#aph x reader

it was love at first sight for america when he met you. he was immediately intrigued by everything about you—your life, what you do, everything. obviously he wanted to know where you lived so that he can surprise you with gifts, so he made a whole section in the fbi just to watch your every move.

his room was filled with your pictures, your routines, everything. he even knows some things you didn’t. he keeps visiting you with some sort of gift. you were a bit concerned at first because you’d never given him your address, but that thought slowly washed away with every gift.

he finally asked you out, and when you said yes, he was the happiest man alive. this time, he would be more clingy and protective of you. you thought nothing of it—you even thought it was cute—until it got worse.

he installed cameras in your house while you were away, “making sure your safe.” he’d get possessive even when you were around people. a man eyeing you across the street? gone. someone flirting with you? gone. you started to get worried. it was like his facial expression completely changed—one minute he was glaring at whoever you were talking to, and the next he was smiling brightly at you once they left.

when you tried talking to america about the strange disappearances with people you used to know, he’d just give you that puppy-dog look, and insist he knew nothing about it.

america was picking up your suspicions about his behavior and thought it was finally time you moved in with him—forever.

you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours, pictures of yourself hanging on the walls greeting you as your vision cleared. you tried to move, but your arm was tied to the bed frame. panic set in. america walked in, greeting you cheerfully and offering you a glass of water. you started crying, wondering why this was happening, and america gently hugged you, trying to reassure you.

a few days passed before he finally untied the chain around your arm, offering you “freedom” for behaving so well. you had to get out—quickly, hopefully. when america headed out, you began searching his cabin for an exit everyday.

one day, you made your “fool-proof” escape plan. you waited until america left and set it into motion. you escaped through the back door, expecting it to be locked, but to your surprise, it was open.

little did you know, america was watching you through the security cameras he’d installed. he knew about your escape plan but decided to have a little fun with you.

you ran out into the woods, realizing too late that you hadn’t planned how to navigate them. you kept running, panic clouding your mind—until your leg got caught in a bear trap. the pain was unbearable. you tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

then you hear footsteps behind you. you turned around—it was america. you tried crawling away, but only managed a few inches before he reached you.

he knelt down, his puppy-like smile masking any hint of anger. he pried the trap open and looked at you with that same innocent expression. defeated and out of breath, you didn’t fight back—you accepted your fate.

america picked you up bridal-style and carried you back to his cabin. he bandaged your leg and tied your arm to the bed frame again—a punishment for not listening.

A = Aftercare

He’s pretty decent at it, he’ll ask if you’re okay, get you a glass of water, wipe you down, then clean a bit.

B = Body Part

he loves every single part of you, on him he loves his hands since he has those really pretty slim hands.

C = Cum

either in your mouth or in you.

D = Dirty secret

he has a bunch of hentai, but it’s hard to find them bc they’re scattered in his manga shelf.

E = Experience

this man has been around for the LONGEST so he’s pretty experienced.

F = Favorite position

keeps it simple with missionary, cowgirl, or doggy style.

G = Goofy (is he more goofy or serious in bed?)

he is NEVER goofy during sex, to him sex is the closest you can get to someone’s soul, and should be taken seriously.

H = Hair

he trims when it gets really out of hand.

I = Intimacy

he’s pretty intimate.

J = Jack off

he jacks off all the time, but you will never know bc he’s so private.

K = Kink

ugh this man is such a pervert, ageplay, tying, overstimulation, teasing, pet play, edging, master, feet (FOOTJOB)

L = Location

always in the bedroom or sometimes the shower

M = Motivation

he’s always horny so he doesn’t need a lot of motivation

N = No

vouyerism, poop.

O = Oral

he prefers giving and he’s like a 8/10, but he doesn’t mind receiving.

P = Pace

he’s either really fast, or really slow taking his time, grinding in you.

Q = Quickies

it depends on the day, if it’s the day where he feels like going fast then sure.

R = Risk

no risks, i’ve stated this a billion times

S = Stamina

he can last for one round for a long time

T = Toys

rope (for shibari), and a vibrator when he wants to overstimulate you.

U = Unfair

he loves to tease and edge and overstimulate, your a mess after every session.

V = Volume

he lets out the occasional breath and a grunt when he slides into you

W = Wild card

he lovesss to do shibari on you, it makes your boobs look nice and he can make the rope look pretty.

X = X-Ray

he said it himself, he’s a grower not a shower.

Y = Yearning

he can go without sex, he’s fine with jerking off.

Z = Zzz (how quickly does he fall asleep after?)

(10 seconds.)

Lukas likes to make you work for his attention. He’s a cool, aloof lover, the kind whose comments settle over you like the chill of winter. 

In contrast to his dry wit, he works at you like a sculptor, hands nimble and light. Reverent even. He’s unhurried, precise. 

But that’s exactly what makes you want to put on such a brazen display. 

He’s eyed you once or twice but his attention is primarily on the laptop before him. But the sound of fabric shifting piques his interest, and he looks up just in time to see your robe slipping off your shoulders and pooling around your ankles. His gaze roams appreciatively over the sight–your bare skin, goosebumps along your arms. 

He raises a thinly arched brow.

“You’re daring today,” he notes, his lips quirking upwards at one end. He closes his laptop, setting it aside before clasping his hands over his lap, crossing his legs at the ankle. He looks you up and down with no shame, appraising you. “What for?”

The question slips through the space between you as you approach him. Your thigh nudges between his legs, and you know he’s found his answer when his gaze trails up slowly, deliberately–from the apex of your legs, bare and glistening, upwards to the jut of your chest, landing on the leather collar around your neck.

By the way his breath catches slightly, his gaze fixated on it, you can tell he hadn’t noticed that. 

“Is this for me?” he asks, fingers skimming the collar like someone perusing fine china. You bite down on your lip and he hooks his finger under the material, dragging you forward. His lips claim yours with the clear intention that he would soon find out.

(And when it’s over, nothing is as damning as the angry red imprint of his hands on your ass. Or the similar red blooms specked across your neck and collarbone.)

(9 seconds.)

Heracles is an infamous lover, his exploits as legendary as his rich history. Yet if there is one thing you know intimately about him, it’s that he can be quite a lazy lover as well, enjoying the throes of sleep nearly as much as the conquest of bodies.

You had awoken in his bed, the hazy remnants of last night filtering through your mind like the rays of the morning sun peeking through his blinds. You found him nestled in his sheets, his brow unperturbed. The easy rise and fall of his chest reminded you of when it was much more labored just a few hours ago.

It seems only natural, you shifting to straddle him, your legs parting around his waist. The sheets slipping off your form. Chest-to-chest, you move in languid rocking motions, sighing softly as the friction it generates is enough to re-ignite the low flame within you. It takes a few seconds before the soft breaths warming the top of your head stutter, and his hand presses against your back.

“G’morning,” he says groggily, a hint of amusement in his languid smile. You don’t cease your movements, the hot column of flesh between the cheeks of your thighs responding to you. Heracles rests his hands on your hips, sighing softly once you reach between your bodies to touch him more substantively. 

He lets out a breathy moan however once you shift forwards and he’s nestled into your tight warmth once more.

The best way to wake up, in his experience.

(8 seconds.)

Ivan isn’t a brute. No matter how much he wants to take you (and he wants it so badly in fact; your legs wrapped around his an image seared into his mind, the sweet moans of his name pouring from your lips like music to his ears)... he is considerate. You’re smaller than him, you’re not sturdy, not hardened like one of his enemies; in fact, he’d say you’re quite the opposite—

But you certainly are testing the limits of his patience. Perched in his lap as you are, grinding your hips against his in a maddening tango. His grip tightens around your waist–a warning. His hand tightens around the phone pressed to ear, and you hear the way the plastic creaks, as if he’s about to break it. His responses to his boss are  monosyllabic, his thoughts entering around how you present yourself before him, much like a rabbit begging to be pounced on by a lynx—

He catches movement from the corner of his eye, and he watches, gaze sharp, as you reach for his hand gripping your side, yanking his glove off before throwing it onto the floor. Then slowly, deliberately, your gaze trained on him, you bring his hand up to your mouth. He watches as your lips wrap them around one thick finger, before sucking, and surely, even through his pants, you can feel the way his cock jumps at the action. 

“Sorry, boss,” Ivan says, his gaze darkening as he watches your tongue work over his digit. “But I will have to call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for so much as a response.

Ivan tosses his phone to the side, grasping your jaw with his free hand. Your mouth releases his finger, and in a flurry of movement, he’s pining both of your hands above your head in a firm grip.

“You want my fingers so bad, da?” He laughs, a dark, velvety sound. “I’ll give them to you, but don’t blame me if it's rough.”

(7 seconds.)

“Ay, gracias a dios, what did I even do to deserve you, amor?”

Antonio’s lips trail down your neck, littering kisses in conjunction with his honeyed praise. His hands roam your form, groaning once he feels your soft flesh barely contained by the scrappy fabric of your panties. Your giggle has antonio pulling back.

“What? Why are you laughing?” he asks, pulling back with a grin. He can’t help but chuckle himself.

“You’re just so easy, Toni.” You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. 

“And you’re very tempting,” he quips, hooking his finger into the thin strap of your thong and pulling; watching, with delight, as he lets it go and it snaps against your skin. you jolt, and with a sharp intake of breath, Antonio takes the opportunity to latch his mouth onto the top of your chest, sucking freshly bloomed roses onto your skin. 

“No more games though,” he groans once he lifts his head. He adjusts your position until your back is sinking into the bed, him looming above you. His hand reaches out to graze your cheek, brushing hair from your face, before trailing lower, skimming your hardened nipple through the thin lace, then even lower, his fingers circling the dampened fabric between your legs, stroking lightly. 

Antonio grins once more, pressing a kiss to your eyelid. His breath washes hot over your skin.

“I am so very hungry, mi corazón. I want to taste you.”

(6 seconds.)

No one gets close enough to Kiku to see how deep brown his eyes are. Dark enough to be black, with the richest shades of carob, those same eyes are trained upon you now, darkened with desire not often seen on the reserved man’s expressions.  

“What were you planning when you asked me to do this?” he says, his voice assured. Unwavering. His boldness also surprised you; in public, he was reticent, quiet. In private, he liked to take control. His thigh is between your legs, parting them, and you have to resist the urge to grind into it. Your hands are bound together with his belt, above you. 

“I’m not sure,” you admit. His gaze darts down to the way you wet your lips, the heave of your chest. He cocks his head to the side.

“I don’t believe you.”

Of course, he knows. He heard of the challenge from the internet, but he hardly expected you to try and trick him into it, pinning him against the wall with a cheeky grin. Still, he played along, spurred by his own interest in just how you’d react when the tables were turned. You didn’t have a moment to react before your world spun, and he had pinned you against the wall instead.  

His gaze rakes down your form, the same way a connoisseur would survey their goods before partaking in them.

He leans in. “Perhaps I’ll need to train you to be more honest,” he says, his breath hot against your neck. “Let’s start with this: where do you want it first?” 

(5 seconds.)

Gilbert didn’t realize that this could be an outcome. Sure he played rough as a youth, enjoyed the spar of bodies, and the smell of battle, but this?

This is the allure of the sweat trailing down your skin, your breathless laugh as you ask him if he’s done with his workout. He never considered this to be exciting—yet he likes it. It reminds him of how certain other activities can also work up quite a sweat. You ask him for a sip of his water, and Gilbert absentmindedly hands you his bottle. He’s thinking instead, about possibilities.

More specifically, whether or not the two of you could reasonably fit in one of the gym’s shower stalls for a quick tryst.

You’re dabbing the sweat off your neck with a towel, asking if he wants to grab a post-workout snack, when he acts. He rips the towel from your grasp, throwing it onto the floor.

“Hey!” you exclaim, only to yelp when he wraps his arms around your chest and pulls you back into him. Your brow raises when something firm prods against your ass, and you meet his mischievous gaze in the mirror.

“Maus, I think we’ve got to hold off on that.” He grins at you, his arms wrapping tighter around you. You can’t miss the way he rolls his hips against your back. “After all, we’re about to start the second workout.”

(4 seconds.)

Francis has a taste for the finer things in life: fine wine, fine food, fine clothing. Beauty, the arts. He considers himself a man of exquisite taste, his eye for the best unparalleled.

Indeed, he thinks, watching you splayed before him, the silk robe caressing every dip and curve of you, he makes very good choices. He downs the last of his sauvignon, setting the glass onto the table.

“Mon chérie, let me get a closer look at you.” He gestures, and you do a twirl for him, your gait slightly off kilter, no doubt due to the few glasses you’ve had yourself. He chuckles, his hands reaching around to grasp you fully, to engulf you in his hold. His lips skim your collarbone, his other hand deftly undoing the tie to your robe, revealing you to him. 

“Magnifique. You must excuse my gall, but… I’d like to appreciate such a fine work of art.”

(3 seconds.)

Abel you’ve come to find, is not the patient type. He is when he needs to be, when it comes to negotiating trades or haggling, but he much prefers the blunt, take-what-you-can-when-you-want approach.

Including now.

“Stop moving your hips,” he grunts, large hands planted firmly on your ass. When you fail to listen, stubbornly continuing your rhythm, he grips one cheek fully and smacks, the sound reverberating in the room. You whine, and he takes the opportunity to eye your swollen mound.

After all, what else was he supposed to do when he came home to find you bent over the couch, the hem of one of his old shirts hitched high up your hips, showing the cute boxer shorts you had on? He may be a man of great restraint, but he is greedy, above all.

He thrusts into your mouth suddenly, a sharp motion, and you gag, pulling off of him. As you cough, Abel makes an annoyed sound, his cock twitching from the lack of stimulation. 

After all, Abel thinks, his tongue delving into you once more, his fingers furiously plunging into your depths (Efficiency, putting you over the edge as quick as possible.) 

Why be patient when he can be fervid?

(2 seconds.)

The bathroom door slams open, and Alfred stands there, disheveled and panting.

“Dude! You said we could shower together….” His voice dies down once he realizes that you are in fact, very naked. “Oh.”

“You were asleep. I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Well, you should have!” he says, closing the door behind him. Before you can blink, he’s slipping off his shirt and unbuckling his belt. He sets his glasses down on the counter before moving to wrap his arms around you, cupping your chest in one hand as he looks at you fondly. He grins.

“You know we totally need to save on that water bill, right?”

(1 second.)

Lovino is not one to be outdone.  

“What? You mean you didn’t—”

Shame sets in, darkening his features. Breathless, you pat his chest. “It’s okay, Lovi. I’m fine.”

“No,” he says firmly. “It’s not fine.” Despite being spent, despite having given it his all the past few minutes, he finds a surge of energy and flips the two of you over. He trails down your body until he’s a breath away from where you need him the most.

Italy— You were like sunshine tucked behind clouds. Feliciano couldn’t look away, even when you weren’t trying to be seen. The curls, the smile hidden at the edges, the way your voice lilted without trying—he swears you don’t even know the spell you’ve got him under. Every time you speak, his heart trips over itself.

Germany— You were steady. You didn’t fill silence with noise, didn’t demand attention. Ludwig noticed your curls first—wild, soft, untamed. It unsettled him, how badly he wanted to brush your hair back just to see you clearer. But it wasn’t the curls, really. It was your calm. The quiet strength under every word. You made him nervous.

Japan— You were… curious. Not loud, not forceful. Your presence felt like ripples on still water. Kiku found himself watching you when you weren’t looking—the way your curls moved when you turned your head, how your eyes softened when you listened. You existed gently, and it made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

America— You didn’t fall for the noise. That’s what got him. Alfred could be fireworks and spotlights, but you? You were grounded. Easy. The curls, the sharp eyes, the way you made him work for your attention? Yeah, you’ve been stuck in his head rent-free ever since.

England— There was something quietly sharp about you. Arthur noticed it under the softness—the way your curls framed your face, but your gaze never wavered. You didn’t need theatrics to turn heads. He found himself stumbling over words, trying to impress you, cursing himself every time you laughed like you already knew.

France— It wasn’t just the curls, though they caught the light like temptation. It was the fire under the calm. The soft edges hiding something sharper. Francis loved beauty, but you made him restless. The way you existed—effortlessly confident, quietly sure—he couldn’t help but fall a little harder every time you spoke.

Russia— You didn’t fear him. That alone hooked him. Ivan was used to people shrinking, but you? You tilted your head, curls framing your face, eyes steady like you saw right through him. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it left him wondering if maybe—just maybe—he could be soft too.

China— You didn’t chase attention. You simply had it. Yao noticed your curls first, but it was your patience that stayed with him. The way you listened, the quiet curiosity in your eyes, the quiet confidence that felt older than you looked. He admired that. He found himself standing closer, watching, learning.

Spain— You reminded him of home—but not in a cliché, predictable way. Antonio noticed your curls, the warmth in your eyes, the softness under sharp edges. You didn’t flirt, but you didn’t have to. The way you smiled, the quiet confidence? It pulled him in like gravity. He’s been grinning dumbly ever since.

Romano(Italy,,)— You didn’t flatter him. You didn’t fall over his words. That? That ruined him. Lovino watched the way your curls bounced when you moved, the way you looked at him like you weren’t impressed. But your laugh—when you did laugh? Yeah, he’s been trying to earn that sound on loop ever since.

That was a lot of writing so I’m sorry it took long :(