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liesonmytongues · 2 months ago

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Whoo- sorry this one took a while 🙏

Hornet Hybrids x FTM Reader

Summary- What happens when you mix a weird fungal disease, a curious reader, and somewhat obsessive hornets? Don't let the smell deter you, it's just a little mold.

Warnings- Trans male reader written by trans male author, body horror, apt descriptions of said body horror, mold and fungus, hornet/wasp hybrids, abduction turned willing relocation, reader is referred to as 'she' and 'queen' by the hornets at first, but that changes, mild yandere

Word count- 3,400

There’s been news recently, of a strange sickness going around in the hives of insectoids and killing off queens and princesses. It was sudden, started out with just a couple of hives–and obviously even just a couple was still a tragedy, any unexpected death is, but there wasn’t any reason to panic. A couple of deaths when the weather got bad or food was scarce was normal, the hives would be able to birth a new queen just fine so long as they’d stored some royal jelly. Really, truly, absolutely no reason to panic.

Not until 4 more queens dropped dead over a week, and 6 more the week after that, and then they just…kept happening. It took a total of 15 over the month before people started taking it seriously, and by then the hives–every single one of them, not just the affected–were in a frenzy. If they still had their queens, they were pumping out stores of royal jelly taking up nearly a quarter of the reserves. Not much of a problem as long as the expansion didn’t mess with the surrounding architecture. No, the problem came with the hives that lost theirs–their stores weren’t working. Their stores weren’t working, their larvae weren’t taking, and they were dying.

That's what most news stations are reporting, at least. It’s hard to get real, definitive information when so few people have been inside, but that isn’t stopping anyone from speculating. Between headlines like ‘Is it zoonotic?’ ‘Should families evacuate?’ and ‘Women and children advised to keep distance.’, some might be tempted to go full apocalyptic bomb shelter. Hell, trying to watch a TV show or scroll online without the bombardment of conspiracy theories and half-baked ‘scientific’ journals has become something of an Olympic event, so you’ve stopped bothering most days…

Turning off the TV for the third time in an hour, you huff and fall back into your couch, vaguely hoping the cushions would swallow you up and lull you off somewhere you don’t have to think about disease and death and stress and not succumbing to disease and death and stress…maybe going outside would be a good idea. Immediately your brain starts trying to make excuses for why you should stay inside–

I’m so tired, work was so stressful this week, what if I come across someone and they act like a dick, did I even listen to the news? Zoonotic, they said, it might be zoonotic! Disease, death, stress, disease, death, stress, disease, death, stress, disease, death, stress, disease, death, stre–

…

…Yeah. Outside sounds good.

The fresh air actually feels…really nice–once you manage to slip your shoes on and leave. It’s been longer than you’d like to admit since you were able to get outside and enjoy yourself–way too long since you’ve felt the sun without the barrier of glass or in the stints to and from your car–and getting to take deep breaths that don’t smell like stale dust or dirty clothes is…y’know, a breath of fresh air. Refreshing. Uplifting.

It’s almost frustrating to know that seeing flowers and trees blow in the wind, hearing dogs excitedly bark and scurry along, that feeling the wind on your face was all you needed to stop your slump–or at least pause it. Sitting inside for so long, miserable, and all you had to do to stop feeling crazy was to…leave? What type of bullshit is that? You shake off that thought before it can depress you again, choosing to ignore an uncollected newspaper flittering on your neighbor's lawn for the same reason- but not before you caught a glimpse of the title. ‘5 women disappear…’ and then you hurry your eyes away. That type of thing was exactly why you stopped watching TV, no point in switching it out for an older alternative.

The walk is, by all means, quite pleasant–especially once you get the lingering curiosity of the papers out of your head–but it’s hard to shake the feeling that something is a little off. Not pit-in-your-stomach disaster off, but the kind of off that makes your feet slow just a smidge as little whispers drawl be alert, be cautious. Looking back, that’s the point you should have turned around–listened to the desire telling you to walk back home and dwell in its bleakness. Your desire for anything but was stronger.

As a thin thread of unease tightens around your chest, you move past the usual stretches of the neighborhood–where the trees line the sidewalk, breaking up slabs of concrete with their roots, little flowers poking out of cracks in the ground, all the positive things you meant for this stretch to be about–without really noticing them. You just want to keep moving, not wanting to feel confined. It’s the same impulse that had you pacing through rooms at home, to avoid the stillness of it all. The wind shifts, colder now, ruffling your hair almost deliberately, but you’re still only half-present.

The reason for your unease brings you back.

The first thing you really noticed was the smell–shocking, considering the behemoth of the structure it came from. Stale and stagnant, with a sickly sweet quality reminiscent of fruit gone to rot. Mold and mildew, decay and putrefaction, fungus and– It’s honey. Curdled, tainted honey. It hits you all at once, making your stomach turn and your eyes water in its intensity. The origin isn’t far behind–faded bronze, gold, chocolate, peeking above the treeline in thick spindles and crests–any other time, such a display of natural architecture would be awe-inspiring–for a moment it is–then the smell hits you again. That thought is tossed as quickly as it came.

“What…the hell?” It’s hard to make out at first, the trickling of greyish blooms causing instability in the foundation, comb dipping just slightly to one side as connective tissues feed growing clusters of fungus. It’s foul.

And you can’t look away.

It’s almost like a car crash. Such– God, what can you even call this? A travesty? A horror? The most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen? Either way, you can’t stop yourself from moving a little bit closer, aching to get a better look at what you’ve been hearing about online for the better part of a month–and you knew this hive was here, you’d seen it plenty of times on your way to work, you’ve interacted with some of the hornet-looking creatures buzzing around- how didn’t you know they were like this? That itching feeling crawls back up your spine, and suddenly, in its entirety, you’re slapped across the face with the knowledge that you need to leave.

It was a mistake to get a better view, to let yourself be drawn in. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to take a step back, then another. The unease crawling up your spine grows stronger with every second you linger. Everything about this feels wrong– something is wrong. There’s no way in hell anything in there is alive–not without being eaten up by gangrene or horribly infected with mold–but the sensation of eyes boring into your skin presses your logical mind to question otherwise.

You don’t need any more reason to go.

Your breath is shallow as you turn away, forcing yourself to move despite the heavy weight of dread pressing against your ribs. Each step feels sluggish, like wading through knee-deep water, but you push forward, eyes fixed on the path ahead. The air is thick, damp with the scent of decay, and the silence behind you is somehow louder than any noise could be.

The farther you get, the more your heartbeat settles–though the unease never quite leaves. By the time you reach familiar streets, the world around you has returned to something resembling normal. The trees rustle gently in the breeze, distant laughter floats from an open window, and the scent of someone's dinner cooking fills the air. You try to let these things ground you, to remind yourself that the world hasn't completely fallen apart.

Your house comes into view, its familiarity a welcome sight. You step onto the porch and hesitate before unlocking the door, glancing over your shoulder one last time. The street is quiet, the sky beginning to darken with the onset of evening. Nothing seems out of place, yet you can't shake the feeling that you've brought something back with you.

Shaking your head, you step inside and lock the door behind you. The quietness of your home is comforting, even as the faintest trace of that sickly sweet rot seems to cling–a whiff of it still lingering in the air. You tell yourself it's just in your head. That everything is fine.

Tomorrow, you'll go to work, and the world will keep moving. Everything will be fine.

You don't know when you fell asleep–Christ, you still have your clothes on, did the walk really mess you up that bad?–just that you're not anymore, it’s still dark, and a comforting weight on your chest is attempting to lull you off again. You try to turn, to pull the blanket up a little higher and drift back to sleep, but it's…a lot heavier than usual. A few more tugs should do the trick, it's probably just stuck in the corner of the mattress.

…Or not. Another tug maybe, it's just–

“My Queen?” A hoarse, feminine voice interjects your thoughts and everything goes out the window. What you'd figured was a weighted blanket was immediately realized to be the legs and lower torso of a hornet, her carapace locking you into your position. Not that you’d have had any more of a chance at getting away if she wasn’t straddling you–her body is nearly twice your size, it would only take a moment to be caught–and you really don’t care to find out what would happen if you tried.

“My Queen, you're awake- We've been waiting for you, you must…and you…it's…!” It’s hard to focus on whatever speech she's clearly giving when her abdomen is pulsating excitedly so close to your thighs, stinger just barely grazing your leg as it slides in and out of its sheath like it has a mind of its own. Queen? Queen? The mild sickness and blanket confusion at being referred to as such just makes the whole situation harder on your psyche. Forcing your eyes away from the terrifying sight, you try to pay attention–hoping to make sense of what’s happening–but it’s hard to think clearly. The weight of her body presses down on you, and the way she speaks–so reverently, so devout, so worshipful–scrambles your brain just as much as the fear.

“W-what are you talking about?” You manage to croak, the hornet’s stinger twitching in elation at the sound of your voice–she doesn’t seem to realize the airiness in your tone is horror, not awe or intrigue.

“We saw you- we smelled you, the pheromones you sent us so clearly displaying your care! We understood, we understood-” Her wings start to buzz as her excitement grows, puffing little gusts up air into your face.

“No- no! That wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to-” She cuts you off.

“Oh so humble-! Our Queen is so humble in her saviorship, denying her own benevolence! Worry not, My Queen, we are here to serve, to rebuild what has been lost!”

Her mandibles click together in what you can only assume is some sort of giddy anticipation, and all four of her arms grip your own—possessive, firm, unwavering. The weight of her is suffocating, pressing you deeper into the mattress, pinning you beneath her with ease.

Your heart is hammering.

This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.

Your mind races, flipping through every possible way to get out of this situation—none of them good. Struggling might get you stung. Talking might make things worse. The wrong reaction could send this creature into some kind of fervor, and considering the way her abdomen is twitching against your legs, you really don’t want to find out what that entails.

“Listen- you don’t really want me! I’m not even a wom-,” Again she cuts you off, too absorbed in her dutiful mania to hear you out.

“No no no! You mustn’t doubt yourself–my Queen, the hive already yearns for you! We’ve tasted your kindness, you’re everything we want- everything we need.” It seems like talking isn’t going to work–her brain is too occupied with the sole task of getting you back to that putrid colony.

In your desperation to think of an escape, you find yourself absently nodding along to whatever she says–If fight or flight aren’t an option, and freeze might make things worse, you might as well fawn. Anything to keep her docile, right? God, maybe it’s for the best that she interrupted you–no hornet species, and no hybrids either, have ever been known or seen taking males as their leaders. What if the hive found out you’re a man and flew into a fit of rage or hysteria? What if they killed you for some sort of perceived deception? Part of you wants to dwell on how quickly they regarded you as a woman, but the more rational part of your brain knows it’s not the time. Oh god this is bad, they’re gonna find out eventually- they’ll kill you!

The hornet doesn’t notice your internal battle, taking your nods to mean you accept the role, and she takes action. She moves suddenly, her weight shifting off of you just enough for her arms—her strong, chitinous arms—to wrap around your torso. Before you can even process what’s happening, your body is hoisted into the air, pressed tightly against her abdomen.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—

Your stomach lurches as she lifts off the ground, powerful wings carrying you both skyward, and you struggle. Legs kicking as your hands scrabble against her carapace, attempting to grasp at her chest as your body is thrust into the air–eventually settling on wrapping your arms around her neck–it’s all instinct. This close you can see it now–little specks of mold on the softer, vulnerable parts of her body, between her carapace–and the smell hits again. You hadn’t noticed in your room, not when she’d been there long enough for your unconscious brain to register the scent as normal, but with the night air whipping across your face, it’s clear that the rot lingers to her as much as the hive itself. Your head spins, and the rapid, eager clicking of her mandibles sets your nerves on fire.

“You must be so tired, My Queen. The hive will care for you, you’ll never have to suffer alone again!” She croons, her wings buzzing with unrestrained excitement as your neighborhood is quickly exchanged with the slightly, then fully abandoned ones, until the hive–just as rotten as it was a few hours ago–looms underneath. Your carrier doesn’t bother warning you before she makes the move to dive bomb one of the entrances, plummeting through the air and into a section of comb with surprising ease for something so large.

The air is immeditely thicker, and the little bit of sickly sweet that clung to the hornet–you should really have gotten her name–is suddenly permeating everything. Don’t puke don’t puke don’t puke don’t puke. When you land, the grip she has around your torso loosens just enough for you to scramble away the moment your feet hit the ground–not far, it’s too dark for that, but just enough that you can actually breathe. Through your nose. And with hesitation about what kinds of microbes you’re definitely breathing in. It’s then that you hear the buzzing–slow at first, a few pairs of wings just barely flittering to life as your apparent pheromones start filling the immediate space. Then louder, accompanied by footsteps in varying degrees of excitement–some with trepidation, others with clear enthusiasm.

They’re everywhere.

Dozens of insectoid figures crowd the tunnels, their multifaceted eyes glinting in the low light, bodies shifting and clicking in eager anticipation. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of some unseen lightsource, you get a look at them. Some are grotesquely thin, their carapaces dull and pitted, signs of malnutrition evident even through their exoskeletons–others are swollen with spores, their limbs moving with an unnatural stiffness, and it’s clear- it was already clear -that they’ve been focusing on anyything but the health of the colony.

Every single one of them is staring with the same piousness–the same love.

“The Queen-”

“She came- she came, we’re saved-”

“She’ll give us fresh eggs-”

“We have to prepare-”

A multitude of feminine voices start chattering amongst themselves, clacking their mandibles together, scrambling to get a look at their supposed new ruler.

And it hits you, all at once, that you’re not scared of them–not like you thought you were at least, they still might kill you if you can’t save them–you’re just burdened with a crushing, biting, lingering guilt.

Your original attendant is still right behind you when you turn around–easy to make out from the way she stand a head taller than her sisters. The look on her face breaks you.

“I-I can’t. Be your queen, that is.” A hush falls over the entirely of your accumulated audience–so all of them heard that…

“What are you saying my Queen? You already accepted, you’ll bring us salvation!” Her insistence is as frustrating as it is hurtful, but it fuels you to keep talking–it’s clear she won’t drop the ‘queen’ thing until you do anyway.

“No I-” You hesitate again–Christ, is this where you die? Are you gonna die because you feel bad for a bunch of dying bugs? Yes, apparently. God, this mold is making you crazy.

“I’m not…a woman- I can’t be a queen.” The hornets all stop their quiet staring to look at each other. It would be almost comical–the way they glanced around, then back to you, then back to each other–if it didn’t also feel like you just dropped the worst news imaginable.

“But your scent- your pheromones, they’re that of a queen! An able female!” You cringe at her terminology, shrinking in on yourself a little like that’ll make the situation any better–make the discomfort and self-consciousness just go away. It doesn’t. Being called a woman this many times in a day is exhausting–it’s hard to remember the last time you had to explain your identity to another person like they were a child. At least it’s not in bad faith? Nah, doesn’t make it much better…

“I…know that I smell that way to you, and I can explain why, but the point stands that I’m not a woman.” You had to talk slow, choose your words carefully so you didn’t upset them any more than they already are. “I was born a female, and…that’s how my body was formed- but when I got older I didn’t feel like a woman- a female, I guess -anymore. My body might still kinda look female, and I might smell like one, but I’m not one. I’m a man.”

They’re staring again. They never really stopped, but it feels stronger–more like when you felt their eyes boring into you during your walk. It’s hard to describe the feeling now that you can actually see said eyes–not quite like prey, not quite like a god. Weariful subjugation.

“But…you can still rule, yes?” You blinked a couple times, caught off guard by her bluntness.

“I…I guess?” You hesitate, looking around at the sea of pleading, exhausted faces. “But wouldn’t that be, uh, weird? For you all, I mean?”

The hornets exchange glances, their mandibles clicking softly in hushed conversation. A few look uneasy, others confused, but none of them seem outright hostile. Your original captor steps closer, her massive body lowering slightly as if in deference.

“We have no queen,” she says solemnly. “No eggs. Without a ruler, we’ll die.” She tilts her head. “If you are strong enough to rule, if you are willing to care for us… does it matter?”

Does it? Do you really have anything to lose? Your life outside of work had been dull, monotonous–there was only so much to look forward to, and you’re sure you could argue the ability to leave and enjoy yourself so long as the colony is healthy. Christ, you’re fucking insane…

“I guess it doesn’t.” And they erupt. A cacophony of chitters and fluttering and buzzing while they seem to celebrate the change of leadership–words that you can’t understand over everything else until your attendant barks,

“Prepare for the King!”

#monster fucker #monster x human #monster x reader #teratophillia #bee hybrid #monster lover #Accurate wasp hives (They're all ladies)#For now #Until I post the smut part #ftm reader #trans reader #trans male reader

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