Misc ideas/One shots

A Good Night to Get Fired [Perospero x Reader idea] Part 1

I was toying with ideas and came up with these two chapters about Peros (shrug). Set in a Modern AU. I was just having fun while trying to drum up the motivation to work on my other fics. 

You squinted against the glare of your phone and quickly fumbled the brightness down. Your thumb flicked across the screen, hurriedly scrolling for a new playlist. You'd just finished the last one and it was physically impossible for you to clean without having some sort of background noise.

'You're a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, or a criminal'. Now that sounded promising. Simple Minds began belting through your headphones, and you smiled in satisfaction. The good old stuff. You'd been getting tired of the pop station lately.

You straightened from your hunched position and stretched your aching back. The mop handle slid from its resting place on your shoulder and fell to the floor, splattering soapy water all over the candy-coloured tiles.

"My bad."

You apologized to no one as you picked up the mop, wrung it out, and then cleaned up the mess it had made. You continued down the hall, scrubbing the colourful floor and wiping down the etched glass walls of the offices. A few garbage cans had been put out into the hall. You changed the bags, holding your breath against the chemical perfume on the pre-sprayed bags meant to overpower the stink of day-old banana peels.

This was the fifth floor out of the ten that had been assigned to you. If you kept up the pace, you'd finish by two o'clock.

You reached one of the break rooms and ducked inside to grab the garbage. A few cups were still in the sink. You wrinkled your nose at them and then moved on. That wasn't in your job description. A sign decorated with smiling flowers and teacups hung above the sink and declared to all staff that they had to clean their own dishes. Your nose stayed wrinkled as you looked around the break room. There was one on every floor, and the four others you'd seen tonight were painted with completely different (completely awful) colours. This one was an eye-searing neon pink, with pale peach accents. It was like a toddler had chosen the colour schemes. You replaced the garbage bag and left.

With 'Take On Me' buzzing in your ears, you made it to the elevator and punched the button. When the doors opened, you almost screamed.

"Geez!" you pressed a hand to your heart, "Sorry. I forgot I wasn't the only one here. Are you done already?"

You recognized one of the women who'd helped lead your orientation yesterday. Her black hair was tucked up under a white cowboy hat, but a few strands fell loose as she leaned casually forward. She smiled at your exclamation, her hand halfway to the button panel.

"The longer you work here, the shorter your list of floors gets. Hang in there. I'm going down. I'll send it back up for you."

"Great. Thanks."

You waved as the doors closed. Then you stood there, staring at the elevator, bobbing your head to some Guns N' Roses. The song brought you back to summers filled with sunburns, ice cream, and fast cars. You fondly recalled nights spent on the beach, mornings spent in hotel rooms, and evenings dripping with heat and laughter and the smell of the ocean.

You missed those days, but you knew your body wouldn't be able to handle the lifestyle anymore. Now you preferred your little studio, working with your hands, and finding quiet ways to keep busy when you couldn't sleep.

You scoffed lightly and shook your head.

"I'm getting old," you sighed.

The elevator dinged and you hauled your mop bucket and cleaning cart inside.