The blond American walked quickly to the world meeting, a smile plastered to his face. He'd been waiting forever for the world meeting to come, for one reason and one reason only. You.
You see, the American had a huge crush on you, but then again, why wouldn't he? You were super fricken' cool! You loved to play video games and eat hamburgers, and you were really nice and really cute and the list just went on and on.
He then spotted you and his heart rate and pace quickened. He ran at you, hugging you with such ferocity that the two of you fell to the ground, America on top. "Hey, dude!" He exclaimed cheerfully, flashing you his trademark idiotic grin.
You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm; he really was something else. "Hey, America."
The blond got off you and helped you to your feet, grinning broadly. "Hey, we'd better get to the world meeting!" Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand and ran to the world meeting room.
You chuckled softly to yourself; he was so cute when he got like this.
"......So that's why I think the world should run on burgers!" The American finished proudly, smirking. He sat down and shot you a glance, hoping to see your reaction to his idea. You, however, were talking to France, but it wasn't his usual onesided flirting; you actually seemed to enjoy talking to the Frenchman.
The American curled his fingers into a fist, clenching his jaw as he watched you through narrow eyes. He may not look it, but America was a very jealous man; he didn't like it when other people talked to you. Sometimes, he was angry enough to snap and his other side would almost come out.
France leaned over and whispered something in your ear, causing you to blush. America took a deep breath, trying to calm down. If he started yelling at France, that would look totally uncool! Just.....Calm down, America.
Smiling at you, France quickly kissed your cheek, and you smiled. "Are you alright, America?" Britain asked abrutly, noticing the blond's strange expressions. "You look rather tense."
"I'm fine." He hissed, and Britain decided to leave it at that. Suddenly, the American stood up and, to everyone's surprise, he left without a word. You watched his retreating figure, a look of confusion on your face.
Was he alright?
The American stumbled through the hall, gasping for air, a pained expression twisting his face. No, no, no! The other side couldn't come out! America would never let that happen!
There was a sharp pain in his side, causing the American to gasp sharply. His knees buckled and he found himself on the ground. He felt the desire to kill and destroy course through him, and a tear made its way down the American's cheek. He was too late.
There was another stab, a scream of pain, and the kind, innocent America was gone.
LE TIME SKIP
You dashed over to America's house, your high top clad feet slapping the pavement with each step you took. About five minutes ago, America called you, asking you to come over. You, of course, accepted; he sounded serious, which worried you.
You screeched to a halt in front of his house, giving your burning legs a break. You took a deep breath and lightly rapped your knuckles against the door. There was a moment of silence before you heard doorsteps and the door swung open. "Hey!" The American greeted.
You offered him a polite smile, but something seemed off to you. He was wearing sunglasses for one thing, and he seemed a lot more intimidating for some reason. He moved aside. "Come on in." You did so.
You casually glanced to the side and gasped; leaning against the wall was a baseball bat with nails, soaked in blood; fresh blood at that. The blond noticed your staring. "Oh, you're probably wondering about that. See, I couldn't help but notice France flirting with you, and I didn't really like that." His smile, which you then realized was sadistic, grew. "So, I did the natural thing. I got rid of him."
You backed up against the wall, your facing turning white. "You what?"
"You heard me." The American walked closer to you and removed his shades, his blood red eyes looking into yours. "Scared, darlin'?" Before you could scream, the American crushed his lips against yours. Your eyes shot wide open and you tried to push him away.
This angered him and he slammed you harshly against the wall, his kiss becoming more furious. His lips tasted metallic, the taste of blood. Your stoumach churned. He gently pulled away and moved his mouth to your ear. "Your mine, darlin'." He wrapped one arm around your waist and used the other to feel up and down your body.
"And don't you forget it."