#llewyn davis x you

[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

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

llewyn davis x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: lingerie

warnings: none :)

word count: 0.6k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You crossed your arms as you leaned your side against the wall, watching and listening to Llewyn babbling and complaining about his shitty, never ending day as he plopped down onto your couch.

"I was waiting for you" you declared cutting him off, joining him in front of the couch as he fumbled with his pants pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and tucking one between his lips.

"I know, sorry angel." he apologized looking up at you, lighting the stick, taking a drag. "I got in an argument with Mel and then I had to stop by the Gorfeins to give back a book Lillian lent me but things dragged out, you know how she can never stop talking when she starts"  

You chuckled and sent him an empathetic look, your hand brushing the side of his cheek.

"I think I got exactly what you need to cheer you up" you declared with a playful tone, and he looked at you curiously as he pulled the cigarette back to his mouth, mindlessly taking another drag as you fiddled with the knot of your robe. 

"Really? Awesome because that's not all that was shitty today" he scoffed, smoke coming out from his mouth as he ran a hand over his face. "I almost tripped on a dog's leash, and the owner was so fucking rude about it. Old lady, scolding me when it was her dog that almost killed me. On top of that I had to hurry to get to the studio only to learn once I got there that the session got canceled, which means I'm not getting royalties, and I never needed them more than right now–" 

His mouth slightly gaped when he realized he was met with the sight of you standing in front of him, only dressed with white lace lingerie, your robe falling down on the floor. 

How he didn’t even register you opening your robe he didn’t know, but he now felt dumb for running his mouth and daring to complain when you were in front of him looking like that.

"Oh" 

He eyed you up and down, not tearing his gaze from you when he leaned to the side table next to the couch to put his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Fuck” he chuckled, speechless. “You look…” he started, mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. "Fuck"

You chuckled at his loss of words, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

"Can I?" he asked, pointing at you. You nodded and he placed his hands at the back of your thighs, looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

He couldn’t even talk, too hypnotized by the way you looked.

His fingers felt cold against your bare skin, raising goosebumps in their trail as his hands roamed along your body, settling at your hips as he toyed with the fabric of your underwear.

He exhaled and pressed his forehead against your stomach, his curls tickling your skin.

"Does this make up for your shitty day?" you asked, your hand resting in his curls.

"Shit, more than that." he muttered under his breath as he left a kiss over your stomach, his hands shifting to rest over your ass. He looked back up at you, a loving glint in his eyes. "You look beautiful honey, but you're gonna get cold"

"Mh?" you hummed, taking a step back from him. "Better help me warm up then." you teased, a sly smirk over your face as you walked towards the bedroom, watching as he bit down onto his bottom lip before getting up and chasing after you.

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

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+ @flightlessangelwings

[myfandomlikesandstories]

Successful! Llewyn Davis AU headcanons

Llewyn Davis x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Summary: what if Llewyn became a famous musician?

Warnings: mention of murder

Word count: 1088

--------------------

It was just another slightly drunken, shitty night at the gaslight for Llewyn. Nearly empty bucket, scattered clapping that died out after a second. Except it wasn't. He didn't know it was the night that would change his life.

You were sitting in the audience. You weren't a regular at the gaslight, not at all, but tonight you were just craving a strong drink and company. The other bars in the neighborhood were too loud and bright for you that night, so you settled on the dim, depressing, "folk song playing" place.

You clapped politely for everyone, not listening, as you nursed your bitter drink and bitter mood. Until something caught your attention. A handsome (albeit a bit shabby) man with the voice of an angel, who you likened in your mind to a wet cat.

You didn't listen to the words he said. Not that you didn't try, but his voice awoke something within you. As a songwriter on a slump, you jumped the chance and started scribbling on a napkin from the table. Just whatever came to mind. Nothing would come of it anyway, but it's good for your writer's block.

When he left the stage, you downed the rest of your drink and hurried towards him. You slowed before he saw you, trying to maintain your cool.

"Davis, right?" You asked.

"Yeah," he answered and you extended your arm to him while introducing yourself. He shook it tentatively.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Llewyn thought about it. He automated to say no, but reconsidered. He had nothing better to do, could definitely use that drink, and you looked pretty damn good. So he accepted.

After some conversation (he didn't remember anyone being that nice to him for a long time), you asked him what were his plans for the night. He told you that he was staying with a couple of friends, those Jim and Jean couple, and they happened to pass by.

Jim was nudged by Jean towards Llewyn and awkwardly told him that actually, he couldn't stay on their couch tonight. Jean made some plans. You could see Llewyn's face fall, and when Jim left he just stared downwards quietly, in embarrassment.

"Correction: I'm not staying with them tonight." He mumbled.

You took a deep breath. "You could stay with me, if you'd like. My boyfriend-" you cleared your throat, "Ex boyfriend, just moved out and took all his shit from the study with him. So I got an empty guest room." (Why were you doing this? He's a stranger for fuck's sake!)

He looked at you, surprised. A quick mental calculation showed he had no one else to turn to that night. What's the worst that could happen? You'd kill him? He'd been thinking of joining Mike anyway. So he accepted.

Suffice to say, you didn't murder him. A while has passed, and Llewyn has become your roommate, practically. Yeah, he couldn't help much with the rent, but he did make that up by cleaning a lot, which sometimes is even better.

(Also, it was the 60s, rent wasn't that fucking high. It was about less than half of what it is today.) ANYWAY

One day, while dusting around, Llewyn found a notebook of yours. He didn't mean to peek, it just fell open or something. It was your poetry and songwriting notebook. By the time you came back home he had composed 3 of the songs there and was flooding you with questions about the chorus of a fourth.

You never thought to show it to him, you were just writing to your drawer! They weren't even good, or complete! You wanted to snatch it away from his hands and tell him to forget about it, but you've never seen him so happy. So alive.

He begged you to let him take your songs to his agent. How could you say no to him? Especially to those puppy eyes.

His agent was glad to hear Llewyn has partnered up again. He heard him out, and set him up with some producer. Finally, Llewyn Davis seemed like a good enough investment. And that's how it started.

From then on, Llewyn's career blossomed. He recorded an album (didn't sell away the rights this time) and the money started flowing. He preformed in front of larger and larger audiences, and you were always at his side.

He often felt like he didn't deserve any of that. He was told, so many times, that he was absolute crap and he started to believe it. But you were there to remind him. He deserved the world. Little did you know the only thing he truly wanted to deserve was you.

You inspired each other, creating more music and flowing with good energy. It took him a while, but when he finally found the courage, finally deemed himself worthy, he took a risk.

He asked you out.

When you started laughing at him, Llewyn's heart dropped. He's fucked his life over, again, in the worst way possible. You're going to leave and everything will go down the drain.

"Of course!!!" You said. "I'd love to go out with you, I thought you'd never ask! But oh my god your face..." you giggled. He sighed in relief, clutching his chest. You came closed and hugged him. He held you very tightly, smiling at your laughter.

That night you shared your first (and long awaited) kiss. A few months later you put out an album very different than both your writing so far. It was passionate, sensual, romantic and warm. One of the songs from it became the hit of the decade, and was played at countless weddings. You thought it was a beautiful way to immortalise your love.

And your love was immortalised alright! With two rings, nonetheless. Your wedding was covered by every newspaper in the country. Llewyn didn't like the attention all that much, though.

His solution? Another, more quiet and private wedding. This one ended up being your real anniversary.

Ever since Llewyn started earning a reasonable income, he insisted on paying for everything. Doesn't matter that you both earned a significant amount from the music, and that you joined bank accounts. He wanted to thank you for all that time you took care of him. So no, lunch is on him. Finally being able to provide for you made him really happy and proud (not that you needed any help).

You were one of the only "celebrity couples" who were genuinely happy together. You truly, deeply, loved each other, and when things would become too much you would take a vacation. Just the two of you. As it always was.

Llewyn made it in life, that was all agreed upon. Yeah, he became a famous musician, but the only thing he cared about - was you.

--------------------

No pressure tags:

@eyelessfaces @alwritey-aphrodite @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @romanarose @spider-starry

I hope you like it, everybody❤️

[l8rs-gat0rs]

Old Friends

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x Female Reader

Warning(s): Smut, specifically cock warming. A dash of Fluff. Y/n use

Summary: (kinktober 2022 repost) An old friend knocks on your door extremely early in the morning looking for a place to stay. And who are you to say no to him when he looks like a sad puppy?

Word count: 1.9k

~~~~~~ 18+ MINORS DNI~~~~~~

I awoke to rapid knocks at my door and I groaned checking the time.

"it's 2 am what the fuck..." I said alarmed at the presence of someone at my door at this time.

I was suddenly very alert, and I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter as I approached the door to my apartment.

the knocks came again causing me to start to hold my breath in fear.

"Who is it!?" I called out

"it's Llewyn a muffled voice came from the other side of the door."

I dropped my hand that had the knife in it and groaned loudly opening the door.

"woah is that a knife?" He asked, his eyes shooting down to my hand.

"yes, and I was about to stab you because what the fuck Llewyn? it's 2 am." I said annoyed.

"I know, I know, I just got back to New York after auditioning for a gig in Chicago and I need a place to crash for a couple days, then I'll be out of your hair I promise." He said quickly looking very tired.

"ugh fine, you're lucky we've known each other for so long." I groaned, opening the door wider to let him in.

He gave me an embarrassed smile as he walked in and mumbled a "thank you"

Llewyn and I have been friends since we were kids and I always regret not keeping in touch with him more in our adult years. But our lives took different paths, I became a nurse after doing years of college, med school, and residency, and he focused on his music career.

He placed his guitar case and small suitcase next to my couch and sat down taking his scarf and tattered shoes off.

I felt a sharp pain in my heart at the sight of him. He looked so worn out.

My cat Toast, walked up to him and started purring and rubbing himself against Llewyn causing Llewyn to smile and bend down to pet Toast.

"Hey Toast, nice to see you too. You're so big now Buddy!" he said fondly.

I was honestly shocked he still remembered Toast, he was just a kitten the last time Llewyn saw him. I smiled at the sweet interaction.

"Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?" I asked him.

"Some water would be nice"

"Alright I'll be back" I said.

I went to the sink and grabbed some water, handing it to him and then sitting on the couch next to him.

"so what's up with you? where have you been? it's been a while." I asked him.

"Nothing much, same old same old." he said softly.

I cleared my throat awkwardly as he sipped his water and I looked at him, taking in his appearance.

He was just as handsome as the last time I saw him, if not more, the harsh conditions of life seemed to be beating on him but I was grateful he was still here and kicking back at life after what happened with...

I shook my head and sighed.

I didn't feel like re-kindling my old childhood feelings for the man so I sighed and got up.

"I'll get you a pillow and a blanket, the couch is a pullout, just move the coffee table to a side." I said to him.

He nodded, rising to his feet as well and he started to move the coffee table.

I went to my room and grabbed a pillow and went into my closet, grabbing a blanket before making my way back to the living room.

"Here ya go Llewyn." I said handing him the pillow and blanket.

He smiled at me graciously and grabbed the blanket and the pillow , placing it on his makeshift bed.

I stood there awkwardly while he set it up and he sat down on the pullout and looked up at me.

I looked away quickly as I started blushing and rubbing my neck.

"Alright well, I'm gonna head to bed." I said turning around to go back to my bedroom.

I felt a hand grab my arm and I stopped and turned around, locking eyes with Llewyn.

My heart started beating rapidly and I held my breath, getting lost in his sad brown eyes that held so many different unreadable emotions right now.

"Hey, it's really great to see you again y/n." He said.

"Same here." I breathed out before slipping my hand out of his and quickly speed walking to my room and closing the door behind me.

I pressed my back against the door and slid down, putting my head in my hands.

Holy fuck, so much for pushing the feelings away...

After a minute, I let out a deep breath.

He's only a man y/n calm down.

I chuckled softly at myself before slipping under the covers back into bed.

I drifted off to sleep, he would probably be off to some gig tomorrow morning and I won't even be seeing him...

I woke up, yet again, to soft knocking on my door.

I raised my head and groaned, checking the clock again.

4am.

Really Llewyn???

"Come in!" I groaned out, and I heard the door open to an apologetic Llewyn silhouetted by the moonlight coming from my window.

His hair was Tousled from sleep and he seemed to be shivering and rubbing his arms.

"H-hey it's pretty cold in your apartment and that blanket doesn't really seem to be helping." He said with a slight laugh.

"Oh fuck I'm so sorry, I forgot the heat was broken, the guy is coming to fix it tomorrow. That's why I have two blankets" I said facepalming myself.

"Uhhhh" I said trying to think of a solution.

The only one that seemed to be logical was....

No.

But I can't let him shiver, look at him, he looks like an abandoned puppy!

I fought back a groan and went against all my screaming instincts.

"Why don't you come sleep with me? There's plenty of room" I said sitting up and patting the empty space in bed next to me.

I quickly started to backtrack at the phrasing of my sentence.

"I-I mean not like sleep with me like, I mean sleep in the bed with me, you know? To like, conserve heat and it's warm and-" I started to ramble before he cut me off with the raise of his hand.

"It's okay, and I know what you meant" he laughed.

I blushed and smiled at him sheepishly.

"I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, I can pull through till the morning, I'll put my coat on." He said moving to leave and close the door behind him

"No wait!" I said reaching a hand out into the air and he froze, turning around. With his hand still on the doorknob.

"I'm not uncomfortable, I promise, please come here." I said softly.

He let go of the handle and walked back Into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Thank you." He said as I lifted the covers for him to slip under

He laid down on his back and I did as well.

"Alright goodnight." I said, breaking the tension.

"Goodnight" he said back Into the darkness.

A few minutes later, he spoke up again.

"Hey y/n?" He asked

"Yeah what's up, you still cold?" I asked him with my eyes closed.

"Nah, I just wanted to ask you something." He said, his voice getting softer.

"Yeah, what is it?" I said sleepily.

"Jim told me you used to like me." He said hesitantly.

My eyes shot opened and my head turned to him.

"He told you what!? I'll kill him I swear-" I said panicked.

"Hey hey calm down, it's okay! I kept bugging him about it, it's not his fault." He said quickly. Turning onto his side and placing his hand on my shoulder.

My skin burned at the touch and I quieted down.

"I just wanted to know if you still felt the same way, because..." He said trailing off.

"Because?" I asked, holding my breath and searching his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, for some type of answer.

"Because I like you y/n. I always have." He finished.

My breath escaped me and I slapped my hand over my mouth and looked at him.

"Please say something y/n." He said grabbing both my hands and squeezing them.

"Did I just ruin our friendshi-" I cut him off, letting go of his hands and cupping his face in my hands, kissing him passionately.

When I separated from him, we both panted softly and pressed our foreheads together.

I giggled lightly and he chuckled softly.

"Yes Llewyn, I still like you." I said. Rubbing my thumb against his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. It was such a beautiful sight.

He captured my lips in a kiss again and I pressed my body closer into his.

He deepened the kiss and I melted into him, wrapping my arm around him, wanting to be as close to him as humanly possible

That's when I felt his bulge against me and I gasped when I shifted my leg against it and he moaned into my mouth.

"Fuck I'm sorry I-" he started to apologize, but I cut him off.

"No no, it's okay. I want you as close as possible right now, I never want you to let me go." I said.

"I'll never let you go sweetheart." He said sincerely, and my heart fluttered at the pet name.

"I want you inside me." I said softly against his lips.

He nodded as he choked back a groan, understanding exactly what I wanted.

I pulled my pants and underwear down under covers and he did the same, tossing them across the room.

I turned so my back was facing him and pressed my body against his. He led his hand down to where I needed him most, where I was aching for him, and he delicately touched the pads of his fingertips to my clit causing me to let out a moan.

He slowly moved his fingers up and down, Occasionally  slipping his fingers inside me just a little.

"Llewyn please." I whimpered for him.

"Alright princess." He said removing his fingers from me.

I felt him slowly start to rub himself up and down, covering himself in my wetness as well as his own precum. He panted softly before lining himself up with me and slowly starting to push himself inside me.

My gasp of surprise at his size soon turned into a languid moan.

He slowly slid himself all the way inside me and he stayed there, inside me, wrapping his arms around me.

He groaned as my walls clenched around him, adjusting to his size and I let out a whimper.

As we lay they together, connected at the hips I sighed softly.

"I've never felt more warm." He said, causing my heart to explode.

"Llewyn?" I called out as he kissed my shoulder softly and played with my hair.

"Yes baby?" He said gently.

"Please don't leave in the morning." I pleaded, wanting to wake up with his warmth sounding me inside and out.

"I won't." He said reassuringly.

"Promise me." I said.

"I promise I won't leave you. Not today, not ever." He said.

I hummed, satisfied with his answer, and drifted off to sleep with his body curled around me. 

[bits-and-babs]

𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐑 — 𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐘𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

-> OCT. 18 : HAIR PULLING

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. Themes of homelessness, masturbation, themes of exhibitionism.

WC: 1013

[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

You’re not quite sure where it came from. It was just an impulsive thought you had one evening, the kind that won’t leave your head no matter how hard you try to shake the niggling and mildly irritating voice in your head saying ‘do it’.

Llewyn’s bedtime routine was the same every damn day. The poor, tired man would wash in whoever’s-house-ya’ll-were-both-staying-at’s shower (today’s unlucky recipient of your unwanted company was Al Cody, a friend of Llewyn’s) and he would crawl his aching, cold body over you on the sofa, snuggling into your body heat and resting his head against his chest.

In your own exhaustion from fighting the bitter, New York cold, the least you could do to soothe his pain and mental anguish was run your fingers through his gorgeous thick curls. Llewyn’s chocolate brown spirals are part of the reason you fell in love with him. The way the corkscrews would form after the rain, falling in his eyes and framing his gorgeous earth-brown eyes.

Settled into your chest, Llewyn’s breath fans gently across your chest as he hums in relief at finally being off his feet. He’d played at The Gaslight Cafe tonight, only walking into the apartment with a slightly tipsy (maybe moreso) Al at a completely unreasonable time. So you settled into your routine. Llewyn had showered, and once dressed in the clean clothes he had washed before heading to The Gaslight he had lay down with you, his hair slightly damp and smelling of that old spice shampoo and bodywash.

Your fingers gently card through the curls under your chin, Llewyn’s gentle breathing settling into a rhythm. In the silence, the twilight darkness, those stupid little thoughts entered your brain again. The urge to just… Tug slightly. Just a little. Just enough for it to ache a bit. That good ache, the kind that made you arch your neck back slightly.

For once, despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to fall into your temptations. Working your fingers through his hair, at the base of his neck, your wind those pretty curls around your appendages and tug slightly. Just enough.

Llewyn’s breathing stops almost immediately, and a sudden dread tips over you like freezing cold water. Oh fuck- did you just fuck up? He lifts his head slightly to look you in the eyes, the dim light just barely showing his expression.

“… Why’d you do that?” He asks, and you open your mouth to answer immediately, but the words struggle to fall out despite your best efforts.

“I- I don’t really know, I just–… I kinda-“

“Please do it again,” he whispers, and it’s like molten lava melts away the ice that had frozen in your veins, his tone needy.

You don’t need to be asked twice, already giving his curly strands a firm tug. He can’t help the moan that falls from his lips, fingertips digging into the flesh on your hips.

“Fuck,” he moans out, burying his face into the curve of your neck as you giggle.

“Llewyn, shhh! Al will hear you,” you murmur, giving another, sharp tug that makes him groan into your skin, pressing hot, sloppy kisses against your throat.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” he breathes heavily, his hand slipping down his abdomen to squeeze his hardening cock through the clean sweatpants he had changed into. “Fuck, I don’t care, baby just do it again.”

Who were you to deny your man, pleading like that? You hum softly, winding your fingers around his curls and giving a harsh tug, the kind you knew would make his scalp tingle.

“Hah-“ Llewyn keens, his head pulled back by the force of the pull. His teeth are bared against the pain, his cheeks flushed at the pleasure it invokes.

“That good?” You hum softly, fingertips gently massaging his tender scalp. It has him melting into you, his moans blissful as he squeezes his cock hard.

“So fuckin’ good baby, again,” he begs, his hand slipping under the waistband of his sweats and slowly tugging at his cock. He’s breathing heavily, his exhaled shaky as he sweeps his thumb over the tip.

“I didn’t know you liked this,” you admit, slipping your fingers up his skull to the crown of his head, once again winding his chocolate curls around your digits and preparing him for another dose.

“Ughh,” he groans, nodding his head slightly against your grip, “Fuck, I do. I didn’t even kno-ohh-“

You pulled harshly, his neck pulled back by the force and you can see the sting of tears settling into the corner of his eyes. He’s pretty like this, teeth sinking into the flesh of his lips and cheeks flushed. Perhaps you would need to do this more…

“Mhmm, You can’t even contain yourself, Llewyn,” you point out, eyes dropping to the way his hand desperately pumps at his cock. He nods unashamedly, far too caught up in the pleasure you’re invoking.

“Fuck, baby, I’m-“ he chokes out weakly, your grip on his hair close to his skull to make sure it’s not too painful.

“Your singing is pretty, Llewyn, but I must admit your moans sound even better,” you tease. The simple joke has Llewyn doubling over, a loud groan buried into the curve of your neck as he cums in his pants, over his hand. It’s so sexy, the way he trembles from how hard his orgasm rocks him.

“Fuck!” He gasps, like it expelled all the air from his lungs. Your kiss at his cheeks, soothing his scalp with a gentle massage.

“C’mere,” you whisper, taking his wrist when he pulls his hand from under his waistband. Just to add salt to the wound, you take his finger into your mouth, tasting the cum that coated his digits, guitar string calluses on his fingertips rough against your tongue.

“Oh fuckkk,” he moans out, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, Sweetheart.”

“Mhmm hmm,” you teasingly hum, releasing his index finger with a quiet pop. “That was always the plan.”

END

@in-for-a-pennyx @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @markywithissues @welcometostayingawake @inklore @foxilayde @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke

[loud-mouth-loser]

don't let go

summary: your ex needs somewhere to stay for the night

pairing: llewyn davis x reader

rating: angst

warnings: angsty-angst, cursing, kissing, mentions of cheating

word count: 1.5k

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

Your body seizes up at the sound of the buzzer. You already know who it is. It is futile to ignore, but you still try your best, reading each word in your novel a little more intensely than necessary. 

By the way the rings keep rolling in, it’s obvious that he saw you were home from your lamp’s glow outside your window. You groan at yourself as you slowly walk to the intercom next to the door, cringing as he presses the ringer again. 

The worn button is slammed down with your index knuckle and you take a deep breath before speaking.

“Hello? Who is it?” There’s always a chance it could be someone else, but it rarely is. 

“It’s–uh, me, Llewyn.” You roll your eyes, knowing exactly how this will play out. 

“No.” 

“Wait-please, don’t hang up. I just-I really need a place to stay tonight, then I’ll be out of your life forever. Promise.”

“Llewyn,” You sigh, hating how he keeps dragging you into his problems. “You said that three sleepovers ago.”

“I know, but you’re…you’re all I have left, baby.” His voice is quieter. You could imagine him slouched into himself with desperation. You let out an irritated grunt at his words. 

“Don’t-You can’t call me that, Llew…” You’re beating yourself up at what a pushover you are. At this point, this whole exchange is just foreplay for what’s to come. It happens every time. “Fine. Just tonight…And you’re taking the couch.” You reluctantly buzz him in and mentally prepare yourself for the night. 

“Thank you, thank you, th-” He’s cut off by the beep inviting him in. 

—-

Llewyn used to be yours, like really yours. You were sure he’d be the one you’d marry, even with the small handful of dollars you had to your name. You had dated for a couple of years and moved in together for half that time. It certainly wasn’t domestic bliss, but you can’t expect that from a struggling musician. 

You’d work double shifts at the diner so he could follow his dream of being a music star. And it worked, for a while. But as you came home later and later, you saw each other less every day. 

And apparently, it got to him first because you caught him with your best friend Jean on your couch after a long day of slinging coffees. It didn’t make sense to you. Jean is married, Llewyn is leeching off of his long-time girlfriend, and you were funding his fantasy. Why would he do this to you?

Of course, you threw him out the next morning with his stupid guitar and scarf, telling him to get lost and never come back. And he didn’t for a while…well for a few months at least, then he came back asking to stay the night. 

You should’ve said no. Should’ve stood your ground and punched him in the face through the damn speaker, but you excused the freezing weather for your heart-aching desperation to see him again. 

He always starts off on the couch, the squeaky springs screeching with every move of his body. You’d be pissed at the noise if you weren’t already struggling to sleep. He has you staring at the ceiling thinking about what he’s thinking about. 

When you had enough, you get up, quietly tip-toeing to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. It’s an excuse to see him, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

His eyes are staring straight up in front of him, tangling and detangling thoughts around his head until he hears a floorboard creak from under you. He doesn’t make a move, waiting for you to initiate an interaction. 

You stand next to the counter, hip popped out to comfortably support your weight as you look at him. The eye contact is suffocating and you know he feels it too. He plays with his hands over the scratchy flannel blanket you shoved in his arms when he walked in. How can he look so adorable, yet be such an asshole? 

You swallow the rest of the water and drop the glass in your sink, looking back up at him. His large brown eyes look up from his lap and send you an inquiry, one that makes you want to melt through the floorboards. 

Your brain scrambles to hold you back from what you’re about to do. Nails pricking at your palms as your hands clench to your side. Just one night, you tell yourself, brushing off any regrets you know you’ll have in the morning. 

You send him a small nod before walking back to your room, leaving the door open as you climb back under the covers and wait. You pull on the delicate beaded string of your bedside lamp, turning it off and letting the city lights from your window illuminate small squares around your room.

Before long, his shadow takes up the doorway and he nervously looks around your room, waiting for you to tell him what to do next. His eyes look at all the spots where his things used to sit now replaced with random trinkets you forced yourself to buy to replace everything that reminded you of him. His white undershirt pulls against his broad shoulders, magnified by his tense posture. 

“Come here, Llew.” 

He slowly walks to the other side of your bed and sits on top of the covers, stiffly placing his hands on his lap, not knowing what to do with his body. He looks down at you over his shoulder, refusing to turn his whole body to face yours. He almost looks scared, like you’re about to yell at him for breaking a vase or something. 

You glare right back up at him in annoyance. He’s the one making this more awkward than is needed. He can’t seem to hold any type of eye contact after your interaction in the living area. 

“What’s, um, happening?” His voice is so small, almost endearing, but that’s not what you want right now. You push yourself onto your knees so your face is level with his and grab his stupidly perfect jaw with one hand, making him freeze up. You were never the one to take control like this during your relationship. 

You could feel the softness of his thick beard under your fingers and it pisses you off for some reason. Despite everything, you could still see the adoration in his eyes begging you to pull him in closer. 

“I… fucking… hate you, Llewyn.” Your eyes bore into his, sending the message straight into his soul. The words are sharply enunciated to communicate the amount of ire your hold for him. His face drops into a frown, not expecting the malice that drips off your tongue.

You take a quick glance at his mouth and slam your lips onto him, not waiting for him to react before climbing onto his lap. Your contradictory actions confuse him, but he responds to you immediately like a practiced move. 

He quickly holds on to your hips and pushes your body closer to him, leaning deeply into the kiss. He groans out at the intensity of your actions, melting at the familiarity of your heat. 

You can barely hold yourself together as the rumble of his voice gasps out your name. You didn’t realize how real this would feel. How much you missed him. You feel your eyes begin to sting with tears as your throat tightens to hold back a sob. 

“Don’t talk.” You manage to get it out without breaking down, but he catches the waver of your voice. Llewyn pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, passing his calloused finger against your cheeks, inviting your tears to breach the dam you’ve held up for months. 

“Oh, honey.” He kisses each tear away, misty sad eyes pouring into yours as if he could possibly know how you are feeling right now. You frantically shake your head, pushing his hands off of your face. This isn’t how tonight is supposed to go.

“Please stop.” You sound defeated. You’ve lost the fight against yourself and you know that all you need is to be held, to be loved. You sit on his lap, taking deep breaths to calm down, resting your forehead against his chest, letting this silent moment caress the two of you. 

“Can we just pretend like I’m yours? Just for tonight?” The words are weakly whispered and bounced back to yourself. You can’t see his face but you feel his heartbeat thumping hard against you, warming his body, and in turn, yours. 

He hums softly, taking you back into his arms, squeezing you tightly. His other hand brushes through your hair, something he used to do whenever you were having a blue day. It felt good, like reliving a memory. 

“I love you.” He whispers it onto the top of your head, breathing you in, thinking this would be the last time he’d get you like this. The last time you’d be his. 

“I know.” 

It wasn’t.

[dailyreverie]

Insomniac

Fall prompts 🍂 27. "I can't sleep"

(Requested by @apollo-enthusiast / @myfandomlikesandstories)

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x reader

Word count: 689 words

Warnings: Mentions of homelessnes/struggling with having a placce to sleep.

October made its arrival known by drastically dropping the temperature that night, and if it hadn’t been for the cold night that woke you up, the empty bed would have done the trick. Everything is confusing at 2:45 am, when all you want to do is cuddle the cold away and Llewyn is nowhere to be found; that is until you hear the guitar strums coming from the living room and you see the light peeking from under the door.

“Llewyn,” Your raspy voice catches you by surprise as you call him, spotting him on the couch playing a quiet melody. “What are you doing?”

Llewyn looks up at you with guilty eyes and a sigh when he sees how sleepy you are. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep.” He follows you with his eyes as you start walking toward him, trying to keep the smile that’s creeping on his lips to himself. “Honey, it’s late, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t now.” You sit facing him, a tiny smile on your face when you admit you can’t sleep without him. Your side is pressed to the back of the couch, watching him play mindlessly with the guitar strings.

You stay there, sitting beside him, looking at him incredulously because you know it’s late. “I’m sorry.” You smile sleepily to his apology, too tired to tell him there’s nothing to be sorry about. Nights get like this to him sometimes, restless and tiring, endless and cold, as if his body had taught him that every once in a while he still has to stay alert through the night. “It’s the cold. I couldn’t- it wouldn’t let me sleep.” Llewyn admits shyly, not daring to look up at you. But you understand, his insomnia is only a product of the difficult past he had a while back. No words can fix that, you know that by now, so you only reaching out to push a fallen curl back up his head where it belongs to remind him that he is there, with you, and not at a stranger's living room.

Silence fills your tiny apartment for a few seconds, just his guitar and the cracking of the candle stick that makes the room smell like fall, the one Llewyn lit up as a last attempt to feel warm.

“How did that song I like goes?” Interrupting his music you reach over and grab the instrument to place it on your lap now. With a precise and calculated movement of your fingers, you set them on that one chord he taught you, strumming slowly as you go through the following two chords in calculated and un-practiced moves. It doesn’t sound all that well, but Llewyn loves the song anyway - he loves your furrowed eyebrows as you move your finger to the string below and the one above trying to find the right one, and loves your soft voice whispering the lyrics. 

The same way you reached for his curls he does it to your fingers, not able to hide the way he feels away from his smiling face. “Remember it’s D…” He reminds you, placing your fingers in the correct form, letting you strum a couple of times. “Then it’s G, you know that one already.” You strum again, making him smile fondly when he hears you whispering the lyrics to yourself to keep the rythm. “And then D again.”

You play it a couple of times in a row until your fingers learn the movement - until Llewyn forgets he ever was cold, even welcoming sleep to his body once more. You are smiling to yourself when you get it right and in fluent movements, and he can’t help himself but interrupt your song as you did to his, connecting your lips in a soft kiss that finishes warming up every corner of his body when he feels your smile.

“I think I can sleep now.” He confirms before one more kiss. Your hand finds his as you stand up, pulling him with you so you can drag him to the bedroom where the cold never finds its way in again.

*************************

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[alwritey-aphrodite]

🛳for oscar characters:)

I'm an introvert who likes music, spending quality time, horror movies and anything related to the sky<3

Sorry this took me like 8 years to answer lmao

Babe, it should come as no surprise that you’re perfectly for Llewyn Davis!! You like music? Perfect, because his favorite place to be is on your couch, playing your favorite songs or trying to come up with something new that definitely isn’t inspired by you at all. And quality time is perfect because in his mind, he doesn’t have much else to offer you but he loves being near you, just sitting together while he writes and maybe you read a book, walking around the city together or cuddled up in bed, you don’t need to be doing anything extravagant or fancy, you just want to be together. The two of you will spread out a blanket in Central Park and watch the clouds drift and the sky change from blue to pinks and purples and then that inky navy of nighttime, and it’s perfect because it’s free and you’re together. Of course, he’ll still try to spoil you whenever possible because he needs you to know just how important you are to him.

[runa-falls]

don’t let go

summary: your ex needs somewhere to stay for the night

pairing: llewyn davis x reader

rating: angst

warnings: cursing, kissing, mentions of cheating

word count: 1.5k (meant for this to be a drabble whoops)

A/N: So...I just watched inside llewyn davis and... wow. call me inspired. ofc i’m an angsty bitch so i made this ._. im sorry

masterlist

-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

Your body seizes up at the sound of the buzzer. You already know who it is. It is futile to ignore, but you still try your best, reading each word in your novel a little more intensely than necessary. 

By the way the rings keep rolling in, it’s obvious that he saw you were home from your lamp’s glow outside your window. You groan at yourself as you slowly walk to the intercom next to the door, cringing as he presses the ringer again. 

The worn button is slammed down with your index knuckle and you take a deep breath before speaking.

“Hello? Who is it?” There’s always a chance it could be someone else, but it rarely is. 

“It’s–uh, me, Llewyn.” You roll your eyes, knowing exactly how this will play out. 

“No.” 

“Wait-please, don’t hang up. I just-I really need a place to stay tonight, then I’ll be out of your life forever. Promise.”

“Llewyn,” You sigh, hating how he keeps dragging you into his problems. “You said that three sleepovers ago.”

“I know, but you’re…you’re all I have left, baby.” His voice is quieter. You could imagine him slouched into himself with desperation. You let out an irritated grunt at his words. 

“Don’t-You can’t call me that, Llew…” You’re beating yourself up at what a pushover you are. At this point, this whole exchange is just foreplay for what’s to come. It happens every time. “Fine. Just tonight…And you’re taking the couch.” You reluctantly buzz him in and mentally prepare yourself for the night. 

“Thank you, thank you, th-” He’s cut off by the beep inviting him in. 

—-

Llewyn used to be yours, like really yours. You were sure he’d be the one you’d marry, even with the small handful of dollars you had to your name. You had dated for a couple of years and moved in together for half that time. It certainly wasn’t domestic bliss, but you can’t expect that from a struggling musician. 

You’d work double shifts at the diner so he could follow his dream of being a music star. And it worked, for a while. But as you came home later and later, you saw each other less every day. 

And apparently, it got to him first because you caught him with your best friend Jean on your couch after a long day of slinging coffees. It didn’t make sense to you. Jean is married, Llewyn is leeching off of his long-time girlfriend, and you were funding his fantasy. Why would he do this to you?

Of course, you threw him out the next morning with his stupid guitar and scarf, telling him to get lost and never come back. And he didn’t for a while…well for a few months at least, then he came back asking to stay the night. 

You should’ve said no. Should’ve stood your ground and punched him in the face through the damn speaker, but you excused the freezing weather for your heart-aching desperation to see him again. 

He always starts off on the couch, the squeaky springs screeching with every move of his body. You’d be pissed at the noise if you weren’t already struggling to sleep. He has you staring at the ceiling thinking about what he’s thinking about. 

When you had enough, you get up, quietly tip-toeing to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. It’s an excuse to see him, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

His eyes are staring straight up in front of him, tangling and detangling thoughts around his head until he hears a floorboard creak from under you. He doesn’t make a move, waiting for you to initiate an interaction. 

You stand next to the counter, hip popped out to comfortably support your weight as you look at him. The eye contact is suffocating and you know he feels it too. He plays with his hands over the scratchy flannel blanket you shoved in his arms when he walked in. How can he look so adorable, yet be such an asshole? 

You swallow the rest of the water and drop the glass in your sink, looking back up at him. His large brown eyes look up from his lap and send you an inquiry, one that makes you want to melt through the floorboards. 

Your brain scrambles to hold you back from what you’re about to do. Nails pricking at your palms as your hands clench to your side. Just one night, you tell yourself, brushing off any regrets you know you’ll have in the morning. 

You send him a small nod before walking back to your room, leaving the door open as you climb back under the covers and wait. You pull on the delicate beaded string of your bedside lamp, turning it off and letting the city lights from your window illuminate small squares around your room.

Before long, his shadow takes up the doorway and he nervously looks around your room, waiting for you to tell him what to do next. His eyes look at all the spots where his things used to sit now replaced with random trinkets you forced yourself to buy to replace everything that reminded you of him. His white undershirt pulls against his broad shoulders, magnified by his tense posture. 

“Come here, Llew.” 

He slowly walks to the other side of your bed and sits on top of the covers, stiffly placing his hands on his lap, not knowing what to do with his body. He looks down at you over his shoulder, refusing to turn his whole body to face yours. He almost looks scared, like you’re about to yell at him for breaking a vase or something. 

You glare right back up at him in annoyance. He’s the one making this more awkward than is needed. He can’t seem to hold any type of eye contact after your interaction in the living area. 

“What’s, um, happening?” His voice is so small, almost endearing, but that’s not what you want right now. You push yourself onto your knees so your face is level with his and grab his stupidly perfect jaw with one hand, making him freeze up. You were never the one to take control like this during your relationship. 

You could feel the softness of his thick beard under your fingers and it pisses you off for some reason. Despite everything, you could still see the adoration in his eyes begging you to pull him in closer. 

“I… fucking… hate you, Llewyn.” Your eyes bore into his, sending the message straight into his soul. The words are sharply enunciated to communicate the amount of ire your hold for him. His face drops into a frown, not expecting the malice that drips off your tongue.

You take a quick glance at his mouth and slam your lips onto him, not waiting for him to react before climbing onto his lap. Your contradictory actions confuse him, but he responds to you immediately like a practiced move. 

He quickly holds on to your hips and pushes your body closer to him, leaning deeply into the kiss. He groans out at the intensity of your actions, melting at the familiarity of your heat. 

You can barely hold yourself together as the rumble of his voice gasps out your name. You didn’t realize how real this would feel. How much you missed him. You feel your eyes begin to sting with tears as your throat tightens to hold back a sob. 

“Don’t talk.” You manage to get it out without breaking down, but he catches the waver of your voice. Llewyn pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, passing his calloused finger against your cheeks, inviting your tears to breach the dam you’ve held up for months. 

“Oh, honey.” He kisses each tear away, misty sad eyes pouring into yours as if he could possibly know how you are feeling right now. You frantically shake your head, pushing his hands off of your face. This isn’t how tonight is supposed to go.

“Please stop.” You sound defeated. You’ve lost the fight against yourself and you know that all you need is to be held, to be loved. You sit on his lap, taking deep breaths to calm down, resting your forehead against his chest, letting this silent moment caress the two of you. 

“Can we just pretend like I’m yours? Just for tonight?” The words are weakly whispered and bounced back to yourself. You can’t see his face but you feel his heartbeat thumping hard against you, warming his body, and in turn, yours. 

He hums softly, taking you back into his arms, squeezing you tightly. His other hand brushes through your hair, something he used to do whenever you were having a blue day. It felt good, like reliving a memory. 

“I love you.” He whispers it onto the top of your head, breathing you in, thinking this would be the last time he’d get you like this. The last time you’d be his. 

“I know.” 

It wasn’t.

[coolx2-nodoubt]

❧ HUG ME ❧

╰┈➤Pairing: Llewyn Davis x GN!Reader

Warning: Angst/cussing & fluff at the end💜

Prompt: Can I hug you?

A/n: This is my first prompt ever. I'm pretty happy with this, hope you like it aswell. English is my second language so please go easy on me and let me know if there is any type of mistake.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You just finished taking a warm bubbly bath. Today you decided to use a new cinnamon scented shampoo for your hair. When you got out and went to your bedroom to pick out your pyjama from your closet, you heard the doorbell ring. You turned around and wonderd who could be coming here at this late hour. But then it hit you, there could only be one person...

So you swiftly wore your clothes. Checked in the mirror if you looked 'presentable'. And made your way to the front door. You held down the buzzer to speak.

"Hello? Who is this"

"Hey I'ts me, Llewyn. Can I plea-"

You quickly opened the door before he could finish, happy to see him at your apartment after a long time not hearing from him. But he wasn't, he looked sad, dirty, with his guitar over his shoulder, very little amount of clothes for this cold weather, shivering a bit even.

"Llewyn, hey come in. How've you been?"

You step aside to let him in, with a worried look.

"Hey, thx. Yeah I've been better. I actually needed a place to crash for the night. Can I ?"

"Yeah absolutely, please"

He walked inside looked around your place to see all the Halloween decoration you have placed. He can tell you took your time with it. He dropped his guitar on the ground near the sofa. And turned around to face you, he looked so tired.

"What happened Llewyn? Why do you seem so..upset?"

He slouched down with a groan, looking at the floor.

"My record deal, they cancelled it. Didn't even fucking bother to let me know before hand. Only found out when I got there"

He looked tired, sad, almost look like he is about cry. You just wanted to hold him close. But you accidentely blurted it out.

"Can I hug you?"

As soon as it left your lips you regretted. Did it seem too much? Was he gonna be wierded out? Will your friendship be ruined? I mean there is this tension between you two. There was this time where the both of you nearly kissed outside the bar, but he backed out for some reason,maybe the feelings were one-sided only?

But he looked up at you, and slightly nodded looking down again. It took you by surprise, you hesistantly lifted your arms and wrapped around his torso tightly placing your chin on his shoulder. He did the same.

As soon as he placed his forehead on your shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He felt his throat closing up. He couldn't do this anymore. He is too exhausted.

"Let it out. Let it ALL out"

Stroking his back up and down slowly. Soothing him with comforting words, letting him know that it's gonna be alright. That it's just another bad day.

He was still trying to speak while whimpering.

"I just wished- I just wished that my life wasn't this fucking bad. Waking up on a bench, hunting down for food everyday with the little amount of money I have. Always relying on the money I earn from the bar. Running out of money constantly. Asking people that I can crash at their place so I don't go to sleep freezing, it's all to embarrassing. I'm just so fucking tired of this. There's no reason for me to live.."

"Hey hey hey, listen"

You picked up his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Don't say that ok. Look it's not the end of the world, alright. Yes you've hit a couple of unlucky speed bumps. But it does not mean you should give up on your dream. You have a beautiful singing voice and you play the guitar beautifully, better than anyone else I've heard. They are just too stupid to realise it.

And besides your wrong, there's a reason, well someone...

You looked deeply in his eyes, taking a breath, before confessing.

"Me .. I really like you Llewyn, i've liked you for a very long time"

He looked at you momentarily, contemplating if he heard you right. Then he pulled you in by your waist for a kiss. Holding his hands up to cup your cheeks. His lips felt so warm and soft on yours, molded perfectly with yours, as if you were made for eachother. You grabbed his neck to deepen the kiss. His beard tickling your chin but you didn't care. To focused on kissing him.

When he parted away from you, you tried to catch up to his lips. He chuckled at you. Both of you staring at eachother in adoration. You couldn't believe he kissed you. HE KISSED YOU. To dazed to even realise he was trying to say something..

"I'm sorry for not kissing you that night, I chickened out. I just felt like I wasn't good enough for you. I thought you deserve someone better..better than me."

With your head slightly tilted, you stroke his cheek with your thumbs.

"You are perfect Llewyn, we are made for eachother. You caught my eye ever since I heard you sing at that bar I couldn't stop myself from staring at you, listening at your voice."

Both of you smiling at eachother like idiots. You give him a quick peck on his lips before asking him.

"Why don't you go take a bath and get dressed I'll bring you some clothes and I'll make us some food. And this time you will sleep in my bed, alright?"

He smiled at you nodding. Giving you quick peck on your lips before leaving you to go to the bathroom.

You placed some clothes for him on the bed while you made your way to the kitchen to make some warm soup and some snacks on the side. To busy with the soup you didn't even noticed that Llewyn got out of the bathroom. He slowly came up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. You were startled, but you easily eased into the hug and turned around in his arms and placed your hands on his chest.

"Your hair smells amazing by the way"

"Now you noticed it?"

He chuckles to himself

"Yours too, Llew"

After placing both of the bowls and the glasses on the table. You sit together facing eachother. You pulled your hand out for him to take, which he gladly did. You took a sip from your glass of water before asking him.

"So are we official...are we really doing this?"

"Was it not obvious enough?!"

THE END

Thx for reading , comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

[leiakenobi]

Hello dear! CONGRATS on your follower celebration, you're amazing and you deserve all the 💜 and kudos!! How about #25 from the "things fictional couples do that makes me lose my mind + writing prompts" list with our boy Llewyn?

25. when they’re doing something outside, it’s dark outside, and one of them views something pretty in the sky, like a shooting star, or just the stars in general, and they pull their lover by the hand, all excited to watch the shooting star, and their lover looks at them in pure admiration

Hello lovely, I know it took me 2 months to write this prompt but it really is perfect for Llewyn and inspiration finally struck this morning. Thank you for sending it. 🥰

This one clocks in at 853 words and has a gender neutral reader.

——

You had been at the Gorfeins' vacation house for no more than fifteen minutes when you realized that Llewyn was miserable.

He tried not to let it show, of course, all polite smiles and quiet chuckles and his fingers interlaced with yours as the Gorfeins gave you a tour of the whole place. But his smiles were just a little too tight, his chuckles too weak and his grip on your hand tightening as he got a glimpse of room after room.

Luckily – if you could call it luck – your drive out to the Catskills had kicked off later than you planned, and the traffic had been worse getting out of the city than you anticipated, too, so the Gorfeins finished the tour on the guest bedroom and pointed out all the amenities before very courteously saying, "Now we'll leave you to it, we know how tired you must be after your trip."

No sooner had they eased the door shut than you'd turned to Llewyn and said, "You hate it here."

"What? No, of course I don't. Like they said, I'm just a little tired." Llewyn made a point of pulling you close and giving you a soft, sweet peck, and when you pulled away, he was smiling. "Now go on, you were talking about a shower for the last half hour of the drive. I can take care of unpacking."

"Such a gentleman," you'd teased, giggling over the way he scowled as he nudged you away.

Despite the fact that you both packed fairly light, you're surprised to emerge from the shower and discover that Llewyn is no longer in your room—you'd expected him to be lounging in bed with a book, perhaps, or calling his sister to let her know that you made it okay.

Instead, it's only the faint light of a cigarette at first that cues you in to the fact that he's sitting out on the small balcony connected to your room.

"All clean," you report as you nudge the door open.

He hums and looks up at you, offering a small smile that you can only just make out as your eyes adjust to the darkness. "And ready to take the Catskills by storm."

"Only if you are." You let out a soft groan and drop into the other chair, promptly leaning an elbow on the armrest and your chin in your hand. Llewyn is mid-drag on his cigarette, and when he sees you watching him inhale and hold it, he raises an eyebrow, so you continue. "I feel like I shouldn't have worked so hard to convince you to come out here."

Llewyn seems to be on the brink of arguing with you when you return his raised eyebrow, and then he falters, allowing a beat of silence. A beat of frankly wonderful silence, the kind of silence that had made you excited to take the Gorfeins up on their offer to join them for a few weeks: crickets chirping and a complete lack of honking horns or strangers bickering too loud outside your window.

"I don't hate it here," he reiterates, even though you have not actually suggested as much. "I just..."

You reach out and smooth your hand over his forearm, hoping that he'll receive the gesture as tender. From the way his lips quirk up, you think he does. "You just?"

"I've never been out of the city like this. Except for when I shipped out, I guess, but I don't know. It's different. All of that--" He waves the cigarette vaguely in the direction of the house. "--is different."

"Oh yeah, of course it is, sweetheart." You squeeze his arm tight, just once. "Of course it's a lot to take in. And if it's too much..."

Llewyn actually lets out a soft laugh, and you think this one feels sincere. "It's not too much. I'll get settled in. Some things might even be better out here than they are in Manhattan."

"What could possibly be better out here than in the city?"

From the sidelong glance he gives you as he takes another drag, he seems less than amused by your teasing, but he still answers upon the exhale, smoke wafting past his lips and above him. "Check out the lake."

You'd hardly even noticed it when the Gorfeins showed you the room, because night had fallen and you'd been trying to politely get them away as quickly as possible to give Llewyn more space. But looking out at the view now, your breath catches in your throat—over the scattered trees opening out onto the lake, and more trees on the far shore leading to the mountains, off on the horizon, and above it all, so many bright and shining stars.

"Oh, you think that's better than Manhattan?"

Again, you're trying to tease him, but then you look his way again and see just how focused he is on the view. He looks positively enchanted, even if he does only say, "Maybe a little."

You cast your gaze over Llewyn's face as he stares, and softly, happily, you smile.

[nothidd3n]

finally made a llewyn davis fanfic check it out if you want

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

llewyn davis x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: face sitting

warnings: piv sex, obvious face sitting, oral (f receiving)

word count: 1.4k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

(a/n; there's a part inspired by this post, hi @my-secret-shame <3)

Today was one of those days. Not especially a tiring one, but a long one, one that seemed to drag out forever, that felt like was never gonna end. 

You had understood this the second Llewyn joined you at your table at the Gaslight. 

He didn’t tell you much; didn’t need to. He had an expressive face, but you liked the idea that you had somehow come to know it all by just looking at his eyes.

He had quietly settled beside you, capturing your lips in a kiss before lighting himself a cigarette and watching the act in front of him until the time would come for him to play. 

The day only seemed to get painfully longer as he got on stage, having to witness Pappi taking advantage of the situation to hit on you despite knowing damn well that Llewyn was your boyfriend; he would punch him in the face if Pappi wasn’t the one to let him play at the Gaslight, if he wasn’t contributing to the rare occasions for him to make some money.

The moment you got home is the moment you truly realized how done he was, how exhausting carrying the weight of his day over his shoulders had been.

You watched as he hastily and messily kicked off his shoes, throwing his coat over the nearest surface, and you followed closely as he quickly beelined to the bedroom to then sprawl onto your bed, tapping his lap to invite you to straddle him. 

So you did, knees as either side of him, his hands gently rubbing up and down your thighs as he told you about his never ending day.

It was endearing, the way he was looking up at you and smiling lovingly, as if it was the only thing he still had the strength for. You ran your hand through his hair as you listened to him talk, your fingers grasping his chin to kiss him once he was done.

Both of his hands grabbed the back of your neck to bring you closer and deepen the kiss, shifting to roam down your body once his tongue slipped inside your mouth. 

His fingers toyed and fiddled with the waistband of your trousers, and it didn’t take long for you to decide to remedy that, stripping out of your clothes as he mirrored your actions, sighing as you eventually lowered yourself down onto his cock while he lit a cigarette.

There is something so deeply arousing about this, about him nonchalantly smoking his cigarette while you are riding him.

It is a slow pace, almost lazy; a focused frown has grown over Llewyn’s face, cigarette tucked between his lips, one hand settled at your hips, guiding you up and down, his other hand trapping the stick between his fingers, momentarily pulling it away from his mouth to mindlessly blow the smoke to the side, eventually putting it out once it is done consuming. 

You lean to kiss him now that his mouth is accessible, his tongue mingling with yours, the familiar taste of nicotine in his warm breath.

His hand sets at your cheek while you kiss, shifting to tangle in your hair, setting over your waist when you pull away once it becomes necessary.

“Stop riding me” his voice is sudden, a bit rough, and you oblige. You stop, immediately interrupt the rolling of your hips, afraid something is wrong, but his thumb is gently rubbing circles over your skin so you’re even more confused. 

“I wanna try something” he declares as he shifts to adjust his position, tucking the pillow comfortably under his head. 

Your curiosity is piqued, you’re always eager to try new things with him. You raise an eyebrow and your mouth starts to gape to ask for what he has in mind, but he speaks before you get the chance to.

“Ride my face” he suggests as his hands settle back to your hips, and he feels you clench around him as he pronounces the words.

Oh.

You had experience in riding him, but not that way.

Llewyn had also eaten you out plenty of times before, but always in ways where he could control what he was doing, and where there were no actual risks for you to harm him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you” you mutter just loud enough for him to hear, your hand coming to wrap around his forearm.

“Dove, if I suffocate in your pussy I’ll be the happiest man on earth.” he jokes, a playful, reassuring smile over his face as he squeezes your sides, a laugh slipping from your mouth. “You’re not gonna hurt me angel” 

You nod, the simultaneous feelings of apprehension and excitement pooling in your belly.

You lift a leg up to lift yourself up from his cock, a small whine leaving your mouth at the loss, shifting to then crawl and place yourself so you could straddle his chest.

“You’re sure about this?” you ask, looking down at him.

“A hundred percent. C'mon, get that pretty thing over my face"

You get yourself onto your knees, either of them caging his face, and he licks his lips as he takes in the sight above him, staring at the slick starting to drip down onto the insides of your thighs.

“If something’s wrong, slap my thigh real hard” you suggest. 

He scoffs, gripping onto your hips. “Sure thing, c’mon baby.”

You bite down onto your bottom lip, cautiously lowering yourself down onto his face, holding tight onto the headboard of the bed, careful not to put your whole weight down on him.

You can’t help the moan that slips from your lips; the first contact of his tongue over your folds feels heavenly, and a small gasp quickly follows when he pulls down onto your hips to bring you closer to his face, almost smothering himself in you.

“Shit, Llewyn” you keen, your head dropping as you bite down onto your lip.

His hand quickly comes to fist his cock, missing the feeling of your tight cunt around it though really, the taste of it and your sounds alone could work him to an orgasm.

Words can barely escape from your mouth, you're only able to deliver parts of them when he’s mouthing at your cunt like a starved man, licking into you like it was the last time he was ever going to.

“O-ooh yeah– just like that” you whine as the abrasive feeling of his beard against your sensitive skin brings an extra sensation, starting to really roll your hips onto his face, truly fucking yourself on his tongue, way less cautious about your movements now that pleasure has taken over your other senses.

“Baby, I’m close,” you breathe out after some time, – quicker than usual, frankly – struggling to get the words out between moans, the task so challenging when his nose starts rubbing against your clit.

He hums into you in response, the hand at your hip squeezing harder onto your flesh, the hand at his cock pumping it more firmly to make sure you would both cum at the same time.

Your eyes squeeze tight, nails almost digging in the wooden headboard when the feeling grows inside of you and makes your mouth fall agape, a long, broken, noise-complaint-worthy moan escaping as you cum over his tongue.

Llewyn’s low, deep grunt resonates against your sensitive pussy as he fists his cock and pulses into his own hand, the vibrations of the moans and grunts leaving his mouth prolonging your climax as you come together.

You climb off of him once it’s over for the both of you, placing yourself beside him, still standing onto your numb, shaking knees, your forehead resting against the brim of the headboard while you try to catch your breath and regulate the beating of your heart. 

“Good?” he asks, and you can hear the slight rasp in his voice after being deprived of air for some time.

“Are you kidding me” you chuckle, breathless. “That mouth of yours has other talents than just singing.” you turn and really sit on the bed, giving your quivering legs a rest.

You look down at him as he chuckles, his mouth and bearded chin glistening with your juices, the sight making your stomach turn in the best way possible.

Then it hits you, the delayed worry, the possibility that it might have not been enjoyable for him, or maybe even uncomfortable.

“Was it alright for you? Did I hurt you?”

“Did you feel me slap your thigh real hard?”

—

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @spxctorsslxt

+ @flightlessangelwings

[oscarisaacsspit]

watching inside llewyn davis for the first time

[l8rs-gat0rs]

Masterlist!

Welcome! Here are all my fics in one place (^_^)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inbox status: Closed for requests :( but open for chatting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Request details:

You may request fics about any of the characters mentioned in the character lists (*except for the one-off list*). As of right now, I am only doing X reader fics.

currently I have only written female/AFAB reader, but I am open to writing for other readers as well. I want to be inclusive! if I do research and still feel like I am unsure if I will do it justice, I will let you know

~Character Lists~

These are the characters that I have written about, and are on this masterlist. (Also 1 or 2 characters I haven't written for yet but I am planning to)

Oscar Isaac Characters

Duke Leto

Llewyn Davis

Moon Knight system

Jonathan Levy

Poe Dameron (eventually, send requests if you have any)

Miguel O'Hara (eventually, send requests if you have any)

WLW characters

Eva

Midge Maisel

Juliette Fairmont

Captain Marvel/Carol Danvers

One-off characters

Joel Miller (special request)

(Credits to all the Gif creators)

💦=smut

🤍=drabble

🍬=fluff

🔥= Angst

Fics start under the cut

(All borders used created by @saradika )

Oscar Isaac Characters

Duke Leto Atreides

Kiss It Better 🍬🔥💦 | Leto finds his lover reminiscing about her childhood. She is having regrets, but the duke is determined to relieve her pain in one of her favorite ways.

Llewyn Davis

Old Friends 🍬💦 | An old friend knocks on your door extremely early in the morning looking for a place to stay. And who are you to say no to him when he looks like a sad puppy?

Moon Knight System

Complicated 🔥 | pairing(s): Marc x reader x Steven | The moon boys plan on confessing their secret crush. They are interrupted when they find her getting kidnapped after witnessing a robbery gone wrong, and they swoop in to save her.

The Mind Wanders 🍬🔥 | pairing(s): Steven x reader | you find out Steven's mind has been wandering. He's become quite entranced with another woman, and you won't stand for it. After you leave, Steven is determined to do anything, and everything to regain your trust.

Broken Promises 🍬🔥 | WIP

Jonathan Levy

A Good Morning 🤍🍬💦 | Jonathan wakes up one morning reluctant to go to work. y/n adds to that reluctance.

WLW Fics

Eva (Swarm)

Secret Thoughts 💦 | During one of your sessions with Eva you can't help but spill a secret you didn't think you would. Eva is thrilled to hear it and decides to fulfill your request.

It's always been you🍬🔥 | You and Eva have been dating for a while, Eva thinks the girls suspect something so she starts being more flirty with them. However, you don't take this very well, and you threaten to leave.

Save Me From Myself 🍬🔥 | You have social anxiety and Eva has been helping you with it. After messing up a game of Twister, you feel like you can't be helped so you decide to leave. Eva stops you from leaving, which leads to a confession.

The Golden Window 🍬 | Eva turns to the girls for some help telling you that she likes you, but it doesn't go as planned...

Miriam "Midge" Maisel

Hello Stranger 🍬 | You are at the- special...bar you frequent, and see a gorgeous stranger. You are Intrigued by her and decide to approach her.

Living The Dream 🍬 | WIP

Juliette Fairmont

A Vampire Romcom 🔥 | You're a transfer student at Lancaster academy and you bump into a cute girl, what are the odds she's also a cute Vampire?

Captain Marvel/Carol Danvers

You Got Some Time? 🍬🔥| The Captain's got some free time on her hands and so do you, you decide to have a night out because superheroes don't get many of those. As the night goes on, Carol decides time isn't the only thing she wants her hands on and you have the exact same idea.

A Christmas Carol 🍬| You're out in New York City with Carol and the biting cold starts to get to you. Thankfully Carol is there to keep your hands warm.

[bits-and-babs]

War Cry || Llewyn Davis x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> WordCount: 10.7K!!!!

-> In a world where Bob Dylan’s attempts to break through in the folk scene fail, a Vietnam Veteran uses his voice to bring the war to an end.

Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!

TW/CW: another slow burn, Jas loves plot. IM SORRY. AU. Alternatively named “Llewyn gets his happy ending”. Description of PTSD and Injury. Vivid description of war, lots of historical references because I’m a nerd. Mention of pregnancy (not related to reader). SoftDom!Vibes? Cock-warming, elements of denial. Delayed gratification. NOT proof read, we live and die by the grammar sword.

Phantom pain shoots through Llewyn’s leg as he wakes suddenly, tendrils of stabbing pain that wrap their way up his tibia bone. The sensation swiftly washes away as quickly as it appeared as he regains consciousness. His back against the couch cushions heaves with panicked breaths as his fingers grasp at the armrest in an attempt to remind himself where he was; Jean’s place.

Familiarity cleanses his muscles, tense with nervousness as he casts his gaze over the living room that he had spent so much time inside without ever having owned it. The ivory painted walls that feature hairline cracks in the plaster close to the ceiling, manilla curtains that had discoloured after years of smoked cigarettes and the metal bars of the overhead light shade that wrapped around the bulb and caged it inside.

It doesn’t take him long to settle his shot nerves, a groan of frustration rattling in his lungs as his head drops back against the musty couch. The screams of his past that haunted his every waking moment had finally leaked into his dreams, waking him from much-needed sleep and adding to his torment. Llewyn wasn’t a pious man, but he was beginning to think it was some form of divine punishment for his transgressions.

Foolishness was his only justification for his willingness to sign away his soul to take lives from others. When he branded his name to that enlistment paper with a biro pen that he distinctly remembers skipping repeatedly as he attempted to sign it, Llewyn was convinced he was doing something right with his life- finally. They’d handed him a rifle and uniform and ordered him to defend foreign soil in the name of freedom. It was the second time he had enlisted in the military, but the dichotomy between both experiences could not be clearer.

Battling the Vietcong in the humid heat of the Vietnamese jungle was nothing like his first enlistment, in which he never saw action. Llewyn had never seen such depravity, not ever experienced the metamorphic participation of taking another person's life. The suffering of children who walked through napalm and the seemingly endless slaughter of civilians that were considered collateral in the effort to eradicate the Vietcong, like vermin, from their own land. Somehow, even ‘freedom’ didn’t seem enough vindication for causing such life-changing destruction and trauma in his wake.

Perhaps the ink skipping on the page, leaving chasms in his signature with the first pass of the pen to the point it was barely recognisable, was a sign. He never should have filled in the gaps.

Sitting up from the sofa, Llewyn brushed his fingertips over the concaves of his flesh that had been left in the wake of the bullet that had passed through it. The only evidence he’d ever seen action, the lead slug was ironically the grounds for his honourable discharge and the reason he had the depravity behind- physically left the depravity behind. Mentally, he continued to hold his rifle with shaking hands, index fingers fumbling with the trigger as he abandoned all notion of battling for pride in his country, and instead fought selfishly for his own life.

Grasping blindly for his guitar in the dark, Llewyn flips the latches and opens up the worn leather case. His beloved guitar sits idle, the grain in the wood of the body practically glowing in the faint moonlight that seeped through the fabric of the curtains. He doesn’t reach for it.

Instead, he picks up a piece of paper so aged and worn from months of folding and unfurling it, pondering over the lyrics that he could pair with the musical notes he had previously scribbled in his practically illegible handwriting. The wordless tune had settled in his head the moment the soles of his feet had landed on American soil after his discharge. A foreboding, enraged melody that spelt out effortlessly the emotions that had overwhelmed the relief he should have felt.

Heaving his worn and tired body off the sofa, Llewyn is careful not to stumble over the coffee table he knew rested somewhere before him in the dark as he dragged his hand across the wall in search of the light switch. He wouldn’t have it on for more than a few moments, just until he was able to obtain a pen. He didn’t fancy waking the light-sleeping Jean and having to face her vitriol this early in the morning.

The ridge of the switch presses into his fingerprint after a second or two and Llewyn turns on the light with a gentle ‘tck’, though in a house when he was so desperate to be quiet to ensure he wasn’t kicked out, it sounded as though bombs had been dropped. Deciding not to waste any time, Llewyn is quick to move to the table near the front door, where Jean kept her keys, stepping carefully over the floorboards to avoid the pieces that he knew would creak under the pressure of his body weight.

A pen sits on the table, a gift from the Gods, because Jean certainly wouldn’t have blessed him like that. He snatched it like water in a desert, like he needs it to survive. Perhaps he does. Maybe the feelings would grow exponentially, and his skull would explode under the pressure of his own thoughts if he didn’t get them down on paper. It was possible that actively writing his frustration, his guilt, down would be almost like putting a pin back into a grenade.

Having obtained his tools, Llewyn turned off the light once more. Retracing his steps towards the sofa was easier this time, and he fell back onto the cushions with a gentle sigh. He’d stayed on this couch so many times it practically moulded to his body, and yet he was never comfortable. It wasn’t as though there was the solace of a bed’s mattress to hold him and the weight of his daily emotional distress. A bed to call his own, in his own home. A place of solitude and belonging.

Reaching through the darkness, Llewyn takes ahold of the curtains, pulling them apart to flood the living room with mild, pale lighting from the moon. It lights the page balanced on his knee, bathing it in a gentle glow. It wasn’t as though he would have to worry about waking his hosts this way, and this could focus entirely on his emotions, the words he wishes to convey.

Tucked in the side of his guitar case is a crumpled pack of cigarettes, smushed down between the edge of his guitar and the walls of leather that protected it. Llewyn flips the lid on the misshapen box and pulls out a cigarette from the last two that had been rattling around in there as he’d battled to find somewhere to stay since his deployment. He’d told Jean this would be the last time he stayed in her living room, but he was sure she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Llewyn’s cigarette habit had been bad before, when he was constantly trailing the country in search of a record label who would sign him. War had exacerbated the issue significantly. Most of his money went to smokes now, and he used them so often he swore he exhaled more tobacco than he did carbon dioxide. Placing the roll in his lips, Llewyn’s hands shake as he lights it with a lighter that had been gifted to him by one of the members of his platoon as a discharge present.

It was a simple, sleek silver lighter. Scratches littered the mirrored metal after many years of use, and on one side was an intense dent that gouged the silver and distorted the reflection of Llewyn’s face. He had been told by the Marine that gifted it to him, Martin Foster, that it had saved his life in a tussle with the Vietcong when the lighter in his breast pocket had deflected a bullet that surely would have killed him. Claimed Llewyn clearly needed it more than him, given he’d been shot.

Turns out Foster needed it more than Llewyn. He learned on his arrival back in America that Foster had died mere hours after Llewyn left, in a napalm strike.

Exhaling the burning tobacco with shaky lungs, the smoke seems to cleanse the page in his lap, drifting over the paper's grain and curling off the edge into the abyss of darkness. With a click of the pen, Llewyn knows exactly what he plans to write about, and the song title comes to him in a flash of images in his exhausted brain. The Tet Offensive and the slaughter of the Vietcong, massacres of villages of seemingly innocent people that superiors deemed to be harbouring the enemy with little to no evidence to support their theories.

With firm and bold strokes of his same scratchy writing, Llewyn brands the paper with the title, the anger rising in his chest as he spells it out letter for letter with a pressure far exceeding what is needed to transfer the ink to the page.

“Masters of War.”

____________________________________________

Cigarette smoke whirls around your head in slow-motion silver waves, the clientele creating an artificial fog that hazes your view of the stage where a man sat on a stool, readying his guitar beneath the pearly spotlight to begin a performance. Your palms catch on the bar-top, hours of alcoholic drinks drying into a sticky texture that has you peeling your skin from the aged wooden surface with a grimace.

Forgiving the frankly disgusting condition of the small tavern, it was a relief to finally climb out of your beloved VW campervan for a while and have a strong drink. You’d been sat in the passenger seat for over five hours as your friend and fellow protester Darryl drove down the highway with Jane insisting in a particularly loud voice that it was definitely this left turn that would take you all to New York. It was certainly the throbbing headache that developed from their consistent bickering that made you momentarily consider just why you were doing this.

It was a temporary query. The doubt dissolved like salt on your tongue upon arriving in The Empire State and seeing the paper boys stood in 4 foot of crystal white snow holding out manila news pages with the headline STREET CLASHES GO ON IN VIETNAM; FOE STILL HOLDS CITIES; JOHNSON PLEDGES NEVER TO YIELD. Paired with the horrifically violent black and white print of the execution of Nguyễn Văn Lém, it caused anger to burn your throat like bile, and your resolve hardened.

No amount of freezing sleet or red hot vitriol from passers by would stop you from imploring the government to stop the senseless slaughter in Vietnam, to stop sending soldiers as sacrificial lambs and bring America’s boys home. You’d protest and scream until your lungs shrivelled up.

Truthfully, the majority of your nerves came from the concept of being arrested for your dissent. It wasn’t uncommon for demonstrators to be apprehended by police claiming they intended to restore ‘law and order’, even if their only objection manifested itself in the form of holding up a picket sign.

“Surely a whiskey can’t be that riveting,” Daryl mused to you, noting the way you’d been staring absently at the amber liquid, twisting the crystal glass on the bar top. Broken from your reverie, you glance to your friends, smiling weakly as you shrug.

“Me and Mr. Jack Daniel’s were having an intriguing conversation about the success rate of student led protests,” you admit, watching them force a pitiful smile. They too questioned their ability to make change, you knew they did. Perhaps it wasn’t about actually forcing change as it was standing up for what was right- to know your conscience is clear.

“Don’t question it,” Jane reaches over to squeeze the flesh above your knee comfortingly as strings of a guitar sound from the stage, a gentle background sound to your busy mind. You give a single, listless nod as you look back to the beverage sloshing in the glass between your fingers.

So engrossed in your self pity, you don’t notice the random notes from the instrument on the stage falling into tune, fingers forcefully pulling angered chords that matched the bitter tone in the musician's voice when he began to sing. When your exhausted brain finally synched with your eardrums, you’re shocked to hear the lyrics form a symphonic protest.

”… the death planes

You that build all the bombs

You that hide behind walls

You that hide behind desks

I just want you to know

I can see through your masks”

Turning swiftly on your barstool, the uneven legs almost give way beneath you at the sudden movement. Grabbing the edge of the wooden bartop, you look over your shoulder at the body that the voice belonged to. A man, hunched over on a barstool equally as unbalanced as your own sings into the argent open mic as he violently strums agonisingly angered notes from his stringed instrument that is famed for its love songs.

He’s scruffy, thick raven curls askew upon his head and falling into his eyes as he sings. An equally dark beard shades the lower half of his face, the matching moustache framing his thin lips as they sound out his increasing anger for war generals. His frown forms furious creases upon his brow, eyes tired looking thanks to the deep circles that frame his under-eye but irises ablaze with acrimony.

“You that never done nothin'

But build to destroy

You play with my world

Like it's your little toy

You put a gun in my hand

And you hide from my eyes

And you turn and run farther

When the fast bullets fly.”

The spotlight on his body highlights the protruding veins and dorsal muscles on the back of his palm, straining as they force the strings down onto the neck of the guitar while he wrings out every riff. He’s vehement, each word spoken with a firm tone that indicates he believes every word.

Glancing to your left, you take in your friends’ baffled expressions. They’re absorbed by his every word, listening raptly as he strings the war mongering politicians from the rafters of the bar’s ceiling with his rhetoric.

When you cast your gaze over the small congregation of the bar’s customers sitting before the stage, you note they hold a very similar fascination. Some sit wide eyed and open mouthed at his audacity to sing about such topics, others grin and nod their heads in avid agreement- regardless, they are listening to his every word, taking in their meaning.

The thought forms before this stranger even manages to reach the final verse of his powerful song, and you’re abandoning your drink at the bar to push your way through the seated individuals in order to reach the edge of the stage. From this angle, you can see the curve of his nose, the length of his lashes. He’s pretty beneath all his hair and worn clothes.

With a final flourish of the strings, the man's impassioned song earns him a standing ovation and thunderous applause from the small crowd. Maybe it’s the lighting, but you’re almost certain you can see tears welling in his eyes as appeared to take a moment to commit this support to memory. Standing from his stool and bowing before the crowd as they cheered, he catches you waving manically from the side of the stage in a desperate attempt to capture his attention.

He pauses for a moment, thick dark eyebrows raising and creasing his forehead as he looks at you in question. The crowd continue to applaud even as he approaches you, their cheers ricocheting off the stone walls of the pub. It’s noisy enough that he doesn’t hear you the first time you speak, and you’re forced to repeat your question by shouting it.

“What is your name?!”

There’s a flicker of disbelief in the man’s expression, doubt that swirls in his pupils as he tries to recognise you. He can’t. You’ve never met him before.

“… Llewyn. Llewyn Davis,” he clarifies, slow to answer as he pulls the guitar strap over his head.

“Llewyn. I wanted to ask you something- Can I buy you a drink?” You stumble over your sentences, struggling to find the right way to approach him with your frankly ridiculous idea.

Before you even have the chance for uncertainty to spiral in your stomach, Llewyn is nodding, holding up his guitar at its neck. “Sure. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” You answer back, leading him towards the bar where your friends are staring at you incredulously from their seats where you left them. It’s not as though you wouldn’t be looking at yourself in disbelief if you could.

Llewyn pulls up another barstool as you settle into your own, ordering another pair of Jack Daniels and pulling out your purse to pay the bartender. You can feel the folk singer’s eyes on you, waiting impatiently for your explanation as to why you had practically dragged him from the stage side in a moment that he had appeared to wait all his life for.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to the scruffy man, noting the dark brown button up shirt with a white t-shirt peeking through the collar underneath. “I- I haven’t really thought this through,” you admit to him, seeing him give a curt nod that ties your stomach in a knot, “But I wanted to ask you if you would join us on our trip to protest against the war in Vietnam in Times Square tomorrow.”

It catches him off guard. You can tell by the way he blinks, practically gormless as he stares at you. He opens his mouth to answer, momentarily distracted by his glass of whiskey being set in front of him on the sticky bartop. Allowing the words to sink in, you turn to the bartender and hand him what you owe with shaky hands.

“You want me to protest?” He repeats to you, as though he doesn’t understand the five words from his native language. You nod quickly, unable to look him in the eye as you launch into a tirade.

“I don’t know if you realised, just then, but you words moved people, Llewyn. There are thousands of people all over America who want their soldiers home, who see no need to continue the violence. You perfectly captured that anger, you gave it a voice. I have no doubt that if you played that song at the protest tomorrow, it would drive people to push for withdrawal!”

Llewyn watches you with a look of utter disbelief, like you’ve just told him the earth is flat. He appears unable to accept your compliments, his own feelings of inadequacy leaking through his expression and the way he seems to physically recoil from your words of support. When he opens his mouth to speak, to refuse, you’re quick to talk over him.

“An eighty-two year old woman from Detroit set herself on fire in protest just four months ago, Llewyn. She made the ultimate sacrifice to spark a conversation surrounding the suffering in Vietnam. I’m not asking you to self-immolate, I’m asking you to fucking sing.” Your words are harsh, clinging to your throat like the petrol that doused Alice Strauss the day she set herself alight. You were pleading for her, for the soldiers still fighting for their lives, for the children in Vietnam whose bodies you had seen discarded on dusty tracks printed on the front of The New York Times.

“Hey,” Daryl settles a hand on your shoulder to your left, trying to quell your rising anger with a gentle touch, “You can’t force him to take a stand for something. It’s his choice alone.”

Scrubbing at your face with your palms, still gummy from the dried alcohol they had stuck to at the bar, you exhale forcefully. So caught up in your frustration, you almost miss the words that Llewyn murmurs to your right.

“I’ll do it.”

You pause. Fingers still over your eyes, it takes you a moment to peel them away from your face to glance at Llewyn. He’s glancing down into the amber liquor in his glass, not unlike you had moments ago, as he resigns to your cause.

“Are you sure?” You have to ask. Need to know that he’s entirely willing to submit himself to the principle belief and fight.

Looking up from the glass, his deep down eyes gaze into your own. They’re still exhausted, clouded by what seems to be years of broken sleep, but there’s a conviction there, the embers of a rebellion sparking in the warmth of his irises as he repeats himself with force.

“I’ll do it.”

____________________________________________

”Like Judas of old

You lie and deceive

A world war can be won

You want me to believe

But I see through your eyes

And I see through your brain

Like I see through the water

That runs down my drain.”

The softer strums of Llewyn’s guitar sound quietly from the back of the campervan as Jane continues the drive towards Times Square. The sun is rising, painting the cloudy sky a rusty marmalade colour that reflects in the puddles the tyres of the van drive through on the road.

Fatigue pulls on your eyelids, reminding you of just how late the four of you had returned from the bar last night. Having taken the time to hear Llewyn’s story, you’d practically been thrown out for staying way past closing time.

”You fasten all the triggers

For the others to fire

Then you sit back and watch

When the death count gets higher

You hide in your mansion

While the young people's blood

Flows out of their bodies

And is buried in the mud.”

You learnt that Llewyn was a veteran, discharged honourably after suffering a bullet wound to his leg that impacted on his ability to run. He admitted some of the horrors he had witnessed, from the destruction of Vietnamese villages to the smell of napalm clinging to victims' skin. It appeared that he had simply been grateful that someone was willing to listen to him unloading his grief.

Three very strong drinks into the conversation and Llewyn had delved into the trauma of his personal life too, apparently on a roll. He shared his inability to hit the big time in music before he joined this military thanks to his own ignorance, impatience and lack of critical thinking skills. He’d been homeless at that time, sofa surfing. He had a daughter, one he thought had been aborted following an agreement with his child’s mother.

Grief clung to him like the stench of cigarette smoke on clothes. Not only was he mourning the loss of his fellow infantrymen, but also the loss of time he had spent consistently choosing the wrong path over and over again, perpetuating his own infinite misery.

“I want to make it right,” he’d whispered as the inn keeper had called out for final orders, eyes holding an exhaustion that certainly wasn’t just thanks to his lack of sleep. He was depressed, clinging desperately onto life for a reason even he couldn’t discern.

Even now, as you watched him strum the strings of the guitar with calloused fingers, he looked desolate.

“Llewyn.“ You whisper his name softly, afraid to startle him from his song. His eyes flick up to you from where they had been settled on the guitar neck, gazing at you through his long, dark lashes.

“Hmm?”

“It’s Welsh, isn’t it?” You ask, hopeful you hadn’t just insulted a long history of Scottish lineage. He pauses his strumming for a moment, watching you with a small smile.

“It is. How did you know?” His intonation lilts with pleasant surprise, clearly not used to people recognising his unique name.

“What does it mean?” You answer him with another question, watching as he sets down his guitar back into its leather-clad case. The case is worn, the material torn at the edges from bumps and scrapes, being set on floors made of all kinds of materials for what seemed like many years.

“It means ‘leader’,” he admits, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’d be hard pressed to believe in fate, but the irony of this chance encounter is not lost on you, a chill creeping up your spine.

“Are you?” You ask with the beginnings of a smile playing on the edges of your lips, “A leader?”

He shakes his head, digging around in his guitar case to find the packet of Marlboro cigarettes he’d been quickly working his way through in the few hours you’d known him. He places a crooked smoke in his lips while he digs around in his pockets for a lighter.

“I wouldn’t have a fuckin’ clue what leadership was if it shot me in the face.”

“… You have a chance to change that now.” You point out, watching his frustration grow as his hands violently palm around in his trouser pants for this missing lighter.

“I’m coming to sing a song, not start a counter rebelli- where the fuck is it?” He grumbled, scowl casting a shadow over his eyes in the golden sunlight that bled through the windscreen of the van.

“The silver one?” You ask, and he nods again, totally absorbed in finding the missing item. Even when you pull it out of your own pocket and hold it out for him, it takes him a moment to realise what you were offering him. “You left it on the bar counter. I thought it looked important, so I picked it up.”

He’d been very drunk by the time you left the bar, basically draining your purse. It hadn’t mattered to you though, knowing deep down from the pain laced between his words of utter devastation that he was in dire need of someone to listen to him. To understand.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, making his appreciation known with a weak smile when he takes it from your fingers, sparking up a flame that dances from the head of the lighter.

“You’re not just singing,” you continue the conversation, watching as he lights the cigarette, small embers floating from the smouldering tip. “You’re rallying for the cause, Llewyn. That is leading.”

He watches you for a moment, puffing smoke from his lungs and taking the cigarette between his index and middle finger. It’s as though he’s considering your words, allowing them to sink in as the campervan comes to a stop.

“I suppose I am,” he admits quietly, nodding as he glances down at the swirls of grey floating up from the cig in his hand.

The click of the handbrake being set catches your attention, and you look over your shoulder to see Daryl climbing out of the van. The chanting of many distant voices seeps through the open door, and you feel a rush of adrenaline run through your body.

“We’re here, guys. Grab your things,” Jane smiles, looking over her shoulder at the two of you. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so amped up, but you scramble to your feet, quick to pick up the signs that you, Jane and Daryl frequently used in your demonstrations. The slogan ‘Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?’ scrawled across a white background in blood red was often the most effective, causing outrage and discussion wherever you went.

Fumbling with the signs, you’re quick to open the back doors of the VW Campervan, ready to launch yourself into the one thing that had been getting you out of bed for months. Before you manage to step down onto the rain soaked pavements, however, fingers wrap around your wrist.

Looking over your shoulder, you find Llewyn watching you with a small smile. The pad of his thumb presses gently against your pulse point, and maybe it’s the remnants of the copious amounts of Jack Daniels from last night but your mind swims when you look into his warm, espresso eyes. “You look nervous, Mercy Warren.”

You can’t help the singular laugh that forces its way from your throat, amused by his comparison between you and the real genius of the American Revolution. “I am.”

“Hell,” he scoffs at that, brushing his thumb gently against the sinews and veins in your wrist as though he was playing them like guitar strings. Maybe he was, given the way your skin heated beneath his touch. “I’m the one getting up there and singing, sweetheart.”

The subsequent wink he gives you before releasing his hold on you makes you feel as though he’s instead taken your throat in a tighter grip, your breath hitching slightly. You’re thankful that he steps out before you, leaving you alone in the back of the campervan to contemplate what the fuck that just was.

“C’mon Mercy! We’re headed out!”

____________________________________________

”You've thrown the worst fear

That can ever be hurled

Fear to bring children

Into the world

For threatening my baby

Unborn and unnamed

You ain't worth the blood

That runs in your veins.”

Tears stream down the cheeks of the woman beside you as she holds up her sign in defiance of the police presence that had been called in to oversee the protest. Emblazoned on her placard are the words ‘WE WON'T FIGHT ANOTHER RICH MAN'S WAR’ in orange paint.

She, alongside fellow protesters and passers by, watches Llewyn perform on stage. Not unlike in the bar you had met him in only hours before, the hundreds- maybe thousands of people watching were overwhelmed with emotion. Anger washes some expressions, tear tracks stain others. You note that even the police that stand on the outskirts of the large crowd in their riot gear are watching him, almost entranced by his emotive performance.

”How much do I know

To talk out of turn

You might say that I'm young

You might say I'm unlearned

But there's one thing I know

Though I'm younger than you

That even Jesus would never

Forgive what you do.”

News cameras held atop journalists' shoulders circle like vultures, no doubt recording Llewyn’s staging in order to stream it to the world on tonight’s news round. It’s exactly what you had wanted, to have his message beamed to those who couldn’t make it to the protest, to have them hear his message and side with the cause.

So caught up in your assessment of your surroundings, you don’t notice that Llewyn has played his final chord until a roar of applause sounds, cheers and clapping and the stomping of feet. Chills work their way down your spine and goosebumps raise on the skin of your arms when you see Llewyn stand, pressing his palms together in thanks as the crowd begin chants of “Leave Vietnam now!”

Pulling the strap of his guitar over his head, Llewyn pushes through the huge crowd towards you, amazement plain as the sun in the sky when he enters your line of sight. His eyes are wide, and he’s grinning from ear to ear as he takes in the calls of his name, men and women alike patting him on the shoulder in encouragement as he passes them to get to you.

“Llewyn!” You yell over the din, excitement buzzing through your veins at the thunderous approval of your fellow protesters, “That was incredible!”

He laughs incredulously, his head on a swivel as he takes in the fired up crowd, emboldened by his very own call to arms. They chant and cheer, making it clear to the civilians present in New York, and the politicians sitting at their extravagant desks in congress that they wouldn’t stand for the slaughter of innocents any longer.

Hearing him shout your name above the commotion makes your heart skip a beat. He must have gotten it from Daryl or Jane, but it sounds so beautiful from his mouth, in his voice that you don’t even press him for answers. You just nod, indicating that you’re listening to what he has to say.

What he does tell you damn near makes your heart stop altogether.

“I’m coming with you wherever you go!”

Words catch in your mouth as you gaze at Llewyn with an incredulity that makes him smirk, enjoying leaving you speechless. He wants to come with you to more protests, join you in your fight to bring troops back home. Seeing how the crowd responded to his song, you’re certain that it’s because he’s being shown support in his musical career for the first time in his life. But there’s something more to it, the twinkle in his eye something you see in all the protesters you work with.

Uprising.

You open your mouth to accept, to agree, to tell him ‘a million times yes, Llewyn,’ but your first syllable of approval is drowned out by a loud shout of his name over the crowd, a man in a crisp black suit pushing his way through the hoard of people behind Llewyn, urgently waving his hands to capture his attention.

“Mr. Davis!” The man calls, and Llewyn turns on his heel to face him. The poor man seems to have run for more than just a few moments, face flushed and skin shiny with sweat in a complete separation to his slick, meticulous appearance. “Mr. Davis, I am from Warner Brothers records, I’ve just run five blocks to come and ask you to sign for our label, sir!”

Once again, Llewyn gawps at the man with complete disbelief as he pulls out a piece of paper from a briefcase he held at his side. Despite the pride that wells in your heart, you can’t help the desperate sadness that creeps inside at the notion that a record deal would tear him away from you- his promise to tour the country in protest forgotten with the sweep of a pen over a dotted line.

The man begins prattling off terms and conditions, but you tune out as your mind is swarmed with thoughts. You barely even process the racket that the crowd makes, too caught up in your disappointment to even notice the shouts of “Give Peace a Chance!”

Perhaps it’s utter selfishness for you to expect a man you’ve known all of twelve hours to give up a life changing opportunity in order to fulfil a promise he made to you only moments before, but the ache of disappointment ebbs at the edges of your consciousness, pushing into your mind despite your attempts to cast it away.

The ridiculous dismay you felt was utterly uncalled for. Through an agency, Llewyn’s song would be distributed worldwide. It could bring about a turning of the tide, the anti-war sparrows outnumbering the pro-war hawks. One could only hope that the desperation in Llewyn’s voice would translate on a radio.

Over the noise of thousands of angry voices, and the buzz of your overwhelmed mind, you hear Llewyn’s answer. It takes the floor out from beneath you and knocks the oxygen from your lungs.

“I absolutely will sign. On the condition that you allow me to protest, and all proceeds from Masters of War go towards our campaign trail and relief for Vietnam War vets. Ask Mercy here for the details you need.”

You could have married him then and there.

____________________________________________

The funds from Llewyn’s song make your campaign life much easier. Your purse is no longer empty, thanks to your new companion insisting that you use the money he had earned from royalties for anything you need on the trail. You no longer need to check the pavement for pennies in order to pay for gas, and you find yourself worrying less and less about where you were getting food from.

Llewyn continues to play at protests, but six months on from being signed he tends to draw in much larger crowds. Protests that had begun in the thousands eventually expanded to the tens of thousands, and each campaign ended up on the front page of newspapers, the evening news and the 10 o’clock radio.

Progress otherwise had been slow. Still the American government was sending out young men in uniforms as a sacrifice to the war machine. Panic laced the air, rumours of the first draft since World War Two floating amongst the city people. You’d like to pretend that you felt as though these huge crowds your events drew made much of a difference, but Lyndon B. Johnson continued to laugh at you from his desk in the Oval Office, playing God with the lives of your fellow people.

Tomorrow was the gathering that had been organised for Washington DC. Maybe it was exhaustion talking, but you were certain that you had now been to every single state in your crucade. Laying on the bed inside the van and staring at the ceiling, you sigh as you count through each capital city. Philadelphia, Baltimore, Boston-

“Hey Mercy,” Llewyn’s quiet voice cuts through the silence of the van, shocking you from your thoughts. You’d almost forgotten he was still here, Daryl and Jane having left for drinks at the local bar a few hours ago.

“Hey, Llewyn,” you answer with a weak smile, turning to see him still sitting in the passenger seat. In this light, you can see the effects that worrying less about money had on him. His dark circles had diminished, he looked less gaunt. Much to your surprise, he’d even allowed you to trim his hair back in Columbus, having complained the strands were hanging in his eyes when he played.

Shimmying around the seat to make his way into the back of the van with you, he keeps his head crouched to avoid banging his head. It’s silly, but you can’t help but smile at him like this, all crooked and walking at a slant.

“You’ve been real quiet,” he points out, careful not to sit on your legs before settling down on the edge of the bed. You notice he looks concerned, eyebrows pulled down slightly into a frown.

You hum softly, considering how you would put your feelings into words. It was hard to admit sometimes, given everyone’s morale had to stay sky high to commit yourself to a campaign as long and tedious as this, but you were tired. Tired and fed up and hopeless. Opening your mouth to speak, the words die on your tongue before they even pass your lips.

“It’s okay. I know,” he murmurs softly, settling his hand on your knee beneath the bed sheets. “I feel it too.” You have no doubt that he does. Despite a good night's sleep and the money from royalties giving him financial security he could have only dreamed of when living on Jean’s couch back in Greenwich Village, he still looked emotionally exhausted.

“I just-“ You let out an exasperated sigh, overwhelmed by the threat of tears stinging at your eyeballs as you glance back up at the ceiling in an attempt to stave them off. “I just want it to stop, Llewyn. I just want to have that moment, that wonderful moment where they announce the war has come to the end. Maybe I’ll be so excited that I’ll have my very own V-J Day kiss.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound humorous coming from you. The exhaustion from months of endless struggle to hear a ceasefire order was taking an emotional toll on yourself and the team.

“That what you want?“ He muses, squeezing your patella over the duvet cover. “He didn’t even know that woman he kissed, you know? She was some kind of nurse or something-“

“A dental assistant.”

“Ah- Yes! A dental assistant. Would you really want to kiss a stranger to celebrate the end of a war?” He asks, his intense eyes settled on your face as he speaks to you. There’s an edge to them you haven’t seen before, something that melts your insides like ice you opted for in your glass of whiskey the night you met him. You remember the taste of it like it was still against your lips. You remember that whole night as clear as if the memories you constantly replayed were like a VHS tape.

“Well, who would I kiss otherwise?” You continue his playful conversation despite your pounding heart, enjoying the lightness you feel in your chest when you’re with him. “I only know Daryl. I think Jane would fucking drag me behind the van from here to New York if I took him from her after wanting him all this time.”

“I knew she liked him!” He says loudly, and you can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles that has Llewyn’s lips pulling up into a goofy smile of his own. “I could tell!”

“Why, because she wouldn’t sleep with you, Llewyn?”

“No, because she wouldn’t sleep with Daryl! The girl looks at him with these big doe eyes and still won’t make a move- regardless, we’re getting off topic here!” He insists, wagging his finger at you and causing you to laugh again.

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly at him, crossing your arms across your chest with a dramatic sigh. “So what’s your big idea then, Mr. Elvis Presley?” You tease him, knowing deep down that he’d loathe to be compared to the king of pop.

“Well,” he gives you this look, one that dared you to call him Elvis again, before continuing with his grand idea. “You could kiss me.”

It’s like a napalm bomb blows up beside your ears, a ringing sounding alongside your heart stopping shock, staring at Llewyn as he watches you expectantly.

“Y-You?” You stumble, and Llewyn doesn’t even hesitate to nod, confirming that you had indeed heard him correctly.

Silence settles between you both, but you’re acutely aware of the sound of your shaky breath exhaled from your nose. Llewyn’s palm on your leg feels like it’s burning though the covers and setting your skin alight.

“You don’t even have to wait until the end of the war, either. Hell, it doesn’t even look like it’s going to end…” he murmurs, his fingers massaging your thigh through the fabric of the bedding.

Is Llewyn Davis asking you to fucking kiss him?

You gawp at him, jaw slack, and Llewyn can’t help but chuckle as he takes up your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up by your chin. “Do you still want me to dip you in the middle of Times Square, or will a bed in a VW campervan down the back streets of Washington DC do?” He mumbles under his breath, amusement laced between his words and eyes set on your lips.

“This…” You trail off for a moment, the pad of your thumb brushing up against your jaw rendering you momentarily speechless, “This will do.”

He gives you barely a moment to register what is happening when he leans over your body and finally presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. It’s not at all like the heavy, lusty embrace you expected from him. No, it’s slow, controlled, the soft plush of his mouth gentle against your own as he slips his fingers into the roots of your hair, holding the back of your head.

Your hands move to grip at his cotton T-shirt, crinkling the material between your fingers and leaving crease lines in the fabric that resemble shattered glass. You feel his nose nudge yours gently as he continues this easygoing, delicate show of affection.

Maybe it’s because you’re touch starved, but his touch sparks liquid heat beneath your skin, his fingertips drawing a tingling sensation on your scalp that floods to your abdomen, toes curling in the thick socks you were wearing to combat the evening cold. His beard gently scrapes against the soft skin of your chin, adding to the shiver that rocks down your spine.

“Mhmm,” Llewyn hums, pulling himself from your lips, “Are you cold?” He questions, but you’re already pulling him forward by the elasticated collar of his shirt, shaking your head quickly and catching his mouth in another, more fevered kiss. His chest rumbles with a soft groan as you pass the tip of your tongue over the expanse of his lower lip, but much to your dismay he’s already pulling away and leaving you desperate.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, I don-“ he clears his throat, stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “I don’t want to rush this- Don’t want it to be like all the others. I’m different, I’ve changed since then.” You know he’s talking about his previous one-night stands. The ones where he’d sleep with anyone and then pay for their abortion months down the line. He looks at you with a weak smile that reads ‘you deserve better than that’.

You nod once, a sort of okay? before following up with a second, more confident nod that simply said okay.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, lashes dipping low as he gazes at your lips, brushing his thumb over the shape. You part them, feeling his thumbprint press over the arch upwards, tracing over the Cupid’s bow and back down again, when he promptly kisses you with another oxygen stealing, goosebump inducing kiss that was just as gentle.

It’s overwhelming, the scent of him. He smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey and lemon-scented resin-oils he uses to clean his fretboards. It smells so fucking good, and again you’re licking into his mouth as though you’re trying to taste the delicious smell.

Llewyn allows you to explore, not giving into your desperation as he passes his tongue achingly slowly over your own. You can taste the remnants of the mint chewing gum that he’d been chewing on for the past few weeks, cool against the heat of his tongue. You had initially thought it was something he had taken up to cope with the stress of touring, but now you wondered if he’d been thinking of kissing you for that long. The thought makes your heart race.

Testing your luck, you push your hands under the hem of Llewyn’s shirt, brushing your palm up the skin of his abdomen and gently raking your nails back down. You feel him shiver under your touch, his fingers dimpling the flesh of his thighs with his grip as he works them apart to slot his hips between them.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes into your mouth as you push your other hand's fingers through his ebony curls, grasping onto the strands and using the leverage to kiss him deeper. You don’t rush, taking your time with slowly grinding your hips up into his.

Maybe the soft brush against his growing erection sparked a need in him, because something snaps in Llewyn. His hands rush underneath your shirt, fingers strumming your ribcage before lifting the heavy fabric of your sweater over your head with a more persistent movement. When the fabric leaves your body, you can see his eyes settle on the expanse of your chest and stomach, audibly groaning in delight at the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers, taking in the lace bra that he can see your hardened nipples through. You shy from his gaze, but Llewyn doesn’t ease up, tracing his knuckles up your stomach before cupping his palms over your breasts and giving them a firm squeeze. “You’re beautiful.”

“Llewyn-“ you choke out, unable to come up with the words you need to ask him to do something. The desperation in your voice, thankfully, seems to be enough to voice your desires, because his lips are immediately on your skin. He nips at your neck at first, sucking red blossoms over your throat and collarbone as he slips his hand beneath your hips to give your ass a firm squeeze.

“You fit just perfectly,” he pants against your chest, giving your ass a gentle pat as an explanation. “Feel that? The perfect handful,” he muses. You give a weak giggle that melts somewhere between a wordless whine and a slur of his name when he traces his tongue over your nipple through the lace of your bra.

Your hips shift upwards involuntarily with the rush of arousal that bursts through you, and Llewyn seems to focus on that sensitivity. He keeps licking at that area before sucking through the material of your bra. The saliva that gathers in the material with his ministration feels cold when the air hits it, causing your nipples to harden further.

Tilting your head back into the pillows of the bed, you gasp softly as you feel his finger and thumb pull apart the buttons of your jeans, trailing the zip down achingly slowly. When you subtly kick your feet in a wordless plea to ‘get a move on’, Llewyn simply rolls your nipple between his teeth, causing you to yelp out his name.

Llewyn continues his slow, infuriating pace as he pulls your jeans over your hips, the drag of the denim over your thighs sparking heat between them as he keeps teasing your nipples. You could scream, could cry with how long he’s taking to undress you.

“Llewyn-“ you choke out his name in a desperate plea, the sound dying on your lips when he suddenly palms your pussy, feeling at your soaked cotton underwear and letting out a warm puff of breath against your cleavage.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping for me sweetheart,” he whispers, looking up at you through those pretty lashes and you think God that’s it. That’s how he gets them. It’s not his voice or his face- no, it’s the way he looks at them, the way he makes them feel like the most gorgeous being to ever exist.

You can feel pressure of your clit through the fabric of your panties, and you blindly chase it as you rock your hips up against the barely-there touch. It’s feather light, and you ball your fists over the covers in frustration.

“Sweetheart’s getting feisty,” Llewyn mumbles, his hand reaching to undo the belt in his jeans. It ‘clinks’ softly, but it sounds as though a gun goes off in the silence of the van. “What’s to be done about that?” He muses.

Llewyn is careful to ease out of his jeans much like he had delicately peeled your own from your skin, forcing you to wait longer and longer despite your dismay. The coil in your abdomen is curled up so tightly now, the muscles so tight that you’re almost ready to grab his guitar from the floor and smack him over his stupid fucking pretty face wit-

Your exceedingly violent thoughts given your peacenik nature are interrupted by the breathless groan that Llewyn exhales as he reaches into his boxers and fists his throbbing cock. He pulls down the waistband slowly, exposing his dick to you as he strikes it with a gentle touch.

He’s flushed purple at the tip, uncut. Veins bulge at the underside, streaks of purple-blue against the tanned skin. You drool, desperate to take him into your mouth and taste the creamy precum that beads at tip.

Perhaps it was naive to think he would just push your panties to the side, even when you beg him with a needy gasp of his name. Instead, he slowly hooks his thumb into the waistband on either side of your hips and pulls them down with an even slower pace than your jeans, causing you to sob out, looking up at the ceiling of the van as he slowly unhooks the slicked fabric from your ankles.

Llewyn, seemingly having learnt from his previous mistakes that he had claimed haunted his dreams, pulled a condom from the back pocket of the jeans he had discarded on the bed beside him. In your anguish, the tip of the plastic practically screams in your ears as you plead in your mind for him to just ‘hurry the fuck up before you do it all yourself’. Thankfully, he doesn’t tease you too long, rolling the rubber onto his cock with practiced ease before holding your thighs open and settling his hips back between them.

His lips press feather-light kisses against your collarbone, beard scraping against your soft skin as he slips inside of your aching cunt ar at a devastatingly deliberate pace. You’re almost certain you can feel every ridge of his twitching cock catch on your walls as he eases inside, the feeling of him stretching you out so leisurely causing your toes to curl against the mattress and your mouth to fall open as you watch him grind into you.

“Is this what you wanted, pretty?” He whispers to you. His voice settles deep inside you, blended with the feeling of him pressing up against something utterly devastating within you. It stings slightly, the stretch, but your jaw is still slack as you answer back with a pathetic, wordless moan. It twists to a groan of frustration when Llewyn bottoms out inside of you and just… sits there.

“Be good. Just wait,” he whispers, carefully brushing strands of hair from your sweat slick forehead and easing your knees up to your chest. Needy, you feign the need to redistribute your weight and shift your hips to take him deeper so the tip of his dick kisses your cervix. In truth, it makes the situation even worse. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, forcing them into the mattress so you’re kept completely still.

“Llewyn!” You sob, his name catching in your throat and coming out of more of a whine. Begging doesn't seem to work on a surface level, Llewyn’s intense eyes setting a blaze in your abdomen as you struggle against his firm hold. However, you’re almost certain you can feel him twitch inside you at the distress in your voice, and you cling desperately to that upper hand.

“Llewyn, I need you to fuck me,” you punctuate your whispered begging with a push of your hips against his strong hold, “Please, I don’t think I can wait any longer- please I’m going to make myself cum if you do-“ He’s glaring back at you with an immovable expression, silently insisting that you ‘wait’.

Tears well in your eyes as you throw your head back into the pillows with a frustrated, exaggerated sigh. His hands sweep up your ribcage again with a delicate touch, watching you resign to waiting until he allowed you pleasure. Goosebumps rise on your skin beneath his touch, back arching slightly into the mattress at the ticklish sensation of his rough guitar string calloused fingertips tracing gentle patterns across your torso.

In the silence that follows, you hear Llewyn’s voice cut through in a barely there whisper of “good girl” before he shifts his hips, easing them all the way out of you and tapping the slick head of his cock against your clit. The sudden sensation sends a shockwave through you, the beginnings of an orgasm launching through your abdomen and rocking you from your dick-starved haze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his own voice strained as he slips the tip back into you and just fucking *holds* it there, edging the both of you in this potent cocktail between pleasure and torture. When your tears slip down your cheeks, seeping into your hairline, he takes pity on you, starting the laziest pace he could muster. In any other situation, this excruciatingly slow pace would do nothing for you, but he’s working you so tight that it sparks unholy pleasure through you, obliterating your body with ecstasy. “So desperate for me, Sweetheart.”

There’s no sudden thrusts. No jerking movements. Just in and out at a leisurely pace in order for you to feel every ridge of his cock, to pinpoint the exact moment his cockhead catches against the spot inside you that makes you throw your head back in bliss.

“Llw- hah- ahhh fuck-“ you sob weakly, planting the balls of your feet into the mattress and rocking your hips up at a similar rhythm to meet him in the middle, to feel him deeper.

It begins to swell almost immediately, that delightful burn that settles deep in your abdomen. You grasp blindly at the bedsheets, now damn with sweat, as you barely have the time to brace yourself against the early intensity of it, sparking bright white as it begins to flare. You can’t form the words, can’t work your lips around the foreign name that you’d been so desperately speaking for the past twenty minutes.

“That it baby? Can you feel that? I can. You’re so tight,” he murmurs, eyes studying your almost pained expression as he continues to spear that mind-blowing place inside you that makes you arch into him, makes you keen wordlessly for relief.

It’s then that you catch a glimpse of those rich, brown eyes staring down at you. They’re no longer tired, their dark circles nearest impacting on the utter adoration and reverence he held for you, something you never expected to see from Llewyn- something you initially thought him incapable of.

You throb and clench around him, the babble of meaningless syllables spilling from your voice crescendoing into a yelp as the affection in his expression throws you over the ledge, launches you over it. Every muscle in your body constricts with the pleasure that arcs through you so suddenly. You can barely discern where you are, what is happening as Llewyn leans down to press gentle kisses against your throat in an attempt to ground you through the devastating peak.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your throat, his voice ragged as he only now begins to pick up his pace, chasing after his release as your walls clamp tight around him. The sudden shift in rhythm has you sobbing out his name over and over, grasping desperately at his shoulders and digging your nails into him as he wrings out your pleasure for all it is worth.

“There it is,” he strains, “There it is, there there there!” Slamming his hips into you a little harder than you think even he intended, he cums with a heavy exhale against your throat. You can feel your walls tight around him, draining him as he rocks only slightly into you, completely wrecked.

You’re surprised that you can even feel him slump on top of you, the intensity of your orgasm making the afterglow almost numb, as though a pins and needles sensation coats your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

The van is hot now, your combined body temperatures causing the windows to steam and sweat to slick your bodies. It’s sticky and uncomfortable but you’re so relieved to have him here, in your arms.

It takes a while for either of you to speak, just listening to the strained heaves of inhale and exhale as though they were the ticks of a clock. Finally, with enough of your breath and mind back, you give a weak giggle.

“I don’t think that the dental assistant fucked him, Llewyn.”

“There’s a first time for everything, don’t you think?” You hear him muse, catching his eye as he pulls away from your chest and the two of you, in a state of delirium, burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh fuck,” you giggle, wiping tears of joy from your eyes for the first time in years as he cradles you in his arms, placing toothy kisses against your shoulder. “I suppose there is!”

____________________________________________

Eventually, Daryl and Jane get together on the campaign trail. You’re happy for them. You’re even happier for them when they announce their pregnancy, even though it means they will have to pull out of the protests to focus on the new life they’re building together. In a world so dark, so miserable, you’re glad that the two of them have found some light.

In the end, it’s you and Llewyn driving to capital cities. Llewyn performs his songs, spreads the message. You accompany him on his persistent run for peace during the day, and kiss and ease his battle scars at night, holding him through his night terrors.

They got worse with the release of the front page news article detailing the My Lai massacre, the utter horror that was inflicted upon the hundreds of men, women, children and animals in the tiny village. From that day forward, you heard an even angrier tone when Llewyn sang, the protest evolving into something more akin to revolution. You held his hand the entire time, and he wiped your tears.

That same New York Times article sparks an outrage that lights the fire for an uprising. Protests start countrywide, hundreds of thousands of people insisting that troops withdraw. People burn their draft cards, including rising boxing star Muhammad Ali. Students from Kent State University die in a police shooting while calling for peace. The government can no longer claim they have control, the Tet Offensive breaking down the carefully built, fragile upper hand of the US troops.

One night, at the height of the conflict, you sit down with Llewyn and help him pen a letter to his unnamed baby's mother. He wanted to be a part of his child’s life, regardless of how old she was now. He had been unsure, but you had insisted it was never too late to make that step.

“What if she doesn’t want to meet me?”

“Llewyn. You’re her father. Of course she wants to meet you.”

Within weeks, he had a response, a letter in feminine, cursive writing that detailed the relief to finally have heard from her father. They spoke daily on the phone, and you’d even had the opportunity to meet her.

She looked so much like her father.

On January 27, 1973, years after you convinced Llewyn to join your cause, the two of you stood in the same bar in Greenwich, New York. The tiny television mounted on the wall screens a picture in black and white. A rolling newsreel stated a breaking news story in block capital letters; PARIS PEACE ACCORDS SIGNED, ENDING WAR IN VIETNAM.

The Jack Daniels you held in your hand is launched into the air in celebration, ice and alcohol scattered across the wooden floor as the people bar cheer and roar. Troops were coming home. It was all over.

Ugly tears of elation streamed from your eyes as you looked at Llewyn, who also cried beside you. He immediately took you into his arms, abandoning his own drink on the bartop as he dipped you as low as he could, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss of relief. Of reverence. Of adoration. Your own V-J Day kiss like he had promised all those years ago, with someone you know and love and attribute as being the turning point of everything, his words pushing a message of peace and rallying a nation to say ‘no more’.

That night, he played Masters of War for the final time, up on that very same stage where you found him. The room was packed, filled with people that spilled out into the street to see the famous Llewyn Davis. The chords are played with the same anger, his tone holding that blazing fury he had kept raging for so many years, but his eyes speak volumes. The gentle gaze he held with you tells you all you need to know. It’s over.

“Let me ask you one question

Is your money that good?

Will it buy you forgiveness

Do you think that it could?

I think you will find

When your death takes its toll

All the money you made

Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die

And your death will come soon

I'll follow your casket

By the pale afternoon

And I'll watch while you're lowered

Down to your deathbed

And I'll stand over your grave

'Til I'm sure that you're dead.”

END

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