ImprobableOutset
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Summary
While Osmund Saddler holds you captive in the Méndez residence, intending to use your Plaga-free body for nefarious means, you are suddenly found and rescued by an unexpected duo: an American government agent and the U.S. president’s daughter.
Then when you reunite with your childhood friend, Luis Serra, after so many years, you soon find yourself bound to the events of an evil plot waiting to unfold—and you wonder whether you will survive the whole ordeal.
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It has been looming over you since the Umbrella shaped blood on the wall; some kind of clairvoyant, doomed foresight whispering to you that this will be the last, you will never see him again. Wherever he is running to, something terrible awaits him, and you cannot keep him from it. Like the Fool tarot, marching off into the sun.
or:
You manage to catch your colleague, Luis Serra, in the midst of his flight from the Umbrella Lab. Unspoken feelings and pent up longing comes to light.
(UPDATE: added a few tweaks here and there)
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I'm (not) your Jayce by strangekindofwoman
Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)
10 Feb 2026
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This is the story of Jayce Talis—a man who lost everything, only to stumble into a "second chance" within a body that feels like a cage. It is a narrative of dissociation, PTSD, and the quiet, healing power of proximity. A journey where the fear of mirrors yields to the warmth of another’s touch, and where the confession of a haunting lie paves the way for the most profoundly honest love.
“I am not the Jayce you once knew. But I am the one who cannot draw a single breath without you.”P.S. This work has S2 spoilers.
Bookmarked by ImprobableOutset
08 Jan 2026
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When Miles thinks he's spending Christmas Eve alone, and the reader says other wise.
Series
- Part 2 of Ace Attorney x Reader Oneshots
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God, you really do love him like this though.
“Sorry,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, dark curls mussed. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop. You feel too good, baby, you’re so good.”
Clark’s voice breaks on the last word like he’s begging you to understand, but the thrust of his hips says otherwise. There's nothing apologetic about the way he’s fucking you—like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like his survival depends on it. The bed’s screaming under the weight of his body, your body, his strength.
Your spine arches off the bed as his hips slap against yours hard enough to sting, wet and relentless. “Clark,” you gasp, nails raking down his back uselessly. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”