Toxic Sparks || Rick Sanchez x Reader

Chapter 5 - Shoney's & Rejection

You wondered if going to Shoney's with Rick was a mistake as you glanced out from the cruiser, flying high above the ground. Beside you, Rick stared straight ahead, expression unreadable, the picture of apathy. Memories from last night made your stomach flip—awkward, a little thrilling. Would Rick pretend it never happened or throw it in your face later when he insulted you? Knowing him, it could go either way.

Shoney's finally came into view, and Rick brought the cruiser down with his usual finesse, landing perfectly in front of the restaurant. You got out, trailing behind Rick, who was already at the door. To your surprise, he actually held it open for you, as if he'd suddenly remembered basic manners.

A waitress seated you at a booth, and you reached for the menu. It had been a while since you'd been here. You glanced at Rick, who hadn't even touched his menu and already looked annoyed by the whole ordeal.

"You already know what you want?" you asked, feeling the silence stretch uncomfortably.

"I get the same thing every time, so I'm not wasting my time with the menu," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Makes sense," you muttered, not quite sure how to respond.

A waitress appeared with a too-bright smile. "Are we ready to order?"

Rick didn't miss a beat, rattling off his order with zero interest. The waitress nodded, scribbling it down before turning to you. You gave your order—your favorite breakfast—and she collected the menus before leaving.

You clasped your hands together, trying not to let the silence get to you. Rick wasn't even looking your way, so you stared down at your hands like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

"So... where'd you meet my daughter again?" Rick asked, and you glanced up, surprised to find him actually looking at you for once.

"We met in an art class about a year ago," you said with a small smile. Beth had become your best friend, and your weekly painting classes were something you always looked forward to.

"Art class, huh? Riveting ," Rick said with a yawn, the stench of booze rolling off him. "Hope you didn't waste too much money learning how to finger paint. Pretty sure you can get the same experience on the back of a Denny's menu with some crayons."

You blinked, taken aback by the snide comment, before you rolled your eyes and retorted to his comment.

"Well, Rick, considering you've probably never spent more than two minutes doing anything creative in your life that wasn't related to blowing something up, I'm not surprised you wouldn't get it," you shot back with a smirk. "Besides, some of us need hobbies that don't involve interdimensional weapons or hiding from our feelings."

Rick paused, arching an eyebrow at you. For a split second, it seemed like he might be annoyed. But then the corner of his mouth tugged up in what might have been the ghost of a smirk.

"Touché," he muttered, leaning back in his seat.

"I guess we can't all be emotionally stunted geniuses. Someone's gotta finger-paint their way through life, right?"

You shrugged, matching his sarcasm. "Yeah, and someone's gotta blow holes in reality. Balance, right?"

Rick snorted, taking a swig from his flask, which he'd casually pulled out at some point without you even noticing. He looked at you over the rim, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and curiosity like he was deciding whether your little comeback was worth caring about.

Thankfully, the food arrived at that moment, and you eagerly dug in. The warmth of the meal was soothing, helping to quell the remnants of your hangover. Rick, to your relief, was equally preoccupied with his food, shoveling it down in silence. Even after last night, it was clear you two were polar opposites.

You were nearly done with your plate when Rick leaned back in the booth, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he spoke again.

"So, about last night?" Rick suddenly said, locking eyes with you across the booth.

You froze mid-bite, staring back at him, your stomach doing a weird flip. Of course, he'd bring it up. You were still trying to figure out where his head was at—and now you were about to find out.

"Since you're my daughter's friend, I'm gonna let you down easy here," he started, voice matter-of-fact. "So you should know—"

"Hold up," you cut him off, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean ' let me down easy ?'"

Rick sighed, leaning back in the booth like this conversation was a waste of time to him.

"Look, last night was just a one-night thing. I promised Beth I wouldn't do anything to make you pack your bags and skip town or whatever. So, y'know, I'm giving you the courtesy of a heads-up." He said with his usual apathetic tone.

You blinked at him, your brain trying to catch up with whatever convoluted logic he was using. Was he seriously dumping you before you even had a chance to say anything?

Rick's eyes narrowed as he stared back at you, clearly expecting you to get with the program.
"Us? Not happening. So you might as well get that thought through your head right now."

You stared at him, fork still in hand, your irritation bubbling to the surface. Was this guy for real?

"Wow," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I knew your ego was massive, but damn, Rick. This is a whole new level."

Rick's gaze sharpened, his expression hardening as he leaned forward slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're bold to assume I'd ever want to be in a relationship with you ," you shot back, placing your fork down with more force than necessary.

Suddenly, your breakfast seemed way less appetizing. "I mean, really. You think I'm sitting here dreaming of a future with you?"

Rick's eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something else behind the glare. Annoyance, maybe. Or was that amusement? Hard to tell with him. "I'm not bold. I've just been around enough crazy bitches to know how this goes. You all want the same thing."

You felt your blood start to boil at that comment. Crazy? Really? You leaned forward now, meeting his glare head-on. "First of all, don't lump me in with whatever parade of lunatics you've dealt with. Second, last night? I barely even remember it, so you mustn't have been that good."

That got a reaction. Rick's mouth twitched, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something—irritation, maybe even wounded pride.

"You're such a shit liar— I had you screaming my name and I have the scratch marks on my back to prove it!" he shot back, his voice rising a little too loudly at the end. A few nearby diners turned to look, curiosity clearly piqued.

You felt your face flush with heat. "Geez, lower your voice, won't you?" you whispered angrily, leaning in. The last thing you needed was an audience.

"Why? You don't want these fine folks to know how I made you cum—what was it, six? No, seven times?" he said, his smirk widening. The smugness in his voice made your skin crawl. You sputtered, trying to come up with a response, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you just glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line before turning your head away.

Rick hummed in smug satisfaction. "That's what I thought."

Never in your life had you dealt with someone like Rick Sanchez. He could be as insufferable as he was brilliant, and yet, here you were—caught in his web of arrogance. The relief came when the other diners finally lost interest and returned to their meals. At least you weren't the center of attention anymore.

"You're insane," you muttered, grabbing your water and taking a long sip, hoping it would cool your frustration.

Rick didn't miss a beat. "And don't forget that, baby," he replied matter-of-factly, finishing the last bite of his food before shoving his plate to the side.

He raised an eyebrow at you, leaning back casually. "So... we're on the same page then?"

You rolled your eyes, the irritation still burning from his earlier comments. "Yeah, whatever," you mumbled, pushing the last bits of your meal around your plate. His cockiness was wearing thin.

You hadn't intended to end up in any sort of "thing" with Rick, but somehow his rejection still stung. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was the aftermath of yesterday—being dumped by your boyfriend with nothing but radio silence since. The sting of that rejection and the uncertainty of it all still weighed on you. You sighed softly, finally pushing your half-eaten plate away.

The waitress came by to collect the dishes and handed Rick the check. You fumbled for your purse, ready to pay for your part of the meal, but Rick lifted a hand to stop you.

"Don't worry about it. It's on me," he said casually, handing the waitress his card without a second thought.

You blinked, taken aback. "Oh... thanks," you said, trying to be polite, though the tension from moments ago still lingered between you.

"Don't mention it. Least I can do after all that." He smirked again, gesturing vaguely toward the hickeys on your neck that your shirt was doing a poor job of hiding.

Your face flamed as you instinctively brought your hand up to cover the marks. How many people had noticed? You thought you'd chosen something that gave you enough coverage, but apparently, you were wrong.

Rick chuckled as the waitress returned with his card and the receipt. "Let's go," he said, already standing up, leaving no room for argument.

You quickly followed him, barely keeping up with his fast pace as he made his way back to the cruiser. Climbing inside, you leaned back into the seat, the hum of the engine and the rise into the air lulling you slightly. You felt full, but more than that, exhausted. You hadn't slept well, not with everything from the night before spinning around in your head.

Rick's voice cut through your thoughts. "Oh yeah, one more thing—don't tell Beth about what happened last night," he added, burping casually afterward as if the entire conversation was no big deal.

You scoffed, turning to look at him. "Oh, yes, because I'm so excited to tell her how I fucked her dad," you retorted sarcastically.

You braced yourself for a sharp comeback, expecting Rick to bite back. Instead, you were met with something far more surprising—he let out a loud, genuine cackle, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you stared out the window. No matter what you said or did, Rick Sanchez was always going to be unpredictable. And somehow, you found yourself weirdly okay with that.