Your life was already complete shit. Working as a janitor for a shady organization dedicated to studying and containing horrors beyond human comprehension, cleaning up the mess that was once a person, having to run for your life on occasion from said horrors. Well now, your life got just a little bit worse-- because now you had to be the test subject and got the attention of an unearthly terror in frills and lip gloss.
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You couldn't really talk about your work much.
When people asked, you just mumbled "government" and left it at that. However, you weren't some top secret agent or something important-- oh God no, that would imply you had some level of respect.
Instead, you were simply a janitor at some shady organization dedicated to researching, studying, and containing and occasionally neutralizing eldritch horrors far beyond mere mortal comprehension. Which meant after whatever poor sap got mauled and had his insides turn into outsides by the evil theater mask, you were sent into clean whatever remained of the victim. The pay was decent-ish enough, given the kinds of horrors you've witness on a regular basis.
It was just another regular day at the job, mopping up the remnants of the umpteenth victim to another reality-defying artifact: this time, a concrete statue. You grumbled, glowering at the statue now back in its container as you pushed bits of bone and organs into a container. Some feet away from you, two of the scientists were mumbling to each other.
"--We've ran out of new subjects."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Wish I was. But they're getting desperate. We might need to..."
At this point you were now fully focused on their conversation, you slowed down your moping to hear it better. You watched from the corner of your eye as the first one leaned over to the second one and whispered something into his ear. The other scientist stiffened as his eyes drifted towards you.
"What is it?" You stopped in your tracks and turned to face them fully, dread pooling at the bottom of your gut.
Neither one of them said anything; they just simply at you, studying you. Before you could repeat your question, they promptly left you behind.
You chewed the inside of your cheek, clenching the mop's staff. That look....
Turning your attention back towards the mounds of gore left, you deeply sighed and resumed cleaning. Throughout the rest of the day, the conversation echoed in your head while unease loomed over you like an axe's blade.
A few weeks after, you've almost completely forgotten about the conversation. As you were walking down the sterile, clinical white halls of the building, a pair of high-ranking researchers stepped in your path. Their cold eyes focused on you and you stopped.
"M-may I help you with something?" You swallowed.
"(Y/N), please come with us." The one to the left, a woman with long dark hair and bangs said, looking at you through her glasses as if you were nothing but a specimen.
Knowing that refusal wasn't an option, you gave a hesitant nod of your head.
With that, they snapped to the right and you followed a few steps back.
"(Y/N), we're gonna need you to do something else besides cleaning up."
"You'll be relocated to Site 8008."
Aw shit. Site 8008: The Dollhouse.
You've heard about it now and then from passing scientists. It was a notorious location that was heavily-guarded and under constant surveillance. Anyone who entered it besides the various research teams, were either never seen again, or came out as a soupy mess of organic mess.
"Y-you're joking right?" You awkwardly laughed, your back feeling uncomfortably hot.
The somber expressions on their face said otherwise.
So, off to the dollhouse you went with the promise of you being granted a massive bonus-- that is if you survived.
"What the hell am I supposed to do again?"
"Just enter the Dollhouse and record everything that happens." Was all that the head researcher said, not looking up from his manila documents.
The truck came to a stop and the door beside you opened. Swinging your legs over, you stepped out and looked up at the towering, pastel house of nightmares. Your stomach sank to your ass as its facade leered at you, hiding its sinister energy behind a cheerful and friendly exterior.
Calling it a house would be an understatement; it was a sprawling mansion large enough to take over an entire neighborhood. The walls were a soft mint-green with intricate gingerbread trim; a sugar-white wraparound porch connected to a big gazebo off to the left and supported by pillars as pale as giant fingerbones. Large bay windows jutted out like bulging eyes and several turrets and towers with pointed roofs reached out like fingers trying to scrape itself out of a grave. Massive bushes rife with giant roses surrounded the perimeter of the house alongside hydrangeas like rows of pastel graves. The porch swing rocked back and forth ominously as if trying to smother back malicious titterings.
You looked back at the research team once again; fear hammered against your ribs while you prayed that one of them had a change of heart and decided that you shouldn't venture inside.
But alas they just looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to meet your inevitable and gruesome end all for the sake of research. So, you stepped to the front door. Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob; the back of your neck prickled with the sense of something inside coiled up with anticipation. Swallowing thickly, you pushed open the pastel mausoleum's doors and stepped inside.
The moment you crossed into the house, you sensed the change in the air. The energy was off, the atmosphere was still like the eerie calmness before a violent tempest. Somewhere in the mansion, a grandfather clock ticked onwards and broke the otherwise suffocating silence.
The foyer was large and barren of any furniture save for the hall table beside you and the paintings of pastries, flowers, and other cutesy things. Up ahead was staircase that split off into two separate ways while the crystal chandelier loomed above your head like a storm cloud. On either side, an archway led into another room with a third just beside the stairs.
"Go further." Came the voice over the radio.
You didn't want to leave the relative safety of the foyer. You didn't want to venture further into the dwelling of whatever great and terrible monster lurked within these walls. You didn't want to meet your inevitable and horrible demise so soon. However, you couldn't disobey their orders; the guards outside were a clear enough warning if you did.
So with soft, hesitant steps, you stepped through the archway to your right. It led you into an enormous parlor with furniture a mishmash of Rococo through early twentieth-century styles: tassel lamps in dusty rose with aristocrats taking afternoon tea at its base, shelves full of varnished snuff boxes and chinoiserie vases, more paintings of idillyc sceneries set in gilded frames, and even a grand piano sequestered off to one corner. The pale pink wallpaper featured lush twilight-blue roses and the parted tasseled floral curtains revealed overcast skies, even though it had been sunny outside.
But what caught your attention the most were the porcelain dolls. They came in all sizes, from ones barely larger than your hand to almost twice your height. They sat on ivory chairs or lounged on damask chaises-- one was even seated at the piano as if about to play.
"Uh..." You licked your lips, their glassy eyes boring into you. "Uhm... I-I'm not here to cause any trouble... I was just brought here..."
"Continue." The head researcher ordered.
"Continue with the investigation."
You didn't know exactly what he meant by that, so you gave the dolls a half-hearted wave goodbye and slowly backed out, feeling them watching you as you returned to the foyer.
The air felt more charged-- cracking you could say. Every inch of your skin broke out into bumps as you felt eyes watching you from every angle. Your throat clenched up as you stood there, ears straining for any other sound beside the echoing pounding of your heart.
A sharp gasp came out of you as the radio crackled: "Continue with the investigation."
"U-understood...." You responded in a hesitant whisper, swallowing thickly.
You felt something was above your head. Your mind raced with the countless possible horrors leering back down at you; imagine the many fangs waiting to rip the skin off your bone, the slimy tentacles aching to rip your limbs off, the bulging eyes that would melt the skin off your face upon you gazing at it.
You didn't dare to look up and instead walked into the archway ahead. Outstretched in front of you was a hall filled with tall gilded mirrors polished marble flooring veined with black. Glancing over at one of the mirrors, where your reflection should have been was instead a black blot in the vague shape of your body.
"W-what's this?" You asked over the radio.
"Don't mind it; continue with the investigation."
You knew it'd be pointless to press it any further, resigning yourself to walk down the hall. Your footsteps echoed loudly. You looked at the blackened figure in the mirrors as it stared back. All of your nerves buzzed with a nervous electricity.
"Open that door." Was the order.
Your fingers wrapped around the crystal doorknob. A deep, primordial sense of fear clenched hold of you. There was something so ancient, so powerful on the other side; something that would break the minds of anyone who even caught the shortest glimpse of it.
The hinges' croaking was a death rattle as you pushed the door open. A cold air drifted through as you stared into the abyssal darkness facing you. Something was on that other side.
"Enter." The researcher demanded.
You were too paralyzed with fear to obey.
You now stood in an opulent tea room with towering and elaborate cabinets full of tea tins and sets behind shining glass. The wallpaper was a deep shade of bruise-purple and seemed to pulsate. A dark rug took up most of the floor, looking at it made you feel as if you were about to be pulled into the depths. Off in one corner stood a tall ebony pendulum clock like the Grim Reaper.
A soft breathing came to your right. You snapped your head in the direction of it towards a massive throne with violet backing stood across from you.
Slumped in the seat was an impossibly tall and effeminate young man swirling cream into his porcelain cup. Though he was svelte, his hips were softly rounded with pillowy thighs and a perfectly cinched waist. Pale mint hair fell past his waist in subtle ringlets and framing his delicate face. Black gloss coated his pouty, lush lips that stood against his moon-white skin like ink against canvas.
His outfit consisted of a ludicrous amount of frills to rival an 18th century French noblewoman. A high-necked lilac blouse with sweeping sleeves and a lacy cravat pined by gemstone the same color as his eyes and a pair of black booty shorts that left as much to the imagination as a Marvel film. For footwear, a pair of polished licorice-black court shoes and porcelain-colored thigh-high stockings with rows of ruffled lace trim at the top covered up most of his long shapely legs.
His dark purple eyes sparkled as he lifted them up from his teacup. When they met yours, a cold and primal fear slithered its way through your body. This creature, being, entity-- whatever it was, had existed for far longer than humanity has. That it had knowledge and power far beyond your mere mortal understanding. That its mere presence was a reminder as to how truly pathetic and weak mankind is, how you were nothing but a mere speck of dust in the grand scheme of it all.
Before you could react, he suddenly appeared right in front of your face. The seconds stretched into eternity as he looked at you, tilting his head this way and that way while studying every detail of your face. His lips split into a wide grin: revealing countless sharp fangs glinting like rows of white knives.
All of your muscles froze with fear. This was it. This was how you were going to meet your demise; at the hands of this fucking eldritch femboy in hot pants and lacy thigh-highs out of all things to kill you.
"Aren't you cute?" He cooed, reaching a hand towards you and tilted your head up to face him. "I like you. I like you-- a lot. You have such a sweet little face."
What the actual fuck was going on here? You swallowed; unsure of how to process what was happening.
"Go on and take a seat, please." He gestured to the seat opposite from his.
Not wanting to piss him off, you stiffly walked over to it and sat down while he sashayed back towards his. His hips swung side-to-side in a mesmerizing manner before he plopped back down, crossing one leg over the other as he flipped his hair.
"Don't look so scared, honey bunny. I got no intentions of hurting you." He smiled and poured out a cup of tea. "After all, if I wanted to, I would've done so by now."
He slid the cup towards you before refilling his own. You glanced over to your left as a black-and-white harlequin doll sat beside you while a cream-colored teddy took the one to your right.
Your toes curled in your shoes and you glanced down at the teacup, expecting some sort of goo with eyeballs floating in it; or the countless screaming faces of the lost souls the unspeakable horror in frills across from you, still crying out for a mercy that will never come. However....
Looking back at you was your own reflection in a pool of chamomile tea.
"Is it too hot for you?" The femboy asked.
"I mean your drink, honey bunny." He pointed. "Do you want me to cool it down for you?"
"N-no, I'm good. Thank you." You croaked out.
"Well, if you say so..." He pouted before taking a small sip. "Are you not a fan of chamomile?"
"I-it's not that..." You glanced off to the side, feeling the toys' eyes staring into you. A shiver ran down your spine as you saw him leaning forward.
"Then what is it?" He cradled his head between his hands. "You look pretty tense."
Gee, I wonder why! Your lips pressed into a line. "Well, uh..."
"What is it?" He leaned in.
"I-if it isn't too much to ask... M-may I have some shortbread?"
"Of course!" He nodded. "I'll go get some. You just sit here and enjoy your tea, sweetie boop!"
When you were certain that he was gone, you booked it back to the front door. Your legs kicked up high as your arms pumped up and down by your sides-- and cursing all the days you decided to skip the gym in favor of doomscrolling. You didn't care about the guards, you didn't care about the Lovecraftian femboy, all you cared about was getting the hell outta here before meeting a horrible fate!
Why the hell did I ever respond to that damn ad? Why the hell did I take this job? You heaved out, running through the twisting corridors while the toys' head snapped in your direction like spectators at NASCAR. You didn't care that they were now making all kinds of horrible noises. So long as those damn things didn't start chasing, they can keep on screeching.
The foyer was rapidly coming into view and your heart leapt up with relief. Gritting your jaw, you ran even faster than you ever had in your pathetic life. You could practically feel the fresh air and sunlight on your face-- freedom was just a matter of yards away.
Your hand wrapped around the doorknob and you were about to pull it wide open when a pair of arms softly wrapped around your shoulders.
"Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you're going?" He smirked, leaning against you.
You said nothing, not daring to turn around and face the mouthful of fangs behind. You waited for him to asunder you into a pile of mangled body parts. To tear your organs out and strew them into confetti. Or to chomp out the back of your head and slurp up what remained of your shredded brains.
Instead, he just hummed and pressed his face against the back of your neck. You felt his eyelashes fluttering while he nudged his cheek into you.
"You're so funny, sweetie boop." He chuckled, nuzzling deeper. "You're also so cuddly too, I just wanna hold you all day every day!"
Before you could process it, you were now laying in a massive canopy bed rife with luxurious pillows and sheets. He laid beside you with his arms around your waist and his head on top of yours.
"There, that's better." He mumbled with a self-satisfied huff as the drapes were pulled closed by the tentacles protruding from his back.
"What? Never been cuddled before?" He chuckled. "Didn't I tell you that if I wanted you dead, I would've done so by now?"
"You're so silly, honey bunny." He playfully flicked your nose. "Now just relax and lemme hold you."
"No buts. Just cuddles." He rubbed his face more into the crown of your head, humming in enjoyment.
So, you just laid there awkwardly with an overly-affectionate and clingy eldritch femboy holding you like a stuffed animal. Occasionally he'd shifted slightly and adjusted his grip, and made small noises of comfort. All the while you stared at the drape and praying that he'd eventually let go.
Out of all the things to have happened, why this? Your head leaned forward and drew out a weary breath. Glancing back at him, you debated whether to just get up and risk his wrath or to just lay here and hope he'd sooner or later released you.
"Can I please go now?" You asked.
"Fine. But only after a few more minutes of cuddling." He sighed in resignment, pulling you closer towards him. "Now, lemme enjoy this."
You looked up to the ceiling and groaned, regretting responding to that job posting on Indeed some months ago.
"Oh relax, honey bunny. It's not that bad."
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