#puppymort.inbox

[puppymort]

Fic about morty being suggestive to rick around their family?

ricks weird around everyone. he puts his hands on his daughters waist, kisses his granddaughter on the top of her lip, holds his grandson by the hip… it’s not out of the ordinary for him. what is out of the ordinary, however, is morty sitting suspiciously close to rick during family movie night. typically he sits at the end of the couch, and it’s not uncommon for the two to be seated next to each other—but morty is practically (almost literally) on his grandpas lap. summers watching awkwardly, not sure if she should say something… usually when they’re being freakishly emotionally incestous, she rips them a new one. but that’s because they aren’t /meaning/ to be that way. this looks intentional. rick’s got his arm around the couch, so it’s not directly on morty, that’s not weird, right? not at all. beth fights against her own instincts, tells herself that this is just how families bond, and who is she to tell her father he’s doing a bad job when he’s clearly doing better than he was with her.

morty creeps a little closer, finally, until he’s curled up against his side and his legs are overlapping rick’s. morty blinks innocent up at him, smiles a sweet little kid smile, opens his mouth and, “grandpa, can i have some popcorn?”

“what’re you asking me for? i dont care.” rick reaches over and pulls the popcorn bowl near morty. morty blinks, looks unsatisfied.

“no, feed it to me,” he says, so casual.

“sure, whatever. since your hands are nonexistent, it seems.” rick rolls his eyes and holds the popcorn in the palm of his hand. morty eats it, like a bunny eating lettuce. he makes sure to lick rick’s fingers clean, suck on them for a little too long. rick’s breath hitches. face grows red. he pulls away after morty’s sucked his third digit into his mouth. “that’s enough.” he coughs out.

the family ends the movie early, partially because it was boring, partially because they were tired of watching morty eye-fuck grandpa.

rick stands, stretches, makes an ugly noise as his joints pop. morty watches him, hungry.

beth says goodnight, jerry’s fully asleep on the arm-chair. no one wakes him. rick turns to pace his way back to his room and morty stops him, doesn’t care that his mom is raising an eyebrow, or that summer stops in her tracks up the stairs to take a peek at them. “im tired, grandpa.” he yawns, stretches and then lunges himself forward, wraps his arms around rick’s middle.

“then go to sleep,” rick groans, trying to pull morty off of him.

morty lights up. “here?” he pokes rick’s ribs, which in turn gets him a not-so-playful shove.

“no, dumbass. go to your room. quit bothering me.”

“but i want to sleep with you.” morty pouts, now rubbing his crotch against rick’s leg. rick feels his boner. eyes grow wide. he instantly pushes morty behind himself, trying to cover it up.

“okay, morty, whatever, come on.”

that wakes jerry. “uh..honey?” beth looks mortified. but even she knows that she doesn’t have the parental skills to handle whatever it is that’s happening right now. “okay. you two have fun.” she doesn’t speak another word. she knows the look of her father when he’s going to make a bad decision. even more, she knows the look of her stupid, aroused son. whatever they were doing, she wanted no part…

[puppymort]

I would do so much to have Rick as an apologetic pathetic guilt ridden grandpa with terrible impulses only to have Morty, his ‘innocent’ grandson enable it.

A lot of people enjoy the whole nonconsensual aspect with Morty but fuuuuckkk can you imagine if Morty purposely got Rick drunk, had sex with him, enjoyed himself, and Rick is having a crisis afterwards? Only to become seduced into it thinking that his grandson is the love of his life? His soulmate? Becoming more and more Morty whipped as time progresses?

Morty being downright possessive and codependent because Rick is the only person he has? Disregarding any accountability for his actions like his dear grandpa taught him over the years on their adventures.

I LOVE THIS.

rick thinks it’s a normal night, he’s asking morty to bring him his flask and of course morty listens, he’s always been good at that: listening. he doesn’t question it when morty brings him twice the amount of what he’d ask for. his flask, two beers… it’s night-time, it doesn’t really matter anyway, does it? he’ll wake up a little hung-over, sure, but it’s not like he’s got anything planned tomorrow. and he’s never been one to turn down alcohol. he doesn’t question it when morty doesn’t leave—instead sits right by rick’s cot, fidgeting with his hands and looking suspicious—but then again he always looks that way. nervous. twitchy. waiting for instructions like a lapdog. this isn’t out of the ordinary. rick says something, finally, after an hour has passed and morty hasn’t caught the hint that he should leave; “aren’t you tired?” and morty shakes his head. he offers rick something stronger now. rick isn’t sure where he’s getting this sudden zest for drunk-grandpa but he doesn’t hate it. he’s getting drunk for free, after all. (Although, is it really free if it’s coming from the kitchen, and most of the items ((especially the alcohol)) are stocked by him?) rick downs the stronger-without-a-name bottle and lays back against his cot. his head is pounding, space around him getting dizzy.

morty breathes deep, just watches him for a few minutes… then he crawls over, refuses to make eye contact. “are you drunk?” he leans over, a reminder that he’s a teenage boy and doesn’t know what being drunk really looks like. “What kind of question is that? Yes, Morty, im drunk. Get out.” and morty doesn’t listen. and he usually listens so well. “im cold, grandpa.”

“Then get out and get warm in your own room.”

“You’re warm.”

rick looks over, tense… morty is closer, eyes nervous and half-lidded. morty whispers something, rick groans. pulls himself closer to hear. “i like you, grandpa, i really really like you,”

“thanks, buddy, you’re… tolerable, too.” rick breaks eye contact. tries not to show how utterly mortified he is of morty being this close to him. even the smartest man in the universe can admit when he has a weakness—and his weakness is morty. especially morty when he’s trying so hard to get warm under him, and confessing some sort of platonic…love for him. hopefully platonic. hopefully not platonic. one of those made him a sick man for wanting it. morty makes his way up under rick’s arm and moves up until he’s straddling him. “i like you…” morty whispers again. this time flushed and red.

rick’s breath hitches immediately, “oh, morty—no—“ but morty is already grinding down on rick’s cock and breathing hot air so much that the room starts to hear up. “please let me have this,” morty croaks, like he could cry.

“don’t cry,” rick bites at his lip, his own face is flushed now. all he can think is how beautiful morty looks like this—how he wishes so bad he could have him this way all the time. and why can’t he? what exactly is stopping him? this false reality where you can’t fuck your grandson just because your daughter—oh, yeah, he is a terrible, terrible man. still, the booze inside him speak a language that has been clawing and begging to come out for ages. and he’s losing the morality battle. “You’re cute like that,” rick smiles, dumb-founded. morty nearly smiles, he’s almost there when rick flips him over and now he’s on top of morty. “ive been waiting…to do something like this for a long time, Junebug.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Because I wasn’t sure that you wanted it.”

“I’m sure.”

rick is positive, now, that morty is in love with him and every single fantasy of his rings true. every quick glance was full of love. every tear shed was frustration that his morty felt he couldn’t have his grandpa in this way. and by god, he was more than happy to help ease the intense feelings of finally getting what he—what they both wanted. what they both want. morty wants it, even more than rick does, surely. how long has his grandson been pining for him? as long as rick has? yes, that has to be the case. there’s no other way.

rick pauses momentarily. “I’ll be back, ive got—“

“No! No, please don’t go. Please stay. Stay here. Stay. Please, Rick, please?”

“Jesus, okay, yeah, kiddo.”

morty blinks away tears and wraps his legs around rick’s middle, brings him back down and hugs his neck tight. “you can’t ever leave, not ever.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“You don’t keep promises.”

“That’s why I don’t make them. But im making one now. And I mean it.”

of course rick fucks morty. of course he fucks him through his crying, pets him over and over and kisses his face so softly the entire time. of course he hugs morty close when he falls asleep, thighs sticky and wet.

rick wakes up, a tangled morty wrapped around him. he breathes in heavy, eyes darting across the room, trying to process what happened last night. “oh christ,” he knows exactly what’s happened. he gave into those disgusting desires that had been making their home inside him for so, so long. but morty shifts, opens his eyes and smiles that sweet-little smile at him and the guilt washes away so easily. morty loves him, so it’s okay. that’s all that matters…

[puppymort]

Shipping or not Rick is partaking in emotional incest. Genuinely, everything he does canonically is a form of emotional incest basically abuse.

Acting as if Rickorty isn’t heavily implicated (negatively) is ignorance. Shippers making it positive is really not that big of a deal given the grand scheme of the series.

leaving this here because i agree

[puppymort]

Could you do a small fic about bladder control? Sorry if this is an odd request lol but i think morty would like the feeling and rick would enjoy the control over morty

HI NOT ODD AT ALL i love bodily fluids. i love pee and vomit. please feel free to ask me for anything gross always

it’s just a quick trip to the convenience store, he could hold it, he was sure. rick needed batteries. he always needed batteries. why hasn’t he invented something that can create batteries yet? the pace to the car was fine, his bladder was completely under control. the drive there was bumpy, sure, but nothing crazy. rick didn’t specify how far they’d actually be going. morty started to panic once they passed the final of the third con-stores near their house. “rick, how far are we going?” morty watched through the window, tried not to sound too nervous. rick didn’t even look his way before responding. “space. where else? i need good batteries, not the cheap, low grade shit that earth stores sell.” morty’s face contorted into that of fear, then rested into calm as he reassured himself they’d be back fast. nothing to be worried about.

he was wrong about that, of course. they were an entire hour into driving and there were no signs of stopping anytime soon. his bladder was full and it was starting to get uncomfortable—mostly. when he shifted a certain way, his pajama pants would rub against him in a really, really nice way. and when he pushed the piss right against his bladder, ready to burst, and then sucked it back inside himself, well, that felt even better. rick noticed his shifting, and, after confirming that he wasn’t masturbating, he said something. “what’s wrong with you?” eyebrows raised, expression void of any real concern. “n—nothing. shut up.” morty snapped back, having been pulled out of his trance… rick looks confused, now, because that was unwarranted, even for morty. “alright, what is it, spit it out. you’re shifting like crazy. do—do you need to pee? do you want a—a piss eating caterpillar?” he started to rummage through his glove compartment, but morty grabbed his wrist and stopped him. “no! no. it feels..good..” he mumbled.

“good?” rick looked disgusted. just for a second. only for a second. “good..?” he asked again, to no one, really. just talking to himself. “it feels good?”

“christ, yes! it feels good! leave me alone!” morty’s face flushed red. he stopped his moving and averted his gaze from ricks.

rick parked the car. morty jumped at the sudden halt. “why’d you stop?”

rick gave no time for explanation. he unbuckled morty’s seatbelt and brought him over into his lap, trying not to be handsy, failing miserably. “it feels good, huh?” morty nodded, slow. unsure where this was going. “does it feel good when I do this…” rick pressed his palm down onto morty’s bladder and morty arched back, covered his mouth before he yelped. “jesuschrist, yes,”

“yeah?” rick grinned, holding onto morty’s waist now. “the drive back home is pretty long…and there aren’t any bathrooms in the store, im sure of that. you’re gonna have to hold it, kiddo.” he said that, right as he pushed down unkindly hard on morty’s bladder. a little piss fought its way out and trickled down morty’s pajama pants. just a little. “you’re ready to burst, look at that…”

“please, god,”

“ill give you two options: ready?” morty nodded, dazed, just wanting to relieve himself (even though it felt incredible).

“you can piss yourself right now, or you can wait until we’re back home—no, you don’t get a change of clothes.”

morty hit his lip. tears welled up in his eyes. he couldn’t hold it for another two and a half hours, not a chance in hell. he wasn’t going to piss himself either, though. at least, he thought he wasn’t. his bladder had other plans. he couldn’t help it when his underwear slowly got soaked in urine, and then that urine spilled its way out of his pants, and created a warm, wet puddle on his grandpa’s lap. “fuck, sorry..” he groaned.

“don’t be sorry, you did what i asked you to.” rick rubbed morty’s back, like consoling a distressed toddler.

morty sniffled, buried his face in rick’s chest. half out of love, half out of embarrassment. but, even as embarrassed as he was, he was sure he wanted to do that again. maybe even a little rougher next time…

[puppymort]

calling ur bf ur dad is lowkey based as fuck...

THANK YOU!!!! :D when we started dating i asked him what i should call him, and he said dad, because you’re supposed to call things what they are. his fatherly charm captivates me…

[puppymort]

Fujoshi Summer shipping her brother with her grandpapa

so obsessed with this!

no one pays attention to summer. moms always at work, or drunk out of her mind and asleep half the day, jerry is ‘job hunting’ if that’s what you call begging people for money, morty is always out doing something with rick. she just fades into the background most of the time. so it makes sense that morty doesn’t notice his sister watching him watch rick—he hasn’t taken his eyes off him for at least twenty minutes. she paces over, takes a seat on the couch next to him and ever so casually asks, “why haven’t you made a move yet?”

morty freezes, slowly turns to face her. “what..?” he asks, disgust lining his tone. tension fills him and she can feel the hostility between them now. which is unfair, she feels, because it’s not like he’s exactly hiding his pining for rick. he’s following him like a dog all day everyday.

summer rolls her eyes. “you know, ask him out or something. tell him you like him. he’s going to fuck you, seriously, you’re holding back for no reason.” straightforward, yeah, but she’s been wanting to say something for ages—frankly they’ve been like her own personal television show. rick gently brushes morty’s arm and he’s melting. morty sneezes and rick is melting. rick shoves morty out of the way and morty’s melting. morty asks for help and rick’s melting. their interactions are always interesting, especially because they don’t have any idea that they’re being watched. so it’s completely authentic.

“what the fuck, summer?” morty’s nose sinches up, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. “that’s disgusting!”

“oh my god, morty, please don’t play high and mighty right now. ive seen your porn history, you watch so much incest porn your computer should be on a fucking watchlist.”

“why are you going through my computer?”

“you leave it out in the open and you’re gone almost all day. don’t act surprised. if you really cared you’d make your password something other than the year you were born, idiot.”

morty melts into the couch, covers his face with his hands. this is humiliating. “why are you so okay with this? this isn’t normal. you should be lecturing me. telling me this is gross—something. i don’t know. feels weird that my sister is trying to set me up with my grandpa. and it feels weirder that im not against it…”

summer groans, decides that she’s going to have to take initiative here, like she often does. she waves rick over, and he comes fast. must be bored. usually he’d tell her to fuck off.

“grandpa, morty wants you to stick your tongue down his throat. there you go. you’re welcome. thank me later.”

morty’s face turns bright red. he jumps up off the couch, stands above his sister now. “summer! what the fuck! why would you say that?” he tries to cover up the fact that she’s right by acting like he’s surprised, but rick is no idiot.

“yeah, sure.” he says, all too casual. that’s where summer gets it from, probably.

“summer! i hate you i hate you i hate you!” morty turns away from them both, embarrassed, ashamed, a little aroused but he’d dwell on that later.

rick rolls his eyes. “be nice to your sister. you think this is news to me? im not a dumbass, morty, i can tell when someone’s eye-fucking me. you, on the other hand, are terrible at picking up hints. don’t hate your sister for pushing you to get what you want.”

morty sniffles, teary eyed, wanting to curl up and die. at the very most he thought summer would tease him about it every now and then, not completely out him. he couldn’t even tell if rick was serious or if he was fucking with him, as per usual.

“see, that look on your face, you’re trying to find out if im fucking with you, aren’t you?”

morty blushes, turns away. “no.”

“yeah, you are. idiot, im not. why would i fuck around about this? that’s a different level of weird, even for me.” he grabs morty’s face, pulls him so close and gives him a wet, sloppy kiss, leaves his mouth dripping with spit. morty stares agape when he pulls away.

summer’s hands are completely covering her mouth. eyes shining, little stars in them. they just jumped several seasons, in her mind, and the finale was perfect. neither rick nor morty seem to care that she’s watching, and even seem to invite it in a sense—well, they don’t tell her to fuck off. maybe as a ‘thank you’ for granting them the permission they’ve been waiting for.