Wednesday: Pleasure & Pain

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Hi! I’m brumeier, and this week we’re going to be looking at both sides of the coin, so to speak. Today’s theme is PLEASURE & PAIN. I prefer pleasure, personally, but I also appreciate the pain of getting a tattoo. Do with that what you will. ::grins:: Any interpretation of either prompt is great!

Just a few rules:

No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
Use the character's full names and fandom's full name for ease adding to the Lonely Prompts spreadsheet.
No spoilers in prompts for a month after airing, or use the spoiler cut option found here.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space, or use the spoiler cut.
If there are possible triggers in your story, please warn for them in the subject line!

Prompts should be formatted as follows: [Use the character's full names and fandom's full name]
Fandom, Character +/ Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...

+ Stargate Atlantis, Any, it’s better to feel pain than not feel anything at all

+ Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Steve helps Bucky relearn life’s little pleasures

+ Hawaii Five-0, Danny Williams, “The pleasure is all yours, trust me.”

+ Any, Any, with great pain comes great change

We use AO3 to bookmark filled prompts. If you fill a prompt and post it to AO3 please add it to the Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2016 collection. See further notes on this new option here.

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet 1 (not very current), Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet 2, or the Calendar Archives, or for more recent prompts, you can use LJ's advanced search options to find prompts to request and/or fill.

While the Lonely Prompts Spreadsheets and LJ's advanced search options are available, bookmarking the links of prompts you like might work better for searching for in the future.

tag=pleasure&pain

Comments

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, Any, it’s better to feel pain than not feel anything at all

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Steve helps Bucky relearn life’s little pleasures

Fill -- That's No Bologna

[vanillafluffy.livejournal.com]

In the old days--circa 1930--cookouts meant the roof of whatever apartment building was handiest. It involved the biggest empty can they could get their hands on, half-filled with coal and raised up on bricks to insulate it from the tar-paper of the roof itself. (After the incident with a neighbor’s rare plant, they stuck to tin cans instead of flowerpots. Bucky can laugh about it now, but he’d had extra chores to do for weeks after that fiasco.) Children of their times, they called them “hobo fires”, and with a little imagination, they stood in for cowboy bonfires on the long, long trail a-winding or the campsite of explorers pausing in their quest for a treasure hidden deep in the jungle

Back then it was a matter of coming up with fifty cents for some bologna, a stale loaf of bread, and a jar of yellow mustard, usually swiped from Bucky’s ma’s kitchen and returned afterward or else--they never dared find out what “or else” was--Mrs. Barnes being a red-headed Itrishwoman whose use of a wooden spoon wasn’t limited to stirring the pot of soup kept bubbling on the stove.

It was always just the two of them. Bucky loved his sisters, but he got tired of having them around sometimes--not to mention the expense of buying additional bologna. Steve didn’t really have a lot of other friends beside Bucky, so the cookouts were an exclusive event.

Things are different now. They’re a lot higher up, on the roof of Stark Tower, looking toward Brooklyn instead of living there. The firepit is a fantastical abstract scupture burning natural gas.

For Bucky, it’s curiously relaxing. There’s something about sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his boyhood friend that makes him happier than he’s been since 1930-something. It’s the corny jokes, memories of people and events they share that are unique to them, snapshots of a time and place that vanished while they were sleeping.

These days, it’s inclusive in an exclusive way--from time to time, the other Avengers drop by. The terrace where the firepit is installed has a mini-bar to one side, so there’s hospitality beyond the impromptu cookouts. Tony is bemused by their bologna, wondering why they don’t grill kabobs or Chilean sea-bass. Bruce, on the rare occasions he shows up, is quiet, looking into the fire…they hardly notice he’s there, which works all the way around. Thor is rowdy, Natasha tends to prowl around for a little while and leave, while Clint tells tall tales of the carnival he grew up traveling with. At times, his stories even exceed their boyhood dreams of running away to join the circus.

Texas toast stands in for the day-old bread they made do with back in the day. Bucky can afford to buy his own restaurant-size jar of mustard, although he has a squeeze bottle he refills conscientiously from the bigger container. Okay, so he’s a little cheap--he grew up being frugal, and there’s a difference between having it and not spending it and not having it to spend--he’s not a poor kid from the neighborhood anymore. To prove how flush he is, he buys the good bologna, sliced thick, and plenty of it.

Bologna smells wonderful, roasting. It doesn’t taste quite the same as being cooked atop their hobo fires--but that first bite of grilled bologna tinged with mustard reminds Bucky of what it was like to be ten years old. From the look in his eyes as he munches his sandwich, Steve feels the same way, but there’s one thing that’s better than their youth: Steve is strong and healthy now, not chronically sick.

It’s funny--all these years later, and here they are. In some ways it’s completely different, in others, it’s hauntingly familiar. Not just the circumstances--it’s them, too. Their friendship has survived war and brainwashing and conflict. They can both look back on adventures that are more incredible than any they could have imagined. Bucky smiles as he skewers another slice of lunch meat. He’d been right, that long-ago night before shipping out. Here they are, in the future.

…

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Hawaii Five-0, Danny Williams, “The pleasure is all yours, trust me.”

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, with great pain comes great change

Fill 1/2: Stargate Atlantis, Thellas Chronicles, Evan Lorne + Kate Heightmeyer

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

The fascinating thing about speaking to Thellas was that she was so incredibly in tune with her emotions - because she’d had multiple bodies and understood better than anyone Kate had ever met how hormones and circumstances affected thoughts and feelings. In their therapy sessions, Kate asked Thellas how she’d been feeling, how her day had gone, and she could track very clearly what triggered different emotions, responses, trains of thought. She was brilliant. No wonder her closest friend on the Expedition was Rodney McKay. He was probably the only person who came close to how brilliant she was. (She was more than smart enough not to make Rodney feel that difference in intellect.)

Kate had sent back to the SGC for everything she could get her hands on about Tok’ra and how the symbiotic relationship worked. Unfortunately, the most detailed information she had was about the time Samantha Carter was forcefully taken by Jolinar and the time General O’Neill was overtaken by Kanan. Interviews with Jacob Carter were sparse and short because he was usually only on Earth on Tok’ra business.

But Kate knew that whenever a Tok’ra blended with a host, each blending was different. The way Thellas had manifested in her previous bodies would be totally different from how she manifested in Evan’s. The first time Thellas’s consciousness encountered Evan’s, she’d have been confronted with every thought and belief that made Evan who he was and be forced to judge herself by his standards. Given how well Thellas seemed to be managing their arrangement, she must have been pretty all right by Evan’s standards.

What no one could tell Kate was how Evan had reacted after encountering Thellas’s consciousness. Thellas was centuries old, had lived in multiple bodies, been born with the genetic memory of the Tok’ra on top of that, and constantly been at war.

In stark contrast to Thellas, Evan was a wreck. He never knew what he was feeling, or why he’d thought a certain thing. He was an officer, far more by-the-book than John or even Anne, but traditional wasn’t what kept him close-mouthed, because he’d been raised by women and without a father figure on a hippy commune in the Bay Area. He wasn’t ashamed of his emotions. He just - didn’t have any anymore.

People thought depression was sadness.

Evan described it pretty well. “It’s not - I’m not sad. I don’t want to cry. I just open my eyes in the morning and I think, why? Why am I still here? Why am I still breathing? Why should I bother to get out of bed? But, you know. Duty. Orders.” He shrugged, his expression distressingly nonchalant.

Evan was so awash in despair that he was numb, couldn’t feel anything anymore. It was no wonder that he never knew how he felt or why he felt things, because he was one raw nerve and even the faintest brush registered as agony but that agony was white noise compared to everything he was already drowning in. He was running on a regular basis, but he’d been doing that even while he was planning to take his own life, probably would have gone running on the day of. He was drawing, but then he’d been doing that during the crisis as well.

(Kate had looked through his sketchbook. His talent was astounding. She hadn’t thought that anyone whose entire life was the military would have the time to hone such a skill, but his pictures were infused with life, animation, were a breath away from leaping off the page. His nightmare-memories were also horrifyingly vivid. And he was in love with Elizabeth, which explained her offering to be his support system - bad idea - and his turning her down.)

Ronon reported that he and Evan spent time in the kitchens together, cooking. Ronon thought it was hilarious, that the Marines were terrified of both him and Evan (Evan had stopped holding back in sparring and now only Teyla and Ronon were a match for him on the mats; sometimes both of them at once were what it took to take him down) but that they also really, really liked the things Evan cooked (and baked - Evan had taught him the difference between cooking and baking).

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

MI-5|Spooks, Lucas North (+/ Adam Carter or cake), the pain of baking is offset by the pleasure of the results

Fill: (and thank you for this prompt!)

[thesmallhobbit.livejournal.com]

Lucas stood back and admired the result. Admittedly the cake was a little uneven, where part of it had got stuck in the tin, but the rest of it had come out okay. And he’d cut off the edge which had browned a bit too much when he’d left the mixture cooking too long before turning it. But that would be covered by the icing. He looked rather ruefully at the burn on his wrist from the oven shelf; he’d turned the cake rather rapidly and hadn’t been as careful as he should have been.

Carefully he spooned the icing onto the cake. And watched as it slowly ran down the sides, some of it getting as far as the work surface. More icing sugar was clearly needed. He poured it into the mixture. It would look obvious he’d had a problem if he just added more white icing, but inspiration struck him – he’d seen food colouring in the cupboard. He reached up and took a bottle out.

Not wishing to ruin the icing he poured the red colouring onto a teaspoon, and in doing so splashed some over his thumb and forefinger. With admirable presence of mind he crossed the kitchen to the sink where he could wash it away. Sadly the colouring had been too effective and he now looked as if he’d been stabbed.

Glancing at the clock Lucas realised he didn’t have much time left. He grabbed the second bottle of food colouring (green – they’d been left over from Christmas) and poured some directly into the icing, then stirred it and hastily spread it over the top of the cake. It was obvious he hadn’t mixed the colouring in properly, for there were spots of deeper green in the middle of the pale green icing. Nothing daunted Lucas pushed the candle holders into the middle of the darker spots and wedged the candles into the holders. Two of them looked rather wobbly, but fortunately they stayed in place.

He was just in time. He heard Adam come in and walk through to the kitchen.

“Oh wow!” Adam said, “That’s amazing.” Then he noticed Lucas’ thumb and his burnt wrist. “Are you okay?” he asked in a horrified tone.

“Yes,” sighed Lucas. “It’s food colouring. And I held the burn under cold water.”

Adam laughed and hugged Lucas. “Thank you so much for my birthday cake. I have never ever had one which looked like that before.”

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, Farfarello, just because he feels no physical pain doesn't mean he doesn't feel at all

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

Sense8, any, pleasuring yourself to alleviate someone else's pain

Not a fill..

[squidgiepdx]

...but holy crap, the images I have in my head right now. I've never written Sense8, but I just may have to!

[ami-ven.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Castiel/Dean Winchester, "There is too much pain in your life, Dean. I want to make sure you have pleasure, too."

[ami-ven.livejournal.com]

Any, any, Ah! Brainfreeze!

Not a fill

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Why was my first thought when I saw this the Earthworm Jim cartoon? XD

[ami-ven.livejournal.com]

Any military/cop/action fandom, any, taking a bullet/hit for someone else is less painful than watching them get hurt

Fill 1/3: The Sentinel, Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

"Stay in the truck," Jim said. It was an automatic request, leaving his mouth without any real conscious thought. Blair would've argued, before, but he would've stayed put. Things were different now.

"You stay in the fucking truck," Blair muttered. He got out of the car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. Jim winced.

"Sandburg --"

"Let's just do this."

Jim squared his jaw and nodded. Routine questioning, that's all they were doing. Nothing seemed routine anymore. Blair had changed in ways that Jim didn't like, that made him nervous. The kid had always been kind of fearless, throwing himself into dangerous situations if he thought he could help. But now it was like he just didn't care.

Sometimes Jim thought that dying had taken away Blair's joy in living.

"We'll take this nice and easy, Chief, okay? We don't want to spook Blake."

"I know."

If Jim wasn’t so swamped with guilt all the time he'd be pretty pissed off at Blair's attitude. But all those negative changes were his fault. Blair's death, his emotional pain over the way Jim had acted with Alex...Jim had let his emotions rule him instead of his brain and everything had gone wrong. He didn't know how to fix it.

Emery Blake owned a garage downtown, specializing in body work and auto detailing. He was also a person of interest in a major car theft ring that was tied to two fresh homicides and possibly a half dozen cold cases. Jim wanted to finesse the guy, get him thinking he was helping out Major Crimes instead of digging himself a bigger hole, because Jim was after the brains of the organization and not just a little fish like Blake.

Jim dialed down as they entered, the smell of oil and gasoline and paint enough to overwhelm his heightened senses.

"Detective," Blake said warily. He was an older guy, late forties, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a noticeable scar over his left eye. He wiped his hands off on a greasy towel. "Back again?"

"I just had a few follow-up questions," Jim said congenially. "If you have a few minutes?"

Blake glanced back at the two cars up on lifts and then shrugged. "I can spare a few minutes."

They followed him to a dirty, dented metal desk set up in the corner. The top of it was covered in grease-smeared paperwork, car part catalogs, and receipts speared on one of those little spikes. Blake dropped down into the chair behind the desk and motioned for Jim and Blair to take the two seats opposite.

"Just pressed these pants," Jim said. No way he was sitting down in that dusty, dirty chair.

Blair, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the chair and pulled one of the catalogues off the desk, flipping through it idly like he had nothing else to interest him there. It set Blake more at ease.

Jim pulled out his notebook and made a show of flipping pages. "You said that you owed money to Eddie Drexel, a loan to get out of some gambling debts. Is that right?"

"Just a couple grand," Blake said dismissively. "I've been paying on installments."

"Did he ever send anyone over here to lean on you? Threaten you?"

Blake shifted in his chair. "No. Nothing like that. Like I said, it was just a couple grand. Chump change."

Jim could read the lie on his face, in his body language, the way his heart started racing. Drexel, as far as they could tell, was the money man for whoever was orchestrating the theft of the cars. If they could bring him in Jim knew he could get him talking.

"Listen, Emery. Drexel is a person of interest in a couple of homicides. He's a bad guy. You don't want to be associated with him, right? If he threatened you what's to say he won't be back to try again with more force this time? Hard to work on cars with broken fingers."

Blake looked down at his hands, and them immediately dropped them into his lap. "He didn't do nothing to me. I swear."

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Any (please no SPN). any(/any), Never underestimate a chronic pain sufferer for they can sit there in agony and keep smiling

Her Own Little Cross (Little Women, Beth March)

[ran-dezvous.livejournal.com]

She was dying, she was sure of it. Slowly but surely, she was dying. She might not be technically be diagnosed with an illness, but she could definitely feel it deep inside her, in the very fabric of her being. She was weak—no, fatigued—and, on most days, she found it difficult to do even the simplest of things. Even worse, there was a constant feeling of malaise pervading her body, and she had no idea how articulate her experience.

It was better that way, though. They were only of modest means, and she didn't want to be a further burden to her family. She would continue to smile and help out with the housework as much as she possibly can; she wouldn't allow anyone—not even her sweet, beloved Jo—to know of her pain.

It was her own little cross, and she was willing to carry it.


It's my first attempt at writing for this fandom, and I haven't read the book in a while, so I apologize if I haven't gotten the tone right or if I've screwed up Beth's characterization in some way. Nonetheless, I must thank you for inspiring me to write something outside my usual fandom! (I'm terribly mono-fannish.) I'd like to try toflesh this one out someday. Not making any promises, though!

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Any (please no SPN), any (+/ any), In hospital/sickbay doctor(s) are amazed when someone who should be 9 or 10 acute pain just wants a paracetemol because their pain is maaaaaaybe a 2?

Sorry, complicated prompt is complicated. Basically pain threshold level shenanigans. Bonus points if the person doesn't realise they should be in that much pain.

Fill -- Just a Scratch (MCU, Clint Barton + OFC)

[vanillafluffy.livejournal.com]

It’s standard procedure to have a doctor on call in the heli-carrier sickbay. Most issues are minor--personnel gets eyestrain staring at screens or repetitive stress injuries, the occasional training accident…

Dr. Sydney Porter yawns and turns a page. This cruise has been much the same. They made a brief stop--it’s below her pay-grade to know where or why--the red-hot rumor is Sao Paolo to exfiltrate an operative. The article about H2N2 influenza isn’t exactly fascinating reading. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye and glances over.

A man stands slumped against the doorframe, sizing her up. He’s filthy--like he’s been rolling in mud, and the leather jacket draped over his shoulders looks as if it’s been through an all-out war.

“Can I help you?” she asks. No doubt this guy is the operative they just picked up--there’s no way the Colonel would let such a walking breach of uniform regulations stroll around his ship otherwise, and if he wasn’t on their side, he’d be escorted.

“Yeah, can I get a few ibuprofen? Please?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable request for someone as banged-up as he is. “No allergies?”

“None.” She extends her hand with a couple sealed packets, then sees him wince as he reaches for them.

“Where, exactly, does it hurt?” she demands.

Her patient groans--not from physical pain. “It’s nothing, seriously. Just give me the damn pills, will you?” He makes a grab for them--Sydney raises her hand with the packets above her head, and the groan this provokes is real.

The jacket has slid from his broad shoulders to the floor--there are bloodstains on his shirt.

“I have to take a look at that,” she says, determined.

“Fine!” He sits on one of the benches, lifts his right arm, clasping the back of his neck with his hand.

Sydney gingerly works his tee shirt up. There’s a graze on his right side, just below his rib cage. Three inches above that is an in-and-out wound already starting to clot. Probably doesn’t need surgery, but definitely needs more than ibuprofen!

She’d better check and see if he’s in the system; if he thinks this is a minor injury, god knows what he’d leave out of a standard medical history. “Name?”

“Oh for crying out loud,” is his exasperated response. “It chipped a rib, that’s all.”

“You know that how? With your x-ray vision?” This guy is taking machismo to a ridiculous extreme.

“Clint Barton. Employee number--” He rattles it off, annoyance plain on his face. “Get on with it.”

A comprehensive medical file on Barton has notes about childhood abuse. No shit, Sherlock--scans show numerous healed fractures. If that’s what he got used to growing up, small wonder he’s nonchalant about injuries now. And he’s right--Sydney’s newest scans show one rib cracked along the trajectory of the wound. There’s nothing to be done about it aside from sewing it up

Movement again. She glances away from the display and barks, “Hold it!” She’s caught him with his hand in the drawer containing the ibuprofen packets.

Clint sighs. “Seriously, Doc--it’s no big deal. Right now, all I want is a little something for the ribs and a shower. Then I’ll slap on a few band-aids and sleep for two days.”

“Not so fast--I’m going to shoot you up with some antibiotics, since I have a feeling you wouldn’t take a scrip if I gave it to you…” Barton grins a little. “Let me take a couple stitches…you can keep that handful of pills you think I didn’t see you grab. But no more than three packets in one day--it will fuck up your liver, and no, I’m not overreacting!”

He’s smiling outright by the end of her diatribe. “Sure, Doc, go ahead if it makes you feel better.”

It’s idiotic to suffer with wounds like those when medical resources are available to treat them properly. Sydney sets the tray up with surgical staplers and all the usual paraphernalia. Barton has relaxed, thinking he’s almost through. He’s even accepted a wet-wipe to clean his face with.

Sydney gets the last laugh; the injection she administers has him snoring almost as soon as she’s withdrawn the needle. He wants to sleep for two days? Fine--he can do it in sickbay.

...

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Any (please no SPN), any/any, "Did that hurt?" "Yes." "I'm sorry!" "Don't be, I *liked* it. ;)"

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Any (please no SPN), any (+any), Something to do with this video

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Any (please no SPN), any/any, sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar+/Chloe Decker, what is this pain he feels when he looks at her?

[jdl71.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam Winchester, the pain he goes through when Dean is hurt.

[cozy-coffee.livejournal.com]

Any, any/any, person A has a hardcore kink (i.e., rape fantasy, breath play, etc.), Person B is weary about engaging in the kink

Any, Any/Any Weary P1

[jdl71.livejournal.com]

Gabriel lay on the bed next to Sam, a smile on his lips as he turned to look at his lover. He ran a hand across Sam’s abs and watched as Sam shuddered from his touch.

“Hmm,” Sam murmured to him, enjoying Gabriel’s fingers on his skin. He reached up and drew Gabriel to him, needing his lips against his.

Gabriel pulled away from him, a sly smile on his face.

Sam looked at him, confusion and curiosity swirled in his eyes.

“I have a secret I want to share with you,” Gabriel murmured as he licked across one of Sam’s nipples, hardening the nub and making Sam squirm at his touch.

“What - what is it?” Sam asked, breathless.

“I’ve always wanted to try something with you.” Gabriel said as he tongued at Sam’s other nipple. He heard Sam whimper as his teeth graze over the sensitive bud. “It’s kind of a little kink of mine.” He felt Sam’s body still and he raised his eyes to look at Sam.

Sam stared at Gabriel, wondering where this was leading to. “What?” He asked tentatively.

“Have you ever heard of breath play?”

Sam could only nod his head yes. He’d heard of it but had never had a desire to try it. But, for Gabriel he might be willing to. He knew Gabriel would never do anything to cause him harm. He was an attentive lover. But still, the weariness was there, in the back of his mind. His mind raced, there was so much that could go wrong with this.

“I don’t know if I want to,” Sam admitted.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to. I would never push you into something you’re not comfortable with,” Gabriel said as he kissed Sam.

Sam turned his head from him, lost in his thoughts over Gabriel’s little admission. Everyone had something they harbored as a desire to try. Maybe he could indulge his lover this once.

“Okay . . . I’m, I’m willing.” Sam looked into Gabriel’s eyes, saw the excitement that flashed in them. He shuddered, had he just made the wrong choice?

“Are you sure? My hands will be wrapped around your neck, cutting off your air.” Gabriel pulled back as he spoke, wanting to make sure Sam was fully on board with this. He’d never force Sam into anything and he never wanted to hurt him. Sam was human after all and could be easily hurt if he wasn’t careful.

“Yes, I’m willing to try,” Sam said as he ran his hands down Gabriel’s arms. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, to give himself over to Gabriel. He couldn’t help he moan that escaped his lips as he felt Gabriel’s hands on him, fingers running down his thigh, across the sensitive skin of his rim. He gasped as Gabriel’s fingers pushed into him, stretching him open. He gave a whimper as Gabriel withdrew from him, only to line his cock up and push in,

Sam’s eyes snapped open as he felt Gabriel push into him. He drew his legs up, circling them around Gabriel’s waist, pulling him in deeper.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed Sam hungrily, needing to taste him. “Ready?” he murmured against Sam’s lips and felt Sam’s head shake yes in response. “Love you,” he said as he brought his hands to Sam’s throat, wrapping his fingers around the delicate column of flesh. He applied a small amount of pressure, just enough to have Sam still underneath him as he thrust into Sam.

[4bdnsn0wflake.livejournal.com]

Author's Choice, any character with tattoos+/any character without tattoos, trying to explain to the non-tattooed character why the pain of getting tattooed is a "good" pain





(Seems we have something in common, brumeier ;))

Not a fill

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

It seems we do! LOL! Of course, some tattoo pain is better than others. Never getting another finger tattoo, that was agony!

[4bdnsn0wflake.livejournal.com]

Saiyuki, Sha Gojyo(+any), the simple pleasure of a cigarette after a hard day

[4bdnsn0wflake.livejournal.com]

Author's Choice, any character(s), the mix of pride/pain when you become an empty nester

[4bdnsn0wflake.livejournal.com]

The Boondock Saints, Connor MacManus or Il Duce, realizing the killing no longer brings him either pleasure or pain

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

The Good Place, Eleanor/Michael - for an immortal being skilled in torture, Michael is truly clueless when it comes to how pleasurable pain can sometimes be

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Law and Order: SVU, Rafael Barba/any - the sweet release of being punished for his sins

[emmatheslayer.livejournal.com]

The punisher, Billy russo /frank castle, the pain of fist to fist contact