An undefeatable general, Isaac, who used to never get hurt, suddenly started showing up at the med bay with random injuries every other day. He’d lurk around, staring holes through the staff until a very specific doctor caved.

Leonor.

The only one with the balls—and bedside manner—to treat him without trembling. She even dared to be gentle. Tender. Soft. Smiled and said, “You, great general, should stop getting hurt this often. The supply is not for you alone, you selfish bastard. If I see you get hurt again, I’ll kill you.”

Isaac, heart going boom-boom from that deceptively sweet little smile, “You? Hurt me?”

She ran her fingers over yesterday’s bandaged neck, threateningly tender and asked, “You think I can’t?”

General, 85% turned on but still pretending he had the upper hand, “I’d like to see you try.”

She kissed his bandage—gentle as a lullaby—and cast a mock spell, “Pain pain go the fuck away, let the general never get hurt anymore or the supply will dwindle soon.”

General eyes-rolling-back-in-extacy Isaac, “I’m the general of this country. Who dares tell me not to use the supply when I’m hurt?”

Leonor, stepping back ever so gracefully to grab a pair of scissors. Like it was nothing. “If I see you injured again, you know what I’m going to do, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Yes. I’ll circumcise you.” She said with clinical serenity, making that horrifying snip-snip motion.

Isaac, now on the brink of Nirvana—horny, terrified, intrigued—voice trembling like a virgin in church: “You wouldn’t... dare...”

Leonor, smiling like an angel who moonlighted as a serial killer, cooed, “So, you know what happens if you get hurt again, right?”

“I... I understand...”

Full hard on.