milkmanxreader

[milkmanxreader]

１

"Isn't the new milk man just a dreamboat?"

. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

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You hummed quietly to yourself as the feather duster swept over everything it could reach. Robert was out for his work, and you couldn't have been more happy. You liked when he was gone, after all. In the background, a phonograph played a slightly older, yet sweet tune. "Heartaches", by Al Bowlly. Robert didn't much care for the tune, but you found it simply darling.

A lot of the songs you had were a bit older, mostly from the '30s and '20s. But you could've cared less about the age of them.

Suddenly— a gentle, yet firm knock on the door shot you out of your thoughts. For a moment you fretted it was your husband, but he wouldn't have knocked. Upon realizing that it must've been the milk man, you sighed, making your way to the door.

The milk man was such a.. interesting man, broad shouldered, short. You opened the door— now who was this?

Instead of seeing the broad shouldered, short, blonde haired man who typically wore some grin standing in front of you, your eyes met with tired dark, dark brown eyes. He was a bit taller than you, with a long nose, a thin chin, and brown hair which was, mostly, covered by the hat you'd grown used to seeing. Only now on a different face.

Despite yourself, you had to admit the man was eye-candy. Face going a light shade of pink, you tilted your head to the side a bit, looking confused.

"Uh.. hello?" you said, though it came out sounding more like a question than you perhaps intended. The man jut out his arms, frightening you a bit. In his hands was the milk crate. "..Right!" 

Although the silent man was.. seeming to be a bit odd, he was quite cute.

You took the crate, "So, stranger," you said, smoothing out the apron you wore with your free hand, "what's your name?"

The cute milk man stared at you expectantly, before speaking in a tired, drawn out voice.

"Francis. Francis Mosses."

He took off his hat and bowed a little, a gesture which caused your cheeks to flare a rosy red, and a giggle to escape from you. "I like your name," you complimented honestly. Francis nodded, murmuring a 'thank you'.

"I'm {Y/N} {L/N}." You introduced yourself with a growing smile. He put his hat back on, shot you a nod and without another word, walked back to his truck.

What a dreamboat.

Once the door was shut, you couldn't contain the big grin from forming on your face. Such a handsome, mysterious man— and you got to see him every day? Wow.

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Yet again, supper was quiet. But you were in a better mood, a soft smile on your face as you stared down at the leftover meatloaf you'd reheated from last night. "How was your day, hon?" you broke the silence, albeit reluctantly.

Robert hummed, "Fine."

While part of you wanted to press on, have a nice conversation for once, you managed to hold your tongue. After all, you wanted to go to bed early instead of having a long argument, afterall— you had Francis to look forward to tomorrow.

Distantly you felt a sense of self-disgust. You were a married woman, yet felt excited by the idea of being around Francis. Perhaps not in some lewd way, but something similar, in a way.

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You weren't sure if you had ever cleaned dishes so fast before now. Only twenty minutes you spent scrubbing before you pratically ripped off the yellow dish gloves and was racing to the downstairs bathroom— the only place Robert allowed you to have your "womanly" stuff. Face wash, lotions, ectera.

Surpressing a laugh of excitment, you quickly began your nightly routine, quite excited for tomorrow morning.

[milkmanxreader]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

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You paused brushing your hair mid-stroke, head quirking to the side to look at the door. Faintly, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut could be heard. Dammit. You had really hoped your husband— Robert, a short round man with messy dirty blonde hair and dull brown eyes— would be working late, yet again. With a sigh of unease, you heaved yourself up from the stool in front of your vanity, gazing at your tired face in the clean mirror.

When had your appearance changed so much?

Of course, you were still stunning, your hair neat, and a nice colour. Despite all the years of a loveless marriage, your {E/C} eyes were still magnetic, and full of hope. Part of you really did hope your awful love-life with Robert could be fixed— even if deep down you knew it was far beyond repair. But it was a nice thought none the less.

"Where the hell is my food?" An irritated voice called from downstairs, snapping you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you made your way down the stairs with your hand gliding along the railing next to you.

For the most part, you loved your life, and home. Robert had a nice job, which meant you'd be able to live in this nice, large home, and not have to worry about getting a job you'd end up hating, though you didn't much like being a housewife either. You found it boring, and often fretted the common thing of husbands' cheating on their wives whilst out "working late."

Once you made it downstairs to the living room, you saw Robert pouring himself a glass of amber liquid, ice in the bottom of the glass. He brought the glass to his lips and quickly downed half of the whiskey. "Hello, honey," you offered lamely, brows upturned and a small smile plastered across your face— even if you didn't feel like smiling. He liked women who smiled, and Robert being happy meant less arguments in the long run.

He sharply turned his head to face you, glaring at you with contempt. 

"..I'll get your supper dished out,"

Robert nodded, before turning his head back around and going back to his drinking. Fucking asshole. With meek steps you scurried to the kitchen. Once there, you opened the oven, a pan which was still — thankfully — warm sat inside of the interior, and it smelled wonderful too. Putting on oven mitts, you took out the pan and set it on the counter. Meatloaf. 

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Supper was silent, the only noise being the quiet sounds of eating, and forks scraping against the plates, a sound which made you cringe slightly. Robert acted like you weren't there. And maybe mentally you weren't.

Why on Earth did you want this life? To be a housewife? Growing up your mother was unmarried, nor was she dating anyone. She had always romanticized this life, her words laced with honey as she would pour out her dreams of finding some rich handsome man. Of course, she never did. But her raw adoration for such a simple, yet attractive lifestyle made you crave it just as much as she.

It was the worse mistake of your life. You loathed this, loathed Robert. His passion was long gone, with it your happiness, and sexual pleasure. Whilst "love"-making wasn't completely vanished, any of your pleasure being priority was. He was fast, rough, and awfully bad, too. Not a good combination. 

Not to say at one time you didn't mind the roughness, or fast pace, but that was back when he loved you. Now, he treated foreplay like a chore, and all you'd receive was bad dirty talk, and mediocre fingering, and hardly much of the latter. It was just all that— a chore.

You didn't even have anyone to properly weep your woes to. Robert didn't like you shooting the breeze with other men, and all of your women friends were cherry-picked by him, the wives of his friends

They were all rude bitches. It was as if they saw just because they were a bit older that they were somehow better than you. Or maybe they felt that way because of your lack of children.

Not that you were infertile, no, you could have a child if you wanted it. But that was just it, wasn't it? You didn't want children. Occasionally you'd have to look after one of your "friends" ankle-bitters, and they seemed much more trouble than they were worth. If you wanted something to take care of; just get a cat, or dog.

Robert seemed a bit upset with your lack of child, too. It was often a sore subject which led to arguments, so you seldom brought it up. And he did the same, for which you were grateful. 

You were a lonely housewife looking for some form of escapism. Cheating was never on your mind, but you craved excitement, and something far away from Robert.

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Without wasting a single moment, the second Robert had finished eating he stood up and walked away, likely to the shared bedroom. With a grunt of irritation, you stood and collected up the freshly emptied plates, taking them to the sink to wash them.

Your hands slowly scrubbed the plates, wanting to prolong the time you stayed up into the night. Robert seldom cared if you laid with him at night, but the way he just.. ignored, turned away, or shoved you off stung, and often you'd have to blink away tears.

Half the time you couldn't even register your own feelings. Maybe isolated. Definitely lonely.

But, surely there was more out there for you, wasn't there? Maybe you could divorce Robert, move far, far away. You'd for sure be shunned if you got a divorce, nobody would want you— a woman who couldn't even be a right wife? Awful. But if you moved away, you could tell the new folks that you were.. a widow, or something. 

That sounded nice.

Even if deep down,

you knew,

Robert would never allow you to divorce him. It'd hurt his ego far too much.

[milkmanxreader]

Solace in the Milk Man

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓇼🐚☾☼🦪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

This is a fanfiction blog.

Francis "The milk man" Mosses x reader

Fem!Reader

Peaceful AU/No doppels

SMUT/NSFW AHEAD (eventually) A lot of angst too.

SLOW UPDATES (probably)

This'll also be posted on Wattpad eventually, once it's finished here, I'll put the link here when it's up. Maybe on ao3 eventually too

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