#llewyn davis

[eyelessfaces]

hell yeah

[movie-gifs]

Inside Llewyn Davis 2013 | dir. Ethan & Joel Coen

[ivystoryweaver]

I’ll take one of each

Part 2

[ominoose]

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

Characters: Steven Grant, Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Jake Lockley, Blue Jones Summary: Oscar Characters characters teaching subjects at school. Warnings: None WC: 1.7k

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 - 𝗛𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

His natural passion and accidental ability to hyper-fixate on things means he can teach all the required topics with ridiculous detail, but we all know which subject he dominates best.

The vast majority of the students adore him. Mr Grant’s lessons are always fun, he lets the class make posters (that include all nine members of the Ennead), do Kahoot quizzes, create live re-enactments of historical events. Even when he’s just talking off a power point, his voice, mannerisms and tendency to act things out has the children engrossed and giggling. 

The classroom walls are absolutely littered with posters, some bought and some done by students. There's inspiring quotes, positivity kittens and Egyptian puns.

Not only is he a good teacher, but a good mentor. Being autistic himself, he notices any neurodivergent or “othered” kids and makes it a point to find what they’re passionate about and working it into their curriculum. If someones struggling he’ll arrange one-on-one time, asking them what they’re strengths are not just to help figure out how to work with them, but to remind them they have strengths.

While most students do love him, the few troublemakers know he’s not the strictest and thus will absolutely take the piss. Feigning ignorance and struggles as an excuse to why they missed a deadline or didn’t do the homework. Steven, the optimist he is, is always happy to give second, third and fourth chances. It does take that long for him to realise they’re not genuine, and yet he’ll still try, convincing himself that he’ll be able to turn them straight with the magic of friendship.

𝗡𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 - 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲

It would be like finding a needle in a haystack trying to find a single student in the many years Nathan had been teaching that didn’t, at least at one point, absolutely despise him. Mr Bateman was far from the friendliest, lax teacher to his students, bordering on a bit of an asshole really. He had an absolute zero tolerance policy for time wasting, messing around and not giving 100%. All students were expected to keep up, get the work done on time and spend time studying and completing exercises at home. If you didn’t do that, you weren’t trying hard enough.

The common conception of a hard-ass wasn’t ill fitting, but it wasn’t without reason. Mr Bateman was a hard-ass because he wanted his students to grasp every opportunity at their disposal and stretch their potential. Some people were born smarter, some learned quicker from a young age but every single person could better themselves regardless of whether they started at Level 10 or Level 0. 

It also shouldn’t be said that he wanted students that simply obeyed. It was a story passed down to students about the time a student, in a fit of frustration and defiance to the teacher that always pushed them, completely disregarded the set code structure and wrote their own entirely new one that completed the aim function. While everyone would expect them to be given weeks worth of detention and a reaming, but Mr Bateman simply smiled, said well done and moved on with the lesson. Apparently the kid managed to get a full paid scholarship into top university, but that was just hearsay. Rumour has it his middle name is Hamlet too, snickering students will whisper.

Besides his rigid teaching style, not much is known about him. The classroom is minimalist, only a coffee flask and a pot of three black ballpoints sit on his desk. The walls are sparse beyond a handful of posters about common coding knowledge.

𝗟𝗹𝗲𝘄𝘆𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀 - 𝗠𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰

The beginning of every new school year followed the same routine. Kids would hear their music teacher was a published artist, get insanely excited, go to class then realise published was not synonymous with success and wither with disappointment. Mr Davis gave up caring years ago, at least he finally had a steady gig, albeit at the cost of his soul.

Classes were average. Sometimes students were treated to his natural singing voice, something that always sparked smiles and attention from the kids, but usually lessons were Llewyn bearing through kids bashing piano keys and drum pads as he wandered around and did his best to tutor them through it.

To kids that were required to take the class, it was alright. Mr Davis wasn’t a hard ass, although it did drain his soul to see kids blind to the brilliance and potential of music. His homework mostly consisted of practicing at home or listening to different genres. To kids that genuinely enjoyed music, it was bliss. Mr Davis was no dream mentor for sure, he was quite stubborn about what he thought “good music” sounded like, but when he sat with someone he could share the passion with, the kid would feel like an equal. 

The classroom was always open to kids that wanted time to practice, he knew what an escape music could be, and would never hesitate to sit and work out a song or even add his guitar to whatever a student was playing.

The room was a riot on a good day. All sorts of instruments littered and surrounded the desks, posters of musicians and notes and the different types of brass instruments lined the walls and there was always something playing in the background. A basket of fruit and cereal bars was always sat fully stocked next to the door, with a “Help Yourself” sign stuck to it. No one knew why, and no one ever thought to question it.

𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘆 - 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵

Spanish was always a full class, no matter what year or whether the students actually cared about Spanish. Students either swooned over him or wanted to be his friend. Mr Lockley knew, although had no clue why, but who cares as long as he was able to spread some Spanish around. The point is, Mr Lockley had no enemies at school.

Like a typical Spanish teacher, the register was taken in Spanish, if you wanted to ask to go to the toilet it had to be Spanish and if you wanted to pass notes in class they had better be in Spanish. He wasn’t the most forgiving, the man expected homework to be in on time and god help you if it was google translate. Mr Lockley would call you out, make you re-do it in his class at lunch or give detention to repeat offenders.

If students had been doing reasonably well he’d bring in some traditional Latin American foods for students to try, turn on a Spanish movie or even treat them to a little story about his past. Remember the Chef in Ratatouille that killed a guy with one thumb? That's the type of nonsense he talked about, albeit a bit more kid friendly. Most of the stories were embellished tales of him saving a grannies purse from being stolen, but some students always wondered about that hardened, broody looking teacher.

Mr Lockley prefers to keep his help to class time, long past learning his lesson about the very obvious students that came to him giggling and blushing behind their hands. On a rare occasion however, he will accept a student that comes knocking, overly apologetic and pleading for just a little help on their assignment, especially if the student is a quiet one. His lunch is set aside and he gestures for the student to take a seat before going over it with them, helping them with pronunciation, never shaming them or getting annoyed if they make a basic mistake. At the end he’ll even teach them how to say shit in Spanish, if they can keep it a little secret.

The classroom has posters of different Latin American countries, verbs and nouns, the different gendered terms. His desk was a little cluttered, a ‘Mejor Profesor’ mug, papers half marked and some drawings done by students hung nearby.

𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆

No one's favourite teacher but everyone knew him and had something to say. If a student had him later in the day they’d need to pray the morning classes were well behaved or pray they knew someone in said classes that could give a heads up on his moods. It didn’t matter either way, you could walk in one him sucking on his lower lip and glaring the entire class down and walk away with him smiling and patting backs. It was every student for themselves in that class. The only consistency was the white lab coat he wore. 

There were obvious favourites, usually people who found a good balance of kissing his ass but not too overtly, asking for help while still expressing basic knowledge. If you asked too many questions, he would openly sigh or ignore you for someone else. If you gave an answer he thought was stupid, he wouldn’t hide the hands raking over his face in annoyance. If you were quiet and kept to yourself, you’d skirt by okay until one day in the middle of a lesson he calls your name with a faux chirp, predatory smile and ask a question. Answer correctly and you can rest assured he'll (probably) leave you alone for the next few lessons, answer wrong and enjoy doing exam questions as practice.

Detention for even a hint of a Breaking Bad reference. Openly hated a student named Jessie. Weirdly, students notice it's not the chemistry part that annoys him, it's the inaccurate portrayal of drug transactions and the costs. No one has dared ask why he knows so much about that.

Mr Jones’ door is usually locked at lunch and after class, he'll blatantly ignore any student that knocks and continue eating. On the stray chance a rare student manages to find him outside the class and has the balls to stop him, with his trademark sigh he'll begrudgingly set up a day and time to help them. It'll be a one-on-one session filled with eyerolls and being talked down to, but you'll get lots of extra knowledge and he'll even throw some of his old textbooks at you for free. Weirdly, he won't bother you in class anymore, just giving you a little smile out the corner of his eye.

The classroom has old periodic table posters from the teacher that retired years before him, and classroom rules about remembering to wear goggles or you'll go blind. The only thing on his desk besides several piles of paper is teacher mugs with variations of chemistry puns he pretends to hate.

[onevolon]

oscar isaac appreciation post

[the-witheredroses]

Oscar Isaac Characters Finding You Dead

Minors DNI

Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Anselm Vogelweide, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales x gn!reader

Sorry if anyone is ooc!

CW: death, murder, suicide, blood/gore, break-in, various wounds, torture, etc. + pet names, untranslated Spanish, so on.

Notice! Not all of these scenarios are romantically founded, the reader is just someone who knew the character/was close with them.

These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best.

Not proof read or heavily edited

Miguel O’Hara - Villain Attack

There was never a doubt in Miguel’s mind, he knew that one day he’d have to save you. But not like this…

A Green Goblin anomaly had appeared and started bombing Nueva York.

You’d think with all the Spider People so close by, there’d be no casualties. But being so focused on protecting other universes, he almost neglected his own.

The moment Miguel was aware of the anomaly, he and many other Spiders rushed in to help protect the city.

The damage was already extreme, with two buildings nearly demolished.

Spiders spread across the scene, saving and moving the bystanders as Miguel focused on the alternate Goblin.

After capturing the terrorizer, Miguel started barking orders to everyone, wanting everything cleared up asap.

He was heading back to base as the spiders cleared the rubble.

“Oh god- MIGUEL!” One of the Spiders cried out as they tried to lift a large blanket of concrete up. The urgency in their voice quickly set Miguel off.

Miguel rushed over, his heart dropping seeing your dust covered body.

How long had you been under there? Why didn’t anyone sense you sooner? Miguel’s mind raced with panic.

With his sheer strength, he threw the debris away from your body and checked your vitals, his eyes focused on your face the entire time.

Open your eyes… please… mi amor…

When didn’t feel a heartbeat, he went to start cpr, but realized your ribs were broken. The broken bones had stabbed your vital organs, he couldn’t save you, it would’ve only caused more damage.

Miguel didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw his tears hit your face, muddling the dust covering your skin.

It wasn’t often he cried, hell, it took a good few minutes for him to start crying over Gabriella’s death. But after another loss, he couldn’t hold in the pain he was already barely containing.

His arms cradled your broken body with the most care possible. It didn’t matter that you were gone, you were his, the person he swore to protect.

I failed again…

Sobs ruptured through the bombing site. The boss who everyone saw as intimidating and cold, was now hunched over, sobbing over your limp body.

I failed.

I failed.

I failed…

Moon Knight System - Steven / Marc / Jake - Break-in and Murder

Steven, once again, had a late night of work at the gift shop. He was exhausted when he came home, but was more than happy to be back home after stocking shelves for hours.

He was almost tempted to let Marc or Jake front instead, but Steven wanted to see you before Jake took off to do Konshu’s bidding later in the night.

“Love, I'm back!” He says, keeping up his cheerfulness. It had been a long day, he just wants to see you.

Looking around the house, Steven felt confused. You normally rushed to meet him, to welcome him back.

Where were you?

Walking into the bedroom, Steven saw your form under the blankets.

“Love? Are you not feeling well?” He asked quietly, worried he might wake you.

You looked at peace, your hair tousled as it lays on the pillow. Your skin was a bit pale, but Steven smiled softly, assuming you were just tired, he knew he sure was.

His hand fell on your covered stomach as he sat beside you. But a warmth quickly spread over where he had applied pressure to the blanket.

Looking over, Steven nearly had a heart attack. His hand was tacky from blood that now soaked the thick comforter that’s covering you.

With fear rushing through his veins, he ripped off the covers to reveal the stab wounds littered across your torso.

A scream ripped through his chest as he quickly tried to see if you were still alive. His heart dropped when he felt your cold skin and lack of a heart beat.

Despite Jake and Marc trying to desperately front, Steven wouldn’t let them or listen to their pleads.

Instead, he grabbed your body and sobbed. His hand clasped yours, wishing yours would squeeze his, that you’d wake up and kiss his worries away.

No, no, no— what happened— love… oh god…

It took a good while for Steven to let one of the others front, but Marc took over when he got the chance.

Both had been confined to the mirrors in the bedroom, wishing they could hold you like Steven had. Instead, for over an hour, they were stuck in the mirrors, cursed to grieve from a distance.

Steven faded back into the subconscious, too drained to watch Marc from the mirror.

Jake, on the other hand, took a step back into the subconscious because he had his own plans.

Marc didn’t sob as much as Steven did, but his pain was just as bad.

He had lost so much in life, he was almost confused on how to express his grief for you.

His fingers run along your face, tracing every detail he loves so much. Marc wished you would open your eyes, but your body was long since cold.

Marc wished he complimented you more. Sure, he praised you often, but did you know how much he loved you?

His heart ached with guilt. Marc wanted to make you blush once more from his compliments and soft kisses.

He didn’t know who did this. But he would. They’d find out who did this.

They all would get justice for you.

By Konshu’s word, he swore they would.

It was Marc who called the police and watched as you were dragged away to the hospital morgue.

It was Marc who watched the security footage that showed your killer breaking into the apartment and leaving an hour later.

It was Marc who found out the explicit details that came with your murder.

Marc was the one who told Steven and Jake the details.

This shouldn’t have ever happened… but now we know. What do we do next?

Jake was the protector, or so he’s supposed to be.

Standing over your body in the freezing morgue, Jake stared at your expressionless face.

He could remember the last time you two had a date night. The night was warm as he drove the two of you around town. He could remember the beautifully warm smile that broke across your face as the date came to a close.

Jake would do anything to see that smile again.

The others had already fronted to say their final goodbyes, Jake wanted to be the last one. He wanted to talk to you one last time.

“We found out who did this, amor.” He whispered, trying to contain his wavering voice.

“They won’t get away with this…” His lips brushed your forehead.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” His tears finally fell down as he reluctantly pulled away.

As he left the hospital, Jake dawned the suit and slipped into the night, ready to enact revenge for you.

Your murderer will regret ever laying a finger on you…

Basil Stitt - Suicide

Basil hadn’t seen you in a while. Yes, part of it was because he had locked himself in his apartment, but he also just hadn’t seen you pass by his door.

He always had his eye to the peephole when you should be leaving or getting home from work.

Is that weird? Of course, but it made him feel less alone. He wanted to talk to you, but his scars contained him to his room.

Where were you? He wondered after spending an entire day looking out into the hallway.

Basil’s heart dropped when he saw movers taking garbage bags out of your apartment.

What are they doing to your things?

Despite his fear, Basil dawned his paper bag and poked his head out.

“What are you guys doing?” Basil questioned nervously.

“There was a suicide. The family wanted us to collect the person’s belongings.” The confused and hesitant workers answered.

Basil slammed his door and collapsed to the ground instantly. The paper bag tumbling to the floor as he clutched and pulled his hair.

His body trembled with grief and hatred as tears pooled on the floor.

He never was good at reacting to bad information, but this was worse.

Why did you leave him too? What did he do wrong?

First it was his face, then his job, then his family and girlfriend, but now you too?

His tears turned to screams and Basil went on a destructive rampage in his apartment, the agony overwhelming him.

He blamed himself for your death, despite barely knowing anything about it.

Maybe if he hadn’t gone into hiding, you would’ve lived. Maybe you two could’ve been lonely together.

But he was also angry.

How could you leave him after everything that happened to him? When he needed you the most?

You didn’t know though. How could you? Your neighbor, the only person you saw everyday, had disappeared for weeks without a word.

Basil knew that, but nothing could stop the emotions flooding and pouring out of him.

Why did you leave me? Why? Why?! Why?!?

Blue Jones - Murdered by a Client

Working for Blue always had its risks, and everyone knew that, including him.

But Blue didn’t expect this.

You had been bought out for the night by a rich newcomer. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

Blue gave them permission to use you as you saw fit. As long as the merchandise didn’t get damaged, anything went.

Blue stood over your strangled body, his face neutral and flat.

Your glossed over eyes stared back at him, lips hung open loosely.

He didn’t expect his toy to be destroyed, let alone strangled to death.

Your costume was still on, but your makeup was out of place. Blue’s doll was a beautiful, broken mess.

Blue exhaled a puff of smoke as he turned to the killer, the man a sobbing mess.

“I didn’t mean to- they wouldn’t listen to me- please let me go, I’ll compensate you-“ He tried to ramble out, shutting up when the barrel of Blue’s gun pressed against his forehead.

The shot rang through the entire building. The girls and clients quickly rushed out of the other rooms to see what happened.

Screams and tears broke out from the girls as Blue pushed past everyone going to his office.

But it was once he was alone that Blue had the chance to process what happened.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw your dead ones. It hurt seeing something he owned in such a state.

Only one tear falls down his cheek as he reviews the footage of what happened. He always kept cameras in the rooms, it was a security measure, but he didn’t think he’d actually ever watch the footage for something like this.

Blue already knew the man was lying about why he killed you, but it hurt to watch you get choked and beg to be let go of.

The man was just angry, he only wanted to kill. You had done nothing wrong. Which made Blue mad.

He leaned back in his seat as the hot, silent tears fell down his cheeks, hidden by the cigar smoke flooding the front of his face.

Blue decided that, from the forward, he was going to be far more strict with who could touch his toys…

My poor bunny…

Poe Dameron - Spaceship Crash

You and Poe had agreed to stay safe, to meet one another after the fight concluded.

Together, you were going to celebrate the victory.

Poe knew you were an intelligent flier, that you were going to do great things for the universe.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything went well, until he joined the celebrations…

Everyone was celebrating over the successful stop to the First Order. But as Poe searched the crowds, he realized you were missing.

Fearing the worst, he darted to the medical tents, desperately looking for you. His fears were met when he saw your barely breathing body.

Poe fell to his knees besides the cot you rested on, analyzing the damage you had taken.

He called out your name, to no response.

“Their ship was shot and crashed. There were some malfunctions and the safety’s didn’t trigger. They don’t have much longer, there’s nothing we can do on such short notice.” A nurse sadly explained.

“So you're just leaving them to die out!?” Poe exclaimed in horror, his tears falling fast and hard.

Despite wanting to reprimand the nurse, he knew it would do nothing. Instead, he held your hand to his lips as he watched you until your final breath.

In your final moments, Poe had been whispering soft and loving words to you, hoping you could hear him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, that any of this happened. You deserve the world, the galaxy. You helped save us. You’re a hero… you’re my galaxy…”

Poe couldn’t stop crying, and he could barely hear himself over the cheering outside.

He should’ve been celebrating with you, this shouldn’t have happened.

No one knew where Poe had gone, and hours later, Finn had to pull Poe away from your body.

Despite all reluctance, Poe eventually left your side for the night, but he didn’t stop mourning you.

That night, he spent his time in your room holding your belongings close, not wanting to lose the last bits of you he does have.

My galaxy, I’m so so sorry…

Nathan Bateman - Killed by a Prototype

You had been one of the few people Nathan trusted enough to come around the house.

Not that he ever let you go downstairs, no.

He didn’t need you to.

When first developing Ava and her predecessors, he had chosen to try and study a real person. Not through the cameras like he did later on, no.

He thought it’d be better to model the AI after someone he liked.

But he was wrong. One of the few times he had let his emotions make his decision, and it was the worst one.

While trying to work out the kinks of the AI, it had escaped. It had knocked him unconscious for long enough that it made its way upstairs.

The girl stared at you in horror as you stood in the kitchen, knife in hand from making dinner.

You looked just as shocked to see a nude woman coming up from the basement, wires hanging from her broken arm.

She even looked oddly similar to you.

Before you could even react, she tackled you, the knife going flying.

Nathan, having heard the crash, awoke and ran upstairs.

He came up from behind and broke the AI’s skull, the body falling on top of you.

“For fucks sake. That was awf…” he trailed off once he shoved the AI’s body to the side and saw you.

Nathan didn’t know how to react seeing your bleeding body, knife sticking out from where your heart is.

There was no hospital nearby, and with how glassy your eyes looked, he knew you were doomed.

Silently, Nathan sat back on his knees and feet, just staring down at your lifeless body.

He wasn’t an emotional person, but he didn’t like how he felt at that moment.

His eyes searched yours before shifting to the dead AI woman, his creation, your killer.

Nathan’s fists reacted quicker than his brain had, and before he knew it, his hands were bloody from breaking the AI down to nothing but shards.

His feet moved to the bar, and before he knew it, he had drunk a full bottle of vodka.

His knuckles, caked in dried blood, chucked the bottle at the wall. The shatters go flying, some even hitting you…

Nathan stood over your body, once again, staring down at you. His expression unclear.

After your death, Nathan was far more careful. Adding keycards to open doors, not just simple locks.

He even kept the prototypes locked up no matter what.

And who knows, maybe your death is what got him to start drinking so much…

How idiotic…

Duke Leto Atreides - Poisoning

Leto knew the dangers of loving you, yet he still did it.

He always made his love clear, practically worshiping you in private.

Leto would risk his life and title as Duke just to care for you for forever.

He wanted to propose eventually.

But your life was taken long before he had the chance.

The Duke looked down at your slumped body, your poisoned drink spilt from where your head had fallen.

In that moment, Leto regretted never marrying you.

He loved you, but in theory, it was better to stay unmarried, open to alliances with the other Great Houses.

But this wasn’t worth it.

Your life wasn’t worth it.

Leto had to keep his composure in front of his men, but in the comfort of his room, he cried. He weeped.

His sobs shook his body as remorse and grief overwhelmed his senses.

Seeing your body in such a way, it shook him to the core.

Sure, he had experienced death before, but this was different.

He loved you, and he saw where you died, he saw you dead.

Choked sobs escaped his lips as he recounted all the moments you two shared.

He wished he could’ve kept you safe, stopped you from drinking the poison.

You were in the House of Atreides, you should have been safe.

That’s what ate at him. That you died where he swore you were protected.

You died under his care.

Why you were killed, he wasn’t sure. But he swore to find out, to avenge you.

If nothing else, he’d make sure to get you justice.

He loved you, and he messed up never marrying you.

I wish I had made you mine, my dear…

Prince John - Assassination

John, the prideful idiot, should’ve never put a bounty on Robin Hood’s head.

It only made his reputation worse.

John should’ve lowered the taxes, but he didn’t.

And now all the citizens hate him, rightfully so.

But John always had you to go back to, you to love and receive love back.

You tried to reason with John, to show him he was being unreasonable and bleeding his kingdom dry.

Yet he never listened, and he now knows the danger of not listening to the advice he gets.

You had just been going about your business, crossing through the towns when you were attacked.

What was supposed to be a simple robbery, turned to an assassination. One of Robin’s troupe mates had gone rogue; they wanted to send Prince John a message.

The message was received.

John had gotten word of what happened.

He found out about how you begged for your life.

How you cried before your body was abandoned on a wooded path.

It made him angry. It made John furious.

You didn’t deserve this. You advocated for the citizens, yet you were the one killed.

John had destroyed everything in sight upon hearing of your murder.

His guards and mother had barely been able to calm him down. But once he had come down from the rage, John broke out into sobs.

He was barely consolable, all he wanted was to fall into your arms and be comforted by you.

Just one more time, John wanted to feel you caress his scalp as you reassured your love for him.

He couldn’t believe he lost you, the only person who loved him.

In spite and pure hatred, John raised the bounty on Robin Hood and his gaggle of followers.

John wanted them alive so he could execute them on your behalf, but he’d take their dead bodies as well.

As long as they were dead, he would be content.

Robin Hood… you’ll regret this… hurting my beloved…

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Car Accident

Santi had been through so much in life, and it made him extremely overprotective of those he loved.

He always was worried and tried to protect you.

He didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, especially in the dangerous world we live in.

So why did the world still take you from him?

Santi didn’t know how to react when he got the call from the hospital.

He initially had ignored the call, thinking it was a reminder to set up an appointment or something. But when they called again a few minutes after, the blood in his face drained.

“… died… car crash…” those were the only words his brain registered the operator saying.

His heart broke into a million pieces and he felt like he was hyperventilating.

You died..? How could you die in a crash? After everything tried to do to protect you?

The call had ended and Santi sat hunched over, crying into the palms of his hands. His breathing was erratic and uncontrollable.

If he had picked up the first time, maybe he could have made it to the hospital. Maybe he could’ve said goodbye. At least, that’s what he thought.

“I’m so sorry- oh god, no…” He murmured over and over, desperately wishing it wasn’t true.

He almost wished he was at the crash, that way he could’ve seen you one last time. But now, he’s stuck waiting for the morgue to call, waiting to confirm that it’s your body on the table.

Santi’s sobs only stopped when he passed out from exhaustion.

Why did this happen to you? Why you…

Anselm Vogelweide - Shot on Accident

Anselm was known for his erratic and random behavior. That included when he’d change his mind on a whim.

Despite his absurd actions, you cared for him, as he did you.

Anselm always kept you nearby, and everyone knew that. Even people just passing through his office knew that.

He treated you differently, he treated you better than most of his other employees.

Where he’d change his mind as he saw fit with his clients, he was very firm with his decisions regarding you.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

So when Anselm decided to raise the price out of the blue on a client, the client was pissed.

It wasn’t unexpected that a gun was going to be pulled, but the gunshot that rang out- that was a surprise.

His men had already detained the perpetrator before Anselm realized that you’d been shot.

Your hands clutched at your bleeding heart, and your eyes quickly fell shut, your body following suit.

Disregarding his squeaking leg brace, Anselm dove to collect your body in his arms.

His eyes were wide with horror and disbelief at the sight of you dying in his arms.

The world was practically silent for him as he watched you breath your last breath.

Anselm sat there for a moment, pulling your body close to his chest in an attempt to preserve your warmth. He felt an ache in his chest when you gave no response, your body limp and spilling blood.

Anselm didn’t give himself the time to mourn or cry, instead he went cold, his heart stilling for a moment as his attention turned to the shooter.

Looking through the fogged glass lens, Anselm ordered to have your killer chained up in the basement as he carried your body to another room.

For months after your death, Anselm tortured the person who killed you.

The basement became a crime scene of horrific activities. Teeth and nail pulling, breaking bones, slicing skin, it was all incomparable to what Anselm felt the murderer deserved.

They killed his dear dove. This was the least he could do.

His disappointment was immeasurable when he found the murderer dead one morning, Anselm felt far from done torturing them.

The body was disposed of swiftly, and afterwards, Anselm visited the extravagant grave he made special for you.

It was only then, after everything, that he let himself cry over your passing.

My dove…

Llewyn Davis - Suicide

Llewyn was your friend, and the two of you always helped one another out.

He needed a couch to sleep on, you were open. You needed a drinking buddy, he was there.

You both couldn’t offer much monetarily, both just trudging through life and old habits.

But you always left the window unlocked, just for him.

Llewyn hadn’t heard from you in a while, and it had just so happened, he needed a place to stay and was in the area.

Throwing open the fire escape window, he hopped through, entering your apartment.

He called your name as he wandered around, confused where you could be so late in the day.

Yet, when he arrived at the bathroom door he paused, knocking before entering.

He instantly wished he never opened the door.

In the tub, surrounded by bloodied water, he saw you. Your face was towards the window, like you were watching the sky before you died.

The sight made him nearly hurl, but the tears made it out first.

What have you done…

Just when Llewyn thought his life couldn’t get worse, you decided to leave him just like Mike did…

Of course, he knew it wasn’t actually a choice to go against him, but it still felt like he was part of why you took your life.

And that broke his heart.

If he had just visited you or bummed at your place more often, would you still have gone through with it?

He called the police after a bit of a breakdown, and a few days later, he was alerted that your only goodbye was a note scrawled with “I’m sorry.”

Maybe the note was for him, but boy, he wished there was more.

A simple “fuck you Llewyn” would’ve been better than this…

You had always asked him to play a song, but he alway said no. He always said he was too tired, that music was his work, not something he wanted to do all the time.

You never pushed him to play for you, not like other people did. So, he never played for you.

But now, in front of your grave, Llewyn played his heart out to you. His tears bouncing off his guitar, onto the frozen ground where you’d been buried.

‘If I had wings, like Norah’s dove,

I’d fly up the river to the one I love…’

Abel Morales - Accidentally Killed During Work

Abel knew the dangers of letting his employees continue their oil deliveries and solo inspections.

So many of his employees had already been attacked, yet he still took the risk.

He just didn’t expect the attacks to get worse.

Sure, some had been threatened with a gun, hell, one was kidnapped and beaten.

But this was the first time someone actually died…

Upon hearing about your death, Abel stopped in his tracks and demanded to know what happened.

He felt like his life was falling apart the moment his wife explained what happened.

After so many troubles and hoops he’s had to go through for his company, he didn’t think he’d be losing one of his best employees as well.

You were doing a simple house call and sales pitch.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

If he had known your colleague wasn’t feeling well, he wouldn’t have sent you out to the call at all.

He never would’ve guessed you’d decide to go alone…

Abel felt guilty over your death. You died because the competition was trying to send a message, or at least that’s what he assumed.

Abel held his head high as he found out about the circumstances of your death.

Apparently, the murderers were only meant to rough you up a bit and dump you just outside city limits, in a particularly snowy area.

But as you tried to run away, one of the goons tried to shoot a warning shot to get you to stop.

The bullet hit you in the Achilles tendon.

You collapsed into the dense snow instantly, crying out in pain.

In fear of getting arrested, the shooters fled, leaving you to bleed in the snow.

You died of hypothermia. You could’ve been saved.

That’s what hurt Abel the worst.

If your killers had just tried, they could’ve brought you to the hospital. But instead, they’re now awaiting a trial and eventual imprisonment.

But because they confessed, and it was an accidental death, they would be able to have parole, they could walk free one day.

To Abel, they deserved to rot in prison forever. But he didn’t have the right to oppose the judge, not when your family had already accepted the punishment.

Abel paid for the funeral, and there he saw you for the last time.

I’m sorry this happened… I’ll take care of your family from now on. I promise…

—————————————————

Brb sobbing in the club rn…

For real though, thank you for reading!

Feel free to send over any requests/suggestions

[virtie333]

I haven't done a poll in a while...

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Service Fee

Llewyn Davis X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 3: Exhibitionism

Summary: Jerry offers Llewyn money to watch him and you fuck.

A/N: Llewyn and reader are in a realtionship. So Llewyn kinda realises he's into someone watching him. (martymachlia). Also $500 in 1961 is about $5134.21 today. This was so much more difficult that I thought it would be.

Warnings: martymachlia, exhinitionism , p in v sex, cream pie, hand on throat, cum eating, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, being 'paid' for sex, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3035

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was a fucking bad idea.

Llewyn hadn’t been drunk when the idea, business deal, had been proposed. But he had been a little tipsy, pleasantly buzzed. Enough to make him think, ‘fuck it, sure $500 for thirty minutes and an orgasm?’ He’d be an idiot not to, right? 

Jerry, some friend of a friend of a work colleague of Marty’s, had bought him the drinks. Presumably to butter him up to what he was about to ask. 

It seemed that Jerry got off to watching other people go at it. In the flesh. Like a horny theatre performance. 

He had brought up the subject of porn during their conversation in such a subtle way that LLewyn hadn’t really noticed until they were well into the discussion. 

“I mean, everyone enjoys a bit of x-rated content from time to time, wouldn’t you say?” Jerry spoke with a deep voice that was like a snake charmer, easing Llewyn into agreement without a second thought. 

“I like watching, I need it right there in front of me. Like a sports game, always better seeing it live right?” He had laughed. “Used to just watch people get off on their own, but I tell you, there’s something about seeing  a couple really go to town on each other.” 

What really could you say to that? “Sure,” Llewyn answered, two too many shots down. 

“I used to pay hookers you know, for a show? But it’s just not the same. No offence to the professionals, but I need at least one of them to not be... overly performing if you get my drift.” 

Llewyn nodded.

“I still pay, of course, gotta pay people for their time.” 

“Of course.” Llewyn took another shot. 

“$500 a time, for a couple. $400 for two strangers. Couples are just better.” He shrugged. 

Llewyn’s ears perked up.“$500?”

“Hmm.” Jerry smiled, sickeningly sweet and took a slip of his hardly touched beer. “Cash.” 

Now, in the cold light of day, or more accurately, the cold dark of three hours later, with his pleasant buzz gone, Llewyn knew he had been gently coaxed into asking the question.  

He had practically stumbled over his words in his rush to explain to you. “$500, for like thirty minutes. $500!”

You had stared at him uncertainly. “Llewyn-”

“No, no, I checked. It’s in this club, The Deep, private room, it has like a viewing mirror thing so he can see us, we can’t see him. Only us fucking, nothing we don’t normally do.”

You chewed your bottom lip, it wasn’t like the money would be unwelcome. “He knows Marty?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“This isn’t... illegal is it?” 

“No, no, the club it’s like, people go there to do all kinds of stuff, we wouldn’t be getting paid to have sex... just Jerry would give us a gift... after. A thank you.” 

“Does he... want anything particular?” 

“Just for me to cum in you.” Llewyn shrugged, still a little too tipsy to not feel inebriated. “Like we normally do.” He nuzzled into your shoulder and you paused, looking over the slight flush on his skin. 

“How much did you have to drink?” 

.

Jerry had met you outside the club, paying your fees to get in. The bouncers greeted him by name. 

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Llewyn whispered into your ear as you both entered.

You glared at him. “Llewyn, this was your fucking idea.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered as you followed Jerry. Llewyn kept his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“You’re not getting stage fright, are you?” You teased, trying to downplay your own anxieties. 

He gave you a look. 

The room was surprisingly nice. Clean and well kept. 

Llewyn sat gingerly on the bed.

“Well, I’ll let you two get started.” Jerry smiled, somehow the expression didn’t come off as creepy. “When the green light comes on,” he pointed to a small bulb above the massive wall mirror next to the bed. “Feel free to start.” He moved to the door. 

“Wait, erm,” you paused. “Can you hear as well?” 

Jerry’s smile widened and he nodded. “Of course.” He closed the door behind him. 

Okay, that smile was a little creepy.

You bite your lip nervously as you look at the door.

“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Llewyn made you jump lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his chest into your back. 

You lean against him, “I know,” and sigh. “$500 though...”

He chuckles as he kisses your neck, his beard scraping softly at your skin. “$500.” He echoes. 

You nod and turn to face him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “$500.” You repeat again. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Never have more romantic words been said.” He teases and you swat at him playfully. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t know... gotta woo me first.”

“I have to woo you?”

“Hmm.” He smiles broadly, running his hands down to your waist and swaying ever so slightly with you. His half hard cock brushes against your thigh.

“You know what?” 

“What?” 

“I think you might be into this Llewyn Davis.” 

“What?” He chuckles. 

“Being watched,” you tease, your voice low. “I think part of you likes it.” 

“And why is that?” He leans closer kissing along your jaw. 

“Why do you think?” 

“I always get like this around you.” He murmurs.

“Hmm.” You don’t sound very convinced. 

“It’s true,” he continues kissing down your neck only to stop and suck on your pulse point. “You could say ‘get hard’ and I would.” 

Your giggle turns into a moan as he bites lightly at your skin and walks you backwards to the bed. Gently pressing you down when the mattress hits the back of your thighs and moving his hips between your legs. 

He kisses you languidly, almost soothingly sweet in the way he caresses your lips with his. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, shying away ever so slightly every time you try to as he grinds his rapidly hardening length against your centre.

“Llewyn,” you groan in frustration as his lips dance away from you again, grabbing hold of the back of his curls and forcing his mouth against yours. 

He chuckles darkly but licks into your mouth. Finally indulging you.

His hands run down your ribs, stopping at your waist to just inch under your shirt. There’s a hunger in his movements, the force that he grinds against you, how his teeth lightly nip and bite at your bottom lip that’s different. Not unwelcome, just unusual. Slightly out of character for Llewyn’s normal style. 

He kisses down to your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks a love bite into your neck and starts to hurriedly unbutton your shirt. His breathing quick and urgent.

The way he grinds against you, the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your core, sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. 

He fumbles with the last two buttons on your top as he scrapes his teeth over your jaw and in annoyance he simply pulls the material, ripping the offending things off and sending them flying across the room. 

“Llewyn,” you begin to chastise, but his lips are on yours again as he whines into your mouth. 

“Sorry, sorry, just need you so bad.” He hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he kisses the tops of your breasts.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice the green light has come on. 

Yeah, okay. He was really into this. 

“Need you so fucking bad, baby.” He mutters under his breath and you’re not sure if he even realises he’s talking anymore. 

You squirm against him as he pinches your left nipple through the fabric of your bra and bites at the other, sucking and licking at it like he’s never seen them before. His salvia sinks into the lace, spreads across the material as he moans and ruts against you. 

There’s a tight heat building in your belly, fire that is being stoked higher and higher with every grind of Llewyn’s hips and drag of his cock. The zip on his fly presses firmly against your clit and you gasp, sinking your fingers into soft curls as you press up against him. 

He growls, momentarily rocking against you harder before he pulls you into sitting up by your arms. 

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s all over you again, kissing your lips and neck and pulling you out of your top and unclasping your bra. 

“Llewyn-”

“You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.” He snarls and bites hard at your neck, groaning when you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

As he sucks another messy love bite into your skin and his nimble fingers undo your trousers, pulling his mouth away from you for just a second so that he can pull them down. 

You lean back, helping him to undress you as best you can. There’s an unfamiliar spark of excitement in your chest. Seeing him like this, so close to losing his usual calm control makes heat rise to your face and wetness soak into your panties. 

He didn’t think he’d be quite so into this. Llewyn kisses you hard, sliding his tongue into your mouth for a moment before he pulls your underwear down and throws it to the side. In fact, just a few minutes ago he was pretty sure he was going to have a problem performing. But now, god, if he didn’t hear you moan his name in the next minute he was going to burst a blood vessel. 

There was something about it, something about knowing that Jerry could see you but couldn’t touch you. That you were all his, his his. Just brought him close to insanity. 

He grabs you around the back of your neck a little harshly as he kneels between your open legs and pulls you back towards him. He kisses you deeply again, hungrily swallowing down your every breath as if it was his only source of oxygen. 

Without giving you any warning he plunges two fingers into your folds and presses against your walls. 

You gasp, breaking the kiss and Llewyn pumps his hand quickly, using his thumb to circle your clit as you cry out and grasp at his shoulders. Pleasure burning along your veins.

His name falls from your lips in a high-pitched rush of breath and he moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and using his other hand to press against your upper back to keep you as close as physically possible. 

“Llewyn, shit,” you moan, your words catching in your throat as he adds a third finger and fucks you hard. Pumping in and out of you, the sound of your slick echoing obscenely as he groans. 

All you can do is cling on for dear life as he plunges deeper, stroking your walls and clit in a perfect unison. 

“Want you to cum so hard you gush all over the sheets baby,” he growls in your ear. “Want you to fucking soak my hand with it.”

You clenched down on him at his words, your eyes screwed shut as you gasped. He was never normally this vocal, never spoke to you like this and, god, if it didn’t make your head spin. 

“Fuck, need to taste you.” He pushes you down flat on your back forcefully and dives between your legs, flicking his tongue over your clit and moaning against you. 

You cry out, grabbing hold of the bedsheets and then whining as he pulls his fingers out, shoving them into his mouth. You look up quick enough to just see his eyes rolling back into his head, how he rocks his hips against the mattress. 

Then his mouth is back on you, his hands pressing against the inner of both your thighs to stretch you impossibly wide as he curls his tongue between your folds. 

You cry out his name in gasped pleasure. The burn of his beard scraps against your clit as he rolls his tongue and chin up through your folds to your bundle of nerves and then back down again, repeating the action twice before he firmly dives in and presses the bridge of his nose against you. 

Heat coils tightly in your lower belly, beating out from your centre as he groans loudly with every lick and thrust of his tongue. His salvia and your slick mixing and coating his skin. 

It’s too much, the onslaught of sensation suddenly overwhelming as he pushes your right to the edge in a rush. 

“Gonna cum,” you manage to sob out, pulling at his curls to warn him, but he just growls against you and fucks you harder with his tongue. 

Lights explode behind your eyes as your orgasm overtakes you, spills out of you in a wave as pleasure sings across every part of you. 

LLewyn flicks his tongue against your clit, pressing hot and wet against it to stretch out your bliss for longer as you sob and writhe under him. 

Your slick soaks into him, creamy and sweet as you cum. 

He laps at you thrice before sitting up hurriedly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans just enough to pull out his aching cock. He pumps himself twice in a rush, his eyes glazed over and dark as he looks at you naked and blissed out under him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grabs hold of your thigh harshly and pulls you wider. “You made such a mess, fuck.” He pushes forward, notching the tip of his fat needy cock at your entrance and thrusting in without a second thought. 

You gasp in surprise at the sudden intrusion, despite your orgasm and how thoroughly he fucked you with his fingers the stretch of him is still a shock. 

You grab hold of his arms as he bottoms out, snapped out of your post-orgasmic haze. He kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue into your open mouth and demanding your submission as he bends his body over yours. He snaps his hips forward, drinking down your cry as he bottoms out. The burn of him is delicious, hitting so deep, deeper than he ever has before and your back arches up from the bed as you cling onto him. 

You swear between kisses, sob out his name as he starts to thrust harshly into you, pulling pleasure from every nerve with each snap of his hips. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck, that’s it.” He leans up, rutting so hard that he’s sliding you back with every buck. 

“Llewyn, oh my god, please!” You can’t get any other words out, all thoughts dissolving into an incoherent mess as he keeps hitting so deep, as he fucks you into the mattress. 

He bites his lip, his hips moving of their own accord as he chases his high, needing to cum so deeply within you that you’ll be feeling it for weeks. Quickly he sits further up, pressing firmly on your clit with his thumb as he pushes you closer to your second orgasm, demanding you cum and milk his cock for everything he’s going to give you. 

His other hand snakes down to your chin, holding your jaw and neck possessively for a moment before he pushes his thumb against your lips. 

Your eyes widen in surprise at first as his palm presses against your windpipe, not enough to cut off your air, just a dominating hold. But you moan as you open your mouth and flick your tongue against the pad of this thumb. 

Llewyn growls and pushes it in deeper, groaning as you suck on it. Revelling in the way your eyebrows pinch together, how your eyes soften and gaze over as you give into him completely. 

The control makes his head spin and dick swell. He swears under his breath and pinches lightly at your clit as his balls draw up. You squirm and cry out around his thumb, your legs shaking and tensing on either side of his. The thick denim of his jeans rubbing your inner thighs red. 

You cum suddenly, the force of it creeping up on you as it blooms throughout your core, practically forces your back off the bed as you scream silently. 

LLewyn pulls his thumb from your mouth and ruts into you harder, punching the air out of your lungs with the force of his hips as he groans and pumps thick, hot cum inside of you. His orgasm is so strong that he nearly blacks out for a second. 

He catches himself, his hand by your head as he breathes and recovers. It’s only then he notices the tears in your eyes. And a sharp pang of guilt cuts through his chest. 

“Baby-”

You grab hold of him and pull him down against you, kissing him hard and moaning softly as aftershocks of your orgasm flow across your veins. 

“Fuck,” you nuzzle against him, whispering against his ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard.” 

He leans up to look at you, a small smile on his lips. “You okay?” He keeps his voice low and you nod. 

“More than okay.” 

The smile grows. 

“Can’t believe you kept your clothes on,” you grin, “you’re all sweaty.” 

LLewyn snorts and kisses you softly. “I didn’t have time.” 

He helps you get dressed, your legs feeling boneless in the aftermath of your orgasm. He uses your brief weakness to his advantage and pins you back against the bed, cleaning the mess he made between your legs with his tongue until you’re a shaking begging heap. Your third orgasm is weaker than the previous two, but sweet nonetheless. 

Jerry meets you both outside the room, a flush to his face. He gives you an envelope containing the $500, plus a $50 tip for ‘such a good show’, as well as his card, ‘if ever you’d both be interested in a repeat performance.’ 

LLewyn’s face betrays nothing, but he squeezes your hip eagerly at the suggestion. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! I'm not doing my normal tag list for kinktober as to not overwhelm anyone, please let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off.

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moon

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[fen-is-unwell]

Inside Llewyn Davis

[bowie-frommars]

I think this is the best sticker I've ever purchased lmao

[jayke0]

His tummy, i'm officially losing it, i wanna kiss it and rub it like a kitty-

[eyelessfaces]

FRFR

[my-secret-shame]

[ivystoryweaver]

Fairytale of New York

Summary: A tired, pathetic puppy wanders into your diner on Christmas Eve. Things...escalate.

Pairing: Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewyn Davis x f!reader who wants what she wants

Word Count: 2.2k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language, mentions of past mistreatment, talk of contraception, gun but no violence, oral -f and m rec., not beta'd

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Bone-weary.

Your grandmother used to say it.

The man in front of you looked deep-in-his-bones, forlornly, kicked-puppy exhausted.

Which was a feat in and of itself, seeing how you were surrounded this evening by hungry, homeless people, and he was definitely the most handsome one by far.

Chocolate curls tumbled effortlessly across his forehead. His dark beard was kempt - not the fuzzy, matted mess of the men around him.

At first glance, you wondered if he was here to order a regular meal or volunteer. He almost looked put-together enough.

But he sighed - a bone-weary, defeated, groaning sigh.

"Cold night," you commented, noticing how he struggled to create even the tiniest spark of warmth from his corduroy blazer and wool scarf. He seemed to try and make himself smaller, as if willing the too-thin layers of fabric to truly envelop him.

"No shit," he fired back, clenching his fingerless glove around the handle of his guitar case. Noticing your look of slight amusement, he sighed, tiredly. "Sorry. Long night. Wondering if I could get some coffee?"

"Sure thing," you nodded past him to an empty two-top, offering him a warm smile.

Your boss Sal was a hard ass with a heart of gold. On Christmas Eve, anyone could eat free from ten to midnight at this fine dining establishment where you earned your measly paycheck.

You were living the dream - serving diner tables. But Sal was good to you and the other guys and gals you called coworkers - granting holiday bonuses and sometimes, you could swear he beefed up your tips at the end of the night. Just a couple dollars here or there, but it helped.

You returned to the pathetic puppy of a man with a fresh, hot cup of coffee. "Want something to eat? Everything's on the house tonight."

One eyebrow shot up curiously. "Free? You're serious."

"It's Christmas Eve," you said mysteriously, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell. "Sal's got a soft spot for people who need a hot meal and got nowhere to go."

Kicked Puppy nodded, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

"So, what'll it be, handsome? You want something to warm you up besides that coffee? Or do you have a pressing holiday engagement?"

Narrowing his tired, dark eyes, he looked like he was trying to come up with a clever reply, but ultimately let out a defeated, bitter-ish chuckle. "Got friends, but...every one of them's pissed at me. On my own tonight."

He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm kind of an asshole sometimes."

Wagging your finger, you went along with him, playfully. "I could tell that about you, right when you walked in. I took one look and thought, 'that guy is definitely an asshole. Probably shouldn't serve him.'"

He almost chuckled, but it was a weak laugh at best.

"Bowl of chili sound good? Or...I have chicken noodle, or a hamburger. Not much left in the kitchen," you offered.

A few minutes later, Mr. Handsome Kicked Puppy sipped his bowl of chili while you finished up with your other customers. A few of the homeless guys liked to flirt with you, but they were pretty harmless.

Everyone knew not to cross Sal and his employees anyway.

You noticed Kicked Puppy's gaze fixed on you, so you made your way back over and checked to see if he needed a refill.

"I'm good," he waved you off, but something made you linger. Probably the fact that he was kind of beautiful.

"You a singer?" You prodded, nodding to his guitar case.

He made a face - seemed to be a sore spot for him, but concurred. "Sang across the street tonight. You ever been?"

Peering out the window, you read the club's neon sign. "No, but I always wanted to. What kind of music?"

"The only kind," he shrugged.

You motioned to the spot across from him. "Mind if I sit a minute? Feet are killing me. Promise I won't ask you to sing."

He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, eyeing you curiously. "Oh, you won't?"

"'Course not," you smiled, waving your hand dismissively. "Everyone knows musicians hate that. It's like...your living. You can't just sing for free."

His eyebrows shot up as he leaned in. "You're mocking me..."

"No," you laughed. "I'm serious. It would be like someone asking me to serve drinks at a party without paying me." You motioned around you. "Not much of a career but I should still get paid for it."

"Thank you." He gestured animatedly. "My...friends - some of the people who usually let me crash - always try to parade me out at dinner parties, like an attraction. Fucking annoying."

He paused for a moment. "Almost feel like I owe them sometimes, you know... Can't do it, though."

"You have your pride," you sympathetically reasoned. "That's fair enough."

You stood, reaching to collect his dirty dishes. "So, who's couch is it tonight if everyone's pissed at you?"

Running a gloved hand over his beard, he shook his head and shrugged. "What time do you close?"

"Midnight."

He slowly nodded.

"What's your name, singer?"

"Llewyn."

You smiled softly and introduced yourself. "You don't have anywhere to go after midnight, do you?"

He shook his head as his gaze dropped.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

12:24 A.M. - Christmas

"Can't believe you're letting a strange man sleep in your apartment," the handsome bone-weary puppy voiced as you turned the key in your deadbolt.

"You're not a stranger anymore, Llewyn," you replied, trying to find just the right way to wiggle your key... "Got it! Damn thing sticks all the time."

Shouldering your way inside, you tossed your bag on the tiniest kitchen bar in existence, motioning for him to come on in.

"Like I told you - it's not much. You might be warmer sleeping in a car, but the love seat will keep you off this frigid, hard floor. And the water's warm, since we're over the diner. Sal's my landlord too. He keeps everything running nice enough. Cheap ass on heat though."

"No, I really appreciate it," he gratefully returned, “especially on Christmas. You sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No..." You let out a wistful sigh. "No, I don't have anyone." You smirked at him playfully. "But I do own a revolver if you're having any weird ideas."

"Holy shit," he whistled. "Glad you take care of yourself, I guess."

Llewyn reveled in your attention and care over the next half hour. You made a batch of hot cocoa while he took the warmest shower he'd had in weeks. You turned on a Christmas record and found a couple of thick blankets for him to sleep (or attempt to sleep) cramped up on the love seat.

"Thank you for this," he quietly voiced, sipping his cocoa, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Don't deserve it. If you knew me, you'd push me right back out that door."

"Maybe," you shrugged, sipping your own warm beverage as you curled up in the only chair in the place. "But it's Christmas. Even assholes and loners need a break sometimes."

He regarded you with interest, his eyes raking over your form for the millionth time. "That what you are? A loner?"

You hid behind the ceramic of your mug for a moment of reprieve. "Have to be. What else is there for a woman who doesn't want a marriage and kids?"

You shuddered, remembering how many times your ex had sabotaged your efforts at contraception...and how violent he'd become when he found out you were actively trying to not get pregnant.

Hence the waitress job, freezing apartment...and the revolver.

"You don't want kids?" He asked, clearing his throat. Maybe you were somehow...perfect.

"I really don't. You’d think women would have a few more options now that it’s the ‘60s. So I got my revolver to make sure my ex stays away. He’s a bigger asshole than the two of us," you answered, transparently. Noticing how his dark eyes widened at your candor, you laughed.

"Scared yet?"

"No," he chuckled. "But I guess that answers the question of whether or not we're gonna fuck."

Smirking, you took one more sip of cocoa before pushing off your chair to kneel down in front of him. Your eyes met his challengingly as you spread your palms over his thighs, pushing them up to his hips.

"That why you're an asshole?" You challenged, reaching for the zipper of his trousers. "Can't be bothered to wear a condom?"

"Can't afford that shit," he fired back, enjoying the view down your t-shirt.

"Definitely an asshole," you shake your head, dragging his zipper down and tracing your fingertips over the outline of his hardening length with your fingertips.

"My pussy's off limits unless you want my revolver shoved up your ass," you inform, leaning over to suck on his leaking tip through the fabric of his underwear. "But fuck it. It's Christmas. You can come in my mouth."

"Fucking hell," he groaned at your forwardness, shifting his hips to give you easier access to pull his cock free.

"Oh shit, you're big," you marveled, running the tip of your tongue over your lips in anticipation. Wrapping your hands around him, you turned your eyes up to his. "Merry Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything."

You licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before placing him on your flat tongue. Your eyes flickered back up to his tauntingly as you slowly wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue.

"Jes....oh fuck," he moaned, gripping the arm of the tiny couch.

Bobbing your head up and down a few times, you pushed yourself past the point of comfort and swallowed his tip. Your mouth stretched to take him, and the challenge of it made you instantly wet.

“Holy f-fuck,” he responded eagerly, “just like that.” You let him fuck your mouth, free hand gripping your jaw as his hips found a rhythm thrusting and gagging you.

Something about how pathetic this man was - how eager and responsive to your touch - it was doing it for you. You hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in a long time, but it felt good. And you certainly didn’t mind a heavy, hot cock in your mouth.

A few heavy thrusts and gags later and he coated your throat with his spend, letting out a near embarrassing whine as he came.

You let him soften before pulling off him and licking your lips clean. “Bet you’ll sleep well now.” You winked.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking his head as you stood and started to shed your clothes. Remembering you were pretty clear about not fucking without a condom, he slowly stood, stuffing his soft cock back into his pants. “What are you…”

“I have a twin bed, but you’ll fit better than on that thing.” You nodded to the love seat, now standing in front of him completely nude. “But to sleep with me, you’re gonna need to return the favor. I’m fucking soaked.”

Minutes later, this rather beautiful, bearded man knelt between your legs in bed, his prominent nose nudging tauntingly at your puffy clit. His plush mouth sampled your pussy lips, as if he was making out with your cunt.

“F-fuck yes,” you groaned as he fucked his tongue into your hole, sucking and slurping at your juices.

Your fingers slid into the softest curls, twisting them around your fingers as you rocked your pelvis up to meet his soft beard.

The he started humming. And not just a humming sound but a fucking tune. After several delicious, deep thrusts of his tongue, he pulled out, making you whine at the loss of stimulation.

His hum gently morphed into a few lyrics as his eyes gazed up at you, equal parts cocky and pussy drunk - your slick coating his beard and lips.

‘Hang me, oh hang me…I’ll be dead and gone…’

He slid two fingers into your slick, warm hole, curling them with the dexterity of an instrumentalist. Then lowered his smirking mouth back down to trace circles around your clit with his tongue. Kept right on humming.

Laying his tongue flat, he laved your sensitive bundle of nerves with a few rough licks before wrapping those sexy lips around it and sucking.

He added a third finger - you were plenty wet enough for it and the slight stretch made your back arch off your twin bed. Fingers curling, lips sucking, and that insistent hum sent you right over the edge into earth-shattering bliss. Your body seized in mind-altering pleasure and then went completely white as you rode out the best orgasm you’d had in years.

He worked you through it before blatantly licking you clean and climbing his way up your body to cage you in. The look on his face told you he was definitely satisfied with himself, but the hot flesh of his cock prodding at your thigh meant he didn’t want this to be over.

"Is that my revolver or are you ready for more?" You teased, reaching to wrap you fingers around his cock. "Don't think I have any condoms big enough for all this."

He groaned, hips shifting into your grip. "Maybe we could just - "

"I'll will shoot you. Go the fuck to sleep, Llewyn."

And that's how an exhausted, pathetic puppy of a man, with soulful brown eyes, and the voice of an angel, ended up in your twin bed on Christmas Eve.

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