The Little Witch's Imagines

Mickey: She said f*ck off!

[trigger warning]

IMAGINE: Mickey saves you from being sexually harrassed.

You and Mickey never got along well in the beginning, not even when he met your brother, Ian. You avoided him as best as you could. It was a small town and small neighborhood, and that resolution didn't last long anywhere. It wasn't obvious wha exactly your problem was with each other, but you assumed it had something to do with his bad attitude mixed with your anti-social nature. You were on your way to the laundromat on Friday afternoon.
"Hey, sweetie," a stranger said.
"Fuck off," you immediately replied, holding onto your bag of laundry.
Usually, that was the end to every catcall you'd ever come in contact with. Your sister Fiona told you no one wanted to fuck with an angry girl. Perhaps, you took that advice for granted. The stranger grabbed your arm, shocking you and beckoning you to look around for witnesses. Around sunset, there were slim to none.
"Excuse you. Aren't you gonna keep me company?" he snapped sharply.
You tried to take your arm away, and in the struggle, you ended up hitting him across the face. The stranger pushed you against the fence, pulling your arms behind your back and disabling you from fighting back.
"You sound like you like it rough," he purred in your ear.
Your system was shutting down. All you wanted to do was play dead, until an unlikely savior came along.
"Hey you!" Mickey shouted from the end of the block.
He was walking fast, baseball bat in hand.
"She said 'fuck off', so fuck off!" he shouted.

The stranger scoffed, "This ain't your concern Milkovich."
"Maybe not, doesn't mean I'm in the mood to see somebody else have a bad day," he replied casually.
One hit to the strangers back made him fall away from you. You scrambled back behind Mickey who continued to chase him away with his furious swings and batterings. The attacker was gone. Mickey turned to you, the both of you panting and one of you still in a bit of shock.
"Your welcome," he said expectantly.
You slung the bag of laundry over your shoulder again tediously, a little unsure of what to say to him.
"...You could've hit him in the dick," you spoke.
He rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Gallagher, don't tell me you don't know self-defense," he spoke.
Again, what do you tell him? You were dumb enough to go out at night alone with no means of self-defense? This was the South Side, every kid had a shiv!
He set his bat down, awkwardly taking your laundry bag from you.
"Let's go. You have a few more blocks. I can tell you what a dumbass you are," he muttered.
"Uh...ok. If you think I'm dumb, teach me something," you responded.
He showed you the switchblade on his keychain as the two of you walked.
"Go get one of these. Ask Ian for his. Don't go low, go high..."