Caged In
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: your husband is locked up but you need his help as you're left in a precarious situation. He offers protection you don't expect.
Characters: convict Charles Blackwood, ex-convict Jack O'Malley
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You jump at the heavy metal clank. You keep your hands on the table, clasped, anxious as the minutes tick buy on the yellowed clock. The soft clink of chains approaches. You perk up and force a smile at your husband.
You know the routine. Charles does too. It doesn't keep the twitch from his cheek as the guards shove him into the chair. Still, it's better than it was. Your visitations are no longer with a barrier between you, not beyond the table. You lean forward and slide your elbows onto the table. He sits with wide shoulders and wide knees, smirking at you as his eyes flick up and down.
"Hey, sweetheart, you fill out that conjugal form yet?" He purrs.
"I... I submitted it last time. They said it's still going through," you pout. You miss him. More than physically. You just want him close. You want him constantly.
"Don't be sad, huh? You know, one day, we'll be together. It'll be worth the wait," he drawls. "Didn't I wait my whole life for a girl like you?"
You blush and smile despite your reticence. You swallow and remind yourself of what you want to talk about. No, what you have to talk about.
"I love you, Charlie," you say.
"Love you like no other," he returns. "And I know you, sweetheart. Something's worrying you."
Your facade falls. Your shoulders sink and you bring your hands over your chest. You flick your lashes as your eyes sting.
"Those men were back," you quaver.
"Back?" His face darkens.
"Didn't I say it last time? Leon and them. They knocked on the door, said you had some of his tools still. I looked but they weren't around. I sent 'em off but they been... walking by and standing under the streetlamps at night." You shudder, "the trash was torn apart this morning."
He sucks his teeth. "Leon?"
"I thought you were friends," you gulp. "But he followed me to the bank and... he said... he said you stole from him."
"No one's stealing from his broke---behind," he corrects himself. He sits forward and crosses his arms on the table. His biceps bulge and the veins in his forearms pop out. "Sweetheart, you know I don't mess around. No one's gonna hurt you."
"But Charles--"
"I mean it. You just leave it to me, alright? You stop worrying your pretty head. Not about that," he pulls his hand free and drags his fingertips on the table. His cheeks dimple. "You think about that conjugal. Hell, if I can stay on my best, we might get a son when I get out."
"Charlie," you touch your cheeks hotly.
"I got so much for you, I don't see how not," he chuckles. "And I've been good. No touching. How about you?"
"You know-- I don't do that."
"Oh, I know you're a good girl," he snarls. "It's why I had to snatch you up quick."
You giggle and put your hands on the table. You slide them across, just in front of his, but don't touch him. You're not allowed. You stare at his knuckles then look up and catch him staring at your hands too.
"I really hope they say yes," he squirms. "I need you, baby."
"I hope so too," you whisper. "Should I wear something special?"
"You still got those lacy ones with the little rose?" He winks. "Those ones always get me going."
"I do," you answer. "I'll find them."
"Good girl," he praises. "I can't wait to touch you, sweetheart. I just gotta think of that and I'll make it through."
🌹
You wake with a start. There's a clatter from the front of the house as you tangle in the blankets. You roll to the edge and grab the splintered baseball bat Charles keeps there. You grip it tightly as the sound of broken glass litters the front den. You gulp and clutch the wood with a whimper.
You stand and slowly near the bedroom door. Your heart races so hard you can't read. You can't go out and face the intruder, even with your weapon. Instead, you get on the other side of the dresser and lean your back against it. You bend your legs deep and use all your strength to push. It scrapes loudly as you jolt it, little by little.
The footsteps thump and head down the hall towards you. You only just get the dresser across the doorway before the handle thunks against the edge. You cry out and skirt around it, sitting against the drawers as you plant your feet. The man on the other side grunts.
"I know you're in their pussy cat," Leon snarls. "Let me in, little kitty." You whine and grip the bat, eyes overflowing as you sniffle. He hits the door. "You little bitch, I'm going to tear your cunt up when I get a hold of you. Show Charlie what happens to dirty fucking thieves."
You sob as your blood flows to ice. You close your eyes and hug the bat close, praying to anything that might save you. The woop of a siren blares through. Leon hisses as he his heels stomp down the wooden floorboards.
"Fucking shit," he barks, "I'll be back."
He flees. You hear the back door swing out and his boots mulch in the yard. There's a clamour as he hops the fence and your trash cans overturn once more. You shudder but don't move. One of the neighbours must've called the cops again.
You stay as you are until yellow light streams in through the lace curtains. The ones your nana made you for a wedding gift. You groggily rub your eyes and set the but of the bat against the floor. You push yourself up and keep it in your grasp.
With all your might, you move the dresser out of the way, just enough to slip through the door. You walk down the hall with the bat raised but entirely unready to attack. You're not violent.
Your phone isn't where you left it. The charger is unplugged from the wall and the cell screen is smashed. You pick it up. It responds someone to your touch but it's hard to read around the cracks.
You walk through the house warily. It's not very big, just what Charlie could afford. You do what you need to get by but you're not entirely sure how he's making the payments. You lock the back door before you stand and examine the front window. How are you going to replace that?
No point meandering. You get to it. You sweep up the glass and take out what's left of the side table. Your figurines are broken too. When you clear it away to the curb, Layton from next door approaches you. He's an older man with grease on all his shirts.
"Hoodlums," he says. "I got a board I can put up."
"Oh, thank you," you face him. "That's really kind."
"Well, you know, Charles got me that scanner last year and I owe him one."
You frown. Scanner? You're not sure he means a printer.
"Thanks, that'd be real helpful."
You retreat to the house. Layton comes by in the afternoon with the board to do his repairs while you work on your own stuff. You promised to get Kissie her dresses by the end of today. She never misses a deadline.
As you hang the garments in the front room, you dial up the prison. Charles will still be waiting on your call. You're almost relieved to hear his voice.
After the automated queue recording, he picks up. He sounds agitated. You cough and says hi.
He's quiet. He huffs loudly into the speaker.
"Now, sweetheart, I don't need guff from you too. Whats'a matter?"
You mumble, "nothing, Charlie. Really..."
"You know you can't lie to me and I don't like it," he snips.
"I know, but... why are you so mad? Are you alright?" You ask.
"Don't you go turning this on me. My problems are my problems, I handle them. So you tell me," he demands.
You sigh. At least you have a whole phone line and prison bars between you. When he's like that, he's scary.
"Someone broke in..."
"Someone," he snarls.
"Leon," you confess and choke on tears. "I was so scared, honey. He... he broke the window and I was hiding in the room with the bat."
"Leon!" He barks. "He's always been after you. This isn't about no damn tools. This is about him stepping in my yard."
"Honey," you murmur.
"Now you listen here, you know I'm not gonna let him touch you, right?" He sneers.
"I know, Charlie."
"Don't sound so convinced," he grits. "You understand, you're my wife and I said I'd protect ya. Fuck-- Dang Leon. I know it was him ratted me out," he spits. "Knew it!"
There's a thump on the other side and a deep voice, "Blackwood."
"Eh, calm down, just a damn table," he growls. He exhales loudly. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm gonna take care of you. Got it? I still got friends on the outside. I got power. You know? You're not going to be hiding in the dark. I promise, baby. You know I love you."
"I know, Charlie," you repeat once more.
"And you love me?" He asks.
"Yes, I love you so much," you say.
"So trust me. I'll figure this out."
🌹
Charles drags his soles over the floor. The guards walk on either side of him as he grits his teeth. He drops into the chair across from you and huffs. His eyes are dark with anger.
"Charlie," you greet, squirming in distress.
"Sweetheart," he takes a deep breath and leans his head back. He turns it side to side and snarls. He straightens and stares you down. "Heard about the denial. Can't even have time with my own DAMN WIFE!" He hits his fists on the table and the guards jump away from the wall. He waves them off. "Sorry, guys," he shows his palms. "I'm a little fucking pissed here."
You frown. He doesn't talk like that in front of you. He cracks his neck.
"I know, we'll try again," you assure him and rub your upper arm.
"Try again," he mutters. "Sweetheart, I love you so damn much. All I think about is holding you," he leans in, "kissing you... all over."
Your face burns and you smile, "me too, Charlie, but..." you look down. You're both quiet. He sits back.
"Well, what do ya wanna talk about then?" He sniffs.
"Um, Layton put a board over the window..."
"Layton..." he drawls. "Hm, nice of him, but you can't be sitting in darkness. You need sunlight."
"I'll see what I can do. Call up a carpenter."
"Nah, sweetheart, let me talk. You don't think I forgot, did ya? About my own wife?" He puts his hand to his chest, his cuffs tugging between his wrists. "Never. Alright. I got someone coming to take care of the window. And you."
"Someone..."
"Mhmm," he sucks his teeth. "Guy I know in here. Well, he's not in anymore. He just got out but he's a good man. Smart."
"He'll fix the window?" You ask.
"He needs a place to crash since his stint. Say he needs somewhere solid or the parole board will toss him back in."
"Oh, right. He'll be staying?"
"Look, sweetheart, how'd you feel if I'd shown up with stitches from ear to ear? He saved me, you know? I owe him. I trust him so you can too."
You nod. Charlie doesn't trust anyone. Only you.
"Jack. That's his name. I gave him a call last night. He's gonna drop off his stuff in the morning. Then he's going to find Leon," he growls into a grin. "Oh, yeah, Leon won't be sniffin' around no more."
You hide your reticence. You didn't expect this. You thought maybe you'd call an uncle or change the locks. Add some extra security. But a friend? From inside? If your husband says so, it's what you'll do.
"You do me a favour, alright, baby? I told him about that jerk chicken you make. You cook him up some of that. He was in here so long, probably forgot what good cooking is? You can be good to him, can't ya?"
You nod and force a smile, "yeah... it'll be nice to have someone around, I'm sure."
