The Garage Girl

Rick Sanchez x Female Reader Fanfic

This is the whole fic... 65k words in 1 lump.

I  just broke it up into chapters but I wont delete this.

Curiosity and Tension

You'd been showing up at the Smith house for months now, toolbox in hand, grease already smudged across your cheek before you even stepped into the garage. At first it was just curiosity. You'd spotted that ridiculous,  spaceship-car parked in the driveway like it had lost a fight with physics itself, and you couldn't help but walk up and ask the wild-haired old man leaning against it what the hell it ran on.

Rick, of course, had burped, taken a long swig from his flask, and answered with something so scientifically unhinged it made your brain itch in the best way. One conversation turned into a late-night repair session, which turned into you tagging along on a quick "errand" to another dimension, which turned into... well. This.

The family knew you now. Beth tolerated you with a tired smile and a quiet "thank you for keeping him busy." Summer rolled her eyes but secretly liked that you could keep up with Rick's bullshit. Morty just looked relieved someone else was around to absorb some of the chaos. Jerry tried to be friendly and failed spectacularly every time.

Tonight the garage was dimly lit by the glow of half-finished inventions and the soft blue light of some of Rick's inventions on the workbench. You were underneath the Space Cruiser tightening something that probably shouldn't be tightened by human hands, when you heard a familiar shuffle and the clink of glass.

"Thought you'd bailed, by now," Rick's gravelly voice drawled. He leaned against the workbench, lab coat open, turquoise shirt stained with who-knows-what. His eyes flicked over you—slow, appreciative, the way they always did when he thought you weren't looking.

You slid out from under the car, wiping your hands on a rag. "And miss drinking with the smartest asshole in the multiverse? Not a chance."

A crooked smirk tugged at his lips. He tossed you a beer from the cooler that definitely contained more than just beer. You caught it one-handed.

The two of you had fallen into a rhythm. You helped him tinker. He took you on adventures that usually ended with you both covered in alien goo or running from something with too many teeth. Afterward you'd sit right here—on a ratty old couch that you had brought over weeks ago —drinking until the multiverse felt a little less heavy.

Tonight felt different, though. The air was thicker. Rick had been watching you more than usual while you worked, eyes dark and half-lidded.

You cracked the beer and took a long pull, then walked over and leaned beside him. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind, Rick? Or are we pretending you're not staring at my ass while I'm under the hood again?"

Rick snorted a laugh that turned into a burp. "You're getting cocky. I like it." He reached out, long fingers brushing a streak of grease from your jaw. The touch lingered. "Been thinking... you keep coming back. Most people run. You? You stick around. Fix my shit. Drink my booze. Survive my bullshit."

You tilted your head, heart picking up speed. "That a problem?"

"Nah." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Kinda the opposite."

Before you could overthink it, Rick pulled you in by the front of your shirt and kissed you—messy, tasting like vodka and everything chaotic about him. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers threading into that wild blue hair you'd wanted to grab for months.

He pushed you back against the workbench, hands roaming with surprising confidence for a man who usually acted like emotions were a glitch. "You sure about this?" he muttered against your mouth, even as his fingers slipped under your shirt.