Welcome Home, General (Hetalia Alfred F. Jones x Reader)
(This is NSFW! MDNI!)
(cw: Breeding, Marathon sex, really REALLY needy Alfred, he just came home from a mission in the military and he is STARVING for pussy, established relationship)
It’s just past 1:00 AM when the door unlocks. No one hears it, not even you. Because you’re fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, face softened in the pale glow of the paused movie on your TV. A half-finished mug of tea sits cold on the coffee table. The room smells like vanilla and home.
And Alfred? Alfred’s standing in the doorway, duffel bag at his feet, breath gone. You weren’t supposed to know he was coming home tonight. He was supposed to arrive in the morning, let you know he landed. Walk through the door with flowers and some dumb grin like everything was normal.
But now, seeing you there like this… peaceful, curled up in one of his old t-shirts, your bare legs tangled in the blanket, mouth slightly parted? He snaps. He doesn’t call your name. Doesn’t clear his throat.
He drops the bag. Kicks the door shut. And stalks toward you like a man possessed. You stir slightly as his heavy boots thud against the floor, but it isn’t until he’s yanking the blanket off your body that your eyes flutter open.
“Alfie…?”
He’s already on you. His hands are everywhere. Dragging your thighs apart, grabbing your hips, hauling you upward until you’re seated, dazed, against the couch cushions. You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours. Hot. Open. Claiming. No “I missed you.” No “I’m home.”
Just raw, unfiltered need.
“Couldn’t wait,” he growls against your lips. “Fuck… couldn’t fucking wait another second.”
He tears your panties down with one hand, already rutting against you, still mostly clothed. Tactical pants half-unzipped, belt clinking loose, groaning when he feels how ready you are beneath him.
“You were waiting for me. Always so warm for me, baby… fuck.”
“Alfred, I-ah-!”
You try to speak, but he’s already sliding into you in one hard, deep thrust, and you swear you see stars. You clutch at his shirt, his hair, whatever you can grab as he starts moving without hesitation. Fast, rough, possessive. Each snap of his hips slams into you like he’s trying to bury months of longing in your skin. His forehead drops to yours, sweat dripping, voice wrecked.
“Thought about this every fucking night… This pretty little cunt. My girl. My home. You’re mine.”
Your moans echo through the dark, your back arching as he thrusts harder. Deeper .His hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he needs you. The couch creaks violently. The TV light flickers behind you. And all you feel is him. Filling you. Ruining you. Loving you in the only language his body knows right now: desperation. You tighten around him, gasping his name, and he snarls, low and dangerous.
“You gonna come for me already? Huh, baby? Been so good while I was gone. Don’t hold back now. Fucking give it to me.”
And when you do - shuddering, crying out his name, nails dragging down his back - he loses it. His mouth crashes to yours in a bruising kiss, hips slamming deep as he spills inside you with a broken growl, burying his whole body against yours like he wants to disappear into you entirely.
Your limbs are still tangled with his on the couch.
The sweat hasn’t dried. His cum is still dripping from between your thighs, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of round one.
But Alfred’s not done. He stares down at you like he’s been starving for months. and one taste wasn’t enough. Not even close.
“Get in the shower,” he mutters, voice gravel, thumb brushing over the bruise he left on your hip. You blink, still breathless.
“Alfie…?”
“Now.”
He stands. Drags you up with him. Doesn’t even give you time to fully catch your balance before he's walking you backwards into the bathroom, naked, wrecked, and already throbbing between your legs again. The lights stay off.
Steam curls around you the moment he turns the water on, pressing your back to the cold tile while the heat builds in the air and in his eyes. He looks down at you like he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Then-
He grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and kisses you hard.
“One round wasn’t enough,” he groans into your mouth. “I didn’t get my fill.”
You gasp as he drops to his knees in the steam. He spreads your legs with his shoulders. Presses you into the wall like an offering. Then he eats you. Desperate. Loud. Filthy. Tongue sliding through your slit, licking up his own cum like he wants it back. Groaning like it’s not enough to have been inside you. He needs you screaming his name again.
“Still so wet,” he pants. “Still fucking mine.”
You fist his hair, back arching, thighs shaking, but before you can even finish, before the orgasm can leave your lips, he’s standing again. And he’s already lining himself up. You try to speak-
“Condom-”
“No.”
He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh, hiking it up around his waist.
“I’m going in raw,” he growls. “You think I came home to feel less of you?”
You barely manage to moan before he thrusts into you again, fully, without pause. You cry out, the tile scraping your spine, the water pounding down around you as his hips slam into you, skin to skin, no barrier this time.
“I need to come inside you for real,” he grits out, pounding into you. “Need it deep. Need to fucking breed you, baby.”
“Alfred… fuck-!”
“I wanna ruin you for anyone else. You get that?” His teeth scrape your neck. “Wanna leave you leaking for days. Wanna fill you up so bad you feel me every time you move.”
You’re barely hanging on, moaning into the steam, trembling as he drives into you relentlessly. No tenderness, just pure need and possession. His dog tags slap against your chest, water cascading off his back, your fingers locked in his wet hair, both of you slipping further into something primal.
“You gonna take all of me again?” he groans.
“Gonna let me come inside you raw and keep it this time?”
“Yes! Yes, Alfred… please…”
And he slams in deep, grinding, staying there as he bursts, gasping curses into your neck, biting down hard as your second orgasm hits like a tidal wave, clenching around him and dragging every last drop from his body. You both collapse, sliding slowly down the wall, his arms holding you in place as water washes over your tangled, shaking bodies. His forehead presses to yours.
“That wasn’t even close to enough.”
You smile, ruined and glowing.
“Then don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t. Your back is pressed to the steamy tile, your skin raw and your thighs trembling. You’ve already come - twice? Three times? You’ve lost count. Your legs barely work. But Alfred isn’t slowing down. He’s still hard, inside you. Still holding your hips in a bruising grip, his cock sliding deep again and again, the sound of wet, filthy skin-on-skin echoing beneath the rush of the shower. Your fingers claw into his slick shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.
“Alfie… please! I can’t…”
He cuts you off with a low growl.
“Yes, you fucking can.”
His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, not to comfort — but to keep you still as he leans in and murmurs filth against your mouth.
“Matter of fact,” he pants, voice hoarse and twisted with heat, “We’re not sleeping tonight. Not till I’m sure. Not till it takes. Not till I know I’ve got my baby in you.”
Your body jolts, a mix of fear and pure molten want cascading down your spine.
“A-Alfred…”
He thrusts deeper, tilting your hips just right, hitting the spot that makes you cry out… That makes your knees buckle, and his expression turns feral.
“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s where it needs to go. That’s where I’m gonna keep pumping it in. Again. And again. Until this tight little cunt does its job and takes all of me.”
You're gasping. Breathless, trembling, dripping, but clinging to him.
“You're shaking,” he breathes against your ear, lips curling.
“Is that fear, baby? Or excitement?”
You can’t even answer. Your voice is gone. Only broken moans and whispered pleads and the sound of him ruining you.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to choose. You’re gonna give it to me anyway. Even if you cry. Even if you scream.”
He bites down gently on your shoulder. And he fucks you harder.
You can’t stop the way your body responds. The way you arch into it, into him, sobbing his name, your walls fluttering around his cock like you’re begging for it.
“That’s it,” he hisses. “That’s my girl. You’re made for this. For me.”
His fingers move to your stomach, splayed across the soft skin just below your navel.
“Right here,” he groans. “You’re gonna swell with me. Gonna carry proof of what we did tonight. And every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember who fucking owns you.”
You come again.
It’s not graceful. It’s not quiet. It’s wild and wet and primal, body convulsing around him as he groans deep in his chest.
“Fuck… Gonna fill you again …Every last drop.”
And he does. Presses in deep, holds you tight, and unloads like he’s branding you with it. You’re barely conscious by the time he kisses you again - all tongue, no gentleness. And then he whispers against your lips:
“One more time, baby. Still not done. Not till I know it took.”
And he lifts your leg again. Still hard. Still desperate. Still not finished with you.
Soo, I decided to start writing smut cause I was getting bored of just reading it. I couldn’t find many good ones in the fandom… the hetalia smut industry is dead. Dead and gone.
Smut headcanons for:
• Russia
• France
• Japan
So, let’s start with this childish sadist <3
• size kink. We all know this. It’s common knowledge in the Hetalia community.
• probably a temperature kink of some sort. Particularly the cold. Would probably stuff ice cubes into you. Maybe his magic metal pipe of pain but… ouch.
• sex is actually an intimate and delicate thing for him, too bad he’d ruin it with his other massive pipe.
• definitely does not understand normal human limits. Overstimulation is a default setting for sex with him…
Let’s go for the pretty boy/heartthrob/playboy!
• definitely is amazing at aftercare. Can’t tell me he’s not.
• definitely does his queer accent heavy laugh during it. Bro still has the energy to do that shit while balls deep in you.
• definitely a lot of experience. It’s almost canon at this point.
• probably calls you French nicknames during it like the cheeky bitch he is.
Now for my pretty boy, JAPAN.
• he has the patience to edge you for hours, I’m telling you.
• he definitely has soft hands. Probably one of the best countries to get fingered by and I stand by that.
• probably never asks for sex. He just doesn’t. He won’t. It’s not polite. He waits until you ask.
• definitely into Shibari. It’s Japanese so it’s kind of obvious.
Germany… probably the hardest (pun intended) to get into this situation.
• maid dress kink. Prussia said so at one point, if I recall correctly.
• beastiality, apparently. Italy said some wild shit about his kinks.
• control kink. Definitely.
• ultra virgin alert. I just know this shit.
China, one of the biggest twinks in Hetalia!
• he’s old, okay? He ain’t gonna do it much.
• try to avoid getting too weird with whatever you ask to try. He’s old and doesn’t understand kinks much. “Weird western nonsense” or whatever.
• probably hasn’t had many partners. Who knows though, maybe he was a slut in his teenage years.
• overall pretty vanilla.
Romano, our tsundere twink.
• he does in-fact love women and would probably praise you if you were one. If you’re not, then eh you’ll probably get a blushy tsundere who keeps calling you a bastardo.
• probably rougher then his brother Italy. He’s trying to seem macho, okay?
• probably uses object insertion and puts the handle of a knife in there. He’s trying to seem macho, but he doesn’t wanna hurt you. Knives make him cool, right?
• you’ll probably get a blushy boy who refuses to even glance at you afterwards. Maybe a lil catholic guilt in there if it wasn’t vanilla or not with a woman, but he probably won’t regret it.
Thanks for reading my unholy fantasies with countries. Thanks.
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