#lol @ me for thinking i could do 200-ish words per prompt

[reiverreturns]

9 + sereshace

OOOOOH this one got my brain going so good!! the outcome ended up being a slight divergence of the original prompt but i hope you like it anyway! Send me a prompt and some characters/ships for a ficlet or drabble

Sereshace + Teal

Coming home these days is like coming into colour. 

To Natasha, this is Bradley; a glittering gold, bright and radiant and burnt around the edges. Rich charm, warm music, amber beer. Hair lightened and skin tanned in the sun. Sand almost too hot to touch. The hazy crash of waves. Patches of shadow that deepen the dunes and the quiet dream of brighter days. 

Jake, by comparison, is red. Big. Bold. Danger, once, before thrill, and long before safety. It had taken time for Natasha to understand the nuance in him. The early night sky of his character. Deep, soft. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shifts into tones of blue and orange. Dark chocolate chased with red wine. Neon reflections guiding the way home after a heavy storm. The sharp bite in the first berries of summer, and the promise of sweetness in the season to come. 

They’re bickering so loud in the next room they haven’t heard her come in. Natasha drops her keys at the door and shakes her head. 

She’s long thought of where she fits in this picture, though there has never truly been any ‘fitting’ to do. She’s always been caught somewhere between the open sky and the brush of treetops; now she’s blending teal between the powder blue of Bradley’s Bronco and the green of Jake’s eyes. A cool, silken morning mist that edges off the harsh lines of dawn. Deep, sparkling water without hidden threat of fear of its depths. Sea glass kissed smooth. Moonlight illuminating a gravel path that stretches on for miles. 

Jake and Bradley are sitting on opposite ends of the couch when Natasha walks in, twin scowls replaced with a beat of surprise before they dissolve into something more placid. She spares a cursory glance at the television in front of them. Some home improvement show plays on in the background. 

“Dare I ask?” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow. 

Bradley waves a hand towards the television, his scowl returning. “Jake’s trying to tell me the colour they’ve painted this room is grey when it’s clearly beige -” 

“And they let this colour-blind idiot fly jets,” Jake interjects, arms folded. “The paint was called Lady Jane -” 

“Which doesn’t mean anything -” 

“Which means it’s fucking grey, Bradley. Jesus Christ, did you open a book in high school?” 

“Listen dipshit, you’re the one who can’t split the goddamn colours out of the laundry so don’t tell me…” 

As they argue Natasha crosses the room. She winds her head across Jake’s lap and her legs across Bradley’s. Their back and forth is noisy and colourful and loud but on her their hands are immediate and soft. Carding through her hair, running down the planes of her shins, over the tops of her thighs. Painting in the relaxation. Feeling like home. 

Natasha couldn’t give a shit about grey walls, about paint names, about the too–white teeth of the tv presenter or their questionable taste in trendy pantsuits. She leaves those drab, unsaturated things outside. Between her boys, against their touch, everything is in balance. 

(And with them, she can paint this life in whatever colour she wants.)