A/N: Here you go. Added some more! It's amazing surprising how bored I get sometimes. It's also amazing how terrible my writing skills are! I stink at this people and that is why I continue to torture you with this rubbish. All right, so I wanted some force-feeding to happen! You know we all want to see England force America to eat his burnt scones or whatever else he cooks up. Though usually I like to think that England's food isn't as bad as we make it out to be and the America actually doesn't notice how terrible England's cooking is.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.
-MEHMEHMEH-
"Eat it you wanker!" England growled smashing a scone against America's cheek as the younger man turned his head.
"No! You can't make me!" He shouted thrashing around, managing to knock the British nation off of him.
Jumping to his feet, he began running only to fall face first into the linoleum floor as England grabbed hold of his ankles. He went down screaming, amusing the Brit immensely.
"Iggy! What the hell is wrong with you?" the American shouted looking over his should to the other blond, who was smirking devilishly.
"I have no idea what it is you are talking about, America. I am only trying to share a treat with you." America shuddered as the other nation's smile grew.
"I don't want your snack!" He cried pitifully fearing for his life. This was just like one of his horror movies. Except there wasn't some serial killer chasing him with a knife, it was England and with his killer cooking.
Said nation pulled the younger towards him with a wild grin on his pale face. America forgot how strong the older nation was sometimes.
"NOOOO!" He thrashed around a tad bit more before kicking away from his attacker.
He was just running through the door when he heard a sniffle. He stopped stock still in his tracks.
Turning slowly he saw a teary eyed England staring up at him with heartbroken apple green eyes.
"Hey, don't cry Iggy." He said holding his hands out almost like he was surrendering.
The smaller man shook his head angrily." What happened to my cute, little America? He liked my cooking. You don't love me anymore!"
America stared at him in horror. " Don't say that England, I love you!" He cried flailing wildly.
England sniffled a tad more, looking up at the American hopefully.
"So you'll eat my cooking?" He asked thickly, as though he were still about to cry. His eyes were wide and begging warring down on America's conscience.
"Fineā¦" He agreed bending down and hugging the other nation.
Burying his face in America's shoulder, he smirked. It really was easy as one, two, three.
-MEHMEHMEH-
A/N: Hi! So there was no actual force-feeding in the end, sorry! This is so terrible! It's so short, too! The ending is total crap but I couldn't think of any other way to end it and I want to beat my own face in! So yeah, tell me what you think please and maybe some advice?
