harold imagines

More About Christmas - It’s About Balance Holiday One Shot

Surprise. ;) 

This isn’t Kansas City – obviously – but that’s coming sooner rather than later. I was struggling with whether or not I’d do Christmas-y things since not everybody celebrates but… I just… I have to. Apologies to those who don’t partake, for whatever reasons. I wish you a joyous holiday, and a stress free season. 

It’s for our Teenage Dirtbag, but it can be read as a standalone without a problem.

Oh, yeah. Smut. x

Gemma and Anne are trimming the tree in front of you. It’s a beautiful thing – huge, full, and dripping in ornaments and lights that are casting a soft glow around the darkening room. They’re mumbling to each other as they coordinate where to place what – there’s two Baby’s First Christmas ornaments, a wobbly looking snowman that had been handmade for some Christmas past, and shiny baubles that reflect your worried frown even from your spot on the couch.

“Love, would you like to help?” Anne asks you warmly as she searches for the perfect branch to place her next ornament. She’s got a thick Christmas jumper on that is the opposite of ugly and tasteful snowmen adorn her socks.

“Thank you,” you manage a smile. “That’s alright. I wouldn’t want to interfere – seems like you two have a plan.”

“Not really,” Gemma says as she reaches on her toes. “Whoops!” she exclaims under her breath when she nearly teeters a bit too far to hang her bauble on a prized branch towards the top. “We’re actually better at it when Harry’s here. He’s all chaos for the first part of it until he settles down, so we’re able to organize when we’ve got to beat him back.”

You laugh, but it’s fleeting, his name reminding you of his present absence. You chance a glance down at your screen, but somehow you feel more deflated than before when you find nothing new from him.

“You might as well help, you know,” Gemma says as she picks up another ornament before replacing it in favor of a new one. “Wallowing isn’t going to bring him here faster.”

“Sweetheart,” Anne warns Gemma gently. “We’re all worried and we want him to be here.”

Gemma is silent and you feel hot and uncomfortable. Both she and Anne have been nothing but kind to you since you’d shown up without Harry, a lump in your throat when you told them that he’d gotten delayed in Los Angeles because of the weather in New York and his flight had been pushed out a day. London, too, has been earning a snowfall that they’d previously assumed he’d miss, and the roads to Holmes Chapel had been covered in a thin coating of fluffy flakes on your drive over. So far, you’d heard of no cancellations to Heathrow, but….

“What one can I have?” you ask as you set your phone down and pull your feet from under you to stand. Anne hands you a star ornament and you stand as tall as you can and place it on the highest branch you can reach.

“Funny,” Gemma remarks as she pushes an icicle so it twirls back and forth. “That’s where he puts it, too.”

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Versace on the floor

It is the first time you and Harry have been able to spend time together alone after the birth of your daughter. You feel a little bit guilty leaving your three month old daughter alone. But you know she is in good hands - with grandma Anne. It costs Harry and you many misgivings to leave your daughter at his mother’s home. Anne waved her right hand in farewell  and the other hand rested on the buggy which she pushes softly back and forwards. You climbed in the Range Rover and waved back. He started the motor and drove out of the driveway. His jaw was clenched together and you squeezed his thigh softly. He gave you a wan smile.

You are glad that you have time with your husband. The first three months were filled with horrible, sleepless nights, fights with Harry about which one of you have to get up and feed her. You want to be the perfect Mum, the Mum who can do everything, doing the laundry while she cooks a perfect menu,which she serves her husband, with perfect makeup and a beautiful dress in the evening. You tried it. Yes you tried it but you failed. You felt like a  mum in the last time not like a desirable woman, not like a super mum, who can do everything. How often were you crying, and how often did you call your mum for some advice? Sometimes you felt so stupid because you thought you have to know what your baby needs. You were overworked. The whole everyday routine was new for you and Harry and sometimes you thought to yourself you were not able to be a good mum.You hid your tears but Harry knew it. He saw it as he came home. He knows you and one look in your face discloses you. But he said nothing to you, he hugged you and kissed your hair. You regained new strength from his hug and his presence. Everything was easier with him.

He works, thank god only half days, but sometimes he has to spend the whole day in the studio. These days seem endless, and often your mum or Anne comes over and helps you.  

You wake up, mostly before Harry, and habitually dressed in the same clothes like yesterday. You wear leggings and one of Harry’s old jumpers, as if it had become a uniform. Your hair is in a ponytail or in a bun because her little fists can grab very tightly.You feed your daughter and kiss Harry goodbye.

After you change your jumper because your daughter spit up on it, you take a walk with her in the park and shop for some groceries. And if Harry comes home in the afternoon it’s allowed you to take a short shower while Harry plays with your daughter. Sometimes you stand in the doorframe, drying your hair with a towel and watching how he plays or speaks with her. Then you stop in your movement and you feel how your heart jumps in delight and you know everything – every tear, every fight – is worth it.

But the intimate togetherness is gone. You fall asleep on the sofa while Harry puts your daughter to bed. You want to talk to him but often you can’t keep your eyes open. It’s like a ritual every evening he carries you with his strong arms to your bed and kisses you on your forehead, and you smile softly with closed eyes. Snuggling into his side and he covers your body with the duvet.

And in the morning the same procedure starts again.

So you are looking forward to being alone with your husband! But Harry left the hotel room after breakfast. He has an appointment at the tailor because he needs a perfectly suitable suit tonight.

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Holiday Bound - Snowbound Holiday One Shot

Our favorite three! It’s a little sad, a dash of sweet, and a dollop of smut at the end of it all. It’s part of the Snowbound sandbox, but it also works as a standalone relatively well. Enjoy. x

Note: i’ve proofed some of this, but do need to go back because I have the *nagging* urge that something is there that I can’t find….

“Why are yeh lookin’ at me like that?”

He’s got a small, incredulous smile playing around his mouth and there’s a twinkle in his eyes, but yours are sharp on him. He’s got a skip in his step as he sets a glass of milk down in front of his son, who is chewing contently on mouthful after mouthful of progressively soggier cereal, and he’d been singing in the shower this morning – belting out carol after carol, adding in his own arrangements and note changes. He is, by all accounts, in a good mood.

You’re worried, though.

“When do you have to go?” you ask him from your chair. You’re still in pajamas – festive, plaid flannel ones, with snowflakes sprinkled over the red legs, and the black, long-sleeved shirt of his with a hole in the neck – one that you’d long ago taken away from him – hangs off your shoulder on one side.

Harry’s green eyes dim slightly, but only for a second. “Soon,” he says, pushing the sleeve of his jumper back to look at his watch. “Now,” he amends with a sigh.

“Daddy?” your son asks, the word wet sounding through his mouthful of food. “Are we baking today?”

“We’d better,” Harry says. “’Else your Gran will hang me if we show up with nothing.”

It’s when he leans down to kiss the top of your son’s head that you see a crack in his façade and your heart clenches in your chest. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and the set of his brow is that which can only be described as wistful while he lingers, keeping his mouth tight to a head of curly hair that so resembles his.

“Be good fo’ your mum,” Harry says while ruffling his son’s hair, rolling his eyes when the child ducks his head out from under his father’s hand.

“Eat your breakfast, please,” you tell him as you stand, abandoning your tea. “I’m saying goodbye.” You skip once across the kitchen floor to stick close to his father’s heels as you follow him out of the room.

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Worried Sick Part 2

This was quite rushed I’m afraid but I really wanted to get it done. Forgive me if you hate it. Masterlist is in the description or use one of the hashtags to see my past writing. Thank you for the request. Make sure you read Part 1 first.

You woke with a dull ache in your neck from the awkward position you had fell asleep in; sprawled over Harry’s torso, legs tangled with his, looking up at his face while he talks about the pros of another child, all while being in post-orgasm bliss. A smile crossed your face thinking about the conversation you shared before you had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Your thoughts were interrupted by Harry’s arm curling around your middle, pulling you towards him. You hissed at the pain it shot through your neck but he didn’t notice, it fading after couple seconds.

“Morning, handsome.” You ran your hand through his slightly greasy hair; he let out a little grunt in reply. You closed your eyes, absorbing the feeling of being in his arms, knowing what was coming in the near future. The memories of your eldest daughter and your beloved having a shouting match in the late hours of the night; or early hours of the morning, depending on how you look at it.

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More About Moments - It’s About Balance Short Shot

Playing with my favorite teenage dirtbag, but this one is actually *super* freestanding, so it’s just about Harry and his girl… and an afternoon on the couch… ;) x

Reminder: requests are closed! 

There’s a movie on the screen, but it isn’t holding your interest worth a damn. Harry had picked it, and it’s good – honest it is – but he’s playing with your hair while you’re cuddled up against him, and it’s pulled you out of the plot so many times that you have no idea what the plot even is anymore.

You hadn’t really been in the mood for a movie, anyway. You aren’t really sure what your mood is even now, you’re just… happy he’s here. It feels like stealing sometimes when he comes home – like you’re stealing him from his adoring public, and occasionally from his family, but he assures you that his mother sees him often enough that she doesn’t feel deprived at all and that Gemma wishes he would stay gone more often.

You’re selfish enough to allow that, because moments like these are fleeting, and you’ve grown attached. There’s no other way to put it, and there’s absolutely no point in denying it. You’re attached to the boy whose trousers are too tight and who has more ink needled into him than anyone you know. You’re attached to his too hot body and his too cold toes and his curly hair and millions of rings that land on your nightstand every night before bed (unless you specifically request him to keep them on).

You’re the type of attached that assures you if something breaks in your flat, that you aren’t quite sure how to fix, you can text him for his opinion and he’ll say to leave it be until he gets home, unless it’s urgent, and he’ll try to fix it with the limited knowledge he has that he is always trying to improve. Man of the world he might be, but it’s important to him, even with his boyish attitude towards so much, that he be capable, and that is how he’s often set about fixing things in your flat with a little frown burrowed between his brows.

For months now you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop – for you to be tired, for him to be tired, but now you’re starting to think that you’re one shoe and he’s the other and you both have yourselves firmly planted on the ground. You’ve stopped waiting for anything else to drop by this point, and although there are still moments where you panic about all that could go wrong and all that you’re making him miss out on… you’re happy, on the whole, to be able to steal him away for yourself.

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“Home remedies” - h.s. Part 7

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6



“Life, if anything, is nothing more than a series of moments captured frame for frame as our eyes take in those around us and impact us monumentally,” Harry said, attempting to not sound like he was reading from a card but you knew he totally hadn’t memorized the whole speech completely. You couldn’t help but smirk as you leaned back in your seat and just let it happen.

He’d been keeping the speech a secret from you for weeks. You knew he was presenting and you’d come to terms with that, but you had been nervous for whatever flowery declaration of love he may attempt to pepper into the whole thing. But he was doing a pretty good job, and so far you weren’t as embarrassed as you thought you’d be. 

“That’s why photography is so important though, right?” Harry continued, “Because we have so many moments during the day that cause so many different emotions, that we oftentimes look over the most important ones. I know, that with two kids, the little moments can sometimes go unnoticed. But that’s what photography does for us - it allows us to ponder and remember on those little moments that may have passed up by, that make us feel something we didn’t know we possessed, and to help us give thanks for the moments we’ve cherished with others.”

Okay, so maybe now you were crying a little bit, but you weren’t going to let the small tears show as you continued to slouch slightly in your chair, your arms crossed lazily over your stomach as you attempted to act as cool as a cucumber. 

Internally though, you were freaking out.

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I’ve always imagined Harry with a specific girl. It doesn’t matter if she is tall or short, thin or fat, sexy or cute, pale or tanned, blonde, brunette or ginger. But I’ve always wanted Harry to be in a relationship with a normal girl. My dream girl for Harry would probably be a girl with a degree is psychology, very smart, able to hold a conversation and sometimes even have an ‘argument’ with Harry and he would be amazed of how much she knows and her passion and her sarcastic comebacks and how good she is at playing with his mind, driving him insane. She would understand Harry completely and he could talk to her for hours and hours and want more of her.
On the other side that girl would be kind of a loner cuz she focuses more on her books and not her social life and Harry would introduce her to his family and friends. He would make her do stupid stuff like get drunk and dance in the rain ect ect. They would complete each other and the most important they would understand each other. I think Harry would like a girl who has her own opinions, weird and original ones, opinions that no one has and that would catch his attention and she would not be afraid to say her opinion out loud in a room with 500 people even though no one would share the same opinion as her. She would be nice and smart, but not cocky, she would be modest and that would be Harrys favourite part I believe. And they would be a pair of dorks when they were alone, fighting with pillows, running around the house, trying to bake a cake but ending up terribly. my favourite part would be the part that Harry would say proudly this is my girlfriend, while holding her hand, his eyes sparkling from love and how proud he is of her and she would blush a lot. And the way he would look at her when she is not paying attention, oh god.
Mark my words. Harry has never fallen in love so far and his relarionships have been like 3 months long, but someday he will fall in love, but he will fall hard and will not let her go cuz he would be absolutely crazy about her. Literaly.

R.i.p my underwear because GODDAMN🔥😍🔥😍🔥😍❤️❤️❤️

Christmas shopping with Dad H

It’s very cold outside so you wear your thick winter coat and a knitted hat. Your hands are in gloves which rest on the buggy. 

Harry wears his black YSL coat and gloves too. His right hand is on your back as you stroll down the road. You look into the buggy. Your daughter is sleeping. She is wrapped up in thick rose blankets and her little hands are in knitted gloves. Her plushy sits beside her head and is watching while she’s sleeping. You look at Harry and he smiles.

“She looks so loving when she’s sleeping, but when she’s awake.” he raises his eyebrows. 

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Here it is. The big Dad Harold fic, and the sandbox in which I usually play in when H has a kid. Or, at least, I loosely borrow from it. This one is my favorite, although it was only the 3rd or 4th thing I ever wrote, and… he’s my favorite? I love him? Be gentle? Treat him well? Also: I hope he accepts my sincerest apologies. 

A word: each thing with this sandbox could be the endpoint. But each thing… will likely not be the endpoint. There’s a part two of the official two part installment, and then after that… well, you’ll see. Enjoy! x.

P.S. I’m not from London and I’ve never bene, but I think this is how snowstorms go in a lot of places with public transit, so….

This is the storm of the season. At least, that’s what the weatherman kept saying when you left home that afternoon. And, navigating the winding streets, you have to agree that this was the nastiest one you can remember in awhile. You have slipped three times from the exit of the tube to the front door of Harry’s building and your knuckles are white from clenching fists so tightly to steel your nerves. You stomp your boots inside the lobby and nod to the concierge who is quite used to you popping in and out every other weekend.

The elevator ride to the thirteenth floor is short, if ear-popping, and you rap with icy fingers on his door. A few moments later there was a click of the lock and the door opens to reveal Harry.

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