Toxic Sparks || Rick Sanchez x Reader

Chapter 2 - Kitchen Mishap

It had been a little over a week since you moved into the Smiths' house, and you were still adjusting to the constant noise and commotion. It had been so long since you'd shared space with so many people that it took some getting used to. The sounds of doors slamming, voices drifting through the halls, and the occasional explosion from the garage were a stark contrast to the quiet life you'd led in your old apartment. Yet, you didn't mind. In a way, it reminded you of home—chaotic, loud, and unpredictable. Sometimes, you missed that.

Beth had gone out of her way to make sure you were comfortable. She kept checking in, offering small gestures like leaving snacks on the counter or inviting you to her family's game night. You were her first real friend in a long time, and it was obvious she wanted you to be happy in their home. The rest of the family had barely spoken to you aside from polite exchanges. That was fine by you—you were still a stranger, after all.

Rick, though, hadn't made any effort at all. After your first unpleasant exchange at dinner when you moved in, you'd decided not to engage with him. He clearly didn't care what you thought, and you weren't about to seek out his approval. Beth had warned you her father could be brash, brutally honest, and downright rude, and you'd seen it play out time and time again. His sharp words seemed to cut through every member of the family, leaving little in the way of sensitivity. You weren't about to put yourself in his line of fire voluntarily.

You had arrived back at the house one afternoon, exhausted, your clothes streaked with paint and stickers. The day had been long and messy. The kids at your preschool had been practicing colors by using paint for the first time, and while their excitement was adorable, you were now a walking child's painting. Paint was smeared across your arms hair, and clothes. You loved your job, but now you were craving nothing more than some food and sleep.

The house was quiet except for the low murmur of the TV. You figured the kids were still at school, Beth at work, and Jerry... well, who knew what Jerry was doing. The only person you saw was Rick, sprawled out on the couch, a half-empty bottle on the floor by his feet. As you made your way through the living room, Rick glanced at you and let out a snort, clearly amused by your appearance.

"That's what you went to college for? Hope you got your money back," he remarked, barely looking up from the screen.

You sighed, not in the mood for this. It wasn't the first time you'd heard people talk down about your career. Even your own parents hadn't fully understood why you'd chosen such a low-paying profession. They thought you could do better, and sometimes, you wondered if they were right. Still, teaching was your passion, and you loved it—most of the time. But you didn't need Rick adding to your doubts, especially not now, when you were covered in paint and dead-tired.

"You're not saying anything because you know I'm right," Rick added, his eyes flicking lazily between you and the TV. He switched the channels, clearly uninterested in any response you might give.

Your eye twitched. How did he know?

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?" you asked, more confused than anything. You couldn't figure out why he was even taunting you.

"Nope. Just pointing out how you wasted your life. Also, I'm bored," he said, letting out a loud burp and barely stifling a laugh.

Your eyes dropped to the empty bottles littered around the couch. He was drunk—no surprise there. You chalked this entire conversation up to his boredom and the fact that there was no one else in the house for him to bother. Was he really that lonely? You didn't know, and frankly, you didn't care enough to ask.

"Well, you're the one drinking by yourself on a Tuesday afternoon while watching TV, so which one of us is wasting their life?" you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.