The cold Gotham air clung to your skin as you leaned against the brick wall of the dark alleyway, the remnants of your latest encounter with Batman bruising your body. You could still feel the ghost of his grip on your wrist, the weight of his shadow towering over you moments earlier. The sound of his cape had always unsettled you, like the promise of an inevitable end looming.
You wiped the corner of your mouth, smearing blood with the back of your hand, and smirked. It wasn’t the first time you’d crossed paths with Bruce Wayne, but tonight, you had gone too far—or so you’d hoped. Every carefully laid plan, every disruption, had been met with his impenetrable calm and precision. He was a force you couldn’t quite match, not yet. But you wanted to see him slip, to break.
The rain fell harder now, and the alley was empty except for the two of you. His silhouette remained unmoved, cloaked in shadow, but you knew his eyes were fixed on you. Waiting. Judging.
"You don’t get it, do you?" you taunted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "All this time, and you still haven’t caught on to what I’m really after."
Batman stepped closer, his boots making barely a sound against the wet concrete. His presence alone could suffocate. "Enlighten me," his voice was low, a dangerous growl that vibrated through the alley.
You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s not Gotham I want, Bruce. It’s you. All this chaos—every crime, every carefully crafted plan—was to get you here. To make you see that your precious city isn’t what matters.”
His expression remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. You reveled in it, believing you had finally pushed him to the edge, but his response came cold and calculated, cutting through the tension like a knife.
"You’re not worth the effort."
The words hit harder than any blow he had ever dealt you. His tone was sharp, devoid of any emotion, as if you were a mere speck of dust on his cape, easily brushed aside.
You scoffed, though the sting of his words simmered beneath your bravado. “Not worth the effort, huh? You sure don’t act like it, chasing me around this city for months.”
“That’s because I don’t have a choice,” he replied coolly, stepping closer until he was directly in front of you, looming over you like the dark knight he was. “Gotham needs protecting, even from nuisances like you.”
The word “nuisance” made your teeth grit. For all your genius, all your effort, to him you were nothing more than a fleeting annoyance. You had spent months crafting a web of deception, challenging him at every turn, and he still saw you as insignificant. Just a piece in the bigger game he played, but never a real threat.
But something in his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of something deeper, something that wasn’t all indifference. You’d been dancing this dangerous waltz with Bruce Wayne long enough to see it. He wasn’t immune to you. You had gotten under his skin, even if he would never admit it.
“You and I aren’t so different, Bruce,” you whispered, stepping forward, closing the distance between you. “We both care about Gotham in our own way. We both have our masks.”
He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching ever so slightly, but he didn’t move as you leaned in, your voice low and tempting. “You can pretend all you want, but I know I matter more than you’re willing to admit. Why else would you be here?”
For a moment, the rain and city seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of unspoken tension between you. But then, in typical Batman fashion, he shattered the illusion.
“You’re wrong.” His voice was hard, final. “This isn’t about you. It never was.”
Before you could respond, he turned, his cape swirling behind him as he melted into the shadows, leaving you standing in the rain, watching him disappear into the night.
The echo of his words lingered, and for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you had miscalculated. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the player in his game—you were just another obstacle. Another distraction he had overcome.
But that didn’t mean the game was over.
With a defiant smirk, you wiped the rain from your face and disappeared into the dark streets of Gotham, your mind already working on your next move.
After all, no one walks away from you, not even Bruce Wayne.
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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