#kicking off this blog with a serval piece 🙏🙏

[shalomniscient]

my home, for all seasons || serval x reader

Love, she had found, was a lot like warmth, after all. And she’s got enough to fill a universe with it, right here with you.

content warnings: none !

wc: 939

It’s snowing again.

It was hardly a surprising sight in Belobog, even as the Eternal Freeze had begun to recede. The lands outside the city’s walls still remained cloaked in a pristine layer of white, decorated with frozen statues of monsters and men alike. And it would be many, many years before the heaters in the streets and homes of Belobog could retire from their duty.

Serval was used to the cold. To the nipping chill that settled in the tips of her fingers, rendering them far too clumsy to strum her guitar properly. It was, if anything, a persistent annoyance. Hence why she had only blearily stared at you when you shook her awake, a sun-bright grin on your face at an hour far too early for her to truly appreciate.

“Serval,” you whispered excitedly, your voice light like first snow. “Serval, it’s snowing.”

Groggily, Serval turned her head to the side, squinted, and sure enough—snowflakes drifted lazily outside the window, turning the morning light a diluted greyish-yellow. Distantly, she could hear the clamour of the waking city bleed through the walls of your shared apartment. “G’morning to you too,” she drawled, moving to roll onto you and bury her face in the warm junction between your shoulder and your neck. Her breath tickled the sensitive skin there and you squirmed, giggling, your hands finding her face to draw her back.

“Let’s go out,” you say, and Serval’s expression morphed into a pout.

“But ‘s cold,” she whined in response.

“We can cuddle after,” you offered, trying to sweeten the deal. Serval’s eyes glittered, brows rising suggestively as her hands found your waist to absently rub small circles into the soft flesh. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve even seen snow.”

Serval blinked. Oh.

The last time you would have been able to let yourself enjoy such a mundane activity would have been years ago, before… well. Before the Supreme Guardian had decided the Underworld was a necessary sacrifice in her battle against the Fragmentum, damning you and so many innocent others to a subterranean existence. Your time in the Underworld had not been kind, but everyone Serval had met from the underground city had only lovely things to say about you.

Sometimes, the only thing that kept some of us sane was her music, Seele had admitted once as they sat in Bronya’s office after a long day of meetings and discussions with bone-headed Overworld nobles. Her playing was an excuse for people to sing and dance and forget everything for a while.

There is comfort in music, Serval had agreed, and in her mind’s eye she could almost picture you: the line of your back and the bend of your arm as you held your violin, your eyes shut as you felt the music in your bones, drawing each note straight from your soul and giving it tender voice. Your heart, Serval had come to learn, reflected in your playing, and it made her wonder what your song would have sounded like down in the Underworld. Eventually, she thought that it would have sounded a lot like hope.

“In that case,” she murmured, as her lips flicked upwards in a grin to match yours, “I know the perfect place.”

The ‘perfect place’ in question was actually outside the city, which Serval knew might be a bit of a controversial choice—actually, no, it very much was—but then again, Serval lived and died by rock n’ roll, and there’s nothing more rock n’ roll in spirit than being a little controversial. Plus, it wasn’t too far from the city’s gates, and if anything, Serval could fight. All those years in the hell that was military school weren’t for nothing.

Especially now, as she looked at you under the pale sunlight, your breaths warm puffs of air in the morning chill. Your face was tilted towards the sky, snowflakes catching in your hair like constellations. And oh, that smile on your face—so dazzlingly bright that Serval swore she could go fucking snowblind. It’s the moments like these, just you, her and the crescendo of emotion between the both of you that makes her feel that maybe, just maybe, all that shitty heartbreak and pain was worth it. That all the grief and sadness had finally slid into place in the symphony of her life, discordant notes smoothing into a lovely harmony that led right to you.

Qlipoth above, she wanted to kiss you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your eyes still affixed to the pale heavens.

“Yeah,” Serval answered, but she’s not looking at the sky. “Sure is.”

As if sensing her stare on you, you turn to face her, your expression curious. “Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah, actually,” Serval replied after a moment, and stepped closer to you, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. A gloved hand rose up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing across the seam of your lips. She leaned in close, close enough that you could feel her breath spill across your cheeks, and right before she pulled you in for a gentle kiss, she whispered, “it’s me.”

Serval greedily swallowed the groan you let out at her admittedly terrible pick-up line, but you didn’t push her away, so she was taking this as an absolute win. In fact, you pulled her closer, your arms winding around her neck until your bodies were pressed flush together, and the cold nipping at her skin was all but forgotten.

Love, she had found, was a lot like warmth, after all. And she’s got enough to fill a universe with it, right here with you.