#or how mick never had a soulmate and he honestly thought people were lying or tricking him abt the heartbeat thing

[coldflash-corner]

I am a big worldbuilding bitch. When I make soulmate AUs I have fully stopped thinking abt the main pairing, and have started working out the entire world and society and all of the soulmates every canon character I find compelling would have, or would not have, depending on the context of the AU and the character

So what I'm trying to say is that I started making a Coldflash AU where soulmates can hear each other's heartbeat and now I'm in a worldbuilding pit that I can't crawl out of

[mickeylovebot]

THERAPY - fluffy/sad gallavich oneshot

Mickey and Ian had been married for a couple years. They lived together, happily. They took turns making breakfast. They went on dates every couple of weeks. They still fucked all the time, everywhere they could. They were still in love, but now it was comfortable. They weren’t endlessly fighting for one another. They knew they had each other. They knew they could love and rely on each other. They were soulmates, together at last. One night, though...

“Mick. Mickey, wake up.” Ian shook Mickey worriedly. Mickey had been twitching in his sleep, gasping for air.

Finally, Mickey awoke, looking around like he didn’t know where he was.

“It’s okay, Mick. You’re here. I’m here.” Ian tried to reassure him.

Mickey looked into Ian’s eyes and immediately felt a bit better. And then a bit embarrassed. “Fuck.” He complained.

“Are you okay?” Ian laid back down, spooning Mickey and gently rubbing his hand. “That’s your fourth nightmare this week.”

“I’m fine, don’t fuckin’ call it a nightmare.” Mickey said defensively.

“Mickey–”

“Can’t hear you. I’m going back to sleep.” And that was that. But Mickey kept his eyes open, and snuggled back into Ian, silently fearing falling back asleep.

Ian kept his eyes open too, staring at the back of Mickey’s neck, counting his neckhairs, knowing that Mickey was going through something Ian couldn’t fix.

Ian woke up earlier than Mickey for work. On his way out, he kissed a half-asleep Mickey on the cheek and they exchanged “I-love-you”s before the day. Ian worked as an EMT. Mickey worked as security in another south side store. But Mickey was off that day.

“Hey Mick, I’ve got a funny story ab–” Ian said loudly once he’d gotten home. It was usual for them to share what happened during their days. They shared everything. “Mick?”

But he couldn’t see Mickey. He checked every room frantically, finally making his way to the bedroom, where Mickey was curled up in the corner, shaking and sweating, staring blankly at the floor. “Mick.” Ian ran over and kneeled down next to Mickey. “Mickey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Mickey didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. Ian looked around for anything, a broken window, a mark, anything, and finally saw Mickey’s tattooed knuckles strained because he was holding his phone so tightly. Ian managed to loosen Mickey’s grip, which Mickey was still unresponsive to.

Ian saw that the phone was open to the middle of an article, where a teenage boy was talking about how his father abused him in detail. Ian started tearing up, realizing what Mickey might be going through.

“Mickey, can you look at me?” Ian asked Mickey quietly. He knew what it was like. He’d seen it a million times as an EMT. And he knew that’s how he’d looked whenever he was having a panic attack, whenever he was having a flashback, whenever his meds had gone out of balance. Mickey blinked. “Mickey, please. Look at me.”

Mickey finally, slowly, looked up at Ian. Ian had never seen him so scared.

“You’re safe.” Ian said. “You’re safe here. Nobody will hurt you here. He’s not here.”

Mickey kept staring at Ian. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as well.

“C’mon, let’s get you up, get you to the couch.” Ian took Mickey’s hand and arm and tried to help him up. Mickey was almost burdening Ian with his entire weight. He could barely stand. But they made it to the couch, where Ian sat beside him, facing him, holding him. Tears were pouring out of Mickey’s eyes now.

“It’s okay. It will all be okay, Mick. You’re safe.” Ian tried to soothe him, like he soothed his patients, like he’d been soothed before. Eventually, it worked. Mickey fell asleep, to which Ian laid him down gently and put a blanket over him. Ian couldn’t bear to leave Mickey like that and fell asleep too, sitting up, holding his hand. When he woke up, Mickey wasn’t there. He went searching again and found him lying on their bed, staring at an opened beer bottle on the side table.

Over the years, Mickey opened up about a lot of things. He was getting more and more in touch with his feelings, which was miraculous, really. But Ian knew that something this deep would be hard to get out of him. So all he did was lie down and spook Mickey again, silently, and to his surprise, Mickey spoke up.

“I’ve stabbed people,” He began, “I’ve been shot. I own like a million guns. I’m the shortest guy I know and I still have a fucking great right hook. I have guys that will listen to anything I ask. I’ve tried to kill people, a few times. And yet somehow, somehow...” His voice cracked a bit. He couldn’t say the rest, but Ian understood.

“Mick,” Ian almost laughed at the ridiculousness, “You’re still tough. You’re still the guy who will throw a punch at anybody for anything, hell, half the time you don’t even need a reason. You’re still the guy who people should be afraid of. You’re still the guy who’s endlessly sarcastic and sometimes cold. You’re still the toughest guy I know. And... you’re still the guy I fell in love with. And if I wasn’t so in love with you I think I’d be scared of you too.” He whispered that last part. Mickey gave a somewhat sad chuckle. “But he’s your dad, Mick. The piece of shit who raised you, if you can even use that word. Of course it was gonna bother you eventually...”

Mickey said nothing, for a moment, and turned around to face Ian. He had that same look in his eye that he had for years. The look that said the blood pumped in his veins for the stupid redhead in front of him. He still looked sad, worried, angry, but the love he felt for Ian got through all of that. He gently cupped Ian’s cheek and looked him right in the eyes. “But why now?” He said quietly. “Why is that bastard giving me nightmares now? I didn’t even have fucking nightmares when I was nine years old.”

“Well,” Ian pulled Mickey closer, “You’re relatively safe now. You’re not constantly thinking about the next drug deal, the next shooting, the next time you have to beat a guy for mistreating one of your prostututes. And you never dealt with it... so, your mind decided to deal with it now.”

“I don’t want him to have power over me like this. Not anymore.” Mickey said with a clenched jaw.

“I know, baby, I know.” Ian kissed him softly and then Mickey laid his head on Ian’s chest.

He wrapped his legs around Ian’s and listened to his slow heartbeat. “What do I do now?”

Ian knew what to do next. But he figured he’d leave it for the morning. He’d let Mickey just rest. He’d put on Mickey’s favourite show and make his favourite food for dinner. And in the morning...

Ian quickly ended his call when Mickey came to the kitchen for breakfast.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Who was that?”

Ian hoped he’d have more time to think of how to tell him. “Um... a therapist.” He said honestly.

“Oh, why, your meds out of whack again?” He asked casually as he put a waffle on his plate.

“For you, Mick.” Ian admitted quietly. Mickey’s mouth hung open.

“No. I’m not goin’ to a shrink.” He said sternly.

“You need somebody who can help you, Mickey.” Ian pleaded.

Mickey shook his head. “You help me. I don’t need a doctor. I’m not bipolar, or depressed, or anything. It’s just a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“I’m not... I can’t be there all the time. I can’t make your nightmares go away. But a therapist could help you deal with it yourself. A therapist could really make it all go away for you.”

Mickey stared right at him, speechless. “I said no.” And Mickey went for his jacket.

“Mick–” Ian tried to stop him, to sit him down, to talk about it.

“I’m goin’ for a walk before work.” Was all Mickey said. He looked at Ian once more. He looked like he knew, deep down, that maybe Ian was right. And then he quickly kissed him on the lips, said “I love you.” And left.

The day trudged on slowly for the both of them. Ian was sick with worry about Mickey. Mickey was sick with guilt about leaving Ian in the dark like that. They both waited impatiently for the end of the day, where they could talk. Ian came home first, and was pacing around the apartment, trying to find something to do, something to clean, to keep his anxious mind off of it until Mickey got home.

And when Mickey finally got home, Ian shamelessly rushed to the door and took Mickey by surprise with a kiss.

Mickey grinned into the kiss and pulled away. “What was that for?”

“I was worried.” Ian said breathlessly.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to–”

“I do.” Ian interrupted. “You’re one of the very few people I actually care about. I do need to fucking worry.”

And Mickey, seeing the distress Ian was under, let go of his emotionless pose. “I’m sorry.” He said with eyes that were just as sorry.

“Can we talk about it? Therapy?” Ian asked.

“Fine. But just talking.” Mickey was already on the defence. But he would listen. For Ian’s sake.

Ian nodded, “Okay, come in, I made tea.” He didn’t admit that he made tea because he needed something to distract himself with.

“Tea?” Mickey muttered to himself.

Ian set the tea down on the coffee table. From the few times Mickey had tea, he remembered: one sugar. And black for himself.

Mickey sipped his tea and watched Ian awkwardly. Neither of them knew where to start.

“I need you to be okay.” Ian blurted out.

“I’ll be okay.” Mickey tried to reassure him. But Ian knew that nobody would be okay after what Mickey’s gone through.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Ian asked genuinely but still with anxiety.

“I dunno...” It was the truth, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anybody picking inside my head.” Anybody but you, he thought.

“What if I go too?” Ian asked, out of nowhere.

“What? With me?” Mickey asked in a way that already said no.

“No. On my own, just... I’ll tell them things too. About Frank, maybe. About never having a real parent. About Monica... I’ve been through, uh, half the shit you’ve been through but I probably need it too.”

Flashes of moments flew by where Mickey had to be the protector, the comforter, the one who held Ian when he cried, when everything came back up. He remembered how his chest tightened and how he’d do anything for Ian never to feel that way again.

“I don’t want to either,” Ian continued, “I don’t like bringing that shit up. But if you will, I will.”

“You’ll really talk to them? About everything? A stranger?”

Ian nodded quickly. “If it means you’ll do the same.”

“Fuck,” And Mickey’s wall had been broken down. “I’ll try it. I guess.”

Ian looked both surprised and ecstatic. He immediately pulled Mickey into a tight hug. Mickey pretended to be annoyed.

“Thank you, thank you.” Ian said quietly, sincerely.

“I said I’ll try it.” Mickey pointed out as Ian pulled away from the hug.

Ian couldn’t help but kiss Mickey, holding the back of his neck gently. He kissed Mickey’s cheek, jaw, neck.

“If this is the gift I get for going to therapy maybe I’ll go quite a bit,” Mickey joked.

“Shut up.” Ian smiled. They looked at each other so genuinely, so adoringly. “I love you.” Ian said, as if it was coming out of his mouth before he knew it, as if he was admitting it for the first time.

“I love you too.”

And just like that, Mickey was taking another step in his life, for Ian, like everything was, always for Ian.

Ian sat thankful, comfortable, and mindlessly kissed the silver band on Mickey’s ring finger. And Mickey noticed, and felt warm inside. And they were okay, together.

[avengerdragoness]

Accents [Mick Rawson x Reader]

Requested by anon: “Mick Rawson from criminal minds suspect behaviour soulmate au?”

A/N: Hey my dears here is a Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior fic! I used the soulmate au where the first sentence is written on their wrist since the request didn’t specify. I hope you all love it!

_____

‘It’s not just the accent that makes me sexy, love’

That was it, that is what is inscribed on your wrist. Written in delicate cursive, peaking your interest every time you look at it. Being a bartender you’ve come across a lot of men, with a lot of accents. Though none of them have said this particular sentence to you.

Honestly, you’ve given up on the whole ‘soulmate’ thing. You’re in your 30s, if you were going to find him, you would’ve found him by now. Right?

Were you just one day going to be standing at the bar one night and this accented, ‘sexy’ man was going to come over and mutter those words to you? Nope, not something you thought would happen. Little did you know….

You were wiping down the bar when a group of around four came in. The bar being pretty packed, you didn’t take much notice of them because they stayed at a table, not the bar. Making them not your responsibility.

But one of them kept catching your eye, a man with dark hair and was rather rugged looking. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. Whenever you’d catch a break your eyes would end up landing over there, on him. The others with him had come up to the bar a few times for refills or a new bottle, but never him. You’d catch his voice every so often, that british accent being rather alluring.

‘Could he be..? Probably not.’ Shaking the thought from your head.

However, you’d catch him looking at you sometimes. But not thinking much of it, figuring he was looking at something next to or behind you.

As the night continued fewer patrons made an appearance, many left and a steady flow took it’s place. One or two people would leave and one or two would come in, that was until it hit past midnight. Then people began to flow out rather than in. Taking a glance at the table once more you noticed the man’s friends had left and he sat fiddling with a beer bottle.

He looked up and caught you looking at him, blushing you hid your face. Smiling sheepishly before turning back to cleaning up the bar and getting ready to make last call. Not noticing as he stood from his seat and came to sit at the bar. When you saw him sitting there you were drying glasses, “You know, I could hear your accent from here all night. It’s kinda sexy.” you grinned widely, making your nose scrunch some. Making him find you adorable.

Laughing he said “It’s not just the accent that makes me sexy, love.” Hearing that, the glass almost slipped out of your hands. Looking to see he was wearing a devilish smirk. You let out a small laugh before setting the glass down.

Walking over and leaning against the bar in front of him, “Well ‘soulmate,’ is there anything I can get you before last call?” smiling at him. “How about a name?” he asked smoothly. You held out a hand, “[F/n] [L/n].” He returned it, “Mick Rawson” his accent giving his name a certain je ne sais quoi.

“Well, [F/n], what are my chances of asking you to dinner love? I mean we are soulmates.” Smiling you diverted your eyes timidly, “I’d say you have a good chance. To be honest I never thought I’d meet my soulmate, I guess when you start to doubt the universe it turns itself around on you.”

He chuckled, “But this time in a good way.” Looking up to meet his brown eyes, saying “I get off in like 15 minutes, what do you say we grab that dinner now?” The smile never leaving your features. “I think I’d like to get to know you now and I know a 24 hour place just up the road who’s owner owes me a favor. I’ve waited all my life love, I can wait 15 more minutes.”

You grinned before finishing up your closing in record time, calling to your boss that you were heading out. “Shall we?” he offered you his arm. Linking yours with his you answered, “We shall, love.”