This is the first fanfiction written by M.
Hetalia belongs to it's rightful owners and none of these characters are mine etc.
It was a quiet afternoon when Feliciano woke up from his siesta. He lazily looked around the room looking for something to do. His fratello was with Spain and Ludwig was with Austria and Prussia. He got up out of bed and went to the kitchen to make pasta. Something struck his eye when he entered the kitchen though, there was a mysterious bottle on the counter filled with a amber brown liquid.
"Ve~ what's this? Ahh! I remember, Ludwig's brother left this here. He said he got it as a gift from a really big northern nation and said it was almost as awesome as he was" said the Italian man.
He cautiously flicked the lid open and stuck his index finger into the sticky stuff. He slowly pulled it out and stared as it gradually drizzled down onto the countertop. Better not let it go to waste he thought and stuck his finger into his mouth. Explosions of flavour erupted in his mouth. Needing more of the sugary substance, he grabbed the glass bottle and gulped it down quickly till there was none left.
"It's so sweet and yummy! I wonder what it would taste like on pasta!" he said but the thought quickly vanished as he looked down at the empty container. I'll just get more then if I'm out already right? Knowing that Germany wouldn't be home for the next couple he days, Italy packed his things and went to the first northern nation he thought about, Russia!
The flight had been very long and tiring but Italy knew it would be worth it for more of that sugary goodness. He sighed happily and slowly made his way through the crowds of Moscow to the house of the most feared nation on Earth. As he approached the house he realized the temperature had dramatically dropped from earlier.
"I must be in the right place then! But this place is scary!" Feliciano muttered out loud.
The house stood solitary from the others. The wood of the porch was rotting and the building definitely need a new coat of paint. The gray residence gave off a spooky aura as the little man crept closer to the front gate. He gave it a slight nudge and the rusty gate squeaked open. He quickly slipped inside and made his way to the front door. Each step was loud from either the snow crunching under his feet or from the groan the porch steps gave as he stepped on them.
Finally at the front door he took a deep breath and knocked, hoping that Mr. Russia was in a good mood today. Italy liked his legs not broken.