#clay roach x fem!reader

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones I

Summary: A late night call from your informant sets off an unexpected avalanche of gut-wrenching events…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Content: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, 18+!, Lots Of Hurt And Hardly Any Comfort, Slow Burn, Addiction (Duh), Substance Abuse (Obviously), Used Needles, A Belt Used As Tourniquet, Clay's Disgusting Living Situation, Clay Being Absolutely Fucking Miserable, Crying…So Much Crying, Talk About A Wilfully Induced OD, ANGSTY AF

A/N: The dove isn't just dead anymore, it actually started decomposing a while ago…

I'll add the appropriate content warnings with the progress of this story!

For anybody interested: I've made a Spotify playlist to go along with the fic!

Find Part II here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

- Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? By Arctic Monkeys

"Shitbum." Pale, white letters on the screen of your vibrating phone proclaimed for the 3rd time tonight.

With each new buzz of vibrations passing by, your eyes narrowed down on the display. There wouldn't be anything good in store for you if you picked up, that much you knew for sure, but him calling three times in the span of an hour and not in one manic rush of back to back calls that ended in nothing but halfway nodded out gibberish on your voicemail was something new. Not one singular voicemail had been left so far and after your mobile phone fell back into motionless silence you waited for a notification to pop up, for the screen to inform you that "You have one unattended voicemail by Caller ID: Shitbum." But nothing like that happened. Just another unanswered call in the purgatory of your push-up notifications.

With curiously arched brows, you forced yourself to take your gaze from the phone and redirect it to your bedtime read. It wasn’t an entirely fruitless attempt, you even managed to read half a page before the screen of your phone flickered up again. You saw the display glowing in the corner of your eye and all of your attention shot right back to the device.

"Jesus, fuck…" You muttered under your breath as you rolled your tired eyes at yourself while practically snatching the phone from the nightstand.

"I need you, please." The message read as soon as you unlocked the display.

For a moment you just stared at the words, frowning and your lips subconscious pursing slightly.

"Help." The cold casing vibrated again in your touch and you felt your stomach dropping.

Clay had never asked for help before, never, not once. He might have been a dope-sick informant but he always carried his head high in his very own way of snarky arrogance and stubbornness.

"Shit, Clay. What did you do?" It shot right out of your mouth as you slid out from underneath your warm duvet and reached for your thick police jacket.

Right now you couldn't be bothered to change out of your checkered PJs, everything happened automatically; your phone got shoved into the jacket while your other hand searched through a drawer as your feet pushed themselves into a pair of sturdy winter boots.

Your fingers held onto as many clean rigs as they could while your pockets got stuffed with FTS kits, the usual you brought with you when you stopped by to check in on Clay. It happened maybe once or twice a month and absolutely nobody at the Boston PD would be pleased with knowing about it but you didn't really care. You saw something in him, something more than just a fucked up addict.

The pockets of your jacked nearly teared open with how full you had stuffed them as you leaned down to tie your shoes before rushing downstairs to grab the keys to your car from the kitchen table. Your mind was almost blank, no thoughts just operating as you threw the door behind you shut and nearly ran towards your car.

At this time of night the streets were practically empty and you very clearly speeded down the set of blocks separating you from Clay's flat...if you could even call it that. His housing situation was that of a stuffy, damp bunker that's been trashed and vandalized for god knows how long. Clean or organized were attributes that didn't exist in his realm of clutter, debris and moldy dishes.

Cold wind hit you right in the face as you left the comforting warmth of your car and hastily stepped down a flight of stairs to the subterranean flat.

"Clay? It's me. Can I come in?" You spoke through the old, creaky door and knocked loudly to make your presence known.

No response. You knocked again.

"Clay?" You heard the tremble in your own voice and you were met with nothing but silence again.

"Fuck that shit." You huffed, took a step back and kicked your heavy boot against the door with such vigor that it easily cracked out of its lock.

The fact that your intrusion wasn't accompanied by just any reaction whatsoever had your stomach dropping and twitching in every possible direction. Jumping right into that nervous cramping right beneath your lungs, a pungent yet sweet stench of decay swept out of the open door right into your nostrils.

"Oh god..", You gagged and dry heaved, stumbling back and coughing a lump of saliva onto the wet pavement, "Oh fuck…ew."

You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the sleeve of your jacket but it was little to no avail, the foul odor nearly burned in your nose as you took careful steps through the trash filled hallway.

"Clay?" You called out again, receiving no answer once more.

As soon as you turned a corner into the hellhole that could be described as his "living room", you learned why.

"Oh no! You better fucking not you fucking idiot!" It rambled out of your trembling lips as you saw his statue propped against the wall, head dangling to the side, unresponsive.

With your heart hammering against your ribcage, you practically jumped over all the rubbish piles and crouched down in front of him.

"Clay! Hey!" Your hand touched his sweaty, cold to the touch cheek before all your self-control left you and you smacked him right in the face. No reaction.

"You better fucking talk to me, Clay!" Your fingers searched for his pulse point under strands of knotted, unkempt hair as your professionalism crumbled into nothingness and a flash of tears dreaded to erupt from your lower lash line. You forced them back with every ounce of countenance you could gather whilst a sharp breath escaped your mouth as you felt his pulse. Low and slow, but still very much there.

"The fuck you think nodding out on me like that, shitbum?" You scoffed, plopping down on your ass with a heavy sigh, a bunch of music and TV magazines crumpling under you.

"Let's get this mess here sorted out.." With a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows, your gaze wandered to his left arm, the sleeve being rolled up until above the crook of his elbow.

"Okay, here we go…" You murmured, hoping, imagining that he could hear you as you raised your fingers to slowly loosen up and carefully pull the black leather belt, he had used as a tourniquet, off his arm.

"Almost done…" You placed the belt next to you before you turned back to him and drew the plastic body of an empty syringe out of his arm.

For a brief moment you just looked at it, in anger and in fear to equal parts, fighting the inner urge to just smash the needle into the ground until it would break. Instead, you placed it with the belt and sat back down, taking a look around. The flat was…bad, even for Clay's standards downright messy. It gave the heavy impression that he'd lost the plot since the last time you had seen him about 2 weeks ago. Your mind hardly knew how to respond to your eyes recognising his floor being littered with used fentanyl test strips but it brought an awkwardly lopsided, faint smile to your lips. At least something. He was using them for a minimum of harm reduction.

As you let your eyes roam through the room, you eventually discovered the source of the deathlike stench filling the flat. Even from afar you saw a thick layer of not only green but black mold practically growing out and eating through the thick paper package of some Chinese takeaway you'd brought him 2 weeks ago.

"I paid for those noodles, asshole." You huffed under your breath, a desperate attempt to ease yourself from some of the relentless anxiety raging in your chest.

The box of rotten noodles wasn't the only thing that doused this room in its odor. Countless small cardboard boxes of strawberry milk with their counterpart straws were piled up high in a corner close to the open arch leading into the dirty misery that had been something resembling a kitchen once.

From early on, you had learned that cheap stir-fried noodles and strawberry milk of all things acted as the two main pillars of Clay's cranky diet and you never really tried to change anything about it. Who were you to tell him what to do only because he worked as your informant? Overall, you just felt content knowing that his still severely malnourished body got any sort of culinary input at all.

"What am I gonna do with you now, huh? Jesus, Clay. Freaked the shit out of me." You turned your body back towards his statue, your fingers carefully rolling his sweater back down to his wrist, your fingertips lingering on his sweaty hand for a moment before pulling back.

For a good few minutes, you just looked at him and pondered over what to do now. He'd freak the hell out if you'd drive him to the ER and the ER would most likely just not give much of a fuck since he wasn't straight up ODing. You also didn’t want to leave him here like that. There must’ve been a reason for him to call and text you the way he had and you'd do jackshit before you knew what all this was about.

"Mhmmm…." Your ears perked up the very second you heard the dragged out, low groan trickling out of Clay's mouth.

"Hey there…" You practically whispered to him, careful not to spook him.

"The fuck…are you doing here?" His speech was a little slurred but he seemed to come back slowly.

"You called and texted me, Clay." You answered to him calmly whilst pulling your phone from your pocket.

Before you turned the unlocked display towards his face, you tuned down the brightness.

"Remember?" He swiped his hair out of his face and squinted at the screen, pupils blown out wide.

Clay didn't answer right away, his fogged up mind trying to piece together what had happened during the last 2 hours. The expression on his face told you that he clearly didn't like what his jumbled thoughts came up with.

"Oh….oh, no…." He stammered, sluggishly trying to sit himself up straight again, the features of his face contorting into a pained frown.

While still holding up your phone, you looked at him attentively, following how he clenched his jaws as his eyes got covered by a watery sheene, indicating the growing distress he found himself in.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm here now and I'll help you." You sought to calm him down as you put the phone back into your jacket and tried to smile at him.

It wasn’t a happy smile by far but one of affirmation and understanding.

"No…no, no…" Clay suddenly started to scurry away from you, unaware that his back was already pressed against the lifeless concrete wall.

"No, what? Please talk to me." You felt your brows arching up in worry.

"This is pathetic.", It ruptured out of his mouth in a choked back sob, "You shouldn't…I wasn't…fuck."

"Hey, now.", You carefully scooted a little closer to the dirty mess of a mattress he was sitting on, "Clay, take a breath and please talk to me about what's going on."

"Fuck off!" He spat back, turning his head away from you but you still could see a few vagrant tears running down his cheeks.

"No." You stated bluntly, stopping in your movements to give him room.

"I-...I can't do this shit anymore..", Clay's voice rendered sore and out of breath with every word, "Fuck…I-...I wasn't supposed to wake up."

At his sudden confession all the pieces in your mind fell into place and you were painfully sure to feel something breaking inside of you. A jolt of emotional hurt and plain dread ruptured through your chest, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs as the man in front of you lost his posture entirely and slumped into you, wailing and crying violently.

You caught him in a loose embrace, you recognised your body doing it but your mind could hardly catch up with what was happening.

"Oh God…I should've texted you back. Should've picked up the damn phone. Fucking hell, shit, Clay, I'm so sorry." Your own voice started cracking and flailing dangerously as the weight of what had presumably happened doubled down on you.

"No…no. I'm not your…not your problem." He sniffled into your shoulder, his weak body shaking with every heavy sob erupting from the depths of his lungs.

His croaked out words served yet another fatal hit against your already rapidly crumbling composure. You felt like simply breaking down right here, too, the need for crying and screaming all the pain and guilt out of you growing stronger with every desperate whimper of his that cut right to your bones. However, you forced yourself to keep your shit together, simply had to for Clay right now.

"Issok…", You hummed into the crown of his head, carefully tightening your embrace around his slender shoulders, "You're not a problem or a burden to me. Don't you ever think that, Clay."

Your tender words were only met by a new, reckless wave of breathless cries.

"Help me, please, help me." He whined out, the realization about the reality of his own situation heavy in his voice.

"I will, I promise. You heard that?! I promise!"

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

May or may not have a bit of Clay Roach brain rot rn, and I'm thinking like.. hurt/comfort thing where reader knew Clay some years ago before the drugs and everything but lost contact, but they run into eachother again and reader is just.. heartbroken at the way he's ended up. So it leads to some old feelings coming up and some possible smut so they both can get away from their problems for a bit

My beloved nonnie, I knew I'd have a field day with this ask, but still, it somehow got rather out of hand 😅🫶🏻🖤

Old Habits Die Hard

Summary: It’s said that your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love, but is it really love or just the drugs this time?

Pairing: sub!Clay Roach x using!fem!Reader

Word Count: -4k (Y’all know I have a lot to say about Clay)

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, Drugged-Up Smut 18+!, Biting, Bruising, Choking, Riding, Unprotected P In V, Slapping, Scratching, Degradation, Explicit Consumption of Drugs (Codeine & Paracetamol), Explicit Mentions Of Other Substances, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions Of Withdrawal, Talk About Track Marks, Clay Being A Tripsitter For Reader, Emotional Constipation And Rather Questionable Ways To Deal With That

A/N: Buckle up, friends, this will be….a trip.

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @lifelessvessel @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess @shady-the-simp

No more alone or myself could I be

Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open

No shortage of sordid, no protest from me

With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean

She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

- The Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene By Hozier

With a cotton-dry mouth, your raspy tongue practically sticking to the roof, you cleared your throat, feeling clumps of nicotine-infused mucus rumbling in your lungs. Turning your lazy body from your back to your side, your thoroughly fogged-up mind started scrambling for a memory, a shard of something to hold on to. There was barely anything, but a comfortably perfume-doused pillow against your cheek and a warm blanket around your shoulders, both indicating that you found yourself at home at least.

The crusty residue around your weary eyes let you know that you must’ve slept like a log and upon slowly opening them up to the dimly lit bedroom you very well knew why. It should’ve sent a jostle of shock through your nerve endings but instead, a blubbered laugh trickled out of a sly grin as you studied the scene of the crime.

You knew you hated drugs, really, really despised and detested them…that was up to the point something, some not-so-minor inconvenience, rendered you desperate for something to escape yourself with for a little while. Ever since the first glass of sparkly sweet white wine at the tender age of 15 years or the first secretly smoked joint on a children's playground in the dead of night with your best friend during high school, you knew about the marvelous powers of substances and their quite excellent capability of shutting off your always-firing neurons.

Right now, as your thoughts scrambled around inside your skull, it felt as if thick tar clogged your mental gears from turning properly, and with your eyes counting at least half a dozen cough syrup bottles scattered between a blister pack of good ol’ paracetamol pills it made a whole lot of sense to you.

“Well, don’t mind if I do…” You chuckled to yourself before slipping your body from under the blanket, letting your legs dangle over the edge before searching for a somewhat still halfway-full bottle of cough syrup with one hand while the other was busy pressing two white, circular-shaped paracetamol pills out of their aluminum confines.

The decision to continue this little bender was already made but just to check in, you threw your little, digital alarm clock a brief glance.

“Yes, perfect!” You quipped in amusement upon the information that it was only Saturday afternoon, more than enough time to treat yourself to another buzz or maybe even two before winding down to be back on track and a part of the office desk machinery like every Monday.

After washing the pills down with a carefully curated overload of somewhat oily cough syrup, that stuck to the back of your throat, you moved to lean your back against the headboard to light yourself a cigarette, the sad rest of a halfway-smoked one still dangling on the brim of the stained glass ashtray on your nightstand. Just in the very moment in which you found yourself about to light the cigarette, pulling the lighter to your lips, you noticed something or much more someone out of the corner of your eye.

“What the fuck…” You muttered to yourself, discarding lighter and cigarette right back to where they came from as your eyes widened in a muffled-down sensation of surprise.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that you brought yourself a little something something back home from a bender, but it happened rather rarely still. However, something inside, down at the depths of your chest started whirring as your eyes wandered over a glossy brown mess of disheveled, curly hair. Something distinct about its color and the way the ends coiled up to bouncy curls had you feeling just too much for being intoxicated like this. For a moment, you pondered over simply evacuating your own apartment but that would’ve been nothing but ridiculous. In addition, you didn’t exactly feel like riding out your next high in broad sunlight with people nattering, chatting and buzzing all around you, nope. The surge of mellow euphoria was meant for a cold diet Coke and a Led Zeppelin record running on the player right opposite from you on the dusty TV stand.

“Hey there?”, You nudged the body to your left carefully with your elbow, “Wakey, wakey…”

“Huh?” The someone reciprocated in a slightly startled groan, the tone of his voice causing your brows to furrow because it was somehow terribly familiar to you.

This sort of raspy, sleep-drunk sigh had your mind reeling to remember the person it belonged to and as soon as the man next to you started turning himself onto his back, you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Hi…” You croaked out, your throat rendering dry and if it hadn’t been for the meticulously measured-out amount of paracetamol and codeine in your bloodstream, you would’ve plummeted into a pitch-black puddle of emotional hurt as your eyes just couldn’t get away from a pair of bright blue ones staring right back.

“Hi…” The man you knew since way before he had grown just the first stubble on his chin murmured back, a softly lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his lip to curl up.

For what seemed to be endless minutes, the both of you just stared at each other. Something led you to believe that Clay knew a bit more about how both of you had ended up at your place and you felt yourself being not completely indifferent to asking about it.

“You…huh?” You pointed your head towards him in a soft movement, resting your chin on your pulled-up knees afterward.

With a sigh, the smile on Clay’s face died away.

“I was afraid about you not remembering anything from last night, got you home.” Clay nodded whilst pulling himself up to lean against the headboard of your bed just as well, the blanket gliding down over his front and giving free sight to a severely malnourished body.

“You brought me home?” You arched your brows at him a little further, your thoughts still very busy with piecing just anything together until you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d blacked out at some point.

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. You were there and at the same time you really really weren’t.” Whilst looking at him, the feeling of being berated by him of all people grew inside of you.

“Hmhm..judgy.” You sneered, feeling the discomfort rising in your chest.

“I’m not judging. I was worried.” Clay brushed vagrant strands of his now much longer hair out of his face.

The last time you had seen him, about two…maybe three years ago, his hair had hardly reached over his earlobes and now the curled-up ends cascaded over his skinny collarbones.

“Oh, I get it, Clay, okay. So you are allowed to be worried but I wasn’t, huh? Wasn’t allowed to maybe point out that a needle in your arm for breakfast is too far off, even for us, no, yeah fuck you!” Rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him, you got your buzzing body off the bed to waddle into the kitchen to grab yourself one of the cans of fizzy diet Coke you craved so much right now.

“I’ve gotten myself out of that if you do so much as care about it.” Clay called after you, trying to not set even more fire to the whole situation.

“ ‘S that all you have to say about that? Fucking hypocrite.” Metallic creaking and the sound of soda bubbling in an aluminum can followed right after, the noises not able to drown out the breaking and cracking inside of you in the slightest.

You hated talking down to him like that but your hurt ego and damaged pride just couldn’t handle it any differently right now, the pain of forcefully having to split ways with Clay was still much too prominent in your memory. You went to detox and he drowned himself out in the endless shadows of whatever shady alleyway or shooting gallery out there. For quite a while before his slip-ups eventually, had you questioning everything enough to get your own ass into rehab, you had watched him getting worse with every passing week. You most certainly weren’t a saint yourself, no, but you still knew how you had begged him to go to rehab with you, to get the help the both of you needed desperately at that point but it hadn’t been to any avail. Stubborn and head-strong Clay Roach had made his choice and that one had broken your heart so hard that you’d promised yourself to never ever entertain his company ever again. Nights had been spent with nothing but ugly crying and sobbing about his stupid ass in rehab, you worried sick with the countless what-ifs fuelled by detrimental withdrawal anxiety until you had gradually killed every little bit of sympathy for him inside of you. It had been tedious and endlessly painful work but you had managed it to a point where you felt like you could breathe again without your body longing for him like your lungs did for oxygen.

“This is not me belittling you, okay?”, Clay looked up at you with pleading eyes the second you stepped back out of the kitchen, the can of soda tightly in your grasp, “This is me being a self-righteous bastard that’s too proud to say sorry.”

“That’s more like it.”, You scoffed, brows knit together as your gaze wandered over his torso, “Somehow I don’t trust you, arm’s up.”

For a second, Clay frowned at your demand but acted upon it equally quickly.

“There, no track marks, happy? Haven’t touched that shit in over a year.” He waited for your approval but you didn’t really feel like trusting him still.

“What else are you on? You don’t just run into somebody on the scene because you got lost on the way…” With an almost irritating smile on his face, Clay shrugged his shoulders.

“Funny how we didn’t bump into one another on the scene but at the damned 7/11 down the road at around 3 A.M. I had a few drinks, yeah, and maybe I was a bit starstruck as you squeezed yourself out of the entrance right next to me without even so much as taking notice of me. And maybe, just maybe, I turned on my heels to run after you before you vanished off into the night again.”, With his eyes, Clay pointed down his front, “And about that…I’m on a Methadone prescription that massively fucks with my appetite, thank you for asking.”

“Methadone?” You asked quietly, trying to play right over the part where you felt like breaking down and crawling into his arms that practically called out to you.

“Yeah, I’m slowly getting off of that, too, but I’m not quite there just yet. Maybe 3 to 6 months longer and that’s also a done deal. How about you?” Clay’s eyes darted toward the mess of small brown bottles and confetti of aluminum foil on your nightstand.

“Rare weekend bender. Had a shitty week, y’know.” You answered before taking a swig from the can.

“Uh-huh.”, Clay nodded, “Guilty pleasure, hm?”

“Yeah, something like that.” The heavily carbonated drink bubbled in your stomach, pressing a tiny, choked-back burp out of you.

“Listen…”, Clay sighed and with that, your ears perked up, “ I know, I hurt you…a lot, to say the least, and not a single day went by where I didn’t regret being such a bastard, okay? I know I fucked it up, spectacularly.”

“I appreciate the apology but…” You mumbled reluctantly.

“But, what?” Clay allowed his arms to slump down onto the bed again, his form slowly relaxing.

“But… I don’t know, Clay. To be perfectly real with you here, I’m losing my train of thought right now.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking another mouthful of diet Coke before placing the can on the nightstand.

“It’s okay…maybe come’ere then?” He carefully invited you to ride your growing buzz out right next to him under the soft blankets.

“Uh-huh, yeah…” A soft yawn snaked out of your mouth as the increasing drowsiness washed through your muscles with every beat of your heart.

Exhaling an even longer yawn right after the first, you just gave in to the pull his presence had on you and snuck yourself under your duvet and into his careful embrace. His heartbeat thumbing in a slow and steady pace against your ear pulled all of your focus towards him and the comfortably warm rush spreading from your stomach throughout the rest of your body. Feeling his skin against your cheek took you right back to those times when something along the lines of this used to be the regular weekend activity but then quickly morphed into something more dangerous than just a weekend trip of numbed-out euphoria. You tried not to think about it but the memories plopped up inside your mind all by themselves, making you physically cringe.

"What's that now?" Clay murmured to you, his voice soft and breathing calm.

"It's…memories." You sighed, trying to relax and to simply let go of them.

"That's okay. Remind yourself that they can't hurt you, those times are over, I promise." You struggled a little with following his words as your brain started to come up with more or less random thoughts.

"Why…why didn't you just let me be last night? What gave you the audacity to sneak yourself back into not only my life but…but also my apartment, huh?" The words slipped from your tongue, halfway muzzled by his chest.

"I dunno.", It sounded like he almost laughed it out gently, "Maybe it was really just audacity and the stubborn hopes of an idiot like me."

"Hmhmm…" You mumbled away, eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself gradually drifting into sensory oblivion, a far-off place where nothing really bothered you anymore.

With a barely even there grin, you had to admit to yourself that Clay's chest was a much more comfortable thing to fall into than just your pillow as the buzz eventually took over. Your mind and muscle memory went straight back to feeling safe with him, taken care of and protected because even though back then it had been the two of you knocked out of your socks, Clay had never failed to cradle you in his arms and keep you sheltered from everything and anything.

After your eyes had fallen shut and your pulse calmed down to a low beat, you lost track of just how long you had dozed off. It could've been just a few hours or half a day, regardless, it was dark outside and a nice, crisp breeze went through the halfway-open window of your bedroom. Now that the tiring numbness slowly wore off, a pampering flush of warm euphoria followed, the kind of feeling that encouraged you to prolong it by having a couple of drinks or tempted you to get teasingly touchy with either yourself or whoever was with you. An arguably treacherous slippery slope having Clay, whose fingers were busy playing through your hair, right next to you.

“What time is it?” You sighed, shamelessly nuzzling your face further into his shoulder until the tip of your nose stroked against his neck, inhaling his scent and allowing it to fill up your nostrils.

“Hey there, sunshine.”, He yawned in return, the smile on his face audible, “About half past 8. How are you feeling, hm?”

“Surprisingly rested…” You replied, your voice still a little drowsy whilst your lips were eagerly creeping up to brush over his pulse point, the faint taste of salty sweat seeping into your mouth upon contact.

“Oh…I wouldn’t mind you doing that again…” Clay breathed against the crown of your head, picking right up on your nonverbal invitation whilst his hand roamed underneath the blanket, searching for yours.

“You mean that?” You led your lips to plant a kiss on his neck, sucking the sensitive skin between your teeth to leave a small hickey.

“Uh-huh…”, It rolled over his tongue as his lean fingers closed down around your wrist to pull your hand up to his exposed throat, silently proposing to you to press your palm around it, “Wouldn’t mind you being a little mean to me either. I do believe I deserve that, no?”

“Bold of you to assume what you deserve in the first place.” You teasingly sneered back, hand carefully yet firmly closing down around his throat whilst your lips latched onto his earlobe.

Clay had played it smart and that drew a sly smile from you. Line, hook and sinker.

“I thought, I-” The imminent wash of pain emitting from his earlobe as you bit down on it had him gagging on his words.

“Yet another mistake.”, You hummed against the shell of his ear, clicking your tongue tauntingly after letting the warm flesh between your teeth scrape out of your mouth.

“What do you want me to do then?” Clay croaked, his voice gradually cut off by your carefully tightening grasp around his throat.

“Much better.”, You cooed in return whilst the buzzing warmth from your stomach gradually shot down amidst your thighs in increasingly needy jolts, “I want you to take your shorts off and then you shut the fuck up, got that?”

He nodded vigorously, his chin nearly meeting the back of your hand as you felt his Adam’s apple bobbing against your palm. Just like you told him to, Clay shimmied out of his shorts whilst your free hand was busy pulling your own panties down until you were able to smoothly slip out of them.

For a split second, your thoughts halted, the flood of countless, well-familiar memories rushing through overworked synapses leading you to question if this whole endeavor was the right road to take right now before the excitement and your own physical need to feel him took over again. Forcing any doubt into the nothingness at the very back of your mind, you threw your right leg over his hips to straddle his lap, Clay’s already eager hard-on pressing against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck..” He gasped out, his eyes beaming at you through a half-lidded gaze.

As soon as you let your crotch slide down a little, allowing his pulsing cock to push into you at once, you served his cheek a hefty slap.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, didn’t I?” Clay’s head lolled to the side upon impact, a deep grunt rippling through his chest as he nodded again.

“Not a single whine…” You stated, starting to rock your hips against his.

You barely allowed your own body to adjust to his full girth, resulting in a comfortably painful stretch to accommodate his size. For a blissful moment, your pulse throbbed through your walls as the tip of his cock thrusted against that particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending pleasure buzzing like an electric current through your muscles.

With every sensation amplified by the cocktail of substances flooding your bloodstream, you released Clay’s throat from your grip, a single shred of reason reminding you not to choke him out in an unfortunate accident. Instead, both of your hands clawed down on his chest, nails digging into his pale skin, drilling until you left an array of angry, red streaks that made him twist and twitch under your fingertips as not one singular noise left his trembling lips.

“Look at you, hedonistic traitor, finally understanding the assignment, nuh?” It was undeniable that your words cut deep but in that very instance, you wanted them to, needed Clay to suffer just as much as you did and in the way his eyes got glossed over with a tell-tale watery sheen you know he did.

“Oh, you know you don’t deserve any of that right now, don’t you? Don’t deserve to be balls deep inside of me, no.” You pushed it further, borderline hurting yourself by spewing those vile words right at him, the malevolence oozing right out of every single one.

To somehow, haphazardly counteract the emotional dread, you picked up the pace, pounding his back into the mattress underneath over and over, repeatedly sending shots of physical pleasure through the both of you.

“Good god, fuck…” It left your mouth in a shaky moan, your body most certainly not used to so many bodily sensations since you very much opted right out of any sort of long-term dating after having to split from Clay.

The vast majority of orgasms that had rippled through you since then were your own doings and none of them could just barely reach the state of growing bliss you found yourself in right now. If it hadn’t been for your own needy desperation, you’d dragged it out longer, toyed with him a little more but as of now you just couldn’t be bothered with any of that. Rocking your waist against his lap again and again, you felt the rapidly tightening coil in your lower abdomen growing ready to snap, your walls clenching down around his cock and pulling him in impossibly deep with every further thrust.

The very thing that eventually pushed you right past your threshold was the dire expression on his face. Clay was biting down on his bottom lip so hard to remain silent that his teeth nearly dug deep enough to draw blood.

“Issok…” You huffed out, your own breath nearly getting stuck in your throat as you felt the first contractions rendering you cockdrunk, waves of trashing release washing through you like an uncontrollable tide.

With your permission given, Clay whined out in pleasure himself, his head pushing back into the pillow as he shoved himself into you as deep as possible, spilling his pent-up seed in heavy pumps.

“Fuck!” He cussed out, his hands reaching towards your waist to hold you right in place as his cock throbbed and twitched inside of you, shooting ropes of his release into your oozing cunt.

You felt the warmth of his cum pushing past, trickling out of you to pool between your slightly shaking, sweat-soaked thighs. Minutes appeared to pass in silence until both of you slowly came back from your orgasmic highs, breaths trying to be caught again.

“How do you feel about grabbing a drink?” Out of all things it was that what splattered out of your mouth.

“Sure as fuck wouldn’t say no to that…” Clay laughed back from underneath you.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones III

Summary: In which we pause the dense and dark plot for nothing but smut…..for the most part at least.

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Content Warnings: Smut Bomb 18+!, Oral (F Receiving), Tongue Fucking, Fingering, Silent And Yet So Loud Body Worship, Two Idiots In Love Your Honor, They Are So Incredibly Needy For Each Other Oooof, Smoking, Brief Mentions Of Weed, Emotional Constipation, The Plot Be Twisting Folks!

A/N: I actively lost my sanity over this 🫡

Find Part I and Part II here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine @basementgrl222

Can you hear the silence?

Can you see the dark?

Can you fix the broken?

Can you feel, can you feel my heart?

Can you help the hopeless?

Well, I'm begging on my knees

Can you save my bastard soul?

Will you wait for me?

- Can You Feel My Heart By Bring Me The Horizon

Curly, damp strands of Clay's glossy, brown hair slowly rendered warm against the skin of your thighs. His cheek pressed against the inside of your leg as his lips caressed your aching clit with countless, small kisses, his bottom lip ghosting over it in a way that drove you crazy, made your entire body tremble and quiver in the gentle touch of his hands that found themselves wrapped around right below the round of your behind.

He made you want to cry out, not in pain but in desperation, in need for more of his touch but Clay held you pinned down to the mattress, perhaps not with brute force but way more with the gingerly administered nips and squeezes of his lips against your aching cunt. You felt the wetness pooling out of yourself, every clench and throb around nothing pushing slick droplets onto his chin. Clay wasn't even touching you with his tongue yet and you still felt like thrashing and sobbing through your barely illuminated bedroom.

"Breathe, yeah?" He calmly hummed against you, his nose nudging against your public bone as his content voice vibrated through you.

" 'M trying…" It scrambled out of your mouth in a poorly choked back whimper, a line of thin but nonetheless powerful tears threatening to swap over your lower lash line.

"I'm not gonna do anything until I hear you taking a few deep breaths for me." Clay teased, the wicked grin on his face audible. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"You're mean!" You huffed with lungs ablaze before you inhaled almost mockingly deep.

"Wonder what made you think I was nice in the first place.", His warm breath against the wet between your legs sent a wave of goosebumps all across your skin. "There you go…and another one, please."

Clay talked you through it, had the audacity to and you allowed him to, wouldn't have stopped even if someone had pressed a gun to your chest.

"Better?" He inquired, his eyes darting up to meet yours, a glint flickering up behind the blue of his irises as his lips dropped slightly agape.

"Uh-Huh.." You regained a morsel of your composure but not for long.

Not taking his attentive eyes off of you, Clay unwrapped one of his hands from around your thighs, bringing his slender fingers to delicately dip between your soaked folds until his index finger was knuckle-deep inside, exploring you with tender strokes of his fingertip. Just looking at him, watching his features light up in a curious desire for your body, felt like it was too much. The way he studied your features and the way your rib cage filled with air and fell back against the mattress after a cascade of needy, little moans slipped from your lips as he had slightly curled his finger inside you, left you feeling things you had hardly ever felt before.

You were burning up from the inside out…though not just with desire. There was something more to it, something heavier, more pulling, making you gravitate towards this man who was practically beaming at you through his lashes. As profoundly dumb as it sounded, you felt seen by him. Seen in the most honest way possible, a way that contained way more to it than sneaky kisses and naked skin. There were no secrets between you. You knew all about his habit, and his police record for that matter, whilst he had not only seen your scars but was touching them in this very moment, caressing them…treating them with nothing but his love.

"You gonna be the death of me…" You allowed your head to eventually loll into the pillow as your back arched against his finger, trying to feel him deeper down.

"Oh, I hope not." Clay sighed softly in amusement right before he, devilishly juxtaposed to his words, put his tongue flat against your clit, lapping at you with the full length.

"Oh, fuck!" It was enough to have your senses reeling and you hardly took notice of yourself reaching out to shove your trembling fingers into the curly mess of his hair.

Your fingertips grazed over his scalp, pulling a deep groan from the bottom of his lungs as he eagerly followed your nonverbal plea for more.

"Gonna make me cum already, Clay…" Your voice was but a shaky cry into the gradually more humid air of your bedroom.

"Please, I wanna taste you." His raspy tone got muffled down, lost in your throbbing cunt that started clenching down around his finger in the first earth-shattering contractions of your orgasm.

His tongue against you, the tip nudging and playing with your clit sent a breathtaking firework of bliss through every single muscle straight up into your brain. You heard yourself moan and whine out his name, your fingers taking a fistful of his hair as you shoved his face between your legs, riding your climax out on his tongue.

Little did you know that Clay wasn't done with you just yet. He may let his finger slip out of your overstimulated, wet pussy and went to gasp for air right after you freed his head from your deathgrip but only to look at you for a few raggedy huffs, his chin glistening with a glossy layer of your release. Clay didn't even bother to wipe his face clean, instead he went back in straight away. A surprised mewl fell from your lips as you felt his tongue snaking inside of you, the curve of his nose prodding against your still sensitive clit as he set out to work another orgasm from your body by fucking you on his width of his tongue. Even after that, he wouldn't just let you get up, no. The madman fucking you with the girth of his tongue for what must've been two hours at least only let you slip and shimmy out of his tender grip after a third and final orgasm had rendered your brain into a puddle.

"Please…", You begged unto him with a sore voice, "I can't, I-... need air, please, Clay, fuck. Maybe a cigarette, too."

"That truly sounds like something." He chuckled lightly, drawing his arms from your thighs before crawling up next to you, letting his body thud down whilst smiling at you.

You'd never seen him smile like that before and it made your chest fill with a sense of warmth whilst feeling it tightening up in painfully equal parts. You tried to shove the latter sensation to the side, your eyes searching his to help you with that.

"Didn't know you smoked." Clay stated with softly arched brows, his chest rising in heavy inhales.

"It's an off-duty guilty pleasure now. You should've seen me at the police academy. Used to run on nothing but nicotine and caffeine in various forms." You answered, your features softening immediately as the sparkle in the striking blue of his eyes washed away the heavy feeling in your lungs.

"Oh, what else is on the naughty list?" He pushed with a note of upright curiosity in his tone, turning his entire form towards you.

"Oh, I smoked a lot of pot during college." You laughed, tucking an astray strand of nearly dry hair behind your ear.

"You absolute rascal, you!" Clay mocked playfully whilst watching you reluctantly turn away from him to fish for a pack of menthol flavored cigarettes in your nightstand.

"I know, right?" It elicited a little snicker out of you before you got up from the bed and waddled towards your window.

"Whoops…my legs do feel a bit wobbly." You heard Clay behind you giggling at your comment and the sheets shuffling.

"Absolutely not sorry about that." He remarked, taking a seat in front of you on the windowsill as you opened the window, nudging the open package towards him first before taking one for yourself.

"What about you… I mean…" You tilted your head towards the bed, implying that you'd been satisfied for sure.

Clay took his time to answer, lighting the cigarette first with the lighter residing on the wood of the windowsill and taking a deep drag before smacking his lips, pondering over his words.

"No…not, not now. Would like to feel you properly when I'm clean.", He halted for a brief moment, a tint of red creeping up to his cheeks, "I mean, like…if you'd want it, too."

At first, the boyish insecurity in his answer wanted to charme a laugh out of you but right in the next instant the reality of things hit you.

"I, uhm, well…", You started stumbling over your own words as well, "Listen. I wouldn't-… I wouldn't exactly be mad about this not being a one-time-thing, you know?"

"Okay.", He noted with a faint smile ghosting around his lips, "Then it's on the table."

"One step at a time." You felt stupid saying it just like that but you couldn't help yourself.

Instead, you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. The taste of yourself mixed in with that of menthol cigarettes spreading all throughout your mouth.

Neither of you noticed that you weren't really that unwatched in the middle of the night. The click of a phone camera went unheard as Agent Rohr narrowed his eyes down at the display.

"Oh, missy.", He chuckled to himself, taking another set of pictures just for good measure, "Not you fucking the junkie. Nice tits, tho."

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones II

Summary: You promised Clay to get him help but for that, the two of you still need to make it through the night…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Major Hurt/Comfort, Still Angsty, The Slow Burn Is Slowly Burning Y'all, Kinda Calm And Domestic Vibes For A Treacherous Second, Talk About Rehab, Talk About Track Marks, Brief Mentions Of Other Substances (Painkillers And Alcohol), Talk About Past Self-Harm, Clay Still Being Miserable, Crying, A Short Sloppy Make Out Session In The Shower, Smutty Cliffhanger 😬

A/N: I actively lost my mind over this, y'all. Major shout out to @cc-luvr for listening to my demented rambles and proofreading this stuff 🫶🏻

Find Part I and Part III here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

You are all I need

You're all I need

I'm in the middle of your picture

Lying in the reeds

I am a moth

Who just wants to share your light

I'm just an insect

Trying to get out of the night

- All I Need By Radiohead

You knew that you should just hand in your resignation at the Boston PD by now, kiss your badge goodbye and face the fact to get demoted to filing parking tickets again. The second someone just got so much as a whiff of you taking your informant in at your own home would have you suspended in absolutely no time whatsoever. Anyhow, that train of thought had to wait while you scooped a hastily put together grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to a small plate and placed it onto your kitchen table right next to a cup of hot chocolate.

"I know, it's not strawberry milk but basically the next best thing now, no?" You tried to sound a little cheerful although there was nearly no energy left inside of you.

Hauling Clay out if his hellhole of a flat had been hard enough on both of you since he practically broke down crying anew every few steps down the way. Only when you'd put on the heating and the radio in your car did Clay calm down eventually.

Before answering to you, Clay just looked at the food with wide eyes, his form hardly more than a weak silhouette slumped in your kitchen chair. In that moment it dawned on your sleep-deprived mind that he probably hasn't had a real home-cooked meal in god knows how long. While you wouldn't even really call a grilled cheese sandwich home-cooked, it meant the world and more to Clay, who still just stared at it, seemingly hypnotized by the token of hospitality in front of him.

"Thank you…you didn’t…it wouldn't have been necessary." He expressed his gratitude with a sore voice and looked up to you as you took a seat in front of him, your own late-night snack in hand.

"But I wanted to.", You smiled at him softly but with obviously very tired undertones, "Now, please, dig in."

Your invitation to take a bite of the sandwich had hardly left your lips as Clay already munched down on it.

"Please don't choke yourself, okay? I said I'd drive you to rehab first thing in the morning, not the morgue." It rolled over your tongue in an upright and honest chuckle.

"It's kinda the same thing, depending how you look at it." Clay snarled back, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Oh, c'mon now.." You arched your brows at him while taking a much needed bite out of your own sandwich.

"Sorry…" Clay broke from your gaze with an apologetic expression on his face before downright devouring the cheese-stuffed toast and chugging down the cup of hot chocolate, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of burning his mouth with the fresh from the stove liquid.

"That good?", You asked in between bites, the crunchy and creamy texture of the warm sandwich feeling like a near orgasmic experience to your whiplashed senses, "Do you need anything else? Painkillers…alcohol…whatever really?"

"No, not…not yet." Clay shimmied around in his chair a little, "I'm kinda cold though.."

"Maybe a hot shower would help with that? No offense, Clay, but you could use one.." You suggested, eating up the last bits of your sandwich.

"I know.", He reciprocated dryly, "But.."

"But what?" You inquired calmly, taking a deep drag from your steaming cup of coffee.

"The last time I tried, I got heart palpitations, fainted and nearly smashed my head on the fucking tiles.." For the blink of an eye you just stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Do you need help with that then?" Your question was sincere.

"Fuck off, I'm not a toddler that needs to be mothered." Clay pursed his lips as he started chewing on the insides of his cheeks, crossing his arms in front of his chest in resignation.

"I never implied that, Clay. You asked for help and I am offering it to you. Simple as that." You knew all too well that the current situation you found yourself in was everything but simple, however, that was a problem for sometime tomorrow.

"I'll just be there, making sure that maybe you won't flail out of my shower head first." You suggested while looking at him, waiting for an answer.

It took a good moment of silence for him to redirect his eyes towards yours right before he mumbled: "I'm….I'm embarrassed. My body.. is- is not in a good condition, shocker, I know."

"Clay…", You sighed after taking another sip of coffee, "An hour ago, I pulled a needle from your arm. There's nothing you'd have to be embarrassed about, I promise you."

In a nervous, clearly still unsure motion, he rubbed his palms together, pulling the hem of his sleeves up to his knuckles.

"Promise?" He furrowed his brows and bit down on his bottom lip.

"I promise." You assured him, "How about you go upstairs? It's the first door to the right and I get you some fresh clothes from my wardrobe while you make yourself as comfortable as you can, hm?"

"I guess we can try that." You knew it was the best you could get out of him about that and you acknowledged it with a nod while scooting away from the table.

"I'll be with you right away, yeah?" You smiled at Clay before putting both plates in the sink and taking the stairs towards your bedroom.

At this point, you just left him to himself for a moment. Sure, you thought about him taking his chance and running. Maybe the next thing you'd hear would be the slamming of your front door but that would be his choice then. A choice you wouldn't take from him, there was no use to that. Clay was here on his own accord and you left it up to him to show you that he really wanted this.

While you pulled a long-sleeved shirt from the bottom of your wardrobe's drawer, accompanied by one of your oversized sweatpants, you felt your heart thrashing against your ribcage. Your ears were picking up every possible sound and you couldn't help yourself but to wish that he wouldn't do anything stupid. The pent-up breath leaving your lungs in a heavy sigh as you heard the creaking of the stairs should've given it away to yourself, practically rubbing it into your face that Clay had grown important to you, but you chose active denial instead.

"There should be a leftover toothbrush on the shelf above the sink if you want to use it!" You called down the hallway, folding the clothes into one neat pile before getting up from the carpet floor of your bedroom.

"Noted." Clay answered back after stepping into your bathroom, not fully closing the door behind him.

Before stepping in after him you gently knocked.

"Can I come in?" You asked in a soft tone, leaning your shoulder against the door.

"Uh-Huh." He mumbled in return, the toothbrush already between his jaws.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you pushed the door open slowly, the pale skin of Clay's back facing you.

You tried your best not to stare like a total idiot, but the way you could practically count his ribs and the intervertebral disks of his spine up to the nape of his neck had you stunned for a second. Tearing your gaze away from him, you placed the clothes on top of the laundry bin right next to the door and sat down on the closed toilet seat beside the sink, getting yourself out of your PJ pants first.

Up until that moment, you didn't waste a second thought about your own body in this whole scenario but as the soft fabric of the pants pooled on the tiles in front of you, the discomfort shot as a hot wave into your cheeks. Clearing your throat a little, you silently stared down on your thighs, faded out, thick scar tissue ogling right back, mocking you in a way.

"How about…", Clay spat out an amalgamation of saliva and toothpaste, leaning his hands against the sink, "You just stare at me for a moment while I do the same. Get it over with."

"Yeah, hold on…", You pulled the PJ top off, too, leaving you in your underwear. "Now it's fair.."

Your eyes traced the trail of self-induced scars up to your navel before you raised your head back to Clay.

"What happened?" He asked bluntly, turning himself to you, vulnerable and exposed, the waistband of his shorts sitting loosely on his pointy hip bones.

"I could ask you the same." You chuckled dryly, your eyes wandering over his torso, ribs poking through just like his collarbones.

"Life, I'm afraid." He responded in an equally dry tone.

"Same here.", You shrugged your shoulders a little, "How about we put some antiseptics on the puncture sites? They look like they could use some. I have a bottle in the drawer to your left."

With a short nod Clay opened up the drawer, pulling out not only said bottle of antiseptic lotion but also a still wrapped shut set of razor blades.

"The monsters still live in the closet, huh?" He put the package back as fast as he'd pulled it from the drawer.

"They never really moved out, no." You confessed, gathering a few pieces of toilet paper to douse it in the disinfectant.

"I wonder if they ever do." Clay sighed, inhaling sharply as you caressed the plentiful of his track marks with the improvised paper swab.

"Thank you…" You pat every little inch on the inside of his elbow carefully.

"For what?" Clay sounded thoroughly confused.

"For trusting me, shitbum." You said in return, throwing him a faint yet upright smile.

"Uh, sure…" He shrugged it off while you dumped the soggy toilet paper into a trash can underneath the sink.

"Now let's get into that shower, no?" You nudged your head towards the shower.

"Yeah, uhm…", Clay's eyes darted down to his shorts, "Should I…I mean..?"

"Whatever you are comfortable with." You got up and stepped underneath the shower head, fumbling with the faucet handle to not just drench the both of you in ice cold water.

"Uh, okay…" He mumbled, deciding to leave his boxers on before cautiously following you.

"Is the temperature okay for you?" You reached out to gently grab his hand by the wrist, holding it under the softly flowing stream of warm, but not exactly hot water.

"A bit more, maybe? I don't wanna burn you but I feel like I'm freezing." He asked hesitantly.

"Sure, don't worry about me, okay?" You pushed the handle a little more to the left.

"How about now? That better?" A wave of significantly warmer water hit your front and the palm of his hand.

"Yeah…" Clay smiled contentedly whilst stepping into the flow of water coming from above.

A long, low humm of comfort left his lips while you watched him closely as the water soaked his unkempt hair and cascaded down his body.

"Fuck…that feels good." He sighed with eyes closed, his hand now holding on to yours for guidance.

"Good, I got you, yeah?" You carefully wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his, slowly crouching down to pick up a bottle of shampoo.

You let him soak in the heat of the water for a while before you asked: "Mind taking just a little step towards me? I think we should take some care of that hair if yours, no?"

"Sure…" Clay blindly stepped out of the frequent stream, now just standing inches away from you.

With your free hand you unscrewed the bottle and tilted it over the crown of his head until a big dollop of shampoo oozed out of it.

"Am I going to smell like flowers and berries now?" He chuckled whilst you put the bottle back down and started lathering his scalp with tender, circular movements of your fingertips.

"Actually…" You started, his comment eliciting a short laugh out of you as well, "It's mint and green apple scented."

"Oh, I can get behind that." He murmured, his face clearly telling you how much he enjoyed you soaping up his hair right now.

"Well, it's not like you really got a say in this, huh?" You returned, delicately letting go of his hand to put both of yours to use throughout his knotted hair.

"Yeesh, we'll need a lot of conditioner to tame that mess." You noted with slightly pursed lips.

"Conditioner now, too, yeah? Gon' be the best smelling lowlife in rehab tomorrow." At first you smiled but soon enough the reality of his comment hit you deep down again.

For an innocent, foolish moment you simply forgot about it, had allowed yourself to get carried away.

You tried your best to not sound too taken aback as you uttered: "So, you really want it?"

At that Caly also lost his faint smile and you deeply regretted every word that just left your mouth.

"Fuck, sorry…" You whispered to him, feeling sorry for the both of you for bluntly trashing the moment like that.

"No, stop…it's okay.", With his hair full of bubbly shampoo, Clay took another blind step towards you, nearly bumping into you, his arms clumsily wrapping themselves around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, "It's a valid question and the answer is yes."

For seemingly endless seconds your severely overworked brain oh so desperately tried to compute what was happening.

"Are…are you hugging me right now?" You stammered awkwardly.

"Kinda looks like it, no?" Clay answered, wrapping his arms closer around you as if to prove his point.

"Oh-, okay, cool…", You felt your mind gradually losing the plot, being so utterly stunned by his display of affection, "Let's…how about we rinse that shampoo out now." Trying to regain your composure, you cupped his hips with your hands, gently guiding him back underneath the steady flow of steaming, warm water.

"Yeah, sure…" It bubbled out of his mouth as you watched the shampoo residue slowly trickling down the drain.

Yet again, Clay rested his chin in the crook of your neck, his face slightly tilting towards your collarbone. In this very moment you felt his lips brushing over your skin, his wet hair falling across your shoulder and it led you to forsake all rational reason for good.

In a moment of unadulterated senselessness your hands cupped his face, pulling it up to yours to press a painfully longing kiss to his lips.

"Fuck…" Clay huffed right before reciprocating the kiss, practically shoving himself onto you, tightening his hug around your lower body.

"Shit, fucking hell…no.. we shouldn't-" You rambled into his mouth.

"I know but fuck that." He groaned nonchalantly.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones IV

Summary: A cigarette smoked in the dead of night comes back to bite you…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Count: - 2.1k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, We're Back On The Angst Train, Mentions Of (Past) Self-Harm, Crying, Clay's Dirty AF Flat, Mentions Of Used Needles And Drug Paraphernalia, Mentions Of Withdrawal, Agent Rohr Being Agent Asshole

A/N: *sits down with a grilled cheese sandwich and strawberry milk*

Find The Other Parts Here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess

Love like a needle full of methadone

Potent but not real, left you wanting more

Lipstick track-marks bleeding wet

Like Montagues and Capulets

For us child, the stars refuse to shine

Why for us child, do the stars refuse to shine?

- Methadone By Rise Against

"Time to unfuck this hellhole…" You sighted to yourself, the seams of a pair of thick nitrile gloves tight around your wrists, as you crouched down to shove piles of rubbish into a blackened trash bag.

Involuntarily, memories of this morning, from mere hours ago, flooded your mind because you had knelt down just the same in front of your wardrobe, shoving t-shirts and left-behind shorts from your ex into a gray duffle bag. The bare necessities to drop Clay off at rehab with, before you could pick up some preferably more personal things for him later in the afternoon. Cleaning out his flat alone would pose as a multiple-day-endeavor for which you had called in sick. It hadn't exactly felt like lying to you because you indeed felt sick to some degree. Sick with worry, sick with anxiety and sick with sheer uncertainty about what kind of situation you had conjured for Clay and yourself.

You felt the fuse short-circuiting inside of your brain way before you could do anything against it and with it, a violent rush of hot tears spilled from your tear ducts, soaking your cheeks in no time.

"God, you're so stupid, girl.", You taunted yourself, your torso involuntarily leaning in further forward until your forehead touched down on the dusty, wooden panels, "All you had to do was drive him to fucking rehab, but no, you just had to mess it up."

Your own sore voice echoed back, cutting through you over and over again as heavy droplets pooled down from the tip of your nose. Breathless cries and poorly choked-back sobs rattled through your ribcage and your entire body gradually felt like falling apart in this self-made misery.

"Pathetic…", You sniffled, clawing your shaking hands around your chest, a desperate attempt to physically keep yourself together, "Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic!"

For a moment, you sensed the pressing urge to just hammer your head against the floor until the bodily pain would wash over the emotional one. For a split second, you considered it, raising your forehead from the wooden panels whilst closing your burning eyes but instead of thudding it down the way your senses told you to, you halted, stifled even your shallow breaths for a moment.

No, that wouldn't be what Clay wanted you to do right now. He wouldn't want you breaking down over the ridiculous, anxiety-driven nightmares your brain was spewing out like venom for they were nothing but a panicked, blown out of proportion fever dream.

"It'll be okay, it'll be fine…" Trying to bounce right back from the pit of darkness that threatened to swallow you whole, you took a deep breath and sat back up against your heels, arms still tightly wrapped around your torso.

Reluctantly, you raised one palm to your face, wiping it clean from the spill of tears and snot before you inhaled again, reaching for the trash bag and continued on your tedious journey through seemingly endless amounts of clutter and debris.

The hallway for sure wasn't even the worst part. That spot of dubious fame was reserved for Clay's "living room". Careful, avid to not just clutch down right into a hidden away needle, you skimmed through every accumulation of litter with utmost attention to everything, discarding orange plastic caps and syringes alike into a hard plastic container while sorting the plenty of used-up test strips into the general waste.

"Good lord…" You commented on your findings with a murmur, your mind trying to piece together just how many test kits and clean rigs you'd brought him over the past months.

It really must've been quite the amount. All that shit better be gone after detox was over. Just to make sure that this wouldn't just pose as a massive violation of Clay's private space, you had asked him about it on the way to rehab, as he stared out of the window of your car with watery eyes, while the first treacherous, tell-tale droplets of sweat had started to soak through the collar of his shirt.

"You don't have to do that, you know that." Clay had answered to you, his leg nervously bouncing up and down at an erratic pace.

"Yeah, but I want to help you, you know that, too." You had tried to work up a faint smile but it was more of a weirdly lopsided contraction of your lips.

"Don't you think that you've already done more than enough of that? That's more than I'd ever ask for…" Clay had cleared his throat while he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, then, good that you aren't asking for it, huh? I'm offering it and all I need to know is that it's okay with you." You led your car to turn right after a crossing, eventually turning into a long avenue leading uphill toward the facility.

"I don't think you'd find anything you haven't seen already. So yeah, thank you." He had agreed with a short nod of his head, his eyes flickering right back to the building that slowly came into view.

With that, he had sealed himself the deal of a clean place to start anew after making it through detox, which would be a journey he’d have to take on his own.

Taking a deep breath whilst sitting back on your heels, your eyes wandered towards the pile of empty strawberry milk cartons in the corner. You pondered over tackling them today, but just the thought of dealing with that desolate kitchen situation led your stomach to twist and turn in disgust. Yeah, no, decluttering the hallway plus the most part of the living room had to be enough for a start.

The late autumn sun hung low as you drove back home, stopping by a pharmacy to get yourself something to deal with the anxiety-fueled nausea. You also bought a few sets of sweatpants and matching hoodies to drop them off at the rehab center tomorrow. Both of your hands filled with your car keys and shopping bags, you let the door to the driver seat fall shut behind you after parking.

"Good afternoon!" You whirled your head towards your doorsteps so hard that you heard your neck cracking.

"Agent Rohr?" Your brows arched in confusion and an unwell feeling started to settle in your stomach.

This man meant nothing but bad news and you avoided him as far as possible. Agent Rohr was an animal, a raging, self-righteous bear that not only roared but simply destroyed what wasn't to his liking.

"Little trip to the pharmacy, I see?" The gray-haired man in his 50s nodded towards the crinkled, brown paper bag in your grasp.

"I'm a bit nauseous, yes.", You strode past him, fumbling with your keys to unlock the door, "What do you want, Agent?"

"Oh, I heard you called in sick today and I just wanted to make sure it's nothing too bad. Heavy case of the flu going 'round the PD lately." The sarcasm practically dripped out of every word that left his slightly curled up lips.

"I should be back to normal in just a few days, thank you." You sneered back, wanting nothing more but to get him out of your sight.

"Does the name Clay Roach ring any bell with you, detective? The dirty junkie from the corner with the cheap diner downtown?" He eventually started shooting his verbal ammunition, causing the hairs at the nape of your neck to perk up.

"He works as my informant, why?" Your fingers clasped themselves around the key in your hand, the scratched metal of Clay's apartment key dangling right next to yours started to burn against your skin.

"We might want to have a little talk about him, if you'd be so kind as to let me in." Agent Rohr pushed against the door with the tip of his boot, forcing it to swing open with you waddling right behind it, not letting go of the key chain.

"Thank you!" He mocked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat as he waltzed right into your kitchen to sit down at the table.

"Fucking bastard…" You groaned to yourself under your breath, trying to soothe your racing thoughts from spiraling out of control again.

Caly…what was going on? Did he break out of rehab or something and why would Agent Rohr even so much as move a finger about that?

"Suit yourself." You huffed at the man, sitting down across from him after closing the door back shut behind you.

"So!", He let one flattened palm hit onto the table, making you flinch involuntarily, "Clay, huh?"

"Pardon?" In a weak attempt to shield yourself from his greasy demeanor, you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Did the heroin dick get you off good?" Rohr nearly spat every word with nothing but I'll intention towards you, his other hand excitedly roaming through an inside pocket of his coat.

"Excuse me?!" You shot back at him, your stomach dropping in panic.

"I'm wondering if he could even get one up, did he?", Grinning widely to himself, he pulled a stack of pictures from the pocket, placing one after the other right in front of you, "Little fucked out lovebirds."

You recognized how your eyes wandered over a well-familiar setting captured out of a different perspective whilst everything in you grew cold as the bomb of fear detonated in your system.

"You know, a while ago I looked at the inventory lists, annoying paperwork but every once in a while I gotta check 'em, and I realized that a truly wild amount of test kits and sterile needles weren't there anymore. Plus, someone from the street worker personnel asked me if I possibly knew where all this was going? So, I started looking around a little bit and what did my eyes have to see?" He tapped the picture that was taken right in the moment you had leaned in to press a kiss to Clay's lips the night before.

"What's even up with all those scars, ew." In a mockingly disgusted grimace, Rohr taunted you.

"None of this is any of your goddamn business. If you want me to pay the department for all the supplies, fine. Done deal." You eventually answered to him.

"I don't think you're getting away with just that, missy.", He chuckled, making himself comfortable on his chair, "Petty theft and a juicy violation of your code of conduct? Hm, the HR commission won't be a fan of that, I'm sure."

"Are you blackmailing me, Rohr?" You clenched your jaws, teeth grinding against each other.

"Looks like it, no? You really kinda got yourself in a situation here now." You stared at each other for a moment, your heart raging in your chest.

“You are really blackmailing me over applying harm reduction to my informant?” Rohr nodded while he let out a biting laugh.

“You call it harm reduction and I see petty theft and fucking a junkie. Tough luck.” The Agent shrugged his shoulders in amusement.

“What do you want from me then, huh? What’s in it for you?” You felt like pouncing him to gauge his eyes out or to strangle him for that stupid grin on his face to disappear.

“Ooooh, I thought about that!”, His eyes bore into yours, a glint of malevolence flickering through them, “I think, I just wanna fuck around a little, get that heroin dick outta you. You’re a fine woman and your file is squeaky clean. Would be a shame for somebody to ruin that, no?”

“Get out of my house.” Your voice turned aggressive and loud.

“Think about it.”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!”