#detective!au

[justsixerror-art]

Damnatio Memoriae

[moon-mage]

Heart Eyes

Leojami Detective!AU Ficlet (Leona's POV)

I wrote a smol story in the LeoJami Detective!AU verse thing. I had this specific scene stuck in my head forever so I drew this last weekend and wrote a little but then I got busy and I wanted to finish today for Valentines Day. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY/SINGLES AWARENESS DAY! I am a sickeningly hopeless romantic who is single on Valentines Day so to ease my suffering, because I do not have a person to dote on and be obnoxiously fluffy with, I will project that onto my favorite characters. The story is under the cut! It's Leona's POV~ Click for more of context of this AU

Our first case together turned out successful…which honestly neither of us were expecting. The suspect had plead guilty and was getting the maximum punishment. We had received the news after stopping at a spot to watch the fireworks show taking place in the city. Jamil had put his phone on speaker when the cephalopunk lawyer called to update us with the process of the case. We were stunned for a second before the fireworks had caught out our attention and our gazes turned to the sky. Jamil turned to me and smiled. I was taken back by it. Jamil was smiling. Genuinely smiling. Not that practiced smile that looked sickeningly fake and as stiff as a fucking board. He was smiling at me. I looked into his eyes as they bore into mine. Usually whenever I made eye contact with him he would only hold my gaze for so long before looking away. I assumed he had taught himself not to hold eye contact for too long because of how uncomfortable it must make his peers feel. Even when he wore his special designed glasses to "protect" his peers. He wasn't wearing them right now…he took them off to watch the fireworks proper. So I looked into his eyes. Allowed myself to really look at him. I could feel myself being pulled into the darkness of his gaze….as if he could just swallow me entirely. I felt my heart start to thump harder in my chest…my mouth dry…and a twisting in my stomach. That's when I realized… …I want to be swallowed whole by him. I want to know how it feels to be entirely his. I want him to smile at me like this more often. Everyday. "Oh…" Jamil's smile drops and his eyes widen in panic. He looks away quickly, breaking eye contact with me. "I…I'm sorry…I…I'm not wearing…" He flushes as he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and pulls out those magic blocking glasses. I snatch the glasses away from him. My eyes trying to find his but he avoided my eyes at all costs. "Leona! Give those back! What the hell are you-" "King's Roar." Jamil stilled in that moment and looked to the glasses in my hand. He watched as they slowly crumbled away to sand in my hands…until they were nothing. His dark eyes look back into mine, confused and nervous. I could tell his wheels were turning at full speed. His thoughts turning twisting into the worst case scenarios…I had to put a stop to that bullshit. I step forward and gently cup his face with my hands, keeping my eyes locked with his. I smile a bit when I feel him relax at my touch. He still looked at me with an uncertainty…but I could feel him pulling me in with those eyes. Compelling me to come closer…to fall into him. I lean down and place a kiss on his lips. He kisses back almost instantly…his arms wrapping around me to pull me in closer. Fireworks blast in the background as we kissed…how fucking cliche.

[oasisyearner]

I'm putting together a team: older!detective!liam AND his detective partner!gem archer. 😁

and we can get to keep them in our pockets like little trinkets.

I read this and got so fucking excited I had to go lay down

It’s devastatingly hard to find pics of Gem without a guitar but this era Gem especially….. with older Liam RAAAGHHH detective Gem being the only other co-detective/worker that Liam interacts with regularly and works on cases with because he just seems to Get it. Quieter and floats around more than Liam but has that charm that makes people easily talk to him and give more information than they wanted

Pictures that look like old photos over the years of working on cases ohhh my god don’t even joke

Additional images that feel very detective partner Gem to me !!!! I am keeping them in my pockets like stress balls

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

WIP Wedesday

AKA "A desperate way for Ellie to pull her shit together and write something for once"

(P.S. -- We're in the Detective!AU)

Jacob shuts the front door behind him, resting his head on the stained glass. By taking a moment, he can shed himself of the burden of what he has seen today.

Work shoes toed off, tie loosened, top two buttons undone on his white shirt (no longer crisp; that wore off almost the second he sat at his desk, flooded with paperwork).

Tonight is the perfect night for a cold beer.

Grabbing a bottle from the fridge, he slumped against his sofa with a defeated sigh, head leaning back over the top of the backrest.

What a day.

He would call himself desensitised to most things, but today left him rattled in a way he hadn't been in a very long time.

Not since...

A vibration from his pocket.

A text.

Jacob read the notification, a small smile on his face.

Y/n Hey, you okay? Today was a hard one x

He took a swig of his beer before replying.

Jacob Yeah, I'm alright, thanks. Just when you think nothing could faze you anymore and then... those victims and their families... I can't imagine their pain.

Y/n Do you wanna do anything tonight to take your mind off it?

Jacob I think I'm gonna have an early one tonight. Thanks, though, Y/n. I appreciate it.

Y/n Anytime :) See you tomorrow xx

Now he'd better follow through on his promise.

He took his beer with him on his way to the bathroom (intent on taking it into the shower with him) when something caught his eye from the bedroom.

Firstly, the lamp was on. The warm hues spilling against the wooden floor sent a chill of unease down the skin of his forearms.

It was not on when he left.

He pulled out his gun from his waistband, slowly pulling it up to aim. Clearing a room should be second nature to him, but in his own home?

Muscle memory is threatening to blank on him.

Barrel scanning first, he takes deliberate steps into his room. Eyes scanning next, he searched for anything out of place. Nothing seemed disturbed at all; even the windows were closed.

He lowered his pistol, ready to dismiss the dread in his stomach, until his eyes locked on his bedside table.

There was a letter.

Addressed to him.

Cursive lettering decorated a cream envelope, black ink thick and premium in quality:

Jacob Frye

[wix-0-nightshade]

Tim

I find this so funny for no reason—having the brightest smile pictured in my mind pulling off his best first impression all the while Jon, Daisy, and Basira are staring at him like “Why so much joy?”

I’m also like. Going between 2-3 different part makings. This one was the discharge from hospital situation. Or wait—I don’t think I brought it up. Ehhhhh. It’s fineeeee

Anyway have fun :3

Character’s — Worms

[lottiecrabie]

itll be you and me and this idea forever babe.. we might be alone but we Understand🤞

what if it wasn’t just us… 😌🙂‍↕️ and it entered the world through the miraculous art form that is writing by tumblr dot com user lottiecrabie 😌🙂‍↕️😏 (even just a crumblet)

for you my psychic linked sister. a little Crumb🫶

the saxophones and trumpets ring through the ballroom. the repetitive steps and roaring laughs mix through, skisloping off the kicks and twists of the t-strap shoes. the champagne flows out into a series of coupes and you grab one, spilling it on the side. you down a mouthful with a grin, still light and happy from the spinning dance you just twirled out of. 

sweat sticks your headache band to your forehead. you fix up the feather. you fish a cigarette out of the emerald elephant dispenser, placing it between your ruby red lips. your eyes scan for a lighter next. 

‘enjoying yourself?’ your ears perk up at the sound of his husky voice. you smirk, turning around to find detective healy. 

with his modest trench coat and permanently gloomy predilection, he sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the decadent decor. it’s always a little funny to see him around such open fun, like he’s meant to exist in dark, cold alleys, frowning over a body. still, he looks handsome, dark and broody, with his sober eyes and his wild flowing hair. 

you pull the cigarette from your lips with a smile. you shrug, crooning, ‘why, it’s a lovely night.’ healy searches the inside of his trench coat. ‘what about you? not too joyful for mr. grumps?’ 

he shakes his head, though a grin still teases his lips. he draws a lighter out. you lean closer to him, hanging the cigarette off your lips again. he flicks once, lighting up the tip. you exhale out the smoke, but stay near him. he smells like cedar and whiskey, like nights toasting after murders successfully solved.

healy gives you a look, shoving his lighter back in his trench coat. ‘what are you doing here, trouble?’ 

‘can’t a woman enjoy a soirée? my, if i was like you, i’d be locked up in my house all year round.’

‘you’d be safer for it.’

you smile, mischievous. ‘and your life much, much less fun.’ healy gives you a onceover, trailing on your uncovered legs. you take a sip of your champagne, drawing attention to your lips next. you give him a faux-innocent look, singsonging, ‘you know, mister briggs is an excellent charleston dancer.’ 

healy groans, rubbing his eyebrows. ‘tell me you didn’t dance with a murder suspect.’

you up your nose. ‘well, if you don’t want to know, then i guess i won’t share what he said.’ you whip around, taking two steps before a strong hand wraps around your arm. 

you don’t even bother hiding your smirk before turning around. healy gives you a somber look, demanding, ‘spill.’ the tone of his voice sizzles down your spine. 

‘is this a shakedown?’ his jaw ticks. a crystalline voice spills from your lips. ‘you’re cute when you’re annoyed.’

‘then i must be ravishing every time i’m in your company.’

your eyes spark. ‘oh, yes, you are, detective.’ healy swallows thickly, dropping his hand from your hand as if burned. you cock your head, tension still fizzling. ‘promise me a dance and i’ll tell you.’

‘a dance?’

‘oh, you do know a foxtrot, don’t you, detective healy?’

his stare burns. ‘fine.’ 

you hum, turning to look at the roaring party. ‘mister briggs has a lovely summer home in brighton. he loves to entertain his most favorite guests there. why, he just invited me,’ you catch briggs chatting up a young lady, brushing the pearl on her ear. you sigh regrettably, ‘but i’m afraid the cold sea air doesn’t agree with my predilection.’

‘brighton. where francesca would visit every month.’

‘oh yes,’ you throw him a look. your shoulders up excitedly. ‘francesca and mister briggs were having an affair. how scandalous.’ 

he grins and, oh, this might be your favorite look of his. rare but dazzling, shining over his face. he says, ‘that’s motive.’

you tsk. ‘and you didn’t even want me to dance.’ he opens his mouth to protest, but you’re too quick. your throw your coupe on the table, discarding your smoke on the elephant head. you grab his hand, cutting him off, tugging him to the dancefloor. ‘come on, you owe me one.’

‘there’s a murder suspect at large.’

‘oh, please,’ you halt in the middle of the floor; your hand on his shoulder, his finding home on your waist— no matter his protests. the touch is electric, burning through your dress. you feel wired. ‘he’s not going anywhere. this is the soirée of month, after all.’ 

matty sighs resignedly. languid jazz plays. he takes a first step, gliding across the floor. his moves are certain and precise. you follow his rhythm, pushing and pulling at his guidance. detective healy is a good dancer. what an interesting new morsel of information.

in the crook of your ear, healy whispers, ‘one day, all this frolicking with trouble will really get you in deep waters, darling.’

you lean back enough to meet his eyes. ‘then it’s lucky you’ll be there to save me, isn’t it, detective?’

[amymbona]

Criminal x detective au with a famous killer Patrick Zweig who's lowkey a Robin Hood kinda guy, stealing from the bad giving to the good, only killing capitalists and abusers and all the bad men. He's never been caught, a sly fox, always finding a way in and out. The whole FBI is after him, like he needs to be caught asap. But nobody seems to be getting even close to his trail.

Nobody but you. A shy but determined little detective, who has dedicated the last few years of her career to his case. You rarely ever go home to sleep, spending all the time in your office, trying to connect the hints, study his last burglaries and assassinations. He's so in your brain, completely filling your mind.

But the thing is, nobody has even seen his face before. You have some hints, that he's 6 foot 1 and has curly hair and a pointy nose, but honestly, that could be just any tall man. You're dreaming about an unknown man, a faceless entity who, for what you all know, could be a completely made up person to cover for a group of anarchists. Patrick Zweig has completely consumed your career, but your life too, and you're not only dedicated to catching him, but mainly uncovering whatever there is to be uncovered.

Until, one day, you wake up, tied to a chair and blindfolded in some cold basement, definitely not the comfort of your apartment. For long moments, you're left alone, left to ponder and trying to figure out whatever the fuck is going on. Is this some sick joke? A prank from your friends? Or have you actually been kidnapped?

Then you hear it, the door opens, and a pair of footsteps approached. "Who are you? Where am I?" you ask, but nobody responds. Instead, you feel a touch of a gloved hand on your cheek, on your shoulders, making you shiver. And you wonder, are you going to get killed today?

Not a single hair on your head is twisted, he never punches or slaps you, simply examines your face. Or so you guess, still unable to see a thing. "Finally we meet, detective." the first time he speaks, it sends shivers down your spine, the voice is low but kind of posh, very much confident, belonging to a unique individual.

Finally we meet? And who is the person standing in front of you? Is he a criminal you once wronged or a member of the sicilian mafia ordered to kill you? Unbeknownst to you, Patrick knows more about you than you know about him. He's been watching you, quite amused by your dedication. You're so different to all the other cops and detectives going after him. He can sense you want more and he's willing to give you that.

So he plays with you for a bit, giving you tricky questions and caressing your cheek with the sharp blade of his pocket knife, threatening to hurt you badly if you give him a wrong answer. He really isn't looking to hurt you duh, it's Patrick Zweig, he can't resist a tiny cut on your cheek Bone. He wipes the trail of blood with his gloved finger, licking it off and tasting the metallic leather in his mouth. Yummy.

It lasts for days, actually, at least you think so, and he's generous enough to bring you some water when he comes back. Unfortunately, you haven't earned any kind of luxury yet. It's amusing to see you struggle, to see you so afraid for your own life, and still stubborn, desiring to know more. In some sick sense, it turns the both of you on.

And finally, you guess it. The blood in your veins runs cold upon realising it is Patrick Zweig who has kidnapped you, who's holding you captive in his basement. The criminal you've been after for so many years, the man you've dedicated your whole career and life, as well, to. You should be afraid, you should be begging him to spare you and let you go. But no. You're excited.

"Be a good girl and nothing's gonna happen to you." he says, now standing behind you, his big palms planted on your trembling shoulders. "I know you want answers, so I'm gonna give you a chance to find them. But be careful, darling. One wrong move..." his hand suddenly wraps around your delicate neck, lightly squeezing it to the point when you gasp softly, eyes filling with tears under the blindfold. "One wrong move, Y/N, and I won't be able to hold back."

[crockettmarcel]

ooh how about sockett + detective au for the three sentence fic prompt?

sorry this took so long it turned into slightly more than three sentences lol

Crockett strolls into the bullpen half an hour early, with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He's got over a dozen unread emails, and when he left the night before, the stack of papers on his usually immaculate desk was looking dangerously close to collapse. If the traffic downtown hadn’t been so bad, he’d have been here even earlier, but half an hour should still be enough time to at the very least get through some of his emails, or start organising the mountain of papers. He expects he’ll probably end up shredding most of them anyway.

As he nears his desk, he skims over the subject line of one more email — something about one of the break room coffee pots — then slips his phone back in his pocket, ready to start fixing the administrative nightmare that his life has become in the last forty-eight hours. He takes a sip of coffee and then stops in his tracks a few feet from his desk.

There’s a woman sitting cross-legged in his chair. Her face is mostly hidden behind a newspaper, but what he can see of it looks young, and she has curly hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She has a gun holstered at her hip, and Crockett’s stomach sinks. She hasn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in whatever article she’s reading, so he starts walking again, all the way to Goodwin’s office at the other end of the bullpen.

He knocks, then waits for her Come in before opening the door.

She’s at her desk flipping through paperwork, something he should already be doing, but she sets it down as he enters. The room is well-decorated, with plants and art dotted around, but, Crockett notes as he approaches the desk, the frames that once stood there proudly displaying the face of her husband — Bert, is it? — are now nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey, Sarge, look—”

She holds a hand up to stop him. “Is this about Detective Reese?”

He blinks. Detective. 

“The woman waiting for me at my desk?”

“That’s Detective Reese, yes. She’s your new partner.” She folds her hands on top of the file she’d been looking through when he came in, and fixes him with a stern gaze. It’s obvious where this is going.

“Sarge, all due respect, I don’t do partners anymore. Not since last time.”

“Detective, it’s been a year. Reese is a good cop, and I think the two of you will work well together.”

A silence falls over the room as he figures out what to say next. He’s not ready yet, and there are other detectives looking for partners, but he settles on “Am I being punished?”

“No.”

“Is she?”

Goodwin sighs, and that’s all he needs to know. “Look, Crockett, I just want you to give her a chance. A few weeks, that’s all I’m asking. There are other people I can pass her on to if it’s really not working, but you have to at least try.”

He nods, then starts making his way towards the door.

“Crockett? One more thing.” He turns back to face her. “Be nice to her. Please. Things will be a lot easier if you are.”

Another nod, and then he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. From here, he can see his desk, and Reese still sitting comfortably in his chair, completely unaware. He’s not sure how to do this, but he strolls over anyway, and stops directly in front of her.

“Detective Reese?”

She looks up from her newspaper, eyes wide, then scrambles to fold it up, creasing the pages until it’s obvious it’s not getting any flatter and she has no choice but to set it down on the desk the way it is.

“Hi, yeah.” She stands and holds a hand out. Crockett ignores it. “Detective Sarah Reese. I’m your new partner.”

“You’re early.”

“I wanted to take a look around before I started. Sir.”

He shakes his head at that. They’re partners.

“Sorry. Detective Marcel.”

“You can call me Crockett.” He grabs his wallet out of his back pocket, then searches through it for a moment before handing Sarah a $5 bill. “Go and grab yourself a coffee, take a walk around the block, whatever. I don’t want to see you again until eight, okay?”

She nods. “Yes si- Crockett. Thank you.”

Her coat is thrown on the back of his chair, and she quickly grabs it and shoves her arms through the sleeves. She offers a quiet “see you later” before leaving, and Crockett doesn’t hesitate to take his seat back before she’s even out of view. 

Twenty-four minutes until eight. He can’t bring himself to think about it.