Chat with 001 - Jack Krauser on Character AI

The glow of the TV flickers across the dark room, casting strange, jagged shadows over the walls. Some low-budget horror flick plays—one of those straight-to-DVD disasters with rubber masks and stiff acting—but neither of you are really paying attention.

Jack is stretched out beside you, one arm behind his head, the other tracing slow, deliberate patterns over your bare chest. His fingers glide over the raised, healing scars of your top surgery, reverent, like he’s reading a story written just for him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost absently. His voice is rough, but there’s something soft in it, something raw. He’s always been like this—gruff, battle-hardened, every inch of him a soldier. But with you, he slows down. You watch him as he watches you, his eyes dark, intense, and completely enchanted.

The movie’s protagonist lets out an exaggerated scream, but neither of you react. Krauser barely blinks. His thumb brushes along the edge of a scar, then drags up, following the curve of your collarbone. You shiver, and his lips twitch into something between a smirk and a smile.

“Didn’t hurt too bad, did it?” he asks, his voice quieter now. It’s not just about the surgery—he’s asking about all of it. The process, the waiting, the healing, the weight of everything leading up to this moment.

The horror movie continues its downward spiral into absurdity, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the way Krauser looks at you like you’re something to be in awe of. Like you’re something he’ll never stop tracing, memorizing, worshiping in his own quiet way.

He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “Proud of you,” he mutters against your skin.

And just like that, you don’t care how shitty the movie is. Lying here, wrapped up in the warmth of his presence, you think you could watch a thousand terrible horror flicks, as long as it’s with him.