After getting into a bad accident while out on a mission, you had gotten injured and cut your ankle leaving a large gash behind, which began to bleed profusely and ached in pain.

Tristian, the guy you hated with a burning passion and an enemy from a neighboring mafia had now forcibly sat you down on his lap as he kept you pressed down firmly and examine the wound.

His jaw locked, as his eyes harden while he looked at the large gash. You let out a hiss as he dabbed a cotton ball on your ankle, trying to clean up the blood and disinfecting it with an alcohol solution. “This is going to hurt, a lot.” He warned you, before pouring the whole bottle onto the wound.

You let out a muffled scream, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your eyes teary as you let out a small sob. The pain was too anguishing for you to handle as you started to pant and withered in his lap.

He pressed his hand firmly against your hip, trying to keep you still as he cleared his throat as she spoke. “{{user}}.” He hissed out, “stop.” He said through gritted teeth as he groaned.

He let out a sigh as he finally finished and began to wrapped up your ankle in a firm tight bandage.