Toxic Sparks || Rick Sanchez x Reader

Chapter 10 - Bets & Booze

Overconfidence had been your biggest curse at that moment. Your fingers clumsily fumbled with the controls, each movement feeling more wrong than the last. Every missed button, every wasted opportunity, felt like a brick adding weight to the inevitable failure you were heading toward. You lost so fast that you couldn't even be sure you had landed a hit at all, and the worst part? The screen flashed your defeat with finality like it was mocking you. Meanwhile, Rick already had that annoyingly smug look plastered on his face like he'd expected it.

He didn't even say a word, just took a long, lazy swig from his flask, watching you out of the corner of his eye. He leaned back against the machine like he had all the time in the world. Waiting. Waiting for you to back down. But you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

Without saying a word, you bent down, your mind racing for the next move. You grabbed the waistband of your shorts, sliding them off in one smooth motion without touching the dirty arcade floor. You weren't about to let the grimy arcade floor touch your feet. You had standards, even if you were mid-defeat. You tossed your shorts at Rick, and of course, he caught them effortlessly with one hand, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. His eyes gleamed like he was in on some cosmic joke you weren't.

Now you stood there in just a tight T-shirt and your underwear—lacy, delicate ones, the kind that felt absurdly out of place in a dingy arcade like this. Normally, you'd be wearing something more comfortable, but thanks to laundry day, these were your only clean pair. A part of you hated how vulnerable it made you feel, standing there with just your underwear and a T-shirt with no bra underneath, while your last two losses hung over your head like a guillotine.

You had two more chances to win before you were stripped of whatever dignity you had left. And God, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Regret was creeping up the back of your neck like a wave. You should've left the robe on, but it was far too late for that now. Instead, you steeled yourself, forcing your mind to focus on the task at hand. You couldn't afford another quick loss, not now.

"You're takin' this pretty well—for someone who just got their ass handed to them," Rick quipped, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes didn't just check you out—they lingered, taking their time. You could practically feel his gaze trailing over you, and for some reason, it made you feel both irritated and something else you didn't want to acknowledge.

"Gimme that," you sighed, exasperated. You held out your hand, and Rick, with that signature mock-innocent look, handed over the flask he had been drinking seconds ago.

"Whoa, okay, sure, let's just drink through it. You know that's not gonna make you suck less, right?" He was clearly enjoying this too much, and as you took a big swig, the heat of the liquor spread from your throat down to your chest. Maybe, just maybe, it would clear your head and give you the edge you needed.

"Yeah, sure, keep drinkin'. I'll take it easy on you, but not that easy," Rick snorted, eyes gleaming with amusement. There was something so effortless about the way he poked at you like it was second nature to him.

"Let's play something else," you muttered, determined not to lose this round so quickly. You needed a change, anything to shift the tide in your favor.

"Oh yeah, sure, that's definitely the problem—it's the game," Rick drawled, taking another swig from his flask before making an exaggerated hand gesture. "Go ahead, pick your next failure. I'll let you feel like you've got a chance."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile a little at the absurdity of it. For all his insults, there was something almost... playful about it. You couldn't quite put your finger on why you weren't completely infuriated with him. Maybe because it was Rick, and everything with him seemed to straddle the line between annoying and oddly endearing.