Character: L
Pairing: L x Reader
Word Count: 1,229
For my good friend @juuyeah who requested a scene with the reader taking L to have a sundae on a hot summer day (TOTALLY not inspired by the art I commissioned her...hehehe). It's been sitting in my docs for a while now because I keep forgetting about it XD
The July heat had settled over Lumiose City like a thick, honeyed blanket, the cobblestones shimmering in the late afternoon sun. You and L had sought refuge in a small ice cream parlor tucked away on a side street near the Prism Tower, the kind of place with wrought-iron tables and a chalkboard menu and a proprietor who took sundae construction as seriously as an art form.
Which was how you'd ended up with two very elaborate creations.
Your sundae was a Sylveon-inspired masterpiece—pale cream and strawberry scoops arranged with delicate precision, ribbons of pink and blue spun sugar curling from the sides, tiny chocolate bows perched on the whipped cream. The whole thing was dusted with iridescent sprinkles that caught the light, and you'd nearly felt bad about eating it. Nearly.
L's sundae, by contrast, was all bold lines and dramatic flair. The scoops were a deep, rich caramel and a fiery mango sorbet, arranged to mimic the shape of a Pyroar's mane. Whipped cream formed the lighter portions of the face, and two dark chocolate pieces served as the eyes. The whole thing was topped with thin, candied orange peels that curled like flames.
"Yours looks like it's about to roar at me," you said, spoon poised above your own dessert.
L glanced down at his sundae, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And yours looks like it might charm me into submission." He was dressed lighter than usual today—a simple red linen shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the color bringing out the warmth in his skin and the orange streaks in his beard. Without his usual heavy jacket, he looked younger somehow. Softer.
You'd been walking for a while now, your sundaes in hand, wandering through the shaded boulevards and watching the city go about its summer business. Children splashed in the fountains. Couples lounged on the grass in the public gardens. A street performer played a melancholy tune on an accordion, and somewhere in the distance, a cab clattered over the cobblestones.
"This was a good idea," you said, scooping up a bite of your Sylveon sundae—the strawberry and cream melting together on your tongue, the spun sugar dissolving into sweetness. "It's too hot to do anything else."
L hummed in agreement, taking a bite of his own dessert. The caramel dripped down the side of his spoon, and he caught it with his thumb, licking it off with an absentmindedness that was entirely too distracting. "I've walked through deserts that felt cooler than this city in July," he said. "Though I suppose the company was considerably worse."
You nudged him with your elbow. "Was that a compliment?"
"It might have been."
You walked a few more steps in comfortable silence, the sun dappling through the leaves of the plane trees lining the avenue. Then you stopped, turning to face him, your spoon hovering in the air between you.
"Here," you said. "Try mine."
L raised an eyebrow but leaned in, parting his lips. You guided the spoon carefully, and he took the bite—strawberry and cream and a delicate crunch of spun sugar. His eye closed for a moment, savoring it, and when he opened it again, there was something warm and fond in his gaze.
"It’s…sweet," he said. "Like you."
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks—and not from the weather. "Smooth."
"Now, your turn." He held out his own spoon, a perfect curl of caramel and mango balanced on the tip.
You leaned in, lips closing around the spoon. The mango sorbet burst bright and tangy on your tongue, the caramel rich and smooth, and you hummed in appreciation—only for the sound to be swallowed as L leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was soft, unhurried, his mouth still cool from the bite of your sundae you'd fed him moments before. You tasted strawberry and cream and the faint sweetness of spun sugar, and before you could even think to respond, he was pulling back, that rare, quiet smile curving his lips.
"I apologize, I couldn't resist," he murmured, his voice low and unrepentant.
You blinked at him, mouth open, flustered and pleased and trying very hard not to smile too wide. Instead, you dug your spoon into your cup and shoved it in your mouth. "Mmhmm..." You scooped up another bite of your own sundae and held it out to him. "One more?"
He accepted without hesitation, and you watched the way his expression softened as the flavors hit his tongue. It was a small thing—sharing ice cream on a hot day—but with L, small things always felt significant. Every moment with him felt borrowed, precious, a gift you hadn't expected to receive.
"Now you have whipped cream," you said, gesturing at the corner of his own mouth.
L blinked, then reached up to wipe it away himself—but you caught his wrist before he could, a mischievous smile playing at your lips.
"Let me."
You brushed your thumb over the spot, gathering the cream, and held it up for him to see. His eye crinkled with quiet embarrassment, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
"Ah," he murmured. "I was wondering why you kept smiling."
"One of the reasons, anyway." You licked the cream from your thumb nonchalantly, and his flush deepened.
He caught your hand before you could lower it, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, his beard tickling your skin. "Thank you," he said, voice low and warm. "For that. And for this." He gestured vaguely with his nearly-finished sundae, encompassing the afternoon, the city, the two of you together.
"You don't have to thank me for spending time with you," you said, squeezing his hand. "That's kind of my favorite thing to do."
The heat was beginning to feel less charming and more oppressive now, your sundae melting faster than you could eat it, the sun beating down on the cobblestones with relentless intensity. L seemed to notice your discomfort at the same moment you noticed his—the way his light red shirt was starting to cling to his back, the way he kept brushing a stray strand of white hair from his damp forehead.
"Perhaps we should head back," he suggested, his tone gentle but his gaze already turning toward the familiar skyline where Hotel Z rose above the surrounding buildings. "The air conditioning is calling."
"You read my mind."
The walk back was slower, lazier, your pace tempered by the heat and the pleasant fullness of ice cream in your bellies. Your hand stayed in his, fingers loosely intertwined, swinging gently between you. The sundaes were reduced to sticky puddles at the bottom of their cups, the elaborate Pyroar and Sylveon sculptures long since devoured.
By the time you pushed through the front doors of Hotel Z, the blast of cool air was nothing short of heavenly. You both paused in the lobby, letting it wash over you, and L let out a quiet sigh of relief that made you laugh.
"What?" he asked, one eyebrow quirking.
"Nothing." You tugged him toward the elevator, still smiling. "Just glad I get to do this with you."
The elevator doors slid shut, and L pulled you gently against his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So am I," he murmured against your hair. "More than you know."
I am at a loss of words, especially in english at the moment.....after 16 extremely long years, we *finally* got rid of Orbán and Fidesz...(hopefully for good). (Edit: sticking this under a read-more.)
Yesterday it didn't truly hit, and my eyes only got watery, and this morning I cried hard, from joy, but also from grief and pain from everything we've been though.
We left Hungary 7 years ago to move back try our luck in the USA for a better life, and things didn't change sadly, but got worse in this cold, uncaring country that only cares about profit. The only thing that made it beareable is my Mom and my beloved friends both here, online, and back in Hungary.
And speaking of friends, seeing that back in Hungary things might be....different? after so many many years of hopelessness, and historically being the country that was unders others' thumb, wrong choice after wrong side, and the steady progression of sliding into the abyss of hate.... It's hard to convey how hard hitting this small glimmer of hope is. And that my friends might have a chance at a life free from the shadow of this past regime....gosh it means the world to me.
-
It tells a lot about Hungarians and recent politics about how jaded and in a way pessimistic I am about anything politics, but I hope for the first time in a very long while. Küzdünk és bízva bízunk.
Even if I've been away for so long, and things are more complicated with my personal relationship to Hungary (and certain blood relatived I'd rather not ever see), but that things turned out different makes me finally be able to just...breathe for the first moment in a very long time.
Here's to something different, and to less hate. To writing a different book, and a new page.
I'm trying to keep my tumblr up to date like a digital sketchbook, but with my ever changing art style, sometimes I just don't like how things turn out. 😮💨
