#cops!au

[jdq25]

the greatest showman // barlyle

au, once again.

cops, partners... not only at work

[kiwi-pies]

Makes au for my own ocs: I am my own fandom. 

But yeah, typical buddy cop au for Mr. S, Rita, and Odin? I forgot what brought it on but I mentioned something about it, then went thru with and doodled stuff up for it. Mr. S is like, the new rookie, that the more experienced and weathered cop, Odin has to deal with. Rita’s also grouped with them, she drives the car obviously. Odin is like...pretty much awful. In his canon he’s honestly not all that nice? But he’d be 10 times worse in this AU. 

Tbh tho the more I’ve drawn Mr. S the more innocent he has become. 

[brieflymaximumprincess]

Mark Pellegrino as Lt. Evans In Criminal Minds

[verolpstalker]

The coffee burns into his hand but he lets it, relishes on the feeling as he watches Niall tuck the children into the makeshift sleeping station in his office. The knot in his chest has loosened slightly, not completely gone yet. It tugs for an entire different reason now.

“Getting coffee for the bae, I see.”

Louis’ voice brings his focus back on reality. There’s a knowing smirk on his face that Zayn happily, although tiredly, returns.

“Need help?” he asks. The smirk turns into a suspicious glare.

“What’s your endgame?”

“Well,” Zayn shrugs, feels the coffee wobble inside the carton cup and the paper bag crumple further under his other hand. “It’s-” he glances at his watch, “almost 4 am now, and Cowell won’t discharge me until eight at least so-”

Louis’ eyebrows threaten to merge with his hairline, so he adds, “I still remember my way through evidence.”

A beat of silence filters through and then, “Okay. If you’re not too busy.” The shrug Louis gives crumples his shirt around the navy vest he’s still wearing. “Lord knows we need all the help we can get with this budget. Oh, hey, boss!” He gives Cowell a salute, leaving Zayn’s snort behind.

Niall shows on his peripheral vision, all four kids fast asleep on the sofa bed behind him, so Zayn takes it as his out.

“Hey, wanna head to the break room?” he asks, and before a response comes, he drags Niall down the hall and to the left, Cowell’s eyes burning holes on his back.

“Thanks,” Niall murmurs once he grabs the cup.

He looks absolutely spent with faint purple smudges under his eyes and a red rim encasing them, making the blue inside his pupils stand out. They’re crystal clear tonight, edging on grey. They should be the first thing Zayn sees when he wakes up every day, only his to enjoy.

Niall takes a sip, gulping quickly before a yawn escapes him. He chuckles as his hair slips down his forehead. Zany grips his own cup, wills his hands to stay there instead of pushing it back up.

“Aunt Anne is flying from Dallas tomorrow,” Niall sighs after another sip. His head shakes briefly in a failed attempt of waking himself up. “Hannah, she’s…”

“Yeah.” It’s Zayn’s turn to sigh. He knows what Niall’s thinking but not saying.

It’s been four years since the beginning of the case, the call that brought Niall to the station right after Higgins’ retirement. Four years of domestic disturbance calls, visits to the Johnsons’ household, and a long history of denial and excuses from the mother. Many days and nights of Zayn’s suspicions rising until one conversation with the Unit’s new therapist confirmed he wasn’t the only one having such thoughts. From then on it’s been an extended follow up, a close eye that falls flat now. They had been legally bound since there was no hard evidence to back up the theory about the mother receiving physical abuse from the husband while the older child endured psychological and emotional damage at the hands of the father. Zayn now understands she only did it to protect her siblings from suffering the same fate. It brings the bitter taste of bile to the back of his throat again and stay there.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Niall’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

He smiles, leans to press his forehead against Niall’s temple. It’s warm, and comfortable, and he feels the exhaustion creeping behind him, ready to pounce the second he lets his guard down. He told Louis he’d help, so he blinks a few times and fights to stay awake. “Of course they will be,” he whispers. Niall tickles at the hot breath dancing on his face but doesn’t complain or push away, so Zayn doesn’t move, give a slow inhale that brings along a faint hint of cologne. It makes him think of lavender and baby powder.

“Scott still writes to you, doesn’t he?” he adds once he’s done drifting away to a daydream consisting of Niall’s warm skin under his hands, laughter ringing in his ear, and the sunlight making the blonde of Niall’s hair shine in contrast with the white sheets under him.

“Yeah.” Zayn can’t see it, but he knows Niall’s smiling. “Already going to College, the lad.”

He hums but doesn’t say anything else. His hands make their way to Niall’s hair, playing with the soft strands right above his ear. So much for self-restraint his mind provides, dragging a chuckle out of him.

“What’s so funny?” Niall asks, amused and intrigued more than anything.

“So soft,” it’s all Zayn supplies, gingerly pulling at the strands between his fingers.

The chuckle that reaches his ears is like music that makes him content until Niall pulls away and the warmth leaves, forcing him to pry his eyes open. “Shouldn’t be courting me if you’re busy sleeping around with someone else, yeh?”

Zayn would take the claim more seriously if Niall’s glare didn’t fall flat thanks to the yawn he lets out. It’s a reminder of how exhausted Niall is and how he’s supposed to head downstairs to the lab. Weird things happen when the Tommo gets impatient. And he does get so easily.

“You should get some rest,” he says, dodging the question.

Niall nods and falls ungraciously into the couch behind them, shifting until he finds a comfortable position that has him sighing in relief. Everyone in the Unit has become acquaintances with it; forced to make use of it and recharge the batteries for a couple of hours during particularly hard cases.

He will be dead to the world soon, so Zayn makes his move quickly, hovers right above him to press a kiss to the same temple he was leaning on earlier, whispering a, “Don’t be jealous. You know you’re my only one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall murmurs, one foot already inside dream land.

Zayn exits the room quickly, careful to not let the hinges of the door creak as he shuts it close. His heart suddenly feels heavy thanks to something completely different than the events happening in the last few hours. He blames the exhaustion for it because it beats the other option by a long mile.

***

It’s almost too easy to fall back into it, like the bike riding cliché. So easy, in fact, that in between Louis, Harry, and him, they manage to process all evidence on record time, even with all the flirty bantering happening between his workmates every five minutes.

The last paper sheet completes the report somewhere around 7 am. Harry looks about dead on his feet, gives Louis a chaste peck on the lips before turning around to head home grumbling about wanting to sleep forever but not being able to do so past 4 pm. Louis marks something on his phone, possibly an alarm to remember himself to wake Harry up and make sure he doesn’t miss a day of work, and turns to Zayn, looking tired but way too chipper for someone who spent the night going through blood and fingerprints and fibers and hair.

“Wanna grab dinner?”

It should’ve been breakfast and post-coital bliss for Zayn had he not received the call, but now it’s all over. Everything matches. Everything checks. And yet it doesn’t bring the satisfaction easy cases do when they’re closed.

“Sure,” he shrugs. Dee must have made her way out of his apartment by now anyways. “Let me just-” The knowing smirk appears on Louis’ face before he fully turns around, heading to the break room to say goodbye to Niall even when they’ll be meeting up later. He greets Williams on the way there and is about to make it down the hall when his eyes meet the sight of Breslin’s huge hand wrapped around Niall’s jaw as they kiss like nothing else matters.

The paper bag holding the donuts he brought in earlier hangs from the hand currently wrapped around Breslin’s neck, a perfect sign for Zayn to turn around and walk out of the building. His chest is back too feeling like it was at 4 am, heavy and exhausted, and they should fucking keep their interactions PG-rated. Tommo and Haz do it, keep their relationship completely professional inside the workplace (when Cowell isn’t around) and only snog shamelessly during Christmas parties and Unit get-togethers that happen every now and then, so why can’t Breslin calm down his hormones for two seconds, especially when he’s not even in his own unit to begin with?

It’s a good thing the door closer is properly greased and functioning. Otherwise he’d find himself having to pay the remodeling of the precinct’s entrance and huge glass doors don’t come in cheap. Still, Louis tenses at the sound the door makes when he walks out, senses something is wrong. It must be written all over his face but Zayn doesn’t feel like talking about it. He snatches the aviators from Louis’ hands and slides them on, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him forward.

“Let’s go get pancakes.”

“Oh, so we’re going for comfort breakfast then?”

There’s too much sass in that question for Zayn to answer with words. He chooses to give him a small grin instead.

[verolpstalker]

Her skin glistens with sweat under the dimmed light, goose bumps scattered over her arms and chest as another winter chilly breeze filters through the crack of the bedroom window that never slides fully shut. Another conversation with the landlord will have to be made, but after eight months of being moved in there’s not much chance it’ll get fixed.

He roams his hands on her torso, follows the curves of her waist with his fingers, makes his fingertips climb up her rib bones one by one, squeezes her nipples between them and relishes on the hiss she lets out, sharp nails polished in red digging crescent moon shapes under the wings tattooed on his chest.

In a quick snap she groans and picks up speed. His hands automatically go her lower back, urging her on. Soft whines ripping from her throat fill the room, working in perfect symphony with his small grunts and the sound of skin slapping on skin, sliding in a sweaty dance.

She’s all soft curves, parted lips, and messy hair fallen over her face. She’s shining skin, pleasured noise, and ragged exhales of breath. She’s what the Greeks referred to when they worshipped the human body and its beauty. She’s, overall, the exact representation of why he likes them on top.

Her nails dig deeper into his skin, hard enough to make him hiss. Knowing she’s close, he holds on tighter to her body as his own orgasm coils somewhere near his gut, grunting encouraging words that get lost in a mix of curses and breathless laughter when the first notes of Shot For Me play loudly from his phone.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she grunts, attempting at a tighter grip on his torso by placing her hands on his ribs now. He’s gonna enjoy discovering all the marks left on his body come morning.

“I wouldn’t but-,” he breaks out over Drake’s ‘‘cause nobody ever did it like me’, feeling too hot all over and finally pushing over the edge when she raises one hand to tug on his hair.

Fifteen seconds are long enough to catch some air, he figures, and with the same finesse he’s had to use to knock rebellious punks to the ground when they refuse to listen, he pushes her off his body and trips on the way to the door where his pants ended up getting thrown. Finally, his phone gets dug out of the back pocket.

“Malik,” he wheezes, doubling over in a failed attempt to regain his breath.

“You sound out of breath, are you okay?”

A smile splits his face before he can stop it. He swallows a couple of times. “Yeah, I just- Had to run from the shower to the kitchen to grab the phone. Is everything alright?”

There’s static noise on the other end, like the phone is being pushed against fabric. The voice returns a second after the click of a door being shut is heard. “I just walked by the Captain’s office. It’s the Johnsons.”

Zayn breathes in through his nose, lets it out slowly. “How long until the call?”

“Two minutes tops. Cowell was setting everything up with Payne.”

“You on it too?”

“Have been since the beginning, haven’t I? I was about to fetch a cup of coffee before heading home-”

“Yuck. And you drink that shit?” he asks, pulling a face that only the girl lying on the bed three feet away from him can see. Her snort reaches his ears, and, yeah, he had almost forgotten she was there. “You know better than that, Niall.”

Rustling happens on the other side of the line, Niall’s probably changing his phone from one ear to the other. “I just needed something to keep me awake during the bus ride home. But there's no coffee left and now I gotta wait for the foursome to arrive.”

“Speaking of, how bad is it? Jones’ bad or Smith’s bad?”

“‘Father killed mother in front of older kid’ bad.”

“McDermott’s then. Shit.”

“I know.”

Looking down, he notices the spent condom still hanging from him. He takes it off with a grimace and moves to the bathroom to dispose it on the trash, washing his hands afterwards for good measure. “I’m picking up some good coffee for you on the way over,” his phone rests pressed between ear and shoulder as he aimlessly looks for his boxers. He finds them hanging from Diane’s, Dahlia’s, Diana’s? finger, look on her face saying she’s clearly not amused at the interruption.

“Anything else you need?” Zayn adds, murmuring a soft thanks to the girl before sliding the black fabric up his legs, quickly followed by washed out denim. The Johnsons are a regular now, and one glance to the clock on the bedside table flashes 2:16 AM in bold, red numbers. They won’t mind he shows up in casual clothing instead of a fancy suit.

“Not really,” Niall replies. The tone of his voice reveals he’s at that point of exhaustion where he’ll pass out on his couch at any second and wake up with a serious case of stiff neck that’ll have him pouting and looking like a sad puppy throughout the day, and Zayn would be more worried about how he’s able to recognize it just by hearing Niall speak if he hadn’t come in terms with his crush for his workmate a few weeks ago.

“Donuts it is then,” he smiles, imagining Niall doing the same on the other side because Niall smiles at everything and enjoys life a little too much at times and that’s what makes him such a good therapist and why kids love him. “I’ll get a couple of Nutella ones, just for you.”

Sure enough, the smile is present on his voice when he says, “You’re something else, Malik.”

"I know my way to a man's heart. You should've dated me when you had the chance."

"Don't let Breslin hear you say that."

"Please. Set up the day and time for the paint fight and I'll be there to kick his ass." He hopes it comes out jokingly because he mostly is. It’s not like Niall isn’t aware of his disdain for ‘Bressie’ anyways.

"We're not doing that again. Cowell wasn't happy the last time."

"That's because he lost. Serves him right for teaming up with Breslin."

"Hey, I was on that team too!"

Zayn smiles wider at the memory of blinding sun shining on Niall’s hair but still not as bright as his smile, flushed cheeks and pout in place as he was forced to leave the field. "And believe me when I say it made me really sad to put three green globs at your chest plate."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Nope. Just to fake-blond Irish guys with offices stuffed with teddy bears and plush toys whom I need to use as collateral damage for my team to win the annual Boston PD paintball tournament.” He waits a beat and then adds, “Come on. One little date. I promise to behave."

Niall sighs. "Zayn-"

“Zayn,” Daria? sing songs, loud enough for his phone to catch on. Zayn knows it did when Niall’s voice takes a turn to steely instead of smiley and says, “Oh. You were busy. And Cowell must be cursing whoever's keeping your phone occupied. Talk to you at the station."

The line goes dead, making Zayn chuckle because Niall always gets that tone when he finds out about him sleeping around. So silly.

"What was that?" the girl asks. Her name has something to do with D but that’s as far as Zayn’s brain goes. It’ll come to him soon enough. Until then, he’ll resort to calling her Dee when necessary to avoid awkward situations.

"Oh that? That was just Niall," he chuckles again, thinking of how silly and adorable Niall is.

She sighs, long and pained as if going through an awful experience. " Why do I even bother sleeping with you if you only want to sleep with him?"

He feels caught in the lights for a second, but masks it as well as he can, with a grin and a tilt of his head. Of course she would catch on. She’s a smart girl, one of the reasons why he likes her. Still, it’s better to not let anything give away until the right moment comes. "Me? Nah. I just like to mess with the guy."

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, obviously not falling for it. "What?”, he adds, defensively. “Breslin is an asshole from Narcotics. Absolute narcissist douchebag. Niall is too good for him."

"Uh huh. And you're just convincing Niall to leave him because you're a caring friend and only want the best for him."

His cover falters but doesn’t break. There’s also a reason why he works in the Force. He doesn’t back down without a fight. "Exactly!"

She sighs again and gets up to get dressed, stopping midway towards her clothes lying somewhere near his to pat his shoulder in a condescending manner that he absolutely does not appreciate. "When you take the blindfold off your eyes, give me a call. Just so I can say 'I told you so'."

A frown forms on his face because there’s no way he’d ever give her such a chance. Luckily, he’s saved from pointing anything else out loud by his phone blasting the same song for the second time that night, Cowell’s name flashing on the screen.

[callepunk]

has no one written a buddy cop lilo au? it's literally all set up for you, fighting on their first cases, liam wanting to call for back up, louis saying they got this, liam always trying to reason with the suspect, louis always forgetting the cream and sugar with liam's coffee