informed consent | short story + one shots

let me hold you

Either Harry pleasured Mia until she begged him to stop, and he then jerked off. Or Mia would innocently push her hand inside of his boxers to touch him.

After having sex on New Year's eve, nothing much had happened anymore. Mia was sore for a couple of days, barely able to handle Harry's tongue but humouring him since he simply couldn't get enough. He wanted her to cum every single minute of the day, having his way with her whenever he felt like it and even if Mia would protest for about thirty seconds, she always gave in when she remembered his skilled fingers and his sinful tongue, the way he'd use his body and his words to make her his. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and between her thighs just at the thought of how good Harry could make her feel. Nothing topped that.

But Mia did know she needed a bit of time after that first time. It had felt amazing, being that close to Harry. Like their connection just grew tenfold after having sex. The pain had startled her a little and she had felt a sharp burn for a couple of days, with Harry apologizing all the time and doting over her – not that he minded. Mia had developed a little fear over the second time, wondering if it'd hurt as much. Now that she knew the pain and remembered it vividly, it was a bit of a hurdle.

And then all of a sudden, it was the day before the new semester started and Harry packed up his belongings that had gathered around Mia's place over the past few weeks, heading back to his own student house that he shared with Niall and Liam. It was bittersweet. He liked going back home to his own place and hang out with his friends again, but he missed Mia tremendously.

Sleeping didn't feel the same, nothing felt the same. She was on the other side of campus and he craved her in his bed. Like he couldn't fall asleep anymore without the gentle traces of her fingers down his spine.

Harry blinked a few times and tried to focus in the lecture he was in. He wanted to make Mia proud, and she for sure would scold him a little if she knew he was daydreaming like this in his first ever class of the semester. This was the part last year where he completely flaked. At least in the first semester he still tried a little bit, in the second one he completely gave up.

He hardly went to any lectures, did nothing but go to parties, play video games and hang out at home. His grades slipped, he ignored the warning messages he received from his professors, didn't participate in group assignments and then of course completely failed his year. Receiving his grades and being confronted with his parent's disappointment, was definitely a reality check.

They didn't exactly mind that he messed up a year. They were realistic in that, knowing not everyone knows what they want to be at the young age of eighteen. What they were angry for, was that he hadn't tried. He had always been the one raving to them about philosophy, about knowing for sure what he wanted to do. During high school, they remembered him as very social and sweet, but also as the boy who hid himself in his room and scribbled word after word in his little torn-up notebook.

Harry loved writing and used it as an outlet. Right now, he mainly wrote poetry about Mia, his love. She was still unaware of that and Harry was glad, knowing he'd cringe himself to death if she ever knew what sappy love poetry he wrote about her. But Harry did re-find his love for writing and philosophy, now taking his year seriously. From his first semester, he had been able to skip a few courses that he passed last year, but this semester he was fully back in his first year. He didn't know anyone here and maybe that was good, giving him more motivation to focus on the professor.

When Mia didn't respond to his text, Harry knew that it was because she was just so focussed on her first lecture that she fully disregarded her phone.

What he didn't know, was that Mia was already on a break after the first half of her lecture, and that she was hunched over the toilet, vomiting out anything that was in her stomach – which was nothing because she had been too nervous the night before to have dinner. Too nervous about restarting and too nervous about failing this too.