Chapter Text
Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews, Veronica Lodge, and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) have been inseparable since Veronica moved to Riverdale. The other four had been friends since kindergarten and welcoming the new girl into their group felt natural as ever, like she’d been there all along. However, Ronnie ushered in a new era of Riverdale, but for you, the most difficult change to cope with was the budding relationships of your friends. Archie had instantly fallen for Veronica, and Jughead and Betty (finally) got together as well. This left you the odd one out. It was never annoying or uncomfortable, they made sure to include you in everything. And you always had Kevin to be bitter and single with. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone by your side to actually...be with.
Dating for you was never easy. You always had an eye for older men and being in Highschool, your options were limited. You also liked girls but there just weren’t enough Queer people in Riverdale to even try that option. So you were sort of stuck for now.
One day at lunch, your group was sitting in the Blue And Gold’s room trying to finish up some edits on this week's stories. It was relatively quiet, save for the sound of keys clicking, The Smiths playing in the background, and scattered frustrated sighs. That was until Kevin busted in through the door. “Guys. I’m going insane. If one more person sends me the picture of my dad at the gym, I’m going to freak the fuck out,” he vented. “Woah there, Flame Boy. Context clues pretty please?” You asked.
Kevin sighed impatiently and began to explain “someone saw my dad at the gym without his shirt on and took a picture. They’re taking the ‘Hot Dad Squad’ to a whole other level.”
“Kev- I hate to break it to you but they’re not wrong. I’ve seen your dad shirtless, remember? Absolute smoke show,” Veronica added, not particularly helping the situation. Kevin only responded by crossing his arms and giving her a glare. Betty was next to interject “Trust me. I’m two days there will be some other ridiculous rumor or scandal going on and everyone will forget about your dad. Relax, kid. Plus it’s not like anyone in school is going to actually bang your dad. That would be gross. Way too old.” You let out a giggle loud enough for everyone to hear. All eyes turned to you, questioning what exactly that was supposed to mean.
“Well someone might! Hot dads are TOTALLY in and there are about a hundred girls in this school with some deep daddy issues. Old dudes are hot. Don’t knock it till you try it.” Everyone’s reaction was different, from Archie’s awkward blush to Veronica’s smirk and raised a brow. Jugheads was perhaps the most surprising when he laughed and said “Please (Y/N), you wouldn’t actually bang one of our dads. No way.”
“How do you know I haven’t already?” you teased. “I’m kidding! But I totally could if I wanted to.”
“You’re on,” Jughead stated. “50 bucks says you can’t do it.”
“You sure that’s a bet you’re willing to make, Jones? After all, your dad is the hottest,” you continued to muse.
“Absolutely gross. But I’m serious. You have till Monday. And obviously, the married Dads are off the table. Which leaves three- Keller, Andrews, and Mine,” Jughead challenged.
“I’m not dragging other people into this,” you state after seeing the looks on both Kevin and Archie’s faces. “Kevin’s been through enough, and Archie looks like he’s going to puke. Which means I guess you’ll be calling me Mom!”
“You’re on.” Jughead simply said, reaching out his hand to seal the deal. You shook it with confidence. This was going to be the easiest bet to win ever. 50 bucks, and hot sex? Score.
It was Friday night which meant you only had two more days to win the bet you placed with Jughead. But tonight was the perfect night for it anyway. The Whyte Wyrm was surely where FP Jones would be, so you made plans to go there too, late as possible to be sure he was already there. After the football game, you drove back home quickly to change for your sure to be one-night stand. It didn’t take much just a little more eyeliner and some red lipstick instead of your usual pink. You slipped into something eye-catching, but only for the right eyes. Black ripped up skinny jeans, a lace black bralette, and your signature red flannel tied up like a crop top to finish it all off. After debating what shoes to wear, you decided on your black heeled doc martins- sturdy, sexy, and badass. You ran downstairs and grabbed your keys to your pride and joy, practically skipping to the car with excitement. Soon you were on your way to the shady hole in the wall.
You parked your car outside the Wyrm, turned off the car, and took one last look in the mirror before stepping out of the car and strutting into the bar. You sauntered up to the bar and ordered something to take the edge off, but not enough to get you sloppy drunk- an old-fashioned. The bartender didn’t ask for an ID (you had a fake since you were still only 19) and you weren’t sure whether it was due to your prominent cleavage or the fact that he didn’t care. Either way, you thanked him for your drink and turned around, leaning on the bar to survey the room and look for your target. You spotted him, drinking a beer, sitting on the pool table alone. You walked over to him and joined him in sitting on the velvet table. “Hey Mr. Jones,” you said casually as if it made complete sense that you should be there, talking to him like old friends. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” he remarked with surprise, dragging out your name and eyeing you up and down. “Shouldn’t you be at a victory party after the game?” “Eh. Not really my thing. I can’t stand cheap beer. Or school spirit for that matter.” You laughed. He let out a soft chuckle and took another swing of his beer, “That still doesn’t explain what a pretty little girl like you is doing here.”
“I may be pretty but I’m not that little,” you replied. “Can’t a girl try something different?” You caught FP’s gaze and very obviously eye-fuck him. He turned away and coughed into his fist awkwardly. Motioning to the pool table he changed the subject. “You play?”
“Not very well.” You admitted.
“Lucky for you I’m pretty damn good. Time to learn, sweetheart.” He commanded while slipping off the table and grabbing two sticks. He set the table up and broke for you. All the while you stared at him intently, watching him eye the cue ball carefully and bend over the table to hit it. “Show me what you got, kid” he mused. You weighed your options on what ball to hit. You decided to go for the safest one and leaned over the velvet to hit the cue. Yes, you were focused on the game, but you could also feel FP’s eyes all over you, whether it was to check out you or your technique, you were still unsure. Either way, you missed your target terribly and exclaimed: “fuck!” As the cue ball rolled into a pocket. “I told you I suck at this.”
“Yeah, you do. But it’s alright, I’m a great teacher. Who do you think taught Sweet Pea to play the way he does?” FP came around to your spot by the table and placed one hand on your hip to steady himself as he reached into the pocket for the ball. He placed it on the table and positioned himself behind you. “See, you wanna step back from the table more,” he grabbed your hips back so that they were pressing against his “and lean down. Hold the stick straighter. And use your fingers as a guide” You did as he said, a blush creeping up to your cheeks as you realized how compromising you both looked right now. You let out a deep breath and shot. The cue hit the red striped ball you were aiming for and you made it in. “Good Job, little girl, “ he remarked, still standing very close to your ass. You whipped around, faces just inches apart.
“Thanks, Mr. Jones,” you breathed. The older man glanced down at your lips and whispered right back “Call me FP.” You were about to make your move when you noticed the song playing in the background.
“Holy shit I love this song!” You declared. “Dance with me?” You questioned to FP.
The look he gave you was priceless “ I don’t dance, girly.” He confessed.
You giggled, “and I don’t play pool but here we are.” Not taking no for an answer, you grabbed his hand turned around to press your ass on the crouch of his jeans. At first, he was taken aback and frozen, but as you continued to grind against him, he began to warm up. Still holding onto his hand, you placed it on your hip, where he dug his nails into the skin above your jeans softly. Slowly, he raked his hand up your body and positioned his other hand on your abdomen, right below your bust line. He began to grind to the music with you, and you could feel his bulge starting to grow. The chorus of the song started and you turned around to face him. His arm snaked around to your back and held you close to his chest. Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment before you quickly brought a hand up to his hair and pulled him down to your lips. The kiss was anything but quick or innocent. His hands found their way to your ass, grabbing the jean-clad flesh. Your hands, meanwhile, only tangled into his hair more. It was needy, passionate, and messy. It was everything you imagined kissing FP Jones would be like.
He pulled away slightly, hands still resting inside your jeans’ back pockets. “Wanna get out of here?” He asked, searching your eyes for an answer. “Fuck yes.” You replied. You grabbed your drink and slammed it down your throat, the bourbon burning slightly, before grabbing your bag and heading out the door, FP holding your hand the whole way out.