Revel, Rev. Please. I am begging you. Pleading. I will pay you. I will pay your taxes. Just please, do some Reverse Soft AU scenarios.
XD paying my taxes is a new one 🔞 ⚠️ alcohol mention
Reverse Soft AU
Black Shadow x Reader
• Waking up disoriented, your head is pounding and your mouth tastes foul. Groaning as you run a hand over your face, something pinches your finger and you stare blearily at the ring pop you’re wearing. What did you do last night? Sitting up, you swallow convulsively against the urge to be sick and clutch the sheet to yourself when you realize you’re naked. Don’t recognize the hotel room you’re in, but there’s a stained marriage certificate on the nightstand and a picture underneath that.
• But it’s the big, alien shape lying stretched out on the floor with his back to you that has your full attention. Heart racing as you stare at the glittery sash that says “Bride” in silver sequins draped around his neck, you use a fingertip to drag the picture closer. Seeing yourself and the strange Cybertronian standing in front of an Elvis impersonator at an alter. And you’re obviously blitzed, holding a foot long, brightly colored and whimsically shaped sippy cup over your head as your groom holds you up. Panicking, you start looking for your clothes and your bare feet hit the stained carpet, the sheet wrapped around yourself. Did you sleep with an alien? You apparently married one. Where’s your phone? How do you undo this?
• “Trying to run out on your husband day one? Why am I not surprised? Humans.” Freezing at the low, rumbling voice, your head turns and the Cybertronian is slowly sitting up to scowl at you. Skin prickling even as you want to desperately crawl into a hole and die, you clutch the sheet to yourself and watch him use a servo to tear the sash loose. ‘There’s been a mistake. We’re not actually married,’ you mutter, trying to will the words to be true as you try to figure out what he’s done with your clothes. Though, you suppose an early morning walk of shame while wrapped in a sheet and very hungover probably isn’t that unusual for this town. ‘We’re going to march down to, wherever we need to go, and get this annulled,’ you demand and he laughs. ‘Where are my clothes?’ You finally ask, because whatever he’s done with them, you can’t find them.
• “I undressed you and cleaned you up after you got sick on yourself,” he growls, taking some satisfaction in your obvious embarrassment. “Don’t worry. I didn’t look,” he adds, flashing you a lazy smile because he had looked. Watching you squirm, hands going white knuckled clutching that sheet, he can guess what you want to ask. If the two of you did anything and it’s not like you have any idea how much he hates humans. Would rather let you squirm believing you’d fragged him, though. “And we’re not getting an annulment.” Can’t get captured or kicked off world. Not yet. Not until he finds out what happened to Blue Bacchus. Can’t leave him here on this miserable mud ball. Not when there are rumors a few of the human governments are kidnapping and trucking Cybertronians off to remote locations to dissect them to try and give their primitive tech a boost.
• Flustered, you glare at him. “I’m not helping you lie to the government for citizenship,” you snap. Did he throw your clothes out, then? You’re not sure of that any more than if you slept with him. Chin up and wrapped in the sheet, you stride for the door and he stands, moving to cut you off. ‘You think I really want to marry some squishy alien? No, but I can’t leave this awful planet, yet,’ he growls and you shiver at the threat in his soft words. ‘So you’re going to help me stay here and pretend we’re happily married.’ He’ll just grab you if you try to run past him. You’re under no delusions that you can outrun your new husband. “And why would I do that?” You demand, trying to pretend you’re not scared of him. That you’re in control here when you’re very aware that you’re not.
Coming by just to say hi! I've been rereading the Black Shadow fic for a while, reader is so funny and like a pathetic meow meow (/pos) and their dynamic is so neat
I've also been sharing your fics to my friends, we all love your stuff! I hope you have a nice day!
<- LICK YOUR WOUNDS ->
PAIRING – black shadow x reader
NOTE – why rereading when you can have more. It might not be as good quality as the previous one but whatever — tell 'em I say hi too! 🖐️
The airlock door hissed shut behind him
Blackshadow stood at the entrance like a vision conjured by guilt and poor life choices. One servo braced against the frame, his back casting jagged shadows over the walls behind him. His optics glinted, unreadable
Heavy footsteps echoed like war drums on the metal floor, slow and deliberate. Each one pulsed with silent accusation. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was him. You could feel him behind you — like a black tide rolling in, elegant and inevitable and a storm cloud that gathering over the back of your neck
You kept your attention trained on the blinking navigation screen in front of you, pretending to check coordinates that definitely weren’t the ones you had quietly input just moments ago. Just a little detour. A tiny little detour. One that would’ve conveniently left a certain someone behind on a backwater rock crawling with bounty hunters
Your fingers hovered stiffly over the console
"You're back early" you tried, voice a little too high, too bright "I thought you were still busy terrifying our… associate"
"He’ll talk. Eventually"
The voice behind you was smooth as chrome but undercut with something low and dangerous. Something coiled. Ready to strike
You smiled to yourself, a little shaky "Classic you" you muttered
“Classic me, huh?”
The tone was amused, but the air was thinning fast. Your optics flicked up to the side panel, tracking his reflection as he moved closer. Each step was a countdown.
he passed the mess table
he was at the nav console’s edge
he stopped behind you, close enough for your cooling fans to trip
"Don’t take this the wrong way," you began carefully, still not turning around, "but if I had been trying to strand you—which I wasn’t, obviously, because who would do that? That’d be reckless, and you know me, I’m nothing if not loyal—"
A hand slammed down beside your arm.
The sudden metallic thud rattled through your plating like a gunshot. You jolted, optics wide. Now you really didn’t dare turn
"You changed the jump route" he said, voice low. Too calm. Calm like the eye of a very, very pissed-off hurricane "..You reprogrammed the course. To leave me behind"
You winced “Okay – yes, but only temporarily! You were very occupied! I didn’t want to interrupt your monologue – those things take real dramatic timing—”
"Do I look like I’m laughing?"
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again
“…A little?” you offered, sheepish
His optics glowed behind you, twin coals burning holes through your back
You finally dared a glance over your shoulder. Big mistake. He was right there, towering and sharp, eyes gleaming like freshly oiled knives. His frame boxed you in—one hand planted beside you, the other reaching up to tap the screen you’d sabotaged, watching as your unauthorized coordinates blinked guiltily back at him
“I had to improvise!” you protested, voice pitching up, both servos lifted in a show of defensiveness that was more ‘panicked squirrel’ than ‘strategic tactician’
“You were doing so well in that meeting. Very intimidating, extremely murdery—ten out of ten. So I figured you wouldn’t mind staying behind to, you know, wrap up a few.. murdery things? while I, uh, secured the getaway route and I thought if I just took off for a second, you’d catch up! You always do! Like a dramatic re-entry! And then you’d be impressed, and we’d laugh, and it’d be fine"
He said nothing
You squirmed
Blackshadow leaned in, helm tilting ever so slightly, like he was inspecting a curious little organism struggling in a petri dish
“You were going to ditch me”
“I prefer the term ‘tactically disengage,’” you corrected, voice rising in pitch
“…Okay fine. Maybe I panicked and tried to ditch you while you were distracted. But in my defense, you’re terrifying and—"
He leaned in, slowly. One arm braced beside your head, boxing you in. His frame radiated quiet menace, but the smirk ghosting across his mouthplate made it worse not better. You froze. His helm dipped until his voice buzzed against your audio receptor
“You really think you can run from me?”
The words weren't loud. They didn’t have to be. They slid in like a stiletto between your thoughts. Your mouth had gone completely dry. You tried a laugh, but it came out choked
“I mean… in theory? With good enough thrusters?”
He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached forward and disabled your nav input with a single command. The screen died with a guilty blip. And let the silence stretch long enough for you to sweat coolant. Then, with a lazy curl of his digits, he brushed a cable aside from your neck gentle, almost intimate and sure threats. He didn’t look angry anymore. That was worse
Blackshadow tilted his helm just so, as if regarding something fascinating and small. Like a little datapad trying to lie its way out of deletion. He said, voice almost gentle
“Make sure you’re better at hiding the evidence.. before pull a stunt like that”
“…So you’re not gonna kill me?” you asked, trying to sound casual but very much bracing for an energon bath
His optics gleamed. He leaned more, lips barely brush your audio receiver
“If I wanted to kill you” he said, with that slow-smiling menace, whispered “you wouldn’t be standing — I’ll cut off the engines, reroute life support, and leave you floating in deep space with a distress beacon that screams ‘traitor’ on every Decepticon frequency...”
“..So on a scale of one to ‘you’re gonna stab me and airlock my corpse’ how mad are we?”
“I haven’t decided yet..” he said, his voice syrupy smooth as he leaned in more and more, mouth just by your audials “But I am taking over the piloting from now on”
You blinked “Wait – you don’t know how to fly this ship”
“I’ll learn. You can supervise. From a very short leash”
You laughed again, nervous, placating
“Y.. you mean metaphorically, right?”
Blackshadow’s smirk widened
“…Right?”
[Private Log – Do Not Hack, Blackshadow.]
Dear stupid diary,
Today started like every other day on this stupid ship with this stupid warlord breathing down my neck like I'm his personal project-slash-pet-slash-criminal sidekick with a broken moral compass. (I'm not. Mostly.)
He kicked my chair again. For the third time. While I was in the middle of recalibrating the nav system that he overloaded by flying through an ion storm just to “make a point” What was the point? That he’s invincible and dramatic and refuses to read literally any manual ever written? Because, congrats. Message received. Loud and plasma-scorched
Also, someone tell him it’s not “intimidating” when he stands behind me silently for 6.3 minutes before speaking. It's annoying. Like—what is this? A villain TED Talk on how to increase your coworkers' cortisol levels? He did it again today while I was trying to eat. My ration cube almost fell out of my mouth because suddenly he’s behind me like
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that little detour you programmed in?”
And I choked. Not because I was scared. No. Because I was chewing. And justice, apparently, has no mealtime
Anyway—YES—I tried to strand him on that trash planet. SUE ME. That place was crawling with bounty hunters, all ready to rip him apart and write a bestseller about it. It was a solid plan. And I almost got away with it too, if he hadn’t literally materialized out of the shadows like a damn ghost with a god complex and grabbed me by the wrist like: “Planning another betrayal? I admire the consistency”
NO YOU DON’T. You enjoy watching me squirm and make excuses while my processor crashes trying to figure out which lie sounds least like a lie
For the record?
My official excuse was: “I thought you wanted a challenge this cycle. You said you were bored!”
Which, okay. Decent improv. But he just smiled. That awful, slow, predator-smile like he was proud of me for even trying. That’s worse than being yelled at. Way worse. Now I have to live with the fact that he's amused by me. Like I’m some kind of enrichment activity in his enrichment-starved warlord life
...Also, he locked me out of the bridge for the rest of the day. Again. I'm currently writing this while hiding in the maintenance ducts with a ration cube I stole (which is mine) because some people think having basic access to food is a privilege
I swear—next time I’ll leave him on a worse planet. One with lava. Or worse. No signal. With absolutely no affection
[Name Redacted Because He’ll Probably Hack This]
There was an unspoken routine now
Mornings began with you waking up and checking whether Blackshadow had tried to tamper with the ship’s coordinates during the night. You’d half-expect to find the nav console hacked or rerouted to some war-torn asteroid field where your corpse would be conveniently untraceable but no — Somehow, frustratingly, he played nice. Mostly. Instead, you’d usually find the cockpit faintly reeking of his high-grade energon and the lingering ozone scent of plasma burns where he’d cleaned his weapons just a little too close to the flight console
“Trying to intimidate the throttle again?”
you muttered one morning, wiping scorched residue off the control panel with a rag
A voice from behind: silky, amused, and always too close “Not everything here responds to being sweet-talked, unlike you”
You flinched, turned. There he was leaning in the doorway, lazy posture and optics gleaming like twin blades held just behind your throat “Stop sneaking up on me” you grumbled, heart thumping a little harder than it should’ve
“You think that’s sneaking? Cute.”
Breakfast was… well, not shared. But it was a ritual. You always took yours on the bridge—back straight, datapad in hand, pretending you weren’t deliberately positioning yourself between the only two exits. Black Shadow brought his cube in eventually, propped one foot on the control panel like he owned the place, and started throwing out questions like knives
“Where are we headed next?”
“Who’s paying you now?”
“Who do I need to kill?”
You answered half, dodged the rest, and told him to get his dirty peds off the comms array
Then came the quiet hours. Tense. Suspicious. Full of glances. You worked. He loitered. Read your private logs when you weren’t looking. Stared too long. Smiled too wide. Once he casually asked "By the way... why does your star map have a pre-programmed escape route already saved under 'Plan B'?" with that shark-like grin that said he already knew
That was also the day you double-encrypted every file and slept with a weapon tucked under your berth
When the ship’s onboard lighting flickered into "morning mode" with a quiet hum, bathing the cramped quarters in a dim glow that could only be described as ‘barely awake’. Somewhere in the hull, a generator let out a wheezing cough like it was just as sick of this partnership as they were
You stretched, groaning as you shoved off a pile of datapads that had, at some point, decided your chestplate was the best place to collapse
The silence didn’t last long
“You do know your snoring registers on comms, right?”
That unmistakably smug, poisonous voice floated in before Black Shadow himself did—backlit like some cheap holo-drama villain stepping onto stage. He didn’t even look up from the energon cube he was sipping. Casual. Judgmental. Fashionably threatening
You didn’t miss a beat “You were monitoring my comms while I was asleep?”
“Correction—I was monitoring the ship's security frequencies. It’s not my fault you sound like a dying propulsion unit when you rest.”
You gave him a look that could peel paint off the walls — He shrugged with exaggerated innocence, stepping in and helping himself to one of your private energon reserves without asking, again
“...Hey, that’s the premium stuff!”
“Is it? Tastes like betrayal.”
You rolled your optics “We’re never getting through a morning without passive aggression, are we?”
Blackahadow paused mid-sip, tilted his helm, and looked you up and down—a slow, measuring scan that somehow made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees
“Not as long as you keep trying to abandon me on backwater planets like I won’t notice”
You flinched “Oh, you’re still on that—"
“Still on that? You rerouted the ship’s nav when I was out handling negotiations—”
“Correction” you interrupted “I tried to reroute. Didn’t actually do it. Big difference!”
“Intent counts, sweetspark” He leaned closer across the tiny mess table, optics sharp, cruelly amused—but not angry, just... deeply invested in watching you squirm
You tried to play it off with a breezy tone, swiping your cube back from him “Look, it was a tactical evaluation. I was testing contingency plans. You’re a valuable asset. High-maintenance. Unpredictable. Occasionally homicidal. I had to know if I could handle future missions solo—”
“You programmed the ship to lock me out of the controls, eject me into a landing zone, and ghost-jump to another quadrant”
You sipped. Slowly “...Still just a test”
A beat passed
Blackshadow didn’t blink. Just leaned back in his seat with a predator’s smile and murmured “You really do wake up and choose violence, don’t you?”
“It’s mutual”
...
..
Every now and then, when you stumbled over a maintenance hatch or cursed the cooling system for giving out again, he’d walk over, silent as a ghost, and fix it without a word. Or worse stand there watching you struggle for a minute longer than necessary before finally stepping in with a slow, cruel smirk
And now you’re working on recalibrating one of the ship’s external sensors, perched awkwardly in a narrow shaft with a spanner clenched between your denta. It's supposed to be a quiet job
—clang
A loud metallic tap against the access panel behind you. You jump—nearly sending the whole rig spinning—and glance over your shoulder to see Black Shadow looming at the opening, expression unreadable
“Just checking you’re not installing a backdoor escape hatch” he said mildly
You nearly drop your tool. “I’m replacing a broken bolt, not faking my death and starting over on another planet”
“That’s what you said last time before that whole corpse-decoy stunt”
“That was a misunderstanding!”
“That corpse had your serial number carved into it”
“Artistic license!”
He stared. You stared back
Eventually, he let out a very slow sigh, then ducked into the shaft with you—tight space, now even tighter—and helped himself to your other tools without asking
“Fine” he said “If you’re going to fake your death again, at least do me the courtesy of sending a better decoy”
“Aww, you want a pretty fake me?”
“I want a competent one. One that doesn’t die so pathetically”
..
...
The cockpit was no longer yours
Oh, technically it was—your ship, your credentials, your interface ports. But in every way that mattered, it now belonged to the tall, dark, unreasonably smug war criminal lounging in your pilot seat like he owned the galaxy and had the audacity to look good doing it — Blackshadow’s frame dwarfed the control deck, all blade-edge curves and coiled potential. One elbow rested casually on the armrest, while his other servo ghosted over the console, tracing the edges of your cracked nav-screen with something close to idle interest – like he was reacquainting himself with a forgotten weapon
You, meanwhile, stood just behind him, arms folded, mouth twisted into a grimace that was roughly 30% protest and 70% sheer, righteous betrayal
“Alright, fun’s over. Get out of my seat”
Blackehadow didn’t even look up. Just tapped a few keys with slow, deliberate ease, watching the starmap rotate beneath his claws like he was tuning a fine instrument
“You had your chance” he said calmly “But someone tried to strand me on a hostile planet and flee with the only working escape craft. So…”
He flicked a switch. The ship’s trajectory shifted smoothly, barely a lurch
“…I’m the captain now”
You gaped “You—! You can’t just mutiny me out of my own cockpit!”
“I’m not mutinying,” he said, finally glancing up at you with that infuriating calm “I’m relieving you”
You hissed like a kettle ready to boil over “That was tactical improvisation!”
“That was abandonment” he corrected “You were going to leave me behind. Admit it”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again “...Maybe” you mumbled
Blackshadow leaned back in your chair with the kind of satisfaction normally reserved for seasoned villains savoring a monologue “Glad we’re finally being honest”
You stormed forward, slapping the side of the console “This is my ship, my rules! I built half this nav system from scratch! Do you even know what that button does?!”
He glanced down and—without breaking eye contact—pressed it. You panicked “Wait—no, that one dumps the secondary energon reserves!”
A low whum echoed beneath your feet. The ship shuddered slightly. You clutched your helm. Blackshadow arched an optic ridge
“Oops”
“You’re the worst” you growled
He hummed, almost thoughtfully, then turned his seat toward you just slightly—just enough to bring your bodies that much closer in the tight space of the cockpit. One servo rested loosely on the console, the other lifting to tap his chin in mock contemplation
“You know” he said, voice dropping a fraction into that dangerous purr he always used when he was about to say something awful “this would all be much easier if I did put you on that leash”
You froze. He smirked
“…You were joking before” you said, voice cracking halfway through the sentence like a snapped energon line “Right?”
He tilted his helm slightly, optics lidded "Was I?"
The silence stretched taut. His gaze didn’t waver—hovering somewhere between teasing and… not. You felt the heat rise beneath your plating in real time “I am not your pet” you managed, glaring—but it came out embarrassingly flustered
“No. You’re lippy. Disobedient. Reckless. But not a pet” he agreed softly, leaning just a little closer. You relaxed — Then he added, almost affectionately “More like a stray. Loud, twitchy. Keeps trying to bite”
You made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a splutt
“You—! I do not bite—!”
“You do” he said smugly, brushing past you to check a readout on the adjacent screen. His shoulder almost grazed yours. It wasn’t even intentional — just his natural gravitas filling every inch of space but it still made your spark skip
“I only bite people who deserve it” you shot back, a bit breathless
“Then I definitely deserve it”
You choked. And then genuinely considered throwing yourself out the nearest airlock
—
Their daily life is a never-ending loop of:
Passive-aggressive banter over energon -> Suspicion masked as flirty threats -> You trying to act innocent while plotting new escape routes -> Blackshadow seeing through it every time
And maybe both of them secretly enjoying the chaos way more than they should
I know you've got several platonic plotlines, but I notice none of them include the platonic spark bond mechs can have. Amica Endura basically being literal best friends forever/an eternal ride-or-die/QPR, etc. bond.
(Apparently there's cultural differences regarding the bond, but on Cybertron it specifically excludes turning the bond romantic/toward conjunxing. Or so implies the wiki)
Are Amicas something you're specifically avoiding? Familial relationships are definitely different, but are there any bestie human x transformers you'd consider it for, or is it just not your thing?
Very curious, is all! (And also, if done similarly to what I recall of your stories' spark bond canon, I hold out hope that it could be a way for the mechs to not horrifically outlive their buddy in close-but-platonic human/mech relationships)
I’m not avoiding Amicas per se, but I just haven’t gotten to that point in any of the platonic storylines. I can see the Nemesis probably offering as soon as they realize how short a human lifespan is compared to theirs because they were so lonely before they had their human borrower to care for. Geomotus would probably struggle with it because of his own issues and the Vehicons because they’re aware that they’re expendable and your survival would be tied to theirs when their lives mean little to nothing to the Decepticons. Some bots it’ll take more time, because it’s still an intimacy with the amount of trust bonding requires from both parties and the way your truest self is exposed to the other. And if the human knows up front that it will extend their own lifespan, there’s going to be some soul searching because if you do it, you’re outliving everyone you know and having to watch them age and fade while you don’t seem to change at all.
Lonely
Black Shadow, Reader
• Shoulders hunching, you can feel your partner in crime frowning and staring a hole in the back of your head as your hands tremble. Pretending you’re okay after clenching your teeth so hard your jaw aches as you’d struggled to not black out while stitching up the nasty gash on your arm. Gingerly wrapping the wound in gauze, you’re proud that you managed to not bawl like a baby or throw up even though you’d wanted to do both. “Stop frowning before your face sticks like that,” you mutter, tearing the gauze with your teeth. “It’s just a scratch.”
• “You were careless,” he growls, trying to sound dismissive. “It cost me that job and we needed the shanix.” Blustering to hide the fact that he feels hollow inside because he’d asked you to do the job and you’d been hurt trying to not let him down. Spark aching, he hates the idea of losing another partner. Of being alone again. Can’t stand it, but actually admitting that you’d scared him? That he’d seen all the blood and he’d almost purged his tanks, so sure he’d just sent you to your death? Can’t do it. And you scowl at him over your shoulder. ‘Yeah, yeah. You think I don’t know that?’ You counter, chin lifting defiantly. But you’re pale, eyes haunted. Scared.
• “We’ll get another job,” you mutter, fingers flexing as you try to make sure you didn’t wrap your arm too tight. That you’re not cutting off circulation. Hear him moving around behind you, rumbling his annoyance. And you realize he’s mass shifted and climbed up on the table with you when his back brushes yours. Sitting against you facing the other way. Had he been worried? You two pick at each other constantly, but you love the wicked way his mind works, his plots and schemes thrill you. He’s family. The only one you have out here and he takes cares of you like you take care of him.
• Carefully leaning back against you, he clears his vents and stares up at the ceiling of the ship. “I don’t want to do this alone,” he mutters, uncomfortable with opening up. Being real instead of teasing or growling. Feels your hand brush his, tiny fingers gripping one of his servos. ‘You won’t have to. It’s you and me and to hell with everyone else,’ you say to make him smile wryly. “Steal what we can and watch each other’s backs,” he adds and he feels your head turn slightly to try and see his expression, but he keeps his face turned away.
• “You heal too slow,” he mutters as the silence stretches between you and your snort. ‘I can still work just fine,’ you counter. Ferreting out information by playing a dumb, cute pet, getting into small spaces. You don’t look like a threat, so most aliens assume you aren’t and the two of you take full advantage of that. How many times have you been ‘gifted’ as an exotic pet to some affluent mech so you can learn access codes and routines before letting your partner in to steal anything that’s not bolted down? “You could heal faster if you bond with me.”
• Live longer, too. He’d looked into your species and what he’d learned hadn’t made him exactly happy. Your life so ridiculously short. Dying before you even really have a chance to live. Keeps circling back to bonding. To the possibility of extending your life. “I’m not marrying you,” you mutter and he pushes back to bend you forward and make you push back against him. ‘Full offense meant, but your squishiness doesn’t do a thing for me,’ he growls. “I know what bonding is,” you grumble and he clears his vents in aggravation. Of course, you do. He’s told you far too much about Cybertronians to help you exploit them. ‘I want you as my amica. Not in my berth, you little heathen,’ he says, turning and leaning so you make a startled noise and fall over, elbow banging on the table and your eyes go shiny with tears to make him feel immediately guilty. Bracing a hand near your head, he leans over you. ‘Well?’ He growls, uncomfortable with asking, with the vulnerability of making the offer and having to follow through. But he doesn’t want to be alone again.
Why are you so good at writing? You raised the bar for what i considered 'good' fanfiction in the best way possible, thank you.
🤣 thanks, but what I write here isn’t exactly how I actually write. I suppose you could call it my shorthand- it’s stripped down, quick, and mostly unedited, rough sketches of scenes that I can do fairly quick when I’m drafting.
Lonely Pt 2
Black Shadow x Reader
• Reaching to grip the front of your shirt, he pulls you upright and shifts slightly, dragging you to sit facing him. “Rude,” you mutter as his optics flick down to the gauze wrapped around your arm. Catching on the fact that it’s slowly becoming pink. Feeling jittery as his wings flick at his back, he shifts his plating and you lean back. Staring at his exposed spark as your face is bathed in its light. And even knowing it would feel vulnerable, he’s uncomfortable, plating lifting slightly.
• “Are you sure it’s okay for me to just rawdog stick my hand in there? Because that looks like somewhere I shouldn’t stick my hand,” you say staring at the churning, ethereal beauty of his spark. Joking to hide your nerves your default and you’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately call you a heathen again. You feel like one, sticking your hands in, what, his soul? His essence? Because his spark is him. And he wants you to just shove your hand in there. Be his amica.
• “Rawdog?” He repeats warily and you gesture at his exposed spark. Stalling and you both know it. ‘I mean, I just want to be sure that if my hand goes in there, I’m not going to wake up with a chestburster in a few hours,’ you say and his optics narrow. Sometimes your weird human sayings make no sense to him whatsoever. “I don’t, what?” He growls and you shrug.
• Eyeing him and deciding he probably doesn’t have the patience to deal with you explaining the alien movie franchise to him, you pretend to convulse, watching him lean back, plating lifting. And you use your hands to mime something clawing its way out of your chest before slumping sideways and making your best ‘death’ sound. “What is that? What are you doing?” He demands, scowling. ‘I’m dead. From the alien baby that just burst out of my chest. Chestburster,’ you say, wiggling your fingers at chest height as he shudders.
• “Primus, no wonder your species is so fragged up. That’s how you procreate?” And you snort at him. ‘No, but I assure you, it’s just as messy. Lots of screaming and bodily fluids. Some you wouldn’t expect,’ you say as his lip curls, wings lifting. Why are you like this? Loves you for it most of the time, but why can’t you take anything seriously? This is important to him and he knows you well enough to know you’re scared. That you joke when you’re frightened.
I've been into Black Shadow recently and I also loves your Black Shadow oneshot, would it be possiblento request a continuation after reader fixing him up? Will he leave after he got better or will he just tagged along for some time?
<- LICK UR WOUNDS ->
PARING – black shadow x reader
NOTE – who woke me from this long slumber? /with vampire's vibe that rose from a rotten coffin that should have been eaten by termites but somehow still manage to survived for over years — bro, ngl. I don't usually do a pt2 for a one-shot (except for some I intended to do as a multi-shot but was just lazy/out of idea) but COME ON. THIS IS BS MENTIONED (red code alarm)
also If you don't mind some spicy content, I would recommend this to you as well 🤟 hope u enjoy
Phase-sixer had improved. Well. Technically
Improved in the sense that he wasn’t leaking anymore—at least not anything immediately flammable—and he could prop himself up against the wall without collapsing like a bundle of dropped pipes. Sure, his movements were slow, twitchy, and carried all the grace of a half-dead space crab, but compared to the wheezing slag-heap he was a few cycles ago? Progress
He even glared at you now with full optical intensity. That's practically affection
You stood a few paces away, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look like you were ready to bolt. The air was thick with the sterile scent of patchwork repairs, coolant vapor, and mild tension—the kind that crawled under your plating like static. Still, you smiled. The way a con artist smiles when they're pretty sure they’ve almost sold someone a timeshare on a collapsing moonbase
"Well, look who's awake and only mostly horrifying now" you chirped, voice bright like a damaged PA system "Starting to look like a war criminal with potential again"
—Blackshadow, if he ever got around to killing you for real—responded with silence. And that special kind of stare that felt like it could file down your armor from sheer contempt. His optic flicked once. Slowly
“I know, I know” you added, raising both hands as if to calm a volatile mech—which, to be fair, was exactly what you were doing “You’re sore. You’re cranky. You’ve probably imagined fifteen ways to rip my head off. But look on the bright side! You’ve got limbs again. Internal pressure’s stabilized. You even have a leg that matches your aesthetic! And don’t ask how I found it, I’m still scrubbing energon off my floor”
He shifted slightly. A twitch in his servo, more reflex than intent, but enough to make you instinctively take a half-step back. It was like negotiating with a barely-contained natural disaster. One you’d duct-taped back together and politely asked to be your bodyguard
“I’m just saying” you continued, voice slick like oil on a flooded corridor, “since I, y’know, saved your life and everything, maybe we could strike up a mutually beneficial arrangement”
Blackshadow’s expression didn’t change. But his field—subtle, low, coiled like a wire under strain—prickled at the edges of yours. His voice was hoarse, but flat as the bottom of a mining pit
“You’re monologuing”
“I like monologuing. It’s charming”
“It's annoying”
“that's rude but then I’m consistently charming. See? Reliable”
Silence again. If he had optics capable of shooting laser beams, you’d be a smudge on the wall by now
You cleared your throat, resisting the urge to pace. Instead, you pulled yourself up with the dignity of someone trying very hard not to sound like they were bargaining for their life. Because technically, you were
“So here’s my pitch” you said, waving a servo like you were presenting a business model and not trying to blackmail an infamous Decepticon. “I keep patching you up. Get you walking, talking, intimidating again. And in return, you come with me. Meet some of my less-than-trustworthy contacts. You don’t have to say much—just stand there, loom a little. Look dangerous. Which, congratulations, nailed that one already”
His gaze narrowed. You pressed on
“They see you, they panic. I get better deals. You get free upgrades and a chance to feel scary again. Everybody wins!”
A long beat
“And if I say no?”
You smiled like a bot who definitely wasn’t bluffing and absolutely wasn’t internally screaming
“Well. Then I might have to let a little message slip to our friends in the DJD. Just a teeny update. ‘Hey, guess who’s alive and limping around the galaxy again?’ Bet they’d love to pick up where they left off. Might even bring a party hat”
The words hung in the air like smoke from a fire you really shouldn’t have started
Blackshadow didn’t react right away
Instead, he shifted—slowly, deliberately—and placed both servos on the edge of the table like he was bracing himself. But you knew better. That was control. The kind of calculated stillness that said: I could move fast if I wanted to. You wouldn’t like it if I did
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, flat, and sharp as a cutting torch
“Cute”
Your energon froze
“You think you’re the first bot who’s tried to leash me?” he continued, and something in his field shifted—pressing outward now, oppressive, thick. Not anger. Precision “The first to wave DJD-shaped threats and think that buys them power..?”
He just stood slow, deliberate, mechanical in the most terrifyingly precise way possible. His frame made a faint creak, the kind that came not from wear or damage, but from mass. From the reminder that every inch of him had been forged for violence, engineered to carry out executions with elegance
And he stepped forward – Just one step
But it brought him close
Too close
Close enough that you could see where the weld lines met on his newly-attached plating. Where the seams didn’t quite align, because you had been the one to patch him together. Close enough that you caught the scent of scorched coolant clinging faintly to his armor—ghosts of his last battle still etched into his frame like memories he refused to shake
You took a step back. Reflex
“If you tell them I’m alive..” said, tone like acid running under your plating “you’re not just a messenger. You’re the one who found me. Who patched me up. Who hid me..”
“That makes you a collaborator. An accessory. A TRAITOR” He leaned in, just enough that your processor screamed too close. And then tilted his helm, optics glinting with something far too amused “And they love traitors”
Oh
OH SLAG
You opened your mouth
“..rude, again. You could’ve just said: no thank you” Your vocalizer made a sound like a failing vent fan. Then finally “…Okay. Valid point. That is.. um. That’s technically… true”
He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. You were unraveling all on your own
“But—wait, wait, no. I mean. Logically, if I was an accomplice, I wouldn’t even tell them about you being alive, right? I’d want to keep it quiet. Which is exactly what I haven’t been doing, because I threatened to tell them, which proves I wasn’t helping you, which actually clears me of—”
You were spiraling. He watched like someone enjoying a slow-motion crash.
“—So technically” added with a shaky little laugh “the moment I threatened to report you, I proved I’m not on your side, which should disqualify me from accessory status entirely”
Blackshadow blinked once. Slowly. Like he was giving your logic the funeral it deserved
“And” you blurted, doubling down like a champ who forgot what game they were playing “maybe they’d thank me! Y’know, for luring you out! Like—like a honeypot situation!”
You paused
“…Not that I’m a honeypot”
Another pause
“…I mean I could be, but not—not for them”
The silence was deafening. Even your spark was embarrassed for you. Finally, Blackshadow leaned back again, just slightly. Just enough to release that oppressive pressure from your frame. But his smirk stayed. Just a little
“Are you done?”
“…Yes”
“Good”
You exhaled. Visibly
Then mumbled, defeated “...Do you still wanna be my terrifying murder pet?”
Blackshadow didn’t answer you
He didn’t need to, just simply moved
One quiet shift forward. A subtle repositioning of weight. But it felt like a tectonic plate shifting beneath your peds. He loomed—elegantly, deliberately—until your back was near brushing the far wall and you realized far too late that you’d boxed yourself in
He didn’t have to touch you. Didn’t have to raise his voice. Just presence alone—heavy, quiet, intentional—was enough to press down on your field like atmospheric pressure before a storm
“You talk too much” he murmured
His voice was low, rough around the edges, like a servo blade dragged across stone. And somehow, impossibly, it wasn’t angry. It was… restrained. Curious, almost. Like he was trying to decide whether to crush you or keep listening. His shadow cast long over you, partway blocking out the soft lights overhead. You hadn’t noticed how tall he was until now. Or maybe it was the way he moved—like a predator that had all the time in the world
“Y’know” you began, with a tone that you hoped sounded playful and not like a high-pitched panic chirp “if this is your way of negotiating, I have to say it’s very… persuasive. You make intimidation look almost charming..!”
He stepped in closer
A little more close
Now there was only a hand's breadth between you, and his frame dwarfed yours—broken but imposing, scorched but unmistakably him. You could feel the heat bleeding off his internals, the faint static of rebooted systems still grumbling beneath his plating. His optics, flickering dim and dangerous, scanned your faceplate slowly. Like he was reading every little twitch and microexpression you couldn’t control.
You kept still
You knew better than to provoke a wounded animal—especially one with a kill count like his. But Primus, why did it feel so quiet in here now? The room felt like it was holding its breath
Then, his voice again. Lower. Almost… dry
“You think I won’t frag you just because you dragged my broken frame out of a pit and stitched it together with trash and spite?”
You gave a nervous chuckle. “I mean… you could. But then who’s going to clean your fuel lines next time they burst? Hm?”
One optic ridge raised. His expression didn’t soften—but it shifted. Just a little. Interest replacing calculation “And here I thought you were trying to use me”
“I am..” you admitted, because lying now would’ve been worse “But, like… respectfully?”
He huffed. A sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t nothing either. His servo rose. You flinched only slightly but enough for him to notice. He didn’t touch you. Just braced one arm against the wall beside your helm, the edge of his armor grazing the metal. You were caged, absolutely, but not restrained. It was worse than that. You were allowed to move. He let you stay. Which meant you were still alive because he found it amusing
That was somehow more terrifying than any blade
“You’re smarter than you look” he muttered
“Thanks.. you’re scarier than you sound”
That earned a quiet exhale through his vents. Not quite a sigh. Not quite content. The edge of something thoughtful flickered across his features, just for a nanoklik
“I should tear you apart for threatening me”
“And yet here we are” you said, as evenly as you could “Very intact – very… conversational..?”
He tilted his helm slightly, optics narrowing. Your spark thumped hard, then harder
Then, suddenly, he leaned down
Close enough that your helm nearly bumped his. Close enough that you caught the burnt ozone scent clinging to his frame, the sharp tang of damaged circuits still healing beneath plating. Close enough that the next words felt more like heat against your intake than sound in the air
“You’re lucky” he murmured, quiet and heavy with implication “That I’m tired. That I’m curious. That I haven’t decided what to do with you yet”
“I could ..say the same about you”
Your intake hitched. But your smile didn’t falter—at least not outwardly
For a moment, there was only silence. A strange, fragile sort of stillness. Not peace—but the eye of the storm, maybe. Something balancing on the edge of too much tension and too much awareness. Then he pulled back. Slowly. Measured. But before turning away, he murmured—like an afterthought laced with warning:
“Try that DJD trick again, and next time I won’t talk about tearing you apart..”
You swallowed, nodding with a grin that you hoped looked more charming than terrified
Any chance we can get more of that platonic sparkbond story with Black Shadow? 👉👈
Time to rawdog stick a hand in a spark and have a mutual emotional epiphany
🤣 sure. If I’m quiet, it’s because I’m in con mode trying to get freebies designed to order for October
Lonely Pt 3
Black Shadow x Reader
• Smile faltering when he slowly reaches out and his servos wrap around your wrist, your heart goes racing. Afraid that he might just shove your hand in there and you hate that the thought occurs to you because you know him better than that. Blowing out a shaky breath as his servos rub your fingers, you reluctantly meet his optics. Feel like you know him better than you know yourself sometimes. Know this is important to him even as it scares you. “Why do you have to be so fragging chicken? Just do the thing,” he growls and you sputter out a laugh. Not sure what you’d expected from him, but it wasn’t that. ‘You don’t even know what a chicken is, asshole. You’re a terrible friend.’
• Servos flexing against your hand, his jaw works as he clears his vents. “Don’t make me do this alone,” he mutters, hating having to say the words. Being vulnerable. Expects you to laugh at him. Make it a joke. ‘We’re partners, right?’ You ask, expression serious as you just shove your hand in his spark. No easing in. No gentleness or finesse. “Fragging heathen brat,” he groans, frame shuddering at the shock of it. Of you pouring into him.
• Gasping as you fall into him, you feel his arms come around you. Holding you against his chassis and swearing at you as your cheek brushes against his warm plating. And he’s everywhere. You’re adrift in him, his memories, thoughts, and emotions pulling you deeper until you’re drowning in him. Floundering to hang onto your sense of self in the vast forever that’s his memories. Hadn’t really realized how long he’s lived until now. Hadn’t thought about it, but as memories spark through you, it’s hard to comprehend a life so long it feels endless.
• Arrowing after your fragile light as you struggle in his memories, he wraps himself around you and your memories sink into him. The brightness of your happiness and your fear of being alone, forgotten, that he understands all too well. Seeing places he’ll never actually set ped in. Shocked to see a younger you playing under an alien sky. Running and laughing. Little joys and pains blurring together. Heartache and loss echoing through him. Had known you’d be tangled in him if he did this, but hadn’t known it would be like this. Almost uncomfortably intimate.
• He’s seeing everything. All the secret things that shame you, the things that hurt you, the memories that comfort you. His arm tightens around you and your cheek slides against his chassis as the loss of his last partner, his friend, his brother, spills into you and you’re crying. Grieving someone you never even met. Feel his head lower to bump yours, servos curling around your elbow to pull your hand away from his spark as you shudder against him. The loss when he breaks the connection echoes through you and you’re aware that you’re crying even as you’re mortified about it. “Who just shoves their whole arm in someone?” He mutters, but he sounds as shaken as you feel, like he wasn’t expecting it to be that intense.
