#dreadwing x reader

• “You’ve already thanked me,” he mutters, voice gruff with embarrassment. “It’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak.” Had believed that, still does, but Megatron hadn’t wanted him to protect anyone. He’d only wanted his strength to conquer and that sour dissatisfaction spreads through him. Tells himself that it’s necessary, but doesn’t quite believe that. Needs to know what really happened here. The truth about Skyquake. Maybe it’s as simple as the story he was told, but something about it doesn’t sit right. Nags at him.

• “Even when they’re not your own species?” You ask and you don’t know why you can’t let it go. Those optics meet your eyes and your heart beats faster, skin prickling. ‘Humans don’t concern me,’ he mutters. “I’m human,” you remind him gently and his frown deepens as his big hand slowly turns over, sharp servos flexing. Those deadly points a reminder that he’s dangerous. Alien. Glancing from his palm to his face, you smooth your fingertips against his hand and his big frame shudders at the contact. Breath catching when his servos close to engulf your entire hand, you shiver.

• You’re human, but also his. Saying it, though? Making that claim out loud? It’s wrong and he knows it. Shouldn’t want the things he does. Should let you go. Free you now that you’re stronger. Growling softly at himself, he adjusts his grip on you, his servos shackling your wrist. Aware of how small your arm is in his grip. That his hand swallows your lower arm completely as he leans down. “Other humans aren’t my concern,” he amends as you stare at him. Giving in to insanity, he brushes his mouth against your palm.

• Flustered as he meets your eyes and holds your stare, you have no idea how to respond. Wanting to ask what you are to him. A pet? A friend? Something else? No one ever comes to visit him here. It’s just you and him even though he leaves for hours from time to time. You’re gotten used to him. Started getting attached. Heat spreading through you, you’re afraid to look too closely at this feeling. Goosebumps lifting along your arms when his denta barely press against the side of your hand before he leans into your space. Far too close as your breath catches. And he picks up the spoon with a rumbling growl while your heart races.

• Ashamed as he hooks a servo under your chin to tip your face up, you wait for the ‘I told you so.’ For him to overreact or worse, to make this somehow your fault because you’d wanted to go. Except, he’s never made you feel like a burden. Never tried to belittle you or hurt you and you know he won’t now. “I got mugged, but I’m okay,” you manage and he hooks an arm under your butt, lifting and cradling you against his chassis as his big servos ghost over you. Barely touching bruises you hadn’t even noticed as your eyes burn.

• You’re not okay. Knows you. Knows you’ll smile and play it off, even when you’re hurting. Resting his head against yours, he wants to demand to know who did this. To go after them. But you lay a small, trembling hand on the mesh of his neck and he knows he won’t leave you right now. Lips brushing your temple, you hang onto him and hide your face against his chassis. Transforming around you, he feels you twist onto your side in his cockpit seat and he can feel your weak field prickling him as you take a shuddering breath. Angling toward the ship, he’s not sure how to help. “I could hunt them down for you,” he offers, voice dipping into a growl and you make a soft noise. “Bring them to you and let you decide their fate. Or mete out justice for you.”

• Smiling at the way his voice rumbles through you with his anger on your behalf, you know better than to open that can of worms. That if you gave him permission, your alien spouse would hunt those responsible down with scary efficiency. That he’d likely decide to take the matter of punishment into his own big hands. And a part of you that scares you would love to see them cowering in fear in the face of Dreadwing’s anger. Would like to see them bleed for what they did to you. For the fear and pain. The shame that makes you even angrier, because you know none of this was your fault. That you hadn’t done anything. You’d just been alone. An easy target.

• And the one sprawled on his back is kicking again, struggling to roll over with his wings under him. Grunting and then warbling in distress until he reaches to scoop up the sparkling and cradle him against his chassis. Sleepy optics blink at him before his son hides his face against his plating, wing nubs tucking closer to his frame. Touching a tiny hand, he vents when his son grips his servo and chirps. Studying the sparkling, he tries to tell what color his plating will be. It’s already shifting at the edges, but it’s too soon to be sure.

• Drifting in and out of sleep, you yawn and become aware of a deep, rough rumbling that’s almost a purr. Stretching, you reach to find the kids and come up one short. Eyes opening, you relax finding the sparkling tucked into the crook of your conjunx’s arm as he stares at his son. And his optics slide to you, his smile spilling through you to leave you warm. “Hey,” you whisper and he eases back down, the sparkling cradled against him as he stretches back out facing you.

• “We woke you,” he murmurs in apology and you wrinkle your nose, fingers stroking over his other son’s helm to make the sparkling chirp and kick. ‘It’s alright,’ you answer and the way you’re looking at him has him rumbling. ‘We’re getting closer to sleeping all the way through the night,’ you add tiredly before your head ducks to press a kiss against the sparkling cuddling against you to make him wiggle with a disgruntled warble.

• Rumbling as he cups his other hand under the hand clutching the tiny eating utensil to try and steady himself, he slowly holds it out to you. Ignoring how amused you look as your lips obediently part and you let him feed you. You’re so much better, stronger than you were. Knows you probably don’t really need him anymore. That he could let you go back to your life. To other humans. But then he’d be alone again. Have no one. “Humor me,” he murmurs, spoon dipping down to the bowl again as you chew.

• Amused, you wonder if you’re like a baby bird to him, helpless and small. Compared to him, you definitely are. And it’s endearing rather than insulting to be cared for like this by a being so very different than you are. That’s so massive it’s a wonder he’d even looked down and seen you at all that day. You’re still not sure why he’d saved you when he didn’t know you and you’re not even his own kind. Watching that serious face carefully offering you another spoonful, you suddenly want to see him smile. Hear him laugh. Not the reluctant, soft, almost chuckles he sometimes gives you, but real laughter.

• You’re not his. Can’t keep you forever and he knows it. You’d needed him, but now you don’t. Not really. Misses Skyquake. Misses understanding and being proud of the cause he’d allied himself with. Being honorable. Isn’t so sure of the Decepticon cause anymore as it just seems to go more and more astray. And he goes still trying to ferry another bite of food to you when you lay a soft hand on his servo to pull him from his thoughts. Staring down at you, he’s sure that you’re about to say something. But then you just exhale slowly and pull away to make him immediately feel the loss of your warm hand on him.

• What even are you to each other now? He patiently cares for you, fusses over you, but the way he touches you is confusing. His touch always gentle, respectful, but it still leaves you confused. Fills your dreams with the memory of those big hands on you, makes you imagine the rasp of his sharp claws barely grazing against you. It doesn’t help that you sleep sprawled on him, tangled in your blankets because he’s warm and his habsuite is cold. Flustered, you want to look away, but he’s holding out the spoon. Waiting patiently for you to lean forward and eat the bite. What’s wrong with you? He’s not even human. Embarrassed when he rumbles softly, your lips part so he can feed you. There’s nothing intimate about the way he touches you, feeds you, cares for you. So why are you so frazzled when he’s this close to you? Why do you wonder about things you shouldn’t?

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• Lulled by the heat radiating off of his frame and the white noise of his rumbling, you yawn. Aren’t even really watching the movie as one of your legs slides against his hip and you’re too warm and sleepy to be self conscious about using him as a glorified space heater. Cheek on his chassis and eyes closed, this is so much better than cocooning yourself in a blanket and shivering through the night on a corner of his cold berth. Warm and cozy winning out over dignity any day.

• Are you sleeping? Your breathing has evened out, your eyes closed. Hand slowly lifting, his servos brush your nape. Giving in to the urge to sink his servos into your hair as you make a little noise, but don’t stir. Is every inch of you soft? You must be. So fascinatingly different from the feel of living metal and mesh. And he freezes when your eyes open, making him grimace guilty as he pulls his hand away only for you to reach back and catch his wrist. “Don’t stop. Please? It feels nice,” you mumble, face flushing like you’re as lonely for contact and another’s touch as he is. Venting softly, he resumes playing with your hair, servos stroking and your eyes almost close, chin on his chassis.

• You’ll probably be embarrassed about this later. About wanting him to touch your hair, hold you, but it’s lonely here. Rarely ever see another human on the ship so all you have is him. But maybe he’s lonely, too. Always reaching for you then frowning like he thinks he shouldn’t. Makes you realize no other Cybertronians come to visit him here. That he’s usually alone except for you. That for all his growling and grumbling, he might like having you about. Having someone to take care of.

• Can’t eat your strange food, but he can taste it through you to experience it and after doing it once? He’d been hooked to his absolute mortification. It’s not like there aren’t different grades of energon with different tastes and textures, but organic food? It’s a whole other experience. Complex and nuanced. “I don’t mind,” you reply, fidgeting with your plate as he sets aside his datapad and moves closer, lowering himself to the floor and mass shifting.

• Watching him settle on the floor of your little set up, you carry your plate and utensils over. And sit in his lap with your back to his chassis. “You’re sure this doesn’t bother you?” He asks again and you relax, huffing out a soft breath. ‘I’m sure.’ The fact that he’s so uncertain helps as you feel his plating shift at your back and you inhale sharply when his spark snares you. Aware of falling into him even as you’re still sitting in his lap, one of his arms loosely hooked around you. Fingers trembling slightly, you start eating as he rumbles at your back. The feel of your awareness stretched between your physical body and his mind still so new to you. Almost disorienting.

• Resting his chin on top of your head as you take a bite, the taste sparks through him, unexpected. Spiced and savory. Alien. So different from energon. Twisting his light more firmly around you, he digs in deeper. Luxuriating in the sensation. Experiencing your food with you bite by bite, almost feeling buzzed on the sensation. Servos flexing against you, his optics shutter, just feeling.

• Gently lowering you next to your setup on his desk, he keeps thinking of the way you’d nervously looked back over and over. Checking to see where he was like you expected him to just leave you. It’d be the right thing to do, the honorable thing. Let you go back to your own kind and live your life. Knows it’s selfish to want more, to want you here with him. Watching you pad over to your mini wash rack and toe off your shoes, you look up at him. “I’m going to shower. You could join me if you wanted to. I think you’d fit if you mass displaced.” And his expression empties, because he knows you meant fitting in the stall, but that’s not where his processor immediately went at all. Those thoughts popping up more and more lately. Hungry, scandalous urges.

• His wings lift slightly, flaring as he grimaces and looks away. Not that you’re surprised. He’s weirdly chivalrous about some things and even though he’s seen you naked before, he still gets weirdly flustered about it. It doesn’t help that sleeping sprawled on him every night, hearing that deep, rumbling voice as you two talk in the dark, and getting to know him have led to some very confusing thoughts. And dreams. He’s not even human, but that’s not stopped you from getting a crush on him. Hard not to when he takes care of you, worries over you. Holds you. Walking over to the stall, you start stripping and he turns away. Giving you privacy you didn’t ask for. What would those big hands feel like on you? He’d be gentle, always is. You’re not even sure if you two could do anything together if he was interested.

• You didn’t mean it that way. Of course, you didn’t. Knows you see him as your guardian. Your protector and he’s honored to have that role. Shouldn’t want anything else. Shouldn’t be curious, but it’s hard when you’re touching him so often that your scent clings to him. When he recharges to your warmth and the feel of you breathing against him. Spending so much time with you that it’s easy to start wanting even more because he likes you. Likes being needed, being a protector. Glancing guiltily at you, his servos flex. You didn’t bother to pull the thin curtain closed on your stall, just standing there in profile, soft skin slick as you tip your face up into the spray. What if you did mean it that way, though? What if you’re inviting him to touch you?

• One corner of his mouth twitching as those little fingers touch his helm, his chin, he clears his vents slowly. Relaxed in a way he’s not sure he ever had been before you. “Thank you,” you whisper and his head lifts some, unsure what you’re thanking him for right after waking. Maybe you’re not that awake, knows it takes you a bit sometimes. Likes the feel of you stretched out on top of him, soft and warm, your scent clinging to him. Can’t recharge with it now. “For everything,” you add, face flushed as you smile. “For saving me, taking care of me. For being you.” Spark aching, his servos slide against the back of your head, feeling your hair sliding through his joints, the sensation alien and strange. Had only done the right thing, but he knows most if not all of the other Decepticons here would have left you. Let you die out there.

• Feel the hum of his rumbling under you as his head lifts and his lips brush your forehead. “You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” he says, deep voice so serious. Know how he is, that he’s driven by a strong sense of honor. Probably had only viewed it as the duty of the strong to protect the weak, but it’s more than that to you. He’s your friend, your shelter. Your home. Swallowing as you feel the rightness of that thought, you look away. “I’d choose you every time, little one,” he adds softly.

• Frowning when your head comes up, eyes wide, he realizes that he’s surprised you. Don’t you understand what you are to him? But how could you when he’s not the best at this sort of thing? At talking about emotions. Those strangely lovely alien eyes search his optics, fingers toying with the edge of his helm. Knows he has to be as alien to you as you are to him. That you see only a protector and nothing more. Feels you shift on him, your warmth sliding against his chassis to make his fans kick on. Tries to ignore it, worried about spooking you if you realized that he wants more than soft touches and to hold you while you sleep. Wants so much more. Wants all of you.