Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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

.
.

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 Servo kept working away on this pathetic excuse for a bot.

.
.

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 saw. How’re 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

Chapter Text

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” you muttered

“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”

Chapter Text

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.

1. he passed the mess table
2. he was at the nav console’s edge
3. 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”

“For what, exactly?”

“Emotional instability. Poor decision-making. Attempted murder”

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 splutte

“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

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