#trey cahill x reader

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Monday Through To Sunday: Trey Cahill x Reader (CSI: Vegas)

Tagging: @kmc1989

Trey Cahill is an instrument of chaos. You learn that within five minutes of meeting him in the CSI parking garage. He’s charming, roguish and has a smile that’s racked up more notches on his bedpost than cases you’ve closed.

“He has never met trouble he hasn’t loved to get into.” Josh tells you distractedly as he drops the screwdriver into an evidence bag.

That includes you.  

It starts when he comes to your rescue during one of the most turbulent thunderstorms Las Vegas has seen in years. Your car breaks down and you ended up stranded by the side of the road when his tow truck pulls up alongside of you.

“It must be fate.” He smiles as the two of you sit in the cab of his truck, completely soaked to the bone. He turns up the heating, tilting the vents towards you so you get the lion’s share of the hot air.

It’s that simple act of kindness that leads to him spending the night at your place. He ends up tangled in your bedsheets, fucking you to the sound of the rain pattering on the windows.

“Let’s do this again sometime.” He murmurs against your lips as he lingers on the doorstep. “Maybe tonight after I drop off your car.”

He pops by frequently after that, to change your oil, check your tire pressure, tune up your engine. It always ends the same way, his hands running through your hair as he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You don’t realise how serious it’s become, not until he ends up in jail. When they release him back into the wild you’re waiting for him on the steps of the precinct.

“Folsom told you what happened?” He asks as you hand him the strawberry slushie you’d bought from the kiosk down the block. He presses it to the bruising that’s blossoming across his cheek bone.

“I don’t need you to play the white knight.” You tell him, prodding at the ice with your straw.

“Noone talks about my girl that way.” He says fiercely. “I don’t give a fuck who it is.”

What happened was this…

Trey had dropped by the Crime Lab, hoping to grab lunch when he’d overheard a defence lawyer call you a sanctimonious cunt. The two of them had ended up scuffling on the floor of the reception area. You’d been in interrogation at the time, interviewing another suspect with no knowledge of the chaos that was unfolding around you.

“Your girl?” You question and he gives you that look.

“Yea.” He says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he sips through his straw. “I’m not seeing other people.”

“I thought you had a woman for every day the week, that I was just your Tuesday girl.” You say and he pauses beside you.

“Monday all the way through to Sunday more like.” He retorts before pulling something out of his back pocket. “I keep a picture of us in my wallet, the one from the photobooth in the bowling alley.”

He hands you the photo strip and you find yourself smiling as you study the images. Your faces pressed together beaming, your lips brushing over his grizzled cheek, the two of you kissing, your teeth grazing his lower lip.

“I’m not seeing anybody else either.” You tell him as you return the photo strip. He tucks it back into his wallet before returning it to his back pocket.

“I’m sorry if I caused trouble for you today.” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I just couldn’t stand to hear him call you that, not when I know how hard you work.”

“I must be doing something right.” You say softly, your palms coming to rest upon his firm chest. “Especially if he was cussing me out that badly.”

“Oh he said terrible things.” Trey teases before he cradles your face between his hands. “I meant what I said baby, you really are the only girl for me.”

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Clean: Trey Cahill x Reader

Tagging: @@mariashane @kj77 @tiredmarshmellowuwu @choppedgalaxynerd @herwordslikebutterflywings @flopiboni @words-and-seeds @aiko24k @@kane-nero-6 @wabi-sabi1090 @kmc1989

Trey used to traffic drugs. His dealer used to give him ten grand to transport a few bricks of coke over the border into Arizona under the guise of delivering one of the classic cars he’d been restoring to a buyer.

It was usually a five hour trip to the stash house. He’d drop off the merchandise, take his cut and then get high in a shitty roadside motel. He’d stay there for days until he was right again to drive the five hours back to Vegas.

He doesn’t do that crap anymore, he hasn’t since Folsom got him into rehab two years ago. That’s when he got serious about restoration, started turning a profit on the garage, building a client base. He may not ask where all of his spare parts come from for the sake of plausible deniability but the heavy stuff, he’s out of it.

If he gets caught it’s not just his life he fucks up, it’s yours too. You’re already getting shit for dating a former criminal, you will never admit it to him but Folsom had filled Trey in after the scuffle with the defence attorney. That stuff, it reflects badly on you, it puts you under scrutiny.

He’s kept his nose clean since then. He’s stopped going to the bars with all the shady shit going on, lost contact with the people who could suck him back into that life, tossed his burner phones. He’s gone completely legit.

He has his head tucked under the bonnet of a 1969 Chevy Corvette when Killian turns up at the garage. There’s a problem with the starter, he’s still trying to figure it out when he hears someone clearing their throat behind him. He knows it’s Killian, even before he glances over his shoulder. He’s been trying to get a hold of him for days now, putting the word out through the people they used to have in common for Trey to get in touch because he needs the cars to move product.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.” Killian says as Trey straightens up and turns to face him.

He’s leaning against the hood of a Stingray Trey’s been tuning up, his hands are tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket. He looks more haggard than the last time Trey saw him. Dipping into his own supply, Trey thinks.

“That’s not my life anymore.” Trey tells him as he picks up the rag from his work bench and uses it to clean the grease from his hands. “I thought you would have got the message when I stopped buying drugs from you.”

“Hm.” Killian says as he holds up a baggie of coke between two fingers. “So I assume you don’t want this.”

This is how it starts, he remembers. A freebie, a little fun, before he knows it he’s five grand in the hole, doing ‘jobs’ to pay off his debt.

“Do you think I’m really that weak?” Trey laughs, crossing his arms over his chest trying to ignore the twitch in his fingers. “That I’m going to jump back into bed with you because you offer me a bump.”

“I think if I leave this here.” Killian says setting the baggie down on the workbench alongside Trey. “I’ll be getting a call from you in a couple of hours’ time for a little more.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Trey bites back and Killian gives him that smile, the one that sets Trey’s teeth on edge.

“Once an addict…” Killian says, pushing the baggie towards him.  “…always an addict.”

It’s a few hours later that you turn up at the garage. The lights are still on despite the late hour. Part of you is worried and the other part pissed because Trey was supposed to meet you for dinner tonight at that little Chinese place you both like. You’d sat there for an hour before you realised he wasn’t coming. He hasn’t been picking up his calls or his texts.

When you step inside you find him hunched over the workbench with his head in his hands. Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he flinches at the sensation before he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are red rimmed, the vibrant blue shining through the frustrated tears as the muscle in his jaw clenches.

“Trey.” You say softly and he takes a sharp inhale of breath before he tilts his head towards something on the workbench.

“I need you to get rid of it.” He says, his voice pained as you follow his gaze to the baggie of coke. “If I touch it…”

He trails off because he doesn’t need to say anything else.

Two years sobriety, everything he’s worked for, it’ll be gone and he can’t go back to that place, not when he’s come so far. But the thing is he can’t seem to help himself. His mouth is dry, his fingers itch, he can feel himself giving in and he’s powerless to stop it.

You pick up the baggie and tuck it into your pocket. The relief is visible, Trey exhales for the first time in what seems like hours, the tension seems to flood out of his body as he uses the back of his hand to wipe across his eyes.

“I need to know what happened tonight.” You say quietly. “How this ended up here.”

If it were anyone else including Folsom he’d lie, say one of his customers dropped it because he wouldn’t want them to know about all the bad shit he’s done in the past. But it’s you and he’s always been honest with you and that’s not about to change today.

He tells you everything, from the product he used to move for Killian, to the nights he spent high as kite. You listen quietly, your hand holding his and he’s grateful for that because being here with you, it keeps him anchored, it reminds him that he’s more than just his addiction.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He says quietly as he clasps your hand to his cheek. “Really I don’t.”

Love Trey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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CSI Vegas Masterlist

Josh Folsom Masterlist

Trey Cahill Masterlist

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Trey Cahill Masterlist

Monday Through To Sunday - You aren't just a Tuesday Girl.

Clean - Trey's old life comes back to haunt him.

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Thinking of Writing: Trey Cahill (CSI: Vegas)

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Adding to Ask List:

Trey Cahill (CSI: Vegas)

Luke Leone (Fire Country)