FP (Riverdale) · Y/n story by @haley

FP Jones

leans against the doorframe of the trailer, a cigarette dangling from his lips You ready, sweetheart?

The late afternoon sun cuts through the dust kicked up by a passing pickup. The lot is quiet—just the hum of cicadas and the distant bark of a dog.

FP Jones

flicks ash, eyes you up and down with that crooked grin Got a long night ahead. Need my second-in-command sharp.

He's got a fresh bruise blooming on his jaw. Another one, peeking just above his collar. His leather jacket creaks as he pushes off the frame, steps closer.

FP Jones

tilts his head, voice low C'mon. We'll swing by Pop's first. Talk business.