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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

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.

This time she does not hold back the sounds of need and pleasure and though she is not loud, what matters is they mingle with his own, painting a picture of the atmosphere they are in. The pace he sets satisfies her, hits the already sensitive nerves in a way that only heightens the experience. With each thrust, she meets him halfway with the curve and move of her hips.

At some point, she spreads her lega a little further apart, just enough to egg him on, coaxing him to thrust deeper into her. Her words, loosely strung together, are pleas for him: to keep going, to not stop, and oh how good he feels like this.

The shift of her hips drives him just a fraction deeper and draws a sharp, breathless gasp that turns into a laugh of decadent abandon as he ploughs her into the mattress.

He gives into his pleasure whole heartedly, but with a witcher's stamina, she'll have plenty of time for her own fires to be stoked to blazing again.

As is inhibitions are let go of, so are her own; after all, it would be impossible to feel anything but pure bliss while he fucks her into the mattress below. With each thrust he elicits another sound from her, she squirms and tightens around him, relishing in the feeling of him in its entirety.

It’s very likely that even as she winds down from the previous orgasm and builds up her arousal again, she might not keep up with him. Is she aware of this? Yes. But she is giving in completely and giving herself completely to him in the process as well. Her whole body’s response to his is evidence of that.

He groans her name, lurching forward when his orgasm takes him. He catches himself on the headboard with one hand, the other still clutching at her hip to pull her flush against him, driving himself as deeply as possible into her. He manages to keep himself upright with his grip the headboard, despite the urge to simply flop bonelessly in the wake of his own pleasure.

"Should I...?" He offers, the hand on her hip sliding downwards and across her belly to rest between her thighs, though he won't touch too much without her go-ahead.

In the time it takes for him to lose himself to his orgasm, he brings her to hers once, almost twice, though the pressure is too much in too little time for the amount of times he's driven her over the edge already, and her body demands a moment to wind down. Nonetheless she is relaxed, coaxing him to keep going and nearly seeing stars once he does come, buried deep inside her. She groans his name, her skin burning hot to the touch and her face as red as wildflowers.

"I'm all spent," she whispers with a small laugh, just a touch manic. One of her hands reaches to meet his, not to stop him necessarily, but to rest on him and assure him that she's well and taken care of. Her body feels lightweight, as does her head, but she nudges him down towards the mattress, inviting him to lie down once more, even if part of her is -- quite selfishly -- lavishing in the feeling of having him inside her. "Was this... Good for you?"

He lingers for half a moment, as if reluctant to part, but then he rolls over onto his back beside her in the thoroughly mussed bed. He nods at her question, with his lopsided smile.

"Yeah that was...it was great." He pants. "You?"

That short moment feels like a lifetime and she appreciates it tremendously. She flops down beside him -- again on his less scarred side -- and onto her side, examining his features with a smile of her own.

"It was divine," she sighs softly, searching for his hand. "Seems as if we both needed this."

"Much like the bed, more than I might want to admit." He rumbles, casting an arm over his face to block out the sunlight. He's quiet for a moment before he broaches a somewhat awkward topic.

"You...uh...won't have anything to worry about. From this, I mean. I can't catch diseases and I can't get anybody pregnant. Don't know why, witcher stuff."

There's a small laugh at the admission, but eventually she rolls onto her back and glances up at the ceiling. She's silent for a moment longer, too.

"'Suppose that makes things a little less cumbersome, for your profession that is," she muses quietly. "I... I wasn't worried. Not that I expected anything to happen but I wouldn't... Burden you." She trails off, rubbing her face. It is indeed an awkward but necessary topic.

The Unlovables

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