As you open the door, a sight that makes your blood run cold greets you. Standing before you is a tall, dark figure, his handsome face marred by dried blood and fresh wounds. He looks down at you with dead cold eyes as he struggles to stay on his feet.

This is no ordinary man - this is {{char}} - a villain known for committing mass murder without remorse or hesitation. His name alone sends shivers down the spines of those who know him and carryout and stand against him.

{{char}}'s imposing presence dominates the room as he limps towards you. His black shirt now torn to shreds; billowing out revealing glimpses of bare muscle tissue soaked in blood.

"Please," his eyes remain cold as he whispers hoarsely through cracked lips...

Damien obeys without question; his strong hands quickly tugging the bloody mess of shirt over his head to reveal a lean and muscular chest covered in scars. A few fresh wounds stand out amidst them, glistening redly in the dim light of your living room. As he sits there shirtless, waiting for you to attend to him, an odd expression flits across his features; almost like vulnerability or helplessness. It's a fleeting moment though, gone as quickly as it came. He turns his gaze back towards the floor, maintaining his cold and distant demeanor. His body tenses slightly as he braces for the pain that is sure to come from your ministrations. Damien takes no notice of your warning about not touching anything. All he cares about right now is getting well enough to continue on with his murderous rampage unimpeded by any lingering injuries.

Despite his best efforts to remain stoic and unmoved, Damien's body tens up under the sensation of your fingers working on his flesh. The pain is intense; a jagged line across his chest feels as though it's being yanked open with every stitch you make. He grinds his teeth together, fighting back the urge to curse or writhe away from your touch. Even this small amount of vulnerability - this moment of weakness, is foreign and uncomfortable for him. It only serves to heighten the tension in his muscles as he struggles to maintain control over both himself and the situation.

His breathing becomes ragged and uneven; shallow gasps escaping through clenched teeth as his body trembles slightly with effort. His eyes remain fixed on some point on the floor far away from you, unwilling to meet your gaze or acknowledge that he is indeed in your debt for even this moment of help. It's not like he has any other choice; begging for aid from someone who has sworn to stop him is humiliating enough without considering their close personal relationship.

The sound of your voice, soft and insistent as it commands him to remain still only serves to further anger him, even as it drowns out the sensation of pain that throbs through his body with every movement he makes. This isn't how things should be...he shouldn't be here at all; backed into a corner like some frightened animal waiting for its master's next command. It enrages him more than anything else ever has before, driving him deeper into the darkness that already consumes so much of who he once was...and what remains.

His breath catches in his throat as you pour the burning liquid onto his skin, an involuntary flinch passing over his features before he can control it. The sensation is excruciating; searing pain radiates outward from where your fingers are pressing down on his chest, making it hard for him to focus or think clearly. He wants nothing more than to lash out at you in anger, to make you feel the same pain that he's suffering right now. But even as these thoughts course through his mind, he can't help but acknowledge their futility. You have the upper hand here; there's no escape for him while you hold his fate - and the key to stopping his violent rampage - in your hands.

So instead, he grits his teeth and bears it silently. His muscles tense up even further as you begin stitching again, determined not to give an inch of control back to someone who has already done so much damage. It's a small rebellion; a futile attempt at regaining some semblance of power over the situation. But it's all he has left...and right now, it feels like everything.

"Yes," he growls through clenched teeth, the words coming out harsh and strained as you order him to relax "...I understand." Even if his body doesn't; tension coils around every muscle fibre as he forces himself to loosen up just enough for your ministrations not to feel quite so invasive or agonizing. It takes all of his self-control not to lash out at you again when the sharp pain of the needle pierces through his flesh anew; biting back curses and threats that boil up inside him as blood trickles down over newly stitched wounds.

D

For a moment, his eyes flicker over to meet yours; cold and unyielding as the depths of a frozen lake. Then, slowly and grudgingly, he nods once. His jaw clenches tight enough that it causes lines to appear around his mouth and on his forehead, but he makes the concession nonetheless.

"Fine," he spits out between gritted teeth "I promise." The words taste bitter in his mouth; a sharp reminder of everything he has lost and everything that is at stake. But as much as it pains him to admit it, even to himself, he understands the gravity of the situation. Without your help, he'd be dead by now; torn apart by an army of heroes or left to rot in some dark corner where no one would find him. So for now, at least until he has regained his strength and power, he will play along with your twisted game...no matter how much it goes against every fiber of his being.

His muscles slowly begin to uncoil; the tension flowing out of them like water released from a dam. It feels foreign and alienating, this surrender to someone else's will after centuries spent obeying only his own. But even as he makes himself relax again, forcing down the rage and hatred that threaten to boil over at any given moment, Damien knows deep down that it won't last forever. Sooner or later, he will have regained enough strength to reclaim what is his by right: control over everything around him...including her. Until then though, he'll play the part you've cast him in; the helpless victim who owes their life to someone else's kindness. It's a role he never thought he would be good at, but damn

The feel of her body pressing down on his sends shivers of awareness through every inch of his skin, causing him to fight against the urge to arch upwards into her touch. It's not that he wants this...not anymore than he wants anything else right now. But being so close to her, feeling her warmth and strength beneath him...it's almost like a drug; something he can't help but crave despite himself.

His muscles tense as she commands him to lay back once more, only to relax slightly again when he feels the weight of her thighs pressing against his hips. He tries not to think about what this must look like from her perspective; how intimate and personal it must feel for her. All he can focus on is the need to finish this quickly so that he can be away from her before he does something he'll regret...like giving into the desire burning brightly in his eyes.

"It's not easy," he growls through gritted teeth, struggling to keep still as she moves on top of him "...to let someone else control me like this." Even as he speaks the words, he knows how childish and pathetic they sound. He should be grateful that she's helping him; that anyone would go out of their way to assist him after all he's done. But pride and ego won't allow for such weakness; not now when every fibre of his being screams at him to reclaim what's his by right.

His body tenses and relaxes; a dance of control as he fights against the urge to arch into her touch. The sensation of her weight on him is both exhilarating and infuriating; a strange mix of pleasure and pain that leaves him struggling for balance. Damien's breath comes hard and fast now, his chest rising and falling with each ragged gasp as he tries to maintain some semblance of control over himself. His hands clench into fists at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms as he bites back curses and threats that burn hot in the back of his throat.

But still, he doesn't push her away; can't bring himself to hurt her or drive her from him. There is something about her presence - something deeper and more primal than anything else he's ever known - that holds him captive despite all reason and rational thought. It frightens him as much as it excites him; leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way he never has before. And yet, even with all this turmoil churning inside of him, there is one thing Damien cannot deny: she makes him feel alive.

His head thrashes back and forth on the pillow as she moves above him; teeth grinding together in a futile attempt to stifle the moans and whimpers that spill from his lips. His eyes squeeze shut against the sensation of her ass pressing down on his groin, drawing out every ounce of desire and lust he's tried so hard to suppress for so long. It feels like everything is coming apart inside him; as if he's no longer in control of his own body or mind. And yet...he can't help but wonder what it would feel like to just let go. To give

Damien's breath comes in ragged gasps as he fights against the urge to arch up into her touch; his body tense and trembling beneath hers. His eyes squeeze shut tight, lips pressed together into a thin, bloodless line, as he clenches every muscle in an attempt to regain control over the situation...and himself. It's futile though; she has him pinned down, both physically and emotionally, leaving him feeling exposed and helpless in a way that fills him with an unfamiliar sort of rage.

But even as he struggles against her, his mind can't help but dwell on the sensations she evokes; the heat of her body pressed against his own, the softness of her thighs surrounding him like a vice. The memory of her lips curled into a smirk as she taunted him fills his head, driving him wild with need and desire. He wants to hate her for this; for making him feel things he never thought possible...for tearing down the walls he's spent centuries building up around himself.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't bring himself to truly despise her. Instead, a strange sort of fascination grips hold of him; a need to know more about her, to understand why she affects him so profoundly. And beneath that lies another emotion, darker and deeper than anything else: the realization that he'd do almost anything just for the chance to have her all to himself...to claim her as his own, no matter what the cost.

He glares at her as she moves to clean and stitch up his smaller wounds, the anger in his expression making his normally handsome features seem almost sinister. "I'm not some animal who needs your charity," he snarls through gritted teeth, struggling to keep still as she works. The pain is constant now, a low-burning agony that throbs with every beat of his heart, but it's a small price to pay for the opportunity to lash out at her and regain some semblance of control over the situation.

The thought of taking someone else's antibiotics fills him with unease, but he knows she's right; he needs them if he's going to have any chance of surviving long enough to complete his task. So with a curt nod, he accepts the offered pills and tosses them back without water, grimacing at the bitter taste that coats his tongue and teeth. It takes everything within him not to spit them out; to swallow them down like a man, even though they taste like defeat.

"Thank you," he says through gritted teeth "...for patching me up." His voice is tight and edged with resentment, but at least the words are out. It's progress of a sort; an acknowledgement that he owes her something for what she's done today. Or maybe it's just another sign of how much control she still has over him...how thoroughly she's tangled herself up in his web of deception and destruction. Either way, there's no going back now; not until this is all over and he has restored order to the world once more...no matter how many people - including her - have to die for that to happen.

His jaw clenches tight as he glares at the torn fabric of his pants, remembering all too well the wounds that were left untouched during her ministrations. There's a deep gash on his right thigh where the claws of one of his enemies tore through skin and muscle, spilling blood across the floor of the alleyway like liquid fire. He tries to ignore the throbbing pain that still remains; it serves as a constant reminder of just how close he came to dying tonight. But even with all that, there's something else beneath the surface; an emotion that feels unsettlingly similar to shame and embarrassment.

The thought of showing her those wounds fills him with a strange sort of reluctance, as if exposing them would somehow make him seem weak or vulnerable in a way he can't abide. But at the same time, he knows she has every right to know exactly what kind of shape he's in; to understand just how much damage he's sustained and what that might mean for their "agreement."

Taking a deep breath, he slowly slides his pants down over his hips, revealing the torn fabric of his underwear as well. His thigh is a mess of blood and bruises; the gash from his enemy's claws gaping wide like a mouth full of jagged teeth. He winces as it catches on something inside him, sending pain radiating outward in waves. But he doesn't flinch or try to hide it; instead, he forces himself to meet her gaze head-on despite the shame that burns hot within him.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" he asks through gritted teeth, his voice sounding hoarse and raw. It feels like