A/N: Soooooo… since we have to wait again for the next episode, I decided to bring back my completely shameless smut one-shot AU where Jake is a hot gynecologist instead of a hacker.
Even in this universe, the MC still drives him absolutely feral.
This is 100% pure, filthy, no-plot-just-vibes smut meant to melt your brain and lighten the mood. Expect zero professionalism and maximum chaos in that treatment room. 😂
Enjoy… or laugh. Or both. I definitely won’t judge 🤭
TW: Explicit sexual content
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She sat nervously in her new gynecologist's waiting room. When her name was called, she nervously walked into treatment room 1. The moment she saw him, her pussy throbbed.
Doctor Jake Donfort was pure sin.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and ripped, his muscular arms straining against the sleeves of his white coat. That sharp, stubbled jawline looked like it could cut glass, and those intense crystal-blue eyes pinned her in place. She was instantly soaked.
Her filthy mind flooded with images of him bending her over that examination chair, ripping her legs apart, and pounding her dripping cunt until she screamed. By the time she sat down, she was already shamefully wet.
She told him she was only here for her annual check-up and had just moved to town.
"Then I would ask you to free yourself from above so that I can feel your breasts."
She went behind the screen, stripped off her top and bra, and stepped forward, timidly saying she was ready. Jake’s jaw clenched so hard it ticked.
Fuck. Stay fucking professional.
But the second those perfect tits were bare, full, soft, nipples already stiff and begging, his cock surged against his pants. He forgot the gloves completely. His big, warm hands cupped her immediately, groping and kneading far longer than necessary. He could feel her heartbeat racing under his palms, her nipples turning rock-hard as she shivered. Her breathing turned shaky, fresh slick dripping down her thighs. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, fighting the urge to suck them raw.
He bit back a groan. Control yourself, Donfort. She’s a patient… fuck, but look at these tits.
He cleared his throat, voice rough. "You can get dressed again," he said, still staring at her swollen nipples. "Please undress below."
When she dropped her pants and panties, Jake nearly came in his scrubs. That perfect, juicy ass, those thick thighs, and her completely smooth, puffy pussy glistening with arousal. She was a walking wet dream.
Jesus Christ, I want to bury my face in that cunt and drown.
He shook his head, fighting every filthy instinct. "Please put your legs on the supports."
She did, shy and spread wide for her first male gynecologist. Jake stood between her thighs and lost the last shred of sanity. Her pussy was perfect, plump outer lips, slick pink folds already parted, clit swollen and shiny. He spread her open with both thumbs, staring at her dripping hole like a starving man. He leaned in close, inhaling her sweet, musky scent until his head spun.
"Pretty—" He cleared his throat. "Um, I mean, it seems everything looks good."
He pushed one thick finger inside her soaked cunt and groaned under his breath. She was drenched. He pumped slowly, then faster, curling against her g-spot. When she moaned, his cock throbbed painfully. He couldn’t stop. A second finger joined, then a third, stretching her greedy hole while his thumb rubbed her clit in firm circles. He kissed and sucked on her inner thigh, leaving marks, finger-fucking her harder, loving how her cunt squelched obscenely around him.
"You feel so fucking good," he growled, professionalism long gone.
She smirked, voice breathy. "I know I’m your last patient for today."
He gulped. "I don’t know what you mean," he lied, still knuckle-deep in her pulsing pussy.
She clenched hard around his fingers. Jake snapped. He finger-fucked her mercilessly, three thick fingers slamming in and out, thumb grinding her clit until her hips bucked. He brought her right to the edge, then slowed, edging her cruelly, watching her hole flutter and leak all over his hand.
"Fuck this," he snarled. "Stay there."
He stormed out, sent his assistants home, and returned without the coat, black t-shirt stretched over his muscular chest, dark jeans barely containing the massive bulge. His eyes were black with lust.
He dropped to his knees, shoved her legs wider, and buried his face in her cunt. His tongue lashed her clit hungrily while he groaned at her taste, sweet, filthy, addictive. She screamed, clawing the leather. He lubed two fingers and shoved one into her tight pussy and one straight into her ass, fucking both holes while sucking her clit like a man possessed. She howled, thrashing.
He pulled his fat cock out and stroked it hard, moaning into her pussy. When she screamed "Jake!" and came violently, gushing all over his face, he stood up on the stool and slapped his heavy dick against her soaked folds.
“Beg, sweetheart.”
“Please, Doctor… Jake… fuck me. I need you inside me.”
He grabbed her hips, yanked her forward, and slammed into her in one brutal thrust, stretching her walls wide around his thick cock. She screamed in pleasure. He didn’t hold back, he railed her like an animal, hips snapping forward, balls slapping her ass with wet smacks. The chair squeaked violently under every savage thrust.
"Oh Jake, you feel so fucking good!"
He choked her hard, pounding deeper, watching her tits bounce. "That’s it, take every inch of my cock like a good girl. This pussy was made for me."
She was drooling, eyes rolling back. "Fuck, harder! Harder!"
Jake growled and gave her everything, brutal, deep strokes, grinding against her cervix, pulling out to the tip then slamming back in. He rubbed her clit relentlessly, edging her again and again, keeping her right on the brink while sweat poured down his chest. He changed angles, hitting that perfect spot over and over until she was a sobbing, shaking mess.
Her second orgasm exploded through her. Her cunt clamped down like a vice, milking him as she screamed his name and squirted all over his cock. Only then did Jake let go. With a feral roar he buried himself to the balls and unloaded, flooding her spasming pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum until it overflowed and dripped down her ass.
He pulled out slowly, admiring the creamy mess leaking from her wrecked hole. He helped her up, smiling almost shyly, but she yanked him into a filthy kiss which he gladly returned. Then she dropped to her knees, licked his cum-covered cock clean, and tapped the swollen head against her tongue.
"Delicious," she purred. "When will I get the test results?"
"Next week Tuesday 5:55 p.m., just before closing. Try to be late," he smirked.
She threw her soaked panties at him. "Keep them. Remember me when you’re checking other patients."
He grabbed her wrist, eyes dark. "Don’t worry. You’re the only one I’m investigating this thoroughly."
She swayed her hips as she left. Jake watched that perfect ass, already hard again.
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Tuesday, 5:59pm
"I'm so sorry, I'm late!" she apologized.
The assistant waved her through. She entered wearing a tiny skirt and tight white top. She deliberately dropped something, bent over slowly right in front of him, flashing her bare, dripping pussy.
"Let's talk about your results. For this I need a closer look. Take a seat," he said, patting his lap
His pants were already gone, massive cock rock-hard and leaking. She knelt, swirled her tongue around the fat head, then took him straight down her throat. Jake growled, fisted her hair, and fucked her face roughly. "Good girl. Swallow every inch of my cock. You take me so fucking well."
When he couldn’t wait anymore, he pulled her up, ran his fingers through her soaked folds, and growled, "Now sit on my lap. I need to redo your tests again. Last week’s results were inconclusive."
She smirked, turned around, and sank down on his cock reverse cowgirl, moaning as he stretched her open again. She rode him hard, ass bouncing, leaning back on his massive thighs while he gripped her hips and thrust up.
"And? Do you think today’s results will be better or do I need to come back next week?" she gasped, pussy clenching around him.
Jake bit her neck and growled into her ear, "Oh, you definitely need to come back next week… and the week after that… until this greedy cunt is properly tested."
You know that moment every writer has when you open an old draft and physically recoil. Like, oh my god, was I really proud of four years ago?
I just did that.
I opened the very first version of my thriller, the one I published years ago, then quietly took down because I was ashamed of it.
I went in ready to cringe, ready to laugh at how bad it was, ready to tear my past self apart like I’ve done so many times before.
But this time… I couldn’t.
Because suddenly I saw her.
That scared, hopeful girl who taught herself English through fanfiction, whose German tongue still tripped over every sentence, who had no idea what she was doing but poured her entire trembling heart into that story anyway.
She was so proud of it.
So proud.
Every criticism cut her like glass, but she kept writing. She showed up anyway.
And tonight, looking at her work, all I felt was this deep, aching tenderness in my chest.
God, I wanted to reach back through time and hug her. Tell her not to listen to the voices that said she wasn’t good enough. Because without that scared, hopeful, overly-emotional version of me… I wouldn’t exist now. I wouldn’t be rewriting it. I wouldn’t be any better at all.
So if you’re an author sitting there, scrolling through your old fics or old novels, biting your tongue at how “bad” they are…
Please. Be gentle.
That past version of you was so brave. They had nothing but passion and stubbornness and a dream, and they still dared to create. They took every criticism like a bruise and kept going anyway. They learned the ugly, painful way so you could be here now. Wiser, sharper, stronger.
They carried you on their back.
So instead of shame, give them pride. Instead of embarrassment, give them love.
Thank you for trying.
Thank you for bleeding.
Thank you for beginning when it would’ve been easier to stay silent.
I’m so proud of you, past you, present you, all of you.
You deserve softness, not shame.
And I promise, your old self would be proud of who you’ve become, too. 🧡
I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing back my old one-shots. The ones I wrote in that post–Episode 10 haze when Duskwood had me completely unwell. Going through them again now feels a bit like opening a time capsule… except everything inside needs serious editing 😅
So that’s what I’ve been doing these past few days. Revisiting, rewriting, and trying to do these stories the justice they deserve. A few of them were actually reader requests back then, which means… yes, there are some rare ships lurking in the mix 🤭
MC has a golden retriever. She wakes up midnight hearing some noises, then her dog barks. She leaves her bed, with a vase in her hand. Her dog is no longer barking.
She again hears some sounds in the living room and turns on the lights. Her heart thumping loudly in her ears.
The living place lights up. And Jake is crouched down, patting her dog as it wiggles it's tail, licking Jake's hand.
She smiles. “He was supposed to protect me from intruder, not make friends with them.” Jake looks up at her.
As he stands up, he asks, “I am an intruder now?”
“Yes, you invaded my heart.” She says as they draw closer and Jake pulls her into a hug.
A/N: I started writing this one-shot before episode 3 came out and finally got around to finishing it. This is how I imagine things might have realistically unfolded after the fire in the mines with just a tiny sprinkle of delulu for fun. I also believe that Jake has allies somewhere who are ready to help whenever he needs it. 😌
Trigger warnings: Burning scars, injuries
POV: Jake
The sharp, chemical bite of medical alcohol clawed its way into his lungs before his eyes even opened. It mixed with the thicker, sweeter stench of iodine, old bandages, and something far worse… the unmistakable smell of charred skin and smoke that still clung to his own body like a second, rotting layer. Every shallow breath dragged that nightmare back into him.
He lay perfectly still for a long moment, trying to piece together where the hell he was. A thin mattress creaked under his weight. The air felt damp, slightly cool, like a basement that had been scrubbed too many times but never quite lost the rot. Outside the single narrow window, the sun was sinking low and bloody, painting the room in deep crimson that made the white walls look as if they were still dripping.
In the far corner, a single candle flickered on a metal tray. Its tiny flame danced, casting long, jittery shadows across the ceiling. The light caught in his blurred vision, and his pupils snapped wide.
Fire.
The word slammed into him like a physical blow. Suddenly, he wasn’t in this room anymore. He was back in the mines, the heat roaring down the tunnel, timber beams cracking and spitting sparks, Richy’s laughter echoing off the stone as the whole world turned orange and black.
Richy. The Man Without a Face. The confession. The flames swallowing everything.
MC.
His chest heaved. He tried to bolt upright, but the pain was instantaneous and merciless, a white-hot sheet of agony ripping across his left side, his shoulder, his face. It felt like someone had peeled his skin off and poured gasoline over raw muscle. A broken groan tore out of his throat, and he collapsed back against the thin pillow, gasping.
A gentle hand landed on his uninjured shoulder, warm and steady. Blonde curls brushed his cheek as the woman leaned in. Her voice was soft, practiced, the kind of voice people used when they were trying not to scare a wounded animal.
“Easy, mister. You’re safe now. You’re in the hospital.”
Hospital. The word sounded ridiculous even through the haze. This place smelled more like a back-alley butcher’s than any real medical ward.
“Wha—” His voice cracked, raw and scorched.
“God, stop lying to him,” a familiar male voice barked from the other side of the bed, laced with that same exasperated affection Jake had known for years. “If you call this shithole a hospital, I don’t even want to know what kind of places you’ve patched people up in before.”
Blake. His longest friend. The one person he’d trusted enough to send that desperate SOS to when the flames were licking at his heels.
“Blake…” Jake rasped. Speaking hurt. Everything hurt. But the name grounded him just enough.
“Yeah, buddy. You sent the SOS, and I came running like the idiot I am. What the hell were you thinking, going into those mines alone? After everything we talked about?”
Jake’s mind was already slipping past the question. One thought clawed its way to the front, louder than the pain, louder than the fear.
“MC…” The name slipped out like a prayer, weak and cracked and desperate. He could see her face so clearly, the worry in her eyes the last time they’d spoken, the way her messages had kept him going even when he knew he was walking into hell. She thought he was dead. She had to. The fire, the silence, the explosion… she was out there right now believing he’d burned with everything else.
He needed to message her. Right now. Tell her he was alive, that he was coming back, that the last thing he’d said, *I love you*, wasn’t a goodbye. He tried to lift his arm toward where his phone should have been, but the movement sent fresh fire racing down his nerves.
“Who’s that?” the woman asked gently, though there was a knowing edge in her tone now.
“That girl from Duskwood?” Blake supplied, quieter this time.
Jake managed the smallest nod. Even that tiny motion made the room tilt.
“Could you…” He coughed, the sound wet and ragged, like broken glass in his lungs. He lifted one trembling, bandaged hand toward the candle. The flame was still dancing, still taunting him. “Please. The fire… turn it off.”
The woman didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in two quick steps and blew the candle out. The flame died with a soft hiss. Darkness swallowed the room, and for the first time since waking, Jake felt like he could actually pull air into his chest without screaming.
The relief lasted only seconds.
The door creaked open. Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, and a new voice, deep, irritated, edged with reluctance, filled the small space.
“You know I’m risking my entire license for this, right? The FBI is tearing half the state apart looking for him. One wrong word and I’m done.”
Blake’s tone stayed flat, businesslike. “You’ll be paid enough to retire twice over. We’ve got the money. Just do your job.”
“I can’t believe I’m treating a wanted criminal in my off hours…”
“We’re the good ones here,” the blonde woman cut in, steel threading through her soft voice.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” the doctor muttered.
Jake felt gloved fingers, cool silicone, gently tilt his chin. The touch on his burned cheek was feather-light, but it still pulled a weak hiss from between his teeth. The doctor worked in silence for a long moment, examining, probing.
“Second- and third-degree burns over twenty-eight percent of the body,” he said at last, clinical and grim. “The left eye is at serious risk of permanent damage if we don’t move fast. We need to operate immediately.”
Jake’s heart hammered. He wanted to argue, to demand a phone, to beg them to let him send one message, but the sting of a needle slid into his arm before he could form the words. Cold spread through his veins like liquid shadow.
The last thing he clung to before the world dissolved into black was her name, repeating like a heartbeat inside his head.
MC… I’m still here. I’m coming back to you.
When he woke again, the room was cleaner, brighter, real daylight spilling across sterile white sheets instead of blood-red dusk. The pain had dulled to a heavy, constant throb, but it was still there, waiting.
“Ah, there you are,” Blake chuckled from the chair beside the bed, voice warm with relief. “Welcome back to the land of the living, hero.”
“Oh God… what the fuck happened?” Jake muttered, his voice still hoarse from smoke and sedation. His fingers trembled as they rose to his face, brushing over the thick medical patch covering his left eye. The skin around it felt tight, raw, foreign. Every inch of him ached with a deep, bone-weary pain that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Blake leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “You sent me that SOS literally seconds before the FBI swarmed the mine entrance. What the hell kind of shit did you get yourself into this time, man?”
Jake closed his good eye for a moment, the memories crashing back in fragments, flames roaring, Richy’s twisted confession, the desperate choice he’d made. “He wanted MC to come down into the mines. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let anything happen to her.”
Blake let out a low whistle. “She thinks you’re dead, Jake. I managed to mirror your phone before they shut everything down. I watched her messages. The FBI cut all internet and connections the second they realized you were still inside. Total blackout.”
“So MC can’t even talk to the others?” Jake breathed, the words scraping out like gravel.
“No. And she’s a complete mess.” Blake’s voice softened. “To top it all off, she’s already gotten dragged into some new case. Is this girl a detective or something?”
A weak, proud smile tugged at Jake’s cracked lips despite everything. “No… but she sure as hell could be one.”
He tried to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the burns on his torso screamed in protest. “Where’s my phone?”
Blake studied him for a long second, then sighed. “Since you’re clearly more worried about her than your own shredded body, here’s the surgery rundown: Your left eye is saved, barely. You might have uneven vision from now on; the doc couldn’t fix everything under these conditions. But you can see. The burns… those are staying with you for the rest of your life, man. Scars, discoloration, the works. Permanent reminder.”
Jake’s fingers brushed the bandaged patches on his neck and arm. For the rest of his life. A brand from the fire he’d willingly walked into, all to keep her safe. The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it felt almost… right.
“Thank you, Blake.”
“You’re welcome, idiot.” Blake gave him a tired grin. “Rest today. We move at dawn tomorrow. They’re getting too close.”
Jake nodded faintly. The moment Blake handed over the burner phone, his hands shook with urgency. Nymos had been working overtime; dozens of messages had tried to push through during the blackout. He opened the chat with MC and his chest tightened until it hurt worse than the burns.
Her messages were desperate. Fragmented. Sent hours apart, each one more broken than the last.
Jake? Please answer.
They said the mines are on fire. Tell me you got out.
I can’t lose you too.
Jake, I love you. Come back to me.
The last thing he had managed to send before everything went dark stared back at him:
“I love you MC.”
Her reply, sent minutes later while the flames were still raging:
“I love you too, Jake.”
Warmth, fragile and painful, bloomed in his chest. For a moment the burns, the FBI, the running… none of it mattered. He smiled through the sting in his face.
He had to see her. Had to know she was still breathing.
His fingers flew across the screen.
Jake: Hello, MC. Don't worry about me. I'm alive.
Delivery Error
Jake’s good eye burned. His chest felt too tight. He wanted to reach through the screen, pull her into his arms, whisper that he was alive, that he was coming for her. The guilt clawed at him worse than any burn.
“Is there any way we can stay in Duskwood?” he asked Blake hoarsely, never taking his eye off the chat.
Blake looked up from his laptop and shook his head. “Too risky. Way too risky.” He turned the screen so Jake could see their current location, and the cluster of moving red dots closing in from the north. “We need to put more distance between us and them.”
“Crap,” Jake cursed under his breath.
He barely remembered drifting off again, the burner still clutched in his bandaged hand, MC’s face burned behind his eyelids.
The next thing he knew, Blake was shaking him roughly.
“Jake, wake up! We’ve got five minutes. Fucking move your ass!”
Adrenaline flooded his system. Pain or no pain, he swung his legs off the bed. On shaky, unsteady feet they bolted out of the makeshift hospital, Blake supporting him as they sprinted toward the waiting car. Tires screeched as they sped off into the rising sun, leaving another safe house behind, and Jake’s heart somewhere back on those lonely country roads with her.
Weeks had passed since they fled to another state. Jake sat hunched over his laptop in yet another dingy motel room, the blue glow of the screen the only light cutting through the darkness. His fingers danced across the keys, layering encryption after encryption, bouncing his signal through half a dozen countries so no one could trace him.
He opened the messenger app, his custom program running silently in the background, keeping him hidden as offline. The unread messages hit him like knives.
MC: Jake please
MC: I beg you
MC: One message. That’s all I’m asking for.
Lily: Jake please message me
Lily: I refuse to believe you’re dead
Lily: You need to come back if not for me, then for MC
Lily: She’s at my place
Lily: She is an absolute mess. She barely eats, sleeps, or showers.
Lily: I miss you, big brother.
Big brother.
The words carved straight into his chest. Lily had never called him that lightly. Now it felt like a goodbye he didn’t deserve.
He had to see her. He pulled up the hacked traffic and security cameras around her town. The feed loaded, footage from a few days ago. And there she was.
MC.
She stood on the sidewalk outside her building, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had finally crushed her. Her eyes, once bright and determined, were red and swollen from days of crying. Dark, bruise-like circles hung beneath them, carved deep by sleepless nights. Her hair was messy, unwashed, pulled back in a careless knot. She looked thinner, hollowed out, as if grief had eaten her from the inside. Every few seconds she glanced around the empty street with raw, desperate hope, the kind of look someone gives when they’re still waiting for a miracle they no longer believe will come.
Jake’s breath caught. God, MC… I’m so sorry.
She wiped her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie, before climbing into her car. The engine started. He switched camera feeds frantically, heart hammering against his ribs as he tracked her.
The highway. Her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. She kept glancing at her phone in the passenger seat, as if willing it to light up with his name. Tears slipped down her cheeks at a red light; she didn’t even bother wiping them away anymore. Country roads blurred past under gray skies. Every mile she drove closer to Duskwood, the tension in her posture grew. She looked exhausted, haunted, terrified that she was driving back to the place where she’d lost him forever.
He stared at the green window that finally popped up, his location was masked. Safe, for now. Blake had split off again days ago; Jake was alone with his ghosts once more. With a deep breath, he disabled the cloaking program.
Jake is now online.
Lily: JAKE!!!
Lily: Let me get MC
His heart hammered. He took a sip of the cold, bitter coffee on the table and grimaced, but the taste barely registered. Minutes stretched. Then the typing indicator appeared.
MC: You’re alive! Are you okay?!
Jake: I had to hide. I almost didn’t make it out… but I’m fine now. Finally safe.
MC: You are really fine?
He smiled softly despite the ache in his burned cheek. She was always worried about him first.
Jake: I’m fine. I promise :)
The moment he hit send, his gaze dropped to his own hand, scarred, discolored, the skin tight and warped like melted wax. Fine. What a cruel lie. He caught his reflection in the dark window: the patchwork of burns across his face and neck, the patch still covering his left eye, the way his hoodie hid the worst of it. He looked like a monster from a nightmare. How could he ever let her see him like this?
MC: Can we meet some day?
His heartbeat stumbled violently.
Jake: No.
Jake: I had to move far away.
MC: I don’t care! I will get a plane ticket if I need to!
MC: Please Jake
MC: I need to see you. Touch you. Make sure you’re really here.
Jake: I will see what I can do.
MC: I love you, Jake.
The smile that broke across his face hurt every scar, but it was real. His heart screamed for her. Every cell in his body ached to hold her.
Maybe… just maybe she won’t run.
Jake: I love you too, MC.
Months later
The forest of Duskwood smelled exactly as he remembered, damp earth, pine, and faint traces of smoke that still haunted his nightmares. Jake paced back and forth in front of the old wooden bench, hood pulled low, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The FBI had lost his trail. They were starting from zero again. But none of that mattered right now.
He kept replaying the leaked footage in his mind: MC in that cold interrogation room, agents screaming at her, slamming fists on the table, threatening her with charges if she didn’t give them something on him. She had looked so small. So alone. And he had failed to protect her from any of it.
While he was healing in hidden rooms, she had walked through hell.
A branch snapped behind him.
Jake froze, every muscle locking. Footsteps. Soft at first, then faster, then hesitant, then faster again. His breath caught.
“Jake…?”
Her voice. Soft, trembling, like warm honey poured over every raw nerve in his body. It nearly undid him.
“Yes,” he answered, keeping his face turned away, hidden in the shadow of his hood.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
He shook his head, throat tight. She stepped closer. The sweet scent of her flowery perfume wrapped around him like a memory he didn’t deserve.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Her fingers gently slid under his chin. Electricity crackled across his skin. Goosebumps erupted down his arms. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought she might hear it.
She tilted his face up.
Their eyes met.
MC’s widened. A sharp gasp escaped her. For one agonizing second she stared at the scars, the warped skin, the milky damage still visible in his left eye. Jake’s stomach dropped. He waited for the disgust. The recoil. The end.
She took a small step back.
There it is.
But then her hand returned, not pulling away, but reaching again. Her voice cracked with something deeper than shock.
“That’s my fault…” she whispered.
“What?!” The word tore out of him, rough and broken.
She pushed both hands through her hair, eyes glistening. “He wanted me to come down there. I should have gone instead—”
Guilt. Pure, crushing guilt etched across her beautiful face.
Jake’s heart shattered. “And instead you get burned? I would do it all over again!” he argued fiercely. “Every second. Every scar. I’d walk back into that fire if it kept you safe.”
“Stop!” She threw her hands up, tears spilling freely now. “You didn’t deserve this. None of it.”
Her palms came back to his face, both of them this time, cupping his scarred cheeks with a tenderness that made his knees weak. She didn’t flinch. Not once.
“I know I’m ugly and disgusting now and you can—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she cut him off, voice fierce even through the tears.
“You can be honest if you stopped loving me like this—”
“Shut up.”
Before he could say another self-loathing word, she surged forward and kissed him.
Hard.
Her fingers slid into his hair, gripping the back of his head as if she was terrified he might vanish again. Her other hand cradled the burned side of his face like it was something precious. Her lips were warm, soft, desperate, pouring months of fear and longing into him.
Jake froze for half a heartbeat… then kissed her back like a man drowning. Butterflies exploded in his chest, wild and overwhelming. They smiled into the kiss, teeth bumping clumsily, soft laughter breaking between them, but neither pulled away. They only pressed closer, deeper, tasting salt from her tears and the faint bitterness of his own.
When they finally parted, foreheads still touching, she whispered the words he had feared most:
“Take me with you, Jake.”
“It’s too dangerous. You’d lose your life—”
“What life?” She smirked through the tears, that familiar fire sparking in her eyes.
“Family?" He asked.
"I prefer to call them my producers at this point.”
He raised an eyebrow. She smiled wider. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”
“Your job?”
“Fired weeks ago.”
“Your friends?”
“We were always online anyway. Why not continue the tradition?”
He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You always have an answer to everything, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” She kissed him again, slower this time, reverent.
“You deserve better than this fugitive life.”
“What’s better than you?” she asked simply. “The money I make barely covers rent. In a few months it’ll go up and I’ll probably end up on the street anyway.”
Jake sighed, resting his forehead against hers. The scars pulled tight, but her hands never left his face.
“Fine,” he whispered. “I’m safe… for now. But you need to understand what this life means.”
“It means a life with you, Jake. I don’t want any other one.”
He kissed her one last time, deep, slow, full of every unsaid promise, then laced their fingers together.
Hand in hand, they ran deeper into the forest, laughter mixing with breathless gasps as the trees swallowed them whole. They didn’t stop until they found an old, hidden hunter’s cabin tucked away from the world, their temporary shelter, their first real home in months.
Jake didn’t stop smiling the entire day.
Not when they stepped inside the dusty cabin and he finally allowed himself to pull her close without fear. Not when their jackets slipped to the floor and trembling fingers worked open buttons and zippers, revealing skin that had been hidden for far too long. Not when the cool night air brushed over his scarred body and he instinctively wanted to hide, only for MC to stop him with the gentlest touch.
She traced every burn mark with reverent fingertips, then followed them with her lips. Where the fire had once destroyed, her mouth now worshipped. Each kiss sent sparks dancing across his nerves, not pain, but something deeper, warmer, almost sacred. Her skin against his damaged flesh felt like forgiveness given physical form. Where he was rough and uneven, she was soft and warm, melting into him as if she had been made to fit exactly against every scar.
“Jake…” she whispered, his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer, like salvation.
He shivered at the sound. Every time she said it, slow, breathless, full of wonder, it cracked something open inside his chest. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with his scars and everything to do with how completely she accepted him. Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Her body melted against his, pliant and trusting, every curve pressing into him as though she needed to prove he was real.
He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, that sweet floral scent mixed with salt from happy tears. His own hands explored her with aching gentleness, afraid to press too hard, afraid this moment might vanish like so many dreams before. But she only held him tighter, whispering his name again and again between soft kisses, each utterance healing another fractured piece of his soul.
In the quiet glow of moonlight filtering through the old windows, they moved together, slow, reverent, full of months of fear and longing finally given release. Every touch was a promise. Every sigh, every shared breath, every time she gasped his name like it was the only word that mattered… it told him he was wanted. Loved. Enough.
Even like this, broken, burned, still running, he was enough for her.
When they finally lay tangled together under a shared blanket, skin warm and hearts racing in sync, Jake pressed one last kiss to her forehead and held her like she was the only safe thing left in his world.
Maybe he was selfish for taking her with him.
But as she curled closer, whispering “I love you, Jake” against his scarred chest, he knew he would never let her go again.
A/N: It's been a long time since I posted something, but here I am! Not sure how it happened, but I wrote a one-shot for Moonvale's side story. It's nothing serious, just some idiotic nonsense with a sprinkle of humor. I needed something light after the ending of episode three. Enjoy :)
Spoiler warning for the end of episode 3!
The thick, acrid smoke clawed at Jake’s throat like living claws. Every ragged breath tasted of blood and burning wood, his lungs screaming in protest as violent coughs wracked his body. The mine was collapsing around him in slow, groaning agony, timbers cracking, dust and debris raining down like judgment.
In the distance, another cough echoed through the haze. Weaker. Pain-filled. Groaning.
Jake staggered forward, eyes stinging, until the flickering orange glow of dying flames illuminated the slumped figure against the jagged rock wall.
There he sat.
Bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead. Coughing up soot. The mask clutched loosely in one trembling, blood-smeared hand. The unmistakable mask of the Man Without a Face.
Richy.
The pieces slammed into place instantly. The voice distortions. The taunting messages. The way Hannah had been lured and held. The sheer, chaotic incompetence wrapped in cruelty. This broken, wheezing idiot in front of him was the kidnapper. The one who had terrorized the group, faked his own death once already, and nearly gotten them all killed.
Jake’s jaw tightened. Hannah was safe now. He’d made sure of that. But Richy? He didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick, fiery end in this collapsing hellhole.
“Richy?” Jake rasped, voice rough from the smoke.
The man’s head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and pain. “What… Who the hell are you?”
“Jake.”
A heavy, stunned silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rumble of falling stone.
Jake didn’t waste another second. He lunged forward, wrapping a strong arm around Richy’s neck and hauling the heavier man to his feet with a grunt. Richy hissed in agony but didn’t fight as Jake half-dragged, half-carried him through the choking smoke toward the exit.
“You really are the worst kidnapper in history,” Jake growled through gritted teeth. “And the heaviest, too. What the hell have you been eating?”
“Just… leave me here,” Richy rasped, voice cracking.
“And let you slither away from everything you’ve done? Not a chance. You’re owning up to this mess, whether you like it or not.”
They finally burst out into the cool night air. Fresh oxygen hit Jake like a blessing. In the distance, helicopter searchlights swept the treeline, police sirens painting the wet gravel in flashing red and blue. Rescue was close.
Jake shoved Richy to the damp grass and bent over, hands on his knees, gulping clean air. “We need medical help,” he muttered.
“But first we need to get out of here,” Richy coughed weakly.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jake snapped, rolling his eyes.
That’s when he heard it.
The rhythmic thunder of hoofbeats cutting through the chaos. A loud, dramatic neigh slicing the night like a bad movie soundtrack.
Jake’s head whipped toward the sound. “Wait here!”
“Where the hell am I supposed to go?!” Richy wheezed after him.
But Jake was already sprinting across the open field like a man possessed. There, grazing near the edge of the woods, stood a group of horses that had clearly bolted from some nearby stable during the commotion. One in particular, a sleek, pitch-black stallion with a glossy coat that practically gleamed under the moonlight, huffed at him, still fully saddled and bridled as if it had been waiting for its big cinematic moment.
“Perfect,” Jake breathed, a wild grin breaking across his soot-streaked face. “You’re absolutely perfect!”
The horse didn’t bolt. It just snorted, almost… approvingly? Jake swung himself up into the saddle with surprising ease, gripped the reins, and clicked his tongue.
The beast took off like it had been born for dramatic rescues.
From afar, Richy’s eyes widened in pure, unfiltered disbelief as the black horse thundered toward him, Jake looking every bit the reluctant hero on a noble steed.
“Get on!” Jake shouted, pulling the horse to a skidding halt.
On wobbly, smoke-weakened legs, Richy staggered upright. Jake had to lean down and haul him up with one powerful arm, practically yeeting the injured man onto the horse’s back behind him.
Richy immediately swayed dangerously. His arms snaked around Jake’s waist in a desperate death grip just to keep from sliding right off.
“Aw, look at that,” Jake deadpanned, voice dripping with mocking sweetness as the horse launched into a full gallop. “Little princess needs to hold onto her big strong savior, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got you, damsel.”
Richy only grumbled something incoherent and annoyed into Jake’s back, his face pressed against the hacker’s jacket… but the complaints didn’t stop there.
“Oh my God, this is so humiliating,” Richy wheezed as the horse picked up speed, bouncing them both like sacks of potatoes. “I survived a mine fire, faked my death, ran a whole creepy kidnapper operation… and now I’m riding bitch on a stolen horse with the hacker who ruined everything. My life is a joke.”
Jake snorted, guiding the stallion around a low branch. “Ruined? I saved your ass from your own terrible planning. Face it, Richy. You couldn’t even kidnap properly. Who leaves that many obvious clues? It was like watching a toddler play hide-and-seek with a megaphone.”
“Hey! I was under a lot of stress, okay?” Richy shot back, his voice cracking as the horse leaped over a small ditch, nearly launching him off. He yelped and tightened his arms around Jake’s waist like a terrified koala. “And excuse me, Mr. ‘I live in the shadows and type dramatically,’ but at least I didn’t hide behind a screen the whole time. You show up once and suddenly you’re the hero? On a horse? This is some next-level fanfiction bullshit.”
“Better than your master plan of ‘burn everything and hope it works,’” Jake fired back dryly. The wind whipped his hair into a wild mess as they thundered across the fields. “Besides, I’m only doing this so you can face the group. Not because I like you. Now stop squirming. You’re worse than a sack of anxious cats.”
Richy let out a dramatic groan that turned into a cough. “Anxious cats? That’s rich coming from the guy who probably thinks he’s some dark avenger. Newsflash, Jake, this horse has better rhythm than your whole mysterious vibe. Keep bouncing me around like this and I’m gonna puke on your dramatic hacker jacket.”
“If you puke, I’m dropping you off at the nearest police station with a bow on top and I swear I’ll tell the group you cried during the rescue,” Jake retorted, but there was a reluctant grin in his voice. “And for the record, at least I didn’t need a fake death and a mask to get attention. Your whole ‘Man Without a Face’ gimmick was about as subtle as this galloping circus act.”
Richy wheezed with laughter that quickly turned into pained coughing. “Subtle? Says the man currently cosplaying as a budget cowboy! If you tell the group I cried during the rescue, I’ll… I’ll reveal that the great Jake needed a horse to look cool. A horse, Jake. A horse!”
“Shut up and hold on, princess,” Jake growled, but he was laughing now too, short, breathless bursts that mixed with the thunder of hooves. “Or I swear I’ll tell everyone you clung to me like a scared koala the entire ride.”
“I did not cling!” Richy protested loudly, voice half-drowned by the wind. “That was survival instinct! And if anyone asks, I was strategically positioning myself for a tactical dismount.”
The banter continued the entire wild ride, a chaotic mix of insults, coughs, and reluctant snickers as the black stallion carried its unlikely duo through the night.
They finally reached an old abandoned building on the outskirts of Duskwood. Jake reined the horse to a dramatic stop, the animal snorting and pawing the ground as if it, too, was offended by the entire situation.
“Wait here,” Jake said, sliding off smoothly. “I’ll send help your way. Try not to kidnap anyone else while I’m gone.”
“And what about you?” Richy asked, still clinging awkwardly to the saddle, cheeks flushed from the ride and the roasting.
“Let that be my problem.” Jake pulled out his phone. The group chat was exploding, everyone searching for him. Even Dan was throwing out advice. Jake sighed, rolled his eyes, and pinged his location to Dan. It was the last person he wanted to contact, but the others were clearly too emotionally fried for more secrets right now.
As soon as he saw Dan typing something to Cleo, Jake swung back onto the horse.
“That’s it.” He clicked his tongue sharply. “Come on, faster!”
The black stallion surged forward, carrying him out of Duskwood and speeding through the night toward where MC lived.
Jake leaned low over the horse’s neck, wind tearing at his clothes, a manic, jealous fire burning in his eyes.
“I’m coming, MC,” he muttered under his breath, half-laughing, half-growling. “I’m saving you from Eric. You’re mine, whether that overly-flirty, forest-chatting, suspiciously charming Redlog pretty-boy likes it or not.”
Behind him, the abandoned building grew smaller. Richy, still slumped on the grass where Jake had left him, could only stare after the galloping silhouette and mutter:
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