𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

The Wrong Side of the Tracks | FP Jones

Summary: after a late night car breakdown on the outskirts of Riverdale, you unexpectedly get help from FP, who's still working on cleaning up his act. As the two of you bond over their shared struggles, sparks fly despite the age gap and the towns disapproval

Warning(s): Age gap (the reader is in their 20s)

THE engine sputtered and died, leaving you stranded on the side of the highway just outside Riverdale. It was dark, the kind of pitch black that only existed far from streetlights, and the cold seeped through your jacket as you slammed the hood shut in frustration. Your phone had no service, naturally.

"Great," you muttered, kicking at the gravel. The sound echoed into the quiet night.

Just as you were debating whether to start walking back into town, headlights appeared in the distance, the low rumble of a truck growing louder. You raised your hand tentatively, signaling for help. The truck slowed, pulling off the road and stopping a few feet in front of you.

The driver's side door creaked open, and FP Jones stepped out, his silhouette unmistakable. The worn leather jacket, the faint shadow of a scruff lining his jaw—he exuded the kind of effortless cool that made people nervous.

"Car trouble?" he asked, leaning casually against the door.

"Yeah," you said, crossing your arms. "Won't start. No cell service either."

FP nodded, walking over to pop the hood of your car. He inspected it in silence, his brow furrowing as he reached for a wrench from his back pocket. "Looks like your alternator's shot. You're not going anywhere tonight."

You sighed, glancing down the empty highway. "Guess I'll call a tow in the morning. Thanks for checking."

FP straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. "I can give you a ride back to town if you want. Not much else to do out here."

The offer was unexpected, and for a moment, you hesitated. FP wasn't exactly known for being the friendliest face in Riverdale, but his eyes were calm, steady. Against your better judgment, you nodded. "Alright, thanks."

The inside of his truck was cleaner than you expected, though it smelled faintly of motor oil and cigarettes. The warmth from the heater was a welcome relief from the cold outside.

"So," FP said as he started driving, his voice breaking the silence. "What's someone like you doing out here this late?"

You shrugged. "Had some errands to run. Didn't think my car would give up on me halfway back."

He chuckled, a low, rough sound. "Old cars'll do that. Guess you don't have anyone to call for help?"

The question caught you off guard, but you shook your head. "Not really. My family's... complicated."

FP glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. "Complicated, huh? Join the club."

The truck rumbled along the road, the lights of Riverdale growing closer. You were surprised by how easy it felt, sitting there with him.

"Thanks for stopping," you said after a while. "Most people wouldn't have."

FP smirked. "Guess I'm not most people."

There was something in the way he said it—half teasing, half serious—that made you smile.

When he pulled into the parking lot of Pop's, you reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped you.

"You sure you're alright?"

You turned back, meeting his gaze. For the first time, you noticed how kind his eyes were beneath the rough exterior.

"I will be," you said softly.

FP nodded, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Good. Let me know if you need that car looked at."

"Thanks, FP."

You slid out of the truck, the chill of the night air biting at your skin as you watched him drive off. For the first time in a long time, you didn't feel so alone.