ᵀʰᵉ ᵐⁱˡᵏᵐᵃⁿ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵈᵒᵒʳ || Francis Mosses x reader

=First Encounters=

'nngh- fuck... Use both hands!' The man on the other side of the crate snapped, that man being Francis Mosses, staggering under it's weight.

'I am!' Y/n snarled back, arms shaking as they gave in and your side of the crate dropped to the floor, the lid cracking open and loads upon loads of broken milk jugs tumbled out and made their way onto the concrete floor of the apartment entry way.

'Great...' He muttered to himself, taking off his white hat with the word 'Milkman' sewn into the black rim. He held one hand to his head for a second before putting his hat back on and raising an eyebrow at you.

'Going to help clean this up, Ms. y/n?'

You shake yourself. 'Oh right- yes, on it.' You instantly starting picking up shards of glass as he grabs a mop from a closet not far from the Doppelganger detection desk.

Just as he rolls up his sleeves a loud voice bellows throughout the hallways. Shit, it's familiar.

'HONEY!' The unmistakable over the top posh accent is like a calling horn as your husband; Izaack Gauss, of a few months walks out of the doors, leather shoes, so bright they make your eyes hurt, clanking obnoxiously.

'Oh wonderful... I'm definitely in the mood for this bullshit...' you mutter under your breath and stand up, patting dust off your clothes and spinning on the spot to face him and his uptight attitude.

Izaack pauses, narrowing his eyes at Francis and then at you.

'Were you just, cleaning up?' He snarls, and y/n has to take a step backwards to stop spit from flying right at her.

'If your eyes are working, than you should've seen me picking up the glass.' Y/n smiled, holding up a few serrated parts, hand shaking slightly; already fed up with your arranged partner.

He just scoffs, snatching your wrist and dragging you back to their apartment. He then scolded you for the next hour on how we were the 'upper class' and didn't 'clean up after ourselves' blah blah blah..

At some point during his rantings, your mind wanders back to how Francis had been watching the entire interaction, silent.

Y/n shakes it off, blaming it on your longtime crush on the handsome man who delivered milk every Tuesday morning...

'ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!' Y/n snaps out of it, murmuring; 'huh- what?' Even though you had understood every word he said. He demands you to make dinner and you roll your eyes, plodding off to the kitchen and making Izaack's least favorite meal.

This one's only short cause it's 11:38pm and it's my first time actually publishing smth- 🗣