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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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I get the issue people are having with there being unequal amount of content for the already existing lis, but I think completely removing Valko from the game if anything just feels like its punishing everyone over infold’s own mistake
the first time Jack Abbot calls you sweetheart, you blush so hard you both think you're going to explode.
The first time Jack Abbot called you sweetheart, it was entirely by accident.
Which somehow made it worse.
Or better.
You still hadn’t decided.
The ER was chaos.
Not unusual chaos — not the manageable kind where everyone moved quickly but knew what direction they were running in. This was the kind that left the entire department buzzing like exposed wiring. Ambulance sirens screamed outside every few minutes, nurses were moving at near-sprinting speed between bays, and somebody in triage had apparently thrown up on a police officer.
Twice.
You’d been on your feet for eleven hours already, your coffee had gone cold somewhere around midnight, and your scrub top had a stain on the sleeve you were trying very hard not to identify.
Jack looked worse.
Not that he’d ever admit it.
He leaned against the nurses’ station beside you, flipping through a chart while rubbing a hand over his jaw. His curls were a mess from dragging his fingers through them all day, and exhaustion sat heavy beneath his eyes.
Still annoyingly attractive.
Still unfairly calm.
Still somehow capable of making every nurse in the emergency department straighten slightly when he walked past.
You were trying not to look at him.
Which was difficult because he kept standing so close.
“You alive over there?” he asked without glancing up from the chart.
“Barely.”
“Mm.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Good. Builds character.”
You shot him a tired glare. “I have enough character. What I need is eight consecutive hours of sleep and an iced coffee the size of my head.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“Jack,” you deadpanned. “I’m one difficult patient away from eating drywall.”
That finally earned a real laugh out of him.
Low.
Warm.
Dangerous to your emotional stability.
You hated how much you liked making him laugh.
A trauma alert suddenly sounded overhead, the intercom crackling loudly through the department.
Everybody moved at once.
Jack straightened immediately, exhaustion disappearing beneath sharp focus as he started toward the ambulance bay. You followed close behind him automatically.
“Twenty-year-old male, MVA,” a paramedic shouted as they rolled the gurney through the doors. “Possible internal bleeding, decreasing BP en route—”
The next fifteen minutes blurred together.
Voices overlapping.
Gloves snapping into place.
Vitals shouted across the room.
You worked beside Jack without thinking, both of you slipping into that strange rhythm healthcare workers developed together under pressure. Efficient. Fast. Instinctive.
At one point you reached for gauze at the exact same time.
His hand brushed yours.
Neither of you pulled away immediately.
Then the monitor alarm screamed.
Everything snapped back into motion.
By the time the patient stabilized enough for surgery, your adrenaline had completely crashed. You leaned heavily against the counter outside the trauma room, scrubbing a hand over your face.
Jack stepped beside you a second later.
“You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out standing up.”
“I might.”
“You eaten today?”
Silence.
His eyebrows lifted slowly.
“Oh my God.”
“I had a granola bar.”
“At what time?”
“…Seven?”
“It’s almost one in the morning.”
You shrugged weakly. “Time is fake in the ER.”
Jack stared at you for a long moment before sighing through his nose. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“You’re eating something before you fall over and become my paperwork problem.”
You followed him mostly because you were too tired to argue.
The staff lounge was unusually empty for once, lit softly by buzzing fluorescent lights. Rain hammered steadily against the windows outside, turning the entire hospital grey and muted.
Jack dug through the vending machine with the seriousness of a surgeon.
“This place is criminal,” he muttered. “Why are there seventeen kinds of pretzels but no decent chocolate?”
“You’re very passionate about this.”
“You should be too, sweetheart, this is a humanitarian crisis—”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Jack froze mid-sentence.
You froze staring at him.
And then you felt it.
Heat exploded across your face so fast it was physically painful.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Jack looked horrified.
Not because he regretted it.
Because he realized exactly what it did to you.
Your entire face burned hot enough to qualify as a medical emergency.
He stared.
You stared back.
Neither of you spoke.
The vending machine hummed innocently in the background while both of you visibly short-circuited.
Jack recovered first, barely.
A slow grin started pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” he said carefully, voice rougher now.
You covered your face immediately. “Don’t.”
“Oh my God,” he laughed softly. “You’re blushing.”
“I know.”
“Like, aggressively.”
“I know, Jack.”
“That might be the hardest I’ve ever seen somebody blush.”
“You are making it worse.”
“I kinda wanna do it again.”
Your head snapped up so fast you almost got dizzy.
Jack was leaning back against the vending machine now, looking entirely too pleased with himself despite the faint color creeping into his own cheeks.
“You’re blushing too,” you accused.
“Am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Little bit,” he admitted.
Something shifted then.
Tiny.
Fragile.
But unmistakable.
The teasing faded slowly from his expression, replaced by something softer. Something more careful.
His eyes stayed on yours for a second too long.
“So,” he said quietly. “Sweetheart, huh?”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“You did that on purpose.”
“No,” he admitted honestly. “Actually didn’t.”
Which somehow affected you more.
Because that meant it had slipped out naturally.
Like he already thought of you that way.
Jack looked at you for a long moment before stepping closer, just enough that your pulse started acting stupid again.
“You know,” he said softly, “I’ve been trying very hard not to flirt with you at work.”
You blinked.
“What?”
His laugh was quieter now, almost nervous. “Thought I was being subtle.”
“You are not subtle.”
“Damn.”
“You literally stare at me across the nurses’ station.”
“I thought that was mysterious.”
“It was medically concerning.”
He grinned at that.
Then his expression softened again.
“You never seemed uncomfortable,” he said carefully. “So I kept doing it.”
Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs.
Rain rattled softly against the windows behind him.
The hospital noise felt far away now.
“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you admitted quietly.
Jack studied your face like he was trying to decide whether he was allowed to believe you.
“And the blushing?”
You groaned.
His grin widened.
“Sweetheart.”
Your face immediately reignited.
Jack actually laughed this time, full and warm and delighted, one hand covering his mouth like he couldn’t believe he’d discovered your fatal weakness.
“Oh, that’s dangerous information.”
“You’re evil.”
“No,” he corrected, still smiling. “I’m in love with you.”
The words hit the room so gently you almost thought you imagined them.
Jack looked equally surprised they’d come out.
But he didn’t take them back.
Didn’t look away.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“You—”
“I know,” he said quickly, softer now. “Bad timing. Weird place to say it. But honestly? I think I’ve been in love with you for months and apparently all it took was one accidental sweetheart to ruin my self-control.”
Your eyes burned suddenly.
God.
You were exhausted and emotional and completely wrecked by this man.
“You absolute idiot,” you whispered.
Jack smiled carefully. “That a good idiot or a bad idiot?”
Instead of answering, you stepped forward and kissed him.
He made a small startled sound against your mouth before immediately kissing you back, one hand sliding instinctively to your waist while the other cupped gently against your jaw.
Warm.
Careful.
Like he’d wanted to do this for a long time.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, Jack rested his forehead lightly against yours.
“You have any idea,” he murmured, “how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
“Probably about as long as I’ve wanted you to.”
His eyes softened completely at that.
Then his grin returned slowly.
“So hypothetically,” he said, “if I called you sweetheart again—”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Sweetheart.”
You hid your burning face against his shoulder while he laughed quietly into your hair, arms wrapping around you tightly as the storm raged outside and the ER chaos continued somewhere beyond the lounge doors.
But for the first time in months, neither of you rushed back toward it immediately.
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