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
“Duly noted”