#blackshadow x reader

[woradat]

LICK YOUR WOUNDS

Paring: Blackshadow x reader

PS: his spark didn't explode for the sake of the plot and my mental health + It might be a long series if I don't get bored first

better version

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Blackshadow knew what he was doing when he joined the Decepticons

Instead of caring about the Decepticons' cause and stuff, he only cared about himself and the benefits he would gain by joining. Yes, he was selfish, but who wouldn't be? Blackshadow just wasn't ashamed to show it openly in most barbaric way, and that was the excuse he used when the Autobots bribed him with a large sum of shanix

But of course, actions have consequences.

Phase Sixer would definitely regret making the wrong choice later, and he did when DJD was in his sights

.

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Blackshadow felt pain all over his frame. His systems were slowly rebooting themselves. He could almost feel his circuits burning and shorting out - causing a tingling sensation all over. His limbs were numb, he couldn't even move his fingertips, and even if he could he was sure it would feel like hell. His processor was slowly recalling all the things that had happened and trying to take in his new surroundings, where he was now, trying to figure out where he was

His optics were still working, if not very well. His right one was cracked, making the images he was receiving dizzying. He chose to close his eyes instead, focusing on the lingering pain in his system from his last encounter - oh, DJD, that damn Decepticon Justice Department - and even though Megatron's lap dogs were making his life a living hell, Phase Sixer didn't even have the energy to get angry. He was too tired and suffering to think deeply

..but shouldn't he be dead?

Blackshadow opened his optics again, this time only the one that was working, to take in the surrounding

It looked like a laboratory or a medical's station or something. It was all white, like a sterile room. He was relieved, but only for a moment, before he realized he wasn't dead, which meant someone had saved him - whoever was responsible for this was either extremely skilled in medicine or it had just happened by a miracle and he was still online - but he wished they'd just let him die

this was too painful

“You’re awake, I see. How do you feel?”

“It hurts a lot, doesn’t it? It must be. You were in terrible shape when I found you, like – you were torn in half! And you were missing a leg, but luckily I found it… Even though it would be easier to say that I’ll just find another one to replace, but whatever” Blackshadow glanced at you with a mix of curiosity and irritation. You were talking too much, sounding as boastful as he was when he was in better shape. He unconsciously frowned slightly, which you noticed

“So you can hear me? And can you talk, big guy?” You sounded amused by his expression and didn’t take it seriously

Who would take a dying bot like him seriously?

Phase Sixer’s silence was the answer to no. He was sure his voice box was working, but the pain shot through his wires and frame as soon as he tensed his neck and tried to speak. It was like the slightest vibration from the inside was enough to turn him into a metal pile

And you seemed to sense his struggles, but this time it was more serious and there was even a hint of sympathy that Black Shadow caught. “It’s not as bad as I thought, but it’ll be alright. You’re in good hands”

These comforting words and your sympathetic gesture made him want to – well, laugh? Maybe if he was strong and on good terms. But there’s no denying that he felt a little better. At least the words and gestures of sympathy that he had looked down on and considered signs of weakness warmed his spark up a bit, making him feel safe and less hurt

Heh, the Decepticon’s super soldier, the fearsome Phase Sixer. Blackshadow sought comfort from an unknown bot that had seemingly saved him from certain death?

If someone had told Blackshadow that in the past, he would have laughed contemptuously. But now all he had to do was lick his wounds and hope to heal or die

It was strange that he didn’t feel much pain when he felt the servo lightly touch on his frame in an attempt to comfort

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Do you know who he is? You must know, you can't be that innocent, can you? but why did you still help him? That was the question, but for now, he would just rest and let himself go. There was no point to deep in thought when he can't even speak or move without feeling pain like hell

[signedaiko]

Prompt 002

Decepticon elite (phase sixers, etc) knowing you are on the DJD's list and doing everything they can to keep their sweetspark safe.

Alternatively: Yandere! Con elite who lies to get you on the list so you dont have a choice but to stay with them.

[woradat]

LICK YOUR WOUNDS

SUMMARY - loser got patch up. That's all I can tell u

PARING - black shadow/reader

(reworked/edit version)

Actions have consequences. Blackshadow had always known that. Whether it was raiding random ships in deep space or casually committing mass murder on Autobot battlegrounds at Megatron's behest—he never really felt bad about it. That was the job

He knew exactly what he signed up for when he joined the Decepticons

Instead of caring about the noble ideals or grand vision of the faction, he mostly cared about one thing: himself. And the profits. That was it. Yes, he was that selfish—but who wasn’t, really? Blackshadow just wasn’t ashamed to show it off in the most brutal, over-the-top way possible. And that, conveniently, was also the excuse he used when the Autobots once bribed him with a frankly obscene amount of credits

And as I said, actions have consequences

Phase-sixer would surely regret his poor life choices eventually—and he did, the moment he saw DJD in his line of sight

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You found it mildly—okay, maybe more than mildly—frustrating when you realized Phase-sixer wasn’t offline yet, despite very much needing to be. His condition was so bad that even the thought of reusing or recycling his body parts felt like trying to repurpose a toaster after it went through a supernova

Still, with a shred of pity you somehow hadn’t burned out yet, you decided to help. Not too much, of course—you weren’t about to throw resources at a bot that looked like he’d been chewed up by a black hole and spat out sideways

If he got better, great—miracle of the century. If not? Well, there were probably still some parts left you could make use of. Legs. Maybe an arm. A wire or two

Dragging his wreck of a body onto the ship without turning him into even more of a scrap heap was a challenge on its own. And the missing parts? That was a scavenger hunt from hell. Honestly, you might’ve felt a pang of sympathy for what he’d gone through—if he hadn’t been such a monumental jerk during the war. But hey, you tried to help. That’s got to count for something, right?

“Primus—he really refuses to die, huh…”

The first few repair attempts? A disaster. Phase-sixer wasn’t showing even a hint of recovery. His systems—thankfully still salvageable, or he’d be space dust—were an absolute nightmare: circuits fried, networks glitchier than a bootleg holovid, fuel lines shredded, wires doing interpretive dance, and metal that looked like it lost a fight with a sun. Disgusting. But all you could do was complain while servos kept working away on this pathetic excuse for a bot

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Pain. That was the first thing Blackshadow noticed. Everything hurt. His systems were slowly rebooting, and it honestly felt like his circuits had been deep-fried and then stabbed for good measure. Electric jolts shot through him like sparks with a grudge. His limbs were numb, paralyzed, and honestly? He didn’t want to find out how much it’d hurt if he could move. His processor crawled to catch up, dragging in fragmented memories of the catastrophe that had landed him in this mess, trying to assess his surroundings. Where the frag was he?

His optics still worked, barely. The right one was cracked to hell, giving him a distorted view that made everything look like a nightmare through a funhouse mirror. He shut them instead, focusing on the persistent, burning ache from his last encounter with—ugh—those DJD bastards. Loyal lapdogs of Megatron, bringing justice with a chainsaw. He should have been angry, but he was too exhausted to feel anything that complicated

...Shouldn’t he be dead by now?

He forced his remaining good optic open, just to get a read on where the universe had dumped him this time

Some kind of lab or medbay, maybe. White. Sterile. Looked like the inside of a stasis pod got into a fight with a hospital and lost. A wave of brief relief hit him—until he realized he wasn’t dead, which meant someone had saved him. Whoever it was either had serious medical talent… or the universe had pulled off a miracle and was now just showing off. Either way, he kind of wished they hadn’t bothered. This was the kind of pain that made death sound like a spa day

“You’re awake. I see. How you feeling?”

“Hurts like hell, right? Of course it does. You were a wreck when I found you. Like—half a bot, literally! You were missing a leg! But I found it. Took some doing. Honestly, would’ve been easier to just bolt a new one on, but hey”

Blackshadow gave you a skeptical glance, equal parts confused and annoyed. You talked too much. Sounded a little too proud of yourself. It reminded him uncomfortably of himself—back when he wasn’t a pile of pain with attitude. His brow furrowed instinctively, and you noticed

“Oh, so you can hear me! Can you talk, big guy?”

You sounded amused, not serious at all. But really—who takes a dying bot seriously?

Phase-sixer's silence said enough. He was pretty sure his voicebox still worked, but just thinking about speaking sent a shock of pain through every fried wire and scorched servo. Even twitching his neck felt like asking the universe to kick him in the spark again

Pathetic

And you seemed to realize that—your tone softened a little, your expression shifting into something almost sympathetic

“Worse than I thought, huh? But don’t worry. You’re in good hands”

Oh great, sympathy. Just what every Decepticon war veteran wants to hear while he’s flat on his back, being pitied by someone who clearly thinks “bedside manner” is a personality trait. Part of him wanted to scoff. Maybe even crack a joke. If he were feeling better, he probably would have. But he wasn’t. And he couldn’t deny… something about it—your tone, your words—actually made him feel slightly better. Warmer, somehow. Safer

Which was ridiculous

Phase-sixer, feared enforcer of the Decepticons, taking comfort from some nobody bot who'd dragged him back from the brink? If someone had told him that back in the day, he would’ve laughed in their face

Now? All he could do was lie there, lick his wounds, and hope to either recover… or die properly this time

Strange, though—he didn’t mind so much when your hand gently touched his frame, steady and reassuring, just for a moment