her that want and desire had their categories. That some things were easy to ask for and have granted, and other things lived in a shadowy borderland where the word ‘inappropriate’ hung unspoken but understood.
It wasn't that her parents had ever shamed her. It was subtler than that. It was the way certain topics were redirected with a gentle smile, a deflection so smooth you barely noticed it happening.
It was her mother saying, "Some things are better left private, darling," in that soft, loving tone that somehow made it feel like she was protecting Caitlyn from herself.
It was the unspoken understanding that Kirammans carried themselves a certain way—not out of rigidity, but out of care. Care for the family name, care for each other, care for the world that was always watching.
The thing was…and this was the part that truly, deeply embarrassed her, she had never had trouble acting out. Testing the boundaries. Even breaking the rules. But this was a version of the rules she was not used to breaking.
Emotions themselves had been expressed through measured pauses and strategic silences. Anything that felt even close to emotional vulnerability like this felt incredibly dangerous. Uncharted.
And this, this very specific kind of want required a lot of words, and questions and explanations. This required sitting down and saying I want you to do this specific thing to me in this specific way and then sitting in that want while someone else heard it, free to react how however they pleased.
This certainly required vulnerability, the real kind, the kind that couldn't be undone or reinterpreted or chalked up to the heat of the moment.
She had to actually feel this. Feel it out loud. In front of someone. Vi, whose opinion mattered to her more than anyone else.
And she had always found feelings, especially the out loud ones, very, very hard.
Not because she was weak, she'd proven she wasn't, time and again—but because this particular vulnerability had no precedent in her world. In Piltover high society, you could be rebellious in a way if it fit within the realms of what was deemed acceptable. You could be different in all sorts of ways as long as it fit within their box, but you were still expected to maintain a certain level control, of dignity. A proper way of thinking and feeling and talking that did not subvert the unspoken rule of maintaining composure at all times.
“I wasn’t really allowed to… ask for things,” she said, quieter now, the confession tasting like chalk. “Not like this.”
Vi didn’t interrupt, she just cocked her head and watched her, waiting.
“Not big things,” she added quickly, like she had to correct it, to justify her privilege. “I mean—I had everything, obviously, but—” She exhaled, frustrated with her own inability to articulate the void. “That’s not what I mean. I mean—you know.”
She didn't know. How could she? Vi, who'd grown up in the Lanes, where want was worn openly, where people took what they could get and didn't have the luxury of shame about it. Vi, who asked for things with her whole chest, who'd never been taught that wanting made you vulnerable in ways that could be weaponised.
She stood up, pacing the small room. “I just—” Her voice dipped, caught, then pushed through anyway. “If I asked—before you—I couldn’t say for sure whether it would be kept—between us. People talk. In Piltover, everything is currency. And if they knew… if they knew I wanted to be…” She couldn't even say it.
Vi stood up then, closing the distance. She didn’t mock her. She didn’t tell her it was silly to worry about gossip.
"Cait," Vi said softly. "I don't give a fuck about Piltover. And I don't give a fuck about some bullshit social currency. I care about you. Whatever is in your head? It stays here. With me. Fucking obviously it does and I know that you know that but please, whatever it is, it's fine, really."
And she knew that it was. Logically, she knew that was true, of course it was. She looked at Vi, searching for any sign of judgment and found none. But knowing something and feeling it were two different beasts.
It had all started three weeks prior, on a quiet afternoon.
Caitlyn had come home to find Vi in the Kiramman library, boots kicked up on the antique settee, something leather-bound and thick in her hands.
The library was one of her favourite rooms in the manor, her mother had curated every shelf, but she'd also given her free run of it from a young age, trusting her judgment and her taste.
Which was precisely how Caitlyn had found the same mysteriously plain leather bound book at the age of sixteen.
The book lived on top the highest shelf of the east alcove, the one her mother probably assumed was too high for a teenager to bother with, tucked behind a row of Piltover political histories that no one ever touched. And it would have stayed there, undiscovered, if she hadn't been the kind of teenager who climbed things she shouldn't just to see what was at the top.
She'd read it cover to cover in a single night, flushed and trembling, sitting cross-legged on her bed with the door locked. Most of it had been... educational. Clinical, even. Descriptions of acts she'd barely understood at the time, illustrated with woodcuts that made her feel like she was committing a crime just by looking.
But one chapter had rooted itself in her brain like a weed.
The section on control. On the deliberate surrender of it. On the ways a body could betray its own dignity—how holding something as fundamental as your own bladder until you couldn't anymore, until you simply broke, until the heat spread down your thighs and you couldn't stop it, couldn't pretend, couldn't maintain any illusion of composure—could strip away every layer of composure you'd ever built. Reduce you to nothing but the animal truth of yourself, gasping and wet and utterly exposed.
To want to be made small and dirty and pathetic.
To want someone to look at you like you were nothing, like you were a thing to be used, a hole to be marked..and to feel that look in your bones, in your teeth, in the aching throb between your legs.
To enjoy it. To need it even.
That was the part that ruined her. Not just the act, the pure unadulterated wanting. The way her body responded to the very thought of it, thighs pressing together under the covers, pulse kicking hard against her throat, that sick-sweet twist in her gut that was equal parts horror and arousal, a knot of shame and desire so tightly wound she could barely tell them apart.
She'd read those pages until the spine cracked. Had closed the book and shoved it back on the shelf and told herself she'd never think about it again.
But she had thought about it again. Constantly. It was one of those things that just got kept locked away in her brain, leaking out into her consciousness on a daily basis but that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Everyone had those kinds of skeletons, she was sure. Everyone had something they didn't want to look at too closely.
It was something that came to her mind as she squeezed her thighs together when she left her bladder too full for too long, that little spark of what if flickering in the dark corners of her thoughts. Something that shot a shiver of arousal down to her core at the most inconvenient of times—standing in a meeting, walking through the market, sitting across from somebody at dinner, and suddenly her mind would supply the image, the feeling, the want, and she'd have to subtly shift in her seat to hide the flush.
It was the image that came to her mind just before she was about to cum, the blood already rushed to her cheeks to hide her embarrassment as she moaned into twisted sheets, fingers working between her legs as she imagined being reduced to nothing, being made to break..
And now, Vi was holding that same book like it was nothing.
The leather binding was cracked with age, the spine softened by decades of hands…mostly Caitlyn’s own, back when she was sixteen and exploring the high shelves like a thief in her own home. Vi flipped through the pages with one hand, the other draped casually over the arm of the settee, looking almost bored. She didn’t even seem to be reading the words, just skimming the illustrations, occasionally tilting her head with a quiet hum of interest.
She stopped in the doorway, frozen in place like a statue.
Her heart seized. Her stomach dropped. A wash of cold panic, then heat, then something darker and more tangled roiled through her chest, twisting up her spine and settling low in her belly. She knew exactly what page Vi was on…she could see it from here, could see the woodcut, the pose, the angle of the figure’s bowed head. It was the same page that had lived in her mind rent free for nearly a decade.
"What are you reading?" The question came out too casual. Too flat. She could hear the falseness in her own voice and hated it, hated the way it trembled at the edges.
Vi glanced up, a slow, lazy blink. "Oh, just some spicy thing I found up there." She jerked her chin toward the east alcove, the one with the dust and the secrets. "Your parents had a whole hidden section. Didn't think anyone would notice, the dust on those shelves was thick enough to write your name in." She turned a page, smirked a little. "Some of these things are kind of hot."
Her mouth went dry. "Ohh, you think?"
"Mm." Vi’s eyes dropped back to the book, fingers tracing the edge of a woodcut. "This part—" She paused, looked up again, and her expression shifted, just slightly. "Cait, why are you so red?"
"I'm not." The denial came automatic, immediate, and utterly unconvincing. Her hand flew to her cheek, feeling the heat there, the flush that had spread from her neck to her ears. She swallowed hard. "It's just warm in here."
Vi didn't push. She just watched her, that knowing look settling in her eyes, the corner of her mouth ticking up in a way that made Caitlyn want to simultaneously die and climb into her lap.
And by the time Caitlyn had finally gotten the words out, randomly one night, in the dark, when the city outside was quiet and the only sound was their breathing, she had her face buried in a pillow to hide her shame, whispering the filthy fantasy of losing control, of being treated like she was lesser than, she was shaking, actually shaking, with the sheer nerves of having said it out loud.
But Vi had, thankfully, read the room. She hadn't recoiled. Hadn't laughed. Hadn't made it into anything but what it was. Vi just watched her, one eyebrow slightly raised, her expression soft and curious and utterly without judgment.
"Sure we can try that," Vi had said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, as casual as if she'd asked Caitlyn what she wanted for dinner. "If you want."
And that was that.
The weight of all the liquid she'd drank since six am sat low in her belly, dense and sloshing, making her walk stiff-legged beside Vi through the rusted bowels of the Promenade level. Every step sent a reminder jarring through her pelvis…a sharp, insistent pressure that bloomed outward with each shift of her weight. Probably three litres of water, plus a whole day of refused bathroom breaks had seen to that. She'd done this to herself. Done it very on purpose.
The thought made her throat dry and her pulse tick up in her ears, a low, insistent thrum that drowned out the distant clatter of machinery and the drip of condensation from the corroded pipes overhead. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms as she walked.
They slipped behind a corroded support beam, tucked into a forgotten corner where the Zaun’s pipes hummed their endless industrial drone below and the occasional distant whistle of an enforcer patrol echoed up from somewhere far beneath. A sliver of privacy.
Vi stopped, her boots crunching on the grimy floor, and turned to face her. The alley was dim, the only light coming from the flickering, sickly yellow glow of a distant streetlamp, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across Vi’s face.
They’d talked and talked.
Picked the perfect place.
Vi had asked her more times that she could count.
Down here, people generally minded their own business. Here Vi knew the escape routes woven in and out of alleyways and tunnels like the back of her hand. It was still risky non the less, and just about exactly as public as Caitlyn had requested.
She crowded her against the rough brick in one smooth step, her body solid and warm and inevitable. Her hand slid straight down the front of Caitlyn's uniform trousers as her fingers found the distended swell of Caitlyn's bladder and pressed.
"Ohh Fuck—" she knocked her head back against the wall, mouth falling open. It wasn't pain, discomfort mixed with arousal maybe. It was sharp and bright and shot straight to her groin as her hips jerked forward into Vi's hand.
"So full, Cupcake." a voice full of gravel and heat right against her ear. "Remember how scared you were to tell me this? Thought I'd think you were some dirty freak?" She pressed harder, digging the heel of her palm in, and Caitlyn let out a strangled moan that echoed off the brick. "Look at you now. Soaking through your panties just from me pushing on your belly."
Vi's thigh came between her legs then, grinding up slow, dragging the seam of those starched uniform trousers right against her clit. Caitlyn's hips rolled without permission, chasing the friction, a low broken sound scraping out of her throat.
"Hands behind your back."
Caitlyn's fingers laced together at the small of her back instantly, the posture thrusting her chest out and arching her spine, making the heavy weight in her bladder settle lower, pressing down against muscles already straining to hold. She was breathing hard already, lips parted, eyes dazed.
Vi popped the button of her trousers open with practiced ease. Didn't pull them down. Just slid her hand inside, over the damp fabric of her underwear. Soaked. The cotton clung to her, clinging to swollen flesh, and Vi groaned low when she felt it.
"You're dripping." Her fingers dragged through the wetness, up and down the slit, barely grazing the clit beneath. "Nasty girl. So turned on by holding it for me."
Caitlyn's felt her heart pounding in her chest. Her pupils had blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue, and her head lolled against the brick. The pleasure was building slow and hot, winding through her like smoke, every light touch of Vi's fingers sending fresh sparks skittering across her skin. "Please," she heard herself say, the word thick and breathy. "... I…more… Please."
"Patience." Vi pressed her palm flat against her bladder again, firm, as her middle finger flicked over her clit through the wet cotton.
"Ah—hahhh!" Her knees buckled. The dual sensation of that sharp sweet ache of the pressure and the sudden bright spike of pleasure was intoxicating. It felt so fucking good her toes curled in her boots as the blood rushed in her ears. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Vi's mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, biting down just hard enough to sting, while her fingers worked the fabric aside. Skin against slick, hot skin. She dragged one finger through the abundant wetness, circling the entrance, not pushing inside yet. Just teasing in a way that made her knees shake in anticipation.
"You're so soft." she whispered, voice humming against her throat. "So ready. You're shaking, Cupcake. Want it bad, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes, I want it." The words tumbled out, desperate and unguarded as Vi's thumb found her clit and began slow, maddening circles that sent fresh bolts of heat pooling low in her belly with every stroke. "Feels so good. You make me feel so good love please."
Vi smiled against her neck. A second finger joined the first at her entrance, just barely pushing inside, then pulling back when Caitlyn tried to push down.
"Ah ah." That low, teasing chastisement. "You take what I give you."
She heard herself whine, high and needy. She was drooling now, lips parted, chest heaving, a strand of saliva slipping down her chin. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, and the pressure in her bladder wasn't just an ache anymore, it was amplifying everything, making every nerve scream with sensitivity.
"Open your mouth," Vi said suddenly, her voice shifting to something sterner. "Tongue out."
Caitlyn's eyes fluttered open. Her face burned as shame and desire twisting together. Her jaw went slack and she stuck her tongue out, long and pink and wet, the gesture obscenely vulnerable in the dim alley light.
And Vi looked at her for a long moment, taking in the sight. Then she leaned in, gathered saliva on her tongue, and let it drop directly onto her outstretched tongue.
A full, thick string of it, warm and wet, landing on the pink muscle and sliding down into her waiting mouth.
"Good girl," Vi murmured, her own voice rough with want. "Swallow for me."
Caitlyn's lips closed around the taste—warm, salty, and she swallowed with a broken moan that came from somewhere deep in her chest. The humiliation of it flushed through her like fire, and she could feel her cunt clench around nothing, desperate and empty.
"Again?", she nodded frantically, tongue out immediately, eyes half-lidded and glazed with need.
Drops of spit landed in her mouth twice more, each time she swallowed with a devotion that bordered on worship, each string of saliva making her whimper and squirm, her hips grinding against Vi’s thigh in a desperate search for friction as the submission of sticking her tongue out, waiting for her reward made her pulse between her legs.
"Look at you," Vi breathed, her thumb wiping a strand of drool from her chin. "So hungry for it. So fucking pretty when you're this desperate."
"Please." Her voice cracked. "I'm going to come. If you keep..I can't hold it. I—I can't—"
"Put your hands on my shoulders," Vi said, pulling back just enough to give her room. "Hold onto me."
Clumsily, her hands unclasped from behind her back to grab around the broadness of her shoulders, nails digging into the skin. The relief of gripping something solid was instantaneous, but it also made her feel more unmoored than before. The pleasure was building to a crest, raw and blinding, and the pressure in her bladder was a dam threatening to break.
Vi thrust her fingers deep inside her cunt, curling them upward and it briefly made her vision white out at the edges as she pushed down on her lower belly.
"Oh god—yes, mphhh right there—" Caitlyn sobbed, her whole body seizing. "Please—I can't—"
She leaned forward, burying her face in the harness of Vi’s shoulder, body trembling violently, shaking apart at the seams. The tears came then, leaking out hot and fast against the cotton of Vi’s shirt.
She thought about every teacher who'd told her she was so composed, so mature for her age. Every relative who'd said what a well-behaved girl like it was the highest compliment a person could receive. Every time she'd swallowed down the thing she actually wanted to say and replaced it with something more appropriate.
"I can't hold on," she groaned into Vi's shoulder, the confession muffled and raw, and she wasn't talking about her bladder anymore, she was talking about all of it, every single thing she'd ever held back. "It's too much. I'm so full. I can't—"
She thought about all the times she’d been with previous partners, how there were things she could never say. The words would sit at the tip of her tongue, but she'd swallow them down, replacing her raw, unfiltered feelings with something safer.
Vi's free arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up, holding her together. Her fingers didn't stop, though. She set a ruthless pace, fucking her hard and deep while her thumb ground into her clit. "You love this," she growled against her ear. "Being used like this. Drooling while I fuck you. You're mine, Cait. All of you. Even the messy parts."
"I'm yours. I'm yours. Vi, I can't—I can't—" The words fell out of her. She was on the edge, teetering. The pleasure was blinding, her body screaming for release in every way possible. She looked at Vi with wild, pleading eyes, tears of sheer overstimulation leaking out.
And gods, she was so tired. So tired of being strong, so tired of holding herself together, so tired of hurting. And then Vi's hand was in her hair and her voice was in her ear telling her it was okay to feel like this, hell, telling her to feel like this.
"Let go for me." Vi breathed, hot against her ear, her fingers pumping faster, deeper, driving her right to the edge.
Her face burned as a sob that tore from somewhere deep in her chest—relief and ruin and release all tangled together as her control snapped violently apart.
The flood spread. A hot gush burst out of her, soaking through the layers of fabric and instantly, drenching Vi's hand, hissing loud against the fabric of her uniform trousers. A sound that was obscene in the quiet alley, a sharp steady hiss that echoed off brick and steel, and she screamed through it, the sensation almost blinding.
Vi didn't stop. She kept fucking her through it, fingers driving deep, curling against that spot, thumb grinding into her clit in tight ruthless circles while the the hot stream of wet poured out of her in steaming rivers, running down her thighs, soaking into the legs of her uniform, pooling on the grimy metal grating beneath their feet.
The heat was everywhere. The wet was everywhere. She felt her walls clamp down hard on Vi's fingers, pulsing rhythmically as the orgasm ripped through her and the wet kept coming, pleasure and humiliation braiding together into something so intense her vision went white at the edges. She could hear it—the wet obscene squelch of Vi's hand working inside her, the hiss of urine against fabric, her own broken sobs, and every sound drove her higher.
"Oh fuck!" she cried, her back arching off the wall, fingers clawing at Vi's shoulders hard enough to leave crescents in the leather. "Oh god—oh god—I'm—I'm—"
"That's it." Vi's voice was rough and wrecked against her ear, her fingers never slowing. "Soak yourself. You're so fucking gorgeous like this, Cait. So fucking messy. So fucking mine."
The stream slowed to a trickle, then a drip, leaving her slumped against Vi's shoulder, her whole body trembling in the aftermath as she wept into her sweat soaked skin. Her trousers were ruined—a dark, heavy stain spread from crotch to knee, the fabric clinging wet and warm to her legs. The smell of it hung between them, sharp and unmistakable, mixing with the scent of sex.
Vi pulled her hand free, wet and glistening, and didn't even wipe it off before she was cupping her face, tilting her chin up, kissing her deep and desperate. She tasted herself on Vi's tongue, the salt and musk from her tears—and kissed back with everything she had left, which wasn't much. Her legs felt like water. Her brain felt like static.
"You did so good," Vi murmured against her mouth, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were wide and soft and absolutely blazing with adoration. "So fucking good. I have never seen anything hotter in my entire life."
She let out a breathless laugh, her legs still trembling so badly she could barely stand. She leaned heavily into Vi, burying her face in her neck, smelling the leather and the sex. “I feel… absolutely disgusting,” she whispered, but there was a smile in her voice.
“Hey,” Vi pulled back, shaking her head firmly. “No. You don’t get to feel disgusting. She kissed her forehead, then each of her cheeks, then her nose, a barrage of affectionate kisses. “Trusting me with this? Letting me see this part of you? That’s the biggest compliment you could ever give me. You’re perfect.”
She felt herself shiver against her as she leaned her head on Vi shoulder.
”Shit, sorry” Vi mumbled as apology as she turned and practically scrambled for the backpack and unzipping it as quickly as she could. She pulled out a thick fluffy towel and a bundle of fresh clothes, sweatpants, an oversized shirt, clean underwear—all rolled together.
"Okay, come here. Let's get you warm." Vi's voice had shifted entirely, to a rushing, eager tenderness. She shook out the towel and stepped close, dabbing gently at her wet face, then her neck, then her arms, each touch careful and reverent, like she was handling something precious.
"You were amazing," Vi whispered, working the towel over her soaked skin. "I'm so proud of you. For asking for what you wanted. For trusting me with it." She glanced up, meeting her eyes with a fierce, steady warmth. "I love you so much. Every part. Especially this one”
It was all she could do to stand there, boneless and blinking, letting Vi peel her out of the ruined uniform trousers. The wet fabric clung stubbornly before sliding down her thighs with a damp, heavy sound that hit the grating with a sodden splat. Vi knelt, wiping down her legs with the towel, her touch impossibly gentle, pressing soft kisses to her hip, her thigh, the inside of her knee as she worked.
"Arms up," Vi murmured, and she obeyed, letting Vi pull the dry sweatpants up her legs and tie the drawstring with careful fingers, pressing another kiss to her hipbone through the fabric. The oversized shirt came next, soft and warm and smelling faintly of the detergent Vi used, and Caitlyn sank into it gratefully.
"I love you too," she croaked out, her voice hoarse. "Thank you."
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Vi said with a smirk, though the expression didn't quite reach the worry in her eyes. She looked around, scanning the dim, narrow alleyway they were tucked into, checking for threats, for witnesses, for anything that might make this harder. “We need to get you home first.” She tightened her grip just a fraction, her fingers pressing reassuringly against her hip. “Follow me.”
Later, warm and clean, wrapped in a shirt that wasn't hers…a soft cotton one Vi wore to bed, the hem hanging past her thighs, smelling faintly of smoke from the fire and that cheap soap from the Lanes that Caitlyn had somehow grown to love—She rested her head on Vi's shoulder. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the old scar on Vi's stomach, following its familiar path without truly seeing it, lost in thought about how people could break in so many ways and still find a way to stay whole.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Vi huffed softly, her eyes still closed. "You've already said that."
It took all of her remaining energy, but she shifted slightly, just enough to look up and meet Vi’s gaze "I mean it," she said sleepily. "I feel more like myself when I'm with you than I ever did—or ever do—with anyone else."
Vi paused, taking in her words. Her thumb had been tracing lazy circles against her shoulder, and it stilled for just a moment, hand lifting to cover hers, pressing her rough palm flat against the scar, pinning it there.
"Feels right, doesn't it?" Vi murmured.
She felt herself smile, really smile, the kind that reached all the way down, and let her eyes fall shut. "Mmm," she agreed, already beginning to drift.
Somewhere deep in her chest, something unclenched. A huge itch scratched for the first time, raw and strange but entirely comfortable, and so completely relieved it felt almost too good to be true.
"It does."