debonairprincesposts

[debonairprincesposts]

429 martyrs today… 429 dreams lost… 429 families shattered in an instant. The bombing doesn’t stop, hunger is killing the living, and hospitals can no longer take in the wounded. We don’t just need sympathy—we need action!

Donate now to save lives!

Your money means food for a starving child, medicine for a suffering patient, and shelter for someone who lost their home. Even the smallest donation can make the difference between life and death.

[debonairprincesposts]

I just wanted to say that I read victorian glow recently and I got obsessed!! your story is so beautiful and sweet!! 🤍🤍

Tysm!!! Happy that you enjoyed it :333

[debonairprincesposts]

We’re still starving… Please don’t look away.

This is not just a photo. This is Gaza. This is our reality.

The girl in this image is one of thousands of children in Gaza suffering from severe malnutrition. Her fragile body is a silent scream — a reflection of the hunger, fear, and pain that haunt every corner of our lives.

She could be my daughter. She could be yours.

My name is Fayez, a father of three beautiful children. I live in Gaza, under the unrelenting siege and devastation of war.

Every day, we wake up not knowing if we’ll have food — not even bread or clean water.

The fear of bombs has been replaced by a greater fear: starvation.

I am not afraid to die from the airstrikes anymore. But I am terrified to watch my children die slowly from hunger. To hear them cry at night from empty stomachs, and have nothing to give them — that is a pain no parent should ever bear.

Please, I am begging you — if you are reading this, help me feed my children. Help save their lives. Any donation, no matter how small, can mean a meal, a lifeline, a moment of hope.

Please Donate now:👇👇 👇

💔 Don’t look away. Help us survive.

[debonairprincesposts]

OMGGG I love your writing so much!! Can't believe we are mutuals now!!<33

OMG girl same!!! :333

[debonairprincesposts]

Soft Tummy

Appreciation

Summary: Reader is insecure about their tummy. Jason notices.

Warning(s): Body insecurities. Don’t let anybody (especially yourself) tell you that you need to look a certain way for any reason. You’re beautiful just the way you are. And screw anybody who says otherwise.

Words: 896

The movie was some old, cheesy sci-fi flick you had insisted on watching. Jason usually hated this kind of stuff, but tonight, nestled on the couch with you curled up against his side, even laser battles and rubber-suited aliens couldn't ruin the mood. He had his arm wrapped around you, his hand resting comfortably on your hip, just enjoying the simple act of being close to you.

That's when he felt it.

You shifted slightly, a subtle movement that he almost missed. But then you did it again, pulling the hem of your oversized hoodie down, as if trying to cover something. He frowned slightly, his senses immediately on alert. Were you cold? Uncomfortable?

He glanced down at you, his eyes scanning your face. You were still watching the movie, your expression seemingly neutral, but he knew you too well. He could see the subtle tension in your jaw, the slight furrow in your brow. Something was bothering you.

He gently squeezed your hip, a silent question. "You okay, Chipmunk?" he murmured, his voice low so as not to disturb the movie.

You stiffened slightly, then forced a smile. "Yeah, fine. Just...a little warm, maybe."

He didn't believe you for a second. He knew that tone, that forced casualness. You were hiding something.

He decided to press, but gently. He shifted his position slightly, turning towards you so he could look you in the eye. "You sure? You seem a little...tense."

You avoided his gaze, focusing intently on the screen. "It's nothing, Jay. Really."

He knew better. He knew that you were insecure about your body, about the little bit of extra weight you carried around your middle. You'd mentioned it a few times, always in a self-deprecating way, always with a hint of sadness in your voice. He hated that you felt that way. He thought you were perfect, exactly as you were.

He decided to try a different approach. He gently lifted your hoodie, his fingers brushing against your skin. You flinched, your eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice laced with concern. "What's this all about?"

You blushed, a deep crimson blush that spread across your cheeks. "Nothing," you mumbled, pulling the hoodie back down. "Just...leave it, okay?"

He wasn't going to leave it. He couldn't. He hated seeing you like this, so self-conscious, so unhappy with yourself. He knew how much you struggled with your body image, how much you compared yourself to the impossibly perfect images you saw in magazines and on TV. He wanted to tell you that those images were fake, that they were airbrushed and Photoshopped to within an inch of their lives, that they weren't real. But he knew that words weren't enough. He needed to show you, to make you understand how beautiful you were, exactly as you were.

He gently reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Baby," he said, his voice low and sincere. "You know I think you're beautiful, right? Exactly the way you are."

You looked at him, your eyes filled with disbelief. "You don't have to say that, Jay. I know I'm not...perfect."

He frowned. "Who said anything about perfect? Perfect is boring. You're way better than perfect. You're...you. And you're amazing."

He paused, searching for the right words. "Look," he said, "I love everything about you, sweetheart. Your laugh, your smile, your crazy ideas, your big heart. And yeah, I love your body too. Every curve, every bump, every little imperfection. It's all part of what makes you...you. And I wouldn't change a thing."

He gently squeezed your hand. "And besides," he added with a playful smirk, "I happen to be a big fan of soft tummies. They're perfect for cuddling."

You chuckled, a soft, hesitant sound, but it was a start. He could see the tension slowly begin to ease from your face.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Seriously, doll. You're beautiful. Inside and out. Don't ever let anyone – especially yourself – tell you otherwise."

He kissed you then, a slow, tender kiss that conveyed all the love and affection he felt for you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Do you believe me?"

You nodded, a small, hesitant nod, but it was enough. He knew that you still had your doubts, that you still struggled with your insecurities. But he also knew that he had made a dent, that he had planted a seed of self-acceptance in your heart.

He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close. He rested his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair. He didn't say anything, just held you tight, letting you know that he was there, that he loved you, that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

He knew that it would take time, that you wouldn't suddenly wake up tomorrow and love your body unconditionally. But he was patient. He would keep reminding you, keep showing you, keep loving you, until you finally believed it for yourself. Because that's what you did for the people you loved. You helped them see themselves the way you saw them – as beautiful, as amazing, as perfectly imperfect.

[debonairprincesposts]

Victorian Gloom

Summary: Jason is feeling down. You do your best to cheer him up.

Warning(s): None? Just Jason being depresso and reader being quirky.

Words: 1.4K

The weight of Gotham's perpetual darkness seemed to press particularly heavily upon Jason's shoulders that evening as he sat on the worn leather couch in the apartment he shared with you. His fingers absently traced the frayed edges of a bullet hole in his brown leather jacket currently in his hands (he's out of his suit), a tangible reminder of another night where death had danced too close for comfort. The flickering streetlight outside cast irregular shadows through the partially drawn curtains, matching the turbulent thoughts that churned within his mind.

Jason's broad shoulders hunched forward, his usual commanding presence diminished by the demons that chose this quiet moment to rear their ugly heads. The night's patrol had been rough – not because of any particular violence or danger, but because of the haunting similarities between a young boy he'd saved and his own past self. The child's frightened eyes, the bruises that told stories of abuse, the stubborn determination to survive – it had all hit too close to home, stirring up memories he preferred to keep buried beneath layers of anger and sarcasm.

He didn't immediately notice your presence, too lost in his own thoughts to register the soft padding of your feet across your apartment's wooden floors. It wasn't until you cleared your throat with an unusually theatrical flair that his teal eyes lifted from their fixed stare at the floor. The sight that greeted him momentarily shocked his system out of its downward spiral.

You stood before him with perfect posture, one hand placed delicately upon your chest while the other was raised in an elegant gesture that would have looked more at home in a Shakespeare play. The transformation in your bearing was so sudden and complete that Jason found himself blinking rapidly, wondering if his dark thoughts had somehow transported him into an alternate reality.

"Dearest sir," you began, your voice taking on an affected accent that wavered somewhere between Victorian propriety and fantasy realm nobility, "methinks thou art bearing a burden most grievous upon thy noble shoulders this eve."

Despite himself, Jason felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "Baby, what are you-"

"Hush, good sir!" you interrupted with an elaborate wave of your hand. "I shall not stand idly by while my beloved knight drowns in melancholy most foul." You glided forward – actually glided, somehow making your movement appear as though you were floating across the floor in an invisible ball gown rather than wearing sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts.

The absurdity of the situation began to crack through Jason's dark mood like sunshine through storm clouds. He watched, fascinated, as you continued your performance, your eyes sparkling with both mischief and genuine concern. His heart, which had felt leaden in his chest moments ago, began to lighten at your ridiculous yet endearing display.

"Prithee, allow me to speak of truths most evident to all but thyself," you continued, kneeling before him with all the grace of a court person addressing their champion. "Thou art a warrior most valiant, a protector of the innocent, and a hero to those who have none." Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, and though your voice maintained its affected accent, the warmth in your touch was entirely genuine.

Jason leaned into your touch, unable to help himself. The warmth of your palm against his skin served as an anchor, drawing him back from the edge of his darker thoughts. "Baby, you don't have to-"

"Silence, my gallant defender!" You pressed a finger to his lips, your expression comically serious. "For too long have the naysayers and doubters cast their shadows upon thy heart. But hear me well, good sir – they can kindly fuck off to the darkest depths of whatever realm spawned their miserable souls."

The unexpected profanity delivered in such proper tones startled a laugh out of Jason, the sound rough and genuine. The tension in his shoulders began to ease as you continued your elaborate performance, each grandiose gesture and overwrought phrase carefully calculated to draw him out of his head.

"Now, noble sir," you declared, rising to your feet with a flourish, "I shall prepare for thee a feast most comforting, but first..." You disappeared momentarily into your shared bedroom, returning with your favorite blanket – the soft, well-worn one that always carried your scent, a mixture of vanilla and something uniquely you that Jason could never quite define but always found soothing.

With exaggerated ceremony, you draped it around his shoulders like a royal cloak. The familiar scent enveloped him, and Jason found himself pulling it closer, letting the comfort of it seep into his bones. The blanket had become something of a talisman for him over time, its presence alone capable of calming the storm of his thoughts.

"Come forth to thy throne, my knight," You proclaimed, gesturing toward one of your kitchen chairs with a sweeping bow. "For while I prepare sustenance most divine, I would have thee near, that thy presence might grace my humble efforts."

Jason rose, the blanket trailing behind him like a cape, and followed you into your small kitchen. The chair scraped quietly against the linoleum as he pulled it out, settling into it with the blanket still wrapped securely around his shoulders. From this vantage point, he could watch you as you moved about the kitchen, your Victorian persona gradually melding with your natural movements as you began gathering ingredients.

He observed you, feeling the last vestiges of his earlier darkness receding in the face of your unwavering love and ridiculous yet touching attempt to lift his spirits. His head laid on his crossed arms on the counter. The way you would occasionally throw in a "forsooth" or "verily" while measuring flour or cracking eggs made something warm and tender unfurl in his chest.

"You know," he said softly, his voice rough with emotion, eyes glassy with that pretty shade of teal, "I love you more than I know how to handle sometimes."

You turned from where you were stirring something on the stove, your affected accent dropping for just a moment as you smiled at him – that special smile that you seemed to reserve just for him, the one that made him feel like maybe he deserved all the good things you insisted on giving him. Then, with a playful glint returning to your eye, you curtsied deeply.

"And I, dear sir, find my heart most thoroughly and irrevocably consumed with affection for thy person," you declared grandly, before adding in your normal voice, "Even when you're being a brooding dumbass."

Jason laughed again, the sound fuller and more relaxed than before. He watched as you returned to your cooking, occasionally breaking into elaborate monologues about the noble art of comfort food preparation, and felt the last of his earlier anxiety melt away. The weight of Gotham's darkness seemed lighter somehow, filtered through the lens of your love and your willingness to be absolutely ridiculous just to make him smile.

The kitchen, with its flickering fluorescent light and cramped quarters, transformed into something magical through your performance – not because of any physical change, but because you had filled it with such abundant love and care that it couldn't help but feel like somewhere special. Jason sank deeper into the warmth of your blanket, letting its familiar scent mingle with the growing aroma of whatever you were cooking, and felt truly at peace for the first time that evening.

In that moment, watching you dramatically narrate your cooking process while occasionally breaking into what you clearly thought was Shakespearean English, Jason Todd – the Red Hood, the black sheep of the Bat-family, the man who had crawled his way out of his own grave – felt something very close to perfect happiness. And if anyone had told him years ago that he'd find such comfort in something so simple, he would have laughed in their face. But now, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like home and watching the love of his life intentionally make a fool of themselves just to make him feel better, he couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

The night's earlier demons retreated to their corners, unable to maintain their hold in the face of such unconditional love and acceptance. And while Jason knew they would probably return another day – because that's just how life worked – he also knew that he had this to come back to: this safe harbor, this love that asked nothing of him except that he allow himself to be loved in return. It wasn't a cure for all his darkness, but it was a light to guide him home when the shadows grew too deep, and really, that was all he needed.

[debonairprincesposts]

Hi!! I loved your fic with reader wearing jason’s hoodie and jason worrying for them, and I was just wondering if I could get a hurt/comfort (or just comfort) of there actually being scars under the hoodie sleeves and Jason comforting them. it would mean so much to me, but I understand if not. Thank you!!

I do not mind at all anon! ∠(ᐛ 」∠) It would be my honor to write something that you find comfort in.

Anyway, here we go! An alternate ending to “Loving Concern”.

Loving Concern

(Alternate Ending)

Summary: You like to wear hoodies. Always. Jason is concerned that you might be hiding something underneath.

Warning(s): involves topics like self harm. If there’s anyone suffering from this, talking to a friend or professionals might offer some assistance. I’m not exactly familiar with this topic itself. So excuse anything wrong in this fic and correct me if I’m wrong.

Words: 1k

Jason watched you across the dimly lit living room of his safehouse. His Angel, his sweetheart. You were curled up on the worn leather couch, a book open in your lap, but he doubted you were reading. Your eyes were distant, unfocused. As always, you were swallowed by one of your oversized hoodies, this one a faded black with the hood pulled low, obscuring most of your face. "Baby," he murmured, the endearment feeling both natural and like a desperate plea.

You glanced up, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Hey, Jay."

He hated this. Hated the way his chest tightened every time he saw you draped in those concealing clothes. He knew it was irrational, knew you had a whole wardrobe of these things, but the darkness clung to him like a second skin. He'd seen too much darkness, carried too much himself. He'd clawed his way out of the pit, both literally and figuratively, and the scars, both visible and invisible, were a constant reminder of how close he'd come to being consumed.

He knew your past wasn't sunshine and roses. You'd hinted at things, shadows lurking just beyond the edge of your words. And those damn hoodies... they were a shield, a barrier. What were you hiding?

He forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fists. He couldn't let his own demons poison your relationship. He had to trust you. But the fear, the gnawing, insidious fear, wouldn't let him.

He stood, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. He walked over to the couch and knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. Your skin was soft, warm, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in his gut. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice rough, "can we talk?"

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Of course, Jay. What's wrong?"

He hesitated, searching your eyes for any sign of... what? Pain? Deceit? He didn't know. "It's... it's nothing, really. Just being stupid." He hated himself for the evasion, but the words felt like lead in his mouth.

You squeezed his hands. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

He took a deep breath. "It's just... you always wear these hoodies, baby. And I worry." He hated how weak he sounded, how vulnerable.

Your expression shifted from concern to confusion. "Worry? About what?"

He swallowed hard. "I just... I worry that you're hiding something. That you're... hurting." The word hung in the air, heavy and accusing.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of hurt. But it was quickly replaced by something else, vague understanding. "Hurting? Jay, what are you talking about?"

He gestured vaguely at your arms, hidden beneath the fabric. "Underneath... your sleeves."

You stared at him for a long, silent moment, and then a soft sigh escaped your lips. "You think I'm... self-harming?"

He flinched at the bluntness of your words. "I... I don't know. I just worry, okay? I care about you."

You reached out and gently cupped his face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw. "I know you do, baby. And I appreciate it. But there's nothing to worry about anymore."

Anymore.

His heart cracked.

He searched your eyes, desperate to believe you. "Can you... can you show me?" The words were barely a whisper, laced with shame.

You sighed in a quiet understanding. "Okay, Jay," you said softly. "I can show you."

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed up the sleeves of the hoodie. His breath hitched. There, on the soft skin of your forearms, were faint, silvery lines. Scars. Faded, but undeniably there. Some were thin and short, others longer and more jagged. A roadmap of past pain etched onto your skin.

The relief he'd anticipated never came. Instead, a cold wave of guilt washed over him, so intense it made him feel sick. He'd been right to worry, but the confirmation was a punch to the gut. He'd invaded your privacy, forced you to reveal something deeply personal, and all because of his own insecurities.

He reached out, his fingers trembling, and gently traced one of the scars. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Your eyes met his, filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation. "It was a long time ago, Jay. I was in a bad place. I don't... I don't do that anymore."

"But you still hide them," he said, his voice barely audible. "That's why you wear the hoodies."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap. "Yeah. I guess so. They're a reminder. And not one I particularly like to share."

He cupped your face in his hands, lifting your chin so you were looking at him again. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me. It's okay. You don't have to hide them from me. I’m sorry that you felt that you had to hide from me at all."

He kissed each of your scars, one by one, his lips lingering on each imperfection. "These don't scare me. Just like how my scars don't scare you," he murmured against your skin. "They tell a story. Your story. And I want to know all of it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you leaned into his touch. "Thank you, Jay," you whispered. "Thank you for understanding."

He sat next to you on the couch, pulled you close, holding you tightly against him, his nose burrowing in your hair. "I may not understand exactly what you went through," he said, "but I'm here for you now. Always. I promise."

He knew this was just the beginning. There would be more conversations, more tears, more healing. But as he held you in his arms, he knew they could face it together. Your scars were a part of you, a reminder of the battles you had fought and won. And he would be there, by your side, to help you carry them, to love you, scars and all.

You interrupt the silence with, "And for the record, I think your scars are cool."

Jason snorts. Only you would say something like that after a heartfelt conversation. He hugs you tighter.

[debonairprincesposts]

Boneless Whimsy

Summary: Jason comes home from patrol to find you delirious from exhaustion, flopped on the couch like a limp sack of potatoes. He takes care of you while trying to stifle his amusement. He fails miserably.

Warning(s): Crack? Curse words. Read at your own risk.

Words: 1.2k

Jason Todd knew something was different the moment he climbed through the window of your shared home after his evening patrol. The usual warm welcome he received – whether it was your bright smile or your playful commentary about his dramatic entrances – was notably absent. Instead, he found you sprawled across the couch in what could only be described as the most boneless position he'd ever witnessed on a living person.

Your limbs were arranged in that particular way that suggested you hadn't so much chosen to lie down as you had simply surrendered to gravity's insistent pull. One arm dangled off the edge of the couch, fingers barely brushing the hardwood floor, while the other was flung dramatically across your face. Your legs were a study in comfortable chaos – one hooked over the back of the couch, the other stretched out along its length.

"Baby?" he called softly, removing his helmet and setting it aside. When your only response was a vague sound that might have been meant to be words but came out more like "mrrghphf," his lips twitched into an amused smile.

As he approached, he noticed more details that painted a clear picture of absolute exhaustion. You were still wearing your work clothes, though they were thoroughly rumpled now. Your shoes lay haphazardly by the couch, as if you'd kicked them off with your last remaining energy before collapsing. Your hair, usually neat even at the end of a long day, was a wild tangle that suggested you'd been running your hands through it repeatedly.

"Long day?" he asked, crouching beside the couch near your head.

You made another indistinct noise, this one slightly more vowel-heavy than the last, and managed to shift your arm just enough to peer at him with one tired eye. "Everything is effort," You mumbled, your voice carrying the particular quality of someone who had completely run out of fucks to give. "Breathing is effort. Existing is effort. I have become one with the couch. The couch and I are now a single entity."

Jason couldn't help but chuckle, reaching out to brush some wayward strands of hair from your face. "That bad, huh?"

"Jason," You said with all the gravity of someone imparting great wisdom, though the effect was somewhat undermined by how you could barely keep your eyes open, "I had to think thoughts today. So many thoughts. All the thoughts. My brain is now soup."

"Brain soup, huh?" He gently ran his fingers through your hair, working out some of the tangles. The way you immediately leaned into his touch, like a tired cat seeking affection, made something warm and protective surge in his chest.

"Mmmhmm," You hummed, eyes fully closing now. "Soup. Tired soup. With extra... tired... in it." Your words were starting to slur slightly, exhaustion clearly winning its battle against coherence.

Jason observed you for a moment, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and the way every muscle in your body seemed to have declared independence from any form of tension. He made a decision.

"Alright, sweets, let's get you somewhere more comfortable." He moved to scoop you up, but your protest was immediate and remarkably articulate given your current state.

"Nooo," You whined, making no actual effort to resist but managing to convey profound disagreement through tone alone. "Moving requires muscles. Muscles are on strike. They've formed a union. They're demanding better working conditions and more naps."

Jason couldn't suppress his laugh this time. Even completely exhausted, you managed to be ridiculously entertaining. "Come on, sweetheart. Bed's more comfortable than the couch."

"The couch is my friend now," You declared with surprising passion for someone who couldn't even open their eyes. "We've bonded. Breaking us apart would be cruel. Inhumane. A tragedy of... of... something tragic."

"The couch will understand," Jason assured you solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. He slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your shoulders, lifting you as carefully as if you were made of glass.

You immediately turned your face into his chest, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "my hero" but could just as easily have been "warm pillow." Your body was completely limp in his arms, trusting him entirely to keep you safe even in your exhausted state. The implicit trust in that surrender made his heart clench with emotion.

As he carried you to your shared bedroom, you nuzzled closer, one hand weakly grasping at his jacket. "You smell like leather and gunpowder and crime-fighting," You murmured against his chest. "S'nice."

"Pretty sure crime-fighting doesn't have a smell, baby," he responded softly, maneuvering through the doorway with practiced ease.

"Does too. Smells like justice. And leather. Lots of leather." Your words were becoming more spaced out, sleep clearly pulling at your consciousness.

Jason gently laid you on your bed, immediately moving to help you out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable for sleep. You attempted to help but mostly just managed to flop your arms around in what you probably thought was a helpful manner.

"Evil buttons," You declared as he worked on your blouse. "They're conspiring against me. Have been all day. You show 'em, Jay."

"I'll protect you from the evil buttons," he choked back a laugh as he promised with faux seriousness, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice as he helped you into one of his old t-shirts – your preferred sleeping attire.

Once he had you changed and tucked under the covers, he quickly stripped out of his own gear and joined you. You immediately gravitated toward him like a heat-seeking missile, though a very slow and uncoordinated one. You ended up half-sprawled across his chest, face pressed into his neck.

"My hero," You mumbled again, more distinctly this time. "Saving me from buttons and couches and... and thinking thoughts."

"Get some sleep, Angel," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Already sleepin’," You protested weakly. "This’s all jus’ ... sleep talkin’. I'm actually... alr’dy..." Your words trailed off into steady, deep breathing, your body somehow managing to become even more relaxed against his.

Jason lay there in the quiet darkness, one hand absently stroking your hair while the other rested protectively across your back. He thought about how you could be so vibrant and dramatic when you wanted to cheer him up, trusted him enough to let him see you at your most vulnerable and exhausted. How you didn't feel the need to maintain any pretenses with him, comfortable enough to just be completely and utterly yourself.

As your warm weight pressed against him and your steady breathing tickled his neck, Jason felt that familiar surge of protective love that you always inspired in him. He tightened his arms around you slightly, earning a contented little sigh from your sleeping form.

"Sweet dreams, baby," he whispered into your hair, letting himself be lulled toward sleep by your peaceful presence and the knowledge that, at least for tonight, he could keep you safe and comfortable while you recharged.

The last thought that crossed his mind before sleep claimed him was that he'd never seen anything quite as endearing as your complete surrender to exhaustion, buttons conspiracy and all.

[debonairprincesposts]

Loving Concern

Summary: You like to wear hoodies. Always. Jason is concerned that you might be hiding something underneath.

Warning(s): Involves topics like self-harm. Proceed at your own risk.

Words: 833.

Jason watched you across the dimly lit living room of his safehouse. His Angel, his sweetheart. You were curled up on the worn leather couch, a book open in your lap, but he doubted you were reading. Your eyes were distant, unfocused. As always, you were swallowed by one of your oversized hoodies, this one a faded black with the hood pulled low, obscuring most of your face. "Baby," he murmured, the endearment feeling both natural and like a desperate plea.

You glanced up, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Hey, Jay."

He hated this. Hated the way his chest tightened every time he saw you draped in those concealing clothes. He knew it was irrational, knew you had a whole wardrobe of these things, but the darkness clung to him like a second skin. He'd seen too much darkness, carried too much himself. He'd clawed his way out of the pit, both literally and figuratively, and the scars, both visible and invisible, were a constant reminder of how close he'd come to being consumed.

He knew your past wasn't sunshine and roses. You'd hinted at things, shadows lurking just beyond the edge of your words. And those damn hoodies... they were a shield, a barrier. What were you hiding?

He forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fists. He couldn't let his own demons poison your relationship. He had to trust you. But the fear, the gnawing, insidious fear, wouldn't let him.

He stood, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. He walked over to the couch and knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. Your skin was soft, warm, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in his gut. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice rough, "can we talk?"

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Of course, Jay. What's wrong?"

He hesitated, searching your eyes for any sign of... what? Pain? Deceit? He didn't know. "It's... it's nothing, really. Just being stupid." He hated himself for the evasion, but the words felt like lead in his mouth.

You squeezed his hands. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

He took a deep breath. "It's just... you always wear these hoodies, Angel. And I worry." He hated how weak he sounded, how vulnerable.

Your expression shifted from concern to confusion. "Worry? About what?"

He swallowed hard. "I just... I worry that you're hiding something. That you're... hurting." The word hung in the air, heavy and accusing.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of hurt. But it was quickly replaced by something else, something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "Hurting? Jay, what are you talking about?"

He gestured vaguely at your arms, hidden beneath the fabric. "Underneath... your sleeves."

You stared at him for a long, silent moment, and then a soft laugh escaped your lips. "You think I'm... self-harming?"

He flinched at the bluntness of your words. "I... I don't know. I just worry, okay? I care about you."

You reached out and gently cupped his face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw. "I know you do, baby. And I appreciate it. But there's nothing to worry about."

He searched your eyes, desperate to believe you. "Can you... can you show me?" The words were barely a whisper, laced with shame.

You didn't hesitate. You pushed up the sleeves of the hoodie, revealing your forearms. Smooth, unmarked skin. A few faint scratches, undoubtedly from your beloved cats, were the only imperfections. No angry red lines, no faded white scars. Nothing.

Relief washed over him in a tidal wave, so potent it almost knocked him off balance. He hadn't realized how tightly wound he'd been until the tension began to bleed out of him.

"See? Nothing to worry about," you said, your voice gentle. "I just like hoodies. They're comfortable. And they keep my neck warm." You tugged at the collar, a small, almost shy gesture. "I get cold easily."

He took your hands again, turning them over in his. He kissed your palms, his heart overflowing with a mixture of gratitude and self-reproach. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

You smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that chased away the shadows in his mind. "It's okay, Jay. I understand. But trust me, if something was wrong, I'd tell you."

He knew you would. He had to trust you. He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo. "I love you," he whispered, the words a promise, a vow.

You hugged him tightly. "I love you too, Jay."

He still didn't completely understand your obsession with hoodies, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that you were safe, that you were okay. And that he had you, his sweetheart, his Angel, right here in his arms. He would fight every demon, every fear, to keep you safe. Even if those demons were his own.

[debonairprincesposts]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[debonairprincesposts]

"I am Nadine… an ordinary woman in an extraordinary place. A mother, just trying to protect a small life in a world that has lost its meaning." 🌸

Hello, My name is Nadine. I am a Palestinian mother to a little girl who has become the center of my life and the reason for my strength. 💖 We live today in harsh circumstances, unlike anything we knew life to be. Our home is no longer a home… we live in displacement, fear, lack of food, absence of medicine, and a lack of safety. 😔

Yet every morning, I open my eyes to my daughter's face, and I try again. 🌞 Because she is here, I must stay strong. 💪 Because she is small, I need to create a safe world for her… even though my world is broken.

We don't have much, but we hold on to each other. 🤝

I write these words to share a moment of our reality that you may not see in the news. I’m not seeking pity, nor do I want to burden anyone… All I ask is that my words reach a heart that knows compassion, and understands that help, even in the smallest form, can make a big difference in someone's life like ours. ✨

Life here doesn’t go as it should… but it goes on. We live on hope, the kindness of strangers, words of encouragement, and hands that reach out at the right time. 🌟 Maybe you can’t change everything, but you can change one day in our lives… And one day with dignity is all we need to keep fighting. 💫

Even a kind word, sharing this post, or a sincere prayer… all of that makes a difference to us. 🙏

Thank you… from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being here, for reading, for not turning a blind eye. To everyone who passed by here and left a kind mark: You are part of our strength. 🌷 From me and my little one: All my gratitude and all my prayers. 💖

[debonairprincesposts]

From Under the Rubble... I Write My Story 🌿

I never thought I would write these words… 😔

I never imagined waking up to endless screams,

Running barefoot through smoke and fire,

Searching for my mother among the rubble,

Only to find nothing but silence… a heavy silence telling me that no one will answer me anymore. 💔

In one moment, everything changed.

Our home became a memory, my mother’s embrace became the past,

And my father's face, now absent, is the last thing I hold in my memory.

They’re gone… and left my heart burdened with unspoken grief. 😢

But despite everything, we are still here… trying.

I survived with my younger siblings.

Yes, we survived… but who are we after survival?

Children without warmth, without a roof, with no place to return to.

We were displaced to an unknown place, carrying a bag empty of everything… except pain. 🥀

We slept in the open, waking every morning to a life that holds nothing for us,

But despite everything… we keep trying. 💪

I write to you today not to cry, but to ask for hope. 🌱

I ask you to be a small light in this vast darkness,

To extend a hand that can mend what the war has broken in us.

Your donation will give my siblings a chance to sleep safely,

It will provide us with food, shelter, and maybe even a new beginning. 💖

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #586 )✅️

Any amount, no matter how small, is big for us

It’s a prayer, it’s love, it’s life. 🌟

In conclusion...

From my heart, and from the hearts of my little siblings,

Thank you to everyone who has donated,

Thank you to everyone who has read,

Thank you to everyone who has shared.

You are the proof that goodness does not die, and that humanity has no boundaries. 💚

[debonairprincesposts]

Outside Sucks

Summary: Reader is an introvert. Jason is pleasantly surprised when you agree to go out with him without any arguments. Practically stupefied.

Words: 706

Jason bounced the heel of his boot against the concrete outside your apartment. Usually, this was the point where his anxiety started to ramp up. He'd rehearse his arguments in his head, mentally preparing for the barrage of sarcastic retorts and stubborn refusals. He was ready to deploy the "fresh air" card, the "vitamin D deficiency" card, and, if necessary, the heavy artillery: the promise of greasy, delicious junk food.

He knocked on the door, a familiar, slightly impatient rhythm. He braced himself.

The door swung open, and there you were. You were wearing a pair of ripped jeans and one of his old hoodies, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. So far, so good. But it was your expression that threw him. You looked... almost... agreeable?

"Hey, Jay," you said, your voice surprisingly soft.

"Hey, baby," Jason replied, a knot of suspicion tightening in his stomach. "I was thinking... you know... maybe we could get out of here for a bit? Get some air?" He waited for the usual pushback, the litany of reasons why staying inside was infinitely preferable to facing the outside world.

Instead, you just shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."

Jason blinked. He stared. He felt like he'd walked into the wrong apartment. "...What?" he managed to stammer out.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. "What do you mean, 'what'? I said, 'sounds good.' As in, I'm willing to leave the apartment. As in, you don't have to launch into your whole 'sunlight is good for the soul' speech."

Jason was officially flabbergasted. He'd been ready to launch into a full-blown debate, armed with statistics about the benefits of outdoor activity and a mental list of every burger joint within a five-mile radius. He'd even mentally prepared a counter-argument for your inevitable "I'm perfectly happy being a vampire" comment.

"But... but you hate going out," he sputtered, feeling like he was missing something crucial. Had you been replaced by a pod person? Was this some elaborate prank?

You chuckled, a low, throaty sound that usually meant you were about to unleash a particularly cutting remark. But instead, you just smiled, a genuine, almost... sweet smile. "I know, I know. But I've been feeling a little... restless lately. And I figured, why not? Besides," you added, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes, "I could use a coffee. Your treat, obviously."

Jason's brain was short-circuiting. He couldn't process this. He'd spent so much time anticipating the struggle, the resistance, that he hadn't even considered the possibility of... compliance. He felt like a general who'd prepared for a siege only to find the gates wide open and the enemy waving a white flag.

"Uh... yeah, coffee. Definitely my treat," he mumbled, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. "So... you're actually... going?"

"Yep," you said, turning towards the back of the apartment. "Just give me, like, five minutes to throw on some makeup. Wait in the living room."

And with that, you disappeared, leaving Jason standing in the doorway, utterly bewildered. He slowly stepped inside, his mind racing. What was going on? Were you sick? Had you finally cracked under the pressure of his constant nagging? Was this some kind of elaborate trap?

He wandered into the living room, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings as if searching for clues. He sat down on the worn couch, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. He was so used to fighting for every inch, every concession, that this sudden, unexpected agreement felt... unsettling.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe you were planning something. Maybe you were just lulling him into a false sense of security before unleashing a torrent of pent-up frustration. Or maybe you actually wanted to spend some time with him, outside of the apartment, without a fight.

He didn't know what to think. But as he waited for you to emerge, he couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief, suspicion, and a tiny sliver of... hope? Maybe this was a sign that things were changing. Or maybe he was just setting himself up for a spectacular fall. Only time would tell.

[debonairprincesposts]

Alarming Distress

Summary: Reader arrives home distressed. Jason tries his best to comfort.

Words: 660

The low hum of the TV was the only sound in the apartment, a stark contrast to the cacophony that usually filled Jason's life. Case files were spread across the coffee table – petty theft, gang disputes, the usual Gotham grime. He wasn't really focused, though. His eyes kept drifting to the front door, a nervous habit he hadn't quite shaken.

Suddenly, the world exploded. The front door crashed open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the windows. Jason was on his feet before the echo died, adrenaline surging. Gun, always within reach under the couch, was in his hand before his mind fully registered the disruption. Years of training, of living on the edge, had hardwired him to react instantly to any sign of danger. He moved like a shadow, gun raised, heart hammering against his ribs.

He rounded the corner, his finger hovering over the trigger, ready to face whatever threat awaited him. But what he found wasn't what he expected.

He found you crumpled on the floor, back pressed against the door, gasping for air like a drowning person. Your eyes were wide and unfocused, darting around the room. The immediate threat was gone, replaced by a surge of concern that eclipsed everything else.

"Baby?" he said, his voice a low rumble, trying to keep it calm, non-threatening. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

You flinched, your eyes snapping to him, but there was no recognition there, only fear. It was like looking at a stranger. You recoiled as if he was a threat.

Jason's gut twisted. He holstered his gun, the metallic click swallowed by the silence. He took a deliberate step back, lowering himself to the floor in front of you, mirroring your position.

"Princess," he said softly, using the nickname he knew you loved. "It's me, Jay. Look at me." He kept his movements slow, his hands open and visible. "It's okay. You're safe."

He watched as his words seemed to penetrate the fog in your eyes. Confusion flickered, then recognition dawned, slow and painful. A sob escaped your lips, a raw, broken sound. You were crying, tears streaming down your face. You lurched forward, reaching for him, still on your knees.

"Hey, hey, easy," Jason murmured, his own fear momentarily forgotten. He moved with practiced caution, anticipating your movement, and caught you before you could fall. He gathered you into his arms, pulling you close, his hand instinctively finding the nape of your neck, offering a grounding touch.

You clung to him, your arms wrapped tight around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. Your body trembled against his.

Jason held you, letting you cry. He rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, whispering reassurances against your hair. "You're okay, Baby. You're safe now. I got you. I got you."

He didn't ask questions yet. He knew from experience that pushing too soon could make things worse. He just held you, offering the familiar comfort of his presence, his warmth, his strength. He would wait until you were ready to tell him what had happened, ready to face whatever had scared you so badly.

He rubbed your back, a slow, soothing rhythm, his hand cradling the back of your neck, keeping you close. Your arms tightened around his neck, your grip desperate, seeking the comfort of his warmth, his presence. He'd learned that sometimes, just being there, being a solid, unwavering presence, was the only thing that mattered.

Finally, when your sobs began to subside, he spoke, his voice a low murmur against your hair. "You're okay," he repeated, a mantra. "You're home. You're safe with me. Just breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."

He continued to hold you, rocking you gently, waiting for you to find your voice, waiting for you to tell him what had shattered your world. He knew, with a cold certainty, that whatever had happened, he would burn the world down to protect you.

[debonairprincesposts]

You : This date is boring!

Jason: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store.

You: Then why did you invite me?

Jason: I didnt, I specifically said "don't come with me," then you said, "fuck you Jason I'll do whatever I want!”

[debonairprincesposts]

Sleep

Summary: You come home to find Jason asleep on the couch. He was waiting for you to come home.

Words: 596

You tiptoed into the apartment, the late hour draping a cloak of silence around you. The soft click of the door closing was almost swallowed by the quiet. You sighed, relieved to finally be home after a long day, your body weary with the weight of the evening. As you stepped into the living room, your heart swelled at the sight before you.

Jason was sprawled across the couch, his dark hair tousled and his face peaceful in sleep. You could see the faint lines of worry etched on his forehead even in rest, and it tugged at your heart. He had been waiting for you, just as he always did, and the sight of him made you feel both cherished and guilty for keeping him up.

Quietly, you approached him, kneeling beside the couch. You brushed your fingers through his hair, a gentle stroke meant to wake him softly. "Jason," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Hey, it's me."

He stirred slightly, a low hum escaping his lips as he instinctively leaned into your touch. You smiled at the sight, your heart warming at how easily he responded to you. You rubbed his cheek gently, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "You should go to bed," you urged softly.

With a sleepy grunt, Jason cracked one eye open, the other still buried in the cushions. "What time is it?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Late," you replied gently. "You don't have to wait up for me, you know."

But even as you said it, Jason's arm shot out, grabbing your waist and pulling you down onto the couch beside him. You landed with a soft thump, your laughter escaping as you tried to push yourself up. "Jay! What are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmured groggily, his eyes still closed but his grip firm. "Just sleep."

You tried to protest, but the sound was muffled as Jason settled you comfortably on top of him, his warmth enveloping you. His body molded to yours, and for a moment, you felt completely cocooned in his presence. It felt good, too good, and you couldn't help but relax against him.

"Jason," you said, your voice playful yet insistent. "I can't just lay here!"

"Sleep," he repeated, his voice a low rumble, still half-asleep. His hand found your back, gently rubbing soothing circles that made you melt against him.

You chuckled, realizing the futility of your protests as you nestled into his chest. "You're impossible," you murmured, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

"Yeah, but you love it," he replied, a sleepy grin spreading across his face, though his eyes remained closed.

You couldn't argue with that; he was right. The comfort of being wrapped in his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, made everything outside feel distant and unimportant. You sighed, letting your body relax completely as you settled into him.

"Just a few minutes," you whispered, surrendering to the warmth and safety of his embrace.

"Good," Jason hummed, burying his face in your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "That's all I need."

And as you lay together, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you cocooned in a bubble of warmth and love. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the peace that Jason's presence brought, knowing that, in moments like these, everything felt just right.

You ended up sleeping till morning. Jason’s back is sore and achy, but it’s worth it if you managed to sleep peacefully and comfortably.

[debonairprincesposts]

You: You know how some people consider "may you have an interesting life" to be a curse?

Jason: Yes...?

You: Fuck those people. Wanna have an adventure?