L[ust] 《XXX》

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Female!Antisepticeye x Female!Reader

[FIRST PERSON]
<word count: 2527>

{Warning: themes of the LGBT community included within. If you are against such thing, simply do not read.}

A special thank you to CreepyBonnie for helping me with this oneshot.

< ♡ >

        ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴅᴏʟʟs or toy cars, whereas I had a sweeping pan and brush. Working for the Septiceye's certainly swept away my youthful years. Yet, I held no complaints. 
Grandmother worked for the family, as did my mother once she was old enough to count to ten and pick up a broom, leading to myself walking in the exact same steps. It took me no longer than the age of seven to get the gist of things; mother and I lived in the servants quarters in the mansion, I was with her every moment of the day while she cleaned, taking after her in all ways. By thirteen, I was officially employed at the Septiceye manor as a maid in training. 

On Thursdays (today, for example) there were two maids, four butlers and the kitchen staff working their regular hours. Weekends were the busiest, but I was never allowed to work those days; too many guests around from the grand parties hosted by Mr Septiceye and his dear wife. They wanted their guests to remember the lavish feast, drink and talk, not the ugly maids slaving away to keep the manor in impeccable order. 

Despite the numerous imposing parties, the entire place was ever so lonely, vacant aside from the servants and the married couple themselves. Happily married, once upon a time, the Mr and his Mrs wished for children of their own to be running rampage, giggling and growing under their care. Too many attempts, too many failures, they gave up hope. Four miscarriages, and a death during childbirth had their dreams crushed and optimism destroyed.

I hadn’t seen them happy for years. Not in one another’s company, anyway.

Departing her office, I could hear the click of Mrs. Septiceye’s heels nearing the hallway I was occupying. I happened to be dusting, swiping around the frames of the old family portraits in the east wing with an aged, mustard yellow cloth. 

Mrs. Anti Septiceye rounded the corner, a pine green delores swing dress lining her body, black mink fur stole draped at the crook of her elbows, matching a pair of leather gloves and shoes in the shade of midnight sky. Wonderful the fair lady came to be, dressing so beautifully and appearing remarkably fine in every garment. How I would kill to be in her shoes; even to feel her gracious, soft skin graze mine for a moment would make not just my day, but my entire year, despite it being only trivial to her. Not a part of me doubts she would never want to be in the same room as me, let alone touch my grubby, rough maid hands with her dainty fingers. Never, and such a thing I should stop dreamling naively about.

How wrong was I. 

Mrs. Septiceye came right up to me, kissing her teeth, lips painted in rouge, piercing green eyes boring into my far inferior frame. Tall, slender, yet lacking no curves to satisfy her man in the bedroom, proper and respectable: everything a rich man desired, and what a wealthy woman should be. 

“Is there something on my face, dear girl?” Asked Mrs. Septiceye, voice fruity, amused by whatever caught her attention. 

Off guard, the cloth slipped from my fingers. I stumbled back and the sweeping brush, mop and plentiful of cleaning supplies on my trolley toppled over, clattering onto the marble floors. “N-No! Not at all! S..Sorry! Sorry, Miss!” I blabbered - cried, almost - whilst I dropped to my knees, gathering the things I had stupidly knocked over.

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