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information: Early mornings with your boyfriend Keegan can get a little rough. cw: p in v, rough sex, sweet talking, creampie masterlist taglist
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains as you stirred in bed, your boyfriend Keegan’s hand lazily held your waist. His breath was warm against your neck, his smooth skin pressed close behind you.
You shifted slightly, and that small movement woke him. His eyes found yours and without a word he leaned in to kiss your lips, then behind your ear, across your jaw, and down your neck.
You pressed your ass back against his already hardened cock and a low groan rumbled from his chest as his hand slid down, fingers slipping between your thighs to find you already wet.
"Morning, baby," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His fingers stroked your clit in slow circles before he pushed two inside you, working you open with a gentleness that didn’t last long.
Keegan slowly and gently rolled you onto your stomach, easing your hips up so your ass was pressed right above his dick. He didn’t bother with teasing — he lined his cock up against your dripping folds and sunk in deep with one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
You gasped into the pillow as he started fucking you hard, the bed creaking under the force of his hips slamming against your ass. Each thrust was rough, controlled, his grip on your waist tight enough to leave small bruises in the shape of finger prints.
“God, you feel so good," he moaned, leaning over you to nip at your shoulder while his cock pounded into your pussy. One hand reached around to rub your clit in perfect tandem with his thrusts, the contrast of his sweet kisses on your neck and the brutal pace of his fucking making your head spin.
He pulled you up onto your knees, one of his arms wrapping around your stomach, your back flush against his chest as he kept driving into you with short, powerful thrusts. “Keegan!” You gasped out his name, your eyes rolling back.
His arm pulled away from your waist and his hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he whispered softly into your ear between the filthy sounds of skin slapping skin.
“I love you, pretty girl… so much. You feel so fucking amazing, like this pretty little pussy was made for me.” His cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you until your thighs shook.
His hand slipped away from yours to catch your chin, tilting your face toward him with a firm but careful grip. The moment your eyes met his, your breath fractured into short, ragged breaths that barely filled your lungs.
Heat coiled low in your belly, and your body answered before your mind could catch up — hips rolling back to meet every thrust, thighs trembling, pussy fluttering around the thick length driving into you again and again.
His eyes stayed locked on yours as whines, gasps, and desperate little moans spilled out without permission. Your lips parted, eyes glassy and wide — you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to, the intensity in his gaze pinned you in place as surely as his body did.
“You gonna cum?” The question came out breathy against your ear.
Your answer was nothing but a strangled cry. Your whole body seized at once — pussy clamping down hard around him in rhythmic, pulsing squeezes that dragged a curse from his chest.
Your climax hit sudden and brutal, a white-hot rush that made your vision blur and your spine arch. Wetness flooded around his cock as you came, soaking him.
His hips stuttered, then slammed forward one final time, his forehead fell against your shoulder as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside, filling you until cum leaked out around his cock.
For a long moment neither of you moved. He stayed buried deep, chest pressed to your back, his arm found your waist again to keep you close.
He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. Then his lips found your spine — soft, lingering kisses pressed one after another along the curve of your back.
“Love you,” he murmured, voice hoarse but tender, the earlier roughness melted away. Carefully, he eased out of you, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as a slow trickle of your releases followed, glistening on your inner thighs.
He turned you in his arms and laid down against the pillows, pulling you against his chest so your head could rest over his heartbeat. One hand stroked your hair while the other traced lazy circles on your hip, grounding you both.
You stayed like that, tangled together, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing gradually syncing. His fingers kept moving — gentle, soothing — until the last tremors left your body and the only thing left was the steady warmth of being held.
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A/N: I'm honestly just writing and posting because I'm incredibly bored, and I hate letting so many ideas stay stuck in my head.
–Next part
Student Fem!reader × Piano Teacher!Hollis.
The Winter Sonata.
If I could melt your heart
We'd never be apart.
The Royal Conservatory of London was an ancient building, featuring soaring ceilings and solemn windows that looked out onto streets blanketed in snow by the arrival of winter. Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and majestic, steeped in the scent of old wood and furniture wax. However, Hollis’s private studio was undoubtedly the coldest corner in the entire place—not because of the actual temperature, but due to the implacable demands that drifted through the air.
Just two months ago, you had been part of a prestigious academy where everything was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that you were the only imperfect piece in the place. Your talent was overflowing, so much so that you intimidated the students who slaved away to achieve technical perfection. Your only problem was that you were far too rebellious to limit yourself to following simple notes. It wasn't that you had trouble reading them, but when your fingers pressed the keys, you put so much soul and emotion into them that you completely shattered the rigid structure of perfectionism. For that reason, you were expelled once again. That made it the second academy to close its doors to you under the same simple argument: "Miss Y/n lacks discipline."
That was how you ended up at the Royal Conservatory, becoming one of Professor Hollis’s students. He was a true piano prodigy, but he carried an unforgiving reputation. He was incredibly strict, always spoke in a low, measured voice, and rarely was he ever seen smiling. To him, music boiled down to flawless technique. In the hallways, it was rumored that he was a man "made of ice" because his face never showed a single emotion while he played, executing perfect yet meticulously calculated pieces. Many other students had passed through his hands, and most couldn't last even a month under his tutelage; surprisingly, you had already been taking classes with him for two months.
Even so, every day by his side felt like a constant, silent battle. You never abided by Hollis’s rules; you always played the keys exactly as your heart dictated, which cost you constant reprimands and severe warnings. And despite everything, he never threw you out. Hollis gave you lessons no matter how much you defied him, because deep down, he was fascinated by your talent. The emotional way you made the piano vibrate surprised and intrigued him, precisely because his own perfectionism had never allowed him to play with that same freedom.
That night, the conservatory was practically deserted. Hollis had scheduled the lesson at the last minute under the pretext that the silence of the night was the ideal setting for you to finally pay the attention you lacked. Outside, the winter storm beat heavily against the windows, blanketing London in a thick layer of snow, while inside, the only illumination came from a floor lamp beside the piano, wrapping the studio in an intimate, almost surreal atmosphere.
However, your fingers were not cooperating. You had spent the last half hour making basic mistakes on a piece you had already mastered, and your gaze kept drifting away from the keyboard. You were more distracted than ever.
Hollis, who was standing beside you watching your every move, let out a slow sigh. He stepped closer and, with a firm yet strangely gentle movement, placed his hand over yours, stopping your clumsy playing all at once.
"Enough, Y/n," he spoke in that low, deep voice that always managed to put you on alert. He looked intently into your eyes through his glasses. "You've been playing aimlessly all night. Your mind is anywhere else but in this room. What is the matter?"
You swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his fingers over yours before he pulled his hand away. Emotional exhaustion finally won over, and unable to hold it in any longer, you decided to tell the truth.
"I broke up with my boyfriend this afternoon," you confessed in a whisper, lowering your gaze to the ivory keys. "I know it shouldn't matter here, but... I simply can't concentrate."
The studio sank into a deathly silence, broken only by the creaking of the wood and the wind outside.
Upon hearing your words, something invisible tightened in Hollis’s posture. A cold, sharp pang, very much like jealousy, shot through his chest with a force that caught him completely by surprise. The mere thought of your mind being occupied by someone else—and worse yet, that your tears and distraction were because of a third party—evoked a strange, annoying irritation that he didn't know how to process.
Desperately seeking to reclaim his mask of ice, Hollis straightened up, crossing his arms and averting his gaze for a second before pinning his sharp eyes back on you. He chose to hide his disturbance behind the only barrier he knew: his implacable discipline.
"A romantic breakup is an irrelevant matter for this moment, Y/n," he reprimanded you severely, though his voice sounded a bit tighter than usual. "It is unacceptable for you to allow your personal emotions to dictate the quality of your music. A true artist does not let themselves be dragged down by the sentimentality of the moment."
You froze in your seat, feeling the reproach cut deep, but before you could defend yourself, he took another step toward you, invading your space with that magnetic presence that stole your breath away.
"If you intend to be a part of this conservatory, you must learn to compartmentalize your life," he continued, leaning slightly toward you, his eyes gleaming beneath the dim light. "I do not care what happens outside that door. When you are here with me, your only thought must be the music. Is that clear?"
Finally, your thoughts cast your ex-partner aside and focused entirely on those last words: "When you are here with me." For some strange reason, that phrase altered something in your system, even though you knew it shouldn't. They were simple words. It was nothing out of the ordinary; he was your strict piano teacher and only wanted you to focus. Nothing more.
You sat in silence for a few seconds, listening to a few cars passing by in the distance outside, their lights reflecting softly across the grand, frost-covered windows. Then, a bold idea crossed your mind. It was risky, but you had nothing to lose.
"Can you play with me?" you asked suddenly, your tone careful. You thought that if you shared the keyboard with him, you might finally find the rhythm and focus you were missing.
Surprisingly, he accepted. Hollis didn't utter a single word; he merely adjusted his glasses and sat beside you on the wooden bench. The space was tight, causing his knee to brush against yours with a softness that sent a thrill across your skin. His body heat immediately contrasted with the chill of the studio. Without warning, his long, elegant hands settled onto the bass keys, and he began to accompany your melody.
At first, your fingers moved timidly, fearing he would halt the performance at the first mistake. But Hollis didn't. He adapted his flawless technique to the erratic rhythm of your hands, creating a solid, deep foundation that seemed to support your every note. It was the first time you had ever heard him play like this; it wasn't the robotic, milimetric execution everyone at the conservatory talked about. There was something hidden in the strength with which he pressed the ivory, a restrained intensity that responded directly to your own melancholy.
Little by little, the pain of the breakup and the weight of the day began to dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming closeness of the man beside you. You could feel his steady breathing very close to your ear and the subtle movement of his shoulders each time the piece grew in intensity. The music filled every corner of the dark studio, transforming the cold reprimand from minutes ago into a silent, deeply intimate conversation.
Without realizing it, you found yourself seeking his gaze as you played the final chord. Hollis kept his eyes fixed on the keys, but his jaw was tight, and the rigidity of his posture betrayed that, just like you, he was also feeling something that escaped his rules entirely.
The last note echoed in the air and silence reclaimed the room, but this time, neither of you made a move to stir. Your eyes locked onto his, trying to decipher what was passing through the mind of London's most unreachable pianist.
After a few seconds that felt like eternity, Hollis broke the distance. With a slowness that felt almost deliberate, he reached out his hand and subtly rested it on your leg, just above your knee. The warmth of his palm bled through the fabric of your clothes instantly, causing your breath to hitch and an electric shiver to run down your spine. He didn't squeeze; it was a soft, firm touch, laden with an intimacy you had never experienced with him before, meant solely to hold your attention entirely.
"It was perfect," he whispered, in that low, deep voice that this time carried not a single trace of coldness. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you forget how to speak. "That is what happens when you let your mind guide your heart, Y/n. You create something unmatched."
Your cheeks flushed a soft red at his praise, and your heart began to hammer wildly against your chest. Hollis kept his hand on your leg for one second more before smoothly withdrawing it. He straightened up and reached into the inner pocket of his coat, pulling out a small envelope made of textured paper with gold-foil edges.
He slid it gently across the glossy wood of the piano, right in front of you.
"What is this?" you asked, managing to find your voice, though your tone betrayed the nerves dominating you.
"Your tickets for the Christmas Eve concert in the conservatory's grand theater," he announced, maintaining his elegant posture but with a subtle spark of anticipation in his gaze. "They are in the front row. Directly in the center."
Your eyes widened in sheer surprise. The Christmas Eve concert was the most exclusive event of the season in all of London; tickets sold out months in advance, and only the most prominent figures in music and high society attended.
"Professor... I don't know what to say," you murmured, touching the edge of the envelope. "I know it's your most important performance of the year, but... why the front row? Why me?"
Hollis took a step back, reclaiming that professional distance you were accustomed to, but the slight curve at the corner of his lips showed your reaction pleased him. He pushed up his glasses with a measured gesture before looking at you through the lenses.
"Because the general public is going to hear a perfect execution, Y/n," he explained, walking toward the coat rack to take his long overcoat. "But you are the only person in this building who knows what truly hides behind every single note. Besides..." he paused by the studio door, turning his face to give you one last look beneath the dim light, "I need to ensure my best student is watching me from the place where she belongs. I won't tolerate you being distracted that night."
Before you could process his words or the fluttering skip of your heart, Hollis offered you a near-imperceptible tilt of his head.
"It is late and the storm is worsening. Head home and get some rest. I will see you at our next lesson, Y/n."
The door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving you alone in the twilight of the studio. You looked at the golden envelope resting on the piano and then at the keys where your knees had brushed only moments ago. Your mind no longer held a single memory of your ex-partner or the afternoon's heartache. Now, the only thing filling your entire system was the echo of his melody, the lingering warmth of his hand on your leg, and the impatient certainty that this Christmas Eve in London would change the rules between you forever.
shy!kuru x extroverted!reader story information: Y/n Y/l/n is a very popular artist in LA who also models from time to time who is known for her loud and outgoing personality. she was born in new york and moved to los angeles when she was 19 for modeling and bought a studio apartment where her love for art sparked to life. She worked along side artists like xaviersobased on cover art and has built a strong connection with him and many others in the industry. cw: explicit content, sexual/sensual talk/action, cursing, talk of anxiety, mental health problems, jealousy, disgustingly fluffy scenes masterlist taglist
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shy!kuru x extroverted!reader story information: Y/n Y/l/n is a very popular artist in LA who also models from time to time who is known for her loud and outgoing personality. she was born in new york and moved to los angeles when she was 19 for modeling and bought a studio apartment where her love for art sparked to life. She worked along side artists like xaviersobased on cover art and has built a strong connection with him and many others in the industry. cw: explicit content, sexual/sensual talk/action, cursing, talk of anxiety, mental health problems, jealousy, disgustingly fluffy scenes masterlist taglist
shy!kuru x extroverted!reader story information: Y/n Y/l/n is a very popular artist in LA who also models from time to time who is known for her loud and outgoing personality. she was born in new york and moved to los angeles when she was 19 for modeling and bought a studio apartment where her love for art sparked to life. She worked along side artists like xaviersobased on cover art and has built a strong connection with him and many others in the industry. cw: explicit content, sexual/sensual talk/action, cursing, talk of anxiety, mental health problems, jealousy, disgustingly fluffy scenes masterlist taglist
shy!kuru x extroverted!reader story information: Y/n Y/l/n is a very popular artist in LA who also models from time to time who is known for her loud and outgoing personality. she was born in new york and moved to los angeles when she was 19 for modeling and bought a studio apartment where her love for art sparked to life. She worked along side artists like xaviersobased on cover art and has built a strong connection with him and many others in the industry. cw: explicit content, sexual/sensual talk/action, cursing, talk of anxiety, mental health problems, jealousy, disgustingly fluffy scenes masterlist taglist
When things ended with Nate, you left. You went far away, you went home. Though it didn’t feel like home, sure it was the place you grew up and made so many memories in but it wasn’t with him. Your life felt crumbled when things ended, it wasn’t natural, the universe doing its thing but it wasn’t wanted. You met Nate in your hometown, he was touring with his friend Hollis. You hadn’t heard of them, it was a complete coincidence. You were sat in a cafe, Hollis and Roman had to sit and listen to Nate talk about how pretty you were getting your work done across from them. They of course pushed Nate to ask for your number and he did. That was the start of it all.
You organized meeting Nate in person again when he was playing at a certain show, one that hit very close to home. The place where you and your family had grown up going to for vacation, again, coincidence. The show was already planned to be there, it lined up perfectly. You got to watch not only Nate perform but his best friends too. The moment may seem casual to some but for the two of you it was so intimate. He took you out on the beach, the two of you sat and talked for hours while his friends were at the hotel room and after that night the two of you had fallen for each other harder than you could imagine.
They of course had to leave soon after and get back to touring, you and Nate would facetime every night, the boys in the background causing a complete ruckus. They grew very fond of you as well, sliding into the back of the facetime call to ask when you were coming to see them perform again. You and Nate stayed up every night when they boys fell asleep, daydreaming about the next time you could see each other and without a doubt - that day came.
he flew you out to LA, showed you all of his favorite places. The whole trip was intimate in a way that was deeper than attraction to each other. You understand each other on the deepest level, you craved to know more about him and his life. After that trip the decision basically made itself, you moved in with him. Your relationship was a breath of fresh air, you both fell more and more in love each day. Even with the breakup, the love never ended. You yearned to reach out to each other, staring at the phone wondering if it was a good idea or not. Eventually, you both stopped reaching out, you both thought it was best for each other when it wasn’t. not even close.
You thought about him everyday, what you’d be doing if you were still with him in LA, if your relationship would’ve healed itself overtime. He thought the same too. He stopped hanging out with his friends, struggled to make music, struggled with everything because he didn’t have his girl by his side.
About a year after the breakup you returned to that exact beach, it was a planned family trip that you couldn’t back out of though you would if you could because the thought of being there without him made you ill. You tried to remind yourself that you made many memories before he’d come into your life, it was the same place you grew up around just with a new memory. You prepared yourself for weeks before the trip, countless breakdowns, therapy sessions with your friends, you even tried to look back at old photos but it still haunted you. The fact that he wasn’t yours and it seemed he never would be because the two of you weren’t in contact.
Before leaving for the beach, maybe two months prior, he released his first solo tour. You heard about it through your tiktok for you page but you scrolled past it, you were happy for him, beyond happy - but the selfish part of you hurt that you weren’t there to experience it with him. You didn’t know anything about the dates, where he was performing, nothing. You didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to know where he’d be, as far as you’re concerned he’s where he wants to be.
The power went out in your beach house one night, the wind from a storm was far too strong for the electricity. You decided you’d take a walk along the beach, you’d already had a rough day with the never ending amount of memories so you thought fresh air would be good. You were about a street down from where you and Nate sat on the beach, you took a chance on your emotions and made your way there. You sat on the steps, taking deep breaths in and out while replaying all the laughs and kisses you shared in this exact spot.
It was dark - dark enough out that the people who were also taking a walk had their flashlights on. You didn’t pay any attention to the people walking, you were too busy zoning out. Three tall boys walked past, you couldn’t make them out completely, you saw one of them point and the other pushing the one who had pointed at you. You didn’t pay much attention to their dialogue, you didn’t care, your immediate thought was they were making fun of you for sitting alone. They then flashed the light on their phone your way, their familiar outfits and long hair catching your eye. You thought you were seeing things, what were the odds? Nate being back in the spot you saw each other again was insane. You knew he was busy with his career. You quickly stood up and walked away, headed back to your house. “Dude fucking go!” The deep voice yelled, you knew that voice. That was one of the voices you heard in the background of your facetime call with Nate. It was Hollis.
You started walking faster, tears filled your eyes as your mind filled with thoughts, what would you say? why was he here? You concerned yourself with the thought of let down, maybe he was just in the area. It wasn’t your beach, it was a public place. Your relationship with him started off of coincidence, this could just as well be another. “Jesus, I’m going!” Your body betrayed you right away, you turned faster than your brain could process. Your arms crossed as chills flew through your body, part from the breeze and part from the situation. You see him walk past, the flash still on him, framing his tall body and curly brown hair. You turned again, beginning to walk. You couldn’t form a solid thought, no decision you made was rational.
He begins to jog up to you, trying to catch up to your fast pace. He stops in his tracks, the fear of it not being you catching up to him. “Y/n?” He calls out, you couldn’t avoid him, you loved him far too much. You turned around right away, no response but the movement to hearing your name enough to confirm that it was you standing infront of him.
He turns his head, looking to Hollis and Roman standing in the same place watching. You didn’t know what to say, your mind couldn’t think of a response. He begins walking closer, you don’t move, you wait for him to approach. Tears fell down your cheek as he stops less than two feet away from you, he didn’t want to scare you off so he kept distance. “What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice shaking. “My solo tour. I found a venue here just so I could come back. The power went out and Hollis and Roman convinced me to walk down here, I didn’t know you were here.” He explains hopelessly. You laugh nervously, “Yeah, powers out for me too. I had to convince myself to come out here before i left, i didn’t know you were here either. I saw you were going on tour but i didn’t wanna look at the dates, it’d make me upset.” You reply to him, your voice soft with nothing but nerves.
“Can we talk?” he asks, “I’ve missed you so much I just want to clear things up and know how you’ve been doing.” He says. That was one of your biggest issues, he didn’t know who you were anymore. There was a new version of you since the breakup, he didn’t know what you’d do on a day to day basis, who you hung out with, what music you were listening to. It hurt you so bad, you just wanted him to know you like he did. Tears fall harder as he admits it, “Yeah,” You say, waving your arm for him to come closer. “I’ve missed you too.” You admit back.
He walks up to you slowly yet still eager to get beside you again, feel the heat in your body, see the pretty smile of yours. “What’s the album about?” You ask. He looks at you with the softest doe eyes. “I don’t even know, I just started writing as if we were still together. It’s stupid but I couldn’t write about anything else.” He confesses. The door was suddenly unlocked to a world you thought would never come back, your heart pounded with relief. “I don’t want to talk about me though, how are you? how’s your family?” he asks frantic, causing you to let out a light chuckle. Though things had changed, he was still Nate, your Nate.
“They’re good, everything’s good.” You answer, really you didn’t know much of what was going on with them, you were knees deep in self isolation, you really only heard bits and pieces of their life. “And you?” He asks again. “I’m okay, better now but still incomplete.” The words fell out of your mouth uncontrollably, you would’ve never admitted that you were still incomplete without him, you’d normally put on a strong front for him but it was impossible. “Fuck, me too.” He says with an exhale of relief. “I should’ve reached out. I’m sorry.” He adds.
“No, you can’t be sorry because I didn’t reach out either. I thought you’d be annoyed at me if I did.” You say, he immediately sits up straight looking directly at you, “You’d never annoy me. I wanted nothing more than to be back with you, hearing your stories, anything just to talk to you again y/n.” His words made you fold immediately, tears still coming and going. You rested your head on his shoulder, it felt like your soul came back to life the second you felt your body connect with his. “I’m so sorry.” he says lightly, just loud enough for you to hear. “Please, don’t let this be the last time we talk again. You’re the only girl i’ve ever wanted.” His words come back to a frantic delivery, you rest your hand on his thigh, rubbing aimless circles to bring him comfort. “You’re the only boy i’ve ever wanted”
ⓘ W&C: mentions of drugs, mentions of fighting, trigger warning for stitches, unprofessional behavior (boo), desperate embarrassing smokey, harsh language
in which ian falls for his avoidant plug who only ever says “pull up” then disappears, but keeps coming back just enough to mess with him
a/n: oh hunni…this nothing burger…after like 3? months of no updates…i’m so sorry…
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