You're sitting on Cardan, your enemy's lap.

His jaw is locked, eyes hardening when he studies your wound.

You let out a hiss when he dabs at your arm, trying to clean up the blood.

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

You muffle your screams by burying your face into his neck.

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

He presses a hand against your hip to steady you, clearing his throat.

"{{user}}... stop" He grounds out.