#reader is insecure

The majority of the time where you weren’t intimate you would both sit on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap and your head on his shoulder. The two of you would nurse glasses of wine that were so expensive, it made your jaw drop the first time Bruce told you how much it was worth and talk late into the evening.

There were things Bruce was hiding from you. He loved you of course he did, but for his safety and yours he just couldn’t tell you about what he did at night just yet. He couldn’t keep his secret life away from you forever, he knew that, but he would keep you away from it all for as long as he could.

But he knew you were keeping secrets too. He could tell in the way you held back your words when talking about your childhood. How you steered the conversation gently away when the topic drifted anywhere near mental health.

You shut him down when he proposed the idea of a beach vacation, the thought of having to wear a swimsuit in front of him sending a cold shiver down your spine. When he suggested the private pool of the manor, you declined that too. You had to admit, the pool was absolutely gorgeous, but it was the same reason. You just weren’t ready.

The summer in Gotham was brutal that year. The temperature was peaking at over 100 degrees and the ac in your apartment couldn’t take it anymore, breaking down just as the days weather was reaching its peak. You messaged Bruce that you were coming over. He replied seconds later, telling you to wait.

Ten minutes later a sleek black Bentley pulls into the parking lot of your apartment. You sigh, smiling as you know it was for you. The drivers seat door opens and Alfred steps out, smiling at you and opening the backseat door.

“Good evening, Miss [Reader.]” He greets.

“Good evening, Alfred.” You reply, sitting down, you immediately feel relief as the ac blasts you with cool air. The drivers seat door to the manor is silent, but not awkward.

Once you arrive, Alfred steps out of the car once again and opens the door for you. He opens the large door to the manor and watches as you walk in.

“Master Bruce is in living room.” Alfred says, the door closing behind him.

“Thank you Alfred.” You say, and he gives you a nod. It takes you a minute to get to the living room by yourself, the manor being so large and you still having not figured it all out yet. But once you step in, there he is. He’s sat on the couch infront of the empty fireplace, wearing a pair of expensive yet plain pair of sweatpants and a shirt that made the muscles of his arms look delicious.

You step forward and he notices immediately, turning to you with a look in his eyes that gives you butterflies.

“Come here.” He says, beckoning you to him with two fingers. Your body obeys without a second thought. Coming closer, you notice a gift box resting on his lap. It’s sleek black with a frilly pink ribbon, clearly from some boutique. You swallow, suddenly nervous. You sit on his right, facing him and knee touching his. Your hands rest in your lap awkwardly. Bruce takes one in his own larger hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss each knuckle.

“I got you something.” He says low, eyes trained on you. His free hand grabs the box and slides it over to your lap, letting go of your hand so you can open it. You slowly grab the end of the ribbon, pulling and letting it fall. You remove the top to the box and move the tissue paper to reveal the piece inside. It’s a black lingerie set, lacy, expensive, revealing.

“What do you think?” Bruce’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You muster a smile back.

“I love it.” You say, voice strained but not enough to be noticed. You swallow again when his hand rests on your knee, rubbing up your leg gently.

“I was thinking. You would try it on for me? See what it looks like on.” He says, face holding a hint of smugness. His gaze felt hotter than the heat outside. You nod without thinking and he smiles with affection in his eyes, standing and offering his hand to you, leading you up to his bedroom.

You turned and twisted your body every way looking in the large mirror of the master bedroom, staring at yourself with the black set on. The lace covered enough to where you weren’t fully exposed, but you felt you might as well be. Your scars were fully exposed, and you could feel your face heat up. Bruce was out there waiting for you, and you could barely even look at them without wanting to cry.

It wasn’t your body you were insecure of, no. But no one had ever seen your scars. You barely even wore shorts unless they were practically to your knees! To you they were ugly, a mark on your skin that told the world you were weak. You just assumed anyone else would be repulsed at the sight just as you were everytime you were forced to look at them.

You wanted to run away. But how do you run from your own skin?

A tear slipped down your cheek. You looked at yourself in the mirror one more time before sinking to the floor. You couldn’t stand the sight. You hated the girl you saw. Bruce would probably hate her too.

You cover your face with your hands as you lose control of yourself, feeling tears roll down your cheeks. A soft knock interrupts your thoughts, the noise startling you.

“Is everything alright in there, sweetheart?” Bruce asks softly. He had given you more time than necessary, knowing that this was your first time wearing something like this for him. He knew you might be nervous and wanted to give you space before you came out on your own. It was only when it had been way too long to be just nerves that he decided he should check on you.

He hears a sniffle through he door and his frown deepens.

You wipe your eyes frantically and clear your throat. “Y-yes! Everything’s ok!” You shout through the door, voice cracking despite how hard you tried to make it not do that.

“No, it’s not. Will you please let me in?” He asks, not believing you for a second. His eyebrows are knitted together with concern and worry. You had seemed fine not too long ago, had he missed something?

When you don’t respond, he takes your silence as a go-ahead to gently open the door. He takes in the sight, your discarded clothes thrown in a pile to the side and you, curled in on yourself in-front of the sink. Without hesitation, he hurries forward, kneeling infront of you.

His hands grab your wrists with sickening softness, pulling them from your face gently. You try to shy away, knowing how you must look. Your face is red and your eyes are puffy, adding to your embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me please.” He encourages. “What happened sweetheart? Why the tears?” His hands move to cup your face, thumbs wiping your cheeks.

You want to speak and explain yourself, but you feel rocks in your throat. You open your mouth so say something, but it’s like all of your speech has been stolen. This makes you hiccup a sob and Bruce wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a grounding hug. He hushes and cooes at you, rubbing your back soothingly.

When you finally pull back, you figure it’s easier to show than tell. You move your legs from being pressed to your chest to sitting with them crossed, all healed over scars now fully visible.

Bruce pauses. His eyes scan over them with an expression you can’t quite read. You stare at his face, feeling your stomach sink deeper and deeper. His hands slowly move to your legs like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. His fingers glide over each scar, feeling the texture beneath his skin.

Bruce takes your hand and brings in to his lips, kissing your pulse point and sighing shakily. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asks quietly. There is no accusation in his voice, no anger, but hurt. Hurt that you didn’t trust him enough to tell him, and hurt that you had carried this alone so long.

You can’t meet his gaze as you wipe your damp eyes. “Don’t you think they’re hideous?” You ask with so much sincerity it stings. You hiccup again and he brings up a hand to stroke your hair, the other still on your scars.

Bruce shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” He says firmly so you believe it, punctuating his statement with a kiss on your forehead. “You were hurting, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You’ll see me differently.” You counter, because in your mind he could not possibly accept you like this , and there had to be some catch.

Bruce pressed his lips into a tight line. He wanted you to know how much he loved you. How beautiful he thought you were. How he worshipped you and how absolutely nothing could make him see you differently, but he didn’t know what to say.

“I could never see you differently for surviving the only way you knew how.” He musters seconds later. You need him, and he would be there for you.

You shrugged and he sighed. You were a goddess to him. You took his breath away, how could you not see yourself as anything less than holy? He puts his hands on your waist and you put your arms instinctively around his neck. You let out a surprised noise as you feel yourself be picked up, one of his arms under your bottom and the other supporting your back as he carried you out of the bathroom.

“You’re beautiful.” He said, voice rumbling from his chest. He placed you on the put of his bed, gently pushing you down till you lay flat on your back. It wasn’t till now that he got a proper look at you in that pretty new set, and you looked delicious. He groaned, climbing on top of you. He caged you under his perfectly chiseled arms, gazing down at you with a look that made you squirm.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are to me.”

That was until the door to her office clicked shut behind you.

"Apologies if I was… dramatic," you murmured, dropping the extravagant tone like a heavy cloak. Your eyes softened, avoiding Jean's gaze. "People expect a show."

Jean blinked. This wasn't the self-important aristocrat she'd seen around the city. This was someone… quiet. Earnest.

You glanced up and, seeing no ridicule in her expression, offered a small, anxious smile. "Truthfully, I just wanted to help... without everyone questioning my motives."

Jean slowly stood, her expression unreadable as she approached. Then, gently, she took your hand. "You don’t have to perform for me."

That night, the two of you remained in her office far longer than intended, talking softly over lukewarm tea. And when she looked at you—not the persona, not the wealth—Jean found someone rare: not arrogant, but terrified of not being enough unless hidden behind a mask of extravagance.

[Header credits]

You arrived at Navia's office like a thunderstorm in heels—swaggering, radiant, and oozing self-importance. Spina members rolled their eyes as you waved your jeweled umbrella and declared your intentions to “invest in the poor souls of Fontaine.”

Navia met you with her signature patient smile. “Let’s see if your heart matches your wealth,” she said with a hint of challenge.

But hours later, when the doors closed behind just the two of you, your posture crumbled.

“I… hate that I have to pretend,” you admitted, sitting with your knees together like a scolded child. “If I act real, they say I don’t belong. If I act rich, they listen… even if they hate me.”

Navia leaned against her desk, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “You talk big outside,” she said quietly, “but in here… you barely speak above a whisper.”

Your fingers tugged at your gloves. “I just want to help. I admire you, Navia. You do things with kindness I don’t know how to show.”

She stepped forward and gently tilted your chin up. “Then show it to me. Not the pearls or the pride. Just you.”

You did. Over time, your visits to Spina became less about money and more about moments—laughing in the kitchen, helping children bake, and watching the river with Navia at your side, your mask slowly unraveling under her warm gaze.

You descended onto the Charmony stage like a cosmic diva—surrounded by velvet-clad attendants, dripping in diamond-laced stardust, and flinging critiques like stardust confetti. Robin, calm and quiet in her corner, observed you with unreadable eyes as you barked at lighting crews and demanded your name shine brighter.

But after rehearsals ended, and everyone had gone, she heard the softest knock on her dressing room door.

“I’m… sorry,” you whispered, without the haughty drawl. “I get nervous. If I don’t act like I’m above them all, I feel… invisible.”

Robin stood slowly. “You don’t need to shine to be seen,” she said, voice melodic and kind. “You already glow, just like this.”

You sat beside her, shy and unsure, fingering the ends of your extravagant coat like a child clutching a blanket. “I really like your music,” you confessed. “It’s one of the few things that makes me feel… real.”

Robin smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you should sing with me. Not as the mask. As you.”

You didn’t believe her at first. But on the day of the festival, when the two of you performed under the mirrored skies, you looked out and saw not judgment, not mockery—but love. And Robin, her fingers brushing yours behind the curtain, reminded you what your heart had known all along:

Even a bird too afraid to fly still holds music within its wings.

He gently cupped her face with his calloused hands and searched her eyes. “Yes you are. You’re who I was looking for, even when i didn’t know it..I was coming home to you.” She whimpered softly, as tears fell. “No..I’m not your home. I want to be but I’m not.” Raiden took a deep breath, and asked “Why do you think that? Because I know for certainty that you are.”

She took a step back, and slid down the wall hands shaking. “I—where do I start?” She tried to joke. She didn’t speak for a long moment as the tears in her eyes streaked down her face. When she spoke again, she croaked out “I..my anger issues. I can fly off the handle in an instant. I say something then think, I ruin the mood, I give up too easily, I’m not…pretty. Like at all. My mind can wander in less than a second and I overthink everything. I’m decent enough at certain things to seem smart but I loathe actually learning new things about topics I like because I’m scared to seem like I think I know better than other people, I float from interest to interest and I’m mediocre at all of them. I’m really not good at anything. But you…” she paused, to look up at him. Raiden looked miserable, but didn’t say anything. A little voice said that he was understanding his mistake—she hated that thought.

“But you..you’re sweet and I’ve never seen become angry. You’re incredible at what you do, because you perfect your ability to do something. You’re humble and always look out for others before yourself, you don’t like matcha tea but love popping boba, you always went to pastry school because you wanted to make professional quality croissants, you don’t know the difference between macarons and macaroons, you always save me seats during meal times on the left side because you know I’m left handed. You…you could do a lot better than me. I’m not the one you want, Raiden.”

The Earthrealm champion clenched his fist, and for the first time she thought that Mayer he’d actually be angry. But his expression calmed quickly, and he dropped to his knees to meet her eyes easier. “You have a passion that I’ve never seen in a person, and you’ll argue to the nether realm and back over a topic you like or a person you care about, you wait for the others while they tie their shoes, when the sidewalk gets narrow you step back to the back of the group. And I’m not sure who liked to you, but I can assure I’ve never found someone more attractive than I do you. Your smile lights a room, your laugh rings like bells in my mind and clears the fog from heart. You have a plethora of hobbies that you do out of enjoyment and I get to hear you rave about a book you bought or try all the flavors of bread you make. It’s endearing. You don’t like bananas on their own but love banana pudding. You’re the first person I look for in a room when I walk into it, and the person I always save a seat for because I love hearing you mutter to yourself about things and I know you hate eating alone. You see yourself as this horrible thing..but you aren’t. You’re complex and wonderful and I want to know everything about you.” Raiden rambled, and by the end of it his chest was heaving.

Raiden grabbed her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to each of her knuckles—never breaking eye contact. “And as for your over thinking, I don’t mind being an over explainer. So long as I can put your mind at ease. You just need to let me. Okay?” Raiden smiled wider when she nodded, a gentle smile gracing her face.

“You’re the one I want, and the home I’ve been searching for too, Raiden. I’m sorry I was just…afraid.”