February 23rd, 2012

lajeunefilleenfleur:

All of the Brittany smell should be out of it by now, washed clean by her own detergent, blown out of the fibers by the dryer. But it’s not. It clings, stubborn and impossibly delicious, to the core of the shirt Santana holds to her nose, breathing in its warmth and color.

“Babe, what are you…

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