#btw i assumed you meant tfp starscream

[transformers-spike]

Consider: StarScream x human who thinks they're not good enough for him because of how different they r physically even if they do love him to death (this can be SFW or NSFW, same amount of drama tbh)

This got pretty damn sad. It has a good deal of angst and a bit of spice, plus a hurt/comfort element to it. Anyway, Starscream is trying his best

You don’t deserve him. Quite frankly, you don’t deserve anyone. You’re meek, untalented and homely. Among others of your kind, you are below average in everything, and the least qualified in your position. It was a stroke of luck, or rather an attempt to self-destruct through entertaining contact with metal titans. Some idiotic part of you thought it would quell the pain in your chest after your disillusionment with the US government. They promised you altruism, said you could accomplish great things for the population, take care of the less fortunate, protect those neglected by the system and take the new generation under your wing while guiding them towards a brighter future. You were a fool for believing their silver lies, but was it so wrong to dream of a world where you mattered in the eyes of the powers that be? To think that, if only for a moment, there was something greater looking out for everyone’s well-being? Evidently, you were wrong.

Starscream was the one who saw potential in you, however small. He noticed your fancy government badge that didn’t mean shit to you anymore and decided you were a good fit for his newest project. With enough classified documents under your belt to qualify as a government risk, you were considered a good fit to aid them in infiltrating and dismantling the very structure providing the Autobots with invaluable aid.

It didn’t take much convincing, you had already given up on a position you’d worked your whole life towards, and after what you witnessed at the top, you would do anything to get back at the very same people leaving others to die just to line their own pockets with money. Maybe that was what brought you close in the first place; a shitty boss pretending to support a cause he didn’t believe in, mistreating his subordinates on a whim, berating others for minor mistakes until they cracked under the pressure. In the beginning, Starscream regarded you with poorly hidden contempt, no different from your human superiors. But little by little, through mutual exhaustion, he’s begun to begrudgingly view you as a competent collaborator. Dedicated to a fault, you’ve worked your ass off providing the requested information to your titans to drown out the fear eating at your brain, warning you of your imminent demise at their hands. But what could you do? Life traded you one anxiety for another, and at least the threat they posed was physical, no hidden motivations to look out for under a veneer of kindness. Simple, but effective. Entertaining a workplace relationship with the likes of a giant metal alien wasn’t expected by any means, but you’ve accepted it quickly under uncertain circumstances. There was no proper time to contemplate your actions, much less take a hard look at your situation and rebuke yourself for taking everything in stride. Survival was talking, and there was no questioning it with your head on the chopping block and someone as elegant as him offering respite. He always seems on edge, stiff and analytical. His sharp optics observing those under his command, taking account of their body language, the subtlest reactions, and adapting his management accordingly. It’s no secret you admire him for it. When you first complimented him to his face, he seemed outright baffled, only to quickly recover and brush it off in his typical self-assured tone. 

He latches onto praise so easily, clinging onto your every word despite his rebuttals. It’s only natural you give him what he deserves. After being terrorized by the tyrant for eons, it’s the best you can offer him, no matter how meagre. “Interfacing” is… complicated to say the least, disregarding the major size difference. Your little trysts are kept a tight-lipped secret, and for that you are grateful; you would rather not tarnish his hard-earned reputation. He’s the one doing most of the touching, careful digits ghosting over flesh, shiny metal mesh pristine next to the moles and stretch marks staining your greasy skin. Occasionally, he presses his intake between your legs and pleasures you until you’re shaking. You don’t deserve it, yet he offers it in spades, stroking his beautiful spike in tandem with his talented glossa. Sometimes you get to do more; to bring your mouth to his anterior node and work his delicate valve until he overloads around your hand, a beautiful cyan turned purple under the red glow of his biolights. 

You’re so lucky to be around him, to see his softer side; optics half-lidded, wings reclined behind his back, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips; completely at ease in your presence. What makes you so special to him? You’ve asked him innumerable times and received little more than an eye roll and an order to stop wasting your energy on such trash. Is it really your fault? Your mind’s pointing out the obvious. He is sleek and elegant while you are little more than vermin in his presence. The thoughts have consumed you to a point y our work has started to suffer; acceptable results have become mediocre or downright terrible.

The seconds are ticking by. He has mentioned intending to “discuss” your recent drop in performance, and the mere notion of it makes you sick to your stomach. You brace yourself for disappointment, for the end of your ambiguous liaison, be it under blaster fire or a simple permanent dismissal from his habsuite. You’re sitting down, twiddling your thumbs, head hanging low awaiting your executioner's method. When he enters the room, your heart clenches in your chest, yet you do not dare meet his gaze. It only seems to enrage him further, he's already beaten down after a long day of dealing with the likes of Megatron. “Human,” he sneers, familiar disdain oozing from his voice. “Cease this needless self-pitying festivity at once!” “Or what?” you say numbly. Your uncharacteristic interruption stops him in his tracks, optics scanning your blank expression. “Are you going to end me now? After you’ve invested so much in this human fuck up?" you thumb at yourself. "Do it. It’s not like I’ve made any real progress anyway.” He furrows his optical ridge, contempt sketched into a sneer. “Alright. I see you are in no state to cooperate,” he responds, deceptively calm. He leans down to your height and offers you his servo. When you don’t climb in he lets out a furious ex-vent and grabs you. Eye to optic, dizzy from the sudden manhandling you should have grown accustomed to by now, you make no effort hiding the misery underlining the dark circles under your eyes. “If you wished to discuss such a trivial subject, then you should have brought it forth after my shift,” he thrusts a razor-sharp digit at your chest. “Trivial, huh?” You tilt your head for sarcastic emphasis. He sucks in a deep in-vent. “You have a single klik to speak your mind.” “Oh? 8.3 minutes? How awfully generous of you, Commander,” you mock, intending to waste every single second digging a grave to lie in. He looks just about ready to punt you out of an airlock when… “Why do you feel so inadequate?” The question feels like having a bowling ball dropped on your head. “What?” “Must I repeat myself?” he hisses.

You pause, struggling to collect the words on your tongue. Each time you think you find the right answer, it dissolves right at the tip of your palette. Eventually, you give up and gesture at yourself in defeat. “Because look at me !” you snarl. “You’re… everything while I’m nothing compared to you!” He leans back, his anger at your outburst soon eclipsed by an odd (if not somewhat begrudging) sympathy. “You’re a human,” he points out matter-of-factly. “Is that not enough of a value indicator? Out of all the fleshbags scurrying around your planet, you are uniquely easy on the optics, rather tolerable and, might I add, competent in your field.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “But you could have gone for another Cybertronian. If we’re so inferior, why-” “Have you even met any of my subordinates?” he snaps. “If the crew had been different and the circumstances allowed it, maybe I would have entertained the notion. But I would rather tear out my audio receptors than be with the likes of them .” He shudders. He gingerly presses a claw to your cheek. “You’re worthy of my presence. There. Gratified? You should be,” he grumbles. You pull his digit into a hug and proceed to bawl your eyes out.