Let Sparks Fly Kid x Reader part 5 AU

"What are you doing in this kind of weather? Come inside," you heard your mom say. "(Name)? There's someone here to see you!"

"It's Kid, isn't it?" You muttered under your breath. You went downstairs to the front door, and there he was. You glared at him, and he glared at you. 

"I figured you wanted your car back." 

"Yeah, whatever." You said and rolled your eyes, the two of you stood there for a while and glared daggers at each other. "What do you want me to do? Make you dinner? You can leave now."

"Why, (Name), that's a great idea!" Your mother cheered. You wanted to wipe that smug grin off Kid's face and shove it down his throat. You wouldn't let him have the last laugh. "Does chilli sound alright to you?" You offered bitterly.

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You fought back the urge to laugh maniacally as you stirred in a few more spices into the dish. You were about to divide the chili into some bowls and then move on to phase two of your scheme when you heard laughter coming from the living room. You narrowed your eyes; this was suspicious. Very, very, suspicious. You carefully crept down the hall to the living room, and you jaw dropped when you saw your parents showing Kid the photo album containing your baby photos.

"MOM, DAD!" You screeched, voice cracking a bit. You swiftly swiped the binder from them. "Dinner's almost ready." You growled and stormed back into the kitchen. You searched the cupboards for the final ingredient that you wanted to add: chili oil. Kid and your parents sat down. You served the chili into some bowls and made eye contact with the redhead and looked up innocently as you spilled the entire container into the bowl. Kid gawked, and you grinned mischievously as you gave him the bowl, and set the other three bowls on the table for your parents and yourself. "Dinner is served." You stated cheerily as you sat down at the seat in front of him. 

"Delicious as always." Your dad complimented. 

"Thanks, dad." You smiled.

Kid looked at the bowl of death and looked at a spoonful of chili hesitantly. Surely it couldn't be too spicy, right? 

His face immediately turned tomato red, and he bit his lip to restrain a scream. He would not let you have the satisfaction of having the last laugh. His eye twitched and he took a sip of juice. He began spooning chili into his mouth at record speed. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched him down the whole bowl of chili in under a minute, when he finished, he was covered in sweat and forced a grin on his face.

"What's wrong, Carnation Head? Can't take a little heat?" You teased.

"No, (Name). It's the best fucking meal I've had in years." He retorted through closed teeth.

"Mind your language in front of my parents." You scolded mockingly.

"You bitch." Kid growled lowly. He looked as if he was going to kill someone, and that someone was most likely you.

Your face light up. You had just thought of an idea. Should you? Eh, why not. You grinned a bit and you kicked him in the shin as hard as you could. You would bet money that if you lived near a graveyard, it would cause the zombie apocalypse since he screamed so loud it would wake the dead. His leg rocketed forward and he kicked the table and he covered his mouth. The wood split and bowls of chili and silver wear took to the air like majestic eagles. When the chaos resolved, the four of you took in the scene. Food was splattered everywhere and shards of plates and cups were scattered about. It looked like some obscene form of abstract art, you could imagine it now, it would be displayed in a world famous art museum. "Food War by the (Last Name) family and the guy who couldn't handle the chili oil. In loving memory of Mister Dinner Table."

"Yesss." Your dad hissed and he pumped his fist. Your mom gave him a look. "What? You know I've always hated that table." 

Another look. 

"I mean... Mister Dinner Table, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He weeped. "Even the lives of innocent bowls of chili weren't even spared in this tragedy..." Your father trailed off. He took a solemn breath to make the atmosphere more dramatic. Fake tears streamed down his face. "Oh, our poor, poor dinner table. You have served us so well. Rest in pieces, my dearest friend." He wiped the tears from his face and gave a few affectionate pats and a kiss to a piece of the table. "Now, who's up for a Viking funeral when the storm lets up?" He suggested cheerfully. Your mother rubbed her temples.

"Was he always this weird?" You asked.