#bailey dol

" 'm sorry." You squeaked, eyes locked onto the floor of the hospital room you'd found yourself in. 

Baileys eyebrows furrow, and his hand comes up to pinch at his nose bridge.  "How could you be so careless? Do you even know what this is going to cost?" 

The disappointment in his voice is enough to incite the prickling of tears, and you pull the blanket off your legs, swinging them over the side of the hospital bed and attempting to stand.

"I--I can, I can pay. I promise. I--" your knees hit the tile with a harsh thud, and before you can even squeeze out another apology Baileys caught your arm, hand completely encircling it. It burns--fresh rope marks still open underneath the bandages. 

"Lay the fuck down." He half-pushes you onto the stretcher, nails digging into your wrists. "What am I going to do with you?" He smells of half-burnt cigarettes, and his looming figure blocks the fluorescents. 

Your pulse quickens, remembering the punishments hed bestowed onto Robin when he couldnt pay. You imagined yourself tied to a dock port, fishermen rolling in their boats, eyeing you like stock meat. You nearly screamed, scratching at the collar youd yet to have removed.

"No! No, no, I promise I can pay. Please, I can. I can." The salty liquid trails your blushed face, dripping onto your collarbone. Through foggy vision you catch his eye drifting to where the droplet disappears beneath your gown. He runs his hand through his hair. 

"Im not going to punish you." Relief was far. The words scraped together in your head, not sticking to any conclusion youd foreseen.

"But I--" you tried, clutching the bottom of the hospital garment into your fists. He cuts you off sharply.

"You cant even walk on your own, what good would it do?" 

You drop your head, heat rising up your neck so fast it hurt to look at him. It wasnt your fault--you were born like this. And it wasnt all the time! Just.. most of it. You trace the veins of one weak hand with the other, and for one terrifying moment, you cant imagine yourself anywhere beyond this room. This circumstance. Trapped in facilities and hospitals, being stuck with needles and tubes until you had nothing left to give. 

"So... what--?" Your eyes burn. "I dont know. I really dont." He replies, not caring to hear the end of your question. You dont lift your head up as his footsteps retreat, sounding far away until you hear the door close. 

You bring your knees to your chest, hugging them for some kind of comfort. Hed always treated you different. And nobody ever let you forget it, either. The teasing from the other orphans never fell on deaf ears. They used to ridicule you, pushing you around with as little force as needed to knock you clean into the wooden floors. It faded out, after a while, especially now--everyone was too busy to worry about you. You remembered the way he had always come to scoop you up, letting you sit in his lap while he worked, whispered about how they were just jealous of you. 

He smelled like citrus back then, no alcohol lacing his breath. No smoke. 

That stopped too, maybe when you got big enough to care for yourself. Even though you knew that milestone would never be crossed. You were stunted, both in size and strength and confidence and--anything else, really. You wrack sobs out of yourself with each self deprecating thought. 

You arent left to drown in your own pathetic trifle for long however, hearing the door slam back open. You look up quickly, expecting a doctor or a nurse. Instead, you land on baileys tie, halfway undone. 

"What ar--" he shakes his head, stomping towards you, and you brace for some kind of abuse. Instead, his arms slide under your knees and behind your back, splaying nearly half the length of your torso. Youre in no place to protest, not that the shock subsides for it anyway. The buttons of his shirt press against your forehead, tie falling on top of you. 

"Fucking brat. Cant do anything." He mumbles, more to himself then to you. You bury your face in his dress shirt, avoiding the stares of hospital staff, cheeks flushed with humiliation. You dont notice youre out of the building until hes practically thrown you into the leather seats of his car. 

The drive is silent save for the occasional sob involuntarily forcing its way up your throat. You only dare speak when you notice he misses the turn to the orphanage.

"Baile--?" You turn, and he beats you to it. "What? Im just supposed to let you go back? Thats where he took you from." He scoffs, as if it was obvious. And you supposed maybe it was. You fold your hands in your lap, bashful and lost in thought again. You tug at the collar again, hooking fingers underneath to release the pressure on the front of your throat. 

"Eugh, we'll get that thing off you." He sounded genuinely disgusted, and you werent sure why.

You pull into a parking lot, and he leads you to what you assume is his flat, guiding you with an arm on your shoulder. You hesitate at the door, where a lotus doorknob looks back at you, hugging your hands close to your chest. He exhales, reaching over you to push the door open, chest making contact with your back as he did so. 

You stand absently in the middle of his living room, while he deadbolts the front door. "You will stay here." His space is like him. Dull. Grey. boring.

The lights overhead are almost more overbearing then the hospital ones. The walls are spotless. Actually, everything is spotless. Nothing seems to be out of place, even if a little oddly placed.

"you will not leave without notifying me." There are sticky notes placed around, in no rhyme or reason like they say things he needs to remember in that exact spot.

"You will not bring anyone here." He taps the back of your head with his key, and you turn to give him a pout. "That includes that little boyfriend of yours." You tilt your head, confused. "Boyf--?" He cuts you off again. You wish hed stop doing that. "Robin." 

"Robins not my--" he walks ahead of you, placing his keys on a table closer to the kitchen. "Maybe you should tell him that." He deadpans. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" You walk tentatively towards him, legs nearly failing you every step of the way, until eventually you reach the doorway and you roll an ankle.

"Jesus Christ." He fixes his hair before he grabs you, steadying you against the doorway. "Be careful, brat." You make eye contact with him and you catch a glimpse of what you can only label as worry, though he's not worn that look since you were a small child. 

Empty bottles of vodka sit where dirty dishes would, if he had any. Ashtrays lay askew, as if he keeps forgetting where they are and just buys new ones to replace them. 

He helps you to the dining table, where you try and hide your face. Your ears are burning hot, undeniably red and you pick your hair from behind them to try and hide that, too. "You didnt answer my question." You murmur. 

"Dont think I need to." He lights a cigarette, puffing it noticeably away from you, despite being in the same room. "Now tell me what happened with that little creep." 

"K-k--kylar?" You ask, both hands resting on the collar now. "Dont care what his name is. Tell me what happened." The words catch in your throat, and a sob comes out with your first attempt.

"I--i told him," hiick-- "I told him no." 

"No?" his brows furrow. "Just--just to being his girlfriend. He--" mnghic-- "he tried that, too." Your voice is shaky.

"I convinced... i convinced him to wait until our wedding night." You look at the ground. 

"That little freak thought he was marrying you?" He huffs, a breathy chuckle. 

"Yeah. Yeah. He said I was--he said I was perfect. And then--" hicck. "I guess I wasnt--i wasnt nice enough. Or perfect enough. And he--sob--he pulled a knife."

His gaze drifts to the bandages wrapping your arms, the gauze at your chest. He lands simply on a bruise that sits on your shoulder. His face softens. Not in the normal way, not that he looked kinder. He looked older. More tired. Sunken. 

"Did they--?" And he cuts you off, yet again. It was really getting annoying.

"Not yet. But they will." He takes a long drag of his cigarette, again turning his head the opposite way of you as he breathes out. He stamps it out in a glass ashtray, walking over to the other side of the kitchen.

"Now, lets get that off you." He rummages through a drawer, pulling out a metal device you arent familiar with. 

He guides your head to look frontways, grazing your neck to pull your hair away from the clasp. You hear a click, and you dont believe it until the collar is falling into your lap, and even then you think you must be dreaming. You truly thought you were going to die, in that basement. With the collar or his hands or maybe both around your neck. 

Cold air hits your neck for the first time in what feels like years. You feel exposed, naked, and so so free. 

You turn abruptly, staring into his eyes for a moment, swallowing back bubbled up cries. You reach for it, rubbing the raw skin where it sat, finding only yourself. When you finally move, its to grasp your arms around the back of his neck. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou," your eyes continue to leak across his shirt, sticking the collar to his skin.

One of his hands splays onto your shoulder blade, gentle wherever it graces. He sighs, one of true relief. 

The evening runs slow. You spend most of it sitting on his couch, knees to your chin, watching some trashy reality show. 

Eventually, he throws you a blanket. You arent sure of the hour, internal clock kicked off kilter in that basement. The cold of the flat seeps into your bones, under the blanket. It reminds you of the cold of the concrete. You shake the feeling away, instead hopping onto your unreliable legs in the direction you believed to be baileys bedroom. 

You catch him off guard, standing back to the door, though youre sure he heard you walk up. Your eyes trail down his now bare torso, tracing tattoos you had never seen before. Snakes, mostly. And vines. And some writing you couldnt make out, if only you could get clos-- 

"Did you need something?" He doesnt even turn to look at you, still flipping through his wallet. 

"Um," you steady yourself to the doorframe. "I cant.. I cant sleep." You mutter, looking away like you were caught doing something you shouldnt. 

"Did you want some melatonin?" His tone is dry, airy. He continues his incessant flipping of cards, bills, and money. 

"I think id feel better if.. um.." the rest of your sentence is frayed, words scattered about your brain. "If I slept in... here...?" Is that really what you land on? 

Hes silent, and unmoving, for a moment. He inhales, like he forgot something, before he answers.

"Fine." He sighs, closing his wallet like thats what he expected you to say. When he finally faces you he stops briefly. 

Wordlessly, he grabs his own discarded button up and throws it at you. You fail to catch it, but it lands on your forearm anyway. Your head tilts, and before you can even open your mouth to ask, hes answering.

"To sleep in. Get you out of that hospital gown." He looks away, fixated on something in his checking book, and you take the opportunity to carefully tread to his master bathroom. 

Its expectedly big, draping off one shoulder even with all the buttons clasped. Its long enough that it covers your underwear fortunately. 

When you step out, hes sitting on the opposite side of the bed, facing some kind of notebook. He hears your uneven hobble, removing his glasses to glance at you. 

You practically limp to the closer side of the bed, crawling up like youd never learned to walk. His eyes dont leave you, gaze locking to one spot. After a moment, you pull the shirt upwards, concealing the obscene amount of cleavage you unknowingly displayed. You keep your hands folded at the front, sitting back on your calves.

"Pervert." You mutter, to which he sets his glasses and notebook on his nightstand. 

"Youre the one wearing it like that." He sounds amused in a way he hadnt in a long time. Your lips curl into a smile, and you let go of the shirt, crawling further up to the headboard. 

_______________________________________

"I shouldn't be doing this." He whispers at your neck. Youd laid with him in bed for a couple of hours now, unable to sleep. Eyes tracing invisible lineart on the outside of his tattoos, until eventually your sleep-deprived brain mixed up the signals and you were running your fingers up them. 

"Please. Please, please," You prayed, nails grasping at his biceps on either side of you. Do you ever stop begging?

His breath hitches, hot against your skin, and you could feel the muscles tense in his arm, hands clutching the sheets. Stiff and as rigid as a piece of ice. 

"You dont know what youre asking for, little one." His voice is rough, dragging raw against the sides of his throat. Your thighs squeeze tighter, heat radiating off you. 

"Please.." you murmur one last time, before he presses your lips firmly together. Its all teeth--clashing and biting, just how youd expect with a man such as he. 

He tastes sour, a cocktail of ash and vodka assaulting your tongue. But the contact is enough to distract you. the skillful way he guides you, the hand trembling as it finds the hem of his own dress shirt draped over your body. He thinks youre going to be the death of him. 

"Is that all you know how to say?" His tone is harsh but not angry, and the glint in his eyes is closer to contentment. You feverishly nod your head, still tasting him on your tongue. savoring it. He chuckles, shaking his head, before his cold fingers glide across the top of your thigh. 

You tremble, gripping him closer. His face contorts into an expression of amusement, and your brain contorts to try and process your situation. You cant believe it. Your eyes squeeze shut, anxiety wracking your senses. You almost tell him to pinch you, convinced this is another disturbing wet dream youre experiencing of the caretaker. 

"Ah," he tuts, "look at me." He commands, voice dropping a register. One youd grown accustomed to hearing when he intimidates the other orphans on payday, one hed never used on you. You obey, your eyes locking on his own dark ones. Theres something compelling in the way he looks at you. Like a puzzle hed yet to solve. Or, better yet, lost a piece to. 

"You never had a problem watching me before." He deadpans. Your stomach does a somersault, twisting embarrassment into arousal. You almost deny it, opening your mouth to protest, but he beats you to it.

"Let's teach you a new word, yeah?" His hand runs under your shirt--his shirt--and splays across your stomach. You nod, eager to please. 

"how does 'daddy' sound?" He tilts his head, examining your face. Heat floods your cheeks. you squirm under him, shoulders shifting uncomfortably as you chase friction between your thighs. "Shouldn't be hard. Done it before." 

You duck your head, making yourself even smaller beneath his gaze. Your arms twist, hands resting on either side of his neck. 

"Come on. Say it." He drags his hand down the top of your lace panties, toying with the hem. Before you gather the courage to open your mouth, hes withdrawing completely. His arms no longer cage you, and he sits back on his knees. 

You eagerly chase him, hands falling short of his top half until youre also sitting up.

"No, no nono, daddy, daddy please--" your arms wrap around his neck fully, arching your back to even reach that far. "Thats more like it." Hes pressing you back to the mattress in seconds, 

weight settling over you like a shield. 

His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, biting at the flesh. You gasp, arms gripping him so tight hell have to pry you off. The word lingers on your tongue, familiar but renewed. You find it natural, attached to all your best memories of him. You find yourself wanting to say it. Wanting to turn the tides and make him feel something. To taste it. You gather up all your courage, trembling. You spread your knees, positioning them to each side of him. 

"D--" his amused look catches your courage like a hook and shatters it. You squirm, knees knocking back together. His thumb catches one knee, forcing them apart, sliding down your inner thigh. Sparks fly everywhere he touches, like atoms dancing on your skin. 

"Patience, brat. Patience." It does nothing to soothe. Youre crushed under the weight of your own inexperience, your anxiety. He finally, finally finds his way under the lace, making contact with your most sensitive parts. Your vision goes white at the edges, and it continues encroaching. You gasp, nails scraping down his arms as his large hands explore you with deliberate slowness. Jerk. every nerve ending in your body begs for more, and he takes his time, experimenting against your folds. Like hes memorizing it. 

"So excited." He whispers against the shell of your ear, vibrations sending a shiver down your spine. "this what you think about? In your room before im home." His thumb pads at your clit, punctuating his words. 

You dont attempt to answer, mind occupied with other matters, and he prods at your entrance with a single, large digit. "Answer me, brat." 

You nod, brows furrowed in concentration. Its not good enough for him, clearly, and he keeps his pace the exact same, no more. 

"When I ask you a question, you answer it." He growls. thrusting two large fingers into you without warning. "With words, slut." You know he feels you clench at that, and you feel possibly the most humiliated in your life. 

You answer despite your own inhibitions, clinging to him tightly as he works you open. 

"Youre the only one," You breathe, before catching your own slip of tongue. "That i think about. E-ever." He curls his fingers, a small reward for your obedience. You arch up into him, crescents forming where you hold him in a vice grip. 

"Not even Robin?" He inquires, though you arent sure if its possessive or because he wants to hear you say it again. You feel so good you think youre gonna faint. 

"Not, ahh--not even him. Only, only you," you hiss, "daddy." His thumb finds your clit again, picking up the pace. Another reward. You chase the feeling, rutting against his palm. 

“Good girl.” The praise has your head spinning, and you know he feels it because you tighten your knees around him as much as your weak legs will allow. With newfound confidence and a need to hear him exhale again, you experiment. 

“Y-youre my first.” You mutter against his ear, and he growls low in his chest. “I wai—I waited for you.” His pace quickens, chasing the arousal rising in your abdomen. He sucks in air, latching onto your neck before he feels your orgasm, clenching around him again. Scratch thinking, he knows youre going to be the death of him.

You cover your mouth with your hands, stopping a shriek from echoing off the walls. Hes off you in an instant, and before you can whine you hear the clink of his belt buckle. You rub your thighs together, need for friction rising at the sight. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he purrs, pants discarded, dropping his underwear. 

All you can do is stare. Wide-eyed, mouth dry, hand over your mouth. He wears a smug expression, basically reading your mind. 

“I-it—..” You stop, words choked up in your throat. “Its not g-gonna fit.” You whisper against your palm, to which he climbs over you again, lapping at the bruises forming on your neck. 

“It will.” His tone is certain, voice mimicking silk against concrete. 

He prods his tip on your entrance, rubbing himself between your folds. The heat of him against your slick is unbearable, and you whine. 

 Your heart hammers against your ribs like a bird trapped in a cage, desperate and wild, and you know he can feel it because his palm settles over your sternum, pressing down as if to hold you in place, stop you from squirming.

"Come on,” he murmurs, the words a low hum that vibrates through your chest.

"Breathe.”

But breathing feels like trying to swallow the ocean. Your lungs refuse to cooperate, stuck somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and you scratch lines down his muscles. 

He pushes in. Just the tip. Barely breaching your walls. And youre choking out sounds you didnt know you could make. He pushes a strand of hair out of your face, cold fingertip a contrast to your flushed skin. He sits there, watching you with low eyes, and you cant stand it. Cant he go already? Youre getting impatient. 

“Mmn…" You squeak, legs attempting to wrap around his back and falling short, unable to hook over one another. “M-more.” 

“So needy,” he laughs. “youll take what i give you.” He slides in slowly, inch by inch, feeling every tense, every spasm. 

You feel yourself stretching around him, a burning ache that borders on unbearable, and yet your body betrays you, arching upward to take him deeper. His hand finds your throat, and he rests it there. Not squeezing, just a silent claim. 

"Look at me," he commands, and you do, your vision blurring with unshed tears. 

“Youve always been my favorite.” The words send a shockwave through your body, and you clench around him involuntarily. He groans, the sound primal and raw, finally bottoming out, his hips flush against yours. For a moment, neither of you moves. The silence is deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing and curses made under baileys breath. 

"Full," you whisper, and the word feels inadequate for the sensation of being split open, impaled on him. 

His thumb presses into your parted lips, and you take it in, lashes fluttering as you swirl your tongue around the pad of his finger. You make sure to make a show of it, and before long hes grinding his hips into you. 

He watches you, eyes dark and hungry, as if you’re the only thing hes got to worry about in this world. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends a thrill rushing down your spine. You can feel him shift slightly, and the subtle movement sends new ripples of pleasure coursing through you. The weight of him on top of you, the delicious stretch, all combine into a cocktail of sensations that leaves you dizzy.

“Please…” you whimper around his thumb, pleading for something you can’t quite articulate. The urgency in your voice makes him smirk, a knowing quip of the sides of his mouth. 

He withdraws slowly, pulling out until only the tip remains, before thrusting back into you, harder this time. The force of it sending shockwaves through your body, the suddenness stealing the breath from you.

“So full, so full so full—” you chant, sobbing as his pace continues. Its so intense, so grappling, so much, that you barely register the hoisting of your useless legs over his shoulders. The new angle allows him to reach further, and god, you swear hes in your lungs. 

With each slap to your hips you scream out, cord of pleasure pulled taut—so close to snapping. 

“Ahh-'m close, so, so full, so big—ngghff…” he huffs, hips stuttering for a fraction of a second, your words clouding his head. 

“Yeah? Me too, dollface.” He laughs, shaking his head and leaning forward. Your legs are forced upward towards your chest. Its unbearable. 

His breath is warm against your fevered skin as he leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “You take me so well,” he praises, voice a low growl, and the raw possessiveness in his tone ignites a fire deep within you. 

“Please, I need—” your words tumble out in a desperate plea, but he cuts you off, thrusting deeper, filling you to the brim. The sensation sends your mind spiraling, and you feel the world around you blur into nothingness. You’re lost in him, in the rhythm he creates, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Like the eye of the storm. 

He pulls back slightly, eyes locked onto yours, gauging every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He revels in your pleasure, watching you unravel beneath him. “What do you want, hmm?”

You gasp, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in as you chase that elusive peak. “I want you to—” he lands a particularly hard thrust, cutting off your words. He looks bemused, as if that was his goal. “Need. Need you to, hahhhh—” he does it again, clearly taking pleasure in having this level of control over you. You shake your head this time, reduced to moans and whines.

His breathing becomes ragged, huffs and growls under his breath. This is the most untrained you've ever seen him. You relish it, the sight of him over you, sinking you into the mattress with his cock, sweaty and uncoordinated. 

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, less to you and more to himself, you clench around him at the words. “Ahhf—so close.” Your eyes widen as he begins to slow, pulling further back as he chases his high. 

“No, no, no, no,” you cry, interlocking your fingers with baileys. “In me. In me. Please.” He seems taken aback, head tilting to rest on your knee to continue bullying himself into your tight cunt. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the sensation.

“Please, daddy,” is all you whine out, The sound of your plea hangs in the air, charged and electric, igniting something primal within him. He responds with a growl, a sound that reverberates through your very core, and with one swift motion, he plunges deep, pushing you over that precipice. Your body trembles, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you cry out, the world around you dissolving into blurred visual noise behind your tears. 

“That's it, kid,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire as he feels you clench around him, your release pulling him inexorably toward his own peak. The air is thick, hot, stuffy. mimicking the situation your poor hole is in.

Your nails graze across his back, urging him on, and he answers with relentless thrusts, chasing the high that dances just out of reach. You feel every inch of him, the way he drives into you, each stroke igniting another flare of sensation. 

His final breath against your ear is a curse—driving all the way in, filling your cunt with his warmth. His body trembles above you, and for a moment, time hangs suspended. 

You can feel him pulse inside, each heartbeat syncing with your own as the aftershocks of your climax still ripple through you. A haze settles over your senses, the world outside this cocoon of flesh and heat falling away. You cling to him, fingers digging into his skin, desperate to anchor yourself.

“breathe,” he murmurs, his voice raw and filled with an emotion that catches you off guard. It’s not just desire; it’s something deeper, a tether pulled taut between your hearts. He pulls back slightly, searching your eyes for something unspoken, and in that instant, the vulnerability flickers behind his fierce facade.

You nod, breathless, swallowing dryly as you try to make sense of your frenzied state. 

Suddenly, hes pulling out of you. It hurts, bruised insides throbbing, and you whine at the loss, reaching for him though he doesnt respond this time. 

“Fuck, what was i thinking?” He runs a hand through his tangled hair, looking at you like a new problem to solve. All the warmth gone. 

You shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze, the remnants of ecstasy clinging to your skin like a second layer. His expression has morphed into something unreadable, and the air thickens with tension as he steps back, distancing himself. 

“Wait,” you manage, your voice trembling, fragile in the aftermath of such intensity. “what?” Your voice is small, similar to when hed found you at the hospital. 

unrendered version because somehow fenrir has more aura in this one