#hhkhjgfkhds i love this fic so much

[galaxysgal]

Five Minutes to Midnight || Llewyn Davis

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x gn!reader

Warnings: Swearing cause it’s Llewyn, very brief mentions of alcohol/being drunk but like, it’s just a) Llewyn drinking one (1) glass of wine and b) random drunk peple in the streets

Rating: Teen for swearing

A/N: I came up with this idea yesterday. less than 48 hours later, a fully formed fic had sprung forth from my fingertips. Thanks to @tinyphantomsalad for putting up with and answering my 19273673 questions in the groupchat and for hyping me up as I wrote this. And also for reading it before everyone else. I have a feeling I’m going to be writing more Llewyn in the future, hes just so... loveable

Wordcount: 2.162 wow thats crazy

Tagging: @softly-sad :))) im really glad someone (aside from jim) was interested in this!!

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Five minutes to midnight.

He was there on the couch, exactly where he had been nearly all evening, a worn tweed jacket pulled tightly around his shoulders. It wasn't even cold. His chill ran bone deep, like he'd never be warm again. You knew this when his hands brushed against yours, his fingers like ice.

Llewyn Davis. The man that had captivated you since the first time you saw him on stage at the Gaslight, since the first moment you heard him sing. There was an air of sweet mystery about him that you wanted to pick apart and unpack. You wanted to know him.

You knew him through the Gorfeins, your father's professor friends. You had been on winter break three years ago, home from college for a few weeks, when he first appeared in your life.

You crossed your arms, pulling your coat tighter around you. "How long do we have to stay?" you asked. You were in the middle of a good book, finally finding the time to read over the holiday. 

"Just a little while sweetheart," your dad answered.

The three of you entered the Gaslight, the smell of alcohol greeting your nose as you shrugged off your jacket, knocking snow from your boots. Your mom immediately spotted the Gorfeins, waving happily to them and pulling you along through the crowded bar.

You heard him before you saw him, ears perking up at the rich honey of his voice- and boy, when you saw him… He was a few years older than you, with a halo of dark curls and a close cropped beard to match. His eyes were closed as he sang, his head tossed back as if he was singing directly to the gods.

You heard your name being called by someone, your parents or maybe the Gorfeins, but you didn't listen to their question. 

"Who is that," you asked softly, not turning your head for more than a second to address Mrs. Gorfein. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

"Oh that's Llewyn, Llewyn Davis," Mrs. Gorfein answered. "A sweet boy really, it's a shame..."

You hadn't heard the rest.

Four minutes to midnight.

Mr. Gorfien clapped you on your shoulder. "Four more minutes!" You smiled politely at him, wondering why you had come to this party in the first place. 

You weren't one to attend social gatherings when you could be at home in your apartment, cozied up by the window with a good book. Right now you could have been at home sipping tea and watching the snowfall, just like you had last new years, and the new years before that, and as many new years as you could remember ever since you were a kid. 

The Gorfiens often hosted parties and dinners, and they always invited you but you rarely showed. They just... weren't your people. They were kind, and Mrs. Gorfien was an amazing cook, but you just didn't fit in there. 

The room was full of people you barely knew, all engrossed in conversation with each other. You had tried small talk for a while, chatting about your education and your job teaching at a local elementary school, but it all felt forced. Like you were just waiting for midnight so you could sing along to Auld Lang Syne and get out of there. 

The only moment you felt truly comfortable was talking to Llewyn. The two of you had been milling about by the punch bowl, awkwardly shuffling around when other guests tried to get to the finger foods. You had bumped into him, nearly knocking over the table, and he had caught you by the arm.

"Woah, easy there." Llewyn saved you just before you landed the punch bowl.

"Sorry, I'm a clutz and a clown," you said, wincing at your choice of words. But Llewyn chuckled softly, and you felt your heart melt just a little. Maybe this party wasn't so bad.

You shook your head, reminding yourself- as your mother has always reminded you- not to dwell on memories. Even if that memory was only thirty minutes old.

Three minutes to midnight. 

You grabbed two party poppers from a basket on the table and headed over to where he sat. You settled down down between Jean and Llewyn on the small couch, your limbs feeling acutely awkward as you straightened your back. 

Llewyn was nursing a glass of wine, his body turned slightly away from where you were sitting. You knew it wasn't because of you, but a little part of you wanted him to turn to you, to greet you with that lopsided smile. To look at you with those deep brown eyes. To say your name like it was precious.

You left him alone though, keeping to yourself and watching the TV coverage of the Times Square ball drop. Maybe I'll go there next year, you thought to yourself. Who were you kidding, you knew you wouldn't go. Big crowds in the freezing cold, the snow melting and soaking through all your layers. It wasn't your type of thing.

A woman with red hair appeared in front of you, her smile sweet if not a little patronizing. "Hi, can you make room? My knees are killing me."

From the corner of your eye you saw Llewyn look up at her, then down at the floor. There were two options here, and you knew which one you were going to choose. You wondered if he knew too.

"Of course," you said, and scooted over towards Llewyn. You were so close you would feel heat radiating off him, if he had any heat to give. You sat stiffly for a few minutes, avoiding even looking in Llewyn's direction. If you could just find a natural way to start a conversation, then you could talk to him. It was easy to talk to him, it was just so hard to start. Maybe you could-

"Hey," Llewyn bumped his shoulders gently against yours. "Relax, you know I don't bite."

You turned to look at him, blushing lightly. "Sorry, you know me. Parties aren't really my thing."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "Yeah, same here. But it's warm in here and it's cold out there and ive got fuck all to be doing, so here I am."

You nodded, beginning to relax as the two of you slipped into comfortable silence.

Two minutes to midnight.

"Did the Gorfiens ask you to lead Auld Lang Syne?" 

Llewyn chuckled, "yeah, they ask me every year. This is the first time I agreed though."

"Oh yeah?" you bumped your shoulders against his. "What changed your mind?"

His fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of his coat, picking at a loose string. "Earlier you, uh… you said it was the only part of the night you were looking forward to." He shrugged, "I dunno, I figured I'd make it enjoyable."

You blushed deep red, "oh- oh. Thank you."

He nodded, eyes dropping from where they had locked with yours. You saw his tongue dart out over his lips as his fingers played at a tear in the elbow of his jacket. He seemed nervous.

"I could patch that up for you," you murmured, reaching out to touch the rip. Your fingers brushed his, they were ice cold like always. He flinched a little as you touched him, but you didn't let it phase you. "It can't be great for keeping you warm if it's got a tear."

He shook his head, and you could tell he was about to protest. "Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's no problem at all," you interrupted. "You know my address, just come over any time." You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his forearm affectionately.

"Thank you," he whispered.

You watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips. Involuntarily, you did the same. It would be so easy to kiss him. To place your hand on his cheek, his beard scratching against your palm, and just bring your lips to his. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, multitudes of words building up on the tip of your tongue.

He was so close. Just a whisper away.

One minute to midnight.

The news anchor on the TV announced one minute to midnight, pulling the two of you out of your bubble.

"If you haven't already got someone to kiss, you'd better hurry!"

Llewyn rolled his eyes, turning to you. "Never gotten a New Years kiss," he said with a chuckle. "Guess it's not for everyone."

"I haven't either," you admitted.

"It's a dumb tradition really."

"Uh huh." You nodded along, eyes drifting back down to his lips as he spoke.

"Fuck, I'm just ready for it to be over. I can go home with Jean and Jim, and tomorrow will be just like any other day. Jean'll be shit to me in the morning, and I'll stop by Merchant Marines and try to convince 'em to let me join, or I'll go to Joy's for lunch." He sighed, downing the rest of his wine, "Maybe I'll visit my dad, I don't fuckin' know. But… it's just another day. Not anything special."

He trailed off and you realized you'd been staring unabashedly at him the whole time.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm sorry," he ran a hand through his hair and down his face, scratching at his beard. "Put one glass of wine in me and I'm rambling on like my goddamn sister. I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"Come home with me-" you blurted, just as the guests began to count down from ten.

"Ten!"

"What?!"

"Nine!"

"Don't go to Jean and Jim's. Stay with me."

"Eight!"

"You don't have to do that, I've made arrangements…" 

"Seven!"

"Jean won't care, Llewyn, Stay with me."

"Six!"

"I don't wanna be a burden-"

"Five!"

"You're not. I want to take care of you."

"Four!"

"I- shit..."

"Three!"

"Let me take care of you."

"Two!"

"Can I- fuck. Can I kiss you?"

"One!"

"God, yes-"

"Happy New Year!"

His lips crashed into yours, his cold hands coming up to your shoulders. Your own hands rest on his cheeks, his beard soft and scratchy under your palm. Just as you'd imagined it countless times before. It was desperate, the two of you trying to be as close as humanly possible after spending years on the brink of this, dancing about each other from a distance. You didn't want the distance anymore. You wanted each other.

After what felt like a lifetime you pulled away, grinning as you rested your forehead against his. "I liked that," you murmur.

"I like you," Llewyn whispers in reply.

"Llewyn-" you give him a gentle kiss, thumb brushing over his jaw.

Mrs. Gorfien clinked a knife against a wine glass, bringing everyone's attention to the grand piano in the corner. "Llewyn, dear, where are you?"

"Fuck- the fuckin' song-" he scrunches up his nose in annoyance, "I'm sorry-"

You shush him, placing a finger on his lips. "Go sing. More kissing later."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Ten minutes past midnight.

The air in the Village was electric. People were spilling out of clubs and bars, shouting drunkenly in the streets. They were throwing snowballs at each other, kissing strangers on the sidewalk. For once you wondered if maybe, just maybe, going out once in a while might not be that bad. After all, it had given you a kiss with Llewyn Davis.

You tucked the hand that wasn't holding his into your pocket, your fingers feeling the unused party poppers. You pulled them out and handed one to Llewyn as you made your way through a crowd outside a bar, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

You pulled the string on yours, sending confetti into the streets- and into the drinks of a few drunken passersby. It didn't seem to phase them.

Llewyn grinned mischievously, pulling the string on his own popper. "Happy New Year!" he bellowed, laughing from deep in his chest. His eyes were sparkling in the lights, big and bright. He looked good in the glow of New York City.

"This is a good look on you," you told him, taking his hand once again.

"And what look would that be?" he asked, squeezing your hand. You thought about it, searching for the right word as you waited for the crosswalk timer to change. 

"Happiness," you decided. "Mischief, laughter. New York. It all looks good on you."

He ducked his head, blushing softly. "It's because of you," he replied, knocking his shoulders against yours. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He looked at you, just like you had wished for so many times. Like you had hung the moon and stars. "I'm thinkin' maybe tomorrow won't be shitty. Maybe tomorrow won't be just another day. Cause, fuck, now I've got someone. Now I've got you."

"And I've got you," you whisper back. "It's gonna be a good year, Llewyn."

"A good year," he echos.

End

#llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #inside llewyn davis #llewyn davis imagine #oscar isaac #mags writes #hhkhjgfkhds i love this fic so much #like #so fucking much #bc i love llewyn so much