#Rick Sanchez x Birdperson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

d33pwithinmys0ul · 1 year ago

Text

One Shot For Pondhue Rick Sanchez x Reader Fluff

I hope this doesn't format weird, but I've been doing one shot fanfic for art trades, this is my first finished one! If you're interested go ahead and dm me but I've got lots to tackle.

I love @pondhue's art, be sure to check them out, this is what they requested, enjoy :)

“Summer!” Morty yelled up the stairs in an exasperated voice. Both his hands are clenched on the straps of his backpack. “I-I’m gonna be late for math, Mom said we have to walk together this time.”

You were cross legged on the recliner as you watched her bound down the stairs with a pink zippered pouch in hand.

“Don’t act like you give a shit about your education Morty, it’s not a good look for you.” She rolls her eyes in his direction and hands you the pouch. “You can use anything but Funny Bunny and the glitters. See you tonight!” She was out the door before you could even say thank you.

“She’s fuckin’ killing me, y/n.” Morty gave a frustrated huff. The door slams shut and you stifle a laugh.

You almost slide off of the recliner in favor of the floor, then go through Summer’s nail stuff. The polish bottles all clink against one another gently.

It was empty and quiet. The Beths and Jerry had said something about a galactic honeymoon before being cut off by disgusted groans from Rick and the kids. It was an easy job to take.

You turn on the TV for some background noise, and decide to pick your favorite color.

House sitting seemed unnecessary for the Smiths, but it would be nice to be around Rick more in light of your recent “exclusivity.” Rick’s chosen word, not yours. It was kinda sweet, you supposed.

You start with your left hand, laying it flat on the coffee table. It was fun, and soothing.

Exclusive was a nice term, you think. Not too distant, or too territorial. He respected you.

You were starting another finger when you heard the familiar warp of a portal materializing in the kitchen.

God, Rick was noisy. Every box and bottle in the fridge resounded as if he were taking inventory, he hacked and coughed every few seconds. Was he aware that you were here? Was he trying to make a point, like you had to acknowledge his presence first?

You continue without a word. Maybe you could do your toes too? Should you match, or pick another color?

Your mouth twitched as you saw him from the corner of your eye. He plopped himself down on the couch, adjacent to your spot on the floor, with a drink in his hand. He burps and changes the channel.

There was a comfortable silence, only the noise of different shows and commercials, human looking humans, nothing you’d usually see on interdimensional cable with him.

Rick drapes his arm on the back of the couch. “Y-you gonna join me?”

“In a little bit, I’m almost done,” you said.

He grunts in reply.

Why was he being so quiet, almost shy?

You finished your last finger, waving them around a little to dry. You look back up at the TV, and literal shit is being spread on a bagel.

“Jesus,” you automatically cringe and turn to Rick, “Why?”

“Poop deli,” he shrugs and takes a big swig of beer.

“That.. Is not–romantic,” you said.

He snorts but changes the channel anyway. “I didn’t realize you needed wooing right now, sweetheart.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Who said I needed it?” You say incredulously, flapping your hands to dry your nails faster. You know you looked silly and laughed a little as soon as you started.

“‘S a good color on you,” Rick almost mumbles, vaguely gesturing to the little set up of polish and remover, and all the other contents of Summer’s pouch on the coffee table.

“Thank you.” You slide the nail stuff across the table and sit on the carpet next to Rick’s foot. “Maybe you could join me?”

“On the floor?” Rick’s voice almost reflected your own earlier regarding ‘poop deli.’

“It won’t kill you,” you said. “I was hoping I could do your nails too?” You almost didn’t ask, but you were curious. Sure, Rick usually gave most things shit, but you’d like to think you were his soft spot.

“And what are you thinking, exactly?” He squints at you almost mockingly. He lowers himself smoothly onto the floor next to you.

“How about…” Your hand hovers over a few different bottles in Summers collection. “Lincoln Park After Park,” you said and handed him the bottle.

“I’m—eughhh–’m not wearing purple.” He said flatly. He places it on the table and takes another swig of beer.

“It’s basically black,” you scoffed. “I think it’s pretty. You’re lucky I don’t want to do the whole damn nail routine on you. I’m sure your cuticles are atrocious.”

Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, and rolled his eyes dramatically and splayed his large, bony hands out on the coffee table. “Before I change my mind.”

You smile with satisfaction and scoot closer to him, going from sitting to kneeling. Tall bastard. You almost get poked by his knee as he crouches in an almost frog-like position, you laugh at the look on his face as you untwist the bottle. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek right before he starts complaining.

“That is a purple tinge,” he insists, emphasizing the color.

“It’s black,” you set the bottle on the table and grab his hand. You start on his pinky finger, feeling the rough skin of his palm. “It’s not permanent, don’t be a child.”

“I’m aware of the properties of Earth nail polish,” he uses his free hand to take a swig of his beer, which almost spilled all over the carpet. “Forgive me for being a little more s–eughh-selective.”

“Earth nail polish?” You laugh. “So there’s alien versions, you mean?”

“Obviously. More durable and vibrant iterations of this shit. Think of that blackest black bullshit, but better. And it doesn’t stink. Just an obvious superiority of the wonders of the galaxy over puny mundane humanity.” His lab coat collar was wonky and he didn’t sound too serious about the last part.

“Mhm,” you said as you spaced his pinky away and moved onto his ring finger, careful not to smudge your own. “And how’d you get so familiar with galactic cosmetics?” He shrugged. “Old band days. I’ve told you about this before,” his eyebrow furrowed.

You could see a little bit of the purple tint as you finished another nail.

“Drunken rants barely count as telling me,” you said. “The Flesh Curtains,” you said with a flourishing stroke.

“Th-this, it’s the first time since then I’ve gotten my nails painted,” he said, a little surprised at himself. “Bit of bird DMT and common sense is m-euguhghh-more than enough to overcome, fuckin gender societal bullshit.” He was watching your hands, one painting, the other keeping his still. “If you paint it all over the fingertip it’ll come off in the shower. Don’t exactly shower much at Birding Man, though.”

“That’s where you guys met, right?” You asked.

“Mhm,” Rick said. “Thirty somethin’ and didn’t give much of a fuck to do shit else. Just shows and drugs and all the usual rockstar bullshit. I was young. BP gave me a guitar and we were too shitfaced to stop ourselves.”

“Bird Person doesn’t seem the musical type,” you say as you take his other hand and dip the brush into the bottle of polish. “That’s pretty cool.”

“He’s a fuckin’ genius.” He waves his free hand. “Bird planet stuff gave him a natural advantage, I think. Heavy into classical. Would’ve been a w–eughhh–waste, -i-if he never did anything with it.”

“So what kind of music did you make?” You asked, smiling. You were trying not to seem too enthusiastic. You didn’t think he’d be so willing to open up.

“Eughh–it was the eighties, I think, don’t fuckin’ remember too much. Rock, nu metal. For a bit we used an invention of mine with an algorithm that c-cal-calibrated the data from other successful rock acts across the known universe to write songs for us, bullshit like that. Didn’t work out. BP almost got us to do new-wave, n-eughh-not my cup of tea.” He takes his flask from his lab coat pocket.

“Squanchy didn’t want that either. Too hyperactive. We found him squanchin’ backstage by the drumkit when we wanted to crash the festival, so that role for him happened naturally. I don’t think you’ve met him. When we were on the road I’d have to sing him to sleep while I drove cuz BP would just pass out. If Squanchy didn’t get a goddamn lullaby he’d have to squanch to go to bed, and that was when I actually gave a shit if my ship was clean..”

“I advise you to restrain your speed. Breaking Blimmyjink highway laws will further delay our performance,” Bird Person said in his monotone voice.

“I swear to fucking god, I’ll eject you into the vast emptiness of space if you spill that goddamn beer!” Rick yelled over his shoulder while keeping his eyes on the road. He coughed and hacked before narrowly swerving around another vehicle.

They worked real hard to get a gig at the Celestes, and he wasn’t going to let shit ruin it. Rick growled a little as he forced himself to ease up on the gas pedal.

“I didn’t spill squanch!” Squanchy whined.

“Should’ve brought my damn portal gun, you stupid fucks,” he barked at the other members in the car. “U—eughh-unbelievable.” Rick had thought that a road trip-esque approach to a few of their gigs would create some type of positive relationship without too many drugs involved.

The galactic highway had too much traffic for a Thursday night, they had a shit time slot. He weaved in and out of lines of other ships and cars, speeding to get to the venue. His glass beer bottle nearly tipped over in the cup holder, before his bandmate caught it with a feathered hand.

“You’re in distress,” BP observed.

“You deserve a medal,” Rick muttered.

“What seems to be the issue?” Bird Person persisted.

“We need time t-to set up. No fuckin’ brainer. Even with the damn Band in a Box mechanism every .5 seconds counts in this GODDAMN TRAFFIC!” Rick yelled and honked his horn.

The driver in front of him extended a tentacle out of their window.

“Is he flipping me off?” Rick asked, glancing at his cat-like drummer in the back seat.

“Nah, he’s just giving you the squanch. Could be way worse, Rick.” Squanchy replied before chugging the rest of his drink, his feet kicked up on the drivers seat.

“Paws down asshole, you’ll sing yourself to sleep tonight,” Rick said through gritted teeth.

“Your voice is slightly hoarser than usual.” Bird Person said. “Perhaps your agitated state is creating strain on your physical health.”

“Only by 20.8%, which literally d-eughh-doesn’t matter,” Rick quipped. “This is a really important show, you know that.”

BP rifled through his satchel made of leaves and other stupid shit Rick didn’t see the point in before. He pulled out an unusually large acorn.

“It is infused with healing syrups and herbs from my home planet. I insist.” He handed it to him when they slowed to a stop at a light. “It may soothe you.”

“What-am-am I supposed to eat this like an apple?” Rick's eyebrow arched before glancing back at the road.

“If by apple you imply a hand sized, edible food source–”

“Whatever,” Rick grumbled and took the acorn begrudgingly.

“Thank you for giving me your trust,” his bandmate replied.

The show at the Celestes had been a hit. It helped them book other gigs–turns out there were some good connections to make on a random Thursday night. Rick wasn’t on vocals that show, but he felt a lot better. He got so drunk that he crowd surfed and shit his pants in a broom closet.

“We ended up having a p-pretty decent sized fan base on Blimmyjink even after we disbanded. Pers didn’t neutralize any of the tannins in that acorn, though,” Rick said with a laugh. “Tasted like shit.”

You were almost done with his second hand, almost wishing you could stall so he wouldn’t stop talking.

It was really nice of him to speak more about his past, considering Rick wasn’t very comfortable with his backstory, or a lot of what happened before he and Morty moved to this dimension. You could tell he was really trying.

“That seems really fun. It would be nice to meet Squanchy sometime.” You put away the polish and rubbed his shoulder. “I didn’t realize you and BP had been so close. He doesn’t seem like the type to paint his nails.”

Rick scoffs. “Yeah, no thanks to me. They wanted to be lame and go onstage as they were, like f-fuckin’ Weezer or something. It was fun styling everyone. I had pierced ears back then too, we were so fuckin’ drunk–shit was lopsided.”

He rolled his eyes and pressed a button on his watch, careful not to smudge his nail.

A little holo projection appeared of an old picture you’d seen before. Rick, Bird Person, and Squanchy on stage. Fire effects erupting by the drumset, Bird Person with his wings displayed powerfully behind him, Rick lost in thought as his face contorted while striking the strings of his instrument.

“Wow, yeah. You guys look amazing,” you try not to giggle a little at Rick’s get up. You hadn’t seen it in detail like this before— spiked leather bracelets, a skull on his belt buckle, the loosest, skinniest tank top that was as far away from his chest as possible, and a choker around his neck. Jesus Christ. What a choice, what a man.

“Clearly I was the o-eughh-only one that actually looked good,” Rick said with a wink. “But it was some good shit. We never made any money doing it. But we had some good memories.”

Rick's hands were both free as the nails dried, so he used them more as he talked. “That time in my life w-was a goddamn free for all. I trusted BP for no good reason when I’d been bitter and angry for years. We all almost wrote a whole album that night, after Birding Man, but Squanchy drunk pissed all over my equipment and we lost the files.”

“And drunk Rick didn’t waterproof his stuff back then?” You ask dubiously.

“I–eughh–I think I can say I was a lesser man back then.” He said with a shrug.

“Do you miss it?” You ask.

“Loose shirts, shittier tech, different mindset back then. I don’t regret it, but I was...just running from a lot of shit. It was escapism. Every musician is disturbed, art is mental illness, whatever bullshit you wanna . I-I think I needed it.” He said fondly. “I’m a little less likely to do donuts in a Blimmyjink parking lot these days.”

The TV hums quietly in the background and you take in the natural pause.

You take his hand cautiously, admiring the fit of yours with his, the new polish on your nails. “Thank you for giving me your trust.”

He brings his palm to your cheek and kisses your forehead.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #oneshot #fluff #flesh curtains rick #trade #birdperson

206 notes · View notes