Summary: Gallavich Witch ficlet, requested by @grumpymickmilk, inspired by this. Title from Bleed Magic by I Don't Know How But They Found Me
Ship: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Word Count: 831
Read on AO3
When it happened the first time, three months ago, it had just been a mild inconvenience. A new neighbor had signed a lease across the hall from his apartment and Mickey had spent the entire week watching a never ending parade of family and friends wrestling items up the stairwell and into his new neighbor’s apartment.
It happened four days later. A stranger showed up on Mickey’s doormat at ass o’clock in the morning - The clock said 10:00 AM, but the clock was a liar. - rousing him from his sleep with their incessant pounding on his door. If they were deterred by Mickey’s sleepy appearance, they hadn’t shown it.
As soon as the door opened, they announced, “I think I need to hex my husband. You can do that, right?” Mickey blinked. Likely misinterpreting the confused silence for judgement, they continued, “I don’t wanna kill him or anything! We have three kids, I’m not trying to be a single parent or anything, but I know he’s cheating, and when he’s not sleeping with his best friend, he’s gambling away our whole savings account and I just wanna… I don’t know! I figured that’s where you would come in. You can help me, right?”
Mickey’s mouth was hanging open stupidly, entirely unsure what he was supposed to say to this stranger who showed up to unload their marital problems in the hallway outside his apartment on a Saturday morning.
“You’re Ian, right?” They asked, pulling their phone out and tapping around a bit before turning it to show the screen to Mickey. “I saw your ad online.”
As if on cue, the door directly across from Mickey’s opened, and his newest neighbor leaned against the door frame, in a fucking floral suit jacket of all things, one arm stretched above his head and a slight smirk on his face as he made eye contact. He reminded Mickey of a cat.
“I’m Ian,” He offered, extending a hand across the hallway as soon as his apparent customer turned to face him.
They took his hand and shook, but turned to look back at Mickey once they dropped it, then slowly between the two of them. “Wait… You’re the witch?” They asked, pointing at Ian.
“Try not to sound so fuckin’ shocked by that.” Mickey grumbled.
But since he wasn’t the one providing the service here, Mickey was now being ignored. He took that as a cue it was socially acceptable to leave, and closed his door to the sight of his new neighbor - Ian the Witch, apparently - stepping back to let them into his apartment, asking, “So tell me more about your husband?”
So three months ago, it had been a mild inconvenience, but now it was just plain annoying. Upwards of thirty people a week were showing up at all hours of the day, knocking on his door and unloading their problems on him, inquiring about magical solutions before Mickey even got the chance to point them across the hall.
It had been about an hour since the last knock, and Mickey was just getting up to get another beer to relax with when there was another light tap tap tap coming from the front of his apartment. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s seven pm, don’t you people have families to get to dinner w- Oh.”
Ian stood on the other side of the door when he opened it, smiling with that same glint in his eye that had always struck Mickey as distinctly feline. “I do have someone to get to dinner with, actually.” Okay, maybe the fact that Ian practically purred at him every time he greeted him contributed to the cat comparisons, too.
Mickey stepped back to let Ian into his apartment, kicking the door closed so his hands were free to tug him down into a kiss. A kiss, of course, which got carried away and left Ian having to peel himself away from Mickey before they ended up tearing each other’s clothes off and going at it on the couch. Again. They’d already had dinner cold twice this week.
When they separated, Mickey ran a hand through his hair in a blind attempt to flatten it. Still panting, he teased, “You know, I’m startin’ to think you’re putting my address in your ads instead on purpose.”
“Mm. No, it’s my address. I think people are just naturally drawn to you.” As he spoke, Ian reached out and tucked his fingers in the waistband of Mickey’s jeans so he could tug him closer again.
“Yeah, after you fuckin’ lead ‘em here.” Mickey replied, but there was too much fondness hidden under the annoyance in his voice for Ian to take him seriously. He crossed his arms over his chest, but let Ian tug him close and press against him. “You want dinner or not?”
“Absolutely,” Ian answered, hand trailing down Mickey’s side while he leaned down for another kiss.
Dinner would be cold for the third night this week.
14 and 15 + ian and mickey for the fanfic trope mash-up!
hi esposa, i love you!
okay, since you dmed me and told me you meant 14. bodyguard au + 56. awful first meeting, but this ended up being more of 56 + 15. criminal au. i admit it doesn't fit the prompt that well anyway, but it was fun to write, so hopefully you'll still enjoy it.
outline:
season five-ish era, but au where the milkoviches and gallaghers don't know each other that well. it's not first meeting, exactly, but...
mickey's part of the milkovich family buisness (i.e. drugs and illegal weapons, naturally)
debbie shows up as a last resort trying to get ian his meds
send me two prompts and a ship // read on ao3 // read on tumblr
Debbie looks up at the house, back down at the slip of paper with the address in her hand, then back up at the house. She squints. If she's honest with herself, yeah, this place looks exactly like she would imagine the home of a family of drug dealers would. Part of her had been hoping it wouldn't, that it would just look like a nice, normal house, and then maybe she wouldn't be so intimidated. Instead, it's noticeably run down, with broken appliances and empty beer cans and liquor bottles littering the yard. The whole place screams unwelcoming.
"This is for Ian," Debbie reminds herself again. "Ian needs help." She takes a deep breath, crumples up the paper in her palm and shoves it back into the pocket of her coat. The fourth step creaks and shifts under her weight. Debbie grips the railing tighter and moves up the rest of the stairs as quickly as she can.
The house is no less intimidating up close, but she's made it this far and she's not turning back now. The woman who opens the door decidedly does not look like a drug dealer. She's gorgeous, with a hoop in her nose and dark hair braided close to her skull, streaks of bright red poking out here and here. Debbie is left speechless for a moment before the woman in front of her speaks.
"Do you need something?"
"I, uh." Debbie swallows and tries again, "I think I wanna talk to your brothers? Are you Mandy?" Debbie had gotten the name from Karen who had gotten it from... Well, Debbie doesn't know, since she's pretty sure Karen doesn't do drugs.
The woman - Mandy, probably - gives Debbie a once over, then throws a sour look back over her shoulder. She opens her mouth to say something to whoever she spots, but is cut off by a rough voice asking, "Who's at the door?"
The question was followed by what looked to Debbie like a slightly shorter, male version of Mandy appearing in the doorway next to her with a cigarette. "The fuck you want?" Guy Mandy asks after he's also given her a once over.
Debbie tries to smile without showing her nerves. "I got your address from Karen Jackson?"
Mandy flinches a little and Guy Mandy looks at her and raises an eyebrow. It's expressive enough that Debbie can tell the two of them are likely having a conversation while they look at each other, but she can't tell what they're saying.
After twenty more seconds of uncomfortable silence while the Milkoviches converse through facial expressions, Debbie clears her throat to remind them she's there, then clarifies, "My brother needs drugs."
----
"For fuck's sake Iggy, you're not selling her drugs, she's like ten years old!"
"Why not! She's here, she's got cash! She came to us, so she can't snitch! Just sayin' we should hear her out!"
"First of all, that's not how any of that works, and second of all, you're not selling drugs to a child! We have morals!"
Debbie sits in the Milkovich living room alone, listening to three of them argue in the kitchen. From the angle she's sitting at, she can only see Mandy, but her brother's voices are different enough that Debbie thinks she's following the conversation pretty well.
There's a frantic pounding on the front door that makes Debbie jump. Mandy's head whips towards the noise, and based on the way the conversation screeches to a dead halt, Debbie assumes that her brother's have done the same.
No one moves. The pounding continues.
"Uhm. I can get it?" Debbie volunteers, slowly rising from the couch.
Once she makes it to a fully standing position, Mandy is spurred into action. She comes out of the kitchen and pushes Debbie back down on the couch. "Sit down. Stay out of sight in case it's a cop." She commands.
Debbie peaks over the back of the couch and watches Mandy go over to the window and pull back the blanket that's serving as a curtain. She mutters, "Fuck," and Debbie doesn't know if that means it is a cop, or if that means she can't see, or if it means something else entirely.
The curtain drops back into place and Mandy sends a warning glare into the house before she goes to the door. The door clicks open, then a familiar voice that matches the frantic knocking is asking, "Is my sister here? Uh, my little sister, Debbie Gallagher? She's-" Ian cuts himself off when Debbie steps into view behind Mandy, sighing heavily in relief. His face is all red and he's breathing hard and Debbie knows that he ran all the way here for some reason.
"I'm fine, Ian." After a moment, she quietly adds, "I'm trying to get you your meds."
Ian takes a step back to lean on the railing while he tries to get air back into his lungs. "Debbie, what the fuck?"
----
"Pfft, it's not even something I could get." Iggy sounds unreasonably disappointed by the fact he doesn't get to sell drugs to a thirteen year old. He hands the orange prescription bottle back to Debbie, but before she can slip it back into her pocket, Ian snatches it from her. Debbie wants to say something, but doesn't. Technically, it is his.
"You need this for what?" Guy Mandy - who Debbie has since learned is named Mickey - asks.
Ian twists the cap back and forth on the empty bottle. He's been doing a fantastic job at avoiding looking at Mickey since Mandy had corralled him inside off the porch, and similarly, Mickey's doing a great job staring down Ian and nothing else. Ian must hear Debbie take a breath in to answer, because he grits out, "Bipolar disorder."
Probably tired of being ignored, Mickey comes to sit on the coffee table right in front of Ian. Ian still refuses to look up at him, so after a moment, Mickey holds his hand out. Ian reluctantly hands the pill bottle over.
Debbie notices the way that Ian lingers with their fingertips brushing over where his name is printed on the bottle. She thinks that Mickey must notice, but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he lets Ian linger for a moment before he pulls the bottle from his hand to inspect it. "I'll see what I can do." He says, motioning towards a door at the end of the hall with his head.
He stands and heads towards the hall and Ian gets right up to follow him. Debbie blinks a few times, but the image of them retreating together doesn't disappear, so she quietly asks Mandy, "Are they boyfriends?"
Mandy doesn't hesitate before answering, "Mickey's not gay," But Debbie kind of doubts that, and she also kind of doubts that Mandy believes it either.
----
Thankfully, Ian is not all that disheveled when he and Mickey reappear ten minutes later. Debbie doesn't think she could walk all the way home with Ian knowing that she'd just sat and waiting for him while he hooked up with Mickey Milkovich. His hair is maybe a little messed up, but otherwise he looks the same as he did when he left ten minutes ago.
Ian's pressing a little sandwich baggie against his chest to seal it. Debbie counts four joints in it before Ian can slip it into his pocket. "We should go, Debs." Ian says. The energy he'd arrived with had likely been spurred by fear and then kept alive by anger. It's bled out of him by now, and he just seems tired again. "I'm sure Fiona and Lip both wanna have a talk with you about doing drugs."
Debbie isn't sure that's a fair chat, given that Fiona almost killed Liam with coke, and Debbie knows that Ian and Lip will be sharing those joints after she was asleep tonight, but she supposes that runs her out of older siblings to give her the talk.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, Mickey follows the two of them out the door. He leans over the railing of the porch and lights up a cigarette as he watches them leave. Once Ian closes the gate behind them, Mickey calls, "I'll get you your Lithium, Red. Keep your kid siblings away from my family business, okay?"
Ian turns back to flip Mickey off, but when he turns back, Debbie catches him trying to bite back a smile.
Summary: For the vague idea 'ice skating girlfriends' from @y0itsbri. Thank you for the prompt, I needed it.
Ship: Karen Jackson/Mandy Milkovich
Word Count: 951
Read on AO3
“Mandy, come on! Finish whatever you’re working on and let’s go.”
Mandy glanced up over the top of her laptop, mildly amused. “The rink isn’t gonna melt away if we don’t get there the second they start renting out skates.” She turned her attention back towards the screen, knowing that there was no way she was going to get away with that for very long. She had made a promise for today, she knew she would be held to it.
Sure enough, there was a huff and then a hand reaching over to close the laptop on the table, giving her just enough time to drop her hands into her lap before her chair was being pulled away from the dining room table and she was gifted with a lap full of girlfriend.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been ice skating, Mandy?” Karen asked. She rested her arms against Mandy’s shoulders and pushed both hands up into her hair. “It’s hot as balls in Arizona, I feel like I’ve barely even seen snow since I moved, like what, eight years ago? You said we could go ice skating today, we’re going ice skating.”
Mandy wrapped her arms around Karen’s waist, glancing up at her through her lashes. She huffed a breath, trying to sound annoyed, but ultimately failing. Something she’d discovered in the two years since they reconnected - or, more accurately, connected for the first time - was that Karen was excellent at getting what she wanted.
“Okay, okay. Go get dressed so I can finish this up. I’ll be in in a few minutes.” And since moving in together four months ago, Mandy had also discovered that trying to get dressed in the same room at the same time was kind of a nightmare. They were both prone to getting distracted. Plus, sending Karen to get dressed first gave Mandy time to open her laptop up again so she could finish her holiday shopping for Karen. It was about to be their first Christmas as a couple, she wanted to make it special.
“Can you come help me for a minute?” Karen’s voice drifted down the hall. Mandy doubted whatever Karen wanted help with would be conducive to them getting out the door any time in the next hour, but she pushed away from the table and padded towards their bedroom anyway.
“What do you need?” Mandy asked, more than a little surprised to see that Karen is dressed and sitting in front of their vanity mirror.
Karen turns on her seat, holding an arm out until Mandy comes close enough that she can hook her fingers in the waistband of her pants and tug her the rest of the way. She spun again though, taking Mandy’s arm and wrapping it around her neck as she turned back to the mirror. For a moment, she just smiled at their reflections before she was turning her gaze up towards Mandy again. “Braid my hair?”
“What?”
“Braid my hair. You know those braids you wore down the side of your hair for a while? Do that?”
Mandy’s reflection blinked in confusion when Karen returned her attention to the mirror. Her hand found its way into Karen’s hair, fingers brushing gently over the scar underneath it. After a moment, Mandy straightened up and let her arm drop from around Karen’s neck. “Okay, but you’re not allowed to be mad at me if we’re late to our ice skating date.”
Karen grinned as she reached back, tugging Mandy down and stretching her neck up to meet her with a kiss. “No promises.”
----
“Let me tie your skates for you.”
“I can tie my own laces, Karen.”
“But I,” Despite any admittedly weak protests, Karen knelt down in front of Mandy. And despite what she said her intentions were, she rested her hand on Mandy’s ankle, just above where the skate ended. Started running her fingers up over Mandy’s calf, “would do it so much better. So you should let me.”
Karen was excellent at getting what she wanted. Mandy let her lace up both of her skates, only shivering a little when Karen leaned in to kiss the inside of her knee before she stood. What? It was cold out, of course she shivered…
Apparently, Karen was also excellent at ice skating. Mandy had never actually been ice skating before. She was unsteady and kept close to the wall, mostly leaning back against it and watching Karen skate circles around the few other people that remained at the rink over lunch hour. She was graceful and beautiful and looked like she was putting no effort at all into gliding around balanced on one skate, her other leg lifted high in the air behind her.
Mandy caught her the next time she skated close enough to her safe position near the wall. Karen was easy, let herself be caught and gathered up by her girlfriend. “I think the point of ice skating together was to ice skate together, you know?” Karen teased.
“Yeah, well, I suck at ice skating.” Mandy answered. With her arms around her waist, Karen was successfully trapped against her, and Mandy took the opportunity to just look at her. Not that she didn’t see her everyday, but sometimes, she was still surprised by how stunning Karen was, especially with the sun and the snow sparkling against her blonde hair in the early afternoon. Especially when Mandy had just been watching her doing something she clearly loved for the first time in years. “You’re beautiful.”
Karen beamed. “Yeah, you do have a pretty hot girlfriend, don’t you?” She teased, leaning up for a kiss. “Then again, so do I.”
Summary: Fiona and Iggy get buzzed at the neighborhood bonfire.
Ship: Fiona Gallagher/Iggy Milkovich
Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, depictions of foreplay, not sfw
Word Count: 2.7k
Read on AO3
The noise should be the first thing that draws Iggy’s attention since it sounds like an end-of-the-world party is taking place a few blocks away from where he’s walking home after his beer run.
It’s not the noise though, it’s the smell. Whoever it is has to have the strongest weed imaginable, and Iggy wants in on that. He only notices the noise once he gets closer, dozens of people whooping and hollering, the dark sky illuminated by the giant plume of flames in the center of them all.
Mickey's boyfriend - the first redheaded Gallagher kid, Iggy can’t remember his name. Evan, Aaron, something monosyllabic like that - is carrying one of his little brothers on his back near the flames. One of their neighbors is waving his shirt into the smoke above the flames then pulling it back to inhale. It looks like the whole of Wallace Street is here, dancing around and shouting along to the song that’s playing loudly over someone’s speakers.
It’s chaotic, and where there’s chaos, there should be Milkoviches. Though he has to admit he doesn’t look very hard, in the quick glance he does give, Iggy notices a distinct lack of anyone from his family.
When he gets close enough, he wades into the crowd. He sets his pack of beer down on the first tailgate he comes to, and a joint appears in his hand as if by magic. He doesn’t know who it was that gave it to him, and they’ve already disappeared by the time he looks up to watch the fire after taking his first hit.
If he could smell it from three blocks away, Iggy’s surprised the cops aren’t here already. Then again, he heard that Fiona Gallagher maybe had a thing with one, so maybe she pulled some strings or some dick that allowed the whole neighborhood to come out and get a contact buzz together.
Iggy’s lived in the Southside his whole life, but he can’t spot a whole lot of people he thinks he knows. Even less he would consider friends.
He takes his magic joint with him and goes to hop up to sit next to his beer in the bed of whoever’s pick-up. He rips the box open and tugs a can out to pop the top on, drinks about half of it before the other side of the truck is dipping down under the weight of someone hopping up to join him on the other side. Iggy looks up, curious, around his beer, lowering it and belching as he makes eye contact with Fiona Gallagher.
The action makes her laugh for some reason, and then before Iggy can process, she’s leaning over and snagging the half-empty can out of his hand to down the rest of it. Iggy isn’t sure what to do with that, but he smirks at her as he goes for another one, asks, “Why you guys burning a giant pile of weed?”
Fiona helps herself to one of his beers, taking several swallows before shrugging. “Had too much. Needed to get rid of it.”
That answer makes Iggy roll his eyes, the gesture almost exaggerated in its obviousness. “Well shit, could have just brought it over to our house. Could have gotten rid of it for you no problem. And would have wasted a lot less.”
Fiona makes a face that Iggy thinks is half disbelief, half amusement. “Meaning what? That you and your brothers would have smoked it all?” And well… yeah, okay, that’s exactly what Iggy meant. But he can’t let her have the last word.
“No, my sister too, don’t be sexist. You should know her. Mandy, about 5’8”, totally banging your brother. Ringing a bell?” Iggy may know a little more than he’d like about Ian and Mickey’s indiscretions, but he isn’t about to make it public knowledge. Too many ears around that might remember overhearing it in the morning. Besides, he didn’t know if Fiona knew. Not his business.
For a second, Fiona looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment of introspection, she instead finishes her beer and makes a grab for the joint Iggy’s still holding between his fingers. He’s already got a nice buzz going, and his reaction time’s a little slow, so she’s already got in her grip by the time he tries to grab it back. The world tilts off its axis a little bit when he tries to lean over for it, so he gives up and just lets her have it. “Grabby bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, though there’s not any heat behind the words. He sounds as happy and fuzzy as he feels.
Fiona coughs out a smokey laugh around the joint between her lips. “Not sure a Milkovich has any room to talk about ‘grabby’.”
Iggy hums at the dig, but well it’s true. Iggy wonders if he’s really obvious, or if Fiona has mind-reading superpowers. Both seem equally likely.
“Whatever. You may got a yuppie boyfriend buying you whatever you want now, but seems like you’ve got a little southside klepto left in you.”
Fiona takes another hit, nodding to him along with the beat of the music as she blows the smoke away from him - like it would make any difference if she blew smoke in his face at this point. The action makes him laugh. - “Don’t got a boyfriend. Not that it’s your business, fuck you very much.”
Iggy raises an eyebrow at that but leaves it to her to elaborate as he holds out his fingers, making a lazy gesture for the joint. He doesn’t care that much, but he’s pretty sure that girls love to talk, and he doesn’t have anywhere better to be than here - beer, free weed, hot girl as company, and all. Fiona doesn’t elaborate though, just watches him finish off the joint as she’s working on another beer he didn’t notice her stealing.
Once the joint burns down enough that it’s burning his fingers, Iggy squashes it out on the tailgate next to his thigh. There’s a hand around his wrist. Iggy blinks, trying to push through the weed haze settling over his brain, and he realizes that the hand belongs to Fiona, who has hopped down off their shared seat. “Come on, come dance with me.”
Fiona tugs Iggy up close to the blaze that’s going strong, stinking up the empty lot and all the surrounding neighborhoods. There's a lot of bodies thrumming to the beat of the radio around them, but it’s unreasonably hard to focus on more than one thing at once.
Whoever grew this weed knew what the fuck they were doing.
And right in front of everyone, Fiona presses her back against Iggy’s chest and starts rolling her hips against his. Iggy chooses that sensation as his one thing to focus on, resting one hand against her left hip and trying to roll along with her. It takes a moment, but he thinks he gets the hang of it. At least Fiona is laughing, twisting around to wrap an arm around his neck and continuing to grind against him, belly to belly.
Iggy thinks they must spend the entire night dancing pressed against each other like that, but when Fiona pulls away, pulls on his wrist, and tugs him through the fog, he’s surprised to find it’s still dark around them. They’re further away from the fire now, the noise and the heat fading into the distance, the memory of them already faded under the buzzing in his brain.
Fuck, whoever grew this - Kevin, someone said Kevin - really did know what he was doing.
Fiona drags Iggy back to the truck, grabs another beer for each of them, and then again grabs his wrist and tugs him further away from the party, and starts down the block.
Iggy is pretty sure that the house she pulls him into isn’t hers, but he’s never been to hers either, so he can’t exactly swear to it. Fiona kicks her shoes off and flops down on the couch comfortably, grinning up at the ceiling.
He must look confused because, after a moment, she tugs herself into a sitting position and turns to face him. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”
Iggy blinks. Takes a moment to collect his balance, then makes his way around the couch to sit down next to her. “This your house?” he asks because he’s thinking about it.
“Kev and V’s. too many people at mine.”
Too many people for what, Iggy isn’t sure. He fidgets with the tab on his can of beer and relaxes back into the couch. The two of them sit in fuzzy silence for long enough that it startles Iggy when Fiona is back in his field of vision, up off the couch to turn up a stereo across the room. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “You were more fun when we were dancing,” She declares as she crosses the room and snags his beer, only to set it on the end table and pull him to his feet again.
There's no hesitation from Fiona, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him again, swaying to the end of the slow song playing on the radio. There are fewer things to be distracted by in the pitch black of a stranger’s house than there is at a weed bonfire block party, so while dancing with Fiona is still what he focuses on, Iggy can pause for a moment and think Holy shit.
Fiona Gallagher is dancing with him.
A few hours ago, a few minutes ago, he's not sure, but not long ago, she’d been grinding on him.
The memory of it is hot, and Iggy finds that he’s sliding his hands up under her shirt now. Fiona leans into it, a carefree smile on her face. When the song ends, she pulls away from him and tugs the shirt off. Iggy’s brain short circuits and Fiona has the nerve to press back against him, asking, “This cool with you?” with a smirk on her face.
He manages to stop staring at her chest and pick his eyes up to meet hers long enough to confirm, “Yeah.” It makes her laugh for some reason, and that sound excites him, as does the tone of her following demand of, “Okay, then take yours off, too.”
Having happily gone back to his staring, he doesn’t quite pick up on the actual words, so Fiona decides to help him out, hands coming to either of his hips and tugging upwards on his shirt until all Iggy has to do is lift his arms. He doesn’t see where it is that Fiona throws his shirt too, but he’s not sure that he cares anyway.
He had been expecting her to press into him and start dancing to the beat again, but instead, she’s standing in front of him, undoing her shorts. She struggles a little, buzzed and uncoordinated, but looks up at him once she’s freed of the button, the zipper falling open so that he can see her panties. “You really are just gonna stand there and stare all night, aren’t you?” she asks, laughing when it takes him an inappropriate amount of time to drag his gaze back up to hers.
“No.” He decides, though he still makes no move to do anything but stare.
It's becoming increasingly obvious to Fiona that she’s going to have to guide him through every step she wants to take here, and though the thought makes her roll her eyes, she’s not entirely opposed to it. “Right,” she answers, playful sarcasm dripping from her tone as she steps over to him, repeating the unbuttoning and unzipping with his jeans. Again, she grabs his wrist, this time guiding his hand to her waist and finally resuming their grinding to the middle of a new song playing on the radio.
She thinks he’s starting to get the hint by the time the song ends, so she steps back and shimmies out of her shorts. She stays quiet, looks contemplative at something behind Iggy for a moment.
Kev and V have a ridiculous spiral staircase, and Fiona is not a hundred percent sure that Iggy wouldn’t lose his balance and break his neck on it if she tried to lure him up it. Hell, She’s not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t break her neck if she tried to go up it. But after a moment of consideration, she looks back at Iggy and decides she likes the idea of being chased. Kev and Veronica do have a really comfortable bed…
She taps Iggy's chest to get his attention, a suggestive look spreading across her face when his eyes meet hers. “I’m gonna go upstairs. Last door on the right at the end of the hall.” Fiona doesn’t wait for a response, but she does reach up behind herself to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it so she can drop it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It takes more willpower than she would be happy to admit to force herself not to look back to see if Iggy has caught on that he’s supposed to follow her. When she’s halfway up, she hears the staircase creek behind her and grins.
----
Iggy still feels remarkably fuzzy when he wakes up. Not high, but not exactly not high. It’s mixing wonderfully with the hangover from his beers - Where exactly had he left those? - and making his mouth taste like his head feels, like cotton and fuzz and pressure.
There’s sunlight streaming into the room he’s in, and it smells like flowers, leaving him a little unsure of where he is. He pries his eyes open and looks around, but from where he lays on the bed, he still can’t distinguish where he is. All he can see is an unfamiliar wall, with an unfamiliar window and an unfamiliar dresser pushed against it.
Downstairs, there’s yelling, but there’s also the scent of food, the promise of which is enough to get Iggy to drag his ass out of the comfortable bed. He looks around helplessly for a minute, but unable to locate his boxers, he decides to dig in the dresser for a pair instead.
“In my bed? In my fucking bed, Fiona? Actually,” the yelling gets louder as Iggy approaches the stairs and starts to make his very slow way down them. “Actually, in my house at all? You couldn’t have picked anywhere else in Chicago to take your dirty white boy to hook up?”
Fiona is sitting at the counter with her head in her hands and her back to him, while a very animated woman moves around the kitchen. The woman - Victoria? Has to be something with a V, since everyone calls her that. - hip bumps the great weed curator out of the way of the stove so she can plate a couple of eggs and some toast to bring over to Fiona. “We’re gonna have to burn the sheets now, you know that, right? And for fuck’s sake, Iggy Milkovich-”
Whatever secondary rant she’d been preparing to launch into is cut off momentarily by the question her husband asks after turning around and catching sight of Iggy. “Are those my boxers?”
Iggy looks down at them, shrugs, then looks back up with a dopey grin. “Yeah. Sorry, man. Eggs?” He comes to join Fiona on her side of the little breakfast nook, grinning and digging in when a confused, hesitant-looking Kev sets a plate of eggs down in front of him.
Beside him, Fiona and V have started up again, so he looks up to Kev and asks through his mouthful of eggs, “Are they always this loud when they gossip?”
Neither one of the offending gossips quiet. Either they didn’t hear him, or they just didn’t care.
Kev looks exasperated. “You have no idea, man.” He sets his spatula down next to the stove and reaches behind his ear as he comes to lean across from Iggy. “Joint?”
great news, briloved! totally using this as an excuse to write gallavich and andriel. 5. bar/restaurant au + 30. holiday fic, except i don't try very hard to make it fit the prompt or canon bc i'm me and this is my party. also p.s., as promised, this was written on my phone. directly under the ask. in a parking lot. it's not getting edited. it's also why i had to post this as a screenshot, bc i accidentally posted before it was finished and had to delete it so you couldn't see (;
outline:
• after graduation, dan gets a job coaching in chicago, so all the foxes are visiting her for the holidays
• neil drags andrew to the alibi this rundown bar he found bc he can't imagine kevin day, queen of exy, being caught dead there, and he needs a break
• mickey and ian come in to celebrate their engagement, which happens in november in this au bc i say so
• ig set the year after dan graduates for aftg, and obviously s10 for shameless, no i will not be taking questions
send me two prompts and a ship // read on ao3 // read on tumblr
"Why?" Andrew asks, peering up at the sign hanging over the rundown bar. The Alibi Room.
"Because I wanna get away from Kevin for a bit." Neil answers.
Andrew slides his gaze to Neil, his expression blank. He looks back up at the sign. "You're the one that wanted to come to this little family reunion. Why are you and Her Royal Highness fighting now?"
"We're not fighting." They are, but Neil didn't want to get away from Kevin just to have to talk about him. Neil is sure Andrew hears that statement for what it really means, so he's grateful when Andrew let's the subject drop and reaches for the door handle. They'll likely have to talk about it later, but for now, Neil follows Andrew into the warmth of the bar.
The inside of the bar is just as, if not more, rundown than the outside, with greenish-yellow lighting and decor that, aside from the flat screen television mounted on the far wall, probably hadn't been updated since the early 1980s. It has enough customers scattered around at tables and the bar that the chatter would drown them out if they want to talk in relative privacy, but not so many that it's overwhelming.
At the end of the bar closest to the door and furthest from other customers, Neil orders whiskey for the two of them and watches in silence while the unusually friendly bartender tries to make conversation with Andrew. "I've seen some of you guys' games on TV, but you know, I just don't get the sport," He said as he poured the first drink and places it in front of Neil. "I mean, not that you guys aren't totally impressive and all, but I don't get what the point is. I owe a gym, you know? If you guys are ever looking for a place to work out in Chicago."
Andrew gives the bartender an unimpressed look the entire time he's talking. Once he receives his own drink, he turns away from the bartender entirely, bored gaze focusing on the baseball game playing on the television for a few moments. Neil opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off before he gets the chance. "I'll throttle you if you make a comment about wanting to watch Exy right now." Neil closes his mouth and bites back an amused smile as Andrew turns forward on his bar stool again, choosing to stare at the wall behind the bar instead.
The baseball game isn't Exy, so Neil doesn't really care, but it is mildly more entertaining than staring at the wall, so Neil returns his attention to it before too long. He's finished his drink and ordered another by the time noise erupts from the doorway. Beside him, Andrew tenses, but doesn't make to leave. Neil sees Andrew watching him in his peripheral vision, so he turns to see what the commotion is about.
A rowdy group of people that's nearly as large as the Foxes were Neil's freshman year filters through the door. One of them, a sparkly eyed brunette who can't be much younger than Neil breaks away from the helm of the group to pound his hands on the table closest to the door. "Ladies and gentlemen," He announces once most of the customers have turned their attention towards him. He takes a step back from the table, giving a sweeping gesture towards two men still standing near the entrance, wrapped up around each other. "May I present the future Mr. and Mr. Gallagher-Milkovich?"
----
The taller Future Mr. Gallagher-Milkovich - Neil thinks he heard someone call him Ian, but he's not one hundred percent sure - is probably the biggest lightweight Neil has ever seen, even after two and a half years of college. He's had one beer and Neil isn't even sure if he finished it, but he's up, stumbling around the bar with his betrothed. They must be regulars here, since the other customers got up to help the giant wedding party in moving tables off to the sides of the bar to create space for a dance floor. Neil is also pretty sure that the person who offered up their smartphone to play slow songs over wasn't someone who came in with them.
When the song ends, another one that Neil doesn't recognize starts, but the grooms break up from each other. The dark haired one goes to retrieve his own beer from where he left it on the table, and Ian makes his way to the bar alone.
There's a shot and a glass of some clear liquid waiting for him when he arrives. Neil didn't see the bartender make the drink, but he hopes it's water. Even the shot seems ill advised. He leans over, grabbing the bartender by the arm and tugging him into an uncomfortable looking hug.
"Thanks, Kev. For... like. Everything." Ian whispers, except he's drunk and it's not that quiet, since Neil can still hear him over all the other noise in the bar. The bartender, Kev apparently, pats his back and grins when they pull apart. "Of course, man. You guys are family."
He reminds me of Nicky, Neil thinks, watching Ian hold Kev hostage in an across the bar hug. He decides it best not to mention that to Andrew, who still hasn't made to leave, but has been getting steadily more tense the more strangers that filter into the bar.
He thinks it's strange, given Andrew seems to have no problem with all of the unfamiliar people that swarm around at Eden's Twilight. He's ready to chalk it up to the fact they're away from home, but he's startled out of his thoughts when Ian turns away from the bar. His arm catches on the drink he'd been ignoring, and he turns just quickly enough that it sends the drink sliding off the bar and into Andrew's lap.
Ian looks entirely surprised, like the glass had materialized out of nowhere, but after a second for the shock to wear off, he's quickly pulling napkins from a dispenser and stepping closer. Neil is about to warn him off, but Andrew hisses, "Don't." It's only when Ian stops, handfuls of napkins inches away from Andrew's wet lap, that Neil realizes he was talking to Ian, not Neil.
"Are you okay?" Ian asks, taking a step back and setting the napkins on the bar in front of them instead. He moves slowly, and Neil can't tell if it's because he's trying to keep himself steady or if it's because of whatever he sees on Andrew's face that he feels he needs to fear.
"I'm not the one marrying a cartoon mouse." Andrew deadpans. Once Ian has backed off a few steps, Andrew grabs the napkins he was offered and starts using them to try to wring some of the water out of his soaked t-shirt. Neil isn't sure it's going to do him much good.
Neil is right, it doesn't do much good, as after a minute, Andrew gives up. He finishes the remainder of his whiskey and drops the wad of wet napkins into the empty glass on the bar. Then he turns to Neil and says, "Give me your jacket. We're leaving."
Neil offers up his jacket without another word and watches as Andrew breezes out of the bar. He starts digging in his jeans pockets in search of his wallet so he can pay for their drinks, but is interrupted by Ian, who is still lingering by the bar.
"No, no! Wait, let me.. Let me pay for them. 'M sorry I ruined your date."
Hearing his scheme to avoid Kevin with Andrew referred to as a date makes Neil hide a grin, a private joke with himself, though he's sure he'll share it with Andrew later. He won't say no to free drinks, though. "Okay. Sorry for crashing your engagement party."
Mickey, who Neil gathers is Ian's fiance and not a cartoon mouse (though he's about as big as one), approaches to wrap himself around Ian's side. Ian rests his cheek against the top of his head and grins like the happiest person in the world.
Ian waves when Neil turns to leave, and Neil idly waves back before opening the door. He exits the bar into a cloud of Andrew's cigarette smoke and walks past without stopping. When he feels Andrew fall into step beside him, he thinks he may be willing to go back and fight Ian for that happiest person title.
i was tagged by @whatwouldmickeydo to post six ten (context was necessary lmao) sentences of a wip! (also leah i can't wait to read your wip omg)
Terry left Mandy on the bottom step, focused on shoving Mickey towards the center of the room and knocking him to his knees. Mickey went with an ease Mandy had never seen from him before, and it hit her that Mickey was trying to take the blows in hopes that Mandy would avoid them. He was trying to protect her. They weren’t as close as siblings could be, didn't even really like each other some days, but it hit Mandy then that Mickey had always at least tried to protect her. He would deny it, but she wished she could thank him anyway. Suddenly regretted that they weren't closer.
She knew she shouldn’t think like that. They were going to go home. Even if Terry left them for the night, they’d go home. Mickey would brave going back to the house to pack things for them and they’d lay low for a few days before he went back to test the waters and see if Terry had cooled off enough for it to be safe to go home.
tagging: @y0itsbri @southside-forever @arrowflier and @lipgallagherstan
tagged by @whatwouldmickeydo (me, typing 'leah' into the @ box and getting mad you don't come up) to share the last line of my current wip. my most recent wip is, tragically, my ocs, but you're all getting subjected to them now i guess <3
Max crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed as usual. “Well, we can’t all get through life on being rich and pretty. Some of us have to commit minor felonies."
