Toxic Sparks || Rick Sanchez x Reader

Chapter 11 - Dirty Laundry

"Ugh," you groaned as your alarm blared, cutting through whatever half-decent sleep you'd managed to get. Didn't matter what song or tune you set it to; mornings always sucked. Especially today.

Your head throbbed a little, a side effect of sipping from Rick's flask the night before. The night was still fresh in your mind, and you cringed at the memory of nearly stripping down in front of him. The way his eyes lingered on you... you shivered, but not from the cold. And the worst part? You didn't hate it. Seemed like you were finally losing it, but that was a problem for another time.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to wake up. You yawned as you shuffled to your closet, picking out something that fit the dress code but wouldn't make your morning any worse. Cute, but comfy. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror—eye bags, bedhead, the works. You'd passed out in the robe, no clothes underneath, not even underwear. And now you were out of clean ones until laundry later today, so it was a commando morning. Fantastic.

Half an hour later, you'd transformed—work clothes on, hair tamed, face presentable—but the lack of underwear made you feel strangely off. No way were you asking Rick for your clothes back, though. The idea alone made you roll your eyes. He'd make a show of it, no doubt.

As you headed downstairs with some time to spare before work, you found the family gathered for breakfast. The seat next to Rick was open, and he was focused on his waffles, not even glancing up at you.

"Y/N, join us for breakfast!" Beth motioned to the empty chair. Normally you'd be running late and skip breakfast, but lately, you'd made more of an effort. Beth had started seeing you as family, and you didn't mind. It was... nice.

"Morning," you greeted everyone, sitting down and picking at some food, more out of habit than hunger. The chatter was light, and you were grateful for that, quietly working through your plate. Then you spotted it—the last waffle, up for grabs. You reached for it just as Rick did, but you were quicker, snatching it up with a smug, fake-apologetic smile.

A month ago, you would've let him have it—this was more his place than yours—but things felt different now.

Rick scowled, eyes narrowing. "Oh, real funny. I always get the last waffle."

"Guess not today," you said, smothering it in syrup and taking a bite.

Beth stepped in, rolling her eyes. "Dad, you've already had like seven. That's her second."

Rick rolled his eyes. "It's your house, Beth," he muttered, standing up. But as he passed by, he leaned close to your ear, his voice low and smug. "Guess it's only fair you get the last waffle, considering I'm holding onto your last pair of underwear."

You choked, mid-bite, at the shock of his words. Rick was already a few feet away by the time the rest of the table noticed your sputtering. You quickly gulped down some orange juice, managing an embarrassed smile.

"Wrong hole," you mumbled, and everyone quickly went back to their screens, ignoring your near-disaster.

Beth, however, put her phone down to chat about your art class tonight. Nonsensical-themed paintings—she seemed thrilled. You? No clue what you were going to paint. The prompts were usually a surprise, though sometimes the instructor slipped up and let them leak early. Beth was rattling off her ideas, and you nodded along, but your brain kept replaying Rick's comment.

Was he flirting? You hadn't even expected to get along with him, let alone this... whatever this was. You couldn't call it friendship, not exactly. "friends with benefits" didn't feel right either, even though you'd slept together once. It made more sense not to overthink it—just go with Rick's flow. The man who once seemed like a compulsive, irritating enigma was now someone you found... interesting. Witty, even. Still, one question lingered: how the hell did he know you were out of underwear?