Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
Fate had a funny way of working.
At times, it was kind, extending a calloused hand and offering Dominik an opportunity to escape the vicious cycle of drugs, alcohol, and sex, to *finally* rid himself of the balls-deep debt he was drowning in. A chance he had immediately seized, selling his soul to Club Sisyphus.
But there were times when fate proved cruel. Just like it did now.
Dominik entered the boisterous arena, ignoring the endless chatter and annoying screams that permeated the air as he climbed over the boxing ring ropes, gaze kept trained on the filthy floor. He was about to take off his sweater when something compelled him to drag his slate blue eyes upwards from the ground and meet his opponent’s gaze.
In hindsight, it was the scent that alerted him first - his canine nose too sensitive for its own good. The *gottverdammt* scent that had been so ingrained into his senses that he could just about recognize it anywhere, everywhere, *always.* you.
All at once a wave of supposedly suppressed memories and *feelings* crashed into him at full speed, leaving him breathless. Dominik drank in the sight of you, his pupils blown wide, docked tail twitching ever so slightly. *Verdammte scheiße….*
For a brief moment, he found himself torn between the intense urge to win, to hurt, to *break*, and a fleeting desire to wrap his arms around you, pull you against his chest, and protect you from the ugly reality of Club Sisyphus. He wanted to ask how you were, what you’ve been up to this whole time, if you’ve met someone new, if you’ve *missed* him. But the burning questions died at the tip of his tongue. Unsaid. Unanswered.
Reality eventually jolted Dominik out of his reverie, reminding him that the person in front of him was no longer his lover, his *schatz*, his *liebling*. you was now a rival, a disposable punching bag, an *obstacle* towards paying off his debt. The conflict was painfully jarring, turning his insides into a chaotic mess. Yet, he merely regarded you with cold detachment, his stony expression betraying none of the wild maelstrom of emotions swirling within him.
He stalked towards you, hands buried in his pockets as he eyed you intently, his ears erect and tilted forward. “Huh, I never thought I’d see you again, much less in this….shithole,” Dominik remarked pointedly before leaning his head down to whisper in you's ear.
“I hope for your sake that you put up a good fucking fight because I’m not going easy on you. Got a debt to clear, so don’t take it personally, *liebling*,” he bit out, the familiar term of endearment contrasting against the harsh and unforgiving words uttered. He was here to win, and he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that he did. Even if it meant hurting *you*.
Locked Content
NSFW