#tw infantilization

Your eye twitched in annoyance as he hit the villain with several blasts of darkness.

Nightfall's powers were the opposite of yours; he could form anything out of darkness and disappear into the shadows like nothing. Umbrakinesis, you're pretty sure was what it was called.

His powers also didn't have even half of the negative effects yours had on you.

What annoyed you most about this man wasn't the envy you had over his powers—it was the fact this man was a villain, and a villain who had the audacity to act like some kind of know-it-all dad.

He refused to hurt you. You'd honestly prefer if he did over the way he'd gently scold you for doing your job. As if he cared about you, or even knew you.

You sighed and launched another beam of light, the villain knocking over another car as he tried to dodge the attack.

"Why are you helping me?" you asked through gritted teeth.

A tendril of darkness curled around you and yanked you away from the villain's next punch. It carefully set you down further away.

"I'm against children getting hurt, including ones playing dress-up and pretend."

"For the last time! I am not a fucking kid!" You used your anger to shoot a larger blast towards the rock-villain. It made direct contact, and he slumped to the ground with a groan.

You leaned against a wall and took deep breaths, feeling the migraine setting in.

"I'm not a child," you repeated weakly.

Nightfall sighed. "Could've fooled me." He didn't sound like his usual smug, teasing-self. Now he just sounded exasperated and worried. "Sit down. You're injured."

"Don't need your help," you grumbled.

A shadow curled around your leg and tugged you down to the ground. "Humor me."

You huffed and sat against the wall, trying to blink away the fuzziness.

"Oh, honey," he whispered, so quietly that you couldn't hear it over the ringing in your ears. He took off his coat, ripping at the sleeve.

"What're you doing?" you practically slurred.

He ignored you and tied the makeshift bandage around your arm. Your suit had been torn during the fight, and you hadn't even noticed you were bleeding. The pain felt numb, distant, like everything else around you.

You felt yourself being lifted, cradled against his chest. You peered up. Despite your blurry vision, you could see his dark purple mask. Even if it hid his expression, you didn't need to see it. You knew he was concerned and pissed off.

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

"Nightfall!" a nearby, familiar voice yelled.

Even through your sleepiness, the voice made you jolt. You looked over to see your mentor, Smolder. His power was the ability to create and control fire. He was a top-hero, and he was the one who taught you how to fight and control your powers.

"Smolder," Nightfall said coolly. "Seems you're a little late. It feels as if I'm playing hero more than you as of lately."

You wiggled in his arms, but his grip tightened. "Put me down," you said, your head swimming.

"Shh, just rest. You've done enough," he murmured.

Smolder stepped forward, flames curling around his fingers. "Give me Prism."

Nightfall let out an annoyed huff. "I think you're just intimidated that I obviously care about their safety more than you. But very well." He carefully set you down on the ground.

You stumbled towards Smolder, your legs shaking. "H-hey, thanks for showing up—"

Smolder gripped your shoulder tightly, making you wince. "Get in the damn car, Prism." As you struggled to get in, Smolder glared back at Nightfall. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you need to back off. And stay away from my protégé."

Nightfall tilted his head. "Funny. I'm not the one who lets them get injured."

Just as Smolder lunged forward to grab Nightfall, the villain disappeared into thin air.

...

It took you a few days to heal, and although you wouldn't say you were anywhere close to being fully recovered, you were well enough to return to the agency.

There had been an anonymous tip to you, that there was suspicious activity coming from a warehouse down by the docks. It was probably a trap, but you decided to check it out anyways. You didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt.

And besides, you were itching for some action.

You crept into the warehouse, looking around. It was dark, save for a few scattered, dim lights here and there. Crates were stacked high, and there was a faint smell of sea water and mold in the air.

You held your hand out, a small ball of light forming in your palm to illuminate your surroundings.

There was nothing. No sounds, no people. You were about to leave, when something shifted behind you. You spun around and raised your other hand, ready to fire a blast.

You froze when you saw who it was.

Standing there, just a few feet away from you, was Nightfall. He was wearing his dark suit, his hands in his pockets.

"Great, it's you," you dryly said.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards. "Good to see you too, Prism. How's the arm?"

"What do you want?" you snapped. "And don't play coy, I know you're the one who tipped me off."

He hummed and took a step closer. "I'll admit, I wasn't sure if you'd come. I figured you'd be smarter than that. Do you blindly obey every anonymous tip you get?"

"No. But I wasn't just gonna ignore it and hope no one gets hurt. What the fuck do you want, Nightfall?"

He took another step forward. You tensed, feeling a little more nervous. His powers were the only thing that could counter yours. And in a place this dark, he was practically at his best.

"I'm simply trying to have a little chat with you. I'm concerned."

You raised an eyebrow. "You barely know me. Why the hell would you be concerned?"

He chuckled and crossed his arms. "Is that what you think? That I don't know you?"

You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know more than you think I do, [Name]."

You took a step back, raising both your hands, ready to fire. "Okay, what the fuck—how the hell do you know my real name?"

"I know a lot of things. I know you spend long nights alone in your apartment, staring at the wall and wondering if anyone actually cares about you. I know you've been skipping meals, not getting enough sleep. I know you've been having migraines so bad you can't even open your eyes without feeling nauseous."

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer.

"Your "best friend" is your coworker, Whirlwind—also known as Ivy Floris. Did you know she talks badly about you behind your back?" He circled you like a vulture. "Your birthday is in two weeks. No one will do anything for you. You'd be lucky if anyone even remembered, including your mentor and supposed best friend."

You didn't want to admit it, but he was right. It was like he'd been watching you. And it scared you. It scared you more than any fight you'd been in before.

"Stop," you whispered.

But he didn't. In fact, he began speaking with even more conviction. "Your favorite color is [favorite color], your favorite animal is [favorite animal], and your favorite food is [favorite food]. You love [favorite hobby], but you don't have time for it because your job keeps you too busy—"

"Shut up!" you yelled, firing a blast.

Nightfall sighed and waved a hand, the blast absorbed into the darkness. "You're so worked up. It's sad, really. All you want is to be loved. Taken care of. You want someone to tell you it's okay to rest. Or someone to at least acknowledge all your hard work and tell you they're proud of you."

Tears were pricking your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I don't need someone telling me that! I don't need anyone to take care of me—I'm a hero! My job is to take care of others!"

He sighed deeply and lifted a gloved hand. Your breath hitched once again as he took off his mask.

Nightfall looked pretty average—short auburn hair, gray eyes, and an aquiline nose. The only thing that seemed striking were the dark circles under his eyes.

He gently tucked his mask into his pocket before holding out his arms to you. "Come on. Come here. It's okay, I promise."

But you couldn't. You were frozen in a mixture of fear and confusion. If he were Smolder, you would've jumped at the opportunity, but the fact of the matter was, this guy is not Smolder. You couldn't pretend otherwise.

"You're insane," you finally said. "I'm leaving."

You turned away and stormed off, but stopped in your tracks when the shadows shifted in front of you, creating a black wall.

"You're not leaving, kiddo," he said softly.

"Don't call me that!" You turned around and fired another blast, your eyes burning. You felt so tired, so drained. And the attack barely left your hand before it was swallowed up.

Nightfall looked you over with a sad expression, before sighing. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you? Stubborn little thing."

"Fuck off!"

His eyes turned darker. "Watch your mouth. I'm trying to help you."

You almost choked on a laugh. "Help me? You're a villain, how the fuck are you helping me?!"

"I'm giving you an out. I'm giving you a life where you don't have to put yourself in danger. Where you don't have to hurt yourself to help others." He gestured towards you, his expression softening once more. "I can give you the life you want, honey. You don't have to be a hero anymore. You can just... be a kid."

It almost sounded like a good offer. The thought of not having to be responsible for everyone's lives, not having to use your powers... it was tempting. But you couldn't do it. You couldn't give up being a hero. It was all you'd ever wanted.

"No," you said firmly. "I'm not going with you."

He shrugged, a small smile on his face. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

And then, the floor opened up beneath you, and you screamed as you fell through the darkness.

...

When you woke up, you were in a bed.

You jolted up and looked around, panic rising as you realized you weren't in your room.

The room was large yet cozy, the walls painted a light shade of your favorite color. A large window was to your left, sunlight streaming in. You were in a soft bed, with a dark blue blanket draped over you. There was a white dresser in the corner, and a door that led to the bathroom. It looked like a room for a teenager, but it definitely wasn't yours.

What the fuck happened?

You pushed the blankets off and swung your legs off the bed, standing up. You felt a little dizzy, but not too bad. You glanced down and saw you were wearing a white t-shirt and black pajama pants.

You quickly stumbled to the door and tried to open it, only to find it was locked. You rushed to the window and tried to pull it open, but it was also locked. You lifted your hand to form a blast of energy, only for nothing to come out.

You stared at your hand in horror. No. No, no, no—

The door unlocked, and you spun around. Nightfall walked in, wearing casual clothes and a soft smile. You almost forgot this was Nightfall, so used to seeing him in his mask.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"What did you do to me?!" you yelled, your voice shaking. "What did you do to my powers?!"

He held up his hands in a placating manner. "Calm down, [Name]. I didn't take them away, I promise. But I had to do something to keep you from hurting yourself. Or me." He lifted his hand and made a gesture to his own wrist.

You stared in confusion, then looked down at your wrist. There was a bulky bracelet—almost a cuff—attached to your right wrist. It looked sleek and dark. It was slightly heavy. You supposed it was the adrenaline that prevented you from noticing it immediately.

"This will dampen your powers. It won't completely get rid of them, but it'll prevent you from doing anything too drastic. Like, I don't know, blowing up my house?"

You glared at him, tugging at the cuff. "Take it off."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think I will. At least, not until I can be sure I can trust you."

"Trust me? You're the one who kidnapped me, you son of a bitch!"

"Language."

You sneered and tried to tackle him, only for him to effortlessly restrain you in the shadowy tendrils again.

"Okay, let's try this again," he gently said. "My name is Anton Jurkowski, also known as Nightfall. But you can call me Anton or dad."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Dad? Are you out of your mind?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. But I'm serious, [Name]. I want to take care of you. I want you to be safe. And I can't do that if you're out there fighting villains and hurting yourself."

"I'm a hero, it's my job to fight villains!"

"Well, not anymore. You're retired." He gently patted your head. "And I'll make sure you never have to go back to that life again."

You were so angry, you could barely see straight. This man, this villain, was trying to take away your life's work, your dream, all because he thought he knew better. You wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out. But the damn cuff on your wrist prevented you from doing any real damage.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Lashing out wouldn't help. You needed to be smart about this.

"Okay," you said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "I understand you're worried about me. But you can't just keep me here. People will notice I'm missing."

"What if I told you after I brought you to your new home, I detonated a bomb in the warehouse? The place where your suit and its tracker were last?"

You froze. Oh, fuck.

"Don't worry," he assured you. "No one was hurt. And everyone is convinced you died in the explosion."

You felt dizzy, and you suddenly wanted to throw up. "You... you made everyone think I'm dead?"

He nodded. "It was the only way, kiddo. I'm sorry."

You sat back on the bed, trying to process everything. This couldn't be happening. There was no way.

But it was. Anton was standing there, looking at you with such a soft expression, as if he wasn't the reason your life had just been turned upside down.

"Why me?" you quietly asked. "I don't understand..."

The shadows around you unfurled, and he sat beside you on the bed. "It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I've had my eye on you for a while. You were so young when you first debuted, and I couldn't believe the agency was letting a kid become a hero. I became your 'arch-nemesis' so I could keep an eye on you, and make sure you didn't get hurt. But the more I watched, the more I realized just how much you were struggling."

He shook his head, his expression turning angry.

"You're so sweet, and kind, and... the thought of you losing that spark, thanks to the trauma heroes deal with regularly... the thought broke my heart," he confessed.

"And you don't think getting kidnapped and having my death faked isn't traumatic?" you snidely remarked.

He winced and looked away, shame crossing his face. "I'm... aware of the irony. But at least here, you're safe. You don't have to worry about getting hurt, or having to hurt others. You can just... live."

You didn't know what to say to that.

At your silence, he added, "Of course I'm doing this for selfish reasons too, I won't deny that. I always wanted kids of my own, but the villain life isn't exactly conducive to raising them. When I saw you, I just... couldn't let you go. I wanted to keep you safe, to take care of you."

You stared at him, trying to see if he was lying, but you couldn't find any trace of deception. He genuinely believed he was doing the right thing.

You were in shock. You wanted to go home. You wanted your old life back. But as you looked at the man sitting beside you, you realized that wasn't going to happen.

He was going to keep you here, whether you liked it or not.

But you wouldn't give up. If demanding and yelling wouldn't work, maybe genuine pleading would.

You grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt, making him look back at you. "Please," you whispered. "Please, let me go. I promise, I'll be careful. I won't push myself too hard. Just... don't keep me here."

He looked at you with such pity. It made your heart ache.

"I can't do that, honey. I'm sorry." He gently patted your head. "I know this is a lot to take in. But I promise, I'll make you happy here. You'll see."

You could feel the tears finally falling down your cheeks. "I hate you."

His expression fell a little, but he nodded in acceptance. "I know. But I'll love you enough for the both of us."

...

A day after that, you were allowed to leave your room.

"Your room isn't a prison, it's just a place to sleep," Anton had assured you. "As long as you behave, you can go anywhere in the house, except my office or the basement. Okay?"

He had given you a tour, showing you the living room, kitchen, and the backyard. It was a nice house, you had to admit. It was big and spacious, with lots of natural light and comfortable furniture. It was like something out of a magazine. If you weren't being held captive, you might've actually liked it.

There were no neighbors around for miles. The house was in a remote location, surrounded by trees and hills. You had no idea where you were, and you had no way of finding out. You didn't have a phone, and the cuff on your wrist prevented you from using your powers to even signal for help.

You were stuck.

After the tour, Anton sat you down at the kitchen table and gave you some breakfast. It was simple, just some scrambled eggs and toast, but it was still better than what you usually ate. You had to admit, he could cook.

He sat across from you, sipping his coffee and watching you eat. You tried to ignore him, focusing on your food, but it was hard.

"So, what do you want to do today?" he asked.

You huffed. "What can I even do? I have no phone, can't use my powers, and there's no one for several miles out here."

"There's me," he said, offering a soft smile.

You rolled your eyes and stabbed your eggs with your fork. "Great. My kidnapper is my only source of entertainment."

He chuckled. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. Maybe we can watch a movie, or play a board game. Or we could go for a walk in the woods."

He sounded so excited, like a dad trying to connect with his estranged child. It would have been almost endearing if the circumstances were different.

You sighed. "Fine. A walk, I guess." At least that'd give you the opportunity to map the area out a bit.

He beamed and stood up. "Great! Let's finish up breakfast and head out."

...

The walk was nice, but it was also frustrating.

Anton kept trying to make small talk, asking you about your favorite movies and music. You gave him short, clipped answers, not in the mood to humor him. He didn't seem offended, though. He just kept talking, telling you about his own interests and hobbies.

"Oh, look at that," he said, pointing to a small stream. "We could go fishing here, if you'd like. Or maybe have a picnic. Would you like that?"

You shrugged, not really paying attention. You were too busy trying to memorize your surroundings, looking for any possible escape routes. But the more you looked, the more hopeless you felt. You were in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where you were or how to get back to civilization.

Anton noticed your distraction and sighed. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

"No," you bluntly said.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you're angry with me, but I'm trying here. The least you could do is meet me halfway."

"Why?" you snapped. "So you can feel better about kidnapping me?"

He frowned. "No. I just... I want to get to know you. I want to bond with you. Please, just give me something to work with here."

Maybe if he gained more trust in you, you could get this stupid bracelet off quicker. Just a little bit of your pride would have to be sacrificed.

You sighed and rubbed your face. "You seem to know me a lot more than I know you. I think I'd rather ask you questions." Your own sentence sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't believe this guy was stalking you.

He perked up. "Okay. Ask me anything."

"Why did you become a villain?"

He blinked, as if not expecting the question. "Oh. Well... I've always had this power, ever since I was a kid. But when I started using it more, I realized I could do things no one else could. I could help people, but in a way that most wouldn't agree with. I guess I just... like the freedom of being a villain. I don't have to answer to anyone."

That wasn't a bad answer, honestly. You could understand where he was coming from.

"What about you?" he asked. "Why did you become a hero?"

You shrugged. "I have these powers. I owe it to the world to help people with them."

He shook his head. "That's a terrible reason. You shouldn't be putting yourself in danger just because you feel like you have to."

"It's my choice," you argued. "And it's what I want."

He sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter now. You're not a hero anymore."

You gritted your teeth, but didn't respond.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent. You asked him a few more questions, but the conversation was strained. You knew he was trying, but you just couldn't bring yourself to care.

Eventually, he led you back to the house. It was almost sunset, and you were tired from the day. All you wanted was to take a shower and go to sleep.

But Anton had other plans.

"We should celebrate your first day here," he said, as you entered the kitchen. "We could have a nice dinner, maybe watch a movie together."

You sighed. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Nonsense," he said, already going to the fridge. "I'll make us something nice. You go take a shower and relax. I'll call you when it's ready."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you a look that told you he wasn't going to take no for an answer. You grumbled and trudged up the stairs to your room.

After taking a shower and changing into fresh clothes, you laid down on your bed and stared at the ceiling. You felt exhausted, mentally and emotionally. You wanted to go home. You wanted your life back.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon.

You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but you couldn't. Your mind was racing, thinking about everything that had happened and what you were going to do. You were stuck here, with a man who claimed to care about you, but had taken away your freedom.

After what felt like hours, there was a knock on your door.

"Dinner's ready," Anton called out.

You reluctantly got up and opened the door. Anton was standing there, wearing an apron and a bright smile. You rolled your eyes and followed him to the dining room.

The dinner was nothing special, just some spaghetti and garlic bread. But it tasted better than the meals you'd been making for yourself. You ate in silence, not really in the mood for conversation.

Afterwards, he insisted on watching a movie. You sat on the couch, as far away from him as possible, while he put on some cheesy action film.

About halfway through, you felt your eyes getting heavy. You tried to fight it, not wanting to fall asleep around him, but it was no use. You were exhausted.

You didn't even notice when your head fell onto his shoulder, or when he carefully wrapped an arm around you. You were too far gone in your dreams to care.

...

A whole month passed. You and Anton had settled into a routine, as weird as it was. He'd make breakfast, you'd go for a walk or do some chores around the house, have lunch, and then spend the rest of the day however you wanted. Sometimes he'd make dinner, other times you'd have leftovers.

He was always trying to get you to talk to him, to open up. You resisted at first, but eventually, you found yourself actually engaging in conversations with him. It was... nice, in a way. He was easy to talk to, and he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

But you still wanted to go home.

You boredly watched him from the lawn chair outside as he watered the flowers. He was humming to himself, looking completely content. It was so strange seeing how different he was from Nightfall, like two separate people completely.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, not looking at you.

You blinked, surprised he knew you were watching. "Nothing. Just... how different you are from your villain persona."

He chuckled. "Well, Nightfall is a character, more or less. I have to put on a show, keep up appearances. But this," he gestured to himself, "this is who I really am."

You judgmentally looked him up and down. "A clingy, emotionally unstable old man with bad taste in fashion?"

He shot you a playful glare. "Hey, I'll have you know my fashion sense is impeccable. And I'm not old."

"Not denying the 'clingy, emotionally unstable' part?"

He smiled sheepishly and turned back to his flowers. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you."

You smirked, but it quickly fell as you thought about the situation you were in. You stared up at the sky, bored once again.

Your boredom was interrupted by the sound of ringing.

Anton took his phone out and cursed under his breath. "Dad's gotta take this, okay? Wanna take over hose duty? Might give you something to do." He lifted the hose as an offering.

Was he really willing to leave you outside? He really trusted you not to run?

You shrugged. "Sure. Go take your stupid call."

He handed you the hose and walked inside, already talking to whoever was on the other line. You could barely hear him from here.

You sighed and started watering the flowers. It was mindless work, but it really was something to do. You looked around the yard, seeing the high fence surrounding the property. Even if you wanted to make a break for it, you wouldn't get very far.

You stopped watering and went to the fence, peering through the slats. Nothing but trees for miles. You were truly isolated out here.

But maybe if you just could get this stupid cuff off of you...

You looked around. Maybe there'd be something outside to break it with. You weren't really sure what would work. The cuff seemed pretty sturdy. But you had to try something.

You quietly made your way around the yard, checking every nook and cranny. There was nothing that seemed useful. Even all the rocks weren't big enough to do any actual damage.

But then you spotted the shed.

It was small, but it might have something inside. You quickly made your way to it, trying the handle. It was unlocked. You quietly opened it and looked inside.

There were tools. Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches. Maybe you could use one of them to break the cuff. It was worth a shot.

You reached for a hammer, just as the door to the house opened. You quickly shut the shed door and turned around, trying to look as casual as possible.

Anton walked towards you with a frown. "What were you doing?"

"Just, uh, checking out the shed," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Wanted to see if there was anything interesting in there."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Really. And what did you find?"

"Nothing, really. Just some tools."

He hummed, not looking convinced. "Well, come on inside. I'll make us some lunch."

You nodded and followed him, trying to hide your disappointment. So close.

...

Another day passed, but all you could think about was the shed.

You wanted to get in there, to find something that could help you get the cuff off. But Anton was always around, always watching you. It was like he knew what you were planning.

But you had to try. You couldn't just sit here and accept your fate.

That night, after Anton had gone to bed, you quietly snuck out of your room and made your way downstairs.

You crept to the back door, slowly opening it. You winced at the slight creak it made, but continued on. You quickly made your way to the shed, praying he didn't have cameras out here.

The crickets were chirping loudly. You hoped it'd cover up the noise you were about to make.

As you made your way to the shed, your face fell when you saw the door had a lock on it that had definitely not been there before.

Of course he would've locked it. He wasn't an idiot.

The bastard had noticed, smiled at you over lunch, and then quietly changed things the second your back was turned.

You tried to remember what hero training had taught you.

Observe and assess the situation before acting.

You circled around the shed, looking for any weak spots or windows.

There was a broken window on the side, but it was too high for you to reach, barely large enough to crawl through. You looked around for something to stand on. There was the small table by the lawn chairs. You quietly dragged it over.

Once it was in position, you climbed on top of it and reached for the window. You winced as the broken glass cut your hand, but you muffled a cry by biting your tongue.

You carefully pulled yourself through, trying not to cut yourself further. You ended up tumbling into the shed, hitting the floor with a thud. You groaned and sat up, checking yourself for injuries. Your whole arm was already beginning to bleed, but nowhere else had taken any damage. It hurt, but you had faced much worse before.

You stood up and looked around. It was dark, but you could make out some shapes. You made your way to the workbench and fumbled around, looking for anything that could help.

You found a heavy wrench and gripped it tightly. This could work.

You placed your wrist on the workbench. You took a deep breath, then brought the wrench down on the cuff as hard as you could.

The sound of metal on metal was deafening in the silence. You cringed and hit it again, and again, each time wincing at the noise.

Come on, come on...

On the fifth hit, the cuff finally cracked. You let out a sigh of relief and hit it one more time, the cuff falling off your wrist.

You quickly stood up and threw the wrench aside, feeling a surge of power run through you. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until it was gone.

There was no more time to waste. You blasted a hole through the wall. Normally your powers were dimmed at nighttime or in darker spaces, but it was as if not using your powers for such a long period of time had strengthened them.

You climbed through the newly-made hole and ran. You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get away from here.

Noise was the last concern of yours now. You blasted another hole through the fence, running through it. The trees were dark and intimidating, but you didn't care. You just had to get away.

As you were running, you heard a distant shout. Anton had woken up. You pushed yourself harder, ignoring the burning in your lungs. You couldn't let him catch you. You wouldn't go back.

You didn't dare stop, but slowed only slightly to look up. There were no planes as far as you could see. No convenient heroes flying overhead.

Your legs were sore, your body aching. You'd forgotten how hard it was to run this much, especially in bare feet.

Looking up while running was apparently a horrible idea, because you tumbled down a hill, rolling in dirt and leaves. You grunted as you hit the bottom, your vision spinning.

You stood back up and blinked the dizziness away. You were deep in the foliage. There was a nearby shallow creek and several trees scattered around.

On top of everything, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. You leaned against a nearby tree to regain your breath.

"[NAME]!"

Anton's voice was still fairly far away, but you knew you had no time to spare. As soon as he sees you, all it'd take is one snap of his fingers and his shadows could easily bind you.

You wanted to flash your light at the sky to get anyone's attention, but you feared that'd just give your spot up to Anton even quicker.

The only other thing you could do was hide.

You stumbled behind the largest tree and crouched down, trying to calm your breathing. You heard Anton get closer, calling your name. You covered your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle your heavy breaths.

"Do you know how much this is hurting me?" Anton sneered. You'd never heard him sound so angry, even when he was fronting as Nightfall. "I'm just trying to protect you! To keep you safe! And this is how you repay me?!"

You could hear his footsteps crunching on the leaves. You squeezed your eyes shut.

"Did you want to play hero again? Is that what this is?" He laughed, but it was humorless. "You're not a hero anymore! You're just a brat who doesn't know what's good for them!"

The sound of leaves crunching began getting unsettlingly close.

"They've already replaced you," he darkly continued. "Smolder's already got himself a new favorite protégé. Your 'best friend' did an interview and didn't even shed a tear for you. I bet they were less impacted than I am right now, just at the thought of you injured! And you still want to go back to them?!"

You could hear his footsteps stopping, just a few feet away from your hiding spot.

In a rage, he used his shadowy tendrils to grab a nearby tree, hauling it out of the ground. It crashed to the ground, echoing loudly in the forest.

For a moment, he was rooted in place, panting. He exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm not mad at you, baby. I'm just... I'm hurt. I'm hurt that you don't see how much I care about you. How much I love you."

You could hear his voice cracking. He was seriously crying.

"If you come out now, we'll just go home and talk. That's all. No punishment, no yelling. And you're hurt, aren't you? We'll take care of that, too. I'll try my hardest not to freak out. Wouldn't you like that?" He took a deep breath. "I love you. And no matter what, I'll always love you. But you're scaring me right now, [Name]. Please come out."

He went silent. He was waiting for you.

But you couldn't. You couldn't let him find you.

After a few moments, he sighed.

You thought that was it, that maybe he'd walk away.

"Alright, fine. Hard way it is, then."

You felt tendrils of darkness quickly creeping around the tree, grabbing you before you could even run. You gasped as they pulled you out of your hiding spot.

Anton stood there with a grim expression on his face. He was sweaty and disheveled, his clothes dirty. But his eyes were what scared you the most. They were dark and cold.

You lifted a hand at him and let a burst of light escape, hoping to get him away. It hit him directly in the chest, and he stumbled back with a grunt.

The tendrils around you dropped you, and you used the opportunity to run.

You could hear him behind you, yelling your name. You pushed yourself harder, ignoring the pain in your ankle and the exhaustion in your body.

But you were too slow.

You felt the shadows wrap around you again, this time tighter. They pulled you back, and you fell to the ground. You struggled against them, trying to break free, but it was no use.

Anton stood over you, breathing heavily. He had a hand over his chest, where you had hit him. You could see the burn mark on his shirt. You felt a sliver of satisfaction at that, but it quickly faded when you saw the look on his face.

He was angry. No, not just angry. He was furious.

"[Name] Jurkowski, you are in so much trouble," he hissed.

You didn't even have time to express distaste at the shared surname before the shadows dragged you back to the house. You noticed he was still careful not to hurt you, even though he was clearly pissed.

When you got back, he slammed the back door shut and threw you onto the couch. He stood over you, his eyes blazing.

"Stay there," he ordered.

You wanted to fight, to run, but a shadow kept you tethered in place. You could fight it, but you didn't think it'd be worth the risk right now.

Anton disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with a first-aid kit. He roughly grabbed your arm and started cleaning the cuts you had gotten from the window. It stung, but you didn't show it.

You refused to look at him, staring at the wall instead. You were angry, but you were also scared. You had never seen him like this before.

Once he was done, he wrapped your arm in bandages and moved on to your ankle. It was swollen and bruised. He gently touched it, making you wince.

"You sprained it," he said coldly.

You didn't respond. You just wanted this to be over.

He wrapped your ankle and stood up, crossing his arms. "Now. What am I going to do with you?"

You finally looked at him with a glare. "Let me go."

He laughed, but it was bitter. "Oh, no. That's not happening. You've proven that I can't trust you." A shadow slithered across the wall and came back with a cuff like the last one, but it looked almost twice as bulky. You stared at it with wide eyes. "This," he said, holding it up, "is one of the prototypes. Less comfortable, but just as effective."

You tried to scoot away, but the shadow kept you in place. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. You brought this on yourself." He sat down beside you and roughly grabbed your uninjured wrist, locking the cuff around your wrist.

It was just as heavy as it looked.

"There," Anton said, his voice still cold. "Now you can't go around hurting yourself or others."

You slumped in defeat. You were back to square one. No, worse than square one. Now he was mad at you. And you had no idea what he was going to do.

He sighed and rubbed his face. "Why did you run?"

"Because I want to go home!" you yelled. "I want my life back!"

Anton gave you a glare, then grabbed the remote to the TV.

Almost immediately, you were met with the news.

"Tonight we have a special segment on the new hero that's been making waves," the news anchor said, and your heart sank when you saw Smolder.

He looked different than when you saw him last. He was wearing a new suit, and he had a cocky grin on his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

But it was someone else that was next to him. A younger kid with bright blonde hair and a flashy suit. They looked excited to be standing next to their new mentor.

"Smolder," the reporter said, "how does it feel to have a new sidekick so soon after losing Prism?"

"Prism was never my sidekick, just a student," Smolder quickly corrected. "And of course we will all miss Prism, but we're heroes. Loss is simply... part of the job."

The reporter nodded. "And what about the rumors that you were planning on retiring Prism before their unfortunate demise?"

Smolder waved it off. "Those are just rumors. And who cares about that now? We have a new hero to focus on!" He placed his hand on the kid's shoulder. "This is the future. Don't worry about the past."

You felt like you were going to be sick. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Anton wasn't lying. Smolder, the man you had trusted, was just... moving on. Like you meant nothing to him. And you knew that kid was going to be pushed to their limits, forced to grow up too fast, just like you were.

And Ivy... did she really not care that you were gone? Was the friendship you thought you had just a lie?

Anton turned off the TV, making you look at him. He was no longer angry, but he looked tired and sad.

"See?" he said softly. "They don't care about you like I do. They never did. You were just a tool to them."

You wanted to argue, to defend them. But how could you? The evidence was right there. They had moved on, just like he said they would.

"I don't care if they've moved on," you said, but your wavering voice said otherwise. "I don't care if they're celebrating my death! I don't care if everyone in the world thinks I'm the easiest person to hate, I still don't want to be here!"

He sighed and shook his head. "You're too stubborn for your own good." He stood up, grabbing a towel and change of clothing with his shadows's assistance. "Here's what's gonna happen, kiddo; you're gonna clean up, put on these change of clothes, and meet me back here. Can I trust you to do that without trying to escape again?"

You looked away and nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Good. And one more thing," he said, making you look back at him. "I love you. And I'm not giving up on you. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

For a moment, you were frozen. You stared at the floor, and he didn't shoo you away. He only stared at you.

You finally shuffled to the bathroom. Your ankle still throbbed, but the pain was much better than before.

You took a quick shower, trying to ignore the sting of the water on your cuts. Once you were done, you changed into the clothes Anton had given you—a simple t-shirt and shorts.

When you came back, Anton was on the couch, waiting with crossed arms.

He didn't need to make any gestures or movements. You stood in front of him, avoiding his gaze.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

You blinked back tears and finally looked at him. "I don't know."

"I'm not mad at you," he gently said. "I'm just disappointed. And worried. You could've gotten seriously hurt. What would I have done if you died, [Name]?"

You bit your lip and looked away. "I've been through way worse."

"That's exactly my point. You shouldn't have gone through that in the first place." He gestured to the couch. "C'mere."

You hesitantly sat next to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. You tensed, but didn't fight him.

"You're safe here," he whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Not even yourself. And I'll do everything I can to make you happy here. But I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that for me?" He felt you nod against him. "Good. Then you should understand what happens next."

"...what do you mean?" You pulled back with wide eyes.

He sighed and stood up. "Follow me."

Half of you was tempted to run and fight again, but you knew it was useless. You just tiredly followed him to a door that you had always overlooked before, at the end of the hall. Anton took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. You peeked inside, expecting to see a dark room out of a horror movie.

Instead, it was a small room—half the size of your room—with nothing but a mattress, a thin blanket, and a small bathroom attached. The walls and floor were stark white. The only light was from a dim lightbulb in the ceiling.

You turned to Anton with a horrified expression. "You're locking me in here?!"

"It's just a time-out room," he explained. "It breaks my heart to do this too, sweetie, but I can't just let you get away with what you did. I need you to understand that there are consequences to your actions."

You were speechless. You couldn't believe he was doing this.

"Please, don't do this," you begged. "I won't do it again, I promise."

He shushed you softly, guiding you in. "You'll still get three meals a day. I can give you any comfort items, but other than that, you..." He trailed off at the sight of you clutching your chest, breathing hard and sliding down against the wall. "Honey? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

You couldn't answer. You were too busy having a panic attack. Everything just hit you at once. You were trapped, your hero life was gone, no one was coming to save you. You were never going to see your friends again.

Anton kneeled down next to you. His expression was almost just as pained as yours. "Oh, baby, don't cry. It's okay, it's gonna be okay."

You shook your head and buried your face in your hands.

He ever-so-gently pried them away from your face. "Come here," he whispered, pulling you into a hug. "You're alright. I've got you. Dad's here."

His words only made you cry harder. You no longer fought as he pulled you into his lap and swayed the both of you gently. He guided your head to the crook of his neck, burying his nose against your hair.

"Just breathe," he whispered. "Dad's got you, kiddo. Just breathe."

You tried to do as he said, focusing on his breathing.

He kissed the side of your head. "There we go, that's it. You're doing such a good job, I'm so proud of you. In for four, hold for four, out for four..." He guided you through the breathing exercise until your chest stopped heaving. He pulled back and wiped your tears away. "Oh, [Name]..."

"Please don't do this," you begged. "Please, Dad. I'll be good. I'll never run away again, I'll never disobey you again..." You desperately leaned into his hand and squeezed your eyes shut. You could already feel another panic attack coming on.

He pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. He hugged you again, pressing a few more kisses to your hair. "I can't do that, sweetie. I want to, believe me, I do, but I can't. You need to learn."

You shook your head and clutched onto his shirt. "I promise, I promise I'll learn. Please, please, I can't stay in here—"

"Shh, it's alright. Just for a week, okay?"

"Just?!"

"And we'll see from there." He pulled back again, and you were once again met with a sad smile. "I know you hate me right now. But I do love you. And I'll see you in a week." He stood up, and you reached for him, almost instinctually. He took your hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're safe, baby. I'll be right in the house. I'll bring you your meals. Just take this time to think, okay?"

You opened and closed your mouth. "Can... can you at least stay for a few minutes? I—please..." You couldn't believe you were begging to spend time with your kidnapper. You felt pathetic.

He was quick to nod and sit on the mattress, beckoning you to sit beside him.

You sat next to him, your hands trembling. He took them in his and gently rubbed them.

"Would you like me to talk to you?" he asked. "Or would you rather I be quiet?"

You shrugged. "I don't know."

"That's okay. I'll stay as long as you need, okay? I won't leave you like this."

You nodded and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around you and held you close.

You felt so small. So powerless. You hated it.

But for now, you just wanted to be held.

So you let him.

...

The first day was the worst.

You refused to eat, refused to do anything but sit on the mattress and stare at the wall. Anton tried to coax you into eating, but you ignored him. He sighed and left the food there, saying he'd be back later.

You didn't touch it.

The second day was a little better. You were bored out of your mind, so you actually ate the food. It was cold, but you didn't care.

Anton seemed relieved that you ate. He asked you if you needed anything else, but you just shook your head. He nodded and left.

The third day, you were starting to go stir-crazy. You paced the room, tried to do some exercises, anything to pass the time. It was miserable.

On the fourth day, you finally broke down and asked Anton to bring you something to do. He only sadly shook his head and said this was the point of the time-out. You cursed at him and told him to go away.

On the fifth day, you apologized. He didn't respond—he tried to avoid giving more than one or two words each time he came in—but you could see the pain in his eyes.

You were going crazy in this small white room. So crazy that you missed him so much.

The first few days you tried to deny it. But you couldn't anymore. You missed his hugs and his voice. You missed the way he'd gently pat your head or scratch your back. You missed feeling loved.

What if he hated you after this? Would he stop giving you affection? Would he be distant? Would he let you go?

Wait, shouldn't you have wanted the opposite? Wouldn't it be better if he hated you and let you go?

You didn't know what you wanted anymore. All you knew was that you were miserable.

On the sixth day, you saw the camera. It was placed only to make sure you wouldn't hurt yourself, but there was a small area of space for your privacy's sake.

You didn't take advantage of that small pocket of space. Instead, you pleaded, sobbed, and begged the camera—the man behind it—to just let you out.

Unbeknownst to you, there were several times Anton nearly caved. He'd been watching you all day, noticing how your behavior had slowly changed as the days passed. But he had to be firm, for your own good. It'd all be worth it in the end.

But fuck, he was tempted to break the rules and wrap you up in a blanket and cuddle you to sleep.

On the seventh day, you didn't even move. You laid on the mattress, curled in a fetal position.

You just wanted this to be over. You wanted Anton. You couldn't even think of how humiliating this all was, it didn't even matter to you anymore. You didn't even have it in you to think about your hero days, the days that had felt so long ago. All you could think about was the present and future.

Anton was right. He was the only one in this world who seemed to love you.

If he hadn't known your death was staged, if he had been in Smolder's place, he'd be hysterical in grief. You knew it.

He went through so much just to keep you here. Wasn't that the most ultimate form of love? No one else would do half of what he's done for you.

You didn't even hear the door open. You didn't even realize the mattress had dipped.

"Hi, pumpkin."

You lifted your head and stared for a moment. It took you a moment to process Anton was really there. You quickly sat up and threw yourself into his arms, clinging to him.

He hugged you back tightly. "I'm here. I'm here, it's okay."

You sobbed into his shoulder, muttering apologizes between each cry.

"It's okay, I forgive you. It's over now. I promise."

"Please don't leave me," you begged. "I'll be good, I promise. I won't run away again. I'll do whatever you say. Just don't leave me."

He rubbed your back and kissed your hair. "I won't leave you, ever. You're stuck with me, remember?"

You nodded and held onto him tighter. Your whole body shook with the force of each sob. He rocked you gently, humming a soft tune. You didn't recognize it, but it was soothing.

After a while, your cries subsided to quiet hiccups. Anton pulled back and wiped your tears away.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered. "No more. Please, Dad."

The title wasn't thrown on to manipulate him this time.

You meant it.

He smiled softly and kissed your forehead. "I know. It's all over now. Let's go get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. How does that sound?"

You nodded, still sniffling. "Okay."

You barely paid attention to anything after that. Anton spoke, but you didn't register anything he said. You were too focused on being back in his arms and out of that damn room.

You took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, and changed into fresh clothes. Anton had prepared your favorite snack and drink for the movie.

You sat on the couch, Anton right next to you. He draped a blanket over the both of you and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was calm and steady, and it made you feel safe. You felt like you could finally relax.

He kissed the top of your head. "You okay?"

You didn't respond, only burying your head in his side and hugging him like a koala, much to his overjoyment.

Just a week ago, you would've thrown up at the thought of clinging to your kidnapper. Every movie night, you'd sit at the farthest end of the couch away from him. You'd argue, sneer, and throw insults at him.

Now you were snuggled up against him like a scared child. You didn't care anymore. You couldn't find the energy to even pretend to hate him.

He was all you had now. And you needed him.

You almost feel bad for a second before the unbearable heat draws you back to your current situation.

"No! I don't like this stupid nest or whatever," you huff, "I want to go out."

"That won't do," he clicks his tongue. "The nest can be fixed to your liking, but you can't go out. Not until you grow up."

"I am grown up!" you protest, waving your arms up.

"I'll believe that when you reach my size," he merely says.

Gah! Is he freaking insane?!

"I'll never be as big as you!" you groan, "You're a huge monster and I'm a tiny human!"

His gaze flickers unpleasantly at that.

"You definitely won't be able to go out until you learn to speak politely either."

You deflate at that, grumbling a little as you settled back down beside him.

...

He always brings your meals to the nest, handfeeding you meticulously.

You swear you'll go insane if you don't get any sense of autonomy.

"I can feed myself," you insist this time, reaching for the spoon in his hands.

He simply holds it out of your reach. "I'm already doing you a favor by not mouth-feeding you like tradition."

You blink, processing his words before grimacing.

"That's so gross," you groan, turning away.

He lets out a small chuckle at that. "I knew you'd think that. Now open up Крошка."

You begrudgingly listen, allowing him to feed you.

"If you're a good birdie, then we can slowly ease out of brooding," he offers. "But first you must address me as Папочка."

You tilt your head a little. "What?"

"Папочка," he repeats, "Come on, try it."

You attempt it, butchering it a few times before he nods approvingly.

"Okay, Папочка, can I hold my own spoon?" you attempt to use it in a sentence.

He freezes up for a second, eyes glowing brighter for a second before he nods, handing it over.

"Just this once Малыш."

You smile at your small victory. Did he just willingly give you his weakness? You have no idea what it means, but you'll keep in mind to call him that from now on.

You were on a strict diet with even stricter rules since your attempt that involved starving yourself while he left for a month to handle a very serious matter with the league. (Which meant cradling you in his arms while he force fed you blended up nutritional mush and medicine on a tight time schedule to help your body "recover" from the damage you dealt it.)

In hindsight, it really was a horrible lapse of judgment on your end. How did you think an alien with super hearing that has trained himself to zero in on your heartbeat wouldn't notice the drastic drop in it's rate after your body finally decided to give out and come crashing through the house to check on you? It was stupid but you were desperate at any chance at escape even if that meant taking yourself out in one of the most slow and miserable ways. It wasn't like there were many viable options at your disposal, to be fair.. Worry-wart Clark didn't allow anything potentially hazardous within a hundred yards of the house, including but not limited to cleaning supplies and sharp objects.(Yes even metal silverware made this list.) Running away or even trying to take the man out was not even a possibility for you, not when dealing with someone so overpowered and near indestructible .

At least it was YOUR choice, a stupid one, but yours. And that was something Clark would never let you have.

"M' not really feeling a movie tonight."

You tried to shift uncomfortably in his hold, completely over the pure humiliation of this whole…interaction, but it was useless. His muscular arms were like anchors, effortlessly keeping you in the exact position he wanted with little to no give. The Man Of literal Steel was too afraid that somehow you'd wriggle your way out from under and make a run for it. That thought was ridiculous enough to laugh at, but no so much that you thought it wasn't going through his mind.. Even if you had the energy to run, he'd have you pinned to the ground with the wind knocked out of you faster than you could even blink.

"Well, we can do something else as a reward for finishing dinner. Play a board-game, read some books together…"

No. None of that either. Clark didn't seem to get the memo, like always. It was kind of painful just how clueless he truly was when it came to this situation. Why would someone your age want to do anything tonight of this shit?

Luckily he was kind enough to allow you to have a nice bit of mobility in your neck, allowing you to turn away from him and focus on literally anything else as he went on about all the "fun" things you could do tonight.

You scanned the room in search for something, anything to dissociate with. It didn't take long at all, the little farmhouse was filled with all kinds of nicknacks and things that added to it's midwestern charm. Just over his shoulder was a small lamp that dimly illuminated the dining room. It rested on the corner of the kitchen counter, next to a small jar of cookies and a white vase with a bouquet of yellow flowers, his favorites. It was a very out of date decoration..maybe even a bit quirky, just like most things about the ol' house however it was still nice nonetheless. There was a painted fabric shade that was slightly discolored due to age and a porcelain sculpture attached to it's base. A little cowgirl playing with her best friend, a pretty brown pony.

You stared at it for a while, tracing every last detail with your pupils. You're sure that Martha, Clark's late mother, must've picked it out a long time ago. You couldn't imagine it catching Clark's eye, something about him didn't scream "interior decorator" to you.

The girl looked so happy…so carefree with her lovely horse. She could go anywhere with him, do anything without being bound to the confines of a traumatized man and his recently deceased mother's home. She didn't have to live in this hell.

Your jaw clenched as you thought more about the current state of your life. You envied that little girl. That should be you with your own damn horse, free to live your life the way you pleased.

He paused for a moment, his baby blue eyes resembling shining crystals softened with concern as he noticed your sudden boost in heart rate.

"Darlin'? Something wrong?"

Clark followed your far off gaze to the lamp. He wanted to understand you and your sudden shift in mood, so then maybe he could help you.

"Do you not like the lamp? It was my mother's but if it's somehow upsetting you I could—"

"No. It's pretty." You stated dryly

His head cocked to the side then raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh? Sorry. The rapid pace of your heart made me think you were upset with it. Did you see something else or have a bad thought? You know I am always here help you."

"No. Everything's fine."

Still confused and unsatisfied with your response, he pushed Further.

"You sure? The doctor and I don't want you to bottle things in anymore if it is somthing. No matter how small it is, you can tell me. You seem a little distant."

Your eyebrows knitted in frustration for a moment, peeved by his instance to not let things go. You shook your head, huffing out an annoyed response,

"Just a little envious of the girl on the lamp, that's all. She has a horse that can take her wherever she wants to go, whenever she wants…I dunno, I guess I want that too.. "

Clark let out a hearty chuckle then set the plastic spoon down on it's plate. He brought his thumb up to your cheek, it's slightly calloused pads rubbed gently in circles, "I see now. I know it's probably still hard to conceptualize for you but I can take your more places than any horse could dream of. We can go whatever you want, just tell me and I'll make time for it."

We. That wasn't what you meant. You didn't want to go anywhere with him. You wanted to be free from this and never come back to this farm ever again. Was it too much to want a friendly companion that couldn't suffocate you both literally and figuratively?

But how could someone who truly believed you loved him just as much as he did ever understand that?

You decided to shift the conversation knowing that it wouldn't go anymore in your favor.

"You must miss her a lot. Your mother, that is. You have a lot of her things still around the place."

Clark straigtening his back, pgave a soft, "Mhmm." , in response.

" Not just her, Paw's stuff is still lying about too. They would've loved you as much as I do. I hate that you won't ever get the chance to meet them.." His smile wavered as he thought but ultimately it remained. "It's been difficult however maybe things have a way of working out in the end. We found each other at our lowest. You saved me from myself and I was able to be the home that you needed."

“You complete me in so many ways and I don't know have I would've done if I lost you the other day." He carefully took your chin in his hand and turned you to face him again.

You noticed his face was now slightly more serious as you met his gaze, "I know I haven't been the most available for you and I promise that I will do better. But, my sweetheart, you being right here is still the best thing for you. For us. You can't go hurting yourself anymore like you did because of the stress and things you keep to yourself."

It took every bit of restraint in your body not to snap at that ignorant suggestion. For fucks sake, was he really that incapable of taking one good critical look at himself or at this situation? Could he seriously not see past his fucked sense of normalcy and realize you were never in need of a home? His fucking home. You were a college student whose beater car broke down a few miles out from his place during a snow storm and he offered you a bit of warmth while you figured out what to do. You weren't some runway child knocking on his door in hopes of a new family. You needed a jumper cable and a shovel.

This whole situation only took into account his best interest and his feelings. He needed you. Not the other way around. You were fine without him, you would've never rolled down that window if you knew accepting the offer of a deluded Smallville farmer would've had you in bondage like this. You had the promise of a future before him, now you're just a hallowed out shell only meant to be his emotional support puppy.

The plastic, neon colored spoon tapped the entrance of your mouth. You could already taste the sharp bitterness of the vile concoction he called "food". You instantly jerked your head back, "M-Mr. Kent, can i just—"

The sound of his tongue clicking cut your pleading short,

"What have I told you? You can just call me Clark or dad if you're starting to feel comfortable enough with it..'Mr.Kent' is so…"

You noticed his face contort in agitation, his grip ever so slightly tightening around the utensil, his tone a bit darker than his usual upbeat "..It's so unfamiliar..and we're far from that, right??" He looked down at you with an unsettling expression as he anticipated your reply.

You hurriedly nodded, plastering the best fake smile that you could muster across your fac after being put off put by his quick mood swing.

The tenseness in his body somewhat relaxed upon receiving your reassurance. "I'm glad you agree that we are too close now for such formalities. Your comfort with me, especially after your accident, means everything."

"I'm sorry, Clark. I just,,,," You needed to chose a believable enough excuse to get out of this without pushing any more buttons. "I'm not really feeling well right now and I think it's best if I lied down…can we just go to bed now?" It wasn't a complete lie. The mush had a nauseating aftertaste and you were certain that if you took any more unnecessary bites of it, you'd projectile vomit all over the place.

"We've been over this, you are to finish all of your food because you need your nutrients replenished. I know this isn't exactly what you want but the doctor was clear about not giving you solids for at least another week . You were malnourished for God knows how long..." His tone was firm yet still laced with his usual concern as he rambled on like the smother he was.

Once he finished, he let out a sigh, eyes a little watery.

"I'm just worried about you. If I don't let you finish this, are you going to start rejecting food more and more? What if you pass out again but this time I can't get to you in time and you…" His lips tightly shut. Those words were far to cursed to speak out loud, let alone think.

The spoon tapped at your lips again but this time pushing past your attempted resistance. Your face scrunched with disgust and you debated not swallowing it but holding something this rancid in your mouth any longer would be more torture than it simply entering your digestive track.

You pleaded with him, swore that you would never do it again.

His head shook, "No. I can't trust that. Not so soon."

You weren't able to get another word in as he quickly shoveled another pile of mush onto the utensil and forced more down your throat. Maybe it was the acidity of the medicines slowly eating away at your throats lining, making it raw but by the fourth spoonful it burned on it's way down. A strained cough escaped your throat in reaction to it, only making it feel more inflamed.

You tried to squirm but his hold was even tighter than before. Tears started to well in your eyes and all you wanted was to finally be done with this. All of this. It wasn't fair, you should've been peacefully resting in a casket by now, not being smothered by a lonely man-child whose convinced you're his pseudo daughter.

"Clark,, please can I have some water? My throat burns really badly." Your voice was shaky and hoarse from the last bit going down the wrong way.

He kissed your forehead, "You can get it afterwards, honey. The water might make you full and then you won't have any room left to finish your meal."

"Just a sip then, that's all I need." You begged

"It'll be okay until you're done." He moved to get another spoonful of food. There was at least another six or so more bites left of food and that was only if he was merciful enough to give generous amounts on each go..but knowing him, he'd drag this out for as long as he could if it meant coddling you in his arms for longer.

You debated on asking him if he could at least put more food onto the spoon but you already knew his response to that. 'You could choke on such big bites. There's no rush to finish so quickly.' You internally scorned at the thought of him uttering those fucking words to you in that dumb voice he'd use as though you were five years old. You weren't incapable of swallowing what would be actually be a small bite since he insisted on feeding you with children's utensils. You almost punched his perfect teeth crooked when he told you that you weren't allowed to use the adult silver ones because they're "dangerous".

An intense burning sensation hit the back of your throat again, knocking you out of your fierceness and back into your helpless reality. Your lips trembled as he removed the spoon, a quiet whine escaped you as you barely held it together.

"Shh, it's not that bad is it? I don't want to see you crying, sweetheart. Not after everything." He cooed, swiping a tear off your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Clark,, please—" You tugged on the bit of his shirt that you could grab , "I don't want it, anymore, I wanna go to bed."

"Can you do few more bites? Just a few more bites for me so I can make sure you got enough in today? The plates nearly finished, you can do it."

"NO— dad..please. I'm tired of this." You hadn't meant to call him that, it honestly just slipped in the weakness of the moment..

His eyes widened for a moment, his pupils dilating in a way that send goosebumps cascading down your spine. Pure adoration and bliss overcame his face with a soft hint of red. You weren't exactly sure what you just did but you knew that it hadn't helped his obsession nor your situation.

The next thing you knew you were pulled into his chest with his arms securely wrapped around your waist. His chin resting in the crook of your neck as he spoke tenderly into it."I love you. Dad loves you so much. I'm sorry. No more, okay?"

You stayed like that for bit while you sobbed into his chest, not even for the encrusting pain that throbbed at the back of your throat but for the freedom that you greatly mourned…

A new fledgling is always a handful. Most sires find it can take several years full of tantrums before ever being able to hold their child in their arms. The rage that results from the burning pain of transformation, and the overwhelming bloodlust, means that even the most timid humans often become totally incapable of reason. Sires are frequently forced to chain their poor fledgling down, to wrangle their child off of them once they’ve eaten their fill.

It is with this presumption that she entered the room of her child, filled with anticipatory love but prepared with a firm hand. This was her first child, but she heard many stories from her fellow vampires. However, her dear fledgling was quite odd in their transformation, as they merely went limp during the agonizing process and slept the past few days away.

You feel like your veins are on fire. Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, but you can sense the pain radiating from where your shoulder and neck meet, surging down to the tips of your hands and feet. The soft surface you’re on, silken sheets that slip around your form like water, is shockingly cool. Your detached mind notices that despite this chill, your body doesn’t feel any warmer than the sheets. Everything is so cold, despite the burning pain, you aren’t even sure if your heart is beating. Your blood feels stagnant in your limbs.

At the sound of a creaking door, you force your eyes open. The weight on your lids feels equal to that of the old wooden door. As your weighted arms try to rub your eyes, you realize it is to no avail. Your hands around completely mummified in a thick layer of fabric, the same strange silk that covers the bed. Regardless, the weakness in your limbs leaves them limp, you can’t lift them past your waist. Trying to kick the bedsheets off, you notice your ankles are similarly bound.

Through the thick fog of fatigue and pain, your brain attempts to understand the situation, as panic tries to trickle past your mental block. Tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes as you begin to process the surrounding room. The bed appeared like an endless ocean for your small form huddled against the pillows. It seemed built for giants, as it easily dwarfed a king-sized bed. You could barely see past the sheets.

Your eyes dart to the first movement you see, the source of the creaking door. The first thing your mind processes is that she’s tall, extremely tall. Suddenly, this giant room makes sense.

Your vision is blurred at the edges, and it’s hard to make out her features in this haze. A mass of dark hair surrounds her head. She has some sort of long gown on, similarly dark. As this towering shadow approaches you, you let out a noise of distress, something between a whimper and a gasp. You curl into yourself, in too much pain to do anymore. You squeeze your eyes shut.

The woman smiles, letting out a breathy laugh, pleasantly surprised at your reaction. You hear the rustling of fabric and feel the mattress dip down with a new weight. Another strangled whimper leaves your throat when you feel a frigid hand ghost over your cheek, her sharp nails tickling against the minuscule hairs of your face.

She coos at you, “Sh, sh, sh.” Like one does to a toddler, or a dog. She cups your jaw with her freezing hand, her thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. Your eyes crack open at the sensation. She fills the entirety of your vision, as she leans over you, her hair forming a dark curtain around you. She has a serene smile on her face but her eyes—you notice they’re a bright red—are tinged with a manic joy. Her eyes are dilated, they shake slightly, as she stares down at you. She doesn’t blink.

Your eyes dart towards movement, as her other hand snakes towards the top of bodice, easily unbuttoning it with one hand. She notices your lapse of attention and tuts to get your attention, pulling your head up, to refocus your eyes on her face. Her eyes still don’t blink, she feels like an animated statue with her freezing limbs and unmoving expression.

As she meticulously unbuttons her bodice, she continues to rub circles on your cheek, pressing slightly more against your teeth. She’s checking for…something? In your haze you notice the soreness of your gums, your mouth feels as though it were filled with cotton. It’s dry and burns like the rest of your body. An ache runs through your jaw. You’re too tired to question it, letting out a shuddering sigh at the uncomfortable prodding. She just continues to smile at your reaction, her eyebrows arching slightly in mock sympathy. It makes you feel like a dog with a cone on its head, as she acts as though she knows something you don’t, that this discomfort is for your own good.

With restrained excitement, her hand stops at the last button of her bodice and gently pushes her top to one side, the fabric falls off her shoulder slightly. It drapes around her exposed breast like an opened curtain. Even in your state, the sight feels wrong as you focus your gaze on her eyes, afraid to see her naked chest. Your body freezes up as she stops rubbing your cheek. The hand that was unbuttoning her dress moves out of your sight, her nails tracing the curve of your spine, causing you to shiver, before planting itself at the base of your head.

Her eyes scrunch in delight, as her serene smile opens into a grin. It’s a chillingly human expression for the statuesque woman. Her teeth don’t feel quite right; you can’t identify what’s wrong in your discombobulation, but they’re too perfect and sharp.

She presses down where your upper and lower jaw meet, the tender area goes limp under the harsh sensation. Your mouth opens slightly. Without a moment to pause, she pulls you towards her with the hand on the back of your head. She rests your mouth against her nipple, your nose is awkwardly mushed against the cold expanse of her chest, your chin is similarly anchored to her body. You can feel the force is too much for you to even push back, as she glues you against her body.

You suck in a breath of air at the sudden sensation, eyes closing in fear. Your limp hands twitch in their restraints, unable to push her away in their silken binds. Your tongue is pushed against the back of your teeth, as you move it away from her breast as much as you can. Your lips try to cover your teeth, to prevent scraping your teeth against her breast.

She tuts again, pleased at your unusual reaction for a fledgling—who would normally attempt to maim their sire for their first meal—but she desires more than your timid struggle.  Her hand moves from your cheek, the other still firm against your head, and cups her breast, pushing it into your mouth. The hand against your head begins to scratch gently against your scalp.

A few drops of fluid escape her nipple, despite your passivity. The moment the fluid hits your tongue, the pain searing through your body dissipates. The fluid is warm, you aren’t sure what it is, but it calms the burning pain that has blinded you since you woke up. A whine of relief escapes your throat, as your body relaxes at the sensation. Your mouth unconsciously latches onto her nipple, still very tentatively, in more of the manner of a kiss than a bite. Your tongue gently laps at the bead of her nipple, desperate for the sensation of relief.

“Shh…Shh. It’s ok…I know.” She whispers sweetly to you, massaging your scalp. You feel her lips kiss the crown of your head. Your soft suckling doesn’t result in much substance, but you can’t seem to care as the few drops satiate you. She’s still so cold, despite the softness of her skin, it feels like you’re suckling upon marble statue, surrounded by the freezing abyss of the sheets below you. Your body doesn’t warm, quite the opposite, as the pain disappears from your body, so does the burning sensation. The only warmth you find is in the fluid on your tongue.

You feel surrounded by her, the sheets feeling like an extension of her, as the expanse of her gown and the sheets weigh you down. Her hands keep you anchored to her body. Even your mouth isn’t free, as you are reminded by every drop that crawls down your throat. Her soft hair blinds you from the outside world whenever your eyes crack open, you feel surrounded by a black void.

As you drift into a state of half-sleep from the soothing sensation, she cradles you against her. Her hand in your hair pauses a moment, debating, before sliding down to your binds. She cuts through the silk on your hands with her sharp nails in one smooth movement.  She cradles one of your hands, before leading it to rest against her body, before doing the same with the other. The weakness remains in your limbs, but you instinctively follow her lead, clutching onto her torso like a stuffed animal. Your hands get lost in the folds of her velvet gown.