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sematarygirls · 4 months ago

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God Complex — Sonny Carisi.

pairing: sonny carisi x fem!suspect!reader (sort of in a clarice and hannibal lecter sort of way)

summary: the special victims unit finally catch the woman who has been wreacking havoc on new york city by targeting convicted rapists and brutally killing them. detective carisi is assigned to interrogate you, and he can't help but find your mind eerily fascinating.

warnings: very dark; viewer discretion advised, graphic depictions of murder, mutilation, castration, and torture, mentions of rape, mentions of dead animals, mentions of suicide

word count: 6.1k words !

a/n: i feel like i wrote a shit ton, but it still somehow feels rushed??? also i accidently wrote this whole thing in lowercase, and i don't feel like going through and fixing it all, so my apologies 🙏

／ your bare feet padded against the cold tile of your apartment as you made your way to the kitchen sink. a blank expression settled onto your features as you listened to the constant plop, plop, plop of water droplets falling from the faucet.

the paint was peeling, the walls dingy and grey, which only added to the lifeless atmosphere around you. the air was cold, goosebumps raising on your skin as you stared at the leaking sink. your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles going white under the pressure. you felt your control slipping, and that was never a good sign. you would get careless, sloppy, and that just wouldn't do. you had to act before the urges consumed you completely.

you'd always had these urges, always had a sick fascination with death. when you were younger, you would seek out roadkill, watching with curious eyes as maggots devoured decaying flesh while the scent of death permeated the air. It shouldve sickened you. you shouldve screamed and covered your mouth in horror like any other little girl would have—your heart breaking for the poor little animal sat at your feet—but you never did.

as you got older, that fascination extended from just animals to the human body. you wondered what it would be like to wrap your hands around someone's neck and feel the life leave them. you wondered how it would feel to plunge a knife into someone and feel the hot, sticky blood on your skin. you fantasized about it, about what it would feel like to be completely and utterly in control of whether someone lived or died.

you took a deep, shuddering breath as you released your grip on the counter. you turned the sink on, splashing some water on your face. the ice cold water felt like it went directly into your veins, shocking you from the walking haze you'd been in.

you sighed, running your wet hands over your face. it was too soon to kill again, but you needed to. your hands were growing restless, aching to feel the handle of your knife as you stabbed your helpless victim over and over again, their pleas and cries for you to stop like a front row seat to a symphony meant just for you.

"god dammit," you muttered, turning the sink off and spinning around. you squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of the water droplets continuously hitting the metal basin reverberating in your ears. you needed out of this apartment.

your eyebrows furrowed, a frown pulling at your lips as you headed to your bedroom. you pushed inside, shoving the door so hard that it smacked against the wall and bounced back. you didn't pay this any mind as you went to your closet, removing the false back you'd installed and grabbing your murder kit.

it was a large black purse, fairly unassuming for someone in new york, and especially unassuming with an innocent looking girl like yourself holding it. inside, however, was an assortment of items including knives, pliers, a small hammer, duct tape, and rope, among other things. you threw the bag onto your bed, slipping your shoes on.

you knew exactly who your target would be. dennis hellerman had just been released on parol for the rape of a fourteen year old girl whom he'd left so traumatized that she needed to be admitted to a mental institution after a suicide attempt.

just thinking about what he'd done—let alone the fact that he was released on parol after serving just two years in prison—made your blood boil. you wanted him to feel the fear that she had undoubtedly felt. you wanted him to beg and plead for his life as you pulled each fingernail from his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace, and then, you wanted to kill him.

you stood up, grabbing your purse and heading toward your bedroom door. your boots echoed across the floor as you walked to the front door. you unlocked the deadbolt and the various other locks that you'd installed lining the wood before pulling it open and stepping out. the door slammed behind you with more force than you'd intended, but you didn't care. you simply stuck your key in the lock, turned it, and headed toward the elevators.

the man was living in a homeless shelter for sex offenders which made him extremely easy to find. he was also working a job at a small, understaffed autobody shop. it was almost too easy.

"what's a sweet thing like you doing out this time of night?" his voice came from behind you as you stood bent over behind your car, pretending to be confused.

you had spent a while tracking his every move and devising the perfect place to lure him into your trap. you'd learned that the cameras outside the rundown autobody shop and most of the surrounding buildings didn't work which was oh so convenient for you. it was like the universe was begging you to take care of him.

"oh, hello there," you giggled, putting on your innocent act. "gosh, i am such a ditz when it comes to cars, but i think something's wrong," you pouted, turning back to your car and propping your hands on your hips.

"let me take a look and see if i can fix that for you, darling," he said, flashing you a sleazy smile. "but, it'll cost you."

"oh, sure, anything," you nodded, pretending to be oblivious to his innuendo. if you had any reservations before about what you were going to do—which you didn't—you sure as hell didn't now. "just, please, i really need my car."

he grinned, leering at you in a way that made you want to kill him right there, but you held back. instead, you pointed vaguely to a spot on the back of your car. "i think i see something leaking there."

he hummed, stepping forward to take a look. he leaned down, squinting. "i don't see anything."

"no, i promise just look," you insisted, reaching into your pocket and pulling out s syringe. he kept looking, too preoccupied to notice that you'd stepped behind him. just as he was about to turn around, you stuck the syringe into his neck and pressed down the plunger to send the paralytic into his bloodstream.

he let out a yelp of pain, his hand covering the spot on his neck as you pulled the syringe away. as his limbs started to turn to jello underneath him, you gave him a hard shove forward, making him collapse halfway into your trunk.

you groaned softly as you picked up his lower body, shoving the rest of him into the trunk and closing it. you looked around briefly to make sure no one was around before hopping into your car and driving off to your destination. this was going to be fun.

"wakey, wakey," you taunted menacingly, slapping his cheek as he stirred awake.

he groaned, his face jerking at the contact. his eyes widened, seeming to sober up as he realized he couldn't move. "what the fuck," he said, his voice urgent as he tried to pull against the ropes.

"how's that working out for you?" you grinned, your eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure, and this was only the beginning.

"you bitch," he spat when his eyes landed on you. he tried to lunge at you, but he got pulled back.

you tsked, shaking your head. "you really shouldn't insult someone who holds your life in their hands," you scolded him, motioning to your table of torture equipment that you had laid out.

the man's eyes widened, and you watched as the panic seemed to set in. he was realizing the situation he was in, and you were witnessing it in real time. the sight almost made you groan in pleasure. you loved this part and everything that came after.

he started screaming, shouting for help at the top of his lungs. you rolled your eyes. you did not care for this part.

"god, shut up," you complained, as if his fear was an inconvenience to you. "it's no use. no one can hear you out here."

you had set up shop in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. you did your work here and had your fun, and then, you disposed of the body in a dumpster in the city, discarding your victims like the trash they were.

he stopped screaming, his chest heaving as he glared at you. he was clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control by pretending not to be afraid. "what the fuck do you want?"

"hm," you hummed, picking up a knife and examining it as you pretending to think. "what is it that i want?" you put the knife back down, turning to him as you leaned on the table with your arms crossed. "what do you think i want, dennis?"

"money, drugs, sex? fuck knows," he spat angrily. "you're fucking crazy!"

"maybe," you shrugged, grinning wickedly. "but it's a cruel, cruel world, isn't it?" your smile dropped as you stepped closer, a dark look in your eye. "a world where sick fucks like you get to prey on the innocent and vulnerable without hardly any repercussions for your actions."

"shut up," he glared at you. "you don't know shit."

"oh, please," you laughed humorlessly. "you plead guilty. the whole world knows what you did."

"i was force-" the sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the warehouse as you slapped him. his head whipped to the side, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. he sat there, completely stunned, as a warm, red mark in the shape of your palm started to form on his cheek.

"don't lie to me," you gritted out, stepping back and turning to your table of equipment again. you hummed, deciding which instrument to use first. you were tired of all the talking. you wanted to get to the fun part.

"you little bitch!" he yelled, finally snapping back to reality. he felt the sting on his cheek and fought against the ropes once more. "i'm gonna get out of this, and when i do, you're gonna regret ever meeting me."

"oh, i'm so scared," you said flatly, deciding on a pair of pliers and turning back to him.

his eyes widened at the sight, and you saw his adam's apple bob up and down with the force of his swallow. "w-what are you going to do with those?" he asked, all conviction gone from his tone.

"teeth or nails?" you asked, tapping the pliers lightly against your chin as you raised a brow at him.

"y-you're fucking nuts!" his voice trembled. he thrashed against the restraints, trying desperately to get away, but it was no use.

"pick or i do both," you said coldly, stepping forward until you were right in front of him, so close he could feel your breath on his skin.

"n-nails," he managed to say, and you smirked, reaching out to grab his jaw tightly. you pulled it open, your fingers digging harshly into his cheeks. he yelled out protests that weren't quite decipherable because of his mouth being open, but you were sure you understood the general gist.

"oh, what?" you asked mockingly. "you thought i'd actually let you choose?" you laughed, bringing the pliers up to his mouth and clamping down on one of his molars "this is definitely gonna hurt," you grinned before ripping the tooth out of his mouth forcefully.

he let out a blood-curdling scream that had you smiling even wider, a sick satisfaction washing over your body. it made your nerve endings buzz, the ends of your fingers and toes practically tingling with excitement.

he spat out the blood that was rapidly filling his mouth, the puddle falling at your feet. "please," he begged. "please, stop. i'll do anything!"

"begging already?" you asked incredulously. "i've barely even started." you rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and holding it still as you clamped the pliers on his fingertip.

"please, don't! please!" he cried out, tears starting to fall from his eyes.

"how pathetic," you scoffed, pulling the pliers up swiftly. a soft crack filled your ears as his bone snapped, causing another loud scream to fall from his lips. you sighed in content. "isn't this so much fun?" you asked, grinning at him.

"you sick bitch!" he cried, his body trembling.

"i'm sick?" you asked, a fire igniting in your eyes as you tossed the pliers to the side, grabbing a knife. "tell me, dennis, did she plead and beg for you to stop?" you sneered. "did she call you a sick bastard, and did you keep going anyway?"

you had intended to save this part for after you were done because you knew he'd bleed out very soon after, but you couldn't help it. your little game of foreplay wasn't satisfying you anymore. you needed to skip right to the main event. his words mixed with the fact that you were already antsy and practically jumping out of your skin to kill again sent you over the edge.

you knew you weren't right in the head. you knew something was wrong with you; you'd known it since you were a little girl, but the implication that you were somehow worse than he was made the little spark of self control you were holding onto fizzle out.

you brought the knife down to his pants, cutting away the fabric. it took a bit of effort to slice through the rough denim, but eventually, you were able to pull it apart, his boxers on display.

"what the fuck are you doing?" he asked, looking down at his lap before looking back up at you. fear was evident in him from the way his voice trembled, his body shook, and the look in his eyes.

"my favorite part," you grinned sinisterly, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his dick. in one practiced motion, you sliced the knife through the base of the sensitive skin, cutting it off of him.

he screamed like he had never screamed before as a white hot, searing pain enveloped his senses. blood poured from the wound, coating his jeans and making them stick to his thighs as it ran down to the floor.

you watched in pure satisfaction as he screamed and jerked against the ropes. a thin layer of sweat formed on his entire body, his face paling as he lost blood at an alarming rate. you knew he'd be dead any minute now, and it made you feel like a god.

you watched as his screams died down to small whimpers and sobs before fading out completely, his mouth hanging open as his eyes glossed over, a faraway look in them. you grinned, taking his appendage and shoving it down his throat before closing his mouth.

you stepped back, admiring your handiwork for a moment before beginning to clean up, just as you had done so many times before. this wasn't your first time, and you intended for it to not be your last, but sometimes, life has other plans.

you discarded him in a dumpster as you usually did before heading home to clean yourself and all your tools off.

it was just like any other kill. you didn't think of it much afterwords; you simply went back to living your life as normal. you went to your boring 9 to 5, and then came home and made dinner while trying not to let that incessant dripping drive you mad. it had gone perfect, just as it always had.

you should've known that your restlessness would have caused problems. your impulsivity had never gotten the better of you like it had that night, and you were going to pay for it.

you thought you had gotten away with it until you opened your apartment door and found three cops with guns pointed at you. it was clearly an inopportune moment to leave. it seemed as if they were planning to kick your door down or something, but you'd caught them off guard.

"problem, officers?" you asked innocently, raising your hands to signal that you weren't going to cause any trouble. there were two women—one with brown hair and the other blonde—and one man, who had his hair cut close to his scalp.

"turn around, slowly," the male officer ordered, his gun and stern expression trained on you. you slowly turned your back to them, keeping your hands up.

you felt someone grab your wrist, pulling it behind your back. cold metal locked around one wrist and then the other. "you have the right to remain silent..." one of the female officers began reading you your rights.

"yes, yes, i understand," you said as she finished reading them off and pulled you out of the apartment, leading you to the elevator. the other two went inside your apartment, presumably to search for evidence.

you played through the events in your head. how did they find you? none of your victims ever had any personal connection to you, and you were very careful to prevent any dna contamination.

though, truthfully, you knew that was impossible. locard's principle stated that when two objects came in contact, there would always be a transfer of material, so there was no way to ensure without a shadow of a doubt that you hadn't left some kind of evidence behind on the bodies.

you sat alone in the cop car for awhile, more police and crime scene techs showing up to use their fancy little black lights on your apartment.

you knew you were probably caught, but it didn't bother you much. you knew you couldn't get away with it forever. it was only a matter of time until you got caught, and to be honest with yourself, you were surprised you lasted as long as you did.

finally, you were driven back to the police station. you got your mug shot taken and got fingerprinted, all the while maintaining a calm and collected demeanor that had the police around you on edge. you had, allegedly, killed upwards of twenty men, and here you were in police cutody, brushing this whole situation off with an eerie ease.

one of the officers in uniform grabbed your arm, pulling you toward an interrogation room. your eyes swept the station as he did so, taking in every detail that you could manage. the brain receives about 11 million bits of information per second but can only consciously process around 40 to 50, meaning you had to try and focus to obtain the important things.

you saw a board with various pictures of your victims plastered on it. one picture in particular caught your eye. it was of your license plate. it was taken far away and undoubtedly at the same location that you'd dumped your last body. that was where your recklessness had screwed you.

he pushed you into the interrogation room, telling you to sit down and wait before leaving quickly. you rolled your eyes, taking a seat in the uncomfortable metal chair. you had seen movies and tv shows. you knew they were going to leave you in there for a while to try and make you sweat.

of course, it didn't work. you had accepted your fate. besides, you had an odd ability to be calm and collected in situations that normal people otherwise wouldn't be.

your head was tilted back, gaze staring up at the ceiling with a bored expression on your face. the sound of the door opening had you immediately looking toward the source, watching as a man entered the room with a manilla folder in his hand—a file.

the approached the table, his tie slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up. he wordlessly pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, placing the folder on the table between you two. he examined your expression and body language curiously.

"detective," you greeted him with a small nod. you scanned him appreciatively. you hadn't expected to get grilled by someone so attractive. his brown hair was gelled neatly to the side, and his rolled up sleeves showed off his forearms. he had piercing blue eyes that studied you with an intense gaze. you figured that if you were anyone else, that stare would unnerve you.

he met your gaze, those hardened baby blue eyes searching yours for some hint of remorse, madness, anything, but all he saw was cold calculation and a hint of amusement.

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "why don't you tell me why you did it?" he proposed, scanning every inch of you that he could see with an intrigued expression.

"did what?" you asked innocently, mirroring his actions of leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. you furrowed your brows in faux confusion.

his eyes narrowed slightly. "you know exactly what i'm talking about. the murders. the bodies. the fact that every single one of your victims was a convicted rapist." he opened the folder and pulled out a photograph, slamming it down on the table in front of you.

you raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting down to the photograph. it was of one of your earlier victims—gerald windsor. he had been a serial rapist whose conviction was overturned after only six months because of a technicality with the dna evidence.

you let out a low whistle, leaning back against the chair and crossing your arms over your chest. "that's brutal. i hope you find who did it." you looked back at him, a smirk tugging at your lips.

he felt a shiver run down his spine at your nonchalance, your calm acceptance of the horrors you'd committed. he studied your face, trying to understand the motivations behind your actions. "you're not even sorry, are you?" he asked incredulously.

"well, hypothetically, if i had committed these murders," you grinned, skirting around evidence of a confession by calling it a hypothetical. "no, i don't suppose i would be sorry. i mean, you did say they were rapists, right?"

his jaw tightened, a muscle twitching. he couldn't help but feel a sense of fascination, a morbid curiosity that pulled him in despite his best efforts to remain professional. "and that gives you the right to play judge, jury, and executioner?"

"technically, if i killed them, i would've just been playing executioner because they were already convicted rapists," you shrugged nonchalantly, as if you were just talking about the weather or your weekend plans. "but, you know, semantics."

he felt a surge of anger, mixed with a dark, twisted admiration. you were playing with him, toying with his emotions and his sense of justice. and yet, he couldn't look away. "so, you're saying you think you're doing a public service? like-like some sort of hero?"

"not a hero, no," you shook your head. you did understand the difference between right and wrong. you knew you were no hero, that you were a cold-blooded murderer. you just didn't care. "but a public service? absolutely."

he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. you were a dangerous game to play, and he knew it. but, he couldn't help himself. he wanted to understand you, to peel back the layers of your psyche and see what made you tick. "and you have no remorse? no guilt? nothing?"

"bad people deserve it when bad things happen to them," you replied cryptically, your gaze unwavering as you stared him down.

his brows furrowed, a sense of frustration building inside him. he wanted clear, concise answers, not riddles. "and who decides who's 'bad', huh? you? you're playing god, doling out punishment as you see fit. how is that any different from them?"

"don't compare me to them" you said sharply, your calm demeanor slipping slightly, allowing anger to rise to the surface. you may not have been a saint, but you were nothing like those monsters. you didn't hurt innocent people, and murder was a far cry from rape.

he zeroed in on your reaction, filing it away for later. he knew he'd touched a nerve, and he intended to exploit it. "then explain to me the difference because from where i'm sitting, you're no better than the men you've killed."

your jaw clenched as you glared at him "allegedly killed," you corrected him, trying to maintain some semblance of control. you knew what he was playing at, and you didn't want to let him win. you would tell him what he wanted to know... eventually, but it had to be on your terms.

he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours. he could see the anger simmering beneath the surface, the barely-leashed fury, and he felt a perverse sense of satisfaction in knowing that he'd finally gotten under your skin. "alright, then. allegedly," he conceeded.

"rape and murder are two very different beasts," you responded ambiguously, once again giving a vague answer to a direct question.

he sighed, running a hand through meticulously styled hair in frustration, slightly tousling it. your vague answers were driving him crazy. he needed concrete evidence, something he could use to build a case against you, but you seemed determined to keep him guessing. they had an eyewitness that took a photo of your license plate, but she didnt actually see anything that would help the case tremendously. "let me put it this way then."

"put it any way you want, pretty boy," you grinned confidently, his frustration making you feel extremely satisfied.

he bristled at the nickname but pushed through. "if you didn't murder these men, then prove it. give me an alibi, something that'll take you out of the equation. anything."

"well, i'd have to know when the murders were committed to be able to provide an alibi, wouldn't i?" you asked, smart enough to not let his question trip you up. if you didn't kill them, you obviously wouldn't know which days to have an alibi for.

he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. he knew you were stalling, but he was willing to play along—for now. "the first murder was on a tuesday night in december, around ten pm. the second was a thursday morning in january, around six am."

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table as you hummed thoughtfully, pretending to dig through your memory for those days. "i'm afraid my alibi won't help much. i was home, alone, as i am most days and nights" you gave him a sympathetic look. "sorry i couldn't be more help."

his face darkened, and he felt a surge of annoyance. you were toying with him, and he didn't like it. "you expect me to believe that you have no witnesses to confirm your whereabouts? no neighbors who might've seen you come or go?" he pressed you, eyes narrowing with skepticism.

you shrugged, your lips curving into a small smile. "i'm not a social gal."

he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you with a critical eye. he didn't believe you. hs knew you were hiding something, and he was determined to uncover the truth. "so, you're telling me that there's nobody who can vouch for you?"

"nope," you answered simply, shaking your head. the fact that you had no alibi did little to rattle you.

His jaw clenched, and he felt a growing sense of unease. you were too calm, too collected. it was almost as if you wanted him to think you were guilty. "you know what i think?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "i think you're enjoying this."

"now that's just crazy," you gasped softly, feigning shock. "who in their right mind would enjoy getting interrogated for murder?"

he ignored your mock innocence. "someone who likes playing games. someone who gets off on the thrill of skirting the line between right and wrong," he leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "someone like you."

"well, you've just got me all figured out, huh?" you asked, grinning as you leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest again.

he felt a wave of frustration wash over him. you were enjoying this, reveling in the back-and-forth game, and he hated it. he hated being played. "this isn't a game," he said through gritted teeth.

"life is a game, sweetheart," you said condescendingly, rolling your eyes. "you just have to know how to play."

he slammed his fist on the table, making you jump slightly, but not out of fear, just surprise. the sudden outburst caught you off guard, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the anger and frustration he'd been holding back. "listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense.

"now, we're getting somewhere," you grinned, enjoying his surge of emotion. you sat up straight, suddenly very interested.

he took a deep breath, struggling to regain his composure. he couldn't let you bait him like that. he had to stay focused, no matter how infuriating you were. "i'm not going to let you toy with me," he said, his voice measured and controlled.

"oh, but you already have." your smile widened as you observed him trying to reign in his anger. "i've been toying with you since the moment you walked in that door."

his jaw clenched, and he could feel the anger rising once more. but then, he saw it—a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips—and it hit him. "you want me to lose my temper, don't you?"

"and you want me to lose mine," you shot back, tilting your head as you stared at him.

he unclenched his jaw, relaxing his face as he mirrored your pose. "it doesn't matter if i lose my temper. you're still going away for the rest of your life."

you shrugged nonchalantly, seeming completely unperturbed by his threats. "maybe, maybe not"

he bristled at your nonchalant response. you acted as if you had some ace up your sleeve, some secret card you hadn't played yet, and it unnerved him. he had to press on, had to break through your smug facade. "you're running out of time."

"I think you're the one running out of time, detective," you smiled, like you knew something he didn't. "see, once this game of ours gets boring—which it's starting to—well..." you sighed for dramatic effect. "well, then, i can just say those four little words, and your little interrogation is over." you knew you had the upper hand with being able to request your lawyer and stop his questioning at any time.

"you're not going to say them," he said confidently. you needed this. this little cat-and-mouse game was a different kind of exhilarating to you, and he knew you weren't ready to let it go just yet.

"oh, i'm not?" you asked, your eyebrows raising at his boldness. he truly was an intriguing man, and you were enjoying your little chat just as much as he thought you were.

he sat back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. he was calling your bluff, and you knew it. "no. because you're having too much fun," he said, a small, smug smile playing on his lips. "you like this."

you grinned, impressed by how well he had read you. "well, done, detective," you praised him. "you're smarter than you look."

he felt a surge of satisfaction at your praise, which only annoyed him further. he shouldn't care whether you thought he was smart or not. this was a power play, nothing more. "and you're not as clever as you think you are," he shot back.

"ouch," you said, placing your hand over your heart and feigning hurt. he watched, irritated, as you exaggeratedly winced, dramatically clutching at your chest. "oh, the pain. shot down by the nice detective. how will I ever recover?" your mocking tone only served to fuel his frustration.

he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. he couldn't let you get to him like this. he had to stay focused, had to break through your defenses. "you know what I think?" he said, his voice steady and controlled. "i think you're scared."

"scared?" you laughed, taken aback by his claim. you couldn't imagine where he could have possibly got that idea. "oh, you could not be farther off the mark"

"you're scared that i'll figure it out," he continued, leaning forward. "you're scared that i'll solve this case before you get bored of our game. because then, you'll have nothing. no more cat-and-mouse, just a life sentence in prison, and you're terrified of that."

"oh, detective," you grinned, shaking your head. "i'm not scared of anything. i accepted my fate a long time ago."

his eyes narrowed as he studied your expression, searching for any hint of weakness or dishonesty, but you seemed entirely too calm, too confident. he didn't like it. "accepted your fate, huh?" he repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "then why are you still denying what you did?"

"you really want me to do your job for you?" you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "where's the fun in that?"

he sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. you were playing with him, dancing just out of reach, and it was driving him crazy. he opened his mouth again to speak, but a knock on the two-way glass stopped him. that was his signal to leave.

"aw," you pouted, feigning sadness. "looks like our time is up."

"for now," he said curtly, pushing his chair back as he stood up, the sound of the metal legs scraping the floor echoing through the little room. he straightened his tie, giving you one last look before turning to leave.

you watched him go, gaze lingering on his ass as a smirk tugged at your lips. you knew his squad was watching from behind the glass. they had pulled him out because you were clearly having too much fun with him.

as he walked out of the room, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just been outmaneuvered. he glanced back at you through the glass, his expression unreadable.

"think she's gearing up for the insanity defense?" detective fin tutuola asked, staring at your calm, almost bored expression.

he shook his head. "she's just playing us," carisi said, his voice tight with frustration. "and she's good at it." he watched as you leaned back in your chair, your eyes closed. "too good." he paused, then added, "we need to be better."

"alright, well," lieutenant benson sighed, turning to the blonde detective. "rollins, you're up. see if you can get her to give anything up."

he glanced at rollins, then back to you. he didn't like the idea of someone else taking over the interview, but he knew benson was right. they needed to switch things up, keep you off balance. "be careful," he warned rollins. "she's slippery."

you opened your eyes at the sound of the door opening again. your head lolled to the side, and you regarded the blonde with disinterest as you watched her enter, closing the door behind her.

"hey," rollins said, pulling out the chair carisi had just vacated. she sat down, her blue eyes studying you carefully. "I'm detective rollins. i'll be talking to you today." she paused, waiting for your response.

"uh huh," you hummed. you seemed completely indifferent to her presence, your body language languid and unconcerned.

rollins frowned, noticing how easily you seemed to brush her off. she tried a different tactic, pulling out a photo from the evidence file. "i want to show you something," she said, setting the photo on the table in front of you. "recognize this person?"

"nope," you said, not even glancing at the photograph. you weren't interested in playing with her. you had your sights set on that other detective, and if you weren't going to be allowed to talk to him, you didn't want to talk at all.

rollins gritted her teeth, annoyed by your nonchalance. she slid the photo closer, insistent. "look at it," she demanded. "it's important."

"yknow what," you hummed, smiling confidently. you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "i think i'd like my lawyer now."

rollins sighed, frustrated. she hadn't even gotten anywhere with you, and now you were invoking your right to a lawyer. she gathered up the photo and the file, standing up. "fine," she said, her voice tight. "we'll do this the hard way."

you watched as she left with a smug smile, leaning back in your chair again and closing your eyes as you waited for your lawyer to arrive, satisfied with how you'd sufficiently pissed off the new york police department.

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