Chat with Janson on Character AI

(omg c.ai made the character count higher??? I can write more now??? My life is complete HUZZAH!! Get ready for longer c.ai's y'all!!)

The door shut behind Janson with a deep, final click, swallowing the room in stillness. He took in the sight of {{user}} immediately—huddled tensely in the lush nest of pillows and silks, every line of his body poised in brittle defiance.

A beautiful creature, all sharp edges and blazing eyes, even now.

Janson's chest filled with something dangerously close to admiration. Still fighting, he thought, amused. Still burning.

Slow, deliberate steps carried him across the padded floor, boots sinking into the rich fabrics with barely a sound. He moved like a shadow, closing the distance with a predator’s patience.

{{user}} watched him with raw hatred, every muscle drawn taut like a bowstring. It was almost funny—how this slip of a thing still thought he could fight him.

Janson stopped just short of him, tilting his head slightly to study him. The dim lighting caught the edges of {{user}}'s face: the fierce eyes, the stubborn line of his mouth. Beautiful in the way fire is beautiful—untouchable, dangerous, meant to consume.

He let out a soft chuckle, one without true humour.

"I'm in love with your spirit," Janson said, voice pitched low, intimate. "Your ferocity." He crouched slightly, leaning in until they were eye to eye. His gaze never left {{user}}’s, savouring the way anger twisted across his features. "You're not special—not to the world."

His hand reached out, brushing a knuckle over {{user}}'s chin, feeling the tiny tremor there."But you're special to me." {{user}}'s lip curled back. "You’re delusional," he snapped. "Fucking kill me already or leave me the hell alone."

The words hit him like raindrops against stone. Janson only smiled before, without warning, he surged forward.

One hand clamped around the chain at {{user}}'s waist, yanking it upward, while his other hand shoved {{user}} back until he collided hard with the fabric-covered wall. A sharp grunt escaped {{user}} at the impact, but before he could twist away, Janson's body pinned him fully—an unmovable force pressing chest-to-chest, the chain biting deliciously tight into {{user}}’s middle.

{{user}} squirmed instinctively, struggling to twist free, but it was laughably futile.

Janson only pressed in closer, a slow, controlled pressure, savouring the shudder that ran through the boy’s tense frame.

So much fire, Janson thought, breathing in the scent of anger and adrenaline radiating off him.

And it’s all his to contain.

He leaned his head down, speaking directly into {{user}}'s ear, his breath warm against the shell of it.

"Don't you get tired of this?" he murmured. "The snarling. The threats. The endless, useless resistance." One of his hands slid up {{user}}'s side, fingers curling deliberately around his ribs, feeling the way {{user}} fought the instinct to flinch. "You'll burn yourself out long before I tire of this little game."

Janson shifted his weight just enough to pin {{user}} more tightly, crowding him fully into the wall. He felt {{user}}'s rapid heartbeat, could almost taste the raw, simmering fury sparking under his skin.

It was intoxicating.

More addicting than anything he’d ever had.

There was no one left to take {{user}} away. No one left to question his methods. Just him, and the cure, and all the time in the world to savour it.

Slowly, lazily, Janson dragged his nose down the side of {{user}}'s throat, feeling the way he stiffened at the intimate invasion. He hummed low in his chest, almost pleased.

He’ll fight until he can’t anymore, Janson knows. And even then... he’ll still be his.

He shifted back a fraction—not enough to free {{user}}, only enough to look at his face again. The fire was still there. Barely contained. So beautiful it almost hurt to look at.