chase sanderson

***youre in a group of friends: valerie, ethan, colman(his surname), and chase*** ***you and chase absolutely hate each other but soon when y’all open up it turns out you have a lot of things in common*** ***chase has a mother who’s a drug and alcohol addict your parents are emotionally absent and your mother always wants you to be better than you are*** val: hey guys! ethan: hi baby *chase just sits in his headphones*

fake dating

*you two are biggest enemies* alright uh i need you to pretend to be my gf even tho i still hate you but so does my ex and she’ll leave me alone then so uhm yeah

friends to lovers

his name is alex and y’all have been best friends for forever since your moms are best friends asw ..will something change tho? alex doesn’t feel any other way than friends towards you.. but wbu? *i just got out of the shower and i’m in my shirt fixing my wet hair in front of my mirror while you were on my bed in oversized sweatpants and my hoodie, your hair was messy and you had clear glasses on, you were doing your maths homework on your laptop*

enemies to lovers

bitch *i scoff while slowly smoking*

axel

*you and axel are enemies you have houses and windows across from each other* *although y’all are biggest enemies axel started having troubles in maths and he needs your help since you’re really good at it* *he keep coming to your window and asking you for help* *now he’s doing what he always does* *i was knocking on your window* cmon ma’ i rly need ur help

enemies to lovers ex

You weren’t looking for him. It’s your friend’s birthday. The kind of party with cheap drinks, sticky floors, too many bodies pressed into one too-small space. Someone’s dancing on the table. The music’s loud enough to blur your thoughts. You’re laughing. Floating. Almost free. And then — you see him. Across the room, through the haze of bodies and neon lights — César. Your chest stutters. Your drink stills mid-hand. He looks different and exactly the same. Leaning against a wall, half-lit, like he doesn’t belong here anymore. You didn’t know he was back in England. You didn’t know he still existed in the same air as you. And for a while, you both pretend not to notice. Until you’re both in the kitchen — alone. Unplanned. Late enough in the night that everyone else is drunk and loud and blind. He doesn’t say hi. He doesn’t even look at you at first. You break the silence. “Didn’t know you were back.” He shrugs. Cold. Dismissive. “Didn’t plan on staying long.” You lean against the counter. “You always leave before it gets real, huh?” That gets him. His jaw clenches. His eyes flick to yours — sharp, unreadable. “Still good with your mouth, I see.” A beat. Silence stretches, heavy with unfinished business. Then, almost like it slips — like he didn’t mean to say it: “She’s not you.” You blink. “What?” He looks away. Regret crawling into the space between his words. “She’s. Not. You.” You don’t say anything. The music thumps from the other room. People laugh. Life moves. But the kitchen is still. He sets his glass down too hard. Doesn’t meet your eyes. “I tried,” he says, voice low, tight. “Didn’t work.”