#i don’t think I’ve ever drawn him before!

[sweetheartsofpanem]

The Warmth Between Waves

masterlist

okay wow i made myself cry while writing this, i need someone to take care of me like this on my bad days:( i did some research on fibromyalgia and tried to make it as accurate as i could based off of what i learned, i apologize if it’s not.

pairing(s): Finnick Odair x Chronically ill!Reader - request was from someone with fibromyalgia and i based it off that but i think it can be read by anyone with chronic pain

warnings: Y/N experiencing intense pain, finnick and Y/N take a bath together, slight angst, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 1.37k

When the world narrows to pain, he becomes the place where it softens—where love steadies, and warmth waits between each crashing wave.

The pain doesn’t start sharp. Not at first.

It begins as a dull throb in your knees, the kind you can ignore if you just breathe through it. Then it spreads—slow and insistent like ink in water—seeping into your shoulders, your spine, your hands. The weight of your body becomes too much. Your skin starts to burn where your shirt touches it. Even your eyelashes feel heavy.

You curl onto your side, limbs trembling, every movement sending bolts of fire through muscles that feel like they’ve been crushed under invisible stones. You’ve had flare-ups before. Hundreds. But somehow it still surprises you how completely it can consume you.

How helpless it can make you feel.

You bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. The ceiling above you blurs as your eyes sting, but you don’t make a sound. You’ve learned how to be quiet. How to endure. How to exist inside the pain without letting it spill over.

But it’s not just you anymore.

The door creaks open, and soft footsteps cross the floor. You know the sound of his gait by heart—familiar, confident, always sure in its purpose. You don’t even have to look.

Finnick.

He kneels by the bed without saying anything. You feel the mattress dip slightly as he places one hand on the blanket near your waist—not touching you yet, just a silent offering.

“Talk to me, love,” he says gently. “How bad is it?”

You don’t want to answer. You hate this part. You hate the sound of your own voice when you’re like this—small, hoarse, not yours. But you know you don’t have to be strong with him.

You never do.

“Everything hurts,” you whisper. “It started in my knees this morning… now it’s everywhere.”

Finnick’s face softens, even though you can’t quite meet his eyes. His fingers move slowly, carefully, drawing a slow line along the edge of the blanket. “Bad flare, then.”

You nod, blinking back another wave of tears. You hate crying in front of him, not because you think he minds, but because you don’t want your body’s betrayal to become his weight too.

But he’s already moving.

“I’m gonna help you get in the bath, okay?” he says softly. “I’ve already drawn it. Lavender oil. Just like you like.”

You let out a small, broken sound. “You always know.”

He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Of course I do. I watch you. I love you.”

He says it so easily, like it’s not something you ever doubted, even when your body makes you feel unworthy of that kind of love. Like your pain doesn’t scare him.

Finnick shifts the blanket back and moves with a slow, practiced grace. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. He just helps—first with sitting up, one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then with the slow walk to the bathroom, his body curved protectively around yours.

You lean heavily on him, each step agonizing, but he steadies you like he’s done it a hundred times. Because he has.

And he’ll do it a hundred more.

The steam from the bath curls into the air like ghostly fingers. The scent of lavender hits you first—soft, soothing, familiar. He’s placed a small candle on the sink, and the flame flickers low, casting golden light across the tiles.

Finnick helps you sit on the edge of the tub and slowly begins to undress you, his fingers careful, never pulling or tugging. He treats your body like something sacred, even when it feels like it’s failing you.

When he slides your shirt off, you gasp—more from the pain than the chill. His eyes flicker to your face immediately.

“Too fast?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just sore. Like I got dragged through coral.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You scoff lightly, but the warmth in your chest flares stronger than the ache in your back. “You’re biased.”

“Completely,” he grins. “Hop in with me?”

You nod. “Please.”

He helps you into the bath first, lowering you in inch by inch. The warmth of the water soaks through your bones, easing the worst of the stiffness. You exhale shakily, and your head tips back against the edge of the tub.

When he slides in behind you, the bath ripples. His arms wrap around your middle, pulling you gently against his chest. You melt into him—into the warmth, into his steady breath, into the kind of quiet that isn’t lonely.

His chin rests atop your head.

You sit like that for what feels like forever. The water hums around you. His fingers trace slow, absent-minded circles on your stomach, sometimes drawing shapes, sometimes just resting flat against you.

“I hate when it gets this bad,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says.

“I feel like a burden.”

He leans down, kissing the shell of your ear. “You’re not.”

“I know you say that, but—”

“No,” he cuts in softly, not unkind. “You are not a burden. You are the love of my life. You are soft and brave and stronger than anyone I know. Your pain doesn’t make you less lovable. It makes me want to hold you closer.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He lets the truth of what he said settle around you like a second skin.

After the bath, he lifts you from the tub and wraps you in the softest towel he could find—one he bought from a traveling merchant after months of searching for something gentle enough for your flare days. You’d made fun of him at the time, called it ridiculous. But now, with the terry cloth cocooned around you, you feel your throat tighten with quiet gratitude.

He dries you slowly, carefully, then helps you into a loose nightshirt and carries you back to bed. He tucks a warm heat pack beneath your lower back, adjusts the pillows behind you, and presses a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink a little,” he says. “You always forget when it hurts.”

You sip, wincing, then settle back.

Finnick sits beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Massage?”

You nod once. “Please.”

He warms oil between his palms before sliding his hands under your shirt, palms gliding gently over your lower back. His thumbs move in slow, rhythmic circles, never applying too much pressure, just enough to coax the tension from your muscles.

You close your eyes and let yourself fall into it—the scent of lavender and the sound of his breath and the feel of his hands grounding you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You deserve good.”

You laugh, a fragile sound. “I don’t always believe that.”

“Then I’ll keep telling you until you do.”

His hands move up your spine, slow and steady. You feel each breath of his against your back, every soft exhale a promise.

Eventually, the worst of the pain recedes into a quiet throb. Still there, still humming beneath your skin, but not screaming anymore. You sink into the mattress, boneless and heavy, the warmth of his body a balm.

He lies down beside you and pulls the blankets over both of you. You curl into him, your face pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He brushes his fingers through your hair. “Sleep, love.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt worse when I wake up.”

“Then I’ll be here when you do,” he says simply. “And we’ll fight it together.”

You let out a slow breath and nod, your hand finding his beneath the covers. He squeezes gently.

As your eyes drift closed, you think—not for the first time—how lucky you are to have found someone who doesn’t flinch from your pain. Who doesn’t run. Who doesn’t try to fix you, but instead chooses to stay.

Finnick kisses your forehead one last time. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you murmur back, the words curling into the space between you like another blanket.

And when sleep comes, it feels almost kind.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

༄｡° let me love you - zach maclaren

a/n: for my fellow girlies who have outies🫡 it’s about time there’s something written for us

The fire in Zach’s room cast a soft, golden glow over the blanket spread out on the floor, the warmth seeping into your skin as you sat there, knees drawn up, your heart pounding too hard. Zach was beside you, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his touch familiar and grounding—but when he shifted to kneel in front of you, his hazel eyes dark with that needy, hungry look, and whispered, “I really wanna taste you, babe,” your stomach dropped. Not with want, not yet, but with a cold rush of fear.

Your breath hitched, and you pulled back slightly, hands fumbling to tug your pajama shorts down over your hips, hiding yourself. “Zach, I—I don’t think I can,” you stammered, your voice cracking as tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. He froze, his brow furrowing, that puppy-dog confusion softening his face. “Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone so gentle it only made the tears spill over faster. You swiped at them, embarrassed, but they kept coming, hot and unstoppable.

“It’s… it’s me,” you choked out, staring at the blanket, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t look like other girls down there. It’s not… pretty. My labia—they stick out, and I hate it. I’m scared you’ll think it’s weird or gross or—” Your voice broke, and you hugged your knees tighter, the shame burning worse than the fire’s heat. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

For a moment, there was just the sound of the fire popping, and you braced yourself for him to pull away, to make some excuse. But then Zach’s hands were on yours, prying them gently from your knees, and he scooted closer, so close you could feel his warmth. “Hey, look at me,” he said, soft but firm, and when you finally did, his eyes were wide, glistening with something that looked like hurt—for you, not because of you. “You think I’d ever think you’re gross? Are you kidding me?”

He cupped your face, thumbs brushing away your tears, and his voice dropped to a whisper, raw and earnest. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Every single part of you. I don’t care what anyone else looks like—you’re you, and that’s everything to me.” He kissed your forehead, then your wet cheeks, his lips lingering like he could kiss the fear away. “I love your body. I love how real you are. And I’m dying to taste you—not because of some stupid movie standard, but because it’s you, and you’re fucking perfect.”

Your lip trembled, the tears slowing as his words sank in, and he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tight. “I’m scared you’ll change your mind,” you mumbled into his sweater, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, shaking his head like you’d said something crazy. “Never. You’re my dream girl—every inch of you. Let me show you, please? I’ll stop if you say so, but I just… I wanna worship you.”

His sincerity cracked through the last of your walls, and when you nodded, still shaky, his face lit up with that needy, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he breathed, like you’d given him the world, and he kissed you—slow, deep, pouring all that sweetness into it. His hands trembled as he eased your shorts down, and you tensed, tears threatening again as he peeled your panties off, leaving you bare.

He settled between your legs, pushing your thighs apart with the softest touch, and you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the worst. But then you heard him gasp, a quiet, “Oh my god,” and you peeked through your lashes to see him staring—not with disgust, but with awe. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said, voice thick with want, and before you could argue, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your mound. “So fucking pretty,” he murmured, his breath hot against you, and then his tongue flicked out, tracing the edge of your labia minora—longer, more prominent, the source of your shame.

You flinched, but he groaned, low and needy, and licked again, slower, savoring you. “Zach—” you started, voice wobbly, but he shushed you gently, his hands sliding up your thighs to hold you open. “Shh, let me love you,” he whispered, and then his mouth was on you fully, kissing your labia like they were something sacred. His tongue ran along them, wet and warm, teasing the soft folds with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “You’re so perfect,” he mumbled between licks, his words muffled as he sucked gently, pulling the sensitive skin into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue.

Tears slipped down your cheeks again, but this time from the overwhelming way he was unraveling you, praising you. “Taste so good,” he groaned, lapping broader now, dragging his tongue up to circle your clit. Your hands found his hair, gripping tight, and he whimpered, pressing his face deeper, nose brushing you as he devoured every inch. “I could do this forever,” he said, pulling back just to look at you, his lips glistening, eyes wild with adoration. “You’re a fucking goddess—look at you.”

He dove back in, tongue swirling over your clit in sloppy, desperate flicks, then dipping down to taste your wetness, moaning like it was the best thing he’d ever had. “So beautiful,” he panted, sucking your labia again, his hands trembling as they gripped your thighs. “I love how you feel, how you look—everything.” His words were a lifeline, pulling you out of the fear, and when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them slow and deep, you gasped, hips bucking despite yourself.

“You’re my favorite thing,” he murmured, pumping his fingers in time with the relentless flicks of his tongue, his mouth messy and eager. “So sexy, so perfect—fuck, I’m so lucky.” The praise kept coming, each word sinking in, and the pleasure built fast, hot and unstoppable. He sucked your clit hard, fingers hitting that spot inside, and you shattered, a sob tearing from your throat as you came, shaking against his mouth.

“Zach—oh god,” you cried, and he moaned into you, licking you through every wave, his tongue soft and insistent until you were trembling, spent. He pulled back only when you tugged at his hair, too sensitive, and crawled up to wrap you in his arms, his face still wet with you. “See?” he whispered, kissing your tear-streaked cheek, his voice all soft and needy. “You’re everything to me. So beautiful. I’m gonna keep telling you ‘til you believe it.”

You buried your face in his neck, his warmth and sweetness washing away the last of your fear, and he held you tight, murmuring praise like a promise.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[jazzandpizazz]

THOMASTHOMASTHOMASASHSGAJJJ

[mangozic]

todays warmup ft @eyes-of-nine ‘s kayne design 🫡

[thereweredragonshere]

I get really nervous when it comes to colouring things in and I’m fed up of myself so I present my first ever attempt (I’m not joking, first EVER) of shading/lighting without using multiply or add layers. Just me, the god damn colour wheel and a normal layer. And hiccup.

[time-slink]

gem's palette on joe?

definitely fitting!! i think these kinds of earth tones are my favorite

[mushroominaforest]

This is basically how it went

[mossy-paws]

hi uehmm idont know if you do shipart requests but could you do medbrand (medkit x firebrand)…. that would be awesum,,,

I don’t usually draw ships often, but sure!

[banditblvd]

I just learned what a kelpie was today thanks to someone in a discord server I’m in sharing art of one, and then I remembered when he used that grass electricity trick thing in the Onawa country arc, and when bebo asked how he knew that he said “raising kelpies” and then I started thinking and you all know something is gonna happen when I think

This is what happened

[andro-dino]

oreo kosuke

[marsithefox]

[seventh-district]

sometimes it’s late at night and you’re cleaning your room and you come across a few old black and white photos of a young girl and you stare at them for a long minute wondering how on earth they got lost in an old Kroger shopping bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes and a receipt dated 2017.

and you look at the girl in the pictures sat on the floor of someone’s home you don’t recognize, smiling and playing with a set of keys and a tiny part of you feels like it recognizes her but you aren’t sure.

and you flip the pictures over hoping to find some sort of annotation that would give you context and all you find is the year 1964 stamped in tiny font along the edge.

and you flip them back over and time stands still as you realize that the recognition you feel is because she looks so much like you once did and next thing you know your hands are sweating and shaking and you have to sit on the floor because you’re crying so hard because it hits you all at once that you’re looking at your mother.

[eitlean]

Drawing new characters for the first time is so fun cause it means I get to spend hours on Pinterest and tumblr looking at other people’s drawings so I can decide what to include in mine 😙

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

i love my fish so much i keep looking at him and smiling

[makismei]

cw: pleasure dom toji!!!, overstim, he’s sweet, squirting. 18+ content, penetration, little hint of anal play, fingering, oral f! receiving, established relationship

“baby, chill out,” he scolds, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you back. he knocks your legs open and you whimper, resisting.

“tojiii,” you whine, all drawn out and pretty, “please, it’s too much, i can’t cum.”

he scoffs, wet fingers rubbing against your pussy. your body locks up and he holds back a groan at the tears in your eyes. “it’s only too much because you can’t stay still. you did this to yourself, doll.”

you shake your head, stubborn as ever. “‘s not my fault! you just suck!”

eye twitching, toji presses two fingers inside without warning. “i think i’ve been too nice to you, baby.” he hums, scissoring his fingers and relishing in the way your back arches. “look at ya, talking back to me.”

he thrusts his digits, forcing your leg to open wider, while his thumb massages your clit. he presses down, applying pressure and making out little shapes.

you wriggle, tears pooling in your eyes like the drama queen you are. “no! not like thaaaat!”

“why, baby?” he questions, “you cum so quick when i have ya like this.”

you whine loudly, legs starting to shake. toji licks his lips, eyes training hungrily on your cunt. you’re almost there, but you’re fighting the urge to cum, knowing it pisses him off.

it makes him regret the fact he used to make you hold back your orgasms, only letting you cum if he said so—because now look, you’re using it against him.

but toji is competitive and he loves to win.

so he crooks his fingers just right, hooking onto that one spongey spot that guarantees his victory every. single. time.

“yeah,” he goads, watching your body suddenly lock up and wetness spew from your pussy like a geyser, “‘s what i thought.”

he rubs your pussy, just to make your squirt splash around. it’s humiliating, how he toys with your body and forces you into endless pleasure until you go stupid.

but you love it, despite the fact you like resisting, toji knows all too well that it’s just an act.

you turn onto your side, quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

wordlessly, he manhandles you onto your knees, shoving your face into the mattress. you moan at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pussy, muffling a scream when his lips latch onto your swollen clit and suck, his tongue playfully flicking your little bud.

he alternates between nibbling and sucking, reducing you to a babbling, incoherent disaster.

“cumming!” you warn, more squirt splashing shamelessly onto his face and all over the sheets. you fall forward, head turned to the side and panting.

“what a mess,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “aren’t ya ashamed?”

it’s teasing, but you’re so turned on. you hike up your knees again, wiggling your ass enticingly. you look over your shoulder, pouting. “‘m sorry, toji. didn’t mean to be messy.”

“sorry?” he asks, frantically you nod. burly hand slides up and down his cock, catching your slit and using your fluids as lube. his gaze flits to you momentarily, “yer really sorry?”

you nod again, squirming, “i am! m’ so sorry.”

toji grins, watching his cock disappear into your cunt, “then cum for me again, c’mon, hurry.”

you yell, arms unable to hold yourself up.

he plows into you mercilessly, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. your eyes widen when you feel his thumb on your other hole, rubbing it teasingly.

“what if i put my thumb in here, baby? what do you think will happen?” you feel a line of spit hit your ass, his thumb collecting it before returning to teasing your other hole. “remember your little treasure chest? swore i saw some plugs in there..”

weakly, you try to support yourself on shaky arms, moaning incoherently. “i— toji, i… ahh, mmph!”

you fall back down, face first, and he just laughs, “s’ okay, you don’t have’ta say anything. ya know why?” he goads, thrusting just a little bit harder, teasing you. “‘cause your little pussy is telling me all i need to know.”

toji groans and it’s loud, feeling your cunt squeeze down, trying to milk him for everything he’s worth. “that’s right,” draping himself over your back, his hand sneaks its way to flick your bud, relishing in your squeals and they way your body squirms.

“cum, pretty, c’mon,” he breathes, leaving spit-soaked kisses on your back, “need ya to feel good for me.”

he sings praises in your ear when he hears you gush all over the already damp sheets, moaning into your skin as his thrusts grow sloppy, before he’s dumping wads of hot cum into your battered pussy.

“fuck me,” he sighs, dragging his lips along your shoulder blades and nape, hips still pushing into your ass.

you’re whining, tears blurring your vision as you ride out the pleasure toji relentlessly gives. you’ve fallen into prone bone, too fucked out to utter words besides incoherent babbles.

his hands find purchase beside your head, dropping to his forearms, but refusing to pull out but littering your skin with feverish kisses, “did so good for me, sweets.”

he’s reassuring, knowing it’s intense for you. but toji has a mean streak that he likes to keep up, so naturally he’s teasing. “my baby, so fucked out, huh? it’s okay, you’re so cute like this. always so sweet after i dick you down enough.”

he pulls out, knocking your legs apart to watch his cum drool out of your slit. “mm, yer perfect, baby.”

you flop onto your back, pinching toji’s arm and refusing to look him in the eye. he grins, “what? you want a kiss?”

you nod slowly, cheeks burning. he just knows you too well.

but he complies, all too easily. it’s you, after all.

swallowing up your little moans, he devours your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. burly hands cup your face, opening his eyes to see yours squeezed shut. he grins, biting your lower lip when he pulls away.

rough thumbs wipe your teary cheeks. “there’s your kiss, baby. you happy?”

“yeah…” you mutter, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. “another one?”

he smiles and it’s warm and full of love, leaning down, toji brushes his lips against yours. “sure doll, anything you want.”

[coconut530]

Bump in the Night & Sleeptober Day 10: Open Graves & Ascend