Toxic Sparks || Rick Sanchez x Reader

Chapter 14 - Rising Tensions

After nearly an hour of waiting, it became clear Beth wasn't coming back downstairs. You sighed, tossing the empty wine bottle—practically finished on your own—into the trash. Glancing at your hands, you noticed streaks of dried paint, remnants of what was supposed to be a relaxing art class. Instead, tonight had spiraled into a mess. Rick had rejected you, and for reasons you didn't want to admit, that stung more than it should have.

Maybe you had developed some strange, twisted crush on him, but he'd shut it down before you'd even had the chance to figure it out. You tried not to dwell on it, knowing full well that Rick was exactly the kind of person who would react that way. Still, the rejection wasn't what bothered you most—it was how he always managed to belittle you, like it was his personal mission to piss you off. But you weren't going to let some cocky, broken-down scientist with a laundry list of issues get to you.

You turned to the sink and washed your hands, scrubbing away the dry paint. After drying them on the neatly folded kitchen towel, you paused, noticing how unusually quiet the house was. Silence was a rarity here, but for once, you welcomed it. You loved the Smith family, but peace and quiet were sometimes exactly what you needed.

Of course, the tranquility didn't last. A loud boom from the garage shook the house, making you grab the counter for balance, the wine you'd consumed making you feel a little unsteady.

"Morty, you absolute moron!" Rick's voice bellowed from the garage, followed by the clatter of tools and what sounded like a crash.

"Aw, geez, Rick! You always blame me for everything! Maybe if you explained your crazy experiments better, this wouldn't have happened!" Morty's high-pitched voice rang out in response, followed by the unmistakable chaos of one of their typical arguments. You rolled your eyes; it was just another day in the Smith household.

Deciding to take this as your cue, you headed upstairs, planning to shower and get to bed. You had work in the morning, and Rick and Morty's shouting grew more distant with each step. However, as you reached the top of the stairs, another argument echoed through the house—this time between Beth and Jerry. You sighed, shaking your head.

"Sleeping with earplugs it is," you muttered to yourself, too tired to care. Chaos was just part of life here, and by now, you were used to it.

***

You were beyond annoyed—teeth-gritting, eye-twitching annoyed. All you wanted was a simple snack after a grueling day. Skipping lunch to clean up after one of your student's projectile vomitted everywhere had killed your appetite, but now, after hours of exhaustion, you figured a quick bite would hold you over until dinner. Apparently, even that was too much to ask.

You'd barely closed the fridge door after grabbing the last snack pack—a simple box of cheese, crackers, and sausage—when you turned to find Rick glaring at you.

"What?" you snapped, already dreading whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

"You know," Rick started, his voice dripping with condescension, "it's kinda mind-blowing how you're living here rent-free and still have the balls to raid the fridge like it's your personal buffet."

Your grip tightened on the snack pack, and you nearly crushed it in your hand. He didn't know. Of course, he didn't know. Rick paid attention to nothing but himself and his experiments. He had no idea you were the one who stocked the fridge every week. No clue that you did it to ease the guilt of Beth refusing to take more rent money from you.

"If you ever bothered to pull your head out of your own ass—or your dumb gadgets—you'd know I'm the one who buys these," you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut. Without waiting for a reply, you brushed past him, giving him a solid shove as you stormed out of the kitchen.