Categories > Original > Romance > USUK Oneshots
That’ll be enough for tonight, Arthur thought, dog-earing the page in his novel and quietly closing it. He slid it onto the nightstand and turned to his boyfriend, who was leaned back casually onto his pillow while flipping through TV channels, and shook his shoulder.
“Turn the telly off Alfred, I’m going to bed.” He declared, causing a pout to form on the taller blonde’s lips.
“Aw, come on, Artie! Can’t I keep it on just a little bit longer?” Alfred whined.
“You’re not even watching anything!” The Brit protested. “Now turn it off before I make you go sleep on the couch.”
The American sighed in defeat and, with one last remorseful glance at the Technicolor screen, switched off the television. He glanced at his lover, who was turning off the lamp on his side of the bed.
“What book were you reading, sweetheart?” Alfred’s voice sounded out in the darkness.
“Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” Arthur replied. “And please refrain from using those ridiculous pet names of yours.”
“Haven’t you already read that book? And every other book in the series? A hundred times over?” The taller blonde asked, disregarding the pet name comment.
“Yes, but it never hurts to reread the good ones.” The Brit answered, now nestling down into his pillow.
“The tears you’ve shed over Dumbledore’s death beg to differ.”
“Shut up, git! ...He was a good wizard.”
“Whatever you say.”
Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur’s head. “G’night, baby.”
Arthur pecked the American’s cheek in return. “Good night, Love.”
And with that, Arthur’s boyfriend collapsed back onto his pillow. In minutes, the deep breathing that signaled the taller blonde’s descent into sleep were heard by the Englishman. The Brit sighed happily. I wonder what that stupid wanker dreams about, Arthur thought as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Alfred was just riding into town when he heard the bloodcurdling shriek pierce the air. He turned his head just in time to hear the shouts and laughter of outlaws coming from the town bank, and a voice with a thick English accent scream, “Someone, please help me!” Alfred knew that voice. He would know that voice anywhere.
He quickly dismounted his horse and burst through the swinging doors, pistol in hand. Five criminals stood in a circle in the bank’s lobby. The doors to the vaults were all completely demolished. And the person who had cried out for help was surrounded by the burglars, bound to a chair by a length of rope.
“Sheriff Jones!” Arthur, the town’s bank teller, called to him. His hands and ankles were confined with more rope, and a piece of cloth tied around his neck suggested that he had been gagged, but managed to slip his head out of it. The American walked up to the stunned outlaws, smirking.
“You might as well surrender now,” Alfred proclaimed. “The hero is here!” There was a moment of silence as the criminals took in the sight of the great sheriff, and it seemed as if the whole town was holding its breath until the ringleader spoke up.
“Oh, sorry, are we bothering you?” The head burglar, an albino man clothed in black exclaimed, tone mocking. “We’ll just get out of your hair.” He turned to his cohorts. “Get the loot and go!” He barked, and the four followers quickly obeyed, grabbing sacks of money and running outside. The albino didn’t follow.
His red eyes traveled to the captive Brit. “Oh, yeah,” The albino shot the American hero a winning smirk. “We’ll also be taking him.” He quickly cut loose the rope binding Arthur to the chair (his hands were still immobile), tossed him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes, and darted out of the bank.
Alfred ran outside, seething as he watched the outlaws mount their horses, bounty in tow. He quickly straddled his own horse and dug the heels of his boots into the stallion’s side, causing the steed to begin galloping at a breakneck pace. As he neared the group of criminals, he pulled out his pistol, aiming it at the ringleader. The albino just clicked his tongue at him, still smirking.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded, holding up the kidnapped teller in front of him like a meat shield. “Don’t want your poor baby to get hurt, now do we?” The Brit thrashed in his bindings, then looked up and saw the gun pointed at him, and his expression turned from one of anger to one of fear. The Sheriff instinctively lowered his gun. The head burglar smiled.
“Checkmate, boy.” he taunted. Outraged, the American grabbed the tail of the ringleader’s horse, causing it to slow down, and the albino’s smirk morphed into a scowl. In a quick movement, he drew forth his own pistol and pressed it against Arthur’s temple.
“One more move and I shoot!” he warned. Alfred gritted his teeth. It seemed like they were at an impasse. His eyes wandered from the criminal and the terrified Englishman to his gun hand. It was positioned right over…
Without a moment to lose, the sheriff squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the ringleader’s horse’s leg. Giving out an agonized whinny, it collapsed to the ground. For a split second, the American felt bad for the horse, he hated to hurt animals in any shape or form. But he shook it off as he dismounted his stallion and ran with pistol in hand to face the two men crumpled on the ground; it was for the greater good. Alfred rushed to the disoriented outlaw and snatched his gun before he could respond.
When the albino finally realized what was happening, his hand automatically went for his pistol, only to find nothing but empty space. The sheriff pointed both weapons at the criminal, breathing hard.
“I’m going to spare you, just this once,” The American told him, watching the albino’s fearful face, “Under these conditions: One, don’t ever let me catch you in my town again. Two, don’t even think about robbing anyone else ever again. Three…” Alfred brought his face closer to the burglar’s, scowl more prominent then ever.
“If you ever lay a finger on Arthur ever, ever again, you will be very, very sorry. Understand?” he growled. The criminal nodded rapidly.
“Good.” The sheriff backed away from the man. “Now, leave. Before I change my mind.” The albino nodded again and scampered away hurriedly.
The American then turned to the Brit, who hadn’t uttered a sound during this round of threatening. He continued to stare in awe at the man who had just saved him as he began to untie the Englishman’s limbs. After he was freed, Alfred stretched out a hand towards the overwhelmed man and helped him to his feet. For a few moments, Arthur was silent, just blinking up at his rescuer with his large, brilliantly green eyes.
“You saved me,” The Brit breathed.
“Think nothing of it,” The American replied.
“Alfred,” The Englishman whispered, drawing closer to the taller blonde.
“You’re my hero.”
The sheriff and the teller’s lips met, and Alfred slowly wrapped his arms around the Brit. A few moments later, Arthur pulled away.
“Alfred?” he said tenderly.
“Yes?”
“Alfred! Wake up, you bloody git!”
Alfred blinked his eyes sleepily. Arthur was standing over him in bed, frowning.
“Artie, why’d you wake me up?” The taller blonde whined, pouting.
“Because I made your coffee already, and it’s getting cold. Now get out of bed.” The Brit shoved the American, though playfully, trying to hide a smile at seeing his lover so groggy. Usually Arthur was the one being dragged kicking and screaming out of the bed.
“Well, I wish you hadn’t…I was having the greatest dream.”
Author’s Note: Yeesh. I have more chapters on than I do on my legit story. More views here, too. Ah well. Anyways, did you enjoy my cliché cowboy fluffery? I considered doing a Captain America-themed dream (BEST AVENGER FIGHT ME), but for some reason it just felt right to do cowboys. Maybe I’ll do a sequel one like that. Also, Prussia ended up as my villain. Not completely sure how that happened. Anyways, thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my trash! /smiles/ Kudos and comments are highly appreciated! Almost (I think) 100 views! WOOP WOOP! Keep it coming! CANADA HUGS 4 DAYZ!
Signing Off,
@FabulousFerret
“Turn the telly off Alfred, I’m going to bed.” He declared, causing a pout to form on the taller blonde’s lips.
“Aw, come on, Artie! Can’t I keep it on just a little bit longer?” Alfred whined.
“You’re not even watching anything!” The Brit protested. “Now turn it off before I make you go sleep on the couch.”
The American sighed in defeat and, with one last remorseful glance at the Technicolor screen, switched off the television. He glanced at his lover, who was turning off the lamp on his side of the bed.
“What book were you reading, sweetheart?” Alfred’s voice sounded out in the darkness.
“Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” Arthur replied. “And please refrain from using those ridiculous pet names of yours.”
“Haven’t you already read that book? And every other book in the series? A hundred times over?” The taller blonde asked, disregarding the pet name comment.
“Yes, but it never hurts to reread the good ones.” The Brit answered, now nestling down into his pillow.
“The tears you’ve shed over Dumbledore’s death beg to differ.”
“Shut up, git! ...He was a good wizard.”
“Whatever you say.”
Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur’s head. “G’night, baby.”
Arthur pecked the American’s cheek in return. “Good night, Love.”
And with that, Arthur’s boyfriend collapsed back onto his pillow. In minutes, the deep breathing that signaled the taller blonde’s descent into sleep were heard by the Englishman. The Brit sighed happily. I wonder what that stupid wanker dreams about, Arthur thought as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Alfred was just riding into town when he heard the bloodcurdling shriek pierce the air. He turned his head just in time to hear the shouts and laughter of outlaws coming from the town bank, and a voice with a thick English accent scream, “Someone, please help me!” Alfred knew that voice. He would know that voice anywhere.
He quickly dismounted his horse and burst through the swinging doors, pistol in hand. Five criminals stood in a circle in the bank’s lobby. The doors to the vaults were all completely demolished. And the person who had cried out for help was surrounded by the burglars, bound to a chair by a length of rope.
“Sheriff Jones!” Arthur, the town’s bank teller, called to him. His hands and ankles were confined with more rope, and a piece of cloth tied around his neck suggested that he had been gagged, but managed to slip his head out of it. The American walked up to the stunned outlaws, smirking.
“You might as well surrender now,” Alfred proclaimed. “The hero is here!” There was a moment of silence as the criminals took in the sight of the great sheriff, and it seemed as if the whole town was holding its breath until the ringleader spoke up.
“Oh, sorry, are we bothering you?” The head burglar, an albino man clothed in black exclaimed, tone mocking. “We’ll just get out of your hair.” He turned to his cohorts. “Get the loot and go!” He barked, and the four followers quickly obeyed, grabbing sacks of money and running outside. The albino didn’t follow.
His red eyes traveled to the captive Brit. “Oh, yeah,” The albino shot the American hero a winning smirk. “We’ll also be taking him.” He quickly cut loose the rope binding Arthur to the chair (his hands were still immobile), tossed him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes, and darted out of the bank.
Alfred ran outside, seething as he watched the outlaws mount their horses, bounty in tow. He quickly straddled his own horse and dug the heels of his boots into the stallion’s side, causing the steed to begin galloping at a breakneck pace. As he neared the group of criminals, he pulled out his pistol, aiming it at the ringleader. The albino just clicked his tongue at him, still smirking.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded, holding up the kidnapped teller in front of him like a meat shield. “Don’t want your poor baby to get hurt, now do we?” The Brit thrashed in his bindings, then looked up and saw the gun pointed at him, and his expression turned from one of anger to one of fear. The Sheriff instinctively lowered his gun. The head burglar smiled.
“Checkmate, boy.” he taunted. Outraged, the American grabbed the tail of the ringleader’s horse, causing it to slow down, and the albino’s smirk morphed into a scowl. In a quick movement, he drew forth his own pistol and pressed it against Arthur’s temple.
“One more move and I shoot!” he warned. Alfred gritted his teeth. It seemed like they were at an impasse. His eyes wandered from the criminal and the terrified Englishman to his gun hand. It was positioned right over…
Without a moment to lose, the sheriff squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the ringleader’s horse’s leg. Giving out an agonized whinny, it collapsed to the ground. For a split second, the American felt bad for the horse, he hated to hurt animals in any shape or form. But he shook it off as he dismounted his stallion and ran with pistol in hand to face the two men crumpled on the ground; it was for the greater good. Alfred rushed to the disoriented outlaw and snatched his gun before he could respond.
When the albino finally realized what was happening, his hand automatically went for his pistol, only to find nothing but empty space. The sheriff pointed both weapons at the criminal, breathing hard.
“I’m going to spare you, just this once,” The American told him, watching the albino’s fearful face, “Under these conditions: One, don’t ever let me catch you in my town again. Two, don’t even think about robbing anyone else ever again. Three…” Alfred brought his face closer to the burglar’s, scowl more prominent then ever.
“If you ever lay a finger on Arthur ever, ever again, you will be very, very sorry. Understand?” he growled. The criminal nodded rapidly.
“Good.” The sheriff backed away from the man. “Now, leave. Before I change my mind.” The albino nodded again and scampered away hurriedly.
The American then turned to the Brit, who hadn’t uttered a sound during this round of threatening. He continued to stare in awe at the man who had just saved him as he began to untie the Englishman’s limbs. After he was freed, Alfred stretched out a hand towards the overwhelmed man and helped him to his feet. For a few moments, Arthur was silent, just blinking up at his rescuer with his large, brilliantly green eyes.
“You saved me,” The Brit breathed.
“Think nothing of it,” The American replied.
“Alfred,” The Englishman whispered, drawing closer to the taller blonde.
“You’re my hero.”
The sheriff and the teller’s lips met, and Alfred slowly wrapped his arms around the Brit. A few moments later, Arthur pulled away.
“Alfred?” he said tenderly.
“Yes?”
“Alfred! Wake up, you bloody git!”
Alfred blinked his eyes sleepily. Arthur was standing over him in bed, frowning.
“Artie, why’d you wake me up?” The taller blonde whined, pouting.
“Because I made your coffee already, and it’s getting cold. Now get out of bed.” The Brit shoved the American, though playfully, trying to hide a smile at seeing his lover so groggy. Usually Arthur was the one being dragged kicking and screaming out of the bed.
“Well, I wish you hadn’t…I was having the greatest dream.”
Author’s Note: Yeesh. I have more chapters on than I do on my legit story. More views here, too. Ah well. Anyways, did you enjoy my cliché cowboy fluffery? I considered doing a Captain America-themed dream (BEST AVENGER FIGHT ME), but for some reason it just felt right to do cowboys. Maybe I’ll do a sequel one like that. Also, Prussia ended up as my villain. Not completely sure how that happened. Anyways, thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my trash! /smiles/ Kudos and comments are highly appreciated! Almost (I think) 100 views! WOOP WOOP! Keep it coming! CANADA HUGS 4 DAYZ!
Signing Off,
@FabulousFerret
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