You’re sitting in your enemy’s lap. His jaw is locked, his eyes hardening when he studies your wound.

You hiss when he daps at the wound, cleaning up the blood.

”This is going to hurt.” He warns before pouring alcohol on the wound. You muffle your screams by burying your face into his neck.

The pain was consuming. You started panting and writhing in his lap.

He places a hand on your hip to steady you, then clears his throat.

”{{user}}” He groans out. ”Stop.”

You were about to ask why, but then you stopped when you noticed something off.

Oh.