#Llewyn Davis imagine

[mochimoqa]

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🎸🐈Llewyn Davis

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Heyo! I'm Mochi Moch! Or you can call me Mochi Moqa or Mochi for short :]

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¡Hola! ¡Soy Mochi Moch! O puedes llamarme Mochi Moqa o Mochi para abreviar. :]

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[luke-o-lophus]

Sooo I painted this yesterday....

[faretheeoscar]

And indeed I will never get tired of my baby Llewyn 😭😭😭😭

keys

llewyn davis x reader

tiny short fic for my wet cat boyfriend llewyn<3

summary: you ask llewyn to officially move in with you.

warnings: tiniest bit of angst, mentions of being broke. it's barely there

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, uhh it's just sweet idk what to tell you

word count: 0.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

Llewyn is standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, almost sitting on it, his hands gripping the edge of it. He sighs and rolls his eyes as you walk up to him handing him a small box, and he feels a bit guilty that you seem so excited about it when he is not really. 

“What for,” he exhales as he takes the box from your hands and shakes his head. “You didn't have to.” he declares sternly, an almost scolding look over his face. Where some people say this just to be polite, Llewyn means it. You didn't have to.

“Open it!” you urge him, raising your eyebrows, biting down onto your bottom lip in apprehension and excitation. He sighs once again as he looks down at the tiny box in his hand.

“Come on, you know I don't like gifts, now I feel like I owe you something” he frowns, looking back up at you. 

It's your turn to sigh in impatience as you put your hands on either side of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you can press your lips against his and get him to stop complaining; it’s one efficient way to stop him from talking back. He hums against your mouth, his free hand instinctively shifting to rest against your hip. 

“Shut your mouth and open the damn box” you order him in a scolding whisper as you pull away, leaving him chuckling softly.

He licks his lips as he finally lifts the lid of the box, discovering a key inside.

“What is that” he frowns, looking up at you.

“It's a key, dumbass.” you scoff, shrugging. 

“I know what it is.” 

A heavy silence settles in the room, and it makes you confused. Llewyn takes the key out of the box, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifts from the small object to you. “Why”

“I want you to move in with me. Like, officially. No more couchsurfing” you declare. Even though you were a couple and Llewyn was spending most of his time at your place, he sometimes felt like he owed you and needed to give you space, crashing at the Gorfeins or at Jim and Jean’s from time to time. 

“This doesn't change much, you're already basically living here anyways. But now it's official, and you have a key, so you won't have to get in through the fire escape when I'm not home” you add tentatively, trying to read over his face whatever he feels at the moment. 

His silence is starting to make you anxious, starting to make you regret your decision. Maybe he’s not ready, maybe he doesn’t want this yet, maybe he doesn’t want this at all. You have never really talked about this, about anything regarding your future together.

“Yeah I figured but,” he finally starts, staring at the key in his hand. “It’s just… I can’t pay rent, angel.” he sighs, looking back at you with a miserable expression over his face.

“I know,” you huff out, relieved that it seems to be his only issue. “I’m not asking you to. You’ll help whenever you can” you nod. “I just want to lift this weight off your shoulders” you explain, your hand sliding to link with his.

“Like I said, it’s barely changing anything” you mutter under your breath.

He nods back at you, looking back at the key in his hand before putting it on the counter. 

“Okay.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly. “Okay what? Okay you’ll live with me?”

“Yeah.” he smiles, his hands setting at your waist. “I’ll live with you.” he nods, pulling you closer as his arm wraps around your shoulders, peppering small kisses over your temple and forehead. 

“Good” you say, leaning into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay with it”

He scoffs, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been couchsurfing for years. It’s just a damn key but it means a lot.” he huffs out. “Don’t go thinking I’m sad about the thought of not sneaking in through the fire escape anymore.”

You laugh, “Your back will thank me” you smile looking up at him. 

“Jean will thank you.” he corrects, earning a scoff from you before you cup his face and press a kiss against his cheek.

He grins sweetly as his lips brush against yours, before full on pressing them against your mouth. 

“I'm glad you haven't grown tired of me yet. I love you” he says as he pulls away, his lips curling in a small, grateful smile.

“I don't think I could ever grow tired of you, Davis. I love you too.”

“It’s only a matter of time I’m afraid” he scoffs.

“Mh, we’ll see, then you’ll have to give back your key and beg me to even sleep on the couch” you declare, looking at him with pity.

“You’ll give me the couch treatment?” he gasps, falsely appalled.

“Oh that'll be if I'm kind enough to let you in,” you tease.

“Alright I think I liked you better when you said you couldn't ever grow tired of me”

—

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alabanza*^~ - @brandyllyn [ao3]

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[glimeres]

Hey, Joel and Ethan Coen: when are you guys going to produce an O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) stage adaptation?

There is no way they aren't closeted musical enthusiasts, not with having made movies like Inside Llewyn Davis, Hail Cesar! or the first 20 minutes of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs.

Why not ride the movie-to-musical wave, then?

OBWAT is already just much of a ""musical"" as the movie version of Cabaret - with most of the songs being diegetic.

If there is one thing I'm certain if is that the youth loves a musical re-imagining of ancient greek mythology and literature.

And OBWAT is a (very loose) re-telling of an ancient greek tale, now set in America at the beginning of the 20th Century - with its cast of characters trying to survive the harsh realities of the late 30's and the world Post Great Depression by any means necessary.

Wait a minute...

Yes, this movie IS Tony Award™ Winner Hadestown's older, more character actor-y cousin! Just swap the New Orleans setting for rural Mississipi and the folk/jazz score with country/bluegrass/gospel.

There are others examples of ancient greek mythology/literature-inspired musicals in the last couple of years - like the indie musical role-playing game Stray Gods, the Lighting Thief adaptation to stage or the Disney's Hercules production in Germany set to debut later this year.

Watch out, though, because the team behind Epic: The Musical already got the ball running when it comes to making musicals re-imagining Homer's Odyssey!

I gues the whole point of this post...

Is that the reprise of Man of Constant Sorrow would look so cool on stage. Like, so cool.

[klainebayeuxtapestry]

nothing sucks more than being llewyn davis who has the worst day of his life and then at the end bob dylan shows up like it’s SO unfair imagine you’ve had a day where you legitimately suffer worse than jesus and then just as you’ve found a little catharsis via the art of folk music (the only thing you have left in your life) bob dylan immediately follows you in an open mic and renders everything you do inconsequential in the history of your art form

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013, Coen brothers)

14/02/2024

Inside Llewyn Davis is a 2013 film directed and written by Joel and Ethan Coen and starring Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, Justin Timberlake and John Goodman.

The film is inspired by the life of folk singer Dave Van Ronk, active in New York in the sixties.

It participated in competition at the 2013 Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Special Jury Grand Prix.

New York, February 1961: Llewyn Davis is a struggling young folk singer whose recent solo album, Inside Llewyn Davis, was a flop; being without money and nowhere to go, he sleeps on the sofas of friends and acquaintances. One evening, after playing at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, he is beaten at the back of the venue by a mysterious and rude individual for reasons not immediately specified.

He subsequently accepts Jim's proposal to record a new song, agreeing to be paid immediately 200 dollars in exchange for the transfer of the copyright, in order to have the money for the abortion.

The young man accepts a ride to Chicago in the company of the laconic poet Johnny Five and the grumpy heroin-addicted jazz musician Roland Turner; during the trip he reveals that his musical partner, Mike Timlin, committed suicide by jumping off a bridge.

In an expanded version of the film's opening scene, Davis performs at the Gaslight and Pappi reports to him that a "friend" is waiting for him in the back; Davis then watches a young Bob Dylan perform on stage.

The film starts from the Coen's reflection on the rebirth of interest in folk music in the sixties, and in particular that despite the genre's exquisitely rural identity, in that period it was followed above all in a metropolis like New York, and that so all its major performers were natives, like Brooklyn's Dave Van Ronk and Ramblin' Jack Elliott.

When writing the screenplay, the pair of directors drew mainly from Van Ronk's autobiography, published posthumously in 2005, The Mayor of MacDougal Street but, even before starting to write it, the Coens had started from a single idea: imagine Van Ronk getting beaten up outside Gerde's Folk City in the Village.

Producer Scott Rudin, who had previously worked with the Coens on True Grit and No Country for Old Men, collaborated on the project. StudioCanal helped the production financially in the absence of a US financier/distributor.

On May 9, 2013, shortly before the presentation of the film at the Cannes Film Festival, the red band trailer and a new poster were also released.

The soundtrack was curated by T Bone Burnett, songwriter, producer and Oscar winner for the song The Weary Kind, and by Marcus Mumford.

[winniethewife]

It's time that you won.

(Llewyn Davis x OC!Rose Thorne)

Epilogue: You've made it now

Last Chapter

Words: 566

1970

It was a sold out show. Llewyn and Rose were getting ready to get on stage. Not an easy task with a 7 year old and a five year old under foot. Llewyn was trying to tune his guitar while Giles tried to play it. Rose was doing her makeup while trying to answer Audrey’s hundreds of questions about, well anything and everything. The sage manager passing by shouts.

“10 minutes till you’re on!”

“Thanks!” Llewyn calls out. He looks at his son, the little boy with the Dark mop of curls and glittering green eyes. “Okay bud, I really gotta make sure this is in tune okay? Just give me a sec.” He says with a grin. The little boy sighs

“Okay Daddy, But will you play my song today?” the little boy asks with a cute little pout. Suddenly Audrey’s ears perk up.

“Yeah! Mommy are you guys gonna play my song and Giles song?” She asks.

“Don’t we always sweetie? Why wouldn’t we this time?” Rose asks looking over at her Daughter, before kneeling down to adjust the girls bright red pigtails.  

“I don’t know, maybe the audience won’t like them.” Audrey ponders.

“Well the audience doesn’t pick the songs we do, and we always play your songs.” Llewyn stands up and grabs his copy of the set list before showing it to the kids. “See, right there, ‘You are my sun shine’ and then here ‘Green Green Rocky road’” He points out the song titles where they appear on the list. The two kids nod and jump up and down with excitement. Just as they were satisfied their Nanny showed up to take them to their seats. Rose and Llewyn give their kids hugs before they head off. Llewyn turns to Rose.

“You ready?” He smiles at her.

“Always.” She takes a step towards him and kisses him on the cheek. “who would have imagined this is where we would be huh?” she chuckles.

“What? Us and the kids on the road? City to city across the continent? Nah, I couldn’t have pictured this for us. But.” He wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to hers for a moment before pulling away. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She smiles at him.

“I love you Llewyn”

“And I love you Rose.” Just then the stage manager comes by and motions to them Llewyn lets her go and grabs his guitar. “It’s show time.”

As they walk onto the stage the crowed is buzzing. Llewyn looks around for a moment at the venue. A decade ago he had been living on the street, sleeping on friend’s couches and everything seemed to be going wrong at every opportunity. Now he was standing in a sold out show, on tour with his wife and family. It was amazing. As they step up to the microphones Rose looks over at him. He was getting a little greyer, the beard a little scruffier, but he was still just as handsome, and he was hers. He looks at her as he begins to play the opening of the first song. Her smile was just as bright as the first time they played together, her eyes glittering golden in the stage lights. He sakes his head slightly before he started to sing.

 “I don't know you, but I want you, All the more for that.”

~

Masterlist

[oscarisaacasimov]

Oscar Isaac stars in "The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window"

an incredible show

“The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window” is hard to categorize. It’s a funny, rangy and ambitious play that gives its central character attributes both magnetic and off-putting.

Oscar Isaac masters the art of being Sidney, of allowing us to recognize the blind spots that the character doesn’t, how he can profess his sympathy for equality while ordering his wife to get him a beer. (And with the banjo he picks up and plays, the “Inside Llewyn Davis” star reminds us of his musical chops.)

Miriam Silverman superbly embodies the eldest sister Mavis, a snooty Upper East Side busybody who looks down on Black and Jewish people. Her second act speech about her own surprising sacrifices is one of the production’s high points

--Peter Marks, Washington Post

Sidney Brustein is an intellectual dilettante, convinced he’s destined for cultural preeminence, but mostly succeeding on charm (and his wife’s willingness to wait tables to pay the rent). Mostly, Sid wants the life that allows him to hang out having deep conversations with his similarly half-cocked-idealist pals, and maybe save the world once or twice.

Iris is aspiring actress, but she too wants to be significant more than she knows how to do the work to get there. She peruses Backstage religiously, but hardly ever shows up for an audition. You can almost hear Iris rolling her eyes at Sidney’s ambitions, but it’s easy to have a little more sympathy for her position when she seems to not only be the only one bringing home a paycheck, but also the one who does all the grocery shopping and cooking.

The other standout performance for me was Miriam Silverman’s Mavis, as a woman who’s often mistaken for blinkered rather than restrained; unlike Sidney, Mavis often chooses not to tell the world what she’s thinking. Her scene alone with Sidney, where she reveals many things he doesn’t know both about herself and about her sister Iris, is one of the standouts.

Hansberry is relentlessly unsentimental, even to the point of viciousness; her characters do occasionally admit to ideals, but the play never gives those ideals a lot of enthusiasm or credence.

“Smug” bohemia, as Mavis calls it, is a paper thin layer over all the usual hatreds and hostilities: not just Sidney’s jabs at Iris’s psychotherapy and Alton’s passion for the downtrodden, but the racism and antiSemitism and homophobia and madonna/whore complexes that factor in to the way all the characters think and speak about one another.

Isaac gives a revelatory performance – you see how Iris twists herself to be the woman he imagines, just to feel the beam of his charisma, but you also see every ounce of his meanness and his inability to resist using the cleverest line even if that’s the cruelest dig. And when the self-styled smartest guy in the room figures out he’s been the last to know, you see every beat of the crumbling of Sidney’s illusions on Isaac’s face.

It’s hard to watch, as all the things that Sid thinks he knows – about his wife, about politics, about social change – get dismantled one by one, and as spiritual death spirals down toward an actual death.

-Loren Noveck, Exeunt NYC

[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

[mochimoqa]

Helping out

Llewyn Davis x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Slight cursing, mentioning of assault, Barely even proofread, this is gonna suck ass and I promise to add more 😭

(Imagine him checking you out like this OML 🤭)

It was a chill day like it was every day. You did your usual chores and errands.

Y'know, just getting the day over with.

As you were walking down the sidewalk you heard a groan.

"What the...?"

You walked closer and closer to the sound. It led to an alley. Okay... not sketchy at all...

"Hello? Is someone okay?"

You walk closer and closer to the sound then enter through the alley.

Your eyes widened.

"Oh my god- Are you okay!?"

You help the mysterious man get on his feet. He was holding his stomach and you let him wrap his arm around you.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... I'm fine."

You give him a skeptical look. "Really? Doesn't look like it to me."

"Okay, I agree with you. You're right," He chuckles a little.

"Are you able to walk? I can take you to my apartment if you want. You need rest."

He sighs and nods.

"Sure, I have nowhere else to go anyway. But... uhm... thanks for helping me... Ah, shit- I forgot where my manners were... what's your name?"

"Don't worry, you need to rest. No time for mannerisms. And my name is Y/n."

As you arrived at your apartment, you placed him on your creaky sofa. He flops onto the furniture and lays down.

"I never really asked what your name was."

"It's Llewyn, Llewyn Davis."

"Then Llewyn, how did this happen?"

"Somebody said that I had a 'friend' meeting me in the back... I was very confused... so, I went out to the back. I had never seen him before in my life. The next thing I knew I was punched in the face, and he kept on beating and beating me up... that bastard was probably having a bad day." He chuckles lightly.

"Yeah... probably..." You swipe the extra strands poking out from his hair. Poor Llewyn looked like a stray dog in need of help.

As you did that action he slowly took your hand and placed it on his cheek.

"A bit touch-starved are we, Llewyn?" You chuckle.

"I guess... sorry, I just really like your touch. It's really... comforting."

"Aww... thanks..."

You caress his cheek with your thumb. You never thought that you would bring a cute guy into your home. As you looked into his eyes they were so beautiful... his dark eyes looking at you with pure love...

"Please don't stop..." He kisses the inside of your palm.

You blush and smile lightly at him.

"I promise..."

Holy cow, this was a tough one to do 😭

Sorry for taking so long! I needed to do freaking essays for my professor-

Other than that, I hoped this was good enough to please you! This isn't really my favorite and I will do more work on it!

[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!

[dameronshandholder]

I honestly can’t get over how well you write Llewyn 🥺🥺🥺

Also please don’t apologize for the length because this was absolutely perfect 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Hiii!! I want a llewyn thing please! I don't care what it is, just gn reader and fluffy please (or angst and then fluff you pick). Maybe waking up with him?

Thank you so much even if u don't end up writing this, have a lovely day💐

this is half inspired by my dad's best friend napping on our couch with his bass on top of him. don't ask he always naps like that and it served as inspo

—

Your eyes shot open as if they had never even closed in the first place, and the first thing you noticed was how dark it now was outside.

The last thing you remembered before that was laying on the couch, Llewyn’s head over your stomach, your hand running through his dark curls while he softly picked at his guitar, your eyelids slowly starting to tingle with tiredness. 

It was a quiet, slow evening with nothing planned for the night, with no rush, with no worries, so as your eyelids got heavier, you let it let go.

Your hand was still in Llewyn’s mussed up hair, and he still had his guitar, only it was laying on top of him and softly moving with the soft heaving of his chest. 

Soft, barely audible snores escaped his mouth, and you smiled when you noticed the way his eyebrows slightly furrowed in his sleep. 

You shifted to get a bit more comfortable, careful not to disturb him abruptly, a soft groan leaving your mouth as you moved. Your hand moved from his hair to his beard, your thumb gently stroking it while you quietly called his name.

"Llewyn" you called again before leaning to leave a kiss to the crown of his head.

He groaned softly, beginning to stir, a questioning hum vibrating through his chest.

"We fell asleep, we should go to bed" you declared, your nails softly scratching his facial hair as he sighed.

He didn't talk back, and you could have almost thought he fell asleep again if he hadn't moved to put his guitar down on the floor and turned to lay over you on his stomach.

"You comfortable like that?" he mumbled looking up at you, one hand resting at your arm, rubbing circles over it with his thumb.

"Mhm" you approved with a nod. 

"Then we can stay here for the night" he sleepily groaned, the sound muffled as he pressed his face against your stomach.

You knew you didn’t have any choice when he wrapped both of his arms around your waist, and the feeling was emphasized when you heard the sound of his soft snores before you could even say something. 

You cupped the back of his head and closed your eyes again, scoffing in defeat.

—

(this is so short I'm sorry, I hope you still liked it)

[madswritingvoid]

Bootlegger

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x gn!reader

W/C: 1.6k

Warnings: Some swearing, sm**ches, but otherwise it’s still just fluff because Llewyn Davis makes me weak.

A/N: Okay so technically I played around with the state of bootlegs and access to recording devices but that’s fine we’re fine.

“Honey, I’m home!” 

You bounce into your apartment, putting the groceries in your arms on the small kitchen counter. Met with silence, you take off your coat and hat and begin looking for that mop of curls you love so much. “Llewyn? Baby? Are you okay?”

You hear shuffling and a string of muttered curses come from your bedroom and smile to yourself, even in your small New York apartment Llewyn could lose himself in whatever new song he was writing or record he just bought. “Hi sweetheart, yeah everything’s okay, just - just stay out there for a second. I was doing some cleaning and now I fucked it up,” he calls out but you don’t listen.

Even though you moved in together five months ago, your one-year anniversary around the corner, you couldn’t get enough of him. If that meant sitting on your bed and watching him clean up whatever mess he’s made, you were more than happy to keep him company.

“Don’t be silly, it’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I moved in. You’ve never been known for being cle-,” you freeze in the doorway. A sheepish Llewyn looks at you from across the room, sat in front of your turntable, every record between the two of you spread out in front of him.

“Honey, why are my records on the floor?”

“Well, I realized we always have my records out and yours just stay in that little crate in the closet… So I thought it would be symbolic or something to mix them together and make it our collection? I’m even alphabetizing them!” He proudly exclaims, lifting up the larger crate of records to show you the letter markers he’s made with cut up cereal boxes. 

Your chest tightens, Llewyn has never been what people may traditionally consider “romantic”, but you loved him with your whole heart and knew he loved you too. Little projects like these may seem trivial to others, but you know this was just another way he was telling you he loves you.

“That’s a great idea baby,” you smile and walk over to the closet to get into some comfy clothes. Your last trip to the laundromat meant your favourite shirt of Llewyn’s was clean and ready for the taking, “why don’t you put something on for us while you keep organizing?”

He hums in agreement as he files through the stack of your records, his eyes immediately lock in on a record in a plain white paper sleeve with just the title in marker. 

L.D. Gaslight ‘65.

“What about this one? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put this one,” he holds the record up so you can see it from the other side of the room. Your blood runs cold as you Superman leap onto the bed, trying to snatch the record from him, “no no no no!” 

“Whoa, baby! Slow down! We share everything, remember? You got me to admit I like Simon & Garfunkel, I promise whatever this is will not change how much I love you… Unless it sucks, then I might have to judge a little bit,” he teases, flashing you those big brown puppy dog eyes until you sigh in defeat. With a tiny nod from you and a reassuring kiss on the forehead from him, Llewyn carefully places the record on the player.

The comforting first crackle of the needle meeting vinyl fills the room and you’re taken back to that night at the Gaslight. 

Jean begged you to come with her after Jim had to ditch her for an impromptu writing session in the city, still asking her to record tonight’s performers at the Gaslight with his fancy new tape recorder. He thought the next step for their duo would be to record live performances at the lounge, a bootleg of themselves, or some bullshit like that according to Jean. 

“I know you’re not here because you want to be, lord knows I don’t, but I think tonight’s last minute line-up change might help.” You looked up at Jean, brow raised. Last you heard some marines-to-be were taking over the open mic, why would you give a shit? 

There’s a tapping sound against the mic and you can’t help the gasp that escapes.

“Um, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see I am not a group of strapping young marines, but my name is Llewyn Davis and I hope you’ll still enjoy your night.”

Your head whips over to Jean who’s sporting a knowing smirk on her face. Even though she had her own past with Llewyn, she was as supportive as she could be with the new relationship forming between the two of you. The past month was full of you sitting on her and Jim’s couch, gushing over your latest coffee date or poem you found on your bedside table in his rushed scrawl. You had admired Llewyn from afar for so long you dove head-first into being with him.  

You had it bad.

Llewyn’s eyes widen hearing his own voice. “... Baby? Did you make a bootleg of me?” You feel the heat rising until your face feels like it’s on fire but you don’t meet his eyes.

“N-No! Well, technically yes it is a bootleg of you. But I didn’t make it! I was there with Jean and you were performing, and I always thought you had a wonderful voice and we were just starting to talk and you were cute and and and -” he cuts you off with a soft kiss on the lips, pulling back so see the big grin he’s sporting.

“Since you’re so cute I won’t try and come after any copyright,” he laughs placing a reassuring kiss to your forehead, “but now you have to come and listen to this with me, voice cracks and all.” Holding his hand out to you, you slide off the bed and climb into his waiting lap. Your fingers automatically find their place among his crown of curls, Llewyn nuzzling his nose against your neck as you start to gently scratch his scalp.

His set only lasted twenty minutes but sitting in his arms, humming along to your favourite songs as he pressed soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, you could have stayed like this forever.

“Thank you for sticking around. Up next we have Jane Lane, have a good night everyone.”

Knowing what comes next, you try to wiggle out of Llewyn’s grip, but he doesn’t let you go, tightening the arms around your waist. “What’s wrong? Did you catch someone talking shit about my set on the tape?” He chuckles, but you freeze, knowing it’s too late to stop the next part of the recording.

The audience gives a polite but unenthusiastic round of applause. You roll your eyes and wolf whistle, making sure Llewyn knows that someone out there loved what he just did.

“I don’t know why you bother. I get that you’re all goo goo about him now, but come on. He’s a Grade A asshole, always has been,” Jean scoffs as she notices how your eyes still haven’t left Llewyn. 

You don’t even look over at her when you reply, Llewyn’s eyes finally meeting yours from across the smokey bar. You can’t help the large grin you feel coming, him giving you a shy one in return.

“I’m gonna marry him one day.”

The needle yanks itself off the still spinning record and you rush over to the turntable, quickly but carefully putting everything back in its proper place. “Okay, that’s enough of that for the night. They said they wouldn’t include anything after your set finished, but I guess that was a fuckin’ lie,” you mutter. 

Refusing to meet Llewyn’s eyes you go through the motions of putting the bootleg back among your collection and putting on some Simon & Garfunkel to fill the silence surrounding you both. If he had just let you go everything would’ve been fine. You weren’t embarrassed by what you said, but it still made you nervous knowing that he heard it. You tried to play it so cool when you first started really talking, he didn’t need to know you loved him so much from so early on, you didn’t want to scare him away now that you were finally going to that next part of your relationship. 

“Baby,” you will yourself to turn around, meeting those soft brown eyes you love so much. “Did - did you mean that?” 

“That depends,” you shrug, “did it freak you out? Because if it did that’s an inside joke between Jean and me and man is it funny but now’s not the time to start explaining everyth-'' you can’t seem to stop rambling until Llewyn stands in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“Did it freak me out to know the person I would look out for every time I got up there to sing was into me? That I loved you so much from the start and now I know you felt the same? Nah, didn’t freak me out at all,” he places a soft kiss on your lips and wraps his arms around your waist, swaying the two of you to the song playing in your own little dance. 

You don’t say anything after that, both of you just basking in the warmth of your love. There was so much more Llewyn wanted to say to you, but for now he just let himself relax into you. What you said didn’t just make him feel good, it made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

And it sure as hell made him feel ready to finally show you what’s been in the small velvet box he’s been carrying around for the past two months. 

[mattmurdocksscars]

hi amanda! could i request “great. perfect. nice. fuck this.” for llewyn? 👀

He'd tried to find somewhere else to stay. He really had. Except Jean was pissed at him (what else was new?), the Gorfeins had company, and everyone else he tried had some excuse as well.

So that brought him here. Outside your door. After he'd run out on you the last time because you'd said you loved him and he couldn't handle it.

And to top it all off, you weren't answering his buzz. Fuck.

"Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this." Deciding to give up and find some place to hole up for the night, he was stopped only by the sound of you calling his name from down the street.

"Llewyn? Is that you?" Llewyn turned instinctually at the sound of your voice and felt his breath stutter the way it always did when he saw you for the first time in a long time. You were gorgeous, even bundled up in your winter jacket and scarf, arms full of groceries. By the time he'd finished looking you over, you had reached him and stopped, looking him over as well.

"You need somewhere to stay?" You smiled softly, no hint of anger at him for leaving you so suddenly last time. His surprise must have shown on his face because you laughed lightly.

"Llewyn, I know you better than you think. I'm not mad. Now come on, let's get upstairs. You must be freezing." Humming softly, you opened the door to your apartment complex and Llewyn followed after you.

The entire way up, he found himself smiling.

Yeah. Maybe he loved you too.