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eyelessfaces · 6 months

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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

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bits-and-babs · 2 years

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𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐑 — 𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐘𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

-> OCT. 18 : HAIR PULLING

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

WC: 1013

[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END

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

#llewyn davis x y/n #llewyn davis #inside llewyn davis #llewyn davis x you #llewyn davis fic #llewyn davis fanfiction #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis imagine #Oscar Isaac #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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ivystoryweaver · 4 months

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Fairytale of New York

Summary: A tired, pathetic puppy wanders into your diner on Christmas Eve. Things...escalate.

Pairing: Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewyn Davis x f!reader who wants what she wants

Word Count: 2.2k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language, mentions of past mistreatment, talk of contraception, gun but no violence, oral -f and m rec., not beta'd

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Bone-weary.

Your grandmother used to say it.

The man in front of you looked deep-in-his-bones, forlornly, kicked-puppy exhausted.

Which was a feat in and of itself, seeing how you were surrounded this evening by hungry, homeless people, and he was definitely the most handsome one by far.

Chocolate curls tumbled effortlessly across his forehead. His dark beard was kempt - not the fuzzy, matted mess of the men around him.

At first glance, you wondered if he was here to order a regular meal or volunteer. He almost looked put-together enough.

But he sighed - a bone-weary, defeated, groaning sigh.

"Cold night," you commented, noticing how he struggled to create even the tiniest spark of warmth from his corduroy blazer and wool scarf. He seemed to try and make himself smaller, as if willing the too-thin layers of fabric to truly envelop him.

"No shit," he fired back, clenching his fingerless glove around the handle of his guitar case. Noticing your look of slight amusement, he sighed, tiredly. "Sorry. Long night. Wondering if I could get some coffee?"

"Sure thing," you nodded past him to an empty two-top, offering him a warm smile.

Your boss Sal was a hard ass with a heart of gold. On Christmas Eve, anyone could eat free from ten to midnight at this fine dining establishment where you earned your measly paycheck.

You were living the dream - serving diner tables. But Sal was good to you and the other guys and gals you called coworkers - granting holiday bonuses and sometimes, you could swear he beefed up your tips at the end of the night. Just a couple dollars here or there, but it helped.

You returned to the pathetic puppy of a man with a fresh, hot cup of coffee. "Want something to eat? Everything's on the house tonight."

One eyebrow shot up curiously. "Free? You're serious."

"It's Christmas Eve," you said mysteriously, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell. "Sal's got a soft spot for people who need a hot meal and got nowhere to go."

Kicked Puppy nodded, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

"So, what'll it be, handsome? You want something to warm you up besides that coffee? Or do you have a pressing holiday engagement?"

Narrowing his tired, dark eyes, he looked like he was trying to come up with a clever reply, but ultimately let out a defeated, bitter-ish chuckle. "Got friends, but...every one of them's pissed at me. On my own tonight."

He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm kind of an asshole sometimes."

Wagging your finger, you went along with him, playfully. "I could tell that about you, right when you walked in. I took one look and thought, 'that guy is definitely an asshole. Probably shouldn't serve him.'"

He almost chuckled, but it was a weak laugh at best.

"Bowl of chili sound good? Or...I have chicken noodle, or a hamburger. Not much left in the kitchen," you offered.

A few minutes later, Mr. Handsome Kicked Puppy sipped his bowl of chili while you finished up with your other customers. A few of the homeless guys liked to flirt with you, but they were pretty harmless.

Everyone knew not to cross Sal and his employees anyway.

You noticed Kicked Puppy's gaze fixed on you, so you made your way back over and checked to see if he needed a refill.

"I'm good," he waved you off, but something made you linger. Probably the fact that he was kind of beautiful.

"You a singer?" You prodded, nodding to his guitar case.

He made a face - seemed to be a sore spot for him, but concurred. "Sang across the street tonight. You ever been?"

Peering out the window, you read the club's neon sign. "No, but I always wanted to. What kind of music?"

"The only kind," he shrugged.

You motioned to the spot across from him. "Mind if I sit a minute? Feet are killing me. Promise I won't ask you to sing."

He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, eyeing you curiously. "Oh, you won't?"

"'Course not," you smiled, waving your hand dismissively. "Everyone knows musicians hate that. It's like...your living. You can't just sing for free."

His eyebrows shot up as he leaned in. "You're mocking me..."

"No," you laughed. "I'm serious. It would be like someone asking me to serve drinks at a party without paying me." You motioned around you. "Not much of a career but I should still get paid for it."

"Thank you." He gestured animatedly. "My...friends - some of the people who usually let me crash - always try to parade me out at dinner parties, like an attraction. Fucking annoying."

He paused for a moment. "Almost feel like I owe them sometimes, you know... Can't do it, though."

"You have your pride," you sympathetically reasoned. "That's fair enough."

You stood, reaching to collect his dirty dishes. "So, who's couch is it tonight if everyone's pissed at you?"

Running a gloved hand over his beard, he shook his head and shrugged. "What time do you close?"

"Midnight."

He slowly nodded.

"What's your name, singer?"

"Llewyn."

You smiled softly and introduced yourself. "You don't have anywhere to go after midnight, do you?"

He shook his head as his gaze dropped.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

12:24 A.M. - Christmas

"Can't believe you're letting a strange man sleep in your apartment," the handsome bone-weary puppy voiced as you turned the key in your deadbolt.

"You're not a stranger anymore, Llewyn," you replied, trying to find just the right way to wiggle your key... "Got it! Damn thing sticks all the time."

Shouldering your way inside, you tossed your bag on the tiniest kitchen bar in existence, motioning for him to come on in.

"Like I told you - it's not much. You might be warmer sleeping in a car, but the love seat will keep you off this frigid, hard floor. And the water's warm, since we're over the diner. Sal's my landlord too. He keeps everything running nice enough. Cheap ass on heat though."

"No, I really appreciate it," he gratefully returned, “especially on Christmas. You sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No..." You let out a wistful sigh. "No, I don't have anyone." You smirked at him playfully. "But I do own a revolver if you're having any weird ideas."

"Holy shit," he whistled. "Glad you take care of yourself, I guess."

Llewyn reveled in your attention and care over the next half hour. You made a batch of hot cocoa while he took the warmest shower he'd had in weeks. You turned on a Christmas record and found a couple of thick blankets for him to sleep (or attempt to sleep) cramped up on the love seat.

"Thank you for this," he quietly voiced, sipping his cocoa, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Don't deserve it. If you knew me, you'd push me right back out that door."

"Maybe," you shrugged, sipping your own warm beverage as you curled up in the only chair in the place. "But it's Christmas. Even assholes and loners need a break sometimes."

He regarded you with interest, his eyes raking over your form for the millionth time. "That what you are? A loner?"

You hid behind the ceramic of your mug for a moment of reprieve. "Have to be. What else is there for a woman who doesn't want a marriage and kids?"

You shuddered, remembering how many times your ex had sabotaged your efforts at contraception...and how violent he'd become when he found out you were actively trying to not get pregnant.

Hence the waitress job, freezing apartment...and the revolver.

"You don't want kids?" He asked, clearing his throat. Maybe you were somehow...perfect.

"I really don't. You’d think women would have a few more options now that it’s the ‘60s. So I got my revolver to make sure my ex stays away. He’s a bigger asshole than the two of us," you answered, transparently. Noticing how his dark eyes widened at your candor, you laughed.

"Scared yet?"

"No," he chuckled. "But I guess that answers the question of whether or not we're gonna fuck."

Smirking, you took one more sip of cocoa before pushing off your chair to kneel down in front of him. Your eyes met his challengingly as you spread your palms over his thighs, pushing them up to his hips.

"That why you're an asshole?" You challenged, reaching for the zipper of his trousers. "Can't be bothered to wear a condom?"

"Can't afford that shit," he fired back, enjoying the view down your t-shirt.

"Definitely an asshole," you shake your head, dragging his zipper down and tracing your fingertips over the outline of his hardening length with your fingertips.

"My pussy's off limits unless you want my revolver shoved up your ass," you inform, leaning over to suck on his leaking tip through the fabric of his underwear. "But fuck it. It's Christmas. You can come in my mouth."

"Fucking hell," he groaned at your forwardness, shifting his hips to give you easier access to pull his cock free.

"Oh shit, you're big," you marveled, running the tip of your tongue over your lips in anticipation. Wrapping your hands around him, you turned your eyes up to his. "Merry Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything."

You licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before placing him on your flat tongue. Your eyes flickered back up to his tauntingly as you slowly wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue.

"Jes....oh fuck," he moaned, gripping the arm of the tiny couch.

Bobbing your head up and down a few times, you pushed yourself past the point of comfort and swallowed his tip. Your mouth stretched to take him, and the challenge of it made you instantly wet.

“Holy f-fuck,” he responded eagerly, “just like that.” You let him fuck your mouth, free hand gripping your jaw as his hips found a rhythm thrusting and gagging you.

Something about how pathetic this man was - how eager and responsive to your touch - it was doing it for you. You hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in a long time, but it felt good. And you certainly didn’t mind a heavy, hot cock in your mouth.

A few heavy thrusts and gags later and he coated your throat with his spend, letting out a near embarrassing whine as he came.

You let him soften before pulling off him and licking your lips clean. “Bet you’ll sleep well now.” You winked.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking his head as you stood and started to shed your clothes. Remembering you were pretty clear about not fucking without a condom, he slowly stood, stuffing his soft cock back into his pants. “What are you…”

“I have a twin bed, but you’ll fit better than on that thing.” You nodded to the love seat, now standing in front of him completely nude. “But to sleep with me, you’re gonna need to return the favor. I’m fucking soaked.”

Minutes later, this rather beautiful, bearded man knelt between your legs in bed, his prominent nose nudging tauntingly at your puffy clit. His plush mouth sampled your pussy lips, as if he was making out with your cunt.

“F-fuck yes,” you groaned as he fucked his tongue into your hole, sucking and slurping at your juices.

Your fingers slid into the softest curls, twisting them around your fingers as you rocked your pelvis up to meet his soft beard.

The he started humming. And not just a humming sound but a fucking tune. After several delicious, deep thrusts of his tongue, he pulled out, making you whine at the loss of stimulation.

His hum gently morphed into a few lyrics as his eyes gazed up at you, equal parts cocky and pussy drunk - your slick coating his beard and lips.

‘Hang me, oh hang me…I’ll be dead and gone…’

He slid two fingers into your slick, warm hole, curling them with the dexterity of an instrumentalist. Then lowered his smirking mouth back down to trace circles around your clit with his tongue. Kept right on humming.

Laying his tongue flat, he laved your sensitive bundle of nerves with a few rough licks before wrapping those sexy lips around it and sucking.

He added a third finger - you were plenty wet enough for it and the slight stretch made your back arch off your twin bed. Fingers curling, lips sucking, and that insistent hum sent you right over the edge into earth-shattering bliss. Your body seized in mind-altering pleasure and then went completely white as you rode out the best orgasm you’d had in years.

He worked you through it before blatantly licking you clean and climbing his way up your body to cage you in. The look on his face told you he was definitely satisfied with himself, but the hot flesh of his cock prodding at your thigh meant he didn’t want this to be over.

"Is that my revolver or are you ready for more?" You teased, reaching to wrap you fingers around his cock. "Don't think I have any condoms big enough for all this."

He groaned, hips shifting into your grip. "Maybe we could just - "

"I'll will shoot you. Go the fuck to sleep, Llewyn."

And that's how an exhausted, pathetic puppy of a man, with soulful brown eyes, and the voice of an angel, ended up in your twin bed on Christmas Eve.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

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campingwiththecharmings · 5 months

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

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

Sunk (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥An Unorthodox Method (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @the-little-ewok

🔥Kinktober Day 1 (Love Bites) (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 4 (Sex Pollen) (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (Soft and Slow) (Cal Kestis x Reader) - @flightlessangelwings

🔥Kinktober Day 10 (Stripping) (Stripper!Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

I just called to say I love you (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @nowritingonthewall

Adore you (Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Kinktober Day 25 (Breeding) (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) (Part of the Gardens of Babylon Universe) - @spacecowboyhotch

Moon Knight

🔥Over the Counter (DBF!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Vivid (Marc Spector x Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Shades of the Moon (Virgin!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

Boundless (Witch Hunter!Marc x Witch!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Price You Gotta Pay (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥The Sweetest Sound (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥The Sweetest Taste (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Kinktober Day 10 (formal wear) (Steven Grant x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 6 (Phone Sex) (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Kinktober Day 12 (Formal Wear) (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥What a Show (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥La Petite Mort (Ghost!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Pumpkin Porno (OnlyFans!Steven Grant) - @ominoose

In the morning light (Marc Spector x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Nature Boy (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Sleeping Dogs (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) (Part of the Dancing with Wolves Series) - @hon3yboy

🔥What A Wicked Thing To Do (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) (Part of the Dancing with Wolves Series) - @hon3yboy

🔥Kinktober Day 23 (Begging) (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥Couch Sex with Miguel (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @romanarose

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (& 8): Soft & Slow (Cockwarming) (College!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥soft s3x and grey sweats (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @wyvernest

Ex Machina

🔥Peak-A-Boo (Ghostface!Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Perfect Little Fuck Toy (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Sucker Punch

🔥Product Demonstration (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Monster Mash (Rockstar!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Triple Frontier

Under cotton and calicoes (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Make this feel like home (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Kinktober Day 30 (Cunnilingus) (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Just A Little Push (Will Miller x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

Scenes From a Marriage

🔥Kinktober Day 2 (bath/shower) (Jonathan Levy x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 15 (Against a Wall & Voice Kink) (Jonathan Levy x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

The Two Faces of January

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (Slow and Soft) (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥body talk (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) (part of the Oxford Comma series) - @whatthefishh

Misc.

🔥Just A Scratch (Jack Mohave x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Take Care (Anselm Vogelweide x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Service Fee (Llewyn Davis x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥If You Wanna Be Wild (Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia) - @romanarose and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (i already recced this but there's more so 🙃)

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

#poe dameron x reader #din djarin x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #santiago garcia x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #jonathan levy x reader #nathan bateman x reader #rydal keener x reader #jack mohave x reader #anselm vogelweide x reader #llewyn davis x reader #javier pena x reader #will miller x reader #blue jones x reader #cal kestis x reader #fic rec #damn i read a lot in october

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runa-falls · 9 months

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recent reads - july '23

if you enjoy these fics make sure to reblog and comment to show your support for the writers!

(*) nsfw (**) dark (~) angst (^) fluff

series - [read a lot more this month bc of travel!]

poe dameron

alabanza*^~ - @brandyllyn [ao3]

“A mis-delivered message causes You and Poe Dameron to become anonymous penpals. But falling for each other via letter while at the same time falling for each other in the real world leads to more than its fair share of complications.”

din djarin

miscommunication*^~ - @ezrasbirdie [ao3]

“When the Mandalorian brings you aboard his ship to care for and protect his son when he’s away, neither of you is what the other expected. You’re both exceptionally bad at reading each other, and you’re afraid of what might happen when your past inevitably catches up to you.”

henry cavill

crystal ship* (RPF - mafia AU) - @littlefreya

“Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get.”

(i usually never read rpf but littlefreya can make me read ANYTHING)

geralt z rivii

outlander*^~ - @leva [ao3]

“The witcher universe was cruel and unforgiving. You couldn’t imagine lasting a day in it yet here you were. It wasn’t all bad, the food was decent, some folk were nice and you even had your very own mutant bodyguard to boot. Not to mention Jaskier being your personal radio station on the road.”

kylo ren

cruel world*^~- @worm_girl [ao3]

"When Professor Ren moves in next door to your sorority house and you become one of his students, it is impossible for the two of you to ignore the pull you have to each other.”

[not reader-insert:]

reylo (my comfort ship)

all our days*^~ - @voicedimplosives [ao3]

"I can listen no longer in silence." The hologram projection of his strangely handsome face is cobalt blue, flickering, and full of static. "I must speak to you, Rey. You… you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late.”

bamon (TVD) (my other comfort ship)

spellbound*^~ - @ladyloec

“An AU of Bonnie and Damon in the Prison World, without Kai, but with a problematic blood shortage that leads to our favourite judgy witch and snarky vampire getting closer than anyone anticipated.”

one-shots (all are reader-inserts!)

moon boys

satisfactory pt.1 + pt.2* (pornstar!jake) - @whatthefish

weightless~ (steven angst) - @m00nsbaby

call me* (feral!steven) - @writefightandflightclub

acts of service^ (marc fluff) - @ivystoryweaver

nice job!*^ (sub!steven fluff) - @romanarose

nathan bateman

indulge me* - @leoluved

poe dameron

wasted on you*^ - @campingwiththecharmings

blue jones

a long night** - @melodygatesauthor

beg** - @“”

santiago garcia

just friends pt.1* and pt.2*~ - @campingwiththecharmings

say my name*~ - @writefightandflightclub

threesome: santi x reader x frankie* - @youvebeenlivingfictional

a midnight picnic - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

miguel o’hara

rendezvous* - @campingwiththecharmings (i’m so sorry i’m tagging u so much lmfao)

stitches and claws* - @astroboots halo* - @missdictatorme

surrender* - @romanarose

llewyn davis

anchor* - @bits-and-babs

ezra prospect

darkness* - @ezrasbirdie

joel miller

what comes after*~ - @softlyspector

frank castle

all up in smoke^ - @saintmurd0ck

raymond smith + tangerine x reader

who you belong to*~ - @youvebeenlivingfictional

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the-oscar-isaac-collective · 5 months

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Welcome to The Oscar Isaac Collective!

What is The Oscar Isaac Collective?

The OI Collective is an organization created by fans, for fans of the Oscar Isaac fandom. We host fan-based publications and events that feature Oscar Isaac's beloved characters.

Our primary goal is to create a space where anyone with an interest in creating fan works for the OI fandom, regardless of skill or experience, can feel welcome to participate in projects and events together!

Who is running the collective?

@melodygatesauthor

@xbellaxcarolinax

@casuallycorvid

What's Currently in the Works?

Coffee & Cream Digital Fanzine - Masterpost - Carrd

Important Links:

Current Events and Projects

FAQ/Rules

Upcoming Events

Past Events

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winniethewife · 5 months

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It's time that you won.

(Llewyn Davis x OC!Rose Thorne)

Chapter 3: But my love is fairer than any

Warning: Smut under the cut. oral sex (f!receiving) fingering

Minors DNI

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words:1108

As the morning light filtered in through her curtains Rose lay sleeping peacefully in Llewyn’s arms as he gazed upon her. He couldn’t believe his luck. The last few days had been unbelievable, that one night after the show they had ended up in bed together, and it felt like they had hardly left since then. He gently caressed her face with the back of his fingers, not wanting to wake her, but he couldn’t resist, she was so soft, so enchanting. He felt like he was dreaming, there was no way someone this wonderful, wanted someone as fucked up as he was, he couldn’t help but think of every time he had fallen for the wrong person, every time he had been thrown out before the morning came. Rose didn’t do that, Rose wanted him to stay, she practically begged him to stay with her after finding out he had nowhere to go, it seemed impossible for someone to be this kind, this good, to be everything she was, everything he dreamed of. He pulls her in closer burying his face in her glowing copper hair, taking in her scent. Rose murmurs softly in her sleep, making Lewyn smile, kissing her head and whispering to her.

“ ‘s just me, sunshine…I got you…” he watches as she stirs slightly then relaxes back into his arms, nuzzling into his chest a soft sigh escaping her lips as he reassures her. He closed his eyes letting the peace of the morning and the sound of her breathing lure him back to sleep, for just a little longer.

“Llewyn…” She moans his name her fingers woven in his dark curls as his head was nuzzled between her thighs, his beard tickling at her thighs as he ran his tongue up the length of her folds, his fingers pushing into her over and over, his fingers coated in her slick as he brings her to her climax again. His mouth wrapped around her clit. Her soft moans filling the air like music to his ears as he feels her walls clamping down around his fingers as her orgasm wrecks her body for the third time this morning.

“That’s it, that’s it baby…” He groans the vibrations of his voice around her clit causing her to buck her hips into his mouth.

“Ah…fuck. Darling…I can’t, I can’t” Rose feels like she’s in nirvana, nothing could compare. She was totally lost in the pleasure of the moment to give a single care about anything else. He lifts the blankets peeking out from under them, moving up her body, looking on her adoringly. She smiles at him as he emerges from the blankets his facial hair wet with her arousal.

“Llewyn…you look so pretty like that.” She murmurs as he leaves a trail of kisses up her nude body, before landing on her lips, his rough lips pressing into her soft ones as they move against each other. Her fingers interwoven in his curls pulling him in closer, arching her body into his, he slides his arm underneath her holding her against him, his hardened length brushes against her pelvis, enticing a moan from her lips.

“Fuck… Please.” Llewyn groans as he moves to press his tip at her entrance, she lets out a soft groan and nods her head as she pushes herself onto him. He reacts by thrusting up into her, growling in her ear as he pushes into her tight walls, dragging along her wet cunt moving at a steady pace.

“Mph…Baby…you feel so good…” Rose softly cries as she grasps the sheet tight as he slides into her, his tempo increasing as they go on soft moans filling the air as they move in sync with each other.

“Hgh…Rose…I’m close...Really fucking close.” Llewyn groans as he slams into her, his movements getting more ragged as he gets closer to his climax, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Oh…shit…Me too Llewyn…I’m gonna Oh Fuck.” Rose gasped as she felt her climax rushing over her. Llewyn whines softly as he feels her walls clamp down around him, after a few more thrusts he pumps his hot spend into her, crashing his lips into hers swallowing their moans as they come down from their high.

Later that day they had actually left bed, they were sitting together in the living room listening to music as they enjoyed the glow of the afternoon sun. They sat on the couch, Rose leaning on his chest as she reads her book, clad only in his t-shirt. Llewyn reads the book she’s reading over her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers as they sit together, running his hand along her thigh, her soft skin under his fingertips like smooth satin. Suddenly the phone rang, both of them startled by the loud ring. Rose hopped up leaving the book to the side as she went to the phone. Llewyn watches her walking his eyes on her ass. Rose picks up the receiver of the phone and turns slightly catching his eyes, a smirk crossing her face as she notices him staring. Llewyn Looks away pretending not to have been looking a cheeky smile on his face. Rose shakes her head as she talks on the phone.”

“Okay…Okay yeah…10:30…Mhm….I’ll be there…Huh? Oh uh…” She looked at Llewyn and covers the Receiver. “Hey Darling, Would you possibly like to record on this upcoming album I’m working on?” She asks with a smile. Llewyn does a double take.

“What? Me?” He looked at her like she must be joking.

“Yeah you, who else would I be talking to?” She chuckles.

“I…I mean…I have to get a…y’know, thing from Mel.”

“Oh hun you’re dumping Mel, My agent will sign you no problem.” She laughs slightly before going back to her conversation. Llewyn was surprised, and agreed, but there was a slight nagging in the back of his head…Why was she making choices like that for him. Sure Mel might not have been the best for him but he’d been with Mel since the start…he shrugs it off. Who’s he kidding Rose is one of the biggest names in the business. He should be grateful for it…right?

“Okay we’ll see you Friday at 10:30.” Rose hangs up the phone and walks back over to the couch sitting down next to him again and as she presses her lips to his cheek his previous train of thought is put on the back burner for now. He leans in and kisses her back before they return to the book. What’s the harm in letting her help him out a little more? Right?

Masterlist

#llewyn davis x OC #llewyn davis fanfiction #inside llewyn davis #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac #Rose Thorne #oc fanfiction #Spotify

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autismsupermusicalassassin · 1 year

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Breath of heaven

Llwelyn Davis x singer!pregnant! Reader

Plot: you are a singer but pregnant and alone in Greenwich Village New York where you met a man named Llewelyn Davis . When preforming you are suddenly gone into labor right after Llewelyn was kicked out of a village club to help

Warning: pregnancy, swearing,

You were almost near your due date is next three weeks of this month and you’re going to a recording studio in your hometown Greenwich Village here in New York . But with how the snow is around it’s almost blinding and how the sidewalks are a bit slippery with ice . Humming the song your going record soon, you used to sing songs on the streets and sometimes pubs but since you became pregnant from your ex-boyfriend gray who sadly gotten married to someone else his secret girl from New Jersey leaving you alone and pregnant but it was okay, you have started singing lullabies and hopefully people can let their babies help them sleep.

While walking you didn’t notice that you slipped on the a icy pavement until you felt someone caught you “easy there ma’am” the voice said as you looked up to see a man with angel brown eyes and features “you could have gotten hurt” he looked at you smiling making you blush “t-thank you um….”

“Llwelyn, Llwelyn Davis “ he introduced himself to you picking up his guitar case in one hand holding out the other for a handshake which you returned the gesture “Y/N” you told him and then you felt your baby kick making you hide your pain in front of him “I’m heading for a recording studio around here “ he gave you a soft and yet sad look on his face “why? You need a job there ?” Llwelyn asked, “yeah you can say that “ you answered “you know the place ?” He nodded and tells you that he was heading there to sing a song with a friends of his which unknowingly made the two of you walk in front of the building and you didn’t realize that he was holding your hand that made you blushed a little as he lets go and walked inside alone and you walked in after he did.

Surprisingly, you were greeted nicely not noticing you were the other side of the recording where Llwelyn was there with other two men Jim Berkeley and Al Cody supposedly finished recording a song when he spots you in your beauty , he snaps out of it and one recording people (which I don’t know their names) told them to come out and meet you then to the three of them were surprised by the fact you’re pregnant. “Now fella we’re going to give miss Y/L/N a chance to show her some of her skills and we’re gonna record her now “ the man said to them you spot Llwelyn and sheepishly waved at him and Jim and Al Cody. “ come on Mrs let’s go get your song recorded” you nodded but you at Llwelyn and you feel sorry for not telling him about your pregnancy.

Three weeks later….

After finishing recording the fifth song you told them that you were heading home for today, recently your baby has been getting antsy but today something wasn’t right as you continue to walk you felt a sharp pain next in your belly and you realize that something was that your having contractions “fuck “ you cursed as you panting to calm yourself down. Not far from the gaslight Llewelyn just got kicked out from insulting a man who was heavily insulted for his music and about his late partner Mike just by punching him in the nose which kicked him out.

“Llwelyn !” You shouted to him desperately as you speed walked to him and grabbing his shoulder making him turn to look at you with surprise “Y/N ? What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked but you didn’t answer and instead starting to sob through the pain you are experiencing right now “ I’m in fucking labor Llwelyn!” You said to him , Llwelyn blinks a few times it took him a minute to realize that you were actually in labor! “HOLY SHIT YOUR BABY IS COMING NOW! LIKE RIGHT NOW?!?” You wince from not only your contraction but his shouting and he looks around to get a cabby for you to get you to the hospital. He let out a whistle to one of the caddie which stop in front of the two of you “listen man she needs to get to the hospital right now!” Llwelyn told the driver while helping you in the cab “why ?” The driver asked like it isn’t obvious enough “ she’s in labor now go!” Llwelyn growls , you have never seen him like this before and the way he holds your hand tightly for dear life lol you’re going to fade away from him.

Once you and Llwelyn arrive at the hospital, the nurses takes you to the delivery room and your screams behind the door make Llwelyn scared and afraid, from the three weeks the two of get to know one of another and you providing shelter for him when he is desperate he remembers what you told him about the father of your baby “he left you pregnant to be married to someone bitch in New Jersey ? He’s an ass” he told you and that made you laugh so hard that made him laugh too , he even sang one of his songs back when his old music partner mike was around he was surprised to hear that you told him your baby kick from every time he sang at your place, Llwelyn felt like he wished that the baby you were carrying was his . Even though they were good memories he still felt like shit , of course you were there for him when he needed it . To get his mind off of the situation right now he decided to hums one of your songs because apparently smoking is legal in the waiting area now.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and he turn to see the nurse who look weary and tired even when she just smiled, “is she okay? Is Y/N alright? Is the baby okay?” He asked not realizing that he sounded like a concerned husband, “the two of them are alright” the nurse told him “she and the baby boy are good and healthy “ Llwelyn smiles softly “ would you like to see them?” The nurse asked which Llwelyn again unknowingly just nodded and walked in to see you glowing with beauty and seeing the baby in your arms was quite a sight to see . You looked at him smiling “hey” you said and he replied back “hey, you look better” you smiled at him “thanks for saving me and my son Llwelyn” his smile and looks at your baby, so tiny and cute even “what is his name?” He asked you and you answered “Mike, his name is Mike Joseph Y/L/N” Llwelyn nods “you named him after my old partner “he stated and you nodded “why?” He asked which smiled “because I love you and I know you miss your partner/friend so I thought naming my son after him would help you to know mike is there with you knowing it plus he seems to smile at the name” you answered which Llwelyn wanted to cry with happiness that you care for him and learning everything that happened to him. You slowly start to hand over your son to Llwelyn which surprised him, he wanted to say no but couldn’t because when he hold little mike in his arms it made him feel like…he’s holding his own son . “He so lightly and small “ Llwelyn told you and he returns your baby to you smiling.

11 days later,

You finally returned home and Llwelyn decided to stay with you and little Mike for time to time and even deal with the baby crying at night by singing “green green rocky road” to him and that calms him down. The you and Llwelyn spend time together his love for you grew and one night when Isaac was was about to cry for something he stopped to see you rocking him and breastfeeding him too. You looked at him while letting him hear you singing to Mike of your songs to him.

“Breath of heaven Hold me together Be forever near me Breath of heaven Breath of heaven Lighten my darkness Pour over me your holiness For you are holy Breath of heaven

Do you wonder as you watch my face If a wiser one should have had my place But I offer all I am For the mercy of your plan Help me be strong…..” you sang your song to your son and Llwelyn just stares at you lovingly which you noticed and kisses him making him stun but happy that you are accepting him for his kindness.

A/N: finally my first Llwelyn Davis x reader fic. And yes the song is actually a Christmas song that was used in the nativity story soundtrack and Amy grant soundtrack too but it was stuck in my head for quite some time and it is beautiful song

#llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis #pregnancy fic #the poor man needs to be happy #oscar isaac x y/n #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #I don’t experience any pregnancy #*didn’t #stupid autocorrect #brain hurts from stress and writers block

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leiakenobi · 2 years

Note

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#aellynera #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #llewyn davis fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #created #prompt fill #look ma i finally finished off everything from my last round of requests

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eyelessfaces · 6 months

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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?”

—

+ @flightlessangelwings

305 notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 2 years

Text

War Cry || Llewyn Davis x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> WordCount: 10.7K!!!!

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

Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Masters of War.”

____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”… the death planes

You that build all the bombs

You that hide behind walls

You that hide behind desks

I just want you to know

I can see through your masks”

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

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

“You that never done nothin'

But build to destroy

You play with my world

Like it's your little toy

You put a gun in my hand

And you hide from my eyes

And you turn and run farther

When the fast bullets fly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your name?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it.”

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

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

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

“I’ll do it.”

____________________________________________

”Like Judas of old

You lie and deceive

A world war can be won

You want me to believe

But I see through your eyes

And I see through your brain

Like I see through the water

That runs down my drain.”

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

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

”You fasten all the triggers

For the others to fire

Then you sit back and watch

When the death count gets higher

You hide in your mansion

While the young people's blood

Flows out of their bodies

And is buried in the mud.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon Mercy! We’re headed out!”

____________________________________________

”You've thrown the worst fear

That can ever be hurled

Fear to bring children

Into the world

For threatening my baby

Unborn and unnamed

You ain't worth the blood

That runs in your veins.”

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

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

”How much do I know

To talk out of turn

You might say that I'm young

You might say I'm unlearned

But there's one thing I know

Though I'm younger than you

That even Jesus would never

Forgive what you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uprising.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have married him then and there.

____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A dental assistant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is Llewyn Davis asking you to fucking kiss him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked so much like her father.

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

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

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

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

“Let me ask you one question

Is your money that good?

Will it buy you forgiveness

Do you think that it could?

I think you will find

When your death takes its toll

All the money you made

Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die

And your death will come soon

I'll follow your casket

By the pale afternoon

And I'll watch while you're lowered

Down to your deathbed

And I'll stand over your grave

'Til I'm sure that you're dead.”

END

🏷 @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @youngr0se95 @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @wakers-bonkers @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @bb-skyrunner @silvery-luna @sebsbelova @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9

#llewyn davis x you #llewyn davis fanfiction #llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis #Steven grant #Jake lockley #Marc Spector #Oscar Isaac #Oscar Isaac x reader #Llewyn Davis imagine #Llewyn Davis fic #Llewyn Davis x y/n

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ivystoryweaver · 4 months

Text

Holiday Fics Masterlist (the whole year thru)

New Year

See "Autumn" for Rosh Hashanah/New Year Jake Lockley fic

Valentines

(Art, not fics)

Moon Knight Valentines

Miguel O'Hara Valentines

Poe Dameron Valentines

Santiago Garcia Valentines

Misc. Characters Valentines

Autumn

"Happy New Year, Jake" Jake Lockley || 820 words

Halloween

"Spectre: A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story" Moon Boys || ongoing || 18+

Winter

"Next December" Jake Lockley || 805 words || 18+

"Surf's Up" Jake Lockley || 100 words

Holiday Season

"Jingle Bells" Santiago Garcia || 800 words

Holidays with the Moon Boys moodboard

Hanukkah

"Eight Nights (in December)" Marc, Steven (Jake is mentioned) || 7.4k words

Christmas

"(Everybody's Waitin' for) The Man With the Bag" Miguel O'Hara || 1050 words

“Fairytale of New York” Llewyn Davis || 2.2k words || 18+

Other/Birthday

Moon Boys Celebrate Your Birthday 635 words

“March the 9th” Marc Spector || 1.4k words

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campingwiththecharmings · 28 days

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okay so, i'm hella behind on reading, and for some reason it's so fucking hard for me to find time/energy to read much these days, but i still want to highlight at least some of the fics i've been able to read so, i'll be doing fic recs quarterly this year instead of monthly. hope y'all enjoy 🪷💜

**please be sure to read any/all warnings attached to recommended fics prior to reading**

🔥 - explicit/mature content

PART ONE (bc tumblr is being a bitch and won't let me post all of them in one post)

Star Wars

Seeds of Love (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @moonlight-prose

🔥Best Ride in the Galaxy (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @lotusbxtch

size doesn't matter (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @hoedamn-eron

🔥Come Back to Me (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Ex Machina

🔥In Plain Sight (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Assembly Required (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Skittish (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Again (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Triple Frontier

🔥Room's on Fire (Dark!TF Boys x F!Reader) - @romana-after-dark

I'll be the silence ringing through and through and through (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Personal Issue (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥The Worst (Tom "Redfly" Davis x Dark!Reader) - @toxicanonymity

The Dead Horse (Santiago Garcia x Black!F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Tag-Teaming (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader x Frankie Morales) - @fettuccin-e

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥The Sweetest Fruit in the Garden (Miguel O'Hara x Older!F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥Through the Window (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Sucker Punch

🔥Good Boy Blue (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥Just Be Good (Orderly!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Private Dances (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Inside Llewyn Davis

again (llewyn davis x reader) - @eyelessfaces

don't let go (llewyn davis x reader) - @runa-falls

keys (llewyn davis x reader) - @eyelessfaces

Misc

🔥my ex's tapes (Ex!Basil Stit x F!Reader x FWB!Jake Lockley) - @runa-falls

🔥Sweet Like (Modern!Leto Atreides x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

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, please just let me know.

[FIC RECS PART TWO]

#poe dameron x reader #nathan bateman x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #blue jones x reader #llewyn davis x reader #basil stitt x reader #leto atreides x reader #fic rec

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runa-falls · 2 years

Text

≪ o. issac one-shot recs ≫

make sure to support these amazing writers: like + reblog any fic you read!

key: (*) explicit (^) fluff (~) angst (+) dark

moon knight

moon boys:

each time you fall in love*^~ - @peterthepark

tag team* - @babyboibucky

steven grant:

chocolate*^ - @laters-gators

secret* - @quicksilverownsmysoul

marc spector:

suppression* - @laters-gators

pretty when you cry*~ - @dont-feel-so-good-peter

jake lockley

stranded all in love* - @charnelhouse

poe dameron

one last dance~ - @loud-mouth-loser

oblivion* - @jangofctts

nightbloom* - orphan_account

llewyn davis

goods and services* - @budcooper

nathan bateman

halt and catch fire*~ - @writefightandflightclub

am I the asshole?^*~ - @writefightandflightclub

doppelgänger*^~ - @brandyllyn

wired*^~ - @youvebeenlivingfictional

cerebral*~ - @laters-gators

santiago garcia

don't you dare* - @foxilayde

team building exercise*^ - @mylifeliterally [triple frontier boys x reader]

#oscar issac fics recs #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #poe dameron x reader #llewyn davis x reader #nathan bateman x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier

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the-oscar-isaac-collective · 2 months

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CONTRIBUTOR APPS CLOSED!!

That's right guys! We reached another milestone!

Over the next few days we are going to be sending out emails and DMs to those of you who applied to be contributors to the Coffee & Cream Fanzine! PLEASE KEEP YOUR EYES OUT FOR THEM!!!

We have an amazing group of artists and writers involved with this project! More info soon <3

WE ALSO HAVE A WEBSITE NOW!

There's also an Info Doc so you can see the schedule and guidelines for the zine!

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