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liesonmytongues · 2 months ago

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Hornet Hybrids x FTM reader pt. 2

Summary- What's next after you're kidnapped by a hornet colony, made into their king, and successfully save them from dying out? Repopulation, of course.

Warnings- Trans male reader, obviously, reader's genitals are referred to by 'dick, cock, cunt, hole', mildly possessive hornet people, yandere if you squint, cunnilingus, p in v, breeding, worship (receiving), somewhat rough sex, weird genitalia, monster fucking, let me know if I missed anything

Word count- 2,500

A/N- I wanted this to be realistic in terms of how the hornets looked? For some reason? I don't even wanna talk about how many times I looked up 'bee penis', but they're fucking weird looking. Also, if you want a visual on what I think the hybrids look like, check out the ants from the webcomic 'Hiveheart'. Like that, but with wings and lower back abdomens w/stingers.

It was the next thing to do once the hive was sanitized and rebuilt (and dead workers were removed, and the few remaining larvae were disposed of to prevent another breakout, and comb was re-waxed, and your attendants dispersed your scent through the hive…)–you needed to breed.

It started with some chatter, whispers of excitement at the prospect of new eggs to care for–the strength the new king would bring to the hive, the expectation that numbers would soar–but grew into something very real very quickly.

Workers in charge of the nurseries had been idle for nearly a month with no young to coddle–their clicks and buzzes of discontentment were making everyone stir-crazy, and it was clear as your job as king that you needed to fix things.

Really, with the help and support of your courtiers, all that boiled down to was the actual act of being bred.

Fairly simple compared to everything else you’ve had to do, and with the added bonus of being pampered extensively–an abundance of fatty meals, fruits, nectar, honeydew, and meats laid before you daily; warm baths, soft, soft linens and bedding they stole just for you–the prospect became less another task, and more like just another way your girls could bring you pleasure.

It took weeks to find drones that your attendants approved of–they had to be strong, healthy, introduced to your scent and monitored in temperament. They had to be sanitized in and out, inspected in every possible aspect–plenty embarassing when you were asked for your dick preferences–scrutinized on every flaw.

They were to be worthy of you. They were perfect. They were…a lot larger than you expected.

Your largest subjects, your soldiers, were already massive by any human standards–most of them 7 feet tall, some bigger, with broad, bulky bodies and thick chitin you honestly weren’t sure a gun could get through.

These boys are bigger. Not as hard, not as rough, and lacking the stinger that had you nearly pissing yourself the first time you saw it–but Jesus Christ that is a big insect.

You did your best to keep your composure when they were brought before you in your chambers–you are a king after all–but your girls still noticed the change in your scent. In an instant you were flanked by attendants clacking their mandibles together in worry, petting any skin they could reach in an attempt to calm you down.

“It’s alright my King, they would never cause any harm. They were made for this–for you. They live to give you pleasure.” One wasp comforts, nuzzling you softly and beckoning a drone closer.

The one closest to you–with near-black armor accentuating his sheer size–practically scrambles to your feet, kneeling until his forehead touches the floor in a show of complete reverence. Not quite submission, but worship.

“You are…beautiful, my King.” The drone rumbled, his antennae twitching as he took in your scent up close–followed by a full-body shudder that had his fists clenching and your dick twitch in interest. God, they have that much of a reaction to just…smelling you? What an ego boost…

“Please, allow me the honor of mating with you.” He just barely lifts his head up to see your reaction, and out of the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the drones are equally as interested–their cocks starting to peek out of slits in their chitin while guards keep a watch, making sure they don’t get too rowdy in their excitement.

“...Alright.” Your voice comes out more hesitant than you would have liked, but you correct it before your attendants can worry, “Ok. I want you to…mate with me.”

Half of you expects him just to pounce as soon as the words leave your mouth, something rushed and aggressive, but you should’ve known better–should’ve anticipated the way he crawls over to your makeshift nest while his wings twitch until he’s close enough to nuzzle your calves.

You can see his own cock–practically clear, looking half like an inflated balloon, with claspers on either side and a large bulb sitting as his tip–more clearly now that he isn’t practically molded to the floor, The drone’s movements are slow, spreading his mandibles so he can freely kiss up your legs to the soft skin of your inner thighs, and god you just want to pull him closer–make him get to it already, make him-

You didn’t even realize your hands were in his hair until he shuddered, clenching the blankets and dipping his head. This is a good opportunity to…

“I apologize my lord, I’m sorr-” He’s really only a couple inches away, so despite how fucking big he is, it doesn’t take much real effort to tilt his face up against your cunt where your dick is throbbing for attention.

Maybe your couriers slipped you something to make this easier, maybe it really does just turn you on this much seeing someone reverently kneeling before you, but when your hornet pulls his head up a bit to look at you, strands of slick come with him.

Fuck.

He looks confused for half a second, but it’s quickly overshadowed when he takes another breath, mouth dropping open far enough to see the adductor muscle peeking out of the corner of his cheek, and shoves his face back down with a guttural moan.

There’s absolutely no skill or tact, the attendants next to you buzzing uncomfortably at the sudden ferver, but the sheer size of his mouth means that each desperate lick and suck easily drags over every inch you need it to.

And god he’s almost pulsing, everything in him clearly trying not to thrust his hips against the ground, to focus on lapping at your dripping cunt like a man starved.

Your dick throbs against your partner’s lips, drawing a moan from both of you. He takes the way your legs relax as the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue inside, stretching your walls for his cock whether or not he realizes that's what he’s doing.

Probably not. You don’t know much about queen hornet anatomy, but you doubt they need to be stretched like you do, size difference and all.

“Please my Lord- I don’t want to waste my seed- allow me, please...” He doesn't even bother with pulling away far enough to be fully coherent, rumbling and nipping at your thighs with his pincers, leaving marks that could pass as hickeys to anyone else.

And with the eager buzzing from all around you, how could you say no? Not that you would anyway, which is…mildly embarrassing.

“Yeah- hah -yeah, please. I wanna,” the sentence is broken up by attempts at getting air into your lungs “I want you inside.” His slow pull away from your cock, the wet pop of his tongue sliding out of your cunt, is teasing in the worst way possible. You have half a mind to command him back down-

The view makes you stop. Aren't wasps cold blooded? How can he flush like that? Are the first things that come to mind. Or, more accurately, the only things that come to mind, as the sight of slick and spit webbing, soaking his face and dripping down his neck causes you to draw a blank.

He sits back on his knees for a moment, heaving gulps of air, digging his nails between the armored segments of his legs while he just…stares. Takes in the view, or whatever it could be called with his eyes so glossed and clearly out of it.

One of the other drones mumbles something along the lines of ‘if he won't do it, I will’ to his companions, but the slight shuffle you do to look over at them snaps the cause of your blocked view out of his odd trance.

He's still gentle when he crawls over your body, pushing his face into your throat even as his back is forced to arch just to bring his hips closer–anything, anything to be as close as possible.

“May I-”

“I already said yes-!” Your voice lilts up when he pushes forward, the tip of his cock slipping against the slick and spit coating your cunt, knocking into your cock a couple of times before he manages to push forward-

And shit, is it even gonna fit? You saw it, you already knew it was, y'know, proportional, but fuck, actually feeling him try to push past the ring of your cunt is quickly making you question if this was a good idea.

But then he shifts, shuffles his hard thighs under your back and raises your hips up into his lap, and you feel his cock…shift? Almost like it's making itself fit.

Er…maybe not almost. You give the best attempt at looking between your bodies as you can manage with him pressed so close, and suddenly the whole balloon analogy seems fitting. He is shifting to make it fit, the seemingly inflated sides of his shaft condensing to push inside before they expand again.

It makes you want to moan and cringe in equal parts–the near painless way he pushes at your walls mixing with the weird body horror of seeing his dick act like a fucking water wiggler–but hey, you're having sex with giant bees, so…

“Jesus-” You grunt as a couple more inches slide in painstakingly slow, your drone’s attempt at letting your body adjust allowing you to feel everything. Every dip and abnormality, every press, every slip against the parts of your cunt that makes your toes curl unconsciously–it only takes a minute before he's bottomed out as far as he can go.

Soft tip(s?) unable to move any further, you can almost feel the way he leaks inside you, strands of his own obvious arousal sticking, stretching, snapping as he pulls back just as slowly until just the head stays spreading you open.

“Oh, god…” A deeper sound escapes his throat, mandibles clicking in a way you don't totally understand yet while he takes in the sight of slick–your slick, his Lord, his King, blessing him–drenching, dripping down his shaft, collecting where his balls would be before plopping to the floor.

“Can't believe I'm really…oh my Lord, I've waited so long for this, so long–I’ll fill you, I promise- I’ll-” Is something…wrong? Is what you were going to ask- had the air not been suddenly knocked from your lungs in a startled moan, his hips audibly slapping against your soft things hard enough to make them jiggle under the force.

It might have been easy to forget just how strong these things are–only holding back for the sake of your ‘frail, human body’ as you'd once been described. You suppose any human would be frail to them.

“Control yourself!” One of your attendants barks, attempting to separate the drone's upper body from yours even while he latches his arms around your head, the only sign that he heard her at all being how his thrusts smooth themselves out, keeping just enough of his throbbing shaft outside your body that he doesn't barrel directly into your cervix.

It might be the best sex you've ever had.

Your girls get more anxious the more fucked out you look, bearing their stingers at the man above you in a threat while you attempt to wave them off. Not exactly the easiest thing, what with your whole body caged in and the desire to move in the next couple days quickly draining out of you.

“‘s fi-ine.” Very convincing.

“But he's-! He's being too rough!”

“Don't argue!” A second attendant hisses quietly at the first. “The King knows what he can handle- don't insinuate his weakness!”

Despite her words, she doesn't completely put her stinger away, only moving back enough to glare disapprovingly at the drone. The way they talk about him like he's not there would've been funny in any other context–the obvious difference in hierarchy not even attempted to be masked–but with your brain currently melting out of your cunt, it's a little hard to think at all.

Your partner barely even seems to notice–too caught up in breeding your hole just as good as he promised to spare any attention at someone other than his beloved King. He's huffing against your neck, interspersed with desperate moans that you swear you can feel vibrate down his mandibles.

The gentleness is almost completely gone–still considerate, still conscious of his size, of giving you pleasure, but not…willful. Whatever instinct is filling him now can't be pulled away from the slickness of your hole long enough to so much as properly breathe.

Which is why when a hand smoothly caresses up your thigh, dipping between your legs and rubbing at your aching cock in practiced strokes, you're a little confused.

“Does that feel alright, my King?” A smooth, much more feminine voice than you expected to hear breathes right next to your head, making you whip towards the cause on instinct.

“Can you feel him? Can you tell how close you are to repopulating us?” The sharp features of yet another aide are suddenly only a matter of inches away from you, smiling as she works you towards your orgasm.

Your drone lifts his head up in a hurry at that, finally speaking up outside of dog-like panting. “Yes, I'll give you su-ch strong young, let me show you, I'll show you, I'll show you.” The desperation in his voice and the erratic pace makes you clench, gushing around his cock in a way that would be embarrassing if you could gather the thoughts.

You hadn't even spoken properly in the past 5– 10? –minutes, but you clearly don't need to. The tightening around his cock was plenty for your drone to buck uncontrollably into your poor cunt, thrusts stuttering as he tries with the last strands of willpower to make you cum before him.

Luckily your attendant understands, speeding up the flicks of her wrist until your body finally, finally relents to the pleasure–stomach tightening and cunt fluttering around your partner's cock.

You aren't sure if you've ever cum that hard before–with your legs shaking and your brain foggy and hips jerking with the aftershocks like your body wants to prolong it just a little more–and only a moment later are you being pumped full, your lover's cock distending before contracting again, just like it had done earlier to fit inside you.

The deep, guttural, desperate sound he makes could've had you cumming again, clenching a second time and milking his already overstimulated cock. Between already being close just from eating you out and the near-vicious pace he'd held, it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did–holding on just to give you the pleasure his King deserves.

At least, that's what he thinks while he flops his head onto your shoulder again, mandibles softly nipping the skin and nuzzling affectionately.

When you look over his massive expanse of a back, the other drones are buzzing–you snort a laugh at your own pun–with anticipation, stroking their own cocks while they wait. A couple tease themselves, the others treat their bodies roughly, squeezing at the sides until the clear sacs bulge part either side.

Well…time for round 2 apparently.

#monster fucker #monster x human #monster x reader #teratophillia #monster smut #bee hybrid #trans male reader #trans reader #monster lover

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liesonmytongues · 4 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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