𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢 ᶻ𝘇 𐰁

“Yeah,” a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “S’cool.”

“You nervous?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please. I’ve survived prison fights.”

The words come easily, the same way they always do whenever she’s trying to brush something off. But you don’t look convinced, not even for one second. Vi fights the urge to fidget under your gaze, really hoping you’ll let it go before you manage to see through her.

The thing is, she is nervous, and she feels ridiculous about it. She’s fought people twice her size, faced down armed enforcers, survived years she never should have survived at all. A crowder parade shouldn’t make her stomach twist itself into knots. Yet, she can’t shake the strange feeling sitting heavy in her chest.

Her eyes drift back to the crowd. To the women holding hands without hesitation, the couples wrapped in pride flags, the older woman laughing just as her wife pulls her into a dance in the middle of the street.

The sight makes her chest ache in a way she doesn’t understand. Not because they’re together or because they look head over heels in love, but because they’re older. Grey hairs, smile lines, years written across their faces.

For so long, Vi had never allowed herself to think that far ahead— life had taught her not to. She’d worried about tomorrow when tomorrow arrived. Anything beyond that felt dangerous, like tempting fate. So, she got used to focus on the next day, the next fight, the next problem around the corner. Thinking about the future had always felt like a luxury meant for somebody else.

But all around her are people who look like they’ve made it. People who found someone and got to keep them to build a life together. The realization settles beneath her ribs, because for the first time, she finds herself wondering what growing old with someone would be like, to stop surviving long enough to actually live.

Before she can dwell on it for too long, you reach for her hand.

“Hey,” your voice is gentler now, thumb brushing against her knuckles. She didn’t even notice how tightly she was clenching her fist. “You okay?”

Vi glances down and stares at your joined hands for a moment. She allows herself to just enjoy the warmth of your fingers wrapped around hers.

She squeezes your hand back. “I’m okay.”

You take a small step closer, your free hand rummaging through bag. A few seconds later, you pull your hand back out, something wrapped around your fingers.

“Here.”

Your fingers brush against her skin as you carefully fasten a bracelet around her wrist. Small beads in shades of orange, white and pink catch the sunlight when you pull back. There’s a tiny charm hanging from it, and Vi lifts her hand to inspect it more closely. Her heart skips a bit as she takes a good look at it— it’s your initial.

“I made ‘em last night,” a shy smile spreads across your face as you lift your own hand. “We’re matching.”

An identical bracelet sits there, except for the small golden V dangling from it.

The matching bands aren’t even fancy, the beads aren’t perfectly aligned, hell— one of them even looks slightly crooked. And somehow, that only makes it better, because you made it for her.

Warmth settles in her chest, pushing against the strange ache that had been living there since you arrived at the parade. Her thumb brushed over the tiny charm, your initial, and a grin spreads across her face before she can stop it.

“It’s the prettiest bracelet I’ve ever owned,” she starts, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes when she looks back at you again. “Pretty cheesy, though.”

Your jaw drops. “Cheesy?”

“Very.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” you point accusingly at her wrist. “Take it off then.”

Vi immediately wraps her hand around the bracelet, taking a small step back as she looks at you with an offended expression.

“I’m never taking it off.”

The grin that spreads across your face is impossible to miss.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of color, music, and laughter.

You drag her from booth to booth, stopping to admire handmade crafts, sample food from street vendors, and buy enough stickers to cover an entire wall. At some point, a volunteer paints a tiny rainbow on Vi’s cheek. She pretends to hate it, but the dozen photos she let you take of her suggest otherwise.

The parade is louder than she expected. Cheers erupt from every corner of the street, music spills from passing floats, strangers dance together as if they’ve known each other their whole lives. Normally, crowds like this would put her on edge and she’d be scanning every exit, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s in those overwhelming moments when her fingers drift to the bracelet wrapped around her wrist. Her thumb brushes over your initial in a small, absentminded gesture. Every time she touches it, the warmth in her chest returns.

For the first time in a long time, Vi finds herself enjoying the moment without worrying about what might go wrong or wondering when it will end. She laughs when you pull her into a dance she swears she doesn’t know, steals bites from your food when you aren’t looking, and lets you take picture after picture, even when she complains about every single one.

And every time she catches the sight of the grin on your face, she finds herself smiling right back.

By the time the sun begins to sink lower in the sky, painting the streets gold, the crowds have started to thin. You walk side by side, your hands brushing occasionally as you make your way away from the parade route.

The day settles comfortably between you with that kind of silence that only exists when you’re with the right person. Vi’s thumb catches on the bracelet again, and you notice. A soft smile takes over your lips as you bump against her shoulder lightly.

“You’ve been playing with that thing all day.”

“It’s my favorite thing in the world,” Vi glances down at the bracelet, smiling with such tenderness it makes your heart ache.

You chuckle at her statement, and the sound makes her heart skip a bit. She looks over her shoulder, watching the last of the festival-goers pass by. The families, the friends, the couples…

She exhales quietly. “I think I get it now.”

You glance at her, eyes slightly furrowed with confusion.

“Get what?”

Vi hesitates because she’s not used to being vulnerable out loud. At least, not in the middle of the street. But she looks back once again, toward the flags still waving in the distance and the people who had spent the entire day celebrating who they were without apology.

A lump forms unexpectedly in her throat.

“Pride.”

Your expression softens, fingers curling around hers as you listen intently.

“I always thought it was just…” She gestures vaguely. “Y’know, music, big party, lots of hot people on the street.”

“And now?” you prompt, eyes never leaving her face.

Vi swallows as she tries to turn her overwhelming train of thought into a coherent sentence. Now she thinks about the older couple dancing in the street, about the countless hands she’d seen intertwined throughout the day, about the future, about belonging… about you.

“Now I see is people getting to be happy,” her grip on your hand tightens softly. “People getting to love who they love and not have to hide it.”

She pauses for a second. Then, a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“And maybe it is about realizing there’s a place for us, too.”

Your eyes fill with so much affection it nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. Before she can mutter anything else, you step closer. Close enough that she can catch the faint scent of sunscreen lingering on your skin, mixed with whatever sweet drink you’d been carrying around all afternoon.

Your hand rises to her cheek, and the rest of the world begins to blur. The tiny rainbow has started to fade, but she still feels your thumb brush across it.

You lean in, your lips finding hers with such tenderness it makes her knees weak. The kiss is slow enough for Vi to feel every part of it— the warmth of your mouth, the way your fingers curl against her jaw, the quiet sigh you let out when she leans back into you.

All day she’d been watching people celebrate love without fear, and now she finally gets it. She’s certain that she doesn’t have to earn her place beside you, she doesn’t have to fight for it, she’s allowed to be loved.

You pull back first, only far enough to rest your forehead against hers. Her hands find your automatically, fingers intertwining as the bracelets on your wrist shift with the movement.

Vi opens her eyes and finds you smiling at her, a smile so full of love it makes her chest ache all over again.

“I love you,” you whisper, thumb tracing over her cheek.

The lump returns to her throat, but she doesn’t try to swallow it down now. Instead, she squeezes your hand.

“I love you,” and she means it.

For the first time, the future doesn’t feel frightening. It feels worth looking forward to.

“…you’re a big sap.”

Vi groans immediately, hands grabbing your waist as she lets her head drop backwards. “Oh, c’mon.”

“You got emotional and it almost made me cry,” you grin, pulling her closer. When she glances back at you, she notices your teary eyes.

“I did not get emotional.”

“You should totally do next year’s Pride speech.”

Her face immediately drains of color. “There’s no fucking way.”

You laugh, the sound bright and carefree as you begin pulling her down the street.

“Please! You’d be great.”

“No.”

“You could talk about belonging.”

“No.”

“The future? Or at least give the girls some lesbian sex tips?”

Vi nearly trips over her own feet. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Your laughter only grows louder. She rolls her eyes, but smiles despite herself and lets you guide her down the street. Vi’s fingers brush against the bracelet wrapped around her wrist one last time, your initial catching against her thumb. It’s a small, simple detail, yet it somehow feels like everything.

Maybe Pride is about celebration. Maybe it’s about community. Or maybe it’s about love. But as she looks at you, chuckling beside her with your matching bracelet glinting in the sunlight, Vi thinks it’s also about finding your people, about finding your place.

• 𝓋i : constantly has her hands on you, on your waist, hip, lower back, the place doesn’t matter. just the fact that her hand is somewhere on you.

• 𝓋i : she has a big thing for public or semi-public sex. if she’s feeling particularly teasing, she’ll slip her hand under your panties while you sit in the corner at a bar. she’ll tease at first—her hand rubbing slow circles over your damp spot, she loves the feeling of your thighs clenching around her.

• 𝓋i : when she finally slips her fingers into your wet cunt, your reaction is instant. she has to lean in and whisper in your ear to be quiet. to remind you that you’re in public.

• 𝓋i : ‘c’mon doll, you can control yourself better than this.’ she says, easing her fingers in and out of you. ‘shhh, quiet down, people’ll will start to notice. you’d like that huh? having everyone realize how fuckin’ desperate you are.’

• 𝓋i : who adores kissing your neck all over, biting. she loves the sight of hickeys and bite marks on you. it is by far one of the things she enjoys the most.

• 𝓋i : you enjoys slipping her fingers into your mouth, watching you suck and drool all over them.

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