America X Reader: You're the Reason I'm Annoying

You sit on the porch to your house, flapping a handheld fan furiously in front of your face. There is a tall glass of iced tea next to you with exactly five cubes of ice, and you're wearing a loose Union Jack tank, shorts, and flip-flops. Your hair is pulled up into a ponytail (unless you have really short hair, in which case, it's loose), and you're humming a song you've had stuck in your head all day; it's by The Killers, but the name escapes your memory.

You see your neighbor, Alfred Jones, run down his driveway without a shirt—one of the reason why you enjoy living in front of him and also a reason you can tolerate these insane temperatures.

He stops to get the mail, and he glances up at you, trying to block the sun with his hand. He waves.

"_______!" he yells.

You wave back.

He sprints across the street and slows down about halfway up your driveway. As he nears you, he blurts, "I hate your shirt!"

You chortle at that. "Arthur seems to like it."

His blue eyes darken as he stops in front of you. "You're still hanging out with that dude? Bro, he's got his panties shoved up his ass, that's his problem. Too uptight."

"Not wild enough like you?" you say with sarcasm dripping off your words.

"'Course not! That's why I don't understand why you want to hang out with him." He takes a seat next to you. "I mean, what's so cool about him?"

"Well, for one, he reads," you point out.

"I read," he says mockingly.

"I don't mean comic books, Al." You punch his shoulder lightly. "Don't get so jealous just 'cause he and I are friends."

"I'm not jealous! What's there to be jealous of?" he scoffs. You pretend that his words don't pierce your heart.

"Right," you manage as you lower your eyes to your lap. "Nothing at all."

***

The next day is worse temperature wise. It's actually within kissing distance of boiling water being poured on your face. Today, you're wearing an old Superman shirt and another pair of shorts. Your dad's making you wash the car, and you've come prepared with a hose, a bucket, a sponge, and soap.

You begin with the water, and you don't mind getting wet. The freezing-cold water feels amazing on your skin, so you work through it.

"Whoa! _______?"

You recognize the voice almost instantly and look down to see Alfred standing there wearing swim trunks.

"Hey, Al."

"I didn't know we were holding a wet T-shirt contest!"

You roll your eyes and blurt, "It isn't a contest if only one person has a wet T-shirt."

"Do you want help?" he asks, oblivious to your condescending tone.

"Um, I dunno, because you'll probably shoot me in the face with water, and my dad asked me—"

"All righty!" he blurts as he takes the hose from your hands. Without warning, he points it at your face, and you let out a shrill squeal as you try to cover your head, and Alfred starts laughing.

"Alfred, stop!" you scream as you rush forward and pry the hose from his hands. "Go home," you order him.

His face falls, and so does your heart. "Oh. I was only joking around, _____. I'm sorry. I'll go. See you later, _______."

He heads home, scratching the back of his blonde head pitifully with confusion and dejection.

You sigh.

Why do you even like this guy?

***

You're hanging out with Matthew Williams in your Canada T-shirt. You two are at his house, talking about school and people.

And you bring up Alfred. "He's always bothering me," you say.

"I know the feeling," Matt confesses. He would understand. He's Alfred's stepbrother; thus, this means you're also in Alfred's house.

"I don't know why he's so arrogant and stupid…" you say angrily as you ball up your fists…but then you unclench them. "But I still like him, Matt. Why?"

He shrugs. "I can't understand him… I don't think I want to."

"Oh, Mattie," you sigh out of frustration. "If only he didn't act like a jerk sometimes…"

***

There is a knock on your door that night. You unwillingly open the door—you don't want the cool air in here to clash with the hot air outside, but your mother is screaming at you to get it.

It's Alfred.

You blink in surprise, staring at him. He grabs your arm and drags you out, closing the door. He holds you against the door.

"You think I'm annoying?" he asks, a fire in his eyes.

Sunset is approaching. The dim light makes this moment seems more intimate than it is.

"You think I'm arrogant? A jerk? Stupid?"

Your jaw tightens, and you lower your eyes. You don't want to tell him the truth, so silence is the only answer you'll let him hear. He understands.

"Why?" he demands.

Again, you seal your lips. You refuse to say a word.

And he mashes his lips with yours.

At first, you protest against it, trying to pry yourself away, but Alfred's so much stronger. You hit his chest as he deepens the kiss, pushing his body into yours.

But then you lose yourself.

You enjoy this—god, you love this. You snake your arms around his neck as you open your mouth, giving him access to Frenching. Yes, you said it: Frenching, one of the raunchiest kissing styles in the world. And his arms are hooked around your waist, holding you two as tight as possible. As intense and heavy as this is, your mind still lingers on the fact that on the other side of this door is your mother, and your neighbors can be peering out of your window and catch Alfred and you doing this.

You grasp his face and break the kiss.

You realize right then that you were holding your breath, and the fresh supply of oxygen is working overtime to calm your heart down; your heart feels like it'll beat right through your chest, like it'll run away from you.

"What…was that for?" you ask.

"You're the reason I'm annoying," he states, and his lips touch your neck. "I'm flirting, you idiot."

"Nngh," you murmur as he licks a specific, erogenous spot. "You're awful as flirting. You might as well have brought me a cardboard sign."

"Sorry, I'm all out of cardboard," he says mockingly as his hands grasp your own, pulling them around his torso. "I know you like me, ______."

"You're very presumptuous, Alfred Jones," you say sardonically.

"I heard you talking to Matt," he states with a slight smirk, but then his smile softens as he reaches to tuck loose strands of your hair behind your ear. "I really like you, _______."

Your heart jumps at that. "O-oh. I…I like you too, Alfred."

This time, you two join your lips with a gentler mood—no longer hot and heavy and intense. This kiss is like the embers of a fire, still very much alive but slow and sweet. He cradles your face with both hands, keeping your face inclined towards his.

"Will you be my girlfriend, ________?" he whispers.

"I don't think there's anything I want more."

He grins and hugs you, dancing around. He's acting as if he just scored a touchdown. After he calms down, he stretches his arms up to the yellow sky and says, "By the way, I do read, and not just books with pictures in them."

You laugh and kiss the tip of his nose. "Goodnight, Alfred. I'm ready to go back inside to the AC and the TV."

He blinks at you. "You're leaving me for an AC?" He feigns being hurt. "You jerk…"

That makes you giggle and say, "Why, yes. I'll see you tomorrow though?"

"I'd love that."

♥♥♥