#futurefluff

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich, Yevgeny Milkovich Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Teenage Rebellion, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Future Fic, Fatherhood, Swearing Summary:

*I bowed to peer pressure and have added an extra chapter*

Jughead makes no pretence about the fact he’s going to hold her while they watch Girl On The Train, stretching out on the couch with his arm slung over the back of it in invitation.

It’s an invitation Betty’s more than willing to accept.

She joins him with the bowl of fresh popcorn, setting it on the coffee table so he can easily reach, and then settles herself against him so that her head’s resting on his chest. When his arm doesn’t drop from the back of the couch to hers, she wonders whether she’s read the situation wrong, and her whole body tenses, ready to pull away.

And then he says, in only a fraction louder than a whisper, “Betts? Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

“I uh...I have a tattoo,” he says. “On my arm. Got it in my sophomore year of high school.”

She watches him but says nothing.

“My dad was in jail and I was living alone in our shitty apartment in Hunts Point. I made a series of decisions that, in hindsight, were pretty stupid. Maybe even at the time they were pretty stupid,” he adds. “But I couldn’t see another way. I joined a gang.”

He hears her sharp intake of breath but still, Betty doesn’t say anything.

“They had this initiation - the gauntlet. It’s...you walk down the line and the members inflict pain. Punching, chains, that sort of thing. You make it through, the tattoo’s yours.”

Her voice is uneven when she says, “You made it though.”

Jughead nods. “Have you ever had pain feel like a relief?”

Her head snaps up and he sees the water pool in her eyes before she can blink it away. And then, almost inaudibly, she whispers, “Yes.”

A movement across from her tears her eyes from her screen (and the numerous spelling mistakes she’s made) and Betty looks up to see Jughead - now with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to expose his forearms - rubbing at the back of his neck. 

He’s standing, bent at the waist to look at the computer screen in front of him with his hands splayed across the desk, and she feels something stir low in her stomach. Her mouth is dry and she reminds herself it’s because it’s hot and she hasn’t drunk enough water, so she rises from her chair to head to the cooler at the other side of the room.

The entire walk there (which, in reality, isn’t anywhere near as long as it feels) his gaze weighs heavily against her back and remains there as she fills the plastic Evian bottle with fresh water. Betty almost doesn’t want to turn around.

She does though, toying with the material of her blouse which is starting to grow sticky against her skin. She won’t look at him, she tells herself, but as she takes her seat again, their eyes meet. His adam’s apple bobs and she looks at his lips and thinks,

 fuck.

“Betty Cooper," Veronica announces. "The new intern.”

As her new boss stands, a sweep of dark, wavy hair falls across his eyes in a way that makes Betty realise he’s much younger than she’d initially assumed.

“Welcome to The New York Times Magazine,” he says.

…

Or, Betty Cooper interns at her dream newspaper and finds herself falling for more than just the job.

And Jughead Jones? Well, he's not prepared for anything when it comes to his newest features writer.

They walk back in the direction in which they’d come and then reach a stop outside of a glass-walled office housing a single desk, two dark leather armchairs which look worn but comfortable, and, Betty notes, a potted plant in need of some water. Veronica knocks on the glass in a way that’s almost regal and the editor looks up from his computer. Although there’s no official ‘come in’, she opens the door and ushers Betty inside before following herself.

“Betty Cooper - the new intern.”

As her new boss stands, a sweep of dark, wavy hair falls across his eyes in a way that makes Betty realise he’s much younger than she’d initially assumed. Not that she’d really assumed anything about him (her interview had passed by in a blur of nerves regarding the rigid pitch she’d practised with Archie in the apartment they now share). 

“Welcome to The New York Times Magazine,” he says.

...

Or, Betty interns at her dream newspaper and finds herself falling for more than just the job.

Her fingers rub absently at her eyes of their own accord, leaving her vision blurry halfway through a sentence. Betty blinks and squints into the screen’s glare, reaching blindly for her coffee.

“I’m cutting you off,” a voice says softly, a hint of what she thinks might just be mirth filtering in around the edges. She sets the mug back down and turns in her chair to see her boss standing behind her.

His hand then reaches over her shoulder to turn off the computer screen and her eyes re-adjust to the less-harsh overhead and natural lighting combo gratefully. “I didn’t get to finish it,” Betty protests, although she can hear the weakness in her argument and cringes at her lack of sincerity.       

Jughead shrugs. “There’s a growing trend regarding the purchase of second homes in Krakow. That’s pretty much it.”

“You paint quite the picture,” she replies, a touch of amusement tingeing her response - and growing when the corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles. It reaches his eyes too - only just - and Betty notices how acutely dark blue they are: sapphire-like, or the cold ocean on a winter’s day, except there’s a warmth in them that she hasn’t noticed before.

“That’s why I’m the editor,” he replies, now leaning against her desk. She can smell pine and soap and a faint lingering of what she thinks might be cigarette smoke.

His mouth drops back into its usual position and Betty finds something out of place - something about wanting to make it better (whatever it is) - flitting across her thoughts. She’s saddened to watch a smile that wasn’t even big to begin with fade right in front of her eyes.

It reminds her instantly of Polly and she sucks in a deep breath.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

it's always ourselves we find in the sea