*I don't own Rick and morty or it's characters
I wrote this for someone in Tumblr, and thought it was too sweet not to share. This is a Doofus X Reader fic. Never thought I'd write one of these, but I did, so here it is.
You'd told him that today wasn't a good day for you considering you had spent the whole night tossing and turning and woke up sniffling and achy. Oh great, just what you needed, another reason to yell at the universe for making your life hell. He did that thing with his eyebrow, you know when he was thinking too hard for his own good. You tried to gently, but firmly tell him he shouldn't get too close or he might catch your cold, but he insisted on taking care of you, which was how you ended up under a comfy duvet in the living room couch watching as Bob Ross was painting happy little clouds on TV.
You groaned, complaining about the little crack in the ceiling you had just noticed. Ugh, sick days made you silly. Prattling on about the car fire you saw a few days ago, and why beards were sometimes sexy, you wondered why such a patient, kind man would ever put up with you. You were sometimes funny, your hair looked great at the worst of times, and you ate 37 pizza rolls once, but nothing would compare to the man who had cured cancer for fun. Still, Zeta-7 found you wonderful, and amusing, your childish bouts one of the things he liked about you.
From the kitchen came the sounds of pots and pans being moved, the opening and closing of drawers, and a dropped spoon. You told him that men who cooked were hot, and he laughed nervously, which caused more cutlery to fall to the floor. His laughter seemed to fill up the house, reminding you of the days when dad was still alive and would crack jokes about the little pot roast that could. Hmm, if dad were around, he'd tell you your boyfriend was a little too old for you, but he'd like him. Why, they would've bonded over books and gardening, considering dad was the best plant guy around a while back.
You almost missed what Zeta-7 asked when he came back to the living room. His voice sounded foggy to your clogged head, but his smile, that smile could make any bad day better. In his hands was a plate of brownies, in the other hand a cup of tea. It was bitter, but you weren't allowed to eat any of those fudgy pieces of goodness until you drank it. With one arm wrapped around you, it was his subtle way of closing the gap between you.
Calloused fingers brushed away strands of hair away from your forehead, a blush coloring him. His touch, light, but careful, he treated you like a treasure. Your lips found his, the gasp which escaped him made him all the more adorable. As shy as you were, you knew what you wanted, and you wanted him. This relationship of yours, as quirky as it had been, was worth the gaps of awkwardness, those moments of hesitance, of patience, because he added a little meaning to your simple life.
You leaned into him, the softness of his sweater tempting you to want to stay there forever. Rubbing your back, he told you about the benefits of tea and their healing properties, and you listened. Soon, the world, your complaints, and nostalgia faded away as slumber took over. Perhaps you were dreaming when you heard the soft sounds of humming, or the sweet compliments he paid you, but you'd never mistake the feeling that was there. The warmth of him around you, of the presence which filled the house.
Sometimes, you did miss the good old days, but with him, you felt like as if the two of you together could build up a better tomorrow. Safe and sound, in his lanky arms, you hoped you could feel like this forever.
