Mr. Wrong (Vincent x Reader)

Meeting Your Purple Coworker

"Mom, Dad, I'm leaving for work."

You weren't sure what response you were expecting, and weren't all that surprised when you received none at all. However, your answer was not silence, but rather the sound of heated bickering. You groaned to yourself.

Fighting? Again? They can't even take a break to acknowledge me on my first day at this new job?

As you entered the kitchen, the shouting got louder, and you couldn't help but cringe and force yourself to watch the floor. You could've walked by without a head and they wouldn't have noticed. The fact that your parents argued frequently absolutely gutted you. You'd never intervene, but you sort of wish you didn't have to.

In passing, the only parts of them you saw were their feet, closing in on proximity between the other, and then the image was shooed away by tiles. You reached the door, shut it behind you and temporarily cast away your toxic home life, trading it in for a day of new experiences.

Once inside your car, you immediately turned it on and cranked the music to full blast, tearing from the driveway like it were on fire. It's not that you were running late, but rather you were desperate to try out a different setting. Also, the fact that you were working at all excited you greatly. After all, finding a job in the summer wasn't easy because everyone was hunting for one at the same time. You were lucky to have landed a position anywhere, even if the place it was at wasn't entirely ideal.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza..." you caught yourself saying out loud, though your voice was drowned out by the radio. It was a restaurant/arcade type of establishment geared toward entertaining smaller children. It hadn't been open long enough for you to know much about it, and you were far too old to be a customer without having your own kid. Your job was watching over the little terrors and making sure none of them killed each other. Basically, glorified babysitting. Your eyes shifted off to space in remembering your interview with the manager just a few days prior.

"So you're looking to employ me as a security guard?" you asked the man at the desk, who sat puffing through his thick cigar. He shook his head, tapping the end so that ash fell into a crystal tray.

"In a way, yes. But since this would be your first time working anywhere, I'll probably start you off as a 'helper' of sorts. You'll work with another one of the guards, watch over at times or places that they can't, and then alert them if there's any trouble. I wouldn't expect you to do anything aggressive should something like that happen."

At this, you slumped back a bit in the chair. Originally you'd been looking to be a waitress or hostess. Was 'helper' even a legitimate job title? But alas, you held your tongue before voicing any complaints. After all, it was basically a policing job without any of the heavier responsibilities. You were slightly grateful someone else would be able to take care of that for you.

"Alright then. So who will I be working with?"

Once your keys were pulled from the ignition, you took a deep breath and wasted no further time heading inside the restaurant. Your heart was pounding with anticipation. You pushed open the doors at the entrance, immediately falling victim to sensory overload. It was incredibly cold and filled by a choir of squealing kiddies.