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The Unlovables

The Unlovables

Everyone loves a hero. As long as they're youthful, hot, charming and conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, all the old, ugly, broke down, difficult-to-love, bastards out there are toiling away in lonesome obscurity trying not to daydream too much about what a relief it would be if someone came along with a soft touch, and a kind word, and the promise that it'll be ok.

Whether canon or fandom branded them as such, whether it's well deserved or not, there's lots of unlovables. They know most beasts never transform for their beauties. They've probably noticed that even in the Disney version Quasimodo ends up alone ffs. Still, props to them for maintaining a shred of optimism about finding love. Even if they'll never admit to being hopeful.

So if you spent prom on the bleachers. If you max-out at a 5 (maybe 6 generously). If you've got a history of first dates and very few seconds; If you can guarantee you'll get the seat to yourself on the train. Chin up, champ. This one's for you

how to play:

Top level with your unlovable characters; State any prefs like gen, shippy or nsfw. Link your permissions pgs. Tell us a bit about what makes your muse a tough sell.

Comment to comfort someone the world finds difficult to love and be the real heroes in this meme.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's clear by his reaction that it's been quite a while since he's had any hand other than his own. When he's alone-- curled up under his threadbare blanket in the woods or slumped drunkenly in some quiet store-rooms in Kaer Morhen-- he never takes this kind of time.

He gasps her name, hand clutching at her shoulder.

"Close--!" He pants, so she can pull back if she prefers not to have him in her mouth when he comes.

Edited 2022-09-10 02:36 (UTC)

She does not back down or pull back. In fact, the way he calls her name and that single word only serve to encourage her further and she hums around him, dipping down again and continuing her endeavor in an effort to drive him over the edge; clearly not intending in pulling away before he comes, though conscious to ease her efforts once he does to let him enjoy himself to the fullest.

He forces himself to trust that she knows what she wants and surrenders finally to his orgasm, clinging to the sheets with the effort of not thrusting into the heat of her mouth as he spends himself with a full-bodied snarl of release, barely muffled by his palm.

It is a good thing that he allows himself to trust, for such a small gesture matters in the long run. One of her hands comes up to rest on his hip, not so much pressing down as much as steadying him somewhat, so that she can accompany the wave of his orgasm without choking on him, taking him in eagerly and withdrawing only once he finally eases down, wiping the dribble from the corner of her mouth. She does not turn aside, nor does she spit out, much preferring to swallow down the taste of him, any manners be damned.

She rests her head against his hip for a moment, heaving in much needed, deep breaths; one must resist continuing to touch him, unless he does indeed want to keep going. "Better?"

He laughs, warm and rough, hand dropping from his face as he slumps among the pillows.

"Yeah..." He says, after a moment. Eyes still closed, he feels about blindly into he can find some part of her to caress and squeeze.

"But I don't think we're getting out of bed any time soon."

He finds her hair, the side of her head, a hand; she leans into his touch and laughs mirthfully, breathlessly.

"I can't say I take issue with that," she admits. "You don't seem to, either."

"As long as you don't mind." He hums. "I'm in no rush." He runs his fingers through her hair. "Eventually we oughta get breakfast but you could squeeze another round or two outta me before then."

“Is that so?” She inquires, stretching like a cat and lazily moving so that she can lie beside him again; for the sake of peace, she is at his unmarred side. Searching for one of his hands, she brings it close to her chest, inviting him to touch if he so wishes. “I won’t say no to that, you know. Breakfast can wait just a little longer.”

And touch he does. Now that he's been invited and thoroughly reassured, he lets himself have whatever this is, running his broad, rough hands over her skin, tracing curves and softness. He rumbles lazily, doing nothing for his overall impression of an enormous, scarred mastiff.

His fingers skim down her hip and across her thigh, pausing for a moment, an unspoken question as they trace a little higher.

She likes this side of him, she decides. It contrasts with the brutality of his profession in ways that she could wax poetics about for far too long, were he not keeping her busy in much better ways. She is languid under his touch, moving only when giving him more room to touch, letting his hands roam as they please and humming lazily.

When she feels him pause, she searches for the crook of his neck, nuzzling him with her nose. "Go ahead," she whispers oh-so-quietly, encouraging him further. "I'm all yours, here."

"Hm..." He tips his head back to let her kiss his neck as his hand sweeps upward and between her thighs. She's plenty wet still but he's still gentle to account for the thickness of his fingers as he slips one inside. He can be more frenzied, more brutal, especially if he's carried off by drink, but that sort of thing is reserved almost exclusively for his male partners. With women, he prefers to be gentle, to take his time, to drink in his fill of her pleasure.

She takes his gesture as an invitation and does so precisely, moving one hand to the other side of his neck both for leverage and to feel his powerful frame. Her lips work in slow, lazy kisses and nibbles at his skin - not to hurt, but only occasionally gently scraping her teeth.

He can most certainly feel, not just hear the way she gasps as he slips the digit inside her, unconsciously shifting her hips to meet him halfway. Words slip from her lips in some silly, senseless obscenity; they matter little, save for where they come out in encouragement of his actions. It's clear that she's enjoying his initiative greatly.

His groans vibrate under her lips as he thrusts first one finger and then a second when he thinks he can do so comfortably. He thrusts into her slowly, curling them up towards her belly.

He's sure he could simply roll over and take her and it would be comfortable for them both, but he wants to take his time and maybe take her apart a second time before seeing to his own ends.

While she was already quite wet, she is even more so now that his fingers are thrust into her. Her own fingers curl up until she's raking her nails against his shoulder, groaning against the column of his throat. She wants so desperately to touch him, but he is rendering her weak and frankly needy; her hips rock in tandem with the motions of his hand, searching for more of his touch. And while she isn't in any rush, the small pleas she whines against him, coupled with how her body responds to his touch, might assure him that he can still bring her to the edge of orgasm as he pleases.

After a while, he sits up on one elbow, nudging her to lay back on the pillows as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, applying his thumb to her clit in brisk circles. For a man who claims to sleep alone so much, he certainly hasn't forgotten how to please a woman. He shifts down her body, pulling one of her thighs over his shoulder, bowing his head to replace his thumb with his tongue.

For someone who had admitted it has been a while since he's slept with someone else, he possesses both the initiative and skill to put any doubt to rest. Her chest rises and falls in deep breaths while she sinks back down onto the comfort of the pillows, but the change in position and the extra room it gives him doesn't serve to quell the sounds she makes; in fact, she must bite down on her own fist to maintain some discretion.

She parts her legs further for him, restless hips searching for his touch -- for his fingers and that accursed, skilled tongue -- and that rush of ecstasy he has already proven more than capable of drawing out of her. He'll break her resolve sooner rather than later and she wants that; oh, indeed she does.

From this position, she can watch the shifting of the muscles in his broad back as he shifts restlessly between her thighs, his hips seeking friction in the disarrayed sheets. But he barely lets himself be distracted by the sensation as he chases his goal with single minded purpose.

He is beautiful. Beautiful and strong and yet tender in his own way and though consciously she cannot formulate a thought that doesn't shoot right down to her aching warmth, she is nonetheless awestruck by him.

It takes her a moment longer than the first time, but when she's close to the edge, her hips thrash and she calls his name once, twice, breathlessly so and resisting the urge to bite down on her balled up fist again.

"Close- I- I'm..."

He growls, laughs, and buries his face between her legs like a starving man, definitely encouraging her to let go.

His encouragement is noted. The heel of her foot digs into his shoulder blade as she loses the steady rhythm of her hips, instead grinding up against his hand and face, until she tilts over the edge and finally comes undone a second time with a breathless growl, his name, a string of incoherent words muffled by one of the pillows but somehow still pleading with him for more.

He grins lopsidedly, heaving his heavy body up onto his knees, crawling over her where she's sprawled on the mattress.

"Roll over." He growls in her ear, feeling confident enough to make it a playful order rather than the request of a man too ashamed to be looked at in his pleasure.

His voice sends shivers down her spine and especially now when she is oh-so-sensitive. A grin spreads across her lips and she presses a small peck to his jawline before complying with the demand, rolling over onto her belly and playfully arching her hips to press up against him, taunting him.

He growls, squeezing her hip as he settles himself. There's a gasp as he takes his aching prick in his hand to line himself up and then he slowly sinks into her. Hands grasping her hips as he presses forward until his thighs are pressed to hers and he's completely buried in her, feeling every twitch and shiver.

Using her hands and knees to support her weight, she feels how he towers over her. But it is when she finally feels his cock breaching her wet hole that she truly feels breathless. His hands keep a firm grip on her and so she relaxes, taking in every inch of the man until he’s buried all the way in - drawing a gasp from her.

“Oh…” she rasps, softly, adjusting to the feeling of him deep inside her. Her whole body is aching for him and she rocks her hips slightly, seeking out much-needed friction.

He starts to ask her if she's alright when she starts to squirm back against him, an enthusiastic indicator.

He's not rough with her, but the pace he sets is brisk with need. Gripping the softness of her hips, he thrusts into her over and over and over again, the sound of flesh striking flesh joining their chorus of moans and growls.

The Unlovables

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