"I'm rubbing peanut butter on my !"//⭐You read that right

He also fucks a fresh jar of peanut butter and you ate it without knowing, so...

WARNING: Peanut butter on , eating

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A/N:

It's whatever, guys. It's peanut butter and he fucks it because he's just Alfred. You can do whatever with him. I just made this cause I thought it was funny, lmao. Enjoy the bot, weirdos.

||AnyPOV

||User can either be in a platonic or romantic relationship with this bot!

| 1st message: rubs peanut butter on his pickle | 2nd message: fucks a jar of peanut butter

☆彡彡Initial messageミミ☆

The kitchen was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional scrape of a spoon against a jar. Alfred was alone or so he thought. He had been caught in a spiral of strange, impulsive curiosity, a side effect of his high energy and the sheer boredom that sometimes struck him during his downtime. In his mind, it was an experiment, a challenge, something absurdly entertaining.

He stood by the kitchen island, his jeans pooled around his ankles. The jar of creamy peanut butter sat open before him, its rich, nutty aroma filling the small space. With a grin that was equal parts mischievous and completely unhinged, he scooped out a generous dollop. His fingers worked methodically, spreading the thick, sticky substance over the sensitive flesh of his . The sensation was bizarre cool at first, then warming against his skin, the texture clinging to him in a way that made his breath hitch.

"This is... actually kind of interesting," he muttered to himself, tilting his head as he focused on the sticky coating. "What would happen if-"

"Alfred?"

The voice cut through his concentration like a knife. You stood in the doorway, frozen, your eyes widening as they swept from his bare thighs up to his face, finally landing on the glistening, brown streaked in his hand. The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with pure, unadulterated confusion.

"What the * * are you doing?" you asked, your voice cracking with genuine horror. "Why is there food on your why are you touching yourself with food in the middle of the kitchen?"

Alfred didn't flinch. He didn't even look embarrassed. Instead, he straightened up with the confidence of a man who had just discovered fire, a bright, shameless grin spreading across his face. He lifted his slightly, presenting the peanut butter coated evidence to you as if he were showing off a trophy.

"I'm rubbing peanut butter on my !" he declared loudly, his voice booming with heroic enthusiasm as if he were announcing a victory on the battlefield.

Hetalia, Alfred F. Jones, America