#llewyn davis x you

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Play Me

Llewyn Davis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 8: Fingering

Summary: You run into Llewyn at a party.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, fingering, swearing, terrible jokes, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 849

It wasn’t how you’d exactly planned to spend your Tuesday evening, with Llewyn pressed up against you in a cramped little room. 

Your friend had dragged you to a friend’s of a friend’s of a friend’s party in their newly moved into apartment. 

And with the amount of people there, it looked like their new place was going to need a huge clean up after the night was over. 

Your friend had only really wanted to go so she could shoot her shot with some guy she’d been making eyes at who was going too. She’d been very upfront about it and you’d agreed to go as moral support. 

You’d planned to just hang out and eat as much free food as you physically could. 

So your current situation was a little different than your previous objective. 

When you’d run into Llewyn you’d been pleasantly surprised. 

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” You’d teased and to your shock, he’d smiled. 

“I’m just here with Dave,” he’d motioned to the crowd behind him. “You?”

“I’m just here for the free food.” 

“Excellent idea.” He’d grinned at you, leaning against the wall. “I’ll join you.” 

Halfway through your makeshift feast you’d paused. He’d been regaling you with stories and anecdotes the whole time, beaming when you snorted and laughed. 

“How come you’re in such a good mood?” You’d asked.

“Aren’t I usually?” He’d leaned close, nudging his shoulder against yours.

“Llewyn...” 

“It’s just nice to see you.” He’d shrugged a little bashfully, “Is that okay?” 

. 

You’d followed him when he took your hand in his and pulled you into a tiny utility room, kissing him back when he pressed his lips eagerly to yours as he pushed you up against the wall. 

His mouth was warm, the faint taste of beer on his tongue as he slipped his fingers under your top and ran them along the waistband of your jeans. 

He pulled back, breathing hard. “Can I make you come?” 

Your brain had malfunctioned for a moment, your ears taking a second too long to process. 

“Please?” He asked sweetly, his voice husky and thick. 

You’d swallowed and nodded, not trusting your voice. 

He grinned, eyes sparkling as he undid your trousers and pulled them off your legs dizzyingly fast, yanking down your underwear with them. 

“Here,” he’d hooked your left leg over his hip, kissing you hard as he slowly ran his left hand down your stomach and to your folds. 

You jumped as his touch grazed your clit and he groaned into your mouth, humming in appreciation as he slipped two fingers inside. 

The sound of your slick echoes in the small space, your wetness allowing him to glide in so easily.

He moans louder, swearing as you gasp, “fuck, you feel nice.” 

You bite your lip, breathing hard as he slowly works his fingers in and out of you, circling them as he rubs your clit with his thumb in time. 

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth and pressing close. 

You grab hold of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, rolling your hips as he moves. “Oh god…”

“That good?” 

You nod, barely able to form words as pleasure runs along your nerves.

He grins at your expression. “Knew you liked me.” He breathes.

You manage to give him a glare, about to tell him to lovingly fuck off but he strokes your walls purposefully at the exact moment you open your mouth, making you cry out. 

“Fuck yes, that’s it.” He groans, watching you intently as you squirm and shake. “You can be loud, no one’s gonna fucking hear.” He rocks against you, pressing his straining erection against your thigh to take the edge off.

“Llewyn,” you whine.

He picks up the pace, fucking you faster with his fingers and making colour dance at the edge of your vision. 

The deep stretch is maddening, the way he curls and strokes sending shivers of sensation up your spine. 

“Your fingers are so big,” you mutter in a half sob. 

“That’s not the only thing that’s big.” He groans and then chuckles, “Sorry, that’s awful.” 

 You pull him closer, licking into his mouth and yanking at his curls until he whines blissfully against your lips. 

The pressure in your stomach tightens, twists, makes you gasp and quake until finally it shatters. 

You cry out into his mouth, smothering your moans with his lips as your body convulses under the weight of the pleasure.

He works you through it, stroking and teasing and only stopping when your body starts to relax. 

When he pulls back he’s smiling softly and slowly pulls his fingers out of you as he places your leg back to the floor. Llewyn stays close, while you recover, stroking your cheek with one hand while he shoves his fingers into his mouth and groans. 

“That was fucking great sweetheart, but I didn’t get to see you finish.” He slowly drops to his knees, running his hands up your thighs. “So I gotta make you come again, yeah?”

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

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@queerponc @Twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @mari-thesimp @ominoose

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

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

llewyn davis x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: lingerie

warnings: none :)

word count: 0.6k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

+ @flightlessangelwings

[myfandomlikesandstories]

Successful! Llewyn Davis AU headcanons

Llewyn Davis x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Summary: what if Llewyn became a famous musician?

Warnings: mention of murder

Word count: 1088

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Davis, right?" You asked.

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

"Can I buy you a drink?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He asked you out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No pressure tags:

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

I hope you like it, everybody❤️

[alwritey-aphrodite]

🛳for oscar characters:)

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

Sorry this took me like 8 years to answer lmao

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

[minigirl87]

Masterlist

Welcome to my master list. It will almost be a year since I started writing fanfiction with help and encouragement from @melodygatesauthor, Mel's stories, and art are amazing.

I'm a bit of a quirky bohemian, witchy 30s something female.

I am currently only writing for the Oscar Isaac fandom, but I am hoping to venture further by the end of this year, so I will keep this updated.

The first movie I saw starring Oscar was Inside Llewyn Davis because I loved the ginger cat (I'm a crazy cat lady, and I sometimes include my furball in my works). Then the short movies Lighting face and Ticky tacky on Venmo. And then I was really hooked when he played Poe Dameron (I love Star Wars. My first crush was Luke Skywalker).

I hope you enjoy reading my stories as I had writing them.

P.s. Please feel free to message me, I'm a bit forgetful, so nothing personal if I don't respond right away.

⚠️🔞 I can not state this enough. Most of my work is NSFW and is 18+. 🔞⚠️

Marc Spector

Peaches and Cream

My Favourite Study Buddy

Happy Anniversary Marc

Steven Grant

I see you, I’ve always seen you with Steven Grant

Lavender & Mint

Ice is the only hard thing (MK bingo)

Jake Lockley

ROSEMARY & TIME

Third times, the charm

Layla el Faouly

Sugar & Spice

Marc, Steven & Jake

It's ok, love, we're here

We love you, and as such, we take care of you

Richard Muñoz

The push broom (Halloween)

I'm always here for you

Llewyn Davis

MoonRiver and Me

Soon

Steven Grant

MINE prt 1

Mine prt 2

Damaged goods & no returns Chp.1

Laird Leto

The Laird & The Lassie Prt 1 Au

FO Poe Dameron

New Toy part one

New Toy part two

FO Poe Dameron

New Toy part three (Coming soon)

Please feel free to send an ask or message if you are interested in a request. Please send the characters' names and details you want put in. More details help me to build they story better. I write for most Oscar Isaac fandom.

Please feel free to add your user name to my taglist to keep updated.

Banner by me and deviders by @cafekitsune

[mochimoqa]

◆◇Mochi's Masterlist◇◆

(Yes, I already had a Masterlist pero I accidentally deleted it, so I needed to make it from scratch again-)

◆Blue Jones Masterlist

🎨♡Laurent LeClaire Masterlist

🌙Steven Grant Masterlist

🌙Marc Spector Masterlist

🔪🌙Jake Lockley Masterlist

💶Anselm Vogelweide Masterlist

👑Duke Leto Atreides Masterlist

🕷🕸Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

🌌Poe Dameron Masterlist

⚡️Basil Stitt Masterlist

🎸🐈Llewyn Davis

——————————————————

MEET THE CREATOR!

——————————————————

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

I'm best known for my c.ai bots, fics, and art!

Also best known for having an unhealthy obsession with Oscar Isaac-

I'm an amateur writer on here and on wattpad! (@/W3irdc0r3_dud3)

If you want a request either for art, bots, or fics, just send me a DM on Tumblr!

IMPORTANT!!

My requests are closed for now!!

My requests are open!!

——————————————————

Español ver.

——————

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

Soy mejor conocido por mis bots c.ai, ¿fics? ¡Y arte!

También mejor conocido por tener una obsesión enfermiza con Oscar Isaac.

¡Soy un escritor aficionado aquí y en Wattpad! (@/W3irdc0r3_dud3)

Si quieres una solicitud de arte, bots o fics, ¡envíame un DM a Tumblr!

¡¡IMPORTANTE!!

¡¡Mis solicitudes están cerradas por ahora!!

¡¡MIS PEDIDOS ESTÁN ABIERTOS!!

——————

Q&A!!

Q: Mochi, what music do you listen to?

A: I usually listen to indie music or some banda music. Pero, I love Kali Uchis!!

My favorite song so far! ^^

——————————————————

[listedbuilding]

kind of annoying trying to find gifs of a movie that stars some popular actor guy everyone is obsessed with. i do not care about oscar whoever just show me fictionalized 1960s greenwich village

[rosesanddecay]

Oscar Isaac Characters Finding You Dead

Minors DNI

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

Sorry if anyone is ooc!

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

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

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

Not proof read or heavily edited

Miguel O’Hara - Villain Attack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Open your eyes… please… mi amor…

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

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

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

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

I failed again…

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

I failed.

I failed.

I failed…

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

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

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

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

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

Where were you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all would get justice for you.

By Konshu’s word, he swore they would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake would do anything to see that smile again.

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

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

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

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

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

Your murderer will regret ever laying a finger on you…

Basil Stitt - Suicide

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

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

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

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

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

What are they doing to your things?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he was also angry.

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

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

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

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

Blue Jones - Murdered by a Client

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

But Blue didn’t expect this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My poor bunny…

Poe Dameron - Spaceship Crash

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

Together, you were going to celebrate the victory.

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

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

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

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

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

He called out your name, to no response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My galaxy, I’m so so sorry…

Nathan Bateman - Killed by a Prototype

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

Not that he ever let you go downstairs, no.

He didn’t need you to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She even looked oddly similar to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He even kept the prototypes locked up no matter what.

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

How idiotic…

Duke Leto Atreides - Poisoning

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

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

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

He wanted to propose eventually.

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

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

In that moment, Leto regretted never marrying you.

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

But this wasn’t worth it.

Your life wasn’t worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You died under his care.

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

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

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

I wish I had made you mine, my dear…

Prince John - Assassination

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

It only made his reputation worse.

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

And now all the citizens hate him, rightfully so.

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

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

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

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

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

The message was received.

John had gotten word of what happened.

He found out about how you begged for your life.

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

It made him angry. It made John furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Car Accident

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

He always was worried and tried to protect you.

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

So why did the world still take you from him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did this happen to you? Why you…

Anselm Vogelweide - Shot on Accident

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

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

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

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

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

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dove…

Llewyn Davis - Suicide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He instantly wished he never opened the door.

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

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

What have you done…

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

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

And that broke his heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘If I had wings, like Norah’s dove,

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

Abel Morales - Accidentally Killed During Work

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

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

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

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

But this was the first time someone actually died…

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

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

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

You were doing a simple house call and sales pitch.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bullet hit you in the Achilles tendon.

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

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

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

That’s what hurt Abel the worst.

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————

Brb sobbing in the club rn…

For real though, thank you for reading!

Feel free to send over any requests/suggestions

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

llewyn davis x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: face sitting

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

word count: 1.4k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

+ @flightlessangelwings

[hoedamn-eron]

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all the parents out there! In celebration (and because I haven't managed to finish my Baby, Please Santi x Reader one shot), here are a list of my fics with daddy Oscar 😉😘

Sports Day - It’s your daughter’s sports day at school, and Jake decides to take part in the “dad race”. (Jake Lockley x Reader)

Baby, Please - Your dating life had been a range of fleeting moments and one night stands. You thought Santiago Garcia would be no different. (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

Shut up, Kid - You awake to your first Mother’s Day with baby Bateman. (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

Bluey! - Nathan discovers your son’s favourite show. (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

Sick Bug - Silas is ill with a bug. (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

Oscar Isaac Characters as Dads (includes Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Blue Jones, William Tell, Laurent LeClaire, Basil Stitt, & Outcome 3)

I will eventually post that one shot, I'll make sure of it. Fingers crossed it's today!

[ladyxskywalker]

Thank you so much for reading & including me on this amazing list ! 🤗💕

*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in May, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

You Are in Love (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @alwritey-aphrodite (yes i am reccing this again. i will be reccing this until it's finished, dill with it)

Running to You, This Feels Like Good News, & Maybe I'll Get Drunk Again (Poe Dameron x F!Solo!Reader) - @dailyreverie

Gardens of Babylon (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Deft Hands (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Offer (Din Djarin x Reader) - @softlyspector

The Two Faces of January

🔥Oxford Comma, Boyfriend, Girlfriend, & Arty Boy (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Triple Frontier

🔥Worth the Risk (bfd!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor (second part)

🔥Family Vacation (bfd!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥A Brilliant Idea (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Distractions (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @princessxkenobi

🔥Relief (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @princessxkenobi

🔥Dusk Till Dawn (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @be-the-spark-flyboy

🔥Belonging (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Moon Knight

🔥Steven's First (Virgin!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Gone Soft: Marc Spector Edition (Marc Spector x Reader) - @romanarose

Merry, Happy III (Jake Lockley x Muslim!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Neck Kisses (Steven Grant x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥C*ck Therapy (Therapist!Steven Grant x Patient!Camgirl!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Bordeaux (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

🔥Dirty Driving (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Drinking with Cupid (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @moonknightly

🔥Making Trouble (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @juneknight

🔥Colorblind (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @astroboots

In the Eyes (Marc Spector x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

All That Matters (Jake Lockley x Reader, references to Marc Spector x Reader) - @midgardian-witch

The Dress (Marc Spector x Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

🔥The Pavlovian Response (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥Extra Credit (Professor!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Pillow Talk (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Just Happy Accidents (Jake Lockley x Reader) - @romanarose

The Last of Us

🔥Old Soul (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥Falling into Place (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @jake-g-lockley

🔥Games (Bodyguard!Joel x Actress!Reader) & 🔥High Enough (Ft. Dieter Bravo) - @psychedelic-ink

Waffle House Confessions (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥Lost in the Darkness (Joel Miller x F!Reader - Mafia AU) - @softlyspector

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Darklight (Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader) - @psychedelic-ink

Inside Llewyn Davis

Intoxicated (Llewyn Davis x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Sucker Punch

🔥A Long Night (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Narcos

🔥Just Friends (Javier Peña x F!Reader) - @pedgeitopascal

The Sun Also Rises (Javier Peña x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch (second part)

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[alwritey-aphrodite]

okay so one thing I could never figure out about llewyn is his cooking skills.

I talked about it with my best friend and asked for her opinion about it because it kept me awake at night, and I just wanted to share with you because now I absolutely see it and I adopted this headcanon and,,,:

llewyn is fucking effortlessly competent at cooking. he doesn’t do it often because.... obvious reasons like, not having a kitchen, but some days he just wants to lift this weight off of your shoulders and he decides to cook for you. he feels like he owes you this, you deserve to have him look out for you just the way you look out for him every day.

whatever he decides he's gonna cook turns out absolutely amazing and he's so fucking nonchalant about it and I don't even think it's modesty, I think he truly doesn’t realize he's really good at it.

I think he would also be the type where if he wakes up and leaves before you in the morning, when you wake up and get ready for work you'll find a box of leftovers he made for you to eat for lunch with a little sticky note on it :3

I don't know I think it's fucking husband material, I need this man

Ok I haven’t responded until now because every time I looked at this ask my brain went 🥰🥹🥰🥹🥰🥹🥰🥹🥰🥹

Like of course he’d be a great cook!! And of course he doesn’t realize it!! But once you mention how much you love his cooking - and not because it means you don’t have to cook but because he could probably be a professional chef if he really wanted to - he starts doing it more and more, especially when he knows you’re coming home from work late and having a warm meal already on the table will make life so much easier for you and he definitely loves cooking together on a Saturday morning or a Friday night where it’s just the two of you and a record and some kitchen shenanigans. However, I think he’d be a shit baker, there’s just something about it that he can’t seem to grasp and whenever he tries it’s either burnt or raw or not mixed enough or overmixed - so he cooks dinner and you make dessert and everything is perfect

[ivystoryweaver]

Day 21: Can't Find the Words (Llewyn Davis)

Notes: Llewyn Davis x gn!reader. Llewyn doesn't feel worthy of a home, domestic fluff

Word Count: 522

Three months since you let Llewyn into your bed.

Two months since he wormed his way into your heart.

One month since you let him share your home.

Llewyn was a beautiful, scattered, devoted, intense, tormented disaster.

He was messy. Dishes piled up. Yet he kept his few belongings in one corner of the den, out of your way.

He often paraded around the house in underwear, or sometimes, nothing at all.

You bought him a winter coat last week. He cried, then wrote a song about it.

He would disappear sometimes for a few days and you would cry.

"Don't wanna be a burden," he would halfheartedly explain, gripping his guitar case guardedly.

"You're not...Llewyn, this is your home now." Reaching for his case, you tried to lighten his load in every way possible. "Come on inside."

He tried to cook sometimes but he burned everything. You ate it anyway.

Gave you all the change from his tip jar "for rent".

He waited every night for you to invite him to bed. He seemed to love your cat and your fireplace, but what about you?

"I can get you your own bed, if you need space," you tried to explain. "If you don't want to sleep with me. You can still stay here."

Booted feet shuffled as he raked a gloved hand through his curls. "I can take the couch, it's all right."

You sighed, exasperated, but not angry. "Llewyn, do you have feelings for me? At all?"

"'Course I do, I..." He stroked his thick beard contemplatively. "You just..." Waving his hand around him, he shook his head. "This is all - it's too much."

"What's too much?" You pressed. "Me? I can give you space."

"No. No, it's not that. I just...can't find the words, really."

Reaching for his hand, you relented. "It's okay."

The next night, he came home late, but found you right away. "Sorry. Had a gig. Good tips."

"That's because you're brilliant," you sweetly returned.

He smiled so big it made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

You nodded toward the stove. "Chili?"

"Uh, soon. Got something for you first."

Gently grasping your hand, he led you to the living room, nodding for you to sit on the sofa. Your heart quickened as he reached for his guitar case.

"Wrote you something."

"Oh wait, let me get my wallet."

"What?" He chuckled, fixing his guitar strap over his shoulder.

"You don't like to play for free. I'll pay." Your eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I'll play for you anytime, sweetheart."

The song was somehow about home. Lyrics told you how he drifted, how he wandered, but now his heart had a tether. The beautiful tenor of his voice weaved and turned exquisitely over the arpeggios plucked by expert fingers.

Your eyes and cheeks were wet as he strummed the final chord.

"Nobody ever wrote me a song before," you tearfully whispered, reaching out for him as he set his instrument aside and knelt down in front of you.

"Nobody ever felt like home before," he returned, brown eyes adoring you as he pressed his lips to yours.

Angstember Masterlist || Misc. Masterlist || Main Masterlist

[ierofrnkk]

So Much More Than Everything

Llewyn Davis x reader (3.7k)

Summary: Llewyn needs your couch for the night. Some unspoken things linger between the two of you.

Content: 18+, gn!reader, smoking (Llewyn and reader), swearing, you make out with Llewyn but nothing more, angst, Llewyn is so, so depressed.

a/n: this sad wet cat of a man has captivated me. I can’t write anything but angst for him sorry lol. title is from ‘pictures of you’ by the cure

-

You knew Llewyn from the way he never put the pillows back on your couch, from the way that he always made himself breakfast in the morning with your eggs. From the way that he always remembered to lock your door when he left.

You didn’t mind the visits, nor did you mind the way that you always seemed to be his last resort when he needed a couch to crash on.

You like to tell yourself that you’re doing him a favor, helping him out after Mike’s death.

You know that it’s not the entire truth.

The Gorfeins were nice, and welcomed him into their home probably more often than they should, but sometimes he was too much for even them. When they send him away, you’re usually up next on the roster.

Which is exactly why now—at such an ungodly hour—he’s standing in your doorway, guitar case and bag in hand, looking at you with those big, tired eyes; he’s desperate.

There’s a Llewyn-shaped dent in the couch, carved into the material from how often he’s slept there.

You have the space, and he needs the sleep.

It’s late—you’re not even sure what time it is—but the heavy blanket of silence that’s settled over your apartment and the streets below indicate that it’s pretty late.

You consider chastising him for showing up at your door in the middle of the night, for backing you into a corner as far as letting him stay; you know that if you turn him away, you’ll be an ass for doing so.

You don’t have any choice in the matter.

You stand in the doorway for a few beats, debating if being a good Samaritan is really worth losing sleep over.

Unfortunately, you’re vulnerable to those soft, tired eyes of his.

He’s in luck for tonight.

After another beat, you step aside, allowing him entry into your apartment, which he immediately accepts as he steps inside.

He’s been here enough times now that your place is familiar to him, so he needs little help in getting himself situated.

—

You watch as he sets his things down beside the couch, taking extra care to make sure his guitar care is put down carefully—he’d probably be on the wrong side of inconsolable if anything happened to it.

Once everything is put away safely beside your couch, he takes a seat, running a hand through messy curls—you can see that he’s tired, and something about his demeanor says that a good night’s sleep probably won’t fix it.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he murmurs, his tone soft as he breaks the silence in the room.

“Gorfeins couldn’t take me anymore; I needed an escape route.”

You shake your head—a knee-jerk response to his apology—you’re a little surprised that the Gorfeins have sent him packing, considering the way that they’re usually bending over backwards to accommodate him.

It’s apparent that something happened—probably some argument that’ll be forgotten by morning—but you won’t mention it unless he does.

“It’s no trouble,” you offer, tone matching his as you speak—as much as his appearance was unexpected and a little inconvenient, it doesn’t bother you as much as it probably should.

“They’ll come around.”

He gives a soft huff of a laugh, leaning against the back of the couch as he listens to you speak.

Deep down, he knows that you’re right. Within a day or so, they’ll be over the moon about having him over so that he can try Lillian’s “famous“ moussaka, or whatever it is that she makes the next time he comes to stay.

He lets your words linger in the air for a moment, glancing from the coffee table to the windowsill, searching for his pack of cigarettes.

You watch as he searches briefly for the pack of cigarettes that he absolutely did not bring in with him; it’s only a matter of time before he asks you for one, so you beat him to the punch.

There’s a pack of Marlboro Reds that you keep in one of the drawers of your kitchen. You’ll never outwardly admit that you keep them there for him, but you know that he’s the reason.

Quickly retreating to the kitchen, you return a moment later—having retrieved the pack—and hand it to him like you’ve been listening to his every thought.

“Here,” you say as you give him the pack, and he takes it with a degree of gratitude that you scarcely see from him.

You can see the questions behind his eyes: Why do you have this? How did you know? So, before he can spiral, you elaborate.

“I keep them for emergencies. Never know when someone—“ your gaze briefly flicks down to him where he sits on your couch “—might need one.”

He gives a silent nod of understanding, taking a single smoke from the pack and holding it lightly between his lips as he fumbles for his lighter.

With that familiar click, he lights that silver lighter of his and brings it to the end of his cigarette; the warm orange glow of the flame lights up his features in a way that is just unfairly pretty.

You try not to stare.

It doesn’t go very well.

His eyes are closed as he takes a drag; dark, long lashes stark against his skin. You wonder if it was even worth it to have offered him the smokes in the first place.

He exhales, and then extends a hand to you, lit cigarette held loosely between two fingers.

Definitely worth it.

You take a drag just as he did, and the two of you bask in this silent exchange for a few minutes.

A part of you considers talking to him, asking him what happened at the Gorfeins’, but you decide against it.

He doesn’t seem much for words at the moment anyway.

Llewyn takes another drag from the cigarette, reaching over the coffee table to flick the excess ash into the ashtray.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he chimes in after a long stretch of silence.

“I can tell you’re just dying for me to get the fuck out of here.”

Llewyn is the uncontested king of beating himself down; you’ve had the passing thought that he should make that his career instead of music.

You accept the smoke when he offers it back to you, taking a drag as you try to find the best thing to say to him.

“Don’t put words in my mouth; I never said that.” Is what you decide on.

That gives him pause, and it suddenly becomes hard for him to meet your gaze.

He reaches for the cigarette quickly once you hand it to him, immediately taking another drag. You should probably open a window. You decide that you don’t care.

When he exhales, you watch the way the smoke rises towards the ceiling, dissipating into nothing. He looks like he wants to float away and dissolve with it.

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, eyes trained on the wooden surface of your coffee table.

You don’t really have a response to that.

If you deny it, he can just insist that you’re lying to him, and if you accept it, you’re just hurting him further.

Changing the subject seems easier than trying to hash out your feelings about him.

“How long do you need to stay?” You ask, and it’s almost sweet.

He immediately seems grateful for the change of conversation, the slightest bit of tension releasing from his shoulders.

“Few days,” he starts, not as timid as he was before.

The usual rounds, then.

“Gonna see if Jim and Jean can take me in for a day or two.”

You know this game by this point—couch roulette—Llewyn will go through his address book, calling every number he has and praying that at least one person in the five boroughs isn’t pissed at him.

It’s got to be tiring.

“Doesn’t Jean hate you?” You ask, though the tone is much more lighthearted than the words suggest.

He scoffs, a sort of dry laugh that’s accompanied by a shake of his head.

“Probably, but it’s not like she’s going to kick me out,” he flashes you a smile, and for a moment you forget about everything else but him.

He offers you the cigarette again, but you turn it down politely—the ash has burned down close to the filter—he takes one last quick drag before putting it out in the ashtray.

You’re only the slightest bit embarrassed by the way your gaze lingered on his hand for a moment too long.

By this point in the night, you’ve silently decided that you’re not going to be going to bed anytime soon, not with the way he’s looking at you.

For as long as you’ve been letting Llewyn crash on your couch, there’s been a sort of something between the two of you that’s never quite been figured out.

You know that he’s had his fair share of problems with partners in the past—Jean, Mike, Diane, the list goes on—but that doesn’t deter you.

Maybe it’s that self-deprecating, sad puppy demeanor that draws you in.

That probably says something about you as a person, but you try not to dwell on it too much.

After a long beat of silence, he shifts on the couch, giving you a slight nod of his head, gesturing for you to come closer.

“Sit,” he requests, the tone of his voice the farthest thing from demanding.

You oblige, because it doesn’t hurt to sit near him every once in a while.

He looks pensive; though, when doesn’t he?

You watch as he brings a hand up, carding his fingers through those dark curls. Self-soothing, you think. The notion of having a serious conversation with Llewyn isn’t completely out of the question, but you know that it must be serious if he’s willing to talk about it.

He eventually breaks that silence again when he speaks, even though he’s not looking at you directly now.

“I appreciate you dealing with all of my bullshit.”

You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him; tell him that it’s not bullshit; you’re fucked just like the rest of us. You decide against it for now, instead settling for a polite smile and a lingering glance.

You’re only a little hopeless.

He sees right through that smile, knowing you have more to say, but thankfully doesn’t pry.

It seems like neither of you are much for words tonight.

After a few beats of sitting side-by-side on your couch, shoulders pressed together, he leans against the back of your couch, letting his head fall against the cushions.

As if compelled by an external force (definitely not your own deep-seated desires), you follow his lead, leaning back against your couch and settling perhaps a bit too close to him.

You can feel how warm he is beside you, and for a moment, you’re convinced that you should be condemned to hell for even entertaining this—whatever this is.

All of that is forgotten when he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You only feel a little like a middle schooler with their first crush.

“Llewyn,” you start, unsure of where you’re headed.

He seems to understand, interjecting before you can get any further.

“I know, I know. Indulge me for a second, would you?”

And you can’t say no, not when he’s so close, and god, it’s been an embarrassingly long time since anyone’s held you this way.

You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that this can all be explained away by the late hour.

He turns to look at you, and it doesn’t take much effort in the small space that’s left between you. From this close up, you could probably count every one of his eyelashes; he’d probably let you, but you’ll save it for another time.

He leans forward slightly, enough that his nose brushes yours and you can feel every breath—warm and soft—against your lips.

For the briefest of moments, you’re convinced that you’ve fallen asleep, that this is some sick dream, but you can feel him so close to you, and you’re reminded of the reality of it all.

His words from a few moments ago echo loudly in your ears—just indulge me for a second, would you? All you can think about is how you’re indulging him simply by letting him stay the night—you don’t owe him this—but his nose brushes yours, bringing you back to the present, and you’re not thinking about who owes what anymore.

You don’t even register when exactly his hand ended up at the side of your face, palm cradling your jaw in a way that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You know it’s been impossibly difficult for him, from his music to Mike and everything in between—it’s been hard. That’s what you’re using as your excuse when you let him draw you in closer, and the brush of his lips against yours is all the convincing you need.

He kisses you softly, but there’s a tinge of desperation behind it, like he’s a man starved.

Knowing Llewyn, he probably is.

He’s holding you carefully, though, like you’ll break apart if he holds you with any sort of real weight. It’s only when you bring a hand up, encircling his wrist with your fingers, that he comes to his senses.

The hesitation melts away, and he finds his confidence, which is only usually reserved for his six minutes onstage at the Gaslight.

The kiss deepens, but in a way that you really wouldn’t have expected from Llewyn. It’s hungry, like he’s been waiting his entire life for you to give him the go-ahead.

His beard is a little rough against your skin, but you don’t mind; it’s grounding you to the fact that he’s the one you’re kissing. No one else, not someone who’s going to leave the second he’s gotten what he’s wanted.

Llewyn can’t leave. It’s not like he has anywhere to go if he does.

It’s not long before you stop him, hands finding gentle purchase on either side of his face, pulling him away from you and creating that space between the two of you.

He goes willingly, giving no resistance when you move him.

Llewyn may be an idiot, and impulsive, but not that much.

“Is..are you..” he manages, seemingly unsure of where to look; your eyes, your lips, the clock on the wall.

“I’m not doing this, Llewyn.”

For the briefest of moments, he looks utterly dejected, his eyes going round and his brows pinching together slightly, before the expression fades away into something more neutral. He nods, and before he completely shuts off for the night, you quickly do damage control.

“Not tonight,” you emphasize, brushing a gentle hand through his dark curls.

He seems to accept that a little bit better, nodding again in acknowledgment and leaning into that slight touch of affection.

You hold him in that half-embrace for a while, something he seems to deeply appreciate. You don’t quite realize how much, until you meet his eyes once again and see that they’re glassy, wet with tears that threaten to fall.

“Llewyn..” you start, though not really intending to finish your thought.

He gets it, blinking a few times and sniffling for good measure.

“It’s sad, I know,” is the first thing he says, as self-deprecating as he’ll ever be. “Crashing on your couch and then crying like—like some fucking kid.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, fingers resting gently on the skin. You give him space, leaving the floor open for him to continue, if that’s what he wants.

“I feel totally fucked, you know? Like- like if I don’t get it together right now, I’ll end up—I don’t know—selling ballpoint pens, or some bullshit.”

You bite back a laugh—only because the example he gives is a little ridiculous—but you still listen intently, nodding along as he talks and gets his frustrations out.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he settles on, leaving it vague—intentionally or not—whether he means music, or life as a whole.

You decide to ignore it for now.

“I’m not making any fuckin’ money off of this new solo-record bullshit, my sister keeps telling me to just…hang up the guitar and go back to the merchant marines.”

He shifts in his seat, staying close to you but needing just a little room to breathe.

“I don’t even have my own place—“ he scoffs, the sound dry and bitter. “I don’t even have a fucking winter coat.”

You avert your eyes at that. You feel bad, obviously, but you know that it isn’t his goal—he’s not trying to make you feel guilty, but you do. It’s in your nature.

You let his words marinate for a few moments, settling like a warm blanket over the chilled night air.

For a brief period, the only sound in the room is Llewyn’s breathing, and the occasional noise from your radiator, fighting to keep your apartment warm from the cold outside.

“This just…feels like a fight I’m always going to lose.”

It’s hard, hearing him talk about himself this way. Not like it’s anything new, but it’s still hard to hear; you care about him too much to think that he likes himself so little.

The sad part is, you know that it’s true.

“You have a lot of fight left in you, Llewyn Davis.”

You don’t even think about the words as you say them, just knowing them to be true and thinking no further than that.

He nods, sitting on your words for a few moments. The glassiness in his eyes is back—a shine that’s subtle in the dim light, but present nonetheless. It doesn’t take a genius to know that your words have struck a chord deep within him, but this time there’s no apology necessary, no damage control to do.

He needed to hear that, and you both know it.

There’s a little bit of pressure from your hand on the back of his neck, and in a surprising act of vulnerability, he leans with your touch, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You hold him like that for a little while, focused on the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart.

“Don’t sleep on the couch,” you start, speaking without thinking once again. “My bed’s big enough.”

You can hear the way his breath catches for a moment, before you feel him nod against your shoulder—he’ll gladly share your bed with you any day.

There are a few more beats of silence before he speaks up.

“I’m sorry for trying to sleep with you,” he murmurs, his tone dancing a line between being serious and joking.

You laugh softly, and you swear that you can feel the way the tension lifts from his very bones.

He laughs with you, and you’re convinced that his voice has never sounded better.

For the sake of his sanity and his career, you decide against telling him that.

Eventually, he pulls back from the embrace, his eyes still a little red and watery, but he’s clearly done crying. You’re just happy that he got it all out of his system.

He doesn’t go far, staying close enough that you’re able to feel his breath against your cheek, and it’s not very long before he’s leaning in for another kiss.

You let him kiss you. It’s different this time.

It’s soft, and vulnerable, and everything that Llewyn never allows himself to be. He tastes faintly of cigarettes and mint, but you find that you don’t mind it all too much.

It’s him.

You pull away eventually, just enough to press your forehead against his, your nose brushing his every now and then.

“Come to bed with me, Llewyn Davis,” you tell him, saying his name with more reverence than you’ve had for anything you’d ever said in church growing up.

He nods briefly. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You stand, and he follows, looking both out of place and fitting in perfectly.

He’s occupied little corners of your life for longer than you’ve realized, until this moment, at least.

The extra blankets you keep behind the couch. The spare key that you’ve left with your super “just in case he comes”. The pack of cigarettes that lives in a drawer in your kitchen.

He leaves his things on the couch—he’s not sleeping there tonight, so for once, it’s going to just be used for temporary storage.

As you head to your bedroom, he follows close behind, kicking his shoes off somewhere along the way.

Your bed isn’t anything impressive, but it’s big enough for the two of you.

He seems grateful for anything better than a couch. You bite back a tease about how your couch “isn’t good enough” for him.

The covers are pulled back, you settle onto your bed like you do every night, and after some very light persuasion, he joins you.

He all but melts into the mattress, and you briefly wonder how long it’s been since he’s actually slept in a proper bed.

The thought is pushed aside when the weight of his arm settles around your waist, and you can’t imagine being anywhere else. For a moment, you ask yourself why it took you so long to get him here.

Everything happens for a reason, you figure.

“Sleep,” you tell him gently, still feeling a vein of tension in him as he holds you.

“We’ll figure something out.”

It’s an offer, laid out on the table. You don’t mind him being here, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It just makes sense.

He’s not going to be one to turn down such an offer, so you feel him nod behind you, his arm tightening around your waist minutely.

“Okay,” is all he says, and it’s enough for you.

Llewyn is like a cat that no one really owns, but that everyone kind of cares for. You’ve taken him in, shown him that there is some semblance of hope left for him.

Maybe you just have a soft spot for the strays.

[queerponcho]

OH MY GOD I AM SO DEAD💀 THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD HOLY SHIT🤌🏽

i would love to be on ur taglist if thats possible?😫🫶🏽

Service Fee

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 3035

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Llewyn nodded.

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

“Of course.” Llewyn took another shot. 

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

Llewyn’s ears perked up.“$500?”

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

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

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

You had stared at him uncertainly. “Llewyn-”

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

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

“This isn’t... illegal is it?” 

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

“Does he... want anything particular?” 

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

“How much did you have to drink?” 

.

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

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

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

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

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

He gave you a look. 

The room was surprisingly nice. Clean and well kept. 

Llewyn sat gingerly on the bed.

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

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

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

Okay, that smile was a little creepy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t know... gotta woo me first.”

“I have to woo you?”

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

“You know what?” 

“What?” 

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

“What?” He chuckles. 

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

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

“Why do you think?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, okay. He was really into this. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Llewyn-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby-”

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

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

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

“More than okay.” 

The smile grows. 

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________________

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[emma23]

Turning pages together :

Llewyn Davis x reader

The early afternoon light filtered through the curtains of Llewyn’s modest apartment, casting golden streaks over the cluttered coffee table. Vinyl records and guitar strings competed for space with half-empty mugs and a worn-out copy of The Great Gatsby. You sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through the book with idle fingers while Llewyn tuned his guitar. The familiar discord of his strings floated through the room like a companionable hum, grounding the space in quiet simplicity.

“You’ve read that thing so many times,” he remarked without looking up, his voice tinged with mock exasperation. “What’s left to discover, huh?”

“Maybe I just enjoy it,” you retorted, not bothering to hide your smile. “Unlike you, I don’t overanalyze everything to death.”

“Yeah?” He plucked a string, testing the sound before nodding in approval. “I’m just saying, don’t get so attached to Gatsby. Spoiler: it doesn’t end well.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “I don’t need a lecture on heartbreak from you, Llewyn. I get enough of that in real life.”

He froze for a moment, his fingers stilling over the strings. The words were lighthearted, but there was an edge to them, a reflection of the struggle you both knew too well—his uphill battle with music, the constant weight of simply surviving.

“Hey,” Llewyn said after a pause, his voice softening. “You’re not exactly stuck in the sunshine business either, you know.”

“Touché,” you admitted with a sigh. “But at least I don’t live with an existential crisis strapped to my back.”

He laughed—a real, throaty sound that made his shoulders shake. “Fair enough.”

Later, the two of you had abandoned your respective distractions and ended up on the floor, a shared blanket draped over your legs. Llewyn, for all his cynicism, had a secret soft spot for reading aloud. It had started accidentally months ago when you’d made him read a passage from your favorite book. Now, it was an unspoken ritual between you.

“You take the next page,” he muttered, nudging the book into your hands.

“No way,” you countered, smirking. “You skipped three lines last time, Mr. ‘Attention to Detail.’”

“Did not!” he protested, his brows furrowing indignantly.

“Did too,” you teased, leaning closer. “You’re just mad because I caught you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, softening. “Maybe I just wanted to hear you talk for a change,” he said, his tone quieter now.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you averted your eyes, suddenly self-conscious. “Flattery isn’t gonna get you out of this, Llewyn.”

He laughed again, and the sound vibrated against your shoulder where he rested his head. You didn’t argue when he reached for the book and continued reading.

The intimacy crept up on you without warning, like a song that began softly before overtaking the room. You didn’t realize how close you’d leaned into him until his voice faltered mid-sentence.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his lips barely brushing your temple.

“Hmm?”

His hesitation was tangible, a pause heavy with unspoken thoughts. When he finally leaned in, the kiss was unhurried, careful, like turning the fragile pages of a beloved book. You melted into it, your fingers tangling in his hair as the paperback fell forgotten between you.

“Been waiting for that all day,” Llewyn confessed when you broke apart, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Could’ve said something,” you teased, breathless.

“Yeah, because I’m great at expressing myself,” he deadpanned, drawing a laugh from you.

Hours later, the afternoon light had faded, leaving the room in a soft glow from the streetlamp outside. You lay tangled in the blankets, your skin pressed against Llewyn’s, the weight of his arm draped over your waist. He was humming softly, an unfinished melody that danced between melancholy and hope.

“What’s that?” you asked, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“Just something I’m working on,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there. “Not as beautiful as you reading Fitzgerald like your life depends on it,” he teased, though his tone was impossibly tender.

You laughed, swatting at his chest. “Shut up.”

“Never,” he replied smugly, holding you closer.

As silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant hum of the city, you felt a rare sense of peace. For once, there was no urgency, no chaos—just you and Llewyn, turning pages together in your own quiet story.

“Guess I’m stuck with you,” Llewyn quipped, breaking the stillness. “Not like anyone else would willingly put up with my crap.”

“True,” you shot back with a grin. “But lucky for you, I’m terrible at making good decisions.”

He smirked. “Guess that’s why you’re here.”

“You’re insufferable,” you groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

“And yet, you love me.”

“Don’t push your luck, Davis.”