Hear Me Out:

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 2

The name "Duck" had followed you for years, a small, unexpected part of the legacy you built—one that you didn’t quite understand back then, but now, as a fully-fledged villain, it made all the sense in the world.

It wasn’t a loud, grand name, or one that screamed power. It was quiet, unnoticed by most, just like you had been. And perhaps that was the charm of it. The sound of it felt like a soft whisper, a reminder of where you started and how far you’d come. It wasn’t about the grandeur, the attention, or the recognition that they had all failed to give you. It was about something simple. Something you could control.

The first time you’d heard it, you were barely twelve, sneaking through the wet, grimy streets of Gotham, following Croc and his crew down into the sewers. They’d told you it was a joke at first. The way you waddled after them, not quite a threat but eager and always trailing behind like a duckling in the shadows.

That had been the moment the name stuck.

But how did it all start?

You leaned back in your chair now, letting the weight of the memory sink in. You weren’t the same naive kid you once were—chasing validation from people who never even cared to look at you. Now, as you sat in the middle of your own chaotic empire, the name didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like a symbol. A testament to the quiet and steady growth of your plans.

But it all started the day you got grounded.

You had been there, sitting in the Batcave, eyes fixed on the screen in front of you, outlining a plan. Another disaster was unfolding in Gotham, and once again, you had seen it coming. It was easy, really—too easy. The way you had tracked the patterns, mapped out the potential escape routes, made sure everything would play out perfectly if you followed the right script.

You had presented it to them, as usual—quietly, carefully, just a small note on the edge of a conversation.

But it was ignored. Again.

They were too busy arguing, too caught up in the rush of being heroes to take a minute to listen to you. It wasn’t anything new. But this time, you could feel it—feel the sting of your constant invisibility.

You had a plan. You had something real to offer. And all it got you was a cold shoulder.

It wasn’t until the mission went south that anyone noticed. The hostage situation had escalated quickly. The building collapsed, lives were lost, and they were scrambling. But no one took the time to check why it had happened in the first place, why your plan was never followed through.

“Why didn’t you see this coming?” Bruce’s voice had been cold, his disappointment cutting sharper than any weapon.

“Are you sure that’s all you have to say?” You had asked, biting your tongue, your voice low. But Bruce didn’t even glance at you.

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

After that, the grounding was inevitable. You were sent to your room, the doors locked, no one listening to you when you said you had a better way, no one even asking what you had to say.

You had spent the rest of that evening staring at the walls of your room, the reality of being ignored sinking in. Alone. Always alone.

But that night, the first of many escapes, was when you decided to make your move.

When they thought you were sleeping in the comfort of your bed, you slipped out. No alarms. No loud noises. Just a small slip through the window, down the ivy growing next to the windeo sill and into the shadows of the night you went. The mansion wasn’t your home, it was a gilded cage. So, you ran.

You had learned, over the years, the paths no one else knew about—the secret tunnels beneath the mansion, hidden entrances that the Wayne family had forgotten long ago. You knew the streets of Gotham like the back of your hand, but tonight, you weren’t headed there. You were headed underground.

The sewers.

It was where the real world lived. Gotham’s villains made their home in the depths of the city, far away from the pristine walls of Wayne Manor. It was there, in the muck and the grime, that you had first encountered him—Killer Croc.

You weren’t sure what had drawn you to him, but you had always felt a strange pull toward the criminal underworld. Maybe it was the way they operated outside the rules, the way they didn’t apologize for their existence.

The first time you saw Croc, he was a giant in the dark, his scales catching the little light that filtered into the sewers. He had been talking to some other low-level crooks, and you’d been careful to stay out of sight.

But then his gaze landed on you.

“You,” he said, his voice gravelly, like the rumble of an earthquake, “You’re the kid from the mansion, ain’t you?”

Your heart had stopped for a second. There was nowhere to hide now. But you didn’t back down.

“Yeah. So?”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You don’t belong up there, kid. You want to learn how to really survive? You follow me.”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command.

And you followed.

Over time, Killer Croc had become your first true mentor. He wasn’t interested in your background or where you came from. He didn’t care that you were just a kid trying to escape the shadows of a family that ignored you. All he saw was potential—a survival instinct that matched his own.

He taught you the ways of the underworld—how to move silently, how to navigate the city's forgotten paths, how to get what you needed without anyone noticing. Most of all, he taught you to be ruthless. In Gotham, if you showed weakness, you didn’t survive.

And you would survive.

It was Croc who had given you the name “Duck.”

He’d laughed the first time he said it, his large form towering over you in the dark. You had been trailing behind him again, always just a little too eager, always one step behind.

“Look at you, duckin’ and weavin’ through this city,” he had said, a grin spreading across his scarred face. “Little duckling followin’ after the big bad croc, huh?”

At first, you had bristled, wanting to argue. But then you realized, there was something strangely fitting about it. You were small. You were quiet. You moved through the shadows, unnoticed, until you weren’t.

The name stuck, and you wore it like a badge. It was your first taste of being something more than invisible. You were a part of something now, even if it wasn’t the Batfamily.

And so, Duck was born. Not a victim of neglect, but a force in the making.

As the days turned into weeks, you grew into your new identity. Croc had been your first real ally, but you wouldn’t stop there. There were others. Poison Ivy, Riddler, Harley—each teaching you their ways, their tricks, and their mindset. And with each lesson, the name Duck became less of a joke and more of a promise.

You weren’t the Batfamily’s forgotten child anymore.

Now, you were something far worse.

As you stood now in your lair, the name still with you, the memories came flooding back. Croc had seen something in you that the Batfamily never did. And while the world might’ve called you a sidekick, a follower, a mistake—they had no idea what you were truly capable of.

“Duck,” you whispered to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s time they remembered who I am.”

The Making of a Villian

Batfamily X Neglected!Villian!Reader fics and everything that goes with it will be found here as I do have plans to turn it into a running story when I have the time.

Main Story:

Chapter 0 , 1 , 2

Side Stories:

Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences

Q/A:

Dynamic between Reader and Batfam

Sinc so many people seem to like my ABO Jason Todd fic and Batfam fic, should I make more of them?

Have my drawing homework till I type a new story

It's an average day in Gotham, and you are the horrible Duck-master of Disaster

(I read your batfam x neglected!villain!reader, and they already give me untitled goose vibes. there to mostly cause chaos)

I already like it a lot!

I'm going to be honest, this confused me for a bit when I first read the message.

If you're implying that Neglected!Villain!Reader is giving chaotic and like to cuase trouble, then yes. Yes, they do.

I might give the reader a nickname or something so I don't have to keep refering to them as Neglected!Villain!Reader. I'M OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS!!!

I"m glad you like the fic! Let me know if there's a specific scenio you want me to write about for the fic, I'm open to ideas!

I'll pop in with a prompt

✨ Superman x Reader where Superman falls in love with a Kansas farm girl ✨

- 🧑🏼‍🍳

A Quiet Retreat

Superman X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

The city lights flickered in the distance, a blur of orange and white beneath a starry sky. Superman, bruised and battered from his latest battle, flew above Metropolis with a quiet urgency. His body ached, muscles sore from the relentless fight with the alien warlord. The world was safe, for now. The villain had been stopped, but the weight of the battle lingered in the air. It was always like this—he would win, but the cost never seemed to get any easier.

He needed a break. Desperately.

The world depended on him, but who would protect him when the burden became too heavy? He couldn’t keep running on empty. His responsibilities were endless, and sometimes the pressure suffocated him. The countless lives he’d saved, the never-ending battles, the constant reminder that he was different—he was the world’s protector, but there was no one to protect him.

So, he did what he always did when the strain of being Superman became too much: he retreated to the one place that had always offered him a sense of peace. He needed to remember who he was beyond the cape. He needed to be Clark Kent again, if only for a short time.

Clark didn’t land in Metropolis. Instead, he set a course for the one place that had shaped him—Smallville.

The familiar, rolling fields of Kansas awaited him, and though he had been away for years, they still felt like home. The crisp, open sky greeted him, the air full of the sweet scent of earth and grass. He took a deep breath as he descended toward the quiet town, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease.

It had been a long time since Clark had come back to Smallville for anything other than business. This time, though, there would be no interviews or press conferences—no reporters or crowds clamoring for his attention. He was just Clark Kent, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, returning to his roots. He’d parked his car by the old farmhouse, and now he found himself walking through the familiar dirt roads, away from the noise of the world.

That’s when he spotted it—an old farmhouse just at the edge of the hill. The porch light flickered softly, a warm, welcoming glow in the quiet evening. His eyes shifted to the small garden beside the house, where a young woman in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt knelt in the dirt, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tended to her plants. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, lost in the tranquility of the moment.

Clark paused, a quiet curiosity pulling him closer. He hadn’t seen her around before. She didn’t look like she was from the town, but there was something about her that made him feel like he wasn’t the only one in search of peace.

Without thinking, he walked up to the porch, careful to keep his distance as to not startle her. It wasn’t like him to intrude on someone’s solitude, but something about her presence, the calm that radiated from her, made him want to know more.

The woman didn’t seem to notice him at first, her focus entirely on the rows of vegetables she was pulling from the earth. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat gently that she finally looked up, her eyes meeting his with a spark of surprise, quickly followed by cautious curiosity.

“Oh,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”

Clark blinked, caught off guard by her ease, her voice warm yet unbothered by his sudden presence. "I... I was just passing by," he said, offering her an easy smile, trying to keep things casual. "I’m Clark. Just visiting the old town. Needed to get away from the noise for a while.”

The woman straightened, brushing the dirt off her hands with a sigh of satisfaction before extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Clark. I'm Y/N. Welcome to the farm."

Clark took her hand, surprised by the strength in her grip and the way her gaze seemed to appraise him without judgment. “A farm, huh? That’s a good place to get away from the noise.”

Y/Nchuckled softly, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’d be surprised. Some of the loudest things around here are the chickens. But it’s peaceful. Most of the time.”

Clark could sense that there was more to her than just the calm exterior—the sharp wit and the quiet self-assurance. The simplicity of her life was something he hadn’t experienced in years. He felt himself relax, the constant hum of his superhero life momentarily silenced in her presence.

“I could use some peace right now,” Clark admitted, glancing around at the farm, at the serenity she had cultivated in the middle of the vast Kansas plains. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “I get that. Life can be overwhelming, but you’d be surprised what a little time outside can do. I’d offer you some lemonade, but I’m guessing you’re not here for that.”

“Lemonade sounds nice,” Clark said with a chuckle, his tension starting to ease. “But I’d just like to sit for a while. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Y/N gestured to the rocking chairs on the porch, the evening sky beginning to paint itself with hues of pink and purple. “There’s always room for someone who needs a break.”

Clark nodded gratefully, following her to the porch and sitting in one of the rocking chairs. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt his shoulders relax, the weight of the world momentarily lifted by the simple act of sitting beside a stranger, away from the chaos of his double life.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

Batfam on Valentine's Day

Bruce Wayne

Tries to act like Valentine's Day isn’t a big deal but always pulls off something extravagant last minute.

Prefers quiet, intimate moments over flashy events—like a candlelit dinner at home or a rooftop date overlooking Gotham.

Writes heartfelt letters that he struggles to deliver, so Alfred sneaks them into his partner’s things.

If his partner teases him about being romantic, he’ll just smirk and say, “I don’t need one day to show you how I feel.”

Dick Grayson

Goes all out—flowers, chocolates, dinner, and probably a choreographed dance if his partner asks for it.

Loves playful, flirty dates, like roller skating, amusement parks, or even dancing in the Batcave.

Sends a bunch of ridiculous text messages leading up to the date, full of heart emojis and bad puns.

If his partner doesn’t like big celebrations, he’s totally happy just cuddling and watching rom-coms.

Jason Todd

Acts like he doesn’t care but actually puts a lot of thought into his gift—probably something personal, like a book he annotated or a rare vinyl record.

Not big on public displays of affection but will hold his partner’s hand under the table or wrap an arm around them absentmindedly.

If his partner likes action, he’ll take them on a date that includes shooting practice, a motorcycle ride, or some rooftop parkour.

Ends the night by cooking a homemade meal (better than expected) and reading with his partner in comfortable silence.

Tim Drake

Completely forgets it's Valentine's Day until the last second. Scrambles to put something together but somehow pulls it off.

Workaholic tendencies mean his partner might have to drag him away from a case to celebrate.

Prefers thoughtful gifts over grand gestures—like a playlist of songs that remind him of them or a handwritten note tucked into their stuff.

His idea of a perfect Valentine’s date? Staying up late with takeout, gaming, or watching sci-fi movies with his partner curled up next to him.

Damian Wayne

Initially dismisses Valentine’s Day as “commercialized nonsense” but secretly gets his partner a handmade gift.

If his partner is artistic, he’ll paint or sketch something for them (and act like it’s no big deal).

Gets flustered if they try to be affectionate in public but secretly loves it in private.

His idea of a date is something active—sparring together, horseback riding, or visiting an art exhibit he thinks they’ll appreciate.

Barbara Gordon

Likes a balance between romance and practicality—maybe dinner at a cozy spot, followed by a late-night city patrol.

Probably hacks her partner’s devices to send them cute (and slightly embarrassing) Valentine’s messages.

If her partner is into books, she’ll gift them a first edition of something they love.

Makes sure every Batcomputer screen in the cave displays a heart-filled message just to mess with the others.

Cassandra Cain

Not big on words, but shows love through small, meaningful actions—like fixing her partner’s favorite snack or holding their hand.

Loves quiet, peaceful dates—maybe a rooftop picnic where they just enjoy each other’s presence.

Might write something sweet but struggle to say it, so she just hands her partner a note and looks away.

If her partner gets cold, she’ll silently wrap them in her own jacket and pretend it’s no big deal.

Stephanie Brown

Goes all-in on cheesy, fun Valentine’s traditions—heart-shaped pancakes, silly gifts, and matching sweaters.

Leaves random love notes and doodles in her partner’s stuff leading up to the day.

Loves spontaneous adventures, so expect a road trip or a scavenger hunt through Gotham.

Would 100% try to sneak into a fancy restaurant without a reservation, just for the thrill.

"Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences"

(I'm in the process of writing a Batfam x neglected!villain!reader but have some stupid scenarios based on that)

You, a totally ordinary civilian with zero villain tendencies whatsoever, are sipping your fifth overpriced iced coffee of the morning, watching Gotham spiral into its usual flavor of chaos. You’re not involved. Obviously. Just a casual observer. A bystander. A background character.

Then someone—probably Jason—crashes through a hot dog stand two blocks away, and the vendor screams something about vengeance and mustard.

You don’t flinch. You sip harder.

Tim Drake lands beside you mid-pursuit, glancing at your cup.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, completely out of breath.

You raise a brow. “Crimebucks. Two-for-one if you commit emotional damage before noon.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Exactly.”

He’s too tired to process it and just grapples away.

---

Back at your completely normal, not suspicious at all apartment, your cat (whose name is "Gotham's Doom" but you call her "Gothie") sits on your desk, wearing the tiny hoodie you stitched with “Property of Nobody.” She's judging you. She always is.

You adjust your villain…vision board. It has a detailed ten-step plan, three color-coded Post-Its, and a glitter sticker that says “Slay.”

Step One: Make Gotham mildly uncomfortable.

Step Two: Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Step Three: Remember to water the plants.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, the Batfamily is absolutely losing it.

Someone hacked the Batcomputer and replaced Alfred’s login screen with a slideshow of ducks wearing bowties. Dick cried laughing. Bruce did not. Jason tried to adopt one.

No leads.

No trace.

No clue that you were the Duckmaster of Disaster.

---

You end your day in a hoodie, sipping another coffee, watching the sunrise from a roof you definitely don’t own.

You're not plotting.

You're simply...vibing.

Because if being dramatically mysterious while your cat licks her paw like she’s prepping for world domination is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

You: "Am I the drama?"

Gothie: "Meow."

Story idea I have based on the John Constantine headcanons I made the other day. It's been living rent free in my brain. I like the drunk trench-coat sad man 😭

And yes, this is based on the headcanons list I made the other day.

Story idea:

You and John Constantine have always had a complicated relationship—equal parts rivalry, reluctant partnership, and something neither of you wants to name. You're a witch, more skilled in magic than him, and that fact infuriates him. But when one of Constantine’s old mistakes comes back to haunt him—a demonic debt that even he can’t wiggle out of—he comes to you for help.

The problem? The demon in question doesn’t just want John’s soul. It wants you.

A Birthday Fit for a Thief

Pairing: Flynn Rider x Reader Genre: Fluff, Romance Summary: Flynn surprises you with an unexpected birthday adventure—though things don’t go exactly as planned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t expecting much for your birthday. Living in Corona had its perks—stunning views, lively markets, and, of course, the occasional festival—but you never made a big deal about your own special day. That was, until Flynn Rider got involved.

"You didn’t think I'd let your birthday pass without a little excitement, did you?" Flynn grinned, leaning casually against your doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His signature smirk was firmly in place, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that immediately put you on high alert.

"Flynn," you sighed, raising a suspicious brow. "What did you do?"

"Do? Me?" He feigned offense, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. "I am a completely innocent, upstanding citizen now, remember?"

You gave him a look.

"Okay, okay," he laughed, pushing off the doorway and taking your hand. "Just trust me. I’ve got something amazing planned."

You let him lead you through the winding streets of Corona, dodging bustling merchants and cheerful townsfolk. Eventually, you reached the docks, where a small boat was tied up, a picnic basket sitting neatly inside.

"A boat ride?" You tilted your head, pleasantly surprised.

"Not just any boat ride," Flynn said, helping you in with a dramatic bow. "A birthday adventure."

With a few skilled movements, he pushed the boat off from the dock and guided it down the river. The sun was beginning to set, casting golden hues across the water. The moment felt peaceful, almost dreamlike.

"You really didn’t have to do all this," you murmured, watching as he pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and two glasses.

Flynn shrugged. "I wanted to. You deserve something special."

Your heart warmed at his words, but before you could respond, the boat jolted—suddenly and violently. Flynn nearly dropped the glasses as water splashed over the side.

"Uh-oh." His eyes widened as he looked over the edge.

"Flynn, what was that?" you asked, gripping the sides of the boat.

"Funny story," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I may or may not have borrowed—fine, fine, stolen—this boat from some less-than-friendly traders, and they may or may not have caught on."

"Flynn!" you groaned.

"Okay, but in my defense, it was just sitting there!"

Before you could argue further, voices shouted from the riverbank. A group of burly men stood there, shaking their fists.

"There he is! Get 'im!"

Flynn flashed you a sheepish grin. "So, how do you feel about swimming on your birthday?"

With a resigned sigh, you kicked off your shoes. "I knew I should’ve stayed in bed."

Hand in hand, you and Flynn leapt overboard, laughing as the cool water enveloped you. The traders' shouts faded as you swam toward the opposite shore, drenched but exhilarated.

When you finally made it to land, Flynn collapsed onto the grass, grinning up at the sky. "Well, that was fun."

"You are the worst birthday planner," you huffed, wringing water from your clothes.

"Maybe," he admitted, rolling onto his side to face you. "But, hey, you have to admit—it was memorable."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, yeah. I guess it was."

Flynn reached into his soaked vest and, to your surprise, pulled out a small but soaked, velvet-wrapped bundle. "Still managed to save this, though."

Curious, you took it from him, unwrapping the fabric to reveal a delicate, golden charm bracelet. Tiny engravings of lanterns, suns, and stars dangled from it, glimmering in the dimming light.

Your breath caught. "Flynn…"

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," he said softly, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. "Even if it wasn’t perfect, I hope it was at least… special."

You smiled, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "It was perfect. You’re perfect."

Flynn smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "I do try."

With an exasperated laugh, you flopped back onto the grass beside him, staring up at the night sky. Maybe it hadn’t been the peaceful birthday you imagined, but with Flynn by your side, it was definitely one you’d never forget.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Author's note: So, plot twist, this is a gift for my friend. you know who you are. Did I tell her I was doing this? Nope. Happy Birthday to her.