I Need A Swerve - Tumblr Posts
Hello! I was wondering if you could write something for Swerve w/ a human fem s/o who helps him around in his bar? Like she has a bit of trouble since, well, she’s small™️ but she has a lot of energy and never takes no for an answer haha. Hope this made sense, love ur writing and have a nice day/night!!!
I sort of went a bit off script for this 'cause I like comedy and I like men/mechs that cannot handle romantic attention. Thank you for the kind words, I hope you have a nice day/night too <3 Thanks for the request :)
Warnings: SFW, GN Human reader
You push as hard as you can, digging your heels into the bar top. Your legs shake from effort, the surface your back strains against barely budging against your strength.
“Do you require assistance?” Ultra Magnus’ voice, a little confused, and a little concerned, comes from the other side of the glass of engex you have been attempting to move.
“Nope! This is for you by the way,” you mock salute with a grin, satisfied at the distance you had crossed.
Ultra Magnus raises a servo to the drink, politely declining. You have half the mind to be upset after putting in all that work to get it over here, but you let it go as it’s not typical for the mech to be in Swerve’s at all.
Looking behind you before leaning in, Ultra Magnus speaks in hushed tones, “I understand this establishment is typically understaffed. However, organics working without consent and pay is illegal, as stated on-”
“Woah, wait a minute. You know I’m doing this for fun, right?” You cut Ultra Magnus off, the smile gone from your face.
“Uh… Right! Yes, I was aware of that.” He looks anywhere but at you, “Just… an attempt at humor.”
“Right…” Well, this situation is officially awkward.
Luckily, Swerve drops in, just in time to save you the mortification of continuing the conversation.
“Ahah! How’s my favorite law-abiding bot doin’?” Swerve addresses the blue bot as he scoops you up in his servo, settling you on one broad shoulder, “Can I getcha anything?”
Ultra Magnus nods a greeting, “No thank you, I was just leaving.” Not leaving room for any other conversation, he gets up and leaves while you and Swerve watch.
Once the big mech has disappeared from sight, you take the time to throw your arms as best you can around Swerve’s helm. It’s probably been less than an hour since you last saw him, but you blame the clearly lacking entertainment for the time dragging on.
One of Swerve’s servos is still cradled around where you sit on his shoulder, pressing you into his helm as you embrace what you can.
“Did I interrupt something? Sorry if I did.” He sighs apologetically, grabbing the glass Ultra Magnus left behind to dump out or give to a patron who is more than willing to drink someone else’s unfinished energon.
“Only Ultra Magnus throwing away all my hard work.” You pout, kissing the side of Swerve’s face.
His jaw goes slack at the action, the white under his visor turning a few shades closer to energon. You pull back and admire your work, knowing underneath that blue visor, he’s avoiding eye contact at all costs for the sake of not going unresponsive.
Regaining some of his composure he walks with you towards the sink, presumably to wash the glass after draining its contents. Wordlessly, he pours the engex down the drain, careful not to move too much and potentially drop you.
“I-I’m really happy you help around, even if you can’t do much. Not that you don’t help! You do! Just- Thank you for helping.” Poor Swerve’s blush only worsens as he stumbles through his words, his servos fidgeting around the glass as he washes it.
“I’m happy to do what little I can,” you start, and Swerve offers a warm smile before you continue, “Though sometimes it is hard, the view ain’t half bad.” Punctuating your terrible attempt at flirting with a wink, you hop down from Swerve’s shoulder and onto the sink’s rim.
You push the faucet off with fairly minimal effort compared to many of the other tedious tasks you’ve completed in this bar and turn back to Swerve.
If his face was tinted before by blush, now it’s full blown covered. His mouth is wide open, and he drops the glass. It promptly shatters, and Swerve goes down with it with a resounding crash.
Peering over the edge of the counter, you see your poor Swerve, knocked straight out.
From somewhere across the bar, you hear a certain helicopter shout, “Stop flirting with the bartender, fleshy! You know he can’t handle it!”