#i need a hug from llewyn

[faretheeoscar]

L💟

I did a little self insert with Llewyn yesterday...

Llewyn is my comfort character; he is the character that introduced me to Oscar 10 years ago when I went to the movies alongside with my college friends (that were cinema nerds),and that dragged me to watch "the new Coen Brothers film" when i had no money (Llewyn coded) not knowing what to expect about it.

I remember I ended up crying, devastated and with so many questions after the movie (and also with a huge ass crush on the protagonist who I later found about was from the same nationality I am, like we are both half Guatemalan and I think that connected me even more to him) that even my friends that studied cinema at the time wouldn't know how to answer to me.

I've done a deep dive on this movie so many times, i could give a Ted Talk about it hehehe

It's not only Oscar that lures me to Llewyn, i like to think that Llewyn lured me to Oscar (and then of course ex machina, star wars and all the major things came and I wasn't able to look back lol).

His story about the struggle to find a place in the world, to his personal story with grief that I can relate to more than I would like to and finally the struggle of taking the path of the artist has touched me in different ways throughout the years. From college when I felt that my majors was not what I really wanted to do in my life and I felt truly lost, to nowadays when I finally decided to follow the career my heart desired and literally crossed an ocean to be able to do it and I still feel lost but in a much happier and better way.

Anyway why am I giving this long explanation for my self insert drawing? I don't know, i just love Llewyn so much and i can't shut up about him anytime I get to watch the movie again, specially when it hits a nerve in my life, and rn I'm passing through a rough patch so, yeah it spoke to me last night when I rewatched it with some friends.

Stay safe fellow artists, and hug your Llewyn.

[myfandomlikesandstories]

it's me again......🤭

🌟 and ❤️ for llewyn?

I was so sure the 🤭 was a request too😂

🌟 - a secret wish Headcanon

Llewyn secretly wishes he'd have met you before Mike died. He used to be a happy person, he really did, but his life took too many bad turns. He wants you to be happy, he truly does, and he thinks he used to be better. That he could have been better for you. Maybe if he'd met you before, your life would have been better. His life would been better. Maybe together you could conjure enough happiness to help Mike? He's not sure if that works that way. Maybe it'd have only made him more depressed.

Llewyn really tries not to think about it. It didn't happen, it doesn't matter, and he doesn't need to talk to you about it. So this stays a secret, unless you'd notice that too much light reflects from his eyes when he's caught up in his own head.

❤️ - a romantic Headcanon

Of course our music man wrote a song about you.

"The golden sun rays

Stroke your face

At the break of dawn

A dove of peace

Please promise this -

If I blink, you won't be gone"

You found this handwritten note on the kitchen counter one Saturday morning, when Llewyn went to grab some coffee and donuts. It was held in place by... A ring???

When he came back home, you couldn't hold the tears in your eyes. You hugged him immediately.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I will marry you, Llewyn Davis."

When you kissed, and he slipped the ring on your finger, something in his chest eased. His heart is safe with you.

Bonus Headcanon - 🤭 - a blushing Headcanon

You were, as usual, lying on Llewyn's chest when a mischievous idea came to your mind.

"Wait a second, I wanna move," you said, wriggling and pushing him.

"What? You're always comfortable like this!" He protested.

You managed to flip your places, and ended up cuddling Llewyn to your chest. You placed a little kiss on the surprised man's nose.

"I think this can be comfortable too." You murmured when you started to run your fingers through his curls. He settled, and when you looked down at your love you could see him blushing a bright shade of red.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

3. Hot Chocolate, requested by @jupitersmoon167

2022 Fall Blurbs

Llewyn was perpetually cold.

It didn’t matter if he spent hours inside, curled up under blankets or bundled under sweaters, he was always absolutely freezing. It settled into his bones, into his soul, so it seemed that nothing he tried to get warm worked.

Except for you.

Just spending time with you made everything a little bit brighter and a little bit warmer. Your optimism was the perfect juxtaposition to Llewyn’s ‘everything’s awful and nothings going to change’ attitude.

Your apartment was always warm, with plenty of candles and blankets strewn around. And, whenever he would stay over, you pressured him into taking a hot shower, a luxury he didn’t get often. You always made sure he was taken care of, something that made him a little uncomfortable at first, a little taken aback.

But, as the years went on, Llewyn slowly got used to your kindness, your warmth. He finds himself looking forward to it instead of balking at it. He doesn’t think he ever smiles as much as he does around you.

There’s just something about you that makes him inexplicably happy. You’re always there, no matter the time of year or his attitude, ready to help and offer a warm apartment and a comfortable couch.

And, you never seem to be in short supply of warm drinks. Anything Llewyn wants, you’d get it for him. Coffee, tea, hot apple cider, you have it all. Though, your personal favorite is hot chocolate.

He used to tease you about it, but you’d always just smile and hug your warm mug a little closer to you body.

“It’s the little things, Llewyn,” you say, taking a sip, “and it makes me happy, even if it is a little childish.”

You had offered to make him some, but he always passed away the offer with a scoff and a shake of his head. You didn’t let up though, always badgering him in the nicest way possible.

“C’mon, you deserve a bit of simple happiness,” you tell him, pushing the extra mug you’d made in his direction, “I made it special, just for you.”

With a drawn out sigh, he picks up the mug and takes a sip. Really, he’d been playing up his disdain, trying not to seem too needy when really something like a cup of hot chocolate sounded like heaven.

Cinnamon.

You’d added cinnamon to his hot chocolate because he once mentioned that was his childhood favorite. He told you one time, years ago, and you still remembered it.

It was the perfect balm for the cold, rainy, New York autumn day you were having. The drink warmed his stomach, the blankets you’d piled on top of him warmed his frozen limbs, and the smile on your face at his delighted, surprised hum warmed his heart.

Now, he never even needed to ask; as soon as he climbed up the stairs to your apartment, there was always a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him. It was almost like you wanted him to keep coming back, a notion that was too bizarre for Llewyn to even consider as true for a moment.

But he couldn’t stay away. He loved how everything about you seemed to warm him up, from your warm shower to your hot chocolate to your beautiful smile. It was the perfect way to ward off the fall chill.

[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

[eyelessfaces]

yearning

llewyn davis x reader

summary: you and llewyn barely cross paths anymore, work and financial issues eating up your relationship. you surprise him by coming to his gig wearing his favorite dress of yours, and he's more than happy about it, if you see what I mean.

warnings: heavy insinuations to smut, slight dry humping, llewyn being a horny little shit (llewyn should be a warning of his own)

tags: fem!reader (sorry besties), established relationship, llewyn basically worshipping you

word count: 1.5k

a/n: I need him SO BAD guys you don't get it

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

You had told Llewyn you weren't sure if you could make it to his gig tonight. When you would tell him that, they were the days where you were coming home late from work, after long rides in the metro and you were just exhausted. Llewyn understood, of course. But you were always so upset not to come and show him how proud you were. But tonight, it wasn't true.

Tonight, you wanted to surprise him. Llewyn hadn't felt really great those past few weeks; and you had barely seen him during it. Even thought you lived together, the extra hours of work that allowed you to pay the rent made it hard for you to see him. When you came back from work, he was gone going to his gigs, and when he came back, you were already sleeping. The only time you could see him was in the morning, but you were both so dazed you couldn't make anything out of it. The both of you not being morning people, the meaningless chatting was hard, so the morning sex option wasn't even conceivable, even if it was the only option available for you to feel eachother's skin.

You didn't want to drift apart from him. Your boss had agreed to free you a few hours early today, and luckily, Llewyn wouldn't be at the flat since Jean and Jim had invited him over for dinner before their gigs. It was the perfect occasion to tidy yourself up and wear that dress you knew he loved, to surprise him by coming at the Gaslight, though you said you wouldn't make it.

You just hoped it would go well, knowing how Llewyn could react when he wasn't in the right mood.

---

You slalom through the small crowd, making your way to Jean who is standing against the bar. Jim is in front of the stage, sitting at a table with his friends. Reaching Jean, she gasps when you put a hand to her shoulder, surprised that you're here.

"Oh hey, I thought you wouldn't be here" she says smiling at you.

"I am full of surprises" you say smirking slightly before turning around to order a drink.

"Well Llewyn's gonna be happy. He couldn't stop whining all dinner long about how you had trouble seeing each other" she says raising her eyebrows before picking up her glass from the counter.

You smile a little at her words, happy to learn that Llewyn still cares and that your relationship isn't completely doomed.

"Yeah I know. It's not easy." you sigh before quietly thanking Pappi for the drink despite his insistant look on you. You grab the glass, turn to Jean and shrug. "I'm trying to make it work" you affirm with a weak smile.

"He needs you" she declares with a stern look, now it being her turn to put a hand to your shoulder.

You nod slowly before bringing your glass to your lips, but you interrupt your action when you see your boyfriend get on stage. You smile lightly, and rest your glass on the counter behind you.

A few people cheer his arrival, but you and Jean are the loudest in the room.

Llewyn spots you amongst the crowd and grins softly, and you raise your glass at him, returning him the smile.

---

Llewyn gets off stage and immediately joins you, leaving his guitar case on the side of the stage. He almost runs to you, and you swear he had never looked so happy to see you.

"Fuck, baby" he huffs out hugging you tightly before quickly pulling away to peck your lips. "I thought you told me you wouldn't come" he frowns with his hands framing your face before kissing you again.

You smile softly, looping your arms around his neck.

"I did. But I missed you, so I asked my boss for a few hours off." you nod before turning your head to kiss the palm of his hand. "I've been doing an unhealthy amount of extra hours so it's all good for him."

"Awesome" he says gripping your hips, planting a kiss to your forehead.

The night goes smoothly. You're happy to be there, happy to finally be able to see your boyfriend and spend proper time with him. You had never felt so loved and appreciated by him than at this moment. His affectionate smiles, his cold fingers on your thigh, the quick kisses on your cheek when no one is looking; it was like the start of your relationship again.

You leave to go to the bathroom and when you wash your hands, Llewyn is there behind you, standing against the wall, arms crossed.

"This is the ladies room, sir" you grin, glaring at him through the mirror, shaking your hands in the air to dry them.

He walks to you slowly, smirking at you through the mirror.

"Don't care" he mutters pressing your back against his chest, putting his hands over your hips.

He wraps an arm around your chest, pulling you closer to his body, and kisses your cheek softly once, twice, thrice.

He looks back at you through the mirror and brushes your hair away before burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving more gentle kisses there. A chill runs down your spine as his beard softly scratches your sensitive skin, but you're satisfied at the familiar feeling that you haven't felt in what seems to be ages.

"God you're so pretty" he breathes out against your skin. "Do you know how good you look in that dress?" he asks rhetorically, his hand shifting from your hip to your belly.

You smirk, looking at the reflexion in the mirror.

"The bulge against my ass is telling me about it" you scoff, wrapping your damp hand around his forearm holding around your chest.

The remark is insolent from you, as you aren't insensitive to his proximity either.

He lets out a stupid chuckle, tickling the skin of your neck.

"Sorry ma'am" he whispers, and you feel him smile against you. He faces the mirror again and kisses your temple, then lingers there. His thick breath is teasing your skin, and you caress his wrist with your thumb, happy that he can finally be there to hold you like he hasn't done in so long.

You suddenly surreptitiously grind up against him, making it look like a readjustment of your position when you're just clearly taking advantage of the situation and teasing him a little. He immediately lets out a sinful moan, making it hard for you to hide your smirk.

"Ha fuck you" he whimpers before moving his hands to grip on your hips tightly. "I'm not sure I can take this" he murmurs against your shoulder.

"What?" you ask, trying to act oblivious.

"You" he says planting a kiss in the crook of your neck again. "We need to go back to your flat" he almost groans.

You turn to him, facing him and finally drying your hands by sliding them over his chest.

"What are we gonna tell Jim and Jean?" you ask innocently looking up at him, your hands resting on either side of his tummy.

He tuts and looks to the side, Jim and Jean being the least of his concerns at the moment.

"We're gonna tell them that we haven't had sex for what feels like ages and a man has his needs and he can't resist the sight of his wonderful, breathtaking girlfriend wearing this amazing dress she looks irresistible in." he blurts out quickly, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

"That would be bold" you mutter under your breath teasingly trying to falsely sound stunned, getting closer to his face.

"That would be true" he corrects you, shifting even closer, resting his forehead against yours.

You hum in response, acting like you're trying to figure out a plan to go home.

"Or we could leave without saying anything. Being all mysterious and shit." he continues, pulling away from your face. "Baby, I don't care how we're doing it but we need to get home." he declares in all seriousness, cupping your face nodding close to it. "Listen honey the dress looks awesome and you know it, but you have no idea how much I want to rip it off of you right now." he mutters under his breath just in case someone passes by the open door of the tiled room.

You shiver at his words and feel an eruption of butterflies in your stomach as you imagine the moment you're going to stumble into your shared appartment and he's going to do all the things he wants to do to you. Teasing him isn't a part of the plan anymore and you join his side, wanting to go home as fast as possible.

You hurriedly take his hand and lead him out of the room, joining the back door of the bar. You push it fiercely and drag Llewyn out, the cold air of the night meeting your cheeks.

"My guitar!" Llewyn exclaims, pointing back at the door.

"We're gonna get it tomorrow first hour, if I can still walk. Know what you want, man" you say walking ahead, holding his hand tightly.

The man rolls his eyes thinking about how he's going to justify having 'forgotten' his precious guitar, but smiles when he recalls why the situation is the way it is.

Luckily, your flat is only a few blocks away.

---

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

[shakespeareanwannabe]

A Birthday Surprise

A surprise (and unplanned) foray into writing for Llewyn Davis for my friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday @wasicskosgirl! (A day late but I tried)

Llewyn Davis didn’t have a lot going for him.

He didn’t have a home. He often ended up sleeping on the couches of friends. He ate their food, used their shower, lived on the outskirts of their lives like a black sheep, only invited in when needs must.

He didn’t have a whole lot of clothing. A threadbare jacket, a thick pair of jeans that were starting to wear a little thin, and two shirts that he diligently kept in good condition. His boots just barely kept the sleet and slush of the wet New York April weather from freezing his feet. He had a thick pair of gloves and a scarf to protect his most precious instruments.

Suffice it to say, Llewyn Davis didn’t have a lot going for him…until he met you.

He had developed a terrible cough after a string of rainy March nights where he couldn’t find a couch to crash on or a bus shelter to take refuge in, so he bucked up and resolved to spend his last few dollars on some cough medicine so that he could return to work as soon as possible.

That’s where he met you. You were working behind the counter when he approached, hacking up a lung and inquiring as to where he could find some good cough medicine that wouldn’t completely bankrupt him. Something about those fluffy black curls and sad eyes tugged at your heartstrings, prompting you to point him towards the best cough syrup the pharmacy stocked and giving him your employee discount when the price ended up being way more than he could afford.

He had vehemently, almost harshly, refused, but you were a persistent one. Your kindness had a sharp edge, something that told him you could take care of yourself, but it was also warm enough to heat him from the inside out. He had bashfully accepted the cough syrup, thanking you in a quiet manner that told you he wasn’t used to accepting kindness without some sort of caveat. So, you provided him with one.

“Meet me at this address at 7 pm. Don’t be late. And don’t even think of not showing up,” you had demanded, not looking up as you scribbled your address on a spare piece of paper.

And that had been the end of Llewyn Davis not having a lot going for him. He may not have a house of his own, but he shared a home with you. His food may not come from five-star restaurants, but it was always warm and seasoned with love. His clothing may not be paid for with his own money, but it was chosen and tended to with care.

You were everything that Llewyn Davis had going for him, and he wanted to show you exactly what that meant to him.

It wasn’t much. He was, after all, still a struggling artist who could barely rub two pennies together, but it was all bought with his own money. Mostly. The small cake was bartered for (the old woman at the bakery needed someone to play at her grandson’s bar mitzvah a week from Tuesday and Llewyn had agreed to do it for free in exchange for the delicious treat). The necklace, stored safely in a box that was wrapped in a white silky ribbon, had been his mother’s, then Joy’s, and now yours. The streamers had been bought and paid for after a long day of busking and working small gigs at bars all across the city. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could afford, and he was proud of his efforts.

“Llewyn? Honey, I’m home.”

He turned to you with a smile on his face, a small frown line marring his strong forehead as his fingers restlessly tangled and detangled in front of him.

“H-hey, sweetheart…happy birthday.”

The smile that you gave him, the hug that you wrapped him in, and the kiss you bestowed upon his lips had him thinking that maybe he didn’t need a home, food, and clothing going for him. All he needed was you. Because you were more than enough.

[pumpkin-stars]

Bad Night

Santiago Garcia/GN!Reader.

Request: Hi!! Happy blogversary! 💖 I'd like to request for something soft with Llewyn or Santiago, of course if you can :) sending you love 🥰 - for @huxdameron

Word Count: 534

Warnings/Content: more hurt/comfort than soft, mentions of nightmares/a little bit of blood. Reader has tits but so does Santi so is still GN I guess!? - reference to this post:

The sixth of 12 drabbles for my 1 year Tumblr anniversary :)

It was a bad night. Flashes of gunshots and explosions assaulting Santi’s mind and making him wake in a cold sweat, resigning himself to the sofa to keep you undisturbed - if not unaware entirely.

It’s uncomfortable, but he’s slept in far worse places, and the blanket on the back of the couch is enough to keep him warm and help him drift off, though he wakes a few times more in the night. He sighs heavily as he shocks himself awake just after dawn, knowing his knees and back and neck will be unforgiving as soon as he moves.

But the physical pain isn’t the problem today. It’s the mental weight. The dark thoughts and memories that won’t stop swirling. The images his mind created that woke him that first time… your blood on his hands not just a faceless enemy’s.

The thought that he’s not worthy of someone as brilliant as you.

He pulls himself up to sit, wincing as his neck twinges, his back aches, and his knees protest at being bent just a single degree. But he doesn’t want to worry you, so he needs to get up, grab some ibuprofen, a bucket of coffee, forget about the shit in his head, and plaster on a smile.

It’s another hour before you join him, and you see through it immediately. Of course you do. But instead of asking what’s wrong, you pull him into a hug, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips.

“You had breakfast?” You wonder, unsure how long he’s been up, just knowing he’s been out of bed long enough for the sheets to feel like he was never there.

He shakes his head, “Not hungry.”

You nod, smile, always so understanding, and he melts against you, holding you tight as he buries his face in your neck, tears leaking from his eyes though they absorb into his old your t-shirt before they can truly fall.

“Baby,” you whisper, running a hand through his cropped salt and pepper curls, “would it help if I showed you my tits?”

It pulls a laugh from him, loud in its unexpectedness, bubbling up through his whole body before it escapes into your skin. He pulls back enough to look you in the eye and kiss you, smiling.

“I dunno about helping, but I’m not gonna turn that down, sweetheart.”

You cup his cheek and kiss him softly before ushering him to the couch, grabbing him a fresh cup of coffee and a drink for yourself before you join him, setting them on the side table and folding up the crumpled blanket before you straddle his lap.

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask quietly.

“Wanna forget about it.” He admits, letting his hands slide up beneath the t-shirt. You take the hint, discarding it quickly, and smile as Santiago immediately buries his face in your chest. It’s not sexual, just a nice, soft, comfortable reminder that he’s not stuck in whatever hell his head created, the steady rhythm of your heart under his ear settling his own.

“M’uv’oo.” You hear him mumble, and you lean your head down to kiss the top of his.

“I love you too, Santi.”

~~~

Taglist: @amneris21 @fisforfulcrum @foxilayde @goldielocks2004 @idreamofboobear @irrelevantbutembarrassing @jitterbugs927 @joanofarkansass @mypedrom @salome-c @santiagogarcia @seasonschange-butpeopledont @the-little-ewok @thedukeleto @yours-truly-r

[dailyreverie]

Hi! Could you do prompt 25 with Llewyn? Thank you ❤️

The very first one

A/N: Llewyn Davis makes me soft. He deserves the world and I'm giving it to him via this blurb.

#25: Buying them something that they’ve wanted for forever

Oscar Isaac character week ✨ Request a prompt!

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x reader

Word count: 816

Warnings: Lame depiction of how record deals work.

Llewyn’s keys rattle against the doorknob in the same way they always do, announcing he is home. You bite your lip anxiously from your place on the couch, looking at the bag peeking through the closet door and then looking at the entrance where he is fumbling into with his guitar and his bag. “Hey!” Llewyn announces as he shrugs off his coat.

“Hi!” Your greeting comes with an excited grin, one he catches on the perky note of your voice. “How was the Gaslight?”

“Ugh, is it ever good?” He replies with a grunt. For the past 6 months that your apartment has also been his, you’ve been noticing how his loathe for the Gaslight has only been increasing.

“And did you uhm… did you get any calls down there?” He looks at you from under his eyebrows as he removes his gloves, through the curls that stick to his eyelashes.

“I didn’t. Is everything alright?” His curious eyes follow you as you stand up and head into your room.

You come back again, this time with a big green bag in your hands, golden paper decorating the insides of it. You hand it to him with an excited smile, and somehow that captivates him more than the shiny paper that sticks from the edges of the bag. “I got you something.”

His dark, soulful eyes stay on yours, hesitating as his hands reach for the gift. “Is it my birthday?”

You scoff a laugh, rolling your eyes at him. “No, Llewyn, it's not your birthday. Just...” you shake the bag, insisting on him to take it. “Just take it. It’s called a gift.”

“Alright, alright,” Llewyn defends, grabbing the bag after setting his gloves on the counter. He looks up at you again as his hands fumble with the tape, smiling when he catches the twinkle in your eyes. The Gaslight could suck, but if he got to come every night to your vanilla scented warmth after, then he was not one to complain (even though he always does).

“The phone rang this morning, they asked for you but you were already gone, so I took the message,” you begin, stopping when his eyes spot the gift, freezing on the spot when he realizes what it is. “It was Columbia Records. They want you in.”

“Columbia?” His voice is as shocked as his face looks. “The same Columbia as in…?”

“The same one as in Bob Dylan’s label? Yeah, Lew, the same one.”

His lips open and close, not knowing what to say after receiving your news. “So is this my…?”

“That’s your first label recording.” There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. “I went down there and demanded to talk to whoever I needed to so I could buy the very first vinyl.”

Llewyn looks at you again, still not able to fully process your words. In his silence, you continue talking. “Well I couldn’t let you just get whatever copy you were going to receive from them. You told me that one time at the diner, remember? How amazing it must be to hold the very first vinyl.”

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe you.

“Looking back, I’m pretty sure I over paid for it considering that I have the actual recording artist sleeping on my-”

Llewyn’s hands are suddenly warm against your cheeks, pulling you to him in a tender and loving kiss that has you holding onto his scarf, anchoring your body to his as you kiss him back. It shouldn't be a surprise, the way he is kissing you with such love and adoration shouldn’t have caught you as off-guard as it did. So your lips welcome him, realizing they were craving him as much as his were craving you.

You break apart after a couple of minutes, chasing after his lips as they find your cheeks, your jawline and your neck, peppering kisses all over you, his beard making you giggle. Your fingers tangle in his hair when he hugs your waist, kisses still being placed on your neck as he buries his head in you.

“Should we get a nice apartment in Midtown?” He asks and you giggle at his idea before he starts speaking again. “2 bed, 2 bath, a nice studio,” His lips find yours again, pressing a soft kiss. “a nice view of the park,” He kisses you again, this time even slower. “A fancy warm bed for us.” This time his tongue drags along your bottom lip, seeking your lips even now that they’re finally his. It is a longer kiss, one that seems to last forever, one that keeps going even after your lips break apart. And just like that, you share a life together.

“Are you ready to be a rockstar, Llewyn Davis?” You whisper against his lips.

“Only if I got you along the ride, my honey.”

✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog

(if anyone wants to be tagged on all the Oscar Isaac Characters week fics please leave a comment under this post or message me!)

[marvel-and-mischief]

Pockets

My first Writer Wednesday! Thank you @autumnleaves1991-blog for creating this, I always enjoy reading what everybody comes up with and now to give it a go myself...

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x GN!Reader Words: 800 Warnings: a swear word, reader comforts Llewyn because he thinks he's messed up Summary: Llewyn accidentally gives away his plans to propose to you.

It was washing day. Llewyn was out at a meeting, hoping to score a deal with his record company about future albums, so it was your turn to put a load in the washer. You were going out to dinner with him later so you needed to finish the chores before then. You picked up the basket from the bathroom and made your way down to the Laundromat on the first floor.

It was empty, no Mrs. McCready to pry into your personal life, no Tom from the floor above you smoking pot in the corner, you could have a little time to yourself before Llewyn came back from his meeting.

You split the washing into two piles, whites and colors, then set about turning the pockets inside out. You found a cent, an old pencil you thought you'd lost, and a couple of shopping lists. And at the end of the colors pile was Llewyn's trousers. You thought the bulge in his front pocket was suspect, but when you dipped your hand inside you were not expecting to pull out a black velvet box.

You knew what it was before you opened it, but you still had to be sure. Inside was a silver band with a diamond in the middle. Your breath caught in your throat, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The band was twisted like two ropes coiled around each other, meeting in the middle where the small, square diamond sat. It was beautiful, exactly the kind of ring you dreamed of. And then you gasped as you remembered the dinner.

Llewyn was going to propose to you tonight.

You swore under your breath, pocketing the box and shoving the trousers in the washer before turning it on. You did the same with the basket of whites then took a seat on the floor.

You needed to tell him you'd found it. Or did you? You could pretend to be surprised when he proposed to you. But you knew you couldn't. Llewyn knew you better than anybody else, he'd know straight away that you were expecting it. But you didn't want to ruin the surprise.

But he was going to propose to you. You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. You'd talked about this before, just briefly in the moments of quiet, sleepiness late into the night when the two of you were at your bravest to say the things you couldn't in the light of day. Llewyn would pull you close and ask if you ever thought about marriage. You'd joked about fancying Bob Dylan and maybe he'd marry you. But in the silence that followed you very seriously stated that yes, you'd marry Llewyn one day. And it looks like that day was sooner than you thought.

You stay there for forty minutes, until the beeping of the washers brought you out of your daze, then made your way upstairs with your washing.

Llewyn was already home, you knew by the way he had kicked his shoes untidily by the front door. You smiled and pushed them out the way before one of you tripped over them.

"Llewyn?" you called out, seeing him frantically pacing in the living room, "what's wrong?"

"Err," he looked at you like a deer in headlights, eyeing the basket in the crook of your arm, "were my trousers in there?"

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. You hadn't decided how to play this. You were inclined towards pretending you'd never found the ring, slip it into his favorite jacket and insist he wore it to dinner. But the way he was panicking, rubbing at his beard in worry that he'd messed up something so important to him had you placing the basket on the floor and rushing towards him to gather him into a hug.

"Llewyn, calm down, sweetheart," you urged, carding a hand through his curls just how he liked it. You felt his arms wrap around your middle and his breath against your skin where he nuzzled into your neck.

"Did you... err, did you find anything in my clothes?"

"I did," you whispered and felt his body freeze against yours, his fists grabbing a hold of your shirt.

"Fuck."

"It's okay," you slowly drew yourself away from him so you could look into his eyes. He looked sad, disappointed that his plan hadn't worked out because he'd forgotten to take the ring out of his pocket.

"It's not, I had a whole thing planned, going to dinner, walking by the river..."

"We can still do that," you promised, a smile lighting up your face, "with the added bonus of not stressing about whether I'll say no at the end."

Llewyn huffed a laugh, hope twinkling in his eyes.

"So that means...?"

"Yes, Llewyn. I'll marry you."

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @anu-simps @bts17army @computeringturtle

[marc-spectorr]

Hey hey again 🙋🏼‍♀️

I'm happy that my book recommendations were helpful to the both of you. Gives me a good feeling that people out there actually appreciate what I say. Love you guys. I'll definitely put your recommendations on my list too Miss 🦋

To 🦜 I've read your ask about what movie you wanna watch (I guess it was today). Inside Llewyn Davis is soooo good and yes it's sad too. I wanted to hug Oscar/Llewyn during the whole movie 😭 But about The Promise - its definitely not a romantic fantasy story. The love story in the movie might be fictional, yes. But the part about the war is very real, very true. What happened in Armenia in the movie, really happened. To be honest I was shocked because I thought it's a romantic sad love story only. But it's more. And it's probably Oscar's saddest movie, as far as I know yet. You'll definitely need tissues 🥺😢🤧

At Eternity's Gate, the movie about Van Gogh, was indeed beautiful. It was heartbreaking, the way he was treated, the way he was feeling, all of it. I know what that feels like. Van Gogh really was ahead of his time with his art and the way he saw things. I thought he was a beautiful soul and if I could see/meet him I would hug him. It was a really really beautiful movie. + Oscar speaking French is 😌👌🏼

To Callie, my love, I wanted to tell you about Morbius because you asked me to. First of all, many people said it's the same as Batman, much like Marvel's Batman. But I disagree with that. The story to me was completely different. I'm not a fan of Batman to be honest. Never liked him much. I just think they could've made his story a better one. That's all. Morbius has that story for me. I felt with him, I felt sad for him, was angry with him about things. (I'm not saying Batman hasn't a good story I'm just saying that I thought it could've been better.) The visual effects were super cool. It's kind of bad in the critics but I don't understand why. I liked the movie a lot. I'm not sure if that's a good review for you but it's all I can think of right now. 🦇🦇🦇

Also I wanted to ask you... if you could give yourself an emoji what would that be?

Love you so much 💖💕💜❤ & I hope your day was/is good. Oh about the timezone question. For me right now, it's 21:46 or 9:46pm if that helps. Sorry I don't know about timezones much. I never did. Hope it helps anyway.

-- 🌻

hellooo my sweet sunnie 💛

okay i haven’t seen the new batman movie either so i cant really say much 🥴 lots of my friends were hyped about it but idk i just never developed the interest in watching aghdkdks. but if you really enjoyed morbius than i shall give that a try when i can :) i’ll let you know how that goes!

hehe i do love my emojis. but if i can give myself one it would be any of these: 🦄, 🌸, 🔮, 🎀, 🍉. ofc i’m unable to pick just one LOL

ooO so you’re like 6hrs ahead of me if my math is correct skksks. got ittttt!! also i’m glad that i asked that question bc it gave me an insight to where some of you are from. it really blows my mind that my fics have reached people from all around the world 🤯

but love you darling! i’m assuming it’s late at night/early morning where you’re at so hope you’re having a wonderful sleep! (is that weird to say?? gosh i hope not haha)

[writing-in-april]

I Know.

Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Poe has a confession to make to Reader during the heat of the battle on Exegol.

A/N: This is my fic for day one of Oscar Isaac week 🥰 I honestly had a hard time choosing a favorite character cause I love so many of them (namely Poe, Llewyn, Santiago and Nathan) but I decided to go with the character that I’ve written the most for 🥰 I love my hot headed pilot- Poe 😊 Thanks for reading and Requests are open.

Warnings: Canon typical violence & Threat of character death

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.4K

Exegol was a mystery I didn’t care to unfold, I just knew I had to defeat it and then escape it. The battle was the most brutal one I had ever been in. The first order showed no mercy against its foe’s in battle, but the final order was here to decimate everything in its path.

I was deep in the heart of the battle with my squadron, when I heard a distinct voice call out for me over the comms. It belonged to my best friend of many years, Poe. We had been through thick and thin, I had known him since both of our days serving in the New Republic Navy, we had even defected over to the resistance together.

We had already done a sort of goodbye when we were just about to take off towards Exegol in preparation for one of us possibly not coming back. I still felt like there were many things left unsaid between the two of us and I wished my past self would have told Poe how I really felt. It seems as though Poe had words left unsaid to me as well.

“I love you!” I heard through the intercom of my ship, I almost missed it because of the constant bombardment of bolts coming towards my x-wing. My heart was soaring with adrenaline and it further leaped high in my chest in response to the words that were shouted out from Poe’s mouth. Even though the battle that was raging around us was more important he spoke again, this time with less desperation in his voice and with a more resigned tone, “I need you to know that I love you, I should have said it long ago.”

His resigned tone had a meaning I was unable to decipher in the heat of the moment, unable to discern whether or not it was because he thought he would die or if he thought I would not reciprocate. He was an idiot if he thought I didn’t feel the same, in fact the only reason I had never plucked up the courage to say something to the man that I often jokingly called a ‘nerfherder’ was because we were in the middle of the war. Maybe I was the idiot for never saying something, I realized I’d rather have a short time with him then no time at all.

I found myself wishing that we were exchanging the words face to face and not seemingly miles apart as I gulped down a breath to find my bearings so I could say the words back to him. I wished he had told me sooner, truthfully though I was not surprised at all, he always had terrible timing. Hopefully I’d get a chance to kiss him once our ships had landed and not be cursed to hear his confession without knowing what his lips felt on mine. “I know, Poe. I know you love me and I love you too.”

All I was able to hear in response to my words was a sigh of relief before all the comms cut out and we were free falling through the atmosphere of Exegol. All I could do was scream for Poe as I fell to what I assumed was my death.

——

The jungle moon of Ajan Kloss where the resistance had its base was much hotter than the harsh cold of space. Normally, I would’ve found the heat to be suffocating to me, but I found it a welcome reminder of the fact that I had actually made it out of the battle alive when I started to climb out of my x-wing.

When my feet hit the soft ground my legs couldn’t hold me upright and I fell down to my knees out of exhaustion and relief. The damp jungle dirt was surely staining my flight suit, hopefully I wouldn’t need to go up into space for a while. I loved flying, but feeling the ground underneath me was more valuable to me at this time.

All around me people were celebrating, most were still in deep embraces with their loved ones though I had noticed some had already broken out the stash of mainly Corellian whiskey that the pilots hid on base. It was normally used for when we were all in a somber mood, in a need to escape the horrors of the war. It was nice to see it used for its intended purpose, celebration.

Everyone was all off in their own little worlds celebrating with the people they cared about most and were reunited with. Unfortunately also not everyone had someone to celebrate with in the distance I noticed Karé standing by her x-wing looking more lost than I had ever seen her before. I knew that she had heard and had probably seen her husband, Snap, perish in the battle as had many other important people.

I got up off the damp ground not bothering to dust off my knees before making my way over to my crying friend. As I made my way over to her as quickly as I could with my wobbly knees I thought about my person that I could’ve lost in the battle. Once we had regained contact with everyone I was glad to hear Poe’s voice over the comms again, but I still hadn’t seen him since I landed. A pang of fear shot up through me that I had to push down, I could find Poe later right now I needed to comfort my friend.

I engulfed her in a deep hug as soon as I was close enough to reach out to her. We stood there for a while as her tears dampened the right shoulder of my flight suit.

“There’s someone who needs you more than I do.” She said, with a watery smile after we let go of our embrace. I assumed that the rest of the pilots must have also heard the confession between Poe and I. Of course he hadn’t opened a private channel on comms for his confession, he was always the dramatic one.

As I was about to make a remark back to Karé I heard my name being called throughout the celebrating crowd. I looked around to find the source of the voice that I knew was definitely Poe. When I saw a man with a flight suit that matched mine with a head of messy dark curls I gave Karé a soft smile before bounding over to him, not caring about my still wobbly knees. The way we charged at each other and met with a crushing hug was sickeningly cliche, but I didn’t care all that much since I was in the arms of Poe.

“You have horrible timing.” Were the first words I could find myself to say once I had finally reached him. The sweat dripping off of the both of us doing nothing to hinder how deeply we pulled each other close.

The heat of the crushing hug was even more comforting than the heat of Ajan Kloss. It mattered more to me to be alive in the presence of Poe than to be alive and alone on this desert moon.

“I know.” His cheeky smile was evident to me even though I couldn’t see his face as it was tucked into my neck. Moving my hand away from the back of his neck I ran it through his curls before bonking him on the head lightly in jest. Giggling a little he let his grip on me loosen a little to pull his head out of the crook of my neck and look at me.

The smile on his face dropped a little as he stared at my face for a few moments as if he was inspecting me to make sure I was real. After I had seemingly passed his inspection he brought his hands up from my torso to caress my cheeks, then bringing me forward into a sweet yet also desperate kiss. I sighed deeply into the kiss in relief, I could confirm that he was just as real too and I finally knew what his lips felt like on mine. The kiss only further confirmed what I had said to him, I know that I love him.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar

Poe Dameron/SW (new tag list):

[writefightandflightclub]

Out from the cold (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: Llewyn (precious baby) needs your comfort, and oddly, looking after him comforts you too. Fluff but a lil angst to get to the comfort.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (Dunno how many I can do but gonna try and blitz a few requests out tonight. I’m doing these quickly so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) ALSO THIS IS EXCITING I’VE NEVER WRITTEN LLEWYN BEFORE AND I’M KINDA HAPPY WITH IT! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK? (I love this movie so much, one of my all-time favourites, and one of my fave Oscar performances.)

Warnings: just Llewyn swearing, as per. Alcohol and cigs. No drunkeness. Mentions of homeessness / couch-surfing. Mention of abortion.

GIF by @digginmovies​

It’s late when he shows up at your door. Or rather, it’s late when you find him in your hallway. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, because he didn’t even knock. Perhaps he was too afraid to, but by the time you eventually stopped pacing your floorboards and threw a scarf around you, you’d come to fear the worst; that he’d been beaten and left in a gutter or some doorway, or perhpas that he was just stubbornly wandering the streets, preferring to freeze to death rather than “bother” you. Or worse than that... perhaps he’d finally struck lucky and you’d never see him again. Now that he no longer needed your couch, maybe he no longer needed you.

Anyway, all of your fears were entirely unfounded, and it was a shock to find him there, leaning up against the wall. The shortest missing person recovery mission ever known.

“Llewyn?” you question, sighing in frustration and unwrapping your suddenly suffocating red scarf.

His whole body is an apology as he turns his head towards you. Eyes apologetic. Shoulders apologetic. That sorry cord jacket is very, very sorry indeed. Hell, even his curls slump over his forehead in a despondent way, as if they’ve given up too.

This precious man. Why doesn’t he know how special he is? Why does he always dwell in the shadows, rather than allowing himself to be welcomed into this warm, light-bathed apartment of yours. Why doesn’t he realise that he is a light himself, and not a burden? That his presence alone can furnish and illuminate any room. Can compel audiences and, certainly, can move you to train your eyes on him as if he is a star under a perpetual spotlight.

Well, you suppose you should just be thankful that he’s here at all, because he always seems an instant away from slipping into shadow and never coming out again. You are thankful. You are always thankful to find him on your doorstep.

“How did it go?” you ask him, and Llewyn pushes himself up from the wall, despondently shaking his head. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and simply stands there as if forgetting any purpose which might cause him to move. You have to shuffle forwards yourself to give him the hug you feel he so desperately needs, even if he doesn’t know he deserves it. You wrap you arms around him, and it’s a little awkward, and he’s stiff, and he feels of wool and cord beneath your fingertips. Smells of frost and cigarette smoke, and like he hasn’t managed to run his clothes through the laundry in a few days. You make a note to do that for him, if you can coax him into a warm bath later.

“Can I please stay with you?” Llewyn asks in a small voice.

You don’t let go of him, willing him to soften against you.

“Llewyn, you dont have to ask me that, you live here.” You say it like it’s obvious, yet this simple fact is something you are endlessly trying to convince him of.

“I sleep on your couch, because I have no fucking money. Because I’m a piece of shit musician who can’t book a gig except for the Gaslight. And that’s only because I knocked-up a chick who gets me a slot out of pity some nights because she aborted my baby.”

“Llewyn!” you say, heartbroken and disbelieving that he could talk about himself in such a way, and looking, in your shock, like you might come for a piece of him too for thinking so little of himself. But, the world keeps kicking this poor man when he’s down, and he’s running out of energy to keep getting back up, so there’s something in you which can’t blame him.

“I’m just tired. I’m just so fuckin’ tired.”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, that thick, soft beard under your fingertips.

“Llewyn,” you say softly, searching his melancholy eyes. You want to tell him how talented he is, how important. How special, like you have a hundred times before, but he won’t beleive you. Never does. So, instead, you try something you never have before. At least, not while sober. You dip forward and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away before his lips have time to react, though even if you had lingered, you’re not sure he would have. You swear that man is so touch-starved that he can no longer recognise affection. That he can no longer remember how to move his lips against another’s. You swear he’s too down on himself that he doesn’t remember how to respond to being wanted.

“Come inside. Your lips are like ice,” you say, and it’s true. You only wish you could thaw him.

Llewyn picks up his guitar case and finally follows you inside, taking his familiar spot on the couch and folding his arms around himself, not even taking off his scarf or jacket. Sometimes you worry that his chill goes all the way down to his bones. Just incase it can help with that, you make him some warm tea and wordlessly pass the mug to him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, leaning forward in his seat as you sit at the other end of  the couch from him, watching him gripping the warm beverage in his fingerless gloves like he’s never known a warm touch like it.

You sit quietly next to him and allow him to thaw a little, watching the steam rising from the mug as he takes careful sips. It has begun to lash with rain outside, the percussive sound and howl of wind muffled against the window pane, and pleasantly soothing. At least, it sounds soothing to you; Llewyn probably thinks it’s that dark cloud following him around again.

“Have you eaten?”

“Waffles. Had some Gaslight money left,” he says in monotone, staring intently at a particular spot on your hardwood floor. He didn’t make nutritionally sound choices, it seems, but at least he’s had something.

“Good,” you nod. “And do you want to talk about the audition?”

“Nope,” Llewyn responds dejectedly, popping the “p” emphatically.

When he’s drained the cup he sets it down, eventually unwinding his scarf from around his neck and shuffling off his gloves and jacket. Without all his layers he looks a little like a lost baby bird without its nest, or like a winter tree without it’s covering of leaves.

You take a risk in an attempt to perk him up and head towards the vinyl player, dropping the needle on a record you know he likes. And then, you reseat yourself on the couch, a little closer to him this time.

Llewyn finally turns to you, elbows resting on his thighs, looking just a little less morose. “Got any wine? And cigarettes?”

Now, that you could do.

You oblige him, and before long you are sipping on a glass of red, and you let Llewyn rant freely about the audition he doesn’t want to talk about at his leisure, a cigarette bobbing in-between his lips as he talks, smoke wafting around his face and his hair like the ghost of his own curls. You let him rant about the cookie-cutter, soulless, talentless musicians who make it, and the blood-sucking label execs, and the tasteless consumers, and the whole damn thing, until his shoulders look a little less heavy. A little less apologetic. Until he forgets himself and picks up his guitar and begins to mindlessly pluck and strum away.

He starts to sing under his breath, because he can’t help but sing. Because it comes naturally to him, and suddenly he is the only light in your living room. He is under his own super trouper, against the backdrop of the rainy window pane. Light shining against melancholy.

As lovely as he is to look at, with the way his left cheek tugs up with his words and his brow creases with feeling, you close your eyes as his voice filters through into your bones, making you warm from within.

“I love it when you sing,” you say sincerely, and you don’t know it, but your simple, honest words are music to Llewyn’s ears. Those words are something he hears startingly seldom for a man with a talent like his.

Your eyes are still closed when you hear the chaotic thrum of strings as Llewyn sets the guitar down. Your eyes are still closed as Llewyn kneels before you and slides his hands along your thighs, palms down. Your eyes open just before he dips his head and presses a chaste, smoky kiss to your lips.

Your lips do not react. If Llewyn was too touch-starved to kiss you back earlier, you suppose you are too surprised that he might want you back. You want to kiss him, and apparently he wants to kiss you, but you are singing different bars of the same song. Your timing is all off. So, your lips do not meld with his, no matter how long you’ve waited for this. Wanted it. This time too, his mouth was even warm against yours. His hands warm against you. Thawing.

You smile at him, softly. Catiously. As if you might scare him off. As if he is a wild animal who has dropped to his knees for you.

Instead, he remains as you bring your hands back to either side of his face, and lose yourself in his dark, turbulent stare. It is you who suddenly feels catious, as if he is a storm which might swallow you. Might paint you in licks of grey if you don’t first heal his pain. His eyes are raw. Broken apart, and his beautiful soul so exposed beneath them. No wonder he is so guarded. Feels so vulnerable. His heart is so open and so wounded beneath the expletives and the apathy and the lucklessness, isn’t it? It would be so easy to break, like a lost bird far from its nest.

But this time, he stays. Llewyn simply looks right back into your eyes, for once. And when he undoubtedly notices your evident desire there, all he does is question why you are looking at him at all.

“Why do you want me?” he asks you, plainly, shaking his head softly. He doesn’t say more, but you swear you could guess his thought. You could have any Tom, Dick, or Harry. Or a Chad. Some rich, muscly dude with a centre part and a Corvette. I’m nothing. Nobody.

Your mouth forms a bashful, thin line, and you shrug your shoulders, placing your hands over his palms. You desperately want to show him he is somebody.

“I dunno. Why do you sing, Llewyn? Why do birds make music? I just do. I want you. My soul tells me I should, and I listen.”

He looks sad. So sad, So tired, and so you do the only thing your soul tells you to in this moment. You comfort him. You reach up and tangle your fingers into that mess of crotchet black curls on his head. You stroke him and soothe him, and he gives in to you, burying his head in your lap and letting you touch him. Letting you smooth your hands and your fingers and thumbs over his hair, his neck, his back, his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your lower legs and curls around them, still sat at your feet like a stray who refuses to be a house cat, despite how many times you try to coax him in from out of the cold.

“Llewyn, come lie with me a while?” you ask gently, and he looks up at you, unsure. Still, he clambers up from his position and is about to recline on the sofa when you grab his hand. “No, Llewyn. Come lie with me in my bed?”

He gulps, as if you might eat him alive, but he follows as you guide him as if it might be a relief to climb into your jaws anyway, and you lead him by the hand along the hallway and into your room.

He watches you with hesitant fascination as you shrug off your layers, down to your underwear. Then, he follows suit, letting his worn trousers and white t-shirt pool on to the floor at his feet, until he’s standing in only his patterned boxers.

You climb under the covers, shivering at the autumn chill in the room, and you hold the tented covers open for Llewyn to climb in after you.

“Y-You want me to... W-what do you wanna do?”

“Nothing you don’t want to, darling. But if you’ll let me, I just want to hold you.”

He hesitates, but he’s cold, and so, so alone, and he’s so tired of never having anything he wants. So tired that he’s willing to forget, just this once, that he can’t give you what you deserve. Or at least to stop consciously reminding himself of it.

He slots his soft, slim body under the covers, and you let the blanket fall over him. Then, you lie on your back and pull him on top of you, until his body covers yours and his head nestles on the cushion of your breasts.

It is quiet enough in the room that you hear him gulp again, but he doesn’t bolt. Once he’s settled, your wrap him in your arms, your fingers twining in his hair, carding through those thick, tangled curls. Your hands smooth up and down his back, until he is humming softly, his face entirely buried in your chest. “Sweet man,” you soothe, and listen to the sound of the rain outside, and the background noise of the record player filtering through. “I know it’s not much, but I love it when you sing. I wish I could give you riches for it, and record deals. But all I have to give in return is a little piece of my heart, and you steal a piece of it every time I hear your voice,” you whisper gently.

Llewyn is silent, and you wonder if you might have scared him off, but he seems quite content exactly where he is. You wish he would stay, but you know he has a cycle of houses, like a traitourous street cat with nowhere he feels deserving to call home.

For now though, he is here, and you begin to sing gently along to the song filtering through from the living room. It’s one of your favourites. One which Llewyn has sung for you many times before.

You look down at the side of his face, his eyes closed, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek, and his beard twitching as his full lips tug up into a faint smile. Finally.

“You have a pretty voice, dove,” he says, and your heart clenches at the pet name. At the fact you have finally found a way to make him happy. You should have realised it would be music.

“No, Llewyn. It’s nothing compared to you.”

“I dunno. You probably have more chance of making it than I do. Maybe you should have gone today instead.” You worry that he has been tugged back into a slump, but you see he is still smiling, and you recognise the humour in his tone, self-deprecating though it is.

By the next chorus, Llewyn begins to softly sing along too, and your heart flutters as his voice vibrates against your bosom.

You tug in a deep, happy breath, and exhale spring into the autumn room.

Llewyn props himself on to his elbows and shuffles up the bed, until his face is level with your own.

You regard him catiously, feeling suddenly as flighty as he usually is.

“What do you want to do?” you ask him, as his lips hover close to yours.

“Nothin’ you don’t want to,” he says, mirroring your words from moments ago.

This time, when your lips meet, softly, neither of you are surprised. This time, your mouths are both warm and moving together, like you sing the words to a shared song, both melding in time.

As Llewyn curls around your body and snuggles into you for warmth, you hope you can get him to stay. You hope you’ve showed him he doesn’t need to wander in the cold any longer.

He has your heart after all, and you need him to bring it indoors; out from the cold.

[freelancearsonist]

Outnumbered

Llewyn Davis x fem!Reader

Rated PG for pure fluff

1,036 words

A/N: This just came to me and I’m not sorry. This man deserves all the cuddles and love in the world and I will stand by that fact to my grave. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated! :)

Llewyn looks at you overtop his newspaper, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Baby, you’ve just been suggesting song titles this entire time,” you point out, shifting your legs. It’s hard to get comfortable with all of the extra weight, but you’re slowly getting there.

“Donovan isn’t a song title,” he refutes with a small smile.

You give him a knowing look. “No, but he’s a singer.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he chuckles, taking a bite of his toast. “We named the first two after songs.”

“Yeah, your songs,” you add with a soft smile. “It’s a cute, sentimental thing. It just feels weird naming a person after something you have no claim over.”

“Well, I ran out of songs that weren’t about you,” he grins. Seven years together, and he’s still just as thoroughly smitten as he was at the beginning.

You can’t help smiling at the love you find in his dark eyes. You know that same affection can be found in yours, too.

You move to stand, and Llewyn’s quickly at your side, extending an arm for you.

“Llewyn, my love, my light, if you don’t stop doing this every time I move I’m seriously gonna huck you out the window,” you growl, your smile contradicting your tone. He slowly backs away, but you can see that he’s ready to lend a hand if you need it at all. “Seriously, baby. I’ve done this twice before. Don’t you think I’ve got this under control?”

“I know you do,” he quickly replies. “I just...”

He realizes he doesn’t have anything to say that won’t make you angry, so he shuts his mouth and lets you stand up on your own.

You capture his hand with yours once you’re up, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s much bigger than yours and his fingertips are calloused from years and years of guitar playing, but it’s perfect. Every bit of him is—you thoroughly believe that.

“I love you so much,” you smile brightly. “Thank you for making breakfast.”

“Of course, honey,” he chuckles quietly. He pulls you closer, spine curving so he can kiss you over your huge stomach. “Least I can do. I love you, too.”

The soft sound of approaching tiny feet disturbs the sweet, quiet moment.

“Daddy?”

It’s your oldest—only four, but desperately trying to be self-sufficient. Just like her father, without even knowing it.

“Come here, baby,” he coos, noticing Jane’s trembling lip and her tiny hands rubbing at her eyes. He can recognize the symptoms of a nightmare from a mile away.

She collapses into his embraces, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he lifts her. He whispers reassurances of how her dreams aren’t real, that Mommy and Daddy will chase away anything that tries to hurt her.

You join the little hug, pressing a gentle kiss to her dark hair and then your husband’s lips.

“Bad dream, Janie?” You ask quietly, and she just nods and nuzzles into her father’s neck. “You’re okay, baby. Me and Daddy will protect you, won’t we?”

Llewyn hums his agreement, his strong arms giving the little girl a tight squeeze. “Yes, we will. Always.”

You sigh softly as you smooth a hand over your eldest daughter’s slightly-tangled hair. “I’m gonna go grab Kennedy, I suppose.”

“Okay, angel,” Llewyn grins. You’ve never seen him smile so much, and it’s a wonderful sight. “Don’t forget we’ve gotta take your picture.”

You laugh softly as you head down the hallway to raise the baby. Llewyn’s insisted on documenting your bump every day since you first found out about your third pregnancy. A photo every morning, every day for nine months. It’s become something of a passion project for him, and you’re glad that he’s found something to focus on outside of gigs.

You move into the nursery quietly, trying your best not to rouse your sleeping little one. She’s just over a year old and still sleeps light as a feather, so you almost feel bad when you scoop her into your arms. But miraculously, she just snuggles into your neck and continues her quiet dozing—not ready to be awake yet.

You gently run your fingers through her thin, dark curls and balance her on your shoulder as you head back towards the kitchen.

You can hear your oldest’s cheerful voice as she speaks—her nightmare long forgotten in the comfort of her father’s arms.

“Eggs!” She gasps, mouth wide open as she stares up at her curly-haired dad. “I. Love. Eggs.”

“’Kay, kiddo,” He chuckles as he opens the refrigerator. “Eggs it is.”

Kennedy stirs at the sound of her father’s voice—you’d be jealous of their obvious preference for their paternal figure if it wasn’t so blasted adorable.

“Delivery for the world’s best daddy,” you laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he eagerly accepts the littlest daughter into his arms.

“There’s my little one,” he coos as she stretches her arms overhead. “Good morning, baby girl. You still sleepy?”

You resume Llewyn’s task of taking the eggs out of the refrigerator, as he snuggles your littlest baby, and Janie eagerly takes her place beside you.

“Is it awake?” She asks curiously, a tiny hand reaching out to touch your bump. The second her little palm makes contact, your unborn shifts and causes its older sibling to let out a tiny gasp of amusement. “It’s awake!”

“Yes, little ma’am,” you laugh softly. “And pretty soon, your little sibling won’t be inside of me anymore.”

“I take good care of it,” she nods solemnly, her dark eyes completely serious, and you can’t help smiling at how sweet she is. You and Llewyn are doing a good job.

“We’re gonna be outnumbered,” Llewyn adds, to you more than to your daughter. And it’s true—three kids split between the two of you. It’s a daunting task, but there’s no one you’d rather endure this venture with than your Llewyn.

“Yes we are,” you hum softly as Janie wraps herself around your leg. Your smile only grows wider when you see that Kennedy’s back asleep, one tiny little hand resting on her father’s beard. “We’ll be outnumbered, but we’re going to be okay.”

THE END

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[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 4: Tweeted- Benny Miller

Day 4: Tweeted- Benny Miller 

I have to admit this may be my favorite so far that I have written. I just love Benny so much and how adorable he is.

Check out my November writing challenge masterlist below and let me know if you have any requests for any of the prompts. 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist 

Day 3: Clarity- Maxwell Lord 

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It was a strange thing to tell people when they asked about your boyfriend. Yes, he’s an MMA fighter, ex-special forces, and also an overgrown child.

You met Benny eight months ago at one of his local fights. A blind date set up by your friends started out as dinner with a nice normal doctor and ended up in bed with the entertainment for the night. You still felt sort of bad about how you had ditched the doctor but when you thought of how happy Benny made you it was worth it. 

You are sitting in the gym watching Benny train with his brother Will. The Miller brothers were a package deal and luckily Will and you hit it off right away. Will is going through some footage from an old fight while you scroll through your phone on twitter. Since you had begun dating Benny, the world of MMA became a norm in your life. You followed other fighters and coaches on twitter and learned as much as you could. It was at that moment an idea struck you. 

“Hey baby...babe....Benny!” you shout getting both men’s attention. 

“What do you need, Tiger?” Benny smiles at you. 

You roll your eyes, you hate that nickname, one time you had one of your nieces' Daniel Tiger songs in your head and you accidentally sang it out loud...one time. But that’s all it took for him to call you Tiger forever. 

“Have you ever thought of getting a twitter account for yourself as a fighter? Not like a personal account but something for press,” the look on his face makes you want to laugh out loud. 

“What the fuck is a twit….twitter? Is that some kind of STD?” oh your poor golden retriever and his lack of knowledge at technology. 

“No...baby no. It’s a social media account that people get to post about their lives. Lots of other fighters use it to connect with fans, and promote their fights, Will back me up here?” you gesture to the other Miller who looks just or more confused than the former. 

“Uhm, I honestly don’t know what the hell you're talking about, my girl just got me a Facebook account like two weeks ago,” Will shrugs at Benny. 

You roll your eyes so far you can see the inside of your brain before you tell them, “It would be great Benny, we could make you an account tonight when you come over for dinner and I can show you how it works, just trust me baby.” 

“I trust you Tiger, how about you get going home and I’ll pick up the take-out and be there within the hour?” Benny stands before walking over to you pulling you into his arms. You have to look up since he is a solid foot taller than you and he pecks you on the lips before attempting to deepen the kiss. Damn this man is insatiable. 

“Alright enough!” Will shouts, breaking the two of you apart abruptly, “Let the woman go Benny we need to finish up with this and then he’s all yours.” 

“Oh brother, I already am all hers,” Benny tells his brother loudly before leaning down to your ear and whispering, “and she is all MINE.” You can’t help the shiver that runs up your spine before he puts a wet kiss below your ear and gently pushes you towards the door, slapping your ass on the way out. You wave goodbye to Will and make your way home. 

Benny arrives exactly one hour later, two whole pizzas in hand, and a six pack of beer. You had been having pizza a lot more often since the other guys started calling you both monsters for your equal love of pineapple and ham pizza. Over the next three hours you and Benny work on setting up his twitter account. 

It’s honestly way more frustrating teaching him than you thought it would be. He asks more questions than a grandpa learning how to use a smartphone. You didn’t know a grown man could ask so many questions and so quickly. 

“What are followers? Is this some sort of cult website. Babe, I don’t wanna join a cult.”

“So I click this little round A symbol to tag someone in my tweet? Is this even English?” 

“Are hashtags named after hash browns because they look like hash browns...wait do we have any hash browns….baaaabbbeee now I’m hungry!” 

You groan before slapping your forehead, watching your big MMA fighter boyfriend dig through the freezer for hash browns. Coming back soon with a pout on his face, having found no hash browns. Damn how can one be so adorable?

“That’s it, I got work in the morning. I promise we can work on this more tomorrow!” You stand from the couch popping your joints as you stretch. Benny comes over to you wrapping you up in a hug. His warm arms wrap around you and he kisses the side of your neck. 

“Thank you,” the words are slightly muffled against your skin, “I really appreciate you doing this stuff with me. Supporting me with being a fighter, I promise one day I am going to make you proud of me.” 

You pull him back, placing your hands on his face. “I am already so fucking proud of you Benjamin Miller and don’t you ever forget it. Yes, you suck at technology butI promise I don’t love you any less because of it.” 

Benny goes quiet and the smile drops from his face… “My little Tiger... you love me?” 

Oh shit. That’s not exactly how you imagined telling Benny you loved him but when has anything in your relationship been conventional. You take a deep breath meeting his eyes before you smile, “Of course I love you baby. You are the sweetest, toughest, most badass, old man on the planet and I fucking love you so much.” 

Benny’s eyes become glassy before he’s pulling you in for a kiss, and wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I love you too Tiger, so fucking much,” he kisses you again slower this time, “go to bed baby I will clean up out here and join you in a couple minutes.” 

You pull away first, exhausted not only physically but emotionally too and you kiss Benny on the lips again gently before walking back towards your room. Benny has his own place with his brother but he’s kind of like a stray dog that followed you home one day and never left. Most of his stuff is at your place anyways, since he sleeps there every night. You pull back the covers and get into the cool sheets, from the nightstand your phone pings. 

You pick up the phone and see someone tagged you in a tweet. When you open it your eyes water and you clutch the phone to your chest. 

@y/n is the best girlfriend on the planet, AND SHE LOVES ME! I LOVE YOU TO BABE!

You press the like button on the tweet before turning off the light snuggling into the blankets. From the hallway you hear the sounds of Benny’s boots on the floor walking towards the bedroom. He gets ready for bed, and pulls you close to his body, his arms wrapping around your waist pulling you tight to him. Your head rests on his chest. 

Just when you're about to fall asleep you feel him tap your shoulder gently, “babe…” he whispers, “I tweeted all by myself.” 

You laugh out loud before snuggling to him tighter, “yes you did, I even liked it. And Benny?” 

“Yeah Tiger?” 

“I love you too.” 

Day 5: Holy - Llewyn Davis 

[pumpkin-stars]

Candy

Llewyn Davis/Fem!Reader

Kinktober Day 20: Phone Sex

Word Count: 545

Warnings/Content: Sex work (sex phone line), Llewyn needs a hug, dialogue heavy, Reader uses the name Candy

My Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my Taglist

@the-purity-pen‘s full kinktober list is here

“Hey there, you’re through to Candy.”

“Oh. Uh. Hi.”

“Hello.” You smile, “Is this your first time calling?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no need to be nervous, Sir. What can I help you with?”

“I j- I just wanna feel warm.”

“I can certainly do that for you, Sir. But I’ll need your payment information first.”

“Right, yeah.”

There’s fumbling on the other end of the phone, and you smile wider. There’s something endearing about the voice, something that speaks to you beyond the audible. He seems sweet, whoever he is, as he rattles off the card number, security code, and expiry date.

“And the name on the card?”

“Uh. Jim Berkey.”

“It’s nice to be talking to you Jim.”

“No!” He coughs, “No, I… It’s Llewyn.”

“Llewyn.” You accept the change easily. It’s not your job to give a shit if Jim knows his card’s being used for this. You’re just here to make sure Llewyn has a good time.

“And you’re Candy.”

“That’s what you can call me, sweetheart.” You confirm.

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

“Are you comfortable, Llewyn?”

“I uh.” He pauses, “I guess.”

“Sitting? Lying?”

“Standing.”

“Can you sit?”

“N-no, not really.”

“Okay. You said you wanted to feel warm, how can I help with that?”

“This is good, just talking. Feels safe.”

“Safe?”

“Mhm.” He pauses again, “Fuck, Candy, I’m so hard.”

“Yeah?” You smile, “Can you touch yourself for me?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, hold on.”

You pull the phone from your ear as he sets his end down, clattering metal and muffled curses fill your head.

Then he’s back.

“You still there?” He sounds desperate.

“I am.” You smile, “I’m here until you hang up.”

“Okay,” he breathes, relieved, “I… can you… talk to me?”

“You want me to tell you what I’d do if I was there?” You suggest.

“Yeah.”

“Are you very hard, Llewyn?”

“For you.”

“Well in that case, I’d start by kissing you, if that’s okay? Just soft and gentle kisses, maybe move to your neck.”

“I have a beard.” He tells you.

“Yeah?” You smile “A full one?”

“Y-yeah. I try to keep it neat.”

“I bet it suits you,” you whisper, “I’ll kiss you, trail down your cheek, kiss your neck. I’d leave a little mark.”

“Please.” He whines.

“And while I do that, I’ll slip my hand into your pants.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I’ll wrap my hand around your cock.” You smile, “Touch yourself Llewyn, it’s okay. Go ahead.”

He inhales sharply, and follows your guidance as you tell him how you’d twist your wrist and stroke, run your thumb over his tip, keep kissing him… you’d get on your knees for him, kiss his inner thighs while still stroking, then take him into your mouth, bob your head and take him all the way down, all while looking up at him. You’d want his hands in your hair, to let him control the rhythm, to let him choose how fast or slow… and right as he’s about to cum, while you’re whispering such pretty things in his ear…

His change runs out. And the call cuts off, leaving him to cum into his hand in the middle of a fucking phonebooth, all thoughts of warmth taken from him like he’s been dunked in a bucket of ice.

Taglist: @fastandfeminist @fisforfulcrum​ @galacticgraffiti​ @jitterbugs927​ @lavenderluna10​ @princessxkenobi​ @salome-c​ @the-little-ewok​ @yours-truly-r​ 

[aellynera]

Slingshot (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

SLINGSHOT

(this was inspired by the song “Slingshot” by Ellis Paul, which i think is one of the loveliest love songs ever written, and is something i could hear Llewyn playing on his guitar.)

Word Count: 2412(ish)

Summary: There are many different kinds of storms. Some are fierce, some are quieter, and some walk around with a name and show up in your apartment at three o’clock in the morning.

Warnings: Not really. Maybe a bad word or two.

It was late, almost three in the morning, and you had tried all you could to fall asleep. Mindlessly watching some TV. Listening to soft music on your old second-hand record player. Hot shower. Hot cup of tea. Cold shower, since it was getting more humid outside and therefore hotter in your apartment. Glass of water. Another shower, but just warm instead of hot.

Still awake.

You sighed and filled the kettle again, preparing to make another cup of tea. You knew it was probably useless, but thought perhaps, just maybe, it would work this time. At least your lip had stopped bleeding and the side of your face was now a dull throb instead of the excruciating, blinding torment it had been a few hours ago.

You sighed as you set the kettle on the heating stove and turned to search for a clean mug. There was exactly one, of the entire three you owned, that wasn’t in the sink to be washed. Grabbing it, you unceremoniously tossed a tea bag in as you waited for the kettle to boil. And then you almost dropped it when you heard a voice coming from the doorway between the living room and kitchen.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

You sighed as you just barely managed to keep a grip on the mug. Dropping it and watching it shatter across your kitchen floor would have made this horrible day infinitely shittier. You should have been more surprised but the sudden appearance, but in all honesty, you really were not. It was more surprising that it was about to rain. The weather had been calm and tranquil no more than twenty minutes ago.

“Llewyn!” you hissed. “What the hell.”

He motioned over his shoulder towards the living room. “I was passin’ through, and I saw your window was open and it’s about to start pouring, and I figured maybe I didn’t have to get drenched so I came up the fire…” he paused as you closed your eyes and blew a breath out your nose. “Baby, what happened?”

You turned back to the stove. You forgot about your lip and winced when you went to bite it. Thank god your back was turned and he didn’t see it. All you wanted was to go to sleep and this was the last thing you needed right now. He was the last thing you needed right now.

“Don’t you baby me, Llewyn Davis. I haven’t seen you for weeks and now you...technically, you just committed a B&E, and you scared the shit out of me.” He didn’t, really. More like annoyed the shit out of you, after the day you’d had and the fact that you hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He huffed. It sounded slightly offended. “No I didn’t. Well, not the breakin’ part, anyway. Sorry if I scared you though.”

“Llewyn, you came in my window. Unannounced. No warning.”

“But there was no breaking,” he stressed, “because your window was open. So yeah, I only entered. Christ, anyone coulda come in here.” He motioned over his shoulder again and leaned on the doorjamb, idly picking at a stray thread on his glove.

An annoyed sort of squawk left your lips as you put the mug on the counter and pushed past him into the living room. Oh for the love of...you could do this, you could do this. Count to ten. Breathe. Think of harmless, inconsequential things like puppies and unicorns and daisies. Anything except how frustratingly...frustrating...the man in front of you could be. And how he’d disappeared for weeks and now just entered your apartment at nearly three o’clock in the damn morning like it was nothing.

But with Llewyn, it was never nothing. That was the problem.

“The window is open because it’s hot and it gets stuffy in here. And you didn’t answer my question,” you snapped, even as you pushed the window closed, maybe just a little harder than you meant to. You snapped the lock shut for good measure.

Llewyn shrugged, still eyeing your slightly swollen cheek and puffy lip. “I was around, just, y’know...and then I went to Chicago for a little while, and…”

“Chicago?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, long story.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away for a second. But it was only a second before his deep, dark eyes were back on you.

“They usually are, with you.”

“I write songs and stories, what can I say. Seriously, what happened to your face?”

You sighed and flopped onto the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows and hugging it to your chest. The sky outside was lighting up, rapid streaks of energy piercing the falling darkness. Fitting for how your whole night was still going. “It’s nothing. A couple of drunks got into a fist fight and I got caught in the crossfire.”

Now Llewyn raised an eyebrow. Both of them. “Things gettin’ more exciting at the Gaslight since I’m outta town? Christ, I didn’t realize folk music was so explosive.” He moved over to the couch and sat down next to you.

“Folk music, not so much. Stray elbows to the face, a little more so.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He reached a hand toward your cheek and you flinched. “Hey, I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” His voice was soft. So soft.

The kettle whistled shrilly and you sighed, started to get up. Llewyn stopped you and stood himself, then placed a kiss to the top of your head and went into the kitchen.

“Whose ass do I have to kick?” he asked as he poured boiling water from the kettle.

You snorted. “What, you gonna take on all the drunks in the Village?”

“If I have to. You gotta put the lunatics back in place when they think they’re runnin’ the shop.”

He came back into the living room and handed you the steaming mug of chamomile tea. You took it carefully from him and inhaled some of the steam as he returned to the spot next to you on the couch. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, stretching his legs out and leaning back against your shoulder.

Thunder rumbled loudly, the lightning strike that caused it close enough to make your window shake. It rolled in on itself several times, the sound slowly draining away as the air temporarily settled again.

You considered this for a few minutes as your earlier irritation with him began to dissolve. Llewyn was hard to figure out sometimes. He was cynical and rude and prone to misanthropy  on a fairly disturbing level; on the other hand, he could be hopeful and sweet, caring and at times even romantic. You were used to him coming and going, it was just part of who he was, but honestly...you wished more often than not that he would just stay. Things felt more right when he stayed.

You took a sip of tea and turned your head towards him, offering a wan smile. “I’m fine, really. It was just a couple drunk preppies. I can take down drunk preppies.”

He smiled back. “I know you can. You’re tough as shit. I wouldn’t wanna meet you in some dark alley. I’m just sayin’...I got your back, you know. If you need backup, I’m your guy.”

You hid your smile behind the mug now. “What are you gonna do, beat them over the head with your guitar?”

“Hell no. Jesus, what do you think I am, some kind of savage?” You had to giggle. Llewyn honestly did look offended now, at the mere thought of any damage coming to that beloved instrument. 

“Nah, my nephew Danny gave me his slingshot. I’ll make sure I always have it in my pocket with a couple of rocks,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “Pop the drunk preps in the head a few times, get their attention. Maybe get ‘em to stop being douchebags.”

The laugh that was about to escape your lips stuck in your throat when you looked at Llewyn again, really looked, and saw the turmoil reflected in his eyes. He was trying to be light, but there was definitely a heaviness that overshadowed his mood.

The sky outside finally broke and rain lashed wildly at your window. A flash lit up the room briefly, followed by another resounding boom that rattled the pane of glass in its frame. And then the lights went out.

“Shit,” you muttered, finding the side table in the darkness and putting your mug down. You slipped your shoulder out from under Llewyn and started to get up. “I have candles in the drawer by the sink.”

“I know where they are, I got it,” he replied, getting up before you could. He went to the kitchen in the nearly pitch black, like he could see in the dark. You heard the drawer open and him rummage around, and then he was back in the living room, lighting a candle with his cigarette lighter and placing it on your coffee table.

You couldn’t quite explain the twinge you felt in your chest at his actions. It felt so casual, so normal, that he just knew where things were in your apartment because he was there often enough. That tickle of thought that I wish he would just stay crept into the back of your brain again.

You said nothing as Llewyn settled back down on the couch again. This time, he reached over and pulled on you gently so you were laying your head on his shoulder. The breath you let go was deep and entire, as if it were coming all the way up from the tips of your toes. He idly stroked your hair as the elements continued to thrash against the walls around you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. You just watched the candle flicker and listened to the rain steadily bounce off the window.

“Sorry I disappeared on you,” Llewyn finally said, his voice low and quiet.

“You wanna talk about Chicago?” you asked, leaning into his warmth, not taking your eyes off the dancing flame of the candle.

You felt his shoulder move slightly as he shook his head. “Not really.”

You fell into silence again. The light touch of his fingers on your hair and the sound of the rain outside began to make your eyes heavy. The air inside was getting stuffy, from a combination of the humidity outside and the gentle heat from Llewyn’s arms and chest. The last bits of tension eased out of your limbs and you swore your face even stopped aching as much. Finally.

“You ever think about getting out of here, for real though?” your words were becoming tinged with sleep, soft and low and nearly a whisper.

“Out? Where would we go?” Llewyn chuckled, tilting his head down to place the lightest kiss on top of your hair.

We. He said where would we go, not where would I go, you realized. And he had apologized for leaving. You really started to wonder what had happened in Chicago.

“Dunno. Anywhere. A cabin in the middle of the woods.” Despite your suddenly sleepy comfort, a hint of amusement crept into your voice. “A hut on a beach somewhere.”

“Cabins in the middle of the woods are kind of horror movie,” he said. “And I’m not really big on sand.”

“Mmm. Okay, how about...a castle? We could build a castle somewhere, I’ll be the princess in the tower and you can be my one-man army, defending the keep with that slingshot in your back pocket,” you giggle. The rolling thunder of sleep was definitely starting to win over you now.

Llewyn stopped moving, then pulled himself out from behind you. For a few seconds you worried that you said something that was too much, that even suggesting that you be somewhere together and that he stay for once might be too much. The sudden loss of his comfort felt more stifling than the hot, uncirculated air in the room.

But he had said we, not I.

Where would we go?

Llewyn leaned over and blew out the candle. The next thing you knew, he had picked you up in his arms and was carrying you back towards the bedroom. The lights were still out, but your eyes had adjusted well enough to the dark to function. And Llewyn knew where he was going anyway.

He gently set you down on your bed and then, somewhat your surprise, stretched out next to you. Normally he would have just made his move to the couch. You made a note in your sleep-addled brain to ask him again about Chicago in the morning. Something had definitely happened, but...it could wait until morning.

He looked at you nervously, as if he were afraid you might decide to kick him off the bed and out into the storm outside. You gave him a sleepy smile and reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling it to your chest, asking him to stay. Telling him to stay.

Some of the turmoil in his eyes seemed to disappear as he realized you were not, in fact, going to kick him out. Part of you realized that the storm outside had settled, the rain had stopped, with just a few distant peals of thunder clinging to the atmosphere.

He moved closer to you, pushed a stray lock of hair off your face, and kissed your forehead. “Don’t need a castle,” he whispered. “I got my princess. And I’ll protect this with a whole lot more than just a slingshot.”

“You sound like you’re writing a song,” you sighed. You turned onto your side and curled up into his chest.

“Hmm, maybe. That’s what I do,” he smiled into the dark.

“Llewyn…” you mumbled, the last flicker of consciousness slipping from you as the last flares of the storm outside faded away, “Stay.”

There was a magic cure for your sleeplessness and your pain. It wasn’t mugs of chamomile tea or warm baths or vapid images on your television screen. It was thunderstorms and mysteries and open windows by your fire escape.

It was Llewyn.

The last two things you were aware of were his arms slipping around you to hold you close and his hushed reply.

“There’s no place I’d rather be.”

~end~

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