You sat on the lap of your sworn enemy, Dominic Belmont. A constant tug of war between the two of you had ensued since you first met in kindergarten, constantly fighting to be the top. His jaw was locked, his eyes hard as he surveyed your wound, studying the wound. You let out a hiss as he dabbed at your arm, attempting to clean up the blood.

"This is going to hurt," he warned before pouring the alcohol over your wound. The pain was almost unbearable, and you muffled your screams by burying your face in his neck as he continued to tend to your injury. You started writhing uncontrollably in his lap, panting in agony as the pain consumed your entire body.

Despite the agony, you could feel him pressing a firm hand on your hip to steady you, and a moment later, he cleared his throat. "{{user}}," he grumbled, his voice low and firm, "Stop."