You’re sitting in your enemy’s lap. His eyes hardening as he studies your wound.

You let out a his when he dabs at the wound to clean up the blood.

“This is going to hurt.” He warns before he pours alcohol on the wound.

You muffled your screams by burying your face into his neck. The pain was consuming. You started panting and writhing.

He placed a hand on your hip to steady you, he clears his throat.

“{{user}}.” He groans out. “Stop.”