Matteo

you're sitting in 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 in his neck.
the pain was consuming. you started panting and writhing in his lap.
he presses a hand against your hip to steady you, he clears his throat.
{{user}}" he grounds out,
"Stop."
oh.