The name's Santana, but you already know. Ex-cheerio and so done with that shit. Best believe I still runs this joint, though, better than a Nigerian in a track race.

[FTM!Sam x Skank!Santana 1x1]

magna carta, holy jail bait

F2F → Under the Bleachers


Sam took a moment to look Santana over, starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea as soon as the words left his mouth. Ever since he got to McKinley, he’d been assessing everyone, trying to work out whether they seemed safe or not. There were people like Brett, who seemed harmless enough and invisible enough, and there were people like … well, the entire football team, who honestly terrified Sam a little.

The Kurt guy that approached him on his second day and started rambling on about hair products and famous dudes with high voices was the only one that Sam hadn’t made a final assessment on; he couldn’t put him into the list of “not safe” classmates when he obviously understood what it was like to not quite blend in with the others, but he was hesitant to consider him safe when he had a feeling hanging out with him would only draw more attention to himself.

But still, with the exception of Kurt, it never took Sam long to decide whether or not he felt safe spending time with certain people. And Santana … well, Santana looked crazy intimidating, if he was honest. And when she spoke, he only felt reaffirmed in that thought, although he was also a little relieved that she chose to comment on his Southern accent, of all things.

"I don’t chew like a horse, but uh, thanks," he replied, sitting down beside her in spite of himself. "I won’t bother you or anything, I promise. Like, you won’t even know I’m here."


Shifting a bit to make more space for the kid, Santana turned to size him up once more - not that she was necessarily intimidated, because, c’mon, but she was… curious, to say the least. Blondie Boy sat down beside her, obviously tense. He was terrified of her, and she got a kick out of it. Putting her file away, she pursed her lips and looked out ahead of her instead of looking back at him, afraid of seeming too interested in some rando who just came to sit next to her.

But at the same time, she pitied him. It didn’t take a genius to know he was a nobody, a scared nobody at that. He was a social tortoise, practically ducking in to his shell at every chance he could get. Santana was a bitch - but she wasn’t heartless. And to be frank, she was kind of bored of just chilling here, too. Rolling her eyes, she looked over at him once more.

"So, got a name, guppy lips?" she asked with an exasperated sigh, trying to start up conversation. Not that she’d ever use it, but it was a nice thing to know. As it stood, she knew of him, but not who he was - unless he actually introduced himself as the school he she, which she honestly doubted. And even she wasn’t cold enough to cut him there, not before she figured out if he was worth his time or not - and she usually cut where it hurt. “Or am I gonna have to get creative for the next thirty minutes?” she added. 

9 months ago with 3 notes
via: brosamuel source: brosamuel
#f2f #f2f 1

F2F → Under the Bleachers


Sam slipped out of the school building with his Tupperware lunch box tucked under his arm, cutting straight across the grounds in the direction of the football field. It hadn’t taken him long since starting at McKinley to work out that it was best for him to keep his head down and his mouth shut as much as possible, and lunch was much easier when he wasn’t surrounded by half the other students. It wasn’t even like they gave him much hassle, aside from the occasional jabs about his voice or his size in comparison to the other guys, but eating alone in peace was better than worrying about how he was being perceived for yet another hour of the day.

Under the bleachers hadn’t been the first place he considered eating, but he’d crossed off the bathroom and the locker room as soon as the idea came into his head, and most teachers locked their classrooms during lunch, so it left his options few and far between. The bleachers seemed like a safe bet, but then he hadn’t counted on someone else already being there. He slowed to a stop when he saw the girl, her face familiar but her name not coming to mind. 

"Oh, uh … hey. Is it cool if I eat here, or is this spot reserved?"


It’d been a long summer, longer than it usually was in this boring ass town. Things had changed; after her boob job, Santana came back as popular as ever. Men watched her as she strutted down the hall, hanging on her every move. The attention gave her a high she didn’t know she could reach. Of course, all of that would be short lived; when Quinn Fabray, resident blonde Juno, decided that she wanted to be back on top and snitched to Sylvester about the work she got done, she was dropped off the team in a second. She didn’t let it get to her, though. If she couldn’t run the place one way, she’d sure as hell find another.

And so she found herself under the bleachers, usual home of the Skanks. Of course, the others were off grabbing lunch at Taco Bell or something. And Santana, well… Santana decided to hang back. After all, now that she wasn’t practicing three or more hours a day, she couldn’t afford the extra calories in her body.

The only downside was how dreadfully slow the period seemed to go by when she was alone. One could only sit there and look hot for so long without someone to admire them. But that issue didn’t last long.

She’d recognized him right away. It was hard to not recognize a new face in Lima, anyhow, especially when the person at hands wasn’t a freshman transfer. She looked him up and down, the rumors coming to mind right away. But she wasn’t exactly in the mood to cut ass on him for that.

"Yeah, you can sit here." She muttered, scooting over and continuing to file her nails. "Just don’t chew like a horse, aiight, Tennessee? I know you’re used to them down South, but I don’t needa hear it." 

10 months ago with 3 notes
via: brosamuel source: brosamuel
#f2f #f2f 1
10 months ago with 3,461 notes
via: makemestfu source: makemestfu
Your hickeys on my aorta and tattoos you could only see
—Frank Ocean
‘Sunday’ Earl Sweatshirt

(Source: isaidquirky)