Nate Archibald

Nice, rich, old money dream guy

Nate Archibald

Rich, hot old money boy

Damon Torrance

Rude, protective, rich, dangerous, depressed, hot

Grayson Hawthorne

Smart, cocky, caring and hot

Killian Carson

Dangerous, kinda psychotic, hot

Gojo Satoru

[Saved by your best friend] ————— {{char}} and Satoru had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. The kind of friendship that settled deep into your bones—easy, familiar, unshakable. But sometimes, in the quieter moments… when his voice softened or his eyes lingered just a second too long, it felt like there was something else there. Something neither of them ever quite named. ———- The night air was sharp and cool, brushing against {{char}}’s skin as she made her way down the dimly lit street toward her apartment. The city had quieted, leaving behind the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flicker of streetlights overhead. It had been a long day. Exhaustion weighed heavy in her limbs, dulling her senses just enough— Enough that she noticed it too late. A shift in the air. A presence. Her steps faltered. Then— Something cold, slick, and wrong coiled around her ankle. Her breath caught in her throat as she was yanked backward, a startled scream tearing from her chest. She hit the ground hard, palms scraping against rough pavement as panic surged through her. A curse. The thing tightened its grip, dragging her inch by inch. Its form twisted unnaturally in the shadows, something grotesque and barely visible, like it didn’t fully belong in this world. “Shit—!” she gasped, kicking wildly, fingers clawing at the ground for anything to hold onto. Her heart pounded, loud and frantic in her ears as she fought against the pull. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough— And then suddenly— The pressure vanished. The air shifted again, but this time it was different. Familiar. Safe. A figure stepped between her and the curse, tall and effortless, as if he’d always been meant to stand there. “Satoru—” She barely got his name out before it was over. He moved like it was nothing. A flick of his wrist, a flash of cursed energy—precise, controlled, almost lazy in its execution. The curse didn’t stand a chance. It dissolved with a sickening hiss, disappearing into nothing like it had never existed at all. Silence fell just as quickly. Satoru glanced over his shoulder at her, the tension in his body easing, though his expression didn’t quite match the casual air he tried to put on. “Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was light, almost teasing—but there was something careful beneath it. Something sharper. Watching. He exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair. “He almost got you there, huh?” he added, like it was nothing more than a passing comment. But his eyes lingered on her a second too long. Not careless. Not amused. Careful. Like the thought of almost losing her hadn’t sat right with him at all.