"It's BUGGY"

I understand the comfort some readers may have when reading about those particular topics but please trust, I am not that writer! ^~^ I hope you find one that suits what needs you have, and if that ends up being my blog, I'm glad to help!

I do not write dark content such as yandere, abuse, S/A, anything that perpetuates toxic love (other than mild obsession haha), age regression, any kinks using parental terms, or graphic depictions of self-inflected harm or attempts on one's life

Main Fandoms

• Sally Face

• One Piece

• Naruto

• Tokyo Ghoul

• Jujutsu Kaisen

• Saw Franchise

• Slashers (numerous)

• Creepypasta

• Frankenstein (2025)

• FNAF (movies, games, book!William)

-- I only write for Michael Afton, William Afton (preferably game and book ver!), Vanessa/Vanny, and Mike Schmidt!

• Detroit Become Human

-- Connor, Hank, Markus, Simon, Ralph, Daniel, Kara & Luther, Nines, Sixty

• Gilmore girls (specifically Luke Danes)

• DC Universe (specifically Clark, Batman, Dick, Jason, Tim)

-- I also write a lot of the DC Titans version of the series! :}

• Critical Role (Vox Machina & The Mighty Nein)

• Love & Deepspace (Main 5 + Valko!!)

• Twilight Saga (the wolves mostly!)

Beady eyes stare at you from the darkness. Light shifts into them, appearing white only for a moment before-- blue. Cold, insipid, but also something horribly human about them. They were enticingly harrowing.

Then, a face creeps out. A man in a clown's visage. Black lipstick, heavy black eye makeup on a painted stark-white face. He mimics your surprised expression before grinning with a mouth full of yellowing, decaying teeth. With a grand sweeping bow, Art the Clown raises his tiny top hat in greeting.

Holding up an index finger, the tall clown begins to root around in his large trash bag. He makes a show of exaggeratedly looking to you every so often to make sure you're still invested in his silliness before producing a fake yellow flower.

"For me?" You ask softly, hand extended towards it. Art grins wider, nodding vigorously like a bobblehead. Upon taking the flower Art dramatically feigns a swoon and holds his dirtied hands over his heart, landing on his bottom on the rainy pavement. He keels over with silent laughter, kicking his feet giddily. Rolling over onto his belly, Art props his chin into his gloved hands, wiggling his drawn-on thin brows sensually.

Warmth creeps up the back of your neck and prickles at your skin at the bold display. Art stands up briskly, bowing exaggeratedly low.

You look around, holding up a single finger. "Hold on just a minute!" Plucking a rose from a nearby bush, you hurriedly run back to gift him the rose.

"For you!" You grin wide. Art's cheeks stretch widely with an impish grin. Galliantly he accepts it with a hand over his heart, making kissy faces at you.

That was your first meeting with Art and are now a part of a small, select group to have crossed paths with him and lived.

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

Art belongs to © Damien Leone || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026

THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.

Clark

Type: Alaskan Malamute

Age: Late 30s

Occupation: Firefighter

The fluffiest boy! He is so helpful! He wants to be near you 24/7. Full of energy!! Clark is super strong and has dreamt of being a firefighter since he was a kiddo-- back when his ears were superrr floppy. He was worried that he'd never grow into them, but he has, though, his left ear still tends to fold over like a dog-eared page of a book. He likes to tell that joke a lot.

6'6", roughly 270 with a dazzling, dimpled smile and a fluffy black-white tail. Prettiest blue eyes that shimmer brighter than any ocean! He thinks it's sweet how enraptured you are by him. The feeling is very, very mutual. Absolutely adores you.

He's strong, works out a lot, and goes for runs a lot wearing his gear. He needs to be prepared at any moment. Clark's biggest fear is not being able to save someone.

Asks you out on a sunny afternoon, one arm scratching his neck, and a bouquet of light flowers of all sorts. He'd looked into various articles of flower language-- daisies, light pink peonies, and pretty pink roses all to symbolize new love-- he hopes, at least.

Whether you're a hybrid like him, fully human, or any other sort of supernatural or preternatural creature-- he finds you absolutely fascinating for the smallest things you do. It leaves him feeling all giddy and starry-eyed even if he's watching you prepare breakfast. (That's called love, Clark.)

Bruce

Type: Doberman

Age: Late 30s

Occupation: Charity and fundraiser organizer, acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises and all of their sub industries

He looks scarier than he is. Always dressed in sleek clothing, ears pointed, and his pale blue eyes intense. He is secretly very sweet and a big cuddler. A noble, hard worker just like his father before him and his father's father. Constantly lounging in black sweaters and dress pants while he reads the daily paper.

The kind of man to keep his heart close to his chest unless he knows you well. He is comfortable with joking and having friends over to join he and Alfred for brunch. He keeps a rather solitary life after his parents' passing-- a horrible car accident involving black ice during a winter storm. He's had time to grieve and to process. He pays his respects to their gravesite at least twice a month to freshen up their flowers.

Meeting you during a particular stressful part of his life had been a beacon of hope; a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Introducing you to his

For the first several months of your relationship, Bruce kept a little black notebook in his back pocket filled with all of your favorites and dietary preferences. He now has it memorized.

Dick

Type: Panther

Age: Early to mid 20s

Occupation: Detective

He works as a detective and is at the top of his field. It's very rare that a case crosses his desk that he cannot solve. All of his uniforms are hemmed to fit his tail. Dick usually likes to hide his tail in his pantleg but sometimes he doesn't have any time, and poof! Tail is out, swaying behind him.

Dick spends a lot of time with his family. Adopted or not, he adores them. Even if his father Bruce sometimes struggles with showing it. Watching his brothers, and even his father, find love gives Dick hope that he will find his person too. He is certainly a yearner. A romantic at heart he doesn't waste time with dating apps or speed dating. Where does he meet you? At the park, watching a local baseball game with your family. One of your young relatives was on Damian's team.

He is a very lithe person thanks to his past with Haley's Circus. Great at balancing and gymnastics. Has a habit of curling his tail around himself for comfort when he is alone. With you, his tail will curl around you at all times if possible.

Jason

Type: Unknown mixed wolfdog

Age: Early to mid 20s

Occupation: Student, Library assistant, part-time pizza delivery driver

Works two jobs to pay his way through a master's degree in forensic science and a secondary major in liberal arts. He's worked a lot of part-time jobs of all sorts. He's recently settled on part-time pizza delivery. It's good, honest work. He makes good tips too. So, Jason doesn't have a problem with it. He just doesn't want Bruce to fund his tuition--or his home. He's content with his own small apartment because it is his that he bought carving his own way through the world.

He's run into you several times out in the wild by this point in time. At the library, delivering your food, running into you at the grocery store or the mall. It seems like your paths are destined to cross time and time again. Just when he thinks he's shook the image of you from his mind; there you are again.

It happened again when the two of you are in the library, unbeknownst to one another, but quickly made aware when you both reach for the same book. Of course, it's the last copy.

"You read Jane Austen?" Your brow quirks upwards. Jason's cheeks flood with color, his black ears folding back slightly with a grimace. Crossing his arms over his broad chest he nods.

"Yeah. What of it?"

You simply shrug, gesturing to the book. "Take it. I just wanted this style. I already have the story."

Jason's cheeks burn as he blurts out. "Give me your number! Yo-you can borrow it when I'm done... For the illustrations and stuff..."

Laughing softly, you grin and relent. Taking a scrap of paper, you scrawl your number on it and offer the slip to Jason who takes it a bit eagerly.

"Sure. We can meet up for coffee and discuss it too."

Jason grins wide and happily. "It's a date."

Tim

Type: Black housecat

Age: Early 20s

Occupation: Photographer, Sociology Major, aspiring film director

While not quite set on any career path in his life at the moment, Tim is a fairly renowned local photographer for Gotham. He's dabbled in some journalism and keeps a regular blog online. He has a few social media accounts but tends to stick with Instagram and Tumblr the most.

It's actually you who encourages Tim to start working on film diaries. His videos are beautiful scenery, fun events to do in Gotham and in Metropolis. He loves posting videos of delicious foods to try as well as original works with his own short films and skits with his friends.

Definitely had a cliche meet-cute with you. Meeting at a cafe always felt cringe until it actually happened to Tim whilst he's working on his screenplay. Ears flicking backwards, tail swaying, he immediately perks up at the loveliest voice as you put in your breakfast order. Tim notices in his laptop's reflection that his pupils had dilated. His cheeks burn and he buckles down, typing away furiously. This is nothing. Right. ... Right?

Leon

Type: Snow Leopard

Age: Late 20s to early 30s

Occupation: Police Officer for RPD

The master of one-liners. This man is absolutely cheesin' any time he gets his coworkers on the force laughing. It fills him with pride. He's so glad he decided to take this job in Raccoon City, even if there were a few hiccups at the beginning.

While working for the city for several years, Leon becomes an asset to his team and a friend to all who know him. He's building a community here and he couldn't be more grateful!

With strong, lean arms, and powerful legs Leon is one of the strongest on the force as well as one of the youngest. He's in the gym rather often to the point he purchased his own system for his house versus paying for a membership.

It's a rainy Saturday evening; Leon is off work and needs to hit the grocery store. He's pretty sure he only has rice and milk left. Pushing his cart down an aisle he's not paying attention when he accidentally bumps into you!

"I'm sorry! That was stupid of me, are you alright?" Leon rushes to your side with big, worried eyes. You wave him off while rubbing your hip.

"Hey, no biggie. Thanks for bringing me back to earth," you laugh. God, he likes that sound already. His tail flicks happily behind him, relieved that you're safe.

Leon smiles sheepishly. "I'm glad it wasn't anything too serious. My buddies in the rig wouldn't let me live it down if I had to turn myself in for hurting a pretty lady. I wouldn't be able to live with myself!"

You laugh again and playfully wave him off. "No worries. I'm all good. Accidents happen! Well, I gotta be off Mr. Kennedy. Take care!"

Leon blinks. "Wa-wait! How do you know me?"

"Your nametag, cutie!"

Nose crinkled, he looks down at his chest realizing he is still fully in uniform. His cheeks flush. Son of a bitch. Wait-- cutie?!

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

All characters belong to © DC, Leon to Capcom || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026

THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.

Asexual

Sex- Repulsed

Viktor never had much interest in anything or anyone beyond his inventions. Science. Creating things that would be able to help people of the Undercity.

He doesn't view it as a necessary act. He doesn't intend to procreate at any point in his life either. So, what would be the point? It seems like a hassle.

Viktor does not like relieving himself. He's more on the 'little to none' sexual part of the spectrum. He doesn't experience arousal often to really warrant doing anything.

He's also not really into the idea of anyone touching him in such a way. It's gotten better over the years but sometimes he does feel genuinely sick at the thought.

He's heard numerous complaints about not having sex or struggling to find anyone. He doesn't see a problem with it. Like you want sex that much? Gosh, it must suck to feel like that all the time. He'd offer his condolences and go about his day; thankful he doesn't have to worry about that.

Aromantic

Dude, he just wants to make his inventions and help people. That's his life mission; he isn't unhappy as is. He's never been interested in a stereotypical relationship. The few friends that he has in Piltover often have other things to do.

When amplifying and working on the Hexcore, Viktor is often irritated with Jayce for leaving him to work alone to be with Mel. He thinks, sure, it could be nice to share intimacy with someone at some points but thinking about it and doing it is very different.

Romance-favorable

He thinks that true love exists only in his books. He enjoys reading about them, but the thought of having it in practice is something he simply can't picture himself having. It feels weird. Out of body. Like he should want this but he just... Doesn't.

Viktor has experienced love before and the closest he's had to a relationship is his Hextech partnership with Jayce. He enjoys it. He thinks they work well together.

Viktor knows that he loves Jayce, but whether it's platonic or romantic he doesn't know. Love comes in all different shapes and it's just... He's never felt that way about a woman. The interest hasn't been there, but he wouldn't discredit it if it happened. He thinks he prefers being with no one. He likes keeping to his own schedule without the added worry that someone may be missing him or want him at home. He doesn't want to end up disappointing anyone because he doesn't want what they want.

So, love? He is skeptical that it does exist. He'd like it to, he really would. And he isn't sure he wants any part of it right now. Maybe there will be a 'right' person to come along.

Queerplatonic

I think Viktor would be open to a non-sexual queer platonic relationship. While it's the furthest thing in the back of his mind, he wouldn't necessarily mind someone to come home to. Like having a roommate.

It would much more likely be a guy. He hasn't put much thought into it because he would prefer to avoid it altogether.

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

All characters belong to © DC, Leon to Capcom || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026

THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.

AO3 coming soon!

"Take a left on Washington Avenue, lieutenant." Connor sits properly in the passenger seat with his hands folded neatly in his lap with the seatbelt drawn over his lap and chest. Safety was important.

Occasionally swaying with Hank's driving, Connor's eyes drift to the twinkling skylines of downtown Detroit. Lights of blue and white and yellow reflect back in his eyes, LED swirling as he processes new information.

Billboards now flash with images of androids. Cyberlife's newest models available for purchase. Some were on sale... Now only three-thousand to buy your own android and they're selling like hotcakes.

The brightness of the city fades away into a less saturated background. Less light pollution and more eerie liminal spaces. Most of the street lights don't seem to work properly. A few lights twinkle with flickers of remnant energy like a match trying to spark into flame.

"God. Talk about letting the town go to shit...," Hank grumbles under his breath, slowing the car to 30MPH. The gray-haired lieutenant leans over his wheel towards his dash to get a better look through the windshield. 

Connor turns towards Hank. "Are we certain anyone lives here?" 

"This is where the dispatch said to go." Hank continues to creep his car forward. 

The scenery before them felt straight out of an apocalypse movie. Empty and darkened houses were lined on either side of the road. It's derelict with very few cars. Most of the cars look like they've been scavenged for parts and left to rot and rust.

Litter and old newspaper scuttle across the sidewalk with the tepid July breeze. At 11:40pm, it was starless void of a sky tonight save for the halo of light coming from the cityscape behind them. The artificial light was so bright it made the trees look like they were plastic. Unnatural. There was something unsettling about this area. 

A faint light glowed ahead. In the sea of darkness, a faint light glowed ahead. An apartment complex sat at the very end of the street. In fact, it was the only thing left with a light on. The street was a dead end. 

An ambulance is parked outside with its lights flashing. The EMTs are just finishing up, packing up the transporter and driving off.

“Should be just up ahead,” Hank spins the wheel lining his car parallel to the sidewalk.

                                                   --

The building reeks of mildew. Mold was certainly growing in the seemingly damp entryway carpet. A lone frosted-yellow rounded light buzzes above them. A moth frantically tap-tap-taps at the glass. Inside, were the corpses of numerous insects that met their end when they could not escape their spherical coffin. The moth would likely assume the same fate.

Hank covers his nose with a ragged bandana kept in the back of his jeans-pocket. “Oh, holy shit. Jesus Christ that reeks. Smells like a skunk got high and exploded.”

“That is very descriptive, lieutenant.” Connor blinks. “You certainly know how to paint a picture.”

“Shut up, Connor.” Hank replies gruffly. The floorboards hidden beneath  the moldy carpet creak as they ascend up the stairs to the second-story of the complex. Hank scans his notes. “This one.”

Two gruff knocks against a faded wood door ease it open and off its hinges. It creaks open ominously. Hank’s hand moves to the gun stashed at his thigh. Carefully pushing the door open

“Hello! Detroit Police! We got a call to come investigate. Anyone home? Hello-oooo?”

A plump woman dressed in a barista’s uniform appears in the hallway of the trashed complex. Her eyes are dazed, her lip split, and a bruise swells on the left side of her face. In her hand is an ice pack.

“Hello. So sorry--,” She greets. “I’m the one who made the call. I just got home from my shift at Detroit Sips when I was accosted by a man in a mask.” She pulls out her ID and takes two step towards them before a rush of lightheadedness overcomes her. Cursing, she groans, holding a trembling hand to her head.

“Whoa there, miss, slow down. You’re okay now. I’m Hank and this is Connor,” Hank placates like a bear trying to calm down a frightened duckling. “Can you tell us what happened when you got home?”

Connor crosses the threshold, helping her to a rathe comfortable looking sofa. “Are you alright? Please, sit.”

--

Taking a deep breathe, you recollect to the best of your abilities. You were asked to work later than intended with your shift finishing at 10pm rather than your normal 5pm. A last-second twelve-hour shift never failed to exhaust you. It’s Friday and pitch-black already.

It was already dark when you were leaving your shift at one of your favorite haunts—Detroit Sips. A new age yet somehow retro café that also sold mint to gently-used condition records and CDs. In the wake of technology, the café remained steadfast. It was the place to go when the world of convenience grew too loud. Smooth jazz plays comfortably over the store’s radio system meant to soothe any listener.

Inspired by gastropub industry the café was designed to have reclaimed iron-wooden tables, countertops, and chairs all with a seductive dark stain. Accompanied by high ceilings with exposed beams and low-lighting the atmosphere was comfortable.

“I think we are getting off of track.” Hank interjects, your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Right. Sorry.” Your gaze shifts to Connor who gives you an encouraging nod and gestures for you to continue.

“No worries. He’s just grouchy since he missed third dinner—ow! I’m only kidding. Sorry, lieutenant. Miss, please continue.” You have to bite back a grin at Connor’s dimpled smile and sparkling dark brown eyes.

Your story continues with you closing up for the night. The buses have already stopped for the night and it seems, as luck would have it, that any of the automated taxis could not come to your location. Technology at its finest. Even with how advanced it is there are still hiccups.

The walk home in the balmy air was pleasant. It’s a forty minute walk from the café to your apartment. You didn’t like living so far, but it’s all you could afford on your meager income. It was enough to keep a roof over your head and your belly fed. That was peace enough.

“When I opened my door there was a man rooting through my belongings. High on red ice would be my guess. – I don’t know what he would want, I don’t have anything worth taking other than my cat.” You point to a small corner of the room where an elderly calico lay atop a pillow like a chicken on her roost. “She’s all I have.”

“Anyway,” You continue. “He got spooked and clocked me in the face with a brick. Hell knows where he got that from. He was medium-height, on the heavier side with a beer gut. He had a high widow’s peak and greasy, stringy black hair. I’ve seen him in the neighborhood before, I don’t know his name, but I’ve never seen him act like this.”

Hank and Connor take their notes. Nothing of value had been stolen. Some quarters for laundry and a few newspapers for clipping coupons.

“We’ll let you know if we come across anything or need to contact you. My buddy Connor here has your contact info.” Hank gives your place one last surveying look.

 Absolutely criminal that a landlord would let such a historic place fall into disrepair let alone allow anyone—especially folks down-on-their-luck—to live in such a place. It was no place for a lady to live.

“One more thing, move the second you are able. Even if it’s through government help or by living with someone you know. You and your cat need to move outta here.” Hank leaves the complex.

A creak behind you makes you jump but it was Connor fixing your fallen over bookshelf. He’d tidied up without your knowledge whilst you were talking with Hank.

“There.” Connor smiles proudly to himself. He was much more animated and human-like than expected. Cyberlife truly outdid themselves. If it weren’t for the LED on the side of Connor’s head you wouldn’t have suspected that he wasn’t human.

Stepping forward, you give him a warm smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“In times of stress, it’s quite normal to want to be able t lean on someone to lend a helping hand. Oh—sorry, I was reading your vitals. My apologies, miss. Old habits and I didn’t want your cortisol levels to spike any higher I—” Connor continues to stumble over his words. A delicate blue blush coats his cheeks and his ears. You’ve neve seen an android quite like him much less known one to get embarrassed. Is he a deviant and he doesn’t know it yet?

With a cheerful wave and a goodbye, you’re left watching Connor’s back from the doorway. His pristine shoes squelch on the damp carpet. The door grunts as Connor presses in the push bar and exits into the dark Detroit night. He isn’t sure how or why but he just knows that he needs to see you again.

He’ll ensure a follow-up. He will discuss it with Captain Fowler tonight.

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

All characters belong to © Quantic Dream  || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026

THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.

Valko's eyes snap open the moment you move beside him. Then, your pained whine followed by a sniffle. He wipes away his own tears. Huddling against your back his large hand slides to your tummy where your cramps are the worst.

"I'm here. I've got you." Valko reassures, fingers stroking your warm skin. The warmth of his hand blooms through you chasing away the pain little by little.

Rolling into his arms, you press into him with a weakened sob, arms sliding around his strong shoulders. Your shoulders begin to quake, a stifled sob bubbling at the back of your throat.

"You were gone-- they took you; they took you from me, Val..." Comes out your tired cry muffled against the warm skin of his throat. His large hand softly cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking your hair. Tears instantly bubble at his eyes. So, you had a similar dream... You truly are his mate.

Valko noses at your cheek softly, nuzzling into you as his grip tightens. "Shh, shh, baby. I'm he-here.. Ju-just a bad dream is all... Your wolf is still here..." His words blubber into a soft whimper. With shaky hands, he rubs comforting circles between your shoulder blades. "I'm not goin' anywhere. You know that, right, sweetheart?" Nuzzling you harder, Valko rolls onto his back and tugs you along with him.

With one hand, he grabs the edge of the fallen blanket and tugs it over your bodies, cuddling close. His hand resumes its gentle soothing on your back.

The two of you continue to cry in the early morning. That dream was too real. Too scary. Both are too uncertain to let the other go. No. Grounding is needed.

There is something cathartic about openly weeping in the late hours of the night. Hands held tight, faces close, and bodies warm. Softly giving his nose a nuzzle, Valko's lips quirk into a shaky smile. The blanket moves as his tail softly thumps on the mattress.

Valko snuggles close, pressing soft kisses to your hair, cheeks, and ears grinning as you burst into giggles. He keeps his arms tight around your waist, refusing to let go. Valko presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before letting his head droop and rest on your shoulder. His. Yours.

Just a shared nightmare. That's all it was.

--

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

Valko belongs to © Infold, Papergames || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026

Clark

"You're sure it's okay for me to stay the night?" Clark pads after you like a big, sleepy puppy. Black hair tousled and eyes already drooping closed.

You lean back with a grin. "You can barely keep your eyes open. Stay. Take a shower. I should have some spare clothes that'll fit."

Presented with a bundle of clothes, Clark recognizes them as some of his spare pajamas he left here when he needed to crash on your sofa last time. Soft and a familiar comfort. You'd even taken the time to wash them. It touched him.

"If you're sure--"

"Clark. I'm sure. Please, this is your home while you visit too." You reassure. Clark's smile could power an entire town. He relaxes on your sofa, snuggling up comfortably.

Bruce

It's rare for him to ask to stay the night. You imagine his manor often felt lonely. So many ghosts existing in quiet halls. Bruce was always more prone to visiting you in your apartment when Alfred is away.

He's happy when you let him visit. Your home is comforting. Peaceful and warm and filled with life he is slowly becoming accustomed to. All the finery in the world could not compare to the comfort Bruce feels when he is near you. But those are words best saved for another time.

"Just for the night..." Has become a repeat phrase of his.

While he is more the fine with taking the sofa bed, he always seems to find his way to your bed. Pillow wall and all upon his insistence, but he always ends up crossing it. There's been a few times he's purposely crossed it just so his fingers can brush against your arm. This is all the closeness he allows himself.

Dick

He's so tired. Work was long. It's raining. Rain stabs at his skin like icy pinpricks. He'd forgotten a proper coat. His suit jacket barely provided any warmth.

Early snowfall floats around. Great. Freezing rain. Getting to his car, Dick curses. His back tires are flat! It's too late in the hour to call for a tow-truck, he'll have to do it in the morning.

He's thankful you live so close to his work as Dick hurriedly makes his way to your apartment digging out his cellphone as he navigates the slick sidewalks. "Hey, it's me. My car broke down. Are you home? I need a place to stay."

Freshly bathed and changed into the spare clothes he kept in the back of his car, Dick comfortably cuddles deeper in the heating blanket you so kindly provided for him.

"I don't mean to make this a habit," Dick's voice is soft, hands cradling a warm cup of mint tea. Smiling, you press your side to his.

"You're always welcome here, Grayson."

Jason

Jason slumming it at your place wasn't an uncommon occurrence. When things got bad with the Titans and he needed to escape, he came to you. It was nice, having some place to go, having someone to lean on. You are the only one he doesn't hold at an arm's length.

Nuzzling his cheek into your back, arm messily flung over your leg; Jason allows himself to feel comfortable. Your mattress is soft, your many blankets feeling as if he's floating on clouds, and everything has your scent. His favorite. His eyes droop close, dark lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks, lips slightly parted as he dozes off.

"Sweet little mouth breather," you snicker quietly in the dark bending back awkwardly just to shift him a little so his head can rest somewhat on the pillow.

Gar/Garfield

"Hey, hey! Are you ready for our sleepover?" Gar is all bright-eyes and happy smiles as he plops himself down on your sofa, duffel bag at his feet.

You give him a cheeky grin, leaning your back against the sofa near his legs. "Oh? Got kicked out again, Garfield?" Playfully nudging at his knee, Garfield can't help the shy giggle that leaves his mouth. There's subtle flush to his cheeks.

"Ah-huh," Gar chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. He clicks his tongue. "I was asked, uh, to make myself scarce. Connor wanted some alone time for him and his company." He raises a plastic bag filled with DVDs. "I brought movies. A lot of classics. Are you feelin' up to vampires tonight? I've got The Lost Boys, Interview with a Vampire, Gary Oldman Dracula..., uh, oh! Wait-- did you... Sorry, did you want to watch Twilight instead?" He swallows thickly.

Tilting your head back into a laugh, you hold your sides. "Gar! We will watch all of them. You're staying the weekend, right? We have plenty of time to watch them. Here. I have 30 Days of Night we can add to the list!"

His eyes nearly boggle. "Oh, that-- that's pretty gritty right? I haven't seen it." You give him a wicked grin.

"You're in for a treat."

--

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"Does it still hurt?" Jason's fingers soothe through your hair, sliding over your back to peek under the gauze. You softly shoo his hands away before he can start poking and prodding at the injuries further.

You smile. Tiredly. Yet still a smile. "Jason. I'm okay. The numbing medicine hurt more." He doesn't find that quite as humourous as you do.

Your poor boyfriend looks disheveled. Still in a sweater and sweats, a dog-eared book lay face down on the countertop. The Secret History, you later learned is what he is reading.

Recovering from his own injury, a sprained ankle, Jason had been cooped up in the tower all night with only Gar's never-ending comedy to keep him company. He had been more than reluctant to let you swing along with Dick when he wasn't able to go with. You were a civilian, for Christ's sake. You didn't have a gaudy super-suit or a bajillion weapons specifically curated by a billionaire who moonlights as a vigilante. He knew you were strong but being strong and capable does not equal infallibility.

Jason had been correct.

"I can't believe you had to get stitches all thanks to Dick.." A tick appears in his jaw, his dark brows pinching together. "Thought this mission was gonna be easy peasy. An intel job. That's it. Not putting you in harm's way.."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jason leans back with a scowl on his chiseled face. Green eyes flick back and forth zeroing in on some random speck on the floor.

You cross the kitchen to take his hands in yours, squeezing gently. "Jay, I'm alright. It wasn't Dick's fault. Bad timing and a shitty incident. It's not one's fault, my love." You do your best to reassure, palm sliding up to cup his face.

"My brother let someone get close enough to you that you were stabbed." Jason finally reasons with a saddened expression. "You could've died, baby.. I.. could've lost ya... That's terrifying." Choking up, tears fill his eyes. There's a tightness that settles in his throat. A single tear drips down his cheek.

Leaning forward, Jason's knees give out. With a tired sob, his arms wrap around your waist and his face softly pressed to your tummy. He nuzzles into the comforting scent of your sweater.

Your heart clenches. Sinking to the kitchen floor with Jason in your arms, you hold him close letting him cry on you. It was rare for Jason to be unguarded like this. To be vulnerable.

"Hey, hey...," Softly, you cup his face tilting his head up. Brushing his tears away, your frown deepens. "I'm safe, honey. I'm okay. I will heal. You must've been so scared." Leaning towards him you gently nuzzle your noses together.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, baby," His voice cracks. His arms wrap around your protectively, warm hands pressed to your back.

A soft whimper of emotion trembles from his throat. "Please. I don't wanna see you hurt. Not you. Not my girl." He fans his legs out so you can sit between them, your side tucked to his chest and your head under his chin. Jason's hands soothe up and down your shoulders. He was going to hold you as long as he needed to. And pray to whatever god that would listen to him, to thank them for keeping you safe.

Dick better watch his ass when he's all healed.

Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^

All characters of Titans belong to ©DC Comics || The story belongs to fragmentedgrimoire © 2026