bee. she/her. bi. 21. batman. batfam. superman. marvel. formula 1. (mv33). fanfic. yaps. rambles.
tags ~~ #b33chats #b33writes #b33yaps #b33loved
masterlist

izzy's playlists!

No title available
Jules of Nature

@theartofmadeline

No title available
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
No title available

JVL
Game of Thrones Daily

roma★
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Kaledo Art
cherry valley forever
Show & Tell
YOU ARE THE REASON
todays bird
occasionally subtle
sheepfilms

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Spain

seen from United States
seen from Ecuador
seen from Ecuador

seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Netherlands
@b33loved
bee. she/her. bi. 21. batman. batfam. superman. marvel. formula 1. (mv33). fanfic. yaps. rambles.
tags ~~ #b33chats #b33writes #b33yaps #b33loved
masterlist
i need more off campus fics with rozanov!reader or hollander!reader
that shit slaps every time
i have at least five wip i need to write for but i can’t stop writing for beatrice, i just love her so much and have so much planned
friends? ~~~ beatrice martha wayne
series masterlist
wc: 2k
Synopsis: After months of coffee, Beatrice finally realized why her heartbeat's so fast when she looks at Clark
Contents: female bruce wayne (beatrice wayne), female bruce wayne x clark kent, alternative universe friends to lovers, oblivious clark kent, emotional incompetent bruce wayne, acts of service, soft bruce wayne, fluff, angts
~~~~~
Beatrice called Clark four weeks after the coffee incident. She did it purely out of curiosity; she told herself. Not because the colour of his eyes remained ingrained in her mind, and definitely not because she found his clumsy nature adorable. Nope. She called him for entertainment; a friend, one could say. Being a billionaire had plenty of advantages, but it also carried downsides, the main one being that her only current friend was her butler. So yes, she called Clark Kent because she simply wanted a friend.
~
They met again over a cup of coffee, a proper cup this time, one that actually remained inside its mug. Beatrice had another meeting in Metropolis. Lex Luthor had been a persistent thorn in her side ever since she turned down his initial offer. She despised his arrogance. Don’t get her wrong, she could be arrogant too, but Lex radiated it as if it were his only personality trait. So, here she was, back in Metropolis and ready for Lex to get on his knees and beg for a deal, which she fully intended to politely decline again. What can she say? She liked playing with powerful men just to make them feel small.
On the bright side, the trip meant she got to see Clark Kent.
Clark was insanely awkward, especially when Beatrice decided to show up at the Daily Planet instead of the coffee shop they had agreed on. He stuttered like a madman while she hovered over his desk, dressed head-to-toe in designer fashion: a calf-length black dress that showed off her perfect curves and a classic strand of pearls around her neck. Her long, thick, rich brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in perfect, lustrous waves. He looked utterly stunned by her beauty, but also thoroughly confused by her presence.
"Beatrice?" His eyes went wide behind his thick glasses as he stared up at her. She just stood there, giving him a dazzling, brilliant smile. "What are you doing here?"
Beatrice’s eyebrows furrowed in faux confusion. "We’re getting coffee." She stated matter-of-factly
"Well, yes, but at one. It’s twelve-thirty. My lunch break doesn’t start for another half hour," Clark said.
Beatrice let out a soft gasp and playfully slapped her forehead with a manicured hand. "Ugh, silly me. I wasn’t paying attention to the time." She turned around, surveying the sea of desks across the bullpen, fully aware that half the journalists were already staring at her in awe. "Is Clark’s boss around?"
Perry White slowly raised his head, looking just as stunned as the rest of his staff.
"Oh, perfect," she chirped, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she walked toward his office. "Do you mind if Clark heads out for his break a little early?" she asked with a dazzling smile. "I promise I’ll bring him back in one piece. No coffee on his suit." She threw a quick wink back at Clark before turning her attention back to Perry. The seasoned editor just nodded slowly. "Ugh, thank you!" Beatrice beamed, throwing her arms around him for a brief, enthusiastic hug. "Sorry, I’m a hugger."
She spun on her heel and clicked back over to Clark's desk. "Come on, Clark," she called, already strutting toward the elevator.
Clark practically scrambled out of his seat, stumbling over his chair's legs. Behind him, Jimmy Olsen gave him a frantic nod, a wide smile and two thumbs up.
The moment the elevator doors slid shut, the bright, bubbly smile vanished from Beatrice's face. She let out a small sigh and a quiet laugh as she leaned against the elevator's railing. Clark looked down at her, his eyes still wide with surprise.
"What was that?" he asked.
Beatrice looked at him, the picture of innocence. "What was what?"
"That!" He gestured wildly toward the closed doors.
"I came to get you for coffee," she said, stretching out her words a little slower than usual. Her heart was frantically beating behind her chest, purely from the act she just put on. Yup, that’s it, definitely not because of how close Clark was standing to her or the way he was looking at her with those mesmerizing blue eyes.
"Yes, I know that, but..." Clark trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck
"But what, Clark?"
"Nothing," he muttered, giving his head a clumsy shake, offering that warm, farm-boy smile that made her heart pick up the pace again.
"Good." The elevator doors dinged and slid open. The confident, playful smirk slid right back onto Beatrice's face as she stepped out. "Let’s go. If I remember correctly, you still owe me a drink." Clark chuckled lightly and quickly followed in her wake.
~
Coffee had quickly become a routine for them. Once every week, without fail, the two of them would grab a cup of coffee together. They established an alternating schedule: one week they would meet in Metropolis, and the next, in Gotham. The commute between the two cities was a reasonable drive, but unbeknownst to Beatrice, Clark never actually drove. He would simply slip into an alley, launch into the sky, and make the trip across the bay in less than a second, arriving perfectly on time with his tie slightly askew.
Beatrice enjoyed their coffee dates far more than she ever cared to admit. The conversations between them were always so light and easy. When she sat across from Clark, she never felt the obligation to talk about Wayne Enterprises, board meetings, or stock portfolios, as that's all people ever ask about when they are with her. Instead, they talked about their actual lives, their favourite books, their childhoods, their petty dislikes, and the stupid things that made them laugh.
But then, on one crisp afternoon, approximately nine coffee dates into their routine, Clark asked the exact question Beatrice had been dreading.
"Why do you act so different in public than you do with me?" Clark asked softly. He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction behind his thick lenses as if he were examining her.
Beatrice froze. Her ceramic mug was halfway to her lips, suspended in the air for a fraction of a second before she carefully placed it back onto the wooden table. She cleared her throat; her instincts were screaming at her to put up a wall and back away. To buy herself a moment, she looked away, staring out the window toward the slightly crowded Gotham street. They were sitting in one of the nicer, revitalized neighbourhoods of the city, one of the very sectors she had heavily funded to clean up, where the smog was thinner, and the air felt a little safer.
"It’s easier pretending to be someone else for the media," she stated, her voice dropping into a calm, steady tone. "It’s what people expect to see. They like seeing a beautiful heiress who is fun and a little bit stupid. It makes them feel comfortable." She paused, her fingers tightening around the warm curve of her mug. "I don’t like people knowing who I really am. It's safer that way."
It wasn't the full truth, of course. She obviously couldn't tell him that the ditzy billionaire act was a smoke screen to prevent the world from ever connecting Beatrice Wayne to Batman.
"But with me..." Clark prompted gently, his voice low.
Beatrice finally tore her gaze away from the Gotham streets and looked back across the table, locking her sharp blue eyes directly with his.
"But with you," she murmured, the words catching slightly in her throat.
Suddenly, her heart rate picked up, hammering against her ribs with a panic that she prayed he couldn't hear, completely oblivious to the fact that his super-hearing was picking up every single rapid, frantic beat. She could feel heat rising to her cheeks, threatening to break through her cool exterior. Desperate to hide her flustered expression, Beatrice quickly lifted her mug again, using the steaming coffee to shield her face as she took a slow sip.
~
The coffee dates continued, week after week, and ever so slowly, the neat little walls Beatrice had built around her feelings began to crumble. The safe, comfortable "friendship" she had convinced herself they shared wasn’t friendship at all. Not to her, at least.
She liked Clark Kent.
The realization finally crashed into her like that alien spaceship smashing into Gotham's pavement a few months ago. But what truly shook her to her core was the sudden, secondary realization that she had liked him from the very beginning. Every flutter in her chest, every smile she had hidden behind her coffee mug, and every slow Gotham patrol she had spent thinking about his eyes, his voice. Him. It hadn't been the casual affection of a friend. They were romantic feelings. It was a terrifyingly foreign sensation, something she hadn't truly experienced since her high school boyfriend, but this was deeper, heavier, and stronger than anything she had ever known.
Naturally, Beatrice had absolutely no intention of confessing. Frankly, she didn’t even know how to.
How do you tell the person who has practically become your best friend that you are completely, utterly losing your mind over them? No, Beatrice decided, she would never admit it. Ever. It was much safer to keep her heart locked away in the dark cave of Wayne Manor.
Instead, those repressed feelings manifested in subtle acts of service. And, every single one of them went completely over Clark’s beautiful head of curls.
Beatrice would show up to their dates carrying a rare, leather-bound book from the Wayne Manor library, always a title he had mentioned wanting to read weeks prior. She knew he had a massive sweet tooth, so she always ordered a large chocolate chip cookie for them to split, specifically choosing one baked with oats because she knew it made Clark feel healthier about eating it. Whenever they met in Metropolis, she would arrive at the Daily Planet bullpen exactly at one o'clock, but instead of her usual loud, disruptive socialite entrance, she would quietly stand by his desk, patiently watching him and waiting until he finished typing his current paragraph. She had noticed how much he hated leaving a thought unfinished.
And so, the pattern continued.
One rainy Thursday afternoon in Gotham, they sat in their usual corner booth. Outside, a gentle downpour was washing away the city's heavy smog. Clark was in the middle of an animated rant about a local Metropolis charity, his face bright with that golden-retriever energy that Beatrice adored.
As he spoke, he reached across the table, automatically breaking the oatmeal chocolate chip cookie exactly in half and sliding the slightly larger piece toward her. He didn't even interrupt his sentence to do it. It was an unconscious, completely instinctual habit he had picked up over their months together.
Beatrice froze, looking down at the half-cookie, then up at Clark. He was still talking, adjusting his thick glasses with a soft smile, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil he was causing across the table.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of affection hit Beatrice so hard that her breath caught in her throat, and she forgot how to breathe. Her heart rate spiked, a rapid drumming against her ribs. She knew she couldn’t say the words. She couldn't tell him that she loved the way his eyes lit up, or his crooked glasses, or his smile. She just couldn’t
But as she looked at him, wrapped in his flannel, she let her guarded exterior soften completely. She didn't hide behind her mug this time. Instead, Beatrice reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his as she took the piece of cookie.
"Thanks, Clark," she murmured, her voice dropping into that quiet, genuine voice she only ever used around Dick and Alfred and now… Clark.
Clark paused his story, blinking at her for a moment as if he had just noticed the sudden softness in her eyes. He gave her a warm, slightly puzzled, but adoring smile. "Anytime, Beatrice."
She smiled back, a real, beautiful smile that reached all the way to her eyes. Sitting here, in the quiet Gotham coffee shop, Beatrice realized she didn't mind falling a little harder. In fact, as long as it was Clark catching her, she didn't mind falling at all.
a traumatic night at the circus ~~~ beatrice martha wayne
series masterlist
wc: 1.7k
synopsis: beatrice wayne kidnaps dick grayson
Content: female bruce wayne (beatrice wayne), alternate universe, child dick grayson, mama bear bruce wayne, protective bruce wayne, hurt/comfort, angst
warnings: parental death, trauma, grief
a/n at the end
~~~~~
It was an unusually cool night in Gotham. Beatrice had wrapped herself in a white cashmere coat to ward off the bite of the city's air, her hair bouncing around her shoulders in a perfect blowout as she walked toward the circus. The lights of Haly’s Circus cut through the smog-filled sky, bright enough to alert everyone in a fifteen-mile radius of its arrival.
The circus used to be magical for Beatrice, a place vibrant with colour, joy, and warmth. It was a Wayne family tradition to attend at least twice a year. She vividly remembered the times her parents would leave work early just to take her. They would share a bag of peanuts and popcorn, and her father would always sneak her a stick of sweet pink cotton candy behind her mother’s back. To honour that memory, Beatrice made sure to return at least once a year. Some years were harder than others, the weight of her grief making it difficult to drag herself there, yet she always forced herself to go.
Everyone in Gotham knew Beatrice would be there; she never missed opening night. A few people still gawked as her heels clicked against the cobblestone, but most acknowledged her with a small smile or a nod, which she returned with practiced sweetness.
She stopped to buy a small bag of roasted peanuts before heading to her usual spot at the top of the stands in the back. Almost immediately, the show commenced, flashing bright lights across the massive tent. To Beatrice, the lights didn’t seem nearly as bright as they used to, not without her parents, not without their shoulders pressed against hers. Still, she watched as the ringmaster took the center ring, announcing in a booming, dramatic voice: “WELCOME, THE FLYING GRAYSONS!”
The curtain parted to reveal two adults and a young child. A family. They waved and smiled from high up on the platform.
Their act began. The two adults leaped from the platform, flying gracefully between the trapeze bars until-
SNAP.
“MOM! DAD!”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Beatrice stood instantly. For a fraction of a second, she froze, ripped backward in time to a dark alley outside the opera house, standing alone and crying over her murdered parents. Then, the illusion shattered. She was back at the circus, looking down at a young boy standing over his dead parents.
Instinct took over. Beatrice raced out of her seat and sprinted down to the arena floor. She rushed in front of the young boy, whose eyes were locked in horror on the bodies lying in the dirt.
“Hey.” Her voice was soft, calm, and deliberate as she crouched in front of him, forcing his attention away from the tragedy. His eyes tried to drift back, but she gently placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, don’t look,” she urged softly, holding his gaze. “Let’s go have a seat over there, okay?”
The boy nodded slowly. He reached out and grabbed Beatrice’s hand as she led him to two seats facing away from the ring.
Within moments, the distant wail of sirens pierced the air, growing louder as police cars and an ambulance raced toward the circus. It took only minutes for the crime scene to be swarming with investigators and detectives. When Captain Jim Gordon finally approached the silent duo, Beatrice was sitting close to the boy, Dick Grayson, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“Miss Wayne,” Gordon called out, approaching them. Dick quickly wiped his tears at the sound of the detective's voice.
“Captain,” Beatrice said, offering a small, tired smile.
“I need to talk with the boy.” Gordon’s voice was gentle but direct.
“Of course,” Beatrice replied, preparing to stand and give them space. But Dick’s hand shot out, gripping her fingers tightly.
“Can you stay?” he asked. His blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears as he looked up at her.
Beatrice’s heart melted. Every protective instinct she possessed flared to life. She immediately sank back into the seat beside him, wrapping a comforting arm around his trembling shoulders. “Of course.”
She sat patiently as Gordon questioned the boy. Dick answered the best he could, his voice cracking as he told the captain about a man who had fought with Mr. Haly before the show and left right before the act. When the tears returned to the boy's eyes, Beatrice decided she had heard enough.
“I think that is enough for now, Captain,” she said lightly. Her tone was soft, yet it carried an undeniable edge of command.
Gordon stopped mid-question, glancing at the fragile boy before clearing his throat. “You’re right. Social services and CPS will be here soon to take him to an orphanage or a foster home, wherever has room.”
As Gordon turned to walk away, a spark ignited in Beatrice’s chest. She rose quickly, following after him. “I can take him in.”
The captain paused, turning back to her with raised eyebrows. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
Beatrice straightened her spine, exuding a sharp, unyielding confidence. “Why is that? I am more than capable of taking care of him. I have more than enough room, food, and a proper home.”
“Look, Miss Wayne. It’s not my decision to make; you’ll have to talk to social services,” Gordon said, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I’ll tell you this now. It’s unlikely they’ll let a playgirl socialite take in a ten-year-old. I’m just being honest.” He turned and walked away into the chaos of the crime scene.
Beatrice stood frozen for a moment, Gordon's words stinging. She looked back at Dick, who was sitting all alone with his head buried in his hands. Shaking off the insult, she walked back and took her seat beside him once more. There was no way in hell she was leaving this boy alone with the police.
They sat in silence, waiting for social services, when Beatrice felt the boy's heavy head lean over and rest against her arm. She looked down at him, her expression softening into a sad, protective smile.
Social services approached the duo a few moments later. Beatrice shot up before they could fully reach the seats, intercepting the lead social worker and stopping him in his tracks before he could get anywhere near Dick.
“Hello, Miss Wayne,” the man said, adjusting his briefcase. “I’m Josh. I’m the social worker assigned to this case.”
Beatrice smiled brightly, doing her best to project a friendly, approachable warmth despite the grim circumstances. “Hello,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “I was hoping to speak with you for a moment.”
The social worker nodded, a hint of confusion crossing his face, but Beatrice didn't waste any time. She jumped right into it.
“I would like to take in Dick Grayson.”
“Miss Wayne-” Josh started, his tone already signalling a rejection, but Beatrice smoothly interjected.
“I have more than enough room, plenty of food, and a large yard-”
“It’s not just about that, Miss Wayne,” Josh interrupted this time. The practiced smile on Beatrice’s face faltered for a fraction of a second before she forced it back up. “You live an incredibly public life. You’re everywhere in the media, and you have absolutely no parental experience. To be frank, your lifestyle is unstable, and you are currently unequipped to take care of a traumatized child.”
Beatrice flinched internally. Then, the polite facade shattered completely. Her smile dropped, replaced by a cold, hard expression of pure fury.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet octave. “I am Beatrice Wayne. I practically own this city. I fund your department, and I personally finance every orphanage and group home in Gotham. I know the exact conditions they are in, despite my financial help. They are overcrowded and understaffed. I am more than capable of taking care of a young boy.
She took a sharp, steadying breath, stepping closer to him. “I understand exactly how the media views me, Josh. But I also understand what that boy is going through. I know exactly what he needs in this exact moment, and it certainly isn’t a rowdy, crowded orphanage.”
Josh stared at her, stunned. Conflict raced across his face as he weighed her determination against her public reputation.
“Let’s talk with the boy before we make any decisions,” Josh finally conceded.
They walked back over to Dick, whose head was buried in his hands once more. Beatrice crouched down in front of him, lightly touching his shoulder.
“Dick?” Her voice was instantly soft again, a gentle smile returning to her face as he looked up. “Would you like to come live with me?”
Dick’s blue eyes widened in surprise.
“Your only other option right now is the orphanage,” Josh added bluntly from behind her.
Beatrice whipped her head around and glared at the man. Could he be any harsher?
“I-” Dick started, looking back and forth between the social worker and Beatrice’s warm, kind eyes. “I’d like to live with you.”
Beatrice smiled, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, while the social worker exchanged a defeated sigh. Helping Dick to his feet, Beatrice slipped off her coat and wrapped it securely around his small shoulders to shield him from the biting air.
“We will have to conduct monthly visits and house inspections,” Josh began, but Beatrice was already guiding Dick away, her arm wrapped protectively around his shoulder. “Miss Wayne!” Josh called out, quickening his pace to keep up with her long strides. “There is paperwork you need to fill out, and we legally need to inspect your home first!”
She kept walking toward the curb, where a sleek black car was already waiting, the engine idling. Alfred stood right outside the passenger door, his expression stoic but alert.
“Miss Wayne!”
Beatrice gently helped Dick into the back seat first, ensuring he was safe and warm inside before she turned around to face the breathless social worker.
“You know where I live,” she said with a sharp, victorious smile, and hopped into the car.
The interior of the vehicle was dead silent as Alfred pulled away from the circus grounds and merged into the Gotham traffic. After a few minutes, Alfred finally broke the silence, his eyes catching Beatrice's in the rearview mirror.
“And who do we have joining us this evening, Miss Beatrice?” he asked softly.
Beatrice looked down at Dick, offering him a genuine, radiant smile, the kind of smile Alfred hadn’t seen on her face in a very long time.
“This is Dick,” she stated, looking back up to meet the eyes of her trusted butler. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”
~~~~
a/n: This fic is based on all Batman media, meaning it may be comic-accurate at times, show-accurate, or movie-accurate. It will also be for a lot of it, completely made up and my own idea, as this is my version of Bruce Wayne as a woman. If that is not something you want to read, I completely respect that
Additionally, I will start this series with a base set of fics to establish the background, characters, and relationships. Later, once the whole story is set, I will add additional one-shots and drabbles for this universe. I just wanted to give you guys an understanding of where this series/universe will eventually go. I am also open to requests regarding this series.
I want to clarify that I’m not speaking from personal experience (thank you to my wonderful readers), but it’s crazy that I come across at least two posts a day trying to police other people’s writing! Have some people completely lost the plot about fan fiction etiquette? Are they just so entitled that they genuinely don’t care?
As a reminder: fanfiction is being written for FREE by writers who do it solely for the love of the game. Don’t like something? Don’t read it! Complaining that your fanfiction is missing a particular trope/reader characterization/plot? Write it yourself! Fandom is a better place for everyone involved when we remember it would cease to exist without the foundation of respect it’s built on.
PREACH
masterlist
last updated: 26/06/10
DCU
female bruce wayne ~~~ beatrice martha wayne
meeting superman ~~~ beatrice martha wayne
series masterlist
wc: 1k
synopsis: batman and superman didn't get off on the right foot
warnings: no warnings
~~~~~
It was early in the night on her Gotham patrol, and the city was already bathed in its usual smog and darkness. Perched on a high rooftop, Beatrice sat like a statue, her eyes scanning the streets below. It was an oddly calm night; police chatter was low, and she’d already wrapped up a few petty crimes. No gang territory wars, no escaped maniacs from Arkham, though Beatrice remained fiercely alert.
She turned her attention to the noise of the streets below, listening to the cars honking and the faint, familiar wail of police sirens. Then, a massive explosion shattered the quiet.
Beatrice whipped around, her eyes catching a brilliant flash tearing through the sky. Red, orange, and green streaks painted the smog. It looked suspiciously like a crashing alien craft, and flying right behind the blazing metal was a streak of blue and red. Irritation spiked in her immediately.
Beatrice leapt into action. She sprinted across the rooftops, launching her grappling hook to swing through the buildings toward the crash site. She brought herself to a sudden stop at the edge, looking down at the smoking crater where the alien craft had smashed directly into Gotham’s street. The neighbourhood she had spent millions of her own money working on, volunteering in, the very streets where her Wayne Foundation shelters housed vulnerable families, was now covered in burning space debris.
Leaping from the ledge, she descended and landed with practiced grace on the cracked concrete.
"What do you think you are doing in my city?" she demanded. Thanks to the built-in modulator, the question tore through the smoke as a deep, terrifying masculine rumble. Inside, however, her protective instincts were spiking; this was a residential zone; this disruption woke dozens of families, families who would have to be moved to other areas during construction, further displacing their already vulnerable states.
Superman turned to face her, catching his breath as he dusted off his cape. Despite having just wrestled a spaceship out of the sky, his jawline was immaculate, and that single, perfect curl rested against his forehead, not a single strand out of place
I need to know what hairspray he uses, Beatrice thought to herself; a small flutter of warmth racked her body, while she studied his stupidly perfect hair. She violently pushed the feeling down, forcing herself to remember the broken water mains and shattered windows around them.
"Small alien invasion," Superman answered concisely, walking a few steps closer to her.
Beatrice stood her ground, her shoulders squared to look twice as broad as they actually were. She projected the cold, brooding, unyielding force she created Batman to be. "Keep it in Metropolis next time, Superman. This is a residential neighbourhood. There are families sleeping blocks away from where you just dropped a burning spaceship."
She turned her back, her cape swirling around her frame as she prepared to grapple away and call in a Wayne Enterprises cleanup crew before the city bureaucracy could fail these residents.
"I intercepted them over Metropolis and forced them out, but they broke through and targeted Gotham, Batman," Superman explained.
Beatrice paused and turned her head, her blue eyes narrowing behind her cowl. "Then you should have stopped them before they crossed the bay. Gotham has enough monsters of its own without you bringing your golden-boy collateral damage into my streets."
Superman didn't flinch. Instead, he just chuckled lightly, completely unfazed by the dark knight's legendary hostility.
"Nice to finally meet you, Batman," Superman said, offering a warm, dazzling smile that made Beatrice's pulse spike violently.
"Wish I could say the same," she growled back, stopping herself from thinking about his ridiculously charming smile. Beatrice quickly fired her grappling hook, scaling the building in quick motion, and vanishing into Gotham’s smog.
~~~~~
The next morning, Clark Kent was hunched over his desk at the Daily Planet. He was reviewing his draft on Superman’s big save, trying to find a polite way to write around the fact that Gotham’s dark knight had nearly bitten his head off.
Before he could finish the sentence, Jimmy Olsen came strolling by and dropped a fresh copy of the Gotham Gazette in front of his work.
"Check this out," Jimmy said, lazily leaning against the edge of Clark’s desk and crossing his arms.
Clark tentatively picked up the newspaper. His breath caught slightly as his eyes hit the front-page photo. It was Beatrice Wayne. Seeing her face instantly brought back the burning embarrassment of a few weeks ago, when he spilled a full cup of coffee right down the front of her dress. That whole interaction left him blushing for nearly a week.
Now, she was on the front page.
"'Beatrice Wayne and Wayne Foundation work quickly to restore damage in Gotham, bringing displaced families back to their homes,'" Clark read the headline out loud. He scanned down to the sub-header, his eyes widening. "'Heiress Beatrice Wayne is working hands-on on this project, personally helping with the cleanup crew, and volunteering her free time to support families during this rough time.'"
Clark finished reading, staring at the photo of Beatrice. She was wearing work boots and a fitted tank top that didn't hide her impressively toned body, her long brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail as she handed a box of supplies to a young mother. She looked absolutely breathtaking.
"Wow," Clark muttered, a warm, completely genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He felt a sudden, strange flutter in his chest. "She... she really doesn't just cut checks, does she?"
"Right?" Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. "Everyone thinks she’s just another pretty face with a trust fund, but she’s out there doing the heavy lifting. Literally. Look at those arms! Half the guys in the newsroom are swooning. Too bad she’s a billionaire from Gotham, and you’re a farm boy from Kansas, Clark. Though, hey, you did manage to buy her a coffee. Even if it was mostly on her lap."
Clark laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes drifted back to the paper. Gotham is a strange city, Clark thought to himself, completely unaware that the terrifying creature of the night who had spoken to him was the exact same beautiful woman currently making his heart race from a black and white printed photo. But at least it has people like her looking out for it.
meeting clark kent ~~~ beatrice martha wayne
series masterlist
wc: 692
a/n: I am using david corenswet Superman, but feel free to imagine who every you'd like as superman
synopsis: Some would say the way Clark and Beatrice met was cliché, a meet-cute straight out of a romance novel, or perhaps a happy accident orchestrated by fate itself. If you asked Clark, he would tell you it was the universe aligning exactly as it was meant to. If you asked Beatrice, she would simply say she happened to be in the right place at the right time.
~~~~~
Splash.
Approximately ten seconds after stepping out of her Bentley, a wave of lukewarm coffee landed squarely on her silk Chanel dress. The dark liquid spread across the pale fabric in an ugly stain before dribbling down onto her red-bottom heels and splattering against the concrete sidewalk below.
Beatrice's eyes fluttered shut at the suddenness of it. Warm coffee seeped through the expensive silk and against her skin, the unpleasant sensation enough to make her jaw tighten for a brief moment. This was just what she needed. She had spent the last 2 hours driving from Gotham to Metropolis for a meeting between Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp. The meeting itself was already guaranteed to be exhausting, and now she would have to attend it smelling faintly of coffee.
"I-I-I am so sorry, miss." The stuttered apology caused her eyes to open. Standing before her was a man, a very large man. He wore a navy suit jacket over a crisp white button-up, thick-framed glasses perched on his nose. His broad shoulders seemed almost too large for the crowded Metropolis sidewalk, yet nothing was intimidating about him. If anything, he looked horrified. His blue eyes were fixed entirely on the ruined dress rather than the woman wearing it.
"It's alright," Beatrice replied immediately, offering him a practiced smile. It was charming, warm, and effortless, the smile she wore whenever she found herself in public.
"Oh jeez, I'm really sorry, miss. I wasn't looking where I was going and, and you came out so fast." The man continued rambling, words tripping over one another in his panic.
Beatrice barely listened. Instead, her attention drifted to Alfred, who had already rounded the car carrying a black suit jacket. The loyal butler moved with the efficiency of a man who had spent decades solving Wayne family disasters.
"It's truly alright," Beatrice assured him once more. Her voice carried the effortless elegance and grace expected of a Wayne as she slipped the jacket over her shoulders and fastened the first button. The dark fabric concealed most of the stain, making the accident far less noticeable.
Only when she finished buttoning the jacket did the man finally look up. His eyes met hers. Rich blue collided with rich blue.
For a moment, he simply stared. Then his face turned bright red.
"Miss Wayne." The words escaped him in a breathless whisper. He stood frozen, clutching the empty cardboard coffee tray like a lifeline. Beatrice remained perfectly composed. Her smile never faltered as she patiently waited for the poor man to recover. "Miss Wayne," he repeated, somehow sounding even more shocked than before. "I am so sorry."
"Accidents happen," she replied gently, stepping around the puddle of spilled coffee. "It's only a dress. I have hundreds more."
That seemed to do little to ease his embarrassment. If anything, he looked even more flustered. Then his eyes widened as he glanced down at the watch on his wrist.
"Oh shoot." His head snapped back up. "I'm so sorry," he said for what had to be the fifth time. "I'll pay for the dress, or the dry cleaning. I just..." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm late for work."
The words tumbled out in a rush. He immediately began patting down the pockets of his jacket before producing a slightly bent business card and holding it out to her.
"Here." Beatrice accepted it delicately between two fingers. "Just let me know how much," he said. "Again, I'm really sorry, but I have to go." Before she could respond, he was already moving.
Beatrice watched as the frazzled, flustered, and unexpectedly adorable man hurried through the sea of pedestrians. He narrowly avoided colliding with another businessman before disappearing through the revolving doors of the Daily Planet building.
For a moment, she simply stood there. Then she glanced down at the card in her hand. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Clark Kent," she read aloud to no one in particular. Carefully, she slipped the card into her pocket with one thought on her mind. What kind of guy apologized six times over a ruined dress?
Female Bruce Wayne ~~~ Beatrice Martha Wayne
series masterlist
wc: 507
Beatrice Martha Wayne is absolutely stunning. Full-on muscle mommy physique, curves and a full chest. Gorgeous long, thick dark brown hair. She makes heads turn when she walks into a room, causing her many children to go into overprotective mode.
Publicly, Beatrice plays the perfect role of billionaire, heiress, and socialite. High heels for days, loves a good set of pearls and diamonds and complains about breaking a nail. The media see a little flighty heiress who is overly interested in fashion, which she uses to her advantage because nobody would expect the girl who accidentally dropped her phone in a fountain to be a master martial artist.
Beatrice plays a major role in her city, not just at charity galas or the odd business meeting, but actually volunteers at the animal shelter, at events with the local orphanage, and at the women and children's shelter.
She perfectly designed her bat suit. One that resembled more male than female. Heavy padding mimics a masculine frame, and a voice modulator that lowers her pitch and adds depth, putting the fear straight into criminals. She keeps the Batman name, adding an extra layer of separation from Beatrice and Batman.
Beatrice is extremely protective and maternal. She loves each and every one of her children; she might just have a hard time saying it, but she does show it. Physical affection was a lot easier for her to understand. Kiss on the cheek, head or forehead. Hugs, many, many hugs. She’ll patch up Robin and remain by their bedside purely to remind herself that they survived the night.
She cries very rarely, and when she does, it is always alone
Beatrice doesn’t have favourites. She loves all of her Robins and children equally, but each of them secretly thinks they’re her favourite. She remembers every birthday, adoption day, milestones; pictures are spread out in her office. But she won’t lie; she has a small soft spot for Jason after he came back, despite their rocky relationship.
Beatrice couldn’t imagine her life without Alfred. He wasn’t just her butler; he was her rock, the solid foundation holding up her crumbling frame. Alfred was one of the only people (besides Clark, later in life) who saw her fully unmasked, not a cold front or ditzy personality. He saw her exhausted, bruised and crying. Not to mention, sometimes he plays the role of emotional buffer for her and her kids.
She fell first, and she fell harder. But the problem was that Beatrice didn’t understand those types of romantic feelings. She convinced herself for months that Clark was “just a friend”, that she enjoyed his company. Until she started smiling at his texts and thinking of him during slow patrol nights. She never spoke of this affection, only showed it through subtle acts of service. Clark fell later, only because he was insanely oblivious to Beatrice's feelings. But after a few months of back and forth and accidentally adopting a kid together, the two finally understood their feelings for each other.
i wish i was able to record my thoughts so i can write out my mind fic perfectly
FEMALE BRUCE WAYNE
Beatrice Wayne ~ masterlist
female bruce wayne ~ beatrice martha wayne
meeting clark kent meeting superman a traumatic night at the circus friends?
willing and able but make it jason todd and bruce wayne
monaco gp lestappen edition
I’m not superstitious at all but Max I’m gonna need you to change that damn number
ain’t that the truth
At the end of the day, I truly just feel horrible for the USA women’s hockey team, who were reduced to a joke by the president of the very country they won a gold medal for and whose anthem they sang proudly with American flags draped around their shoulders. Who were laughed at by their fellow Olympians and hockey players. Who have worked just as hard (if not harder) than the men to get to the point, because after the last Winter Olympics, many of them didn’t even know if they would be able to continue playing professional hockey on account of being women!
But I am so fucking proud of them and I refuse to let their win be overshadowed by this absolute garbage. They are gold medalists and always will be!