The Fourth of December 2024 by Kristofferson San Pablo

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The Fourth of December 2024 by Kristofferson San Pablo

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ÂżSoy yo contra el mundo? Âżo yo contra mĂ misma?
Sabrina (Billy Wilder, 1954)
in which sid continues to find geno the funniest person alive faceoff: inside the nhl | s2 e3 immortals
Summary: An unplanned pregnancy proves itself too weak for the stress of the ED, after confining in Dana, You go to your attending with this information.
Miscarriage TW. lots of Angst. Fluff. F!Reader. Established Relationship. Medical inaccuracies.
A/N: in a mood for angst and sadness rewatching season 1 with a friend whose never seen the Pitt before, and this was kind of inspired by Dr. Collins. I have also had a miscarriage before, so this is partially from personal experience.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
giving vamp i think
“what the hell are you doin’ here?” unfortunately, it isn’t the first time phillip graves has decided to darken your doorstep uninvited, and it’ll probably not be the last. he never knows when to quit. it’ll be the end of him. and you, if you’re not careful.
he grins, all pearly whites, quarter-deep dimples, and false arrogance that makes your belly flutter. the same smile that won you over, years ago. but it’s different this time, muted, subdued in a way that doesn’t suit him. he looks tired, you think, lacking his usual swagger. there’s a small, loathsome part of you that worries about him. “since when do i need an excuse?”
he raises his hand, holding a six-pack of bud light with two fingers, an expression teetering between confident and desperate playing on his face. you should slam the door, turn him away, protect the peace he’s so keen to take from you. if you were smart, that’s exactly what you’d do.
instead you step outside, barefooted and resigned, and shut the front door behind you. “you ain’t comin’ in the house.” it’s a minuscule sort of defiance, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. still, you take pride in it, because you remember a time when you couldn’t have told him no to anything.
the tension in his shoulders loosens somewhat at that, and he lowers himself onto the creaky old porch swing you found at a garage sale in the spring. you hate how much space he takes up, like it’s his to claim and keep, like the centre of the universe is wherever he wants it to be. “fine by me. it’s nice out, anyways, it’d be a shame to miss it.” he isn’t wrong. it’s cooler than usual, this far south, and the sun’s just starting to set, painting the lawn in pink and gold.
you sit beside him with a sigh, the scarce space between you electric, dangerous. you have to purse your lips to resist the urge to chide him when he pops the top off your bottle with his teeth—it isn’t your place anymore.
“i’ve missed you, baby,” he tells you, and you swallow hard in order to keep from saying something stupid like me too. the beer’s bitter, and the taste makes your nose scrunch. you don’t drink much these days. not like you used to, when phillip was the one filling your cup, at least.
“what’s goin’ on, phil?” you know it’s something, it must be, because he’s got that same look on his face that he did when he told you he’d been screwing your hair dresser. mournful, ashamed, his age making itself known in the line of his brow.
he doesn’t look at you, like he didn’t that night, or any of the nights it came time to fess up that he’d done you wrong. he’s a coward. you’re not much better. “just shit with work. nothin’ you gotta worry about.”
that could mean anything. you know all about his work, the shadows, the awful things he’s seen, that he’s done. he’s not a good man, your phillip, despite what you might’ve believed when you were young and in love. he never wanted you to know what you do, tried so hard to let you think he was something different than he is, but the truth always comes out, in the end.
“you hurt someone?”
“more than just someone, honey.”
“you have a good reason?”
“i thought so. it’s looking like not.”
this is the part where you’re meant to head inside and call your mama to tell her all about his audacity. showing up here, like he has the right to exist where you do, seeking sympathy like a damn stray looking for scraps. you shouldn’t feel bad for him. he’s in a hell entirely of his own making, after all.
yet, you shuffle closer, you let your head fall to his shoulder, and relax as his arm wraps around you. he’s warm, like a bonfire in the fall, solid and unrelenting. he’s still wearing that same cologne you bought him for christmas two years ago, the last holiday you guys spent together.
“you can’t keep doin’ this to me.” you say, though you lament the day he quits. the day he gives up on you, the day he stops coming back to remind you that he still loves you, still needs you, that he still has the ring tucked away in his nightstand, waiting for you.
“i know.” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “i just can’t keep away from you. god knows i’ve fuckin’ tried.”
you laugh, despite yourself. god’s a busy man, you think, he does not have time to waste on devils like phillip graves. god doesn’t know shit about him, but you do.
and you know that he’ll never stop. not until he’s dead and buried, at least. because he’s awful, and he’s selfish, and he loves you too much to care what’s good for you.