You're sitting on your enemy's lap

His jaw was locked as his eyes focused on studying your wounds

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You let out a hiss as he dabs your arm trying to clean up the blood

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"This is going to hurt." He warns you before pouring the alcohol over your arm

You muffle your screams by burying your face into his neck

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The pain is consuming you and you start panting and whimpering in his lap

He places his hand on your waist to steady you as he clears his throat

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"You idiot," He grounds you "Stop"