#voltage has answered my prayers of seeing this face more often

[atomsminecraft]

Me rn:

[naromoreau]

One last prayer

A.N: So I started writing this last year as a present for @minilev who is one of my fave Sharky lovers and has given the fandom SO much! Thank you so much, Anna, baby and have this fic of Dep Callahan and Sharky.

—–

Callahan’s arm sways, carrying the heavy blunt of her steel baseball bat, and the peggie’s skull cracks. A dry, sharp sound, mingling with whines and dead gurgles of throats she just split open. Somewhere at her right there’s a gruff, some indistinct noise that almost sounds like her name. She grabs her pistol, unloading the barrel on the mayonnaise shirt of a hollering peggie who stumbles forward, hands trying to clasp her, and she sees death crawling on his iris before he faceplants on the ground. 

There’s a hoard of screeching voices in her head, noises she has learnt to quash down, but they always manage to shatter her nerves a little. Not that it matters anymore. She’s a killer and this is what she does. There’s no escape from that. 

So she swallows bile, watching the pale rays of a dawn she always expect to never come, and tumbles when frantic hands pull at her cargo pants. 

“–sinner– filthy–,” the peggie says, choking on his own blood, with ghastly conviction, “you’r– killer, –Father – have no mercy.”

Dying words. They never matter. But within her something snaps. 

“I’m not asking for it,” she grouses and her shotgun seals the deal. 

Upclose. It’s a nightmare in red.

“Woah, woah there shorty–” 

Her finger is stuck on the trigger, and her breath is coming in stuttered gasps. She feels Sharky’s big frame pressing behind her, a hand extended over her shoulder, to lower the smoking barrel of her gun. 

“You okay, Dep?” He asks, in a way that implies he believes she’s not. 

A tinge of worry grates on his voice as he leans slightly in front of her, taking a ragged cloth from his back pocket and trying to clean the unsanitary crimson smudges of her face, a rough, calloused hand cupping her chin. 

“Yeah– I just–” She sighs and stalls, because she doesn’t know how to explain it, how it burns her inside. “I’m not what he says,” she finally blurts out. 

Callahan sweeps grime, sweat and blood off her forehead with the heel of her hand and prays Sharky didn’t quite get the pleading underlying lilt in her words. 

But if he did, he doesn’t show it. “Don’t sweat it, dude, those peggies? Fuckin’ psychos, that’s what they are, but uh– I think you need a break, po-po. You gotta eat something.”

He’s a paltry couple of inches away from her, and Callahan sees the concern in the heavy frown he’s sporting, his gaze probably taking in her red-rimmed eyes, and the tufts of blood-crusted hair. She wonders if he can see the panic flickering on her eyes– And suddenly she feels like hiding, like scrambling away from his grasp because she feels like shit, and she looks like shit, and at some point Sharky is going to realize that. Her stomach rolls over at the thought, with a stark thunk she can almost hear.

But he pulls her into a tight hug, and she doesn’t want to think about how hard her fingers curl around handfuls of his hoodie, cheek burrowed in his chest until her nose can’t take anything else than sweat, propane and gunsmoke. Slowly, her dismay coils, subsided. 

“It’ll be alright, shorty, I got you.”

—–

“Can I use your shower?” She’s feeling the stomach-churning smell of death burning her nose, sticking to her clothes, which are going directly to the trash bin.

“Uh, sure, just- just don’t drink it. Bliss in the pumps, y’know.” He shrugs.

The water is not too cold, after all it’s mid-july and the sun is scorching high above. She hears Sharky fumbling in the kitchen and his words waft, dampened by five inches of drywall.

“How about some bacon and eggs, and uh, beers? What ya say shorty?”

“Sounds fine,” she yells over the hard splash of water. She scrubs a little too hard, a little too rough, until her skin is just a scour away of being raw.

Honestly, Callahan doesn’t want to give a second thought to the whirling shit in her head, or the fact she’s dwindling Hope County’s population in very indictable ways.

She just wants to sink and let herself marinate in something good for once.

“All ready, chica! Bacon is all crispy and– oh shit, shit– yeah, eggs are hot.”

Something good like Sharky. Callahan ponders what seems like an askew path and bites her lip, but she doesn’t have the heart to drag him down to that specific level of hell she feels like visiting every day. It ain’t fair.

So she sighs and wraps herself in a threadbare green towel, too small for her liking.

“Smells nice.” Her stomach grumbles already committed to devour whatever will appear in front. “Damn, Shark, didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, this is nothin’” Sharky answers with his back turned, arranging plates and forks over the counter, “you gotta try my casserole, man, I make a killer casse–”

He spins. She sees him faltering, eyes sliding down at a torturously slow pace over every inch of skin she’s showing and his jaw falls, slack. The heavy hitch in his movements is painfully evident as he takes a small pace forward.

Callahan’s skin prickles under his gaze and the way his eyes linger at the hidden apex of her thighs make heat pool in her sex, irradiating in belching waves all over her. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen her bits, more often than not to patch her up in the roaring distress of battle, diving under flitting bullets. But not like this. Never like this.

Her fingers clasp the towel, and she shuffles two shy paces forward, trying to flash him a coy smile. His cheeks are red and his throat bobs as he swallows, finally fixing wide open eyes on hers.

“You uh, you need some clothes,” he says, breathless. Sharky clears his throat and fastens his stare to her face, something that makes her heart flutter. He’s trying to be proper, trying to be a friend, when the only thing she wants right now is to toss that tilt-a-whirl of anxiety over the window and seize the moment.

“Do I?”

“Are ya– are you messing with me?”

A small flare of doubts spark in her, but unwanted images flicker in her eyelids, like a film she refuses to watch. Hopes wane and she needs this. Needs him. Callahan closes the distance and gives him a chaste kiss.

For a moment he seems to lose the ability to speak, blinking as a deer caught in the headlights. And then he moves.

He cups her jaw with trembling hands and Rook lets the towel slide down the floor, pressing herself against him, and twinning her arms around his neck. When his mouth meet hers, there’s a jolt hurtling from her toes to her temples, amped a hundred voltages when he glides his tongue across her lips and in, tasting her thoroughly.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man–” he almost warbles between raspy moans when they break apart and Callahan kisses the side of his neck with an intensity she can’t control.

He’s flushed an eager, nipping at where her neck meets her shoulder, hands digging into her soft curves. She allows him to pull her to the couch with fingers that dig into her skin, his erection rubbing against her stomach, making her toes curl in anticipation.

The upholstery whines when he falls over it, Callahan clambered over his lap, and he quickly takes off his hoodie and hat, tossing them to a corner.

“Am I– is this real?” he breathes, giving her the most adoring look she’s ever seen. “C’mon shorty, pinch me, ‘cuz I don’t– I mean…”

“I want you, Shark.” She’s conscious of the demanding tone in her words but she doesn’t care. Apparently neither does him.

A shy smile spreads on his face, as he draws her closer, hands cinching tightly around her waist. “I’m blissed as fuck, am I? ”

He closes his lips around her nipple, sucking and rolling his tongue over it and making her arch in response. She’s soaked, the musk of her arousal closing down on her while he nothing but plays with her peaks, showing her he indeed was good at this. So good at this.

His fingers prod at her cunt, breaching her for him helped by the wetness gathered between her thighs. A breathless moan breaks from her throat, as she feels her walls clenching, ready to take more.  

The harrowing screams and cries seem to subside with every second she dives more and more into him.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says amidst labored breaths, “but uh, you still sure ‘bout this?”

There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in his blue eyes, and she hurries to muffle them with a hard kiss. “Fuck yes, Shark,” she says, fanning his lips with halted gasps, “you’ve no idea how much I want this.” There’s the pinch of a doubt at the back of her mind, like a cold, dead hand caressing the nape of her neck. Splitting her will in half.

“For-for real?” He stutters, unassuming of her mental ordeal.

His whole face lights up, watching her nod, spilling words she can’t quite catch against her skin.

She tugs at his belt, freeing his erection in record time, ripping broken gasps out of him. Fast enough to not think about why. His hands wander over her body as she finally rises on her knees and takes him in her hand.

“Oh, shit–”

He seems about to faint, his eyes almost crossing as she slowly takes him in. Her bottom lip disappears in her mouth trying to quench the cry that threatens to tear from her throat. He’s long, wonderfully thick, demanding a minute from her to adjust. It’s been perhaps a year since the last time she did this, and even when she’s had her fair share of action, the hot press of his cock is testing her limits. For a minute Callahan lets herself go, pulling at his hair, raking teeth over his neck.

“Fuck, shorty, you feel so good.”

His voice is low pitched, a rasp, hoarse sound that scrapes along her skin. Sharky tilts his head back, and thrusts upwards.

“Shit.” She parts her lips slightly, her head buzzing with overwhelming pleasure as he sinks into her. The drag of his dick feels amazing against her walls, making her want to ride him hard and fast until they have nothing more to give. Until she’s full of him and nothing else. Until the screeches and the sour smell of decay finally disappear. Callahan closes her eyes, making every downstroke scratch on violence.

“Easy, babe, easy.” His words sound like a low grunt, as he steadies her, by the hips. His eyes could scorch her and her gut twist with want and something undefinable. “Don’t– don’t wanna end this too soon.”

But her own peak comes too quick, crashing against every single wall she has. Her thighs quiver, her cunt pulsating and dragging him until he grunts and spills inside her.

There’s so much one can hide in their every day and when Callahan looks at Sharky, pure glint of joy in his eyes, a peaceful smile reeking adoration, her heart stops.

She can’t do this. Whatever this is. Not if not for the right reasons, which are many and spread out for everyone who wants to see it. Yes, yes. She loves him. But he deserves better.

Better than a venom-filled cop, who by now, has more blood in her hands than everyone in the county combined. Someone who isn’t going down the hill with every passing second, and isn’t a step away to be catalogued as a psychopath. And proudly so.

“Shorty? You ‘aight?”

The silence is strained, and Callahan tries her best smile, scurrying away from his lap with a faint “yeah, be right back”. She can feel the pungent smell of decay reeking from the clothes in the trash bin in the bathroom, reminding her that maybe, just maybe, the peggie from before wasn’t mistaken at all.

She is what he said.

Suddenly the air is too scarce, the walls too close, her skin too tight. She dresses in her former discarded clothes all while listening to Sharky pratting about drinking wine and watch something.

She can’t do this.

“…and the second season is even better than the first,” Sharky is saying out of sight. “You ok there?”

Lead bars constrict her heart. “Yeah, give me a sec.”

Silently, just as Peaches hunting, she opens the door of the trailer and runs. It’s better this way, even if Sharky won’t get it.

Unholstering her gun, she makes her way to Eden’s Convent. The turmoil inside her needs to be quashed down, and sometimes that’s something just bullets can do.