Just Us [Rick Sanchez x Female Reader]

~Chapter 2~

Rick Sanchez? He sounded awfully familiar.

He looked at you, with the same familiar look. You look him up and down, as he does the same. If it wasn't for Morty, it may have never ended.

"H-hey grandpa Rick! T-This is [Y/N] [L/N]. Sh-she's my tutor I w-was telling you about." You offer your hand. Rick took it, hesitantly, as if afraid you were part of some government.

Ha! As if.

Rick shrugged. "It's at the end of the hall. Might want a change of clothes whi- UrrrRrP! -while your at it." He flicked his hand at you, as if dissmising you.

"I'll be in the garage if y- Urp! -you need anything. Don't think I'd willingly help you, though."

Welp.

Rick laughs at your annoyance. He then walks off to, as you assume, his garage. You roll your eyes and get up from the seat, walk down the hall, and approach the last door. Just as you're about to open it, a hologram emits from the handle, startling the bloody shit out of you. You yelp, and jump back.

"Ah, you poor- UrRrP! -thing. Didn't mean to scare you." A hologram of Sanchez says. "I installed this into the door, and connected it to this watch." He tapped the screen of his watch, causing the hologram of his finger tapping an unveiwed object. "I just figured it would be Jerry sneaking in to steal god knows what."

You laugh, and he does too, on the other end.

...That laugh...

"Hah. Anyway, just don't touch my shit, you hear me?" He said, going from joking to serious in a split second.

"I won't." You promise, putting your hand in a salute. "I sincerely promise nothing catastrophic will happen."

He chuckles, and turns it off. You turn the door handle.

You see gadgets laying around, and some alcoholic beverages on a nightstand. To a more normal person, this would be amazing. But for you, it's just like home. You sit on his bed, thrown in the middle of the room.

I know him from somewhere.

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind. The alcohol, the tendency to be quite the jerk...

Ah-Hah!

Aside from working as a tutor, you have a job working as a bartender, and many people come and go. Rick Sanchez was one of them. He possibly visted the bar most often.

He even slipped me his number once.

You blush a bit, and flop yourself on his bed. You were exhausted, and a quick nap wouldn't do any harm. You yawn, stretch, and get under the bed comforter, falling asleep moments after your head lands on the pillow.