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didhewinkback · 10 months

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dolce vita

something old blurb (not the one yet) i just couldnt resist these pics

word count: 2k, warnings: bad italian translations

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The lads make their way back into the villa, the loud laughter from the walk having petered out into a comfortable silence as they take in the sounds of the house, vegetables sautéing in the kitchen, conversations from the backyard carrying through the open windows. Harry smiles to himself as he toes his shoes off. A house filled with all the people he loves, how nice is that. He salutes the lads as they all taper off, tripping over his feet as he heads down the hallway too quickly, already on his way to find you.

He feels buoyant, light, free, the day with his mates and the bottles of vino they shared has him feeling warm all over. Conversation flowed amongst the group, reminiscing about their messier days when they were younger and celebrating where they are now, with all the highs and lows that come with it. Being able to be vulnerable with each other, openly expressing their emotions with no judgment and not just having lighthearted conversation for the bants…he can’t really explain what that means to him. It’s something he’s sought out in his male friendships all his life and to finally have it will make him cry if he thinks about it for too long.

He loves his life, he muses, as he ducks his head into random rooms before deciding to check the far office on the right, the Italian wine giving him a nice buzz, giving everything a rose colored hue, softening all its edges, smoothing its curves. He loves Italy, he loves wine, he loves sunshine and heat and - oh.

He stops in the doorway, staring at you lounging out on the office terrace, watching the way you’re hyper focused on your laptop, a furrow between your brows as you rest your knuckles against your lip, eyes moving rapidly on the screen.

He loves you.

He thinks about how earlier the lads were ragging on him, begging him to propose while everyone was still here so they could celebrate the one good decision he ever made. Their words, not his, but he’s inclined to agree. He’ll never know what he did to deserve you, thanking his lucky stars and the fates and all who are listening for whatever compelled him to walk onto the courtyard that night. But he had to respectfully decline his friends’ pleas, refusing to succumb to their peer pressure, needing that moment in a few weeks to be for the two of you and the two of you alone.

He slips into the room and quietly closes the door behind him, feeling like he’s walking on air as he makes his way over to you, leaning against the open terrace doors when he does. He softly clears his throat, a sound that makes your head pop up, eyes lighting up when they lock with his, a smile growing across your face, and his heart skips a beat. He can’t believe you’re looking at him like that. He’s the luckiest bastard alive.

“Good day?” you ask and he nods, taking a few steps towards you and lightly tapping you on the back, and you instantly slide forward on the lounge chair to make space for him, this silent shorthand you have communicated in all your lives, always somehow knowing what the other is thinking, something that just has grown stronger these last few years. He slides in behind you and pulls you back into him, his back against the chair with your back against his chest, his thighs bracketing yours. He leans back a bit, sliding his palms up your back to massage the tension in your shoulders as you type, the groan of appreciation you make causing goosebumps to erupt across his skin.

“That’s nice,” you say softly and he stays right where he is, his thumbs digging into your muscles, reveling in how they start to loosen under his touch, as he listens to your fingers against the keyboard, the sounds of your friends’ laughter out back, but out here, off to the side of the house, it’s just the two of you and the birds chirping in the nearby trees, the crickets starting to make their voices known in the late afternoon heat.

He squeezes your shoulders once more, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your neck, breathing you in, your combination of sunscreen and sweat and peaches, always a hint of peaches though you swear you never use anything scented and he swears it’s how you’ve always smelled, a reason the peach tree in the backyard thrilled him when he first purchased this house. A little piece of you wherever he is, something he knew he needed before he really understood how he felt about you.

“How’s it going?” he mumbles into your skin, planting a kiss on your neck, living for the way your breath catches.

“It’s alright. Had some bullshit to figure out because Suzanne got some deadlines mixed up and was blaming me for reading the applications wrong -”

“Fuck Suzanne.” he says, stomach swooping when you honk out a laugh. He’s always proud when he nails a good line delivery, but never more when he gets you to laugh like that.

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh. “But I think I solved it and I’m almost done.”

“Like the sound of that. My girl needs a break.”

“Well, someone in this house has to put food on the table,” you say and he snorts, quietly watching as you finish sending an email. “This lazy lot.”

“Heeey,” he says, laughing when he hears your giggle. “Y’ know what? For that -”

He leans over, using his free hand to start shutting your laptop before quickly stopping himself.

“Am I going to fuck everything up if I close this?” he asks.

You shake your head. “You may proceed.”

He snaps the laptop shut, waiting for you to place it on the table next to you before leaning back and pulling you with him.

“That’s more like it,” he murmurs into your hair as you relax back into him. He stays quiet after that, letting your work day wash over you as he presses a kiss to your head before settling back against the chair, looking up at the sky.

He slides one hand around your body and down to the hem of your shirt, snaking his palm underneath to lay on your skin, needing to feel you, your warmth, your softness, your smoothness, the feeling of your stomach rising and falling with each breath, feeling the most relaxed and settled that he has in ages.

He tilts his head slightly to look at you, getting mostly a view of your profile from this angle, watching you stare up at the clouds with a soft smile on your face. He could stay here forever, he thinks, your face his favorite thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. The face he always sought out at break when you weren’t put in the same class in year four, the face he turned to right before he got pulled towards the stage with Dermot when he was sixteen, the face he searched for that weekend three years ago, feeling off kilter and on edge, not fully understanding why until he found you. The first face he sees in the morning and the last one he sees before he closes his eyes, the greatest gift he’s ever been given, the greatest friend he’s ever had, the greatest love he’s ever known.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

“Just taking in my favorite view,” he says, snorting when you roll your eyes. You twist in his hold so you're face to face, chest to chest, your hand sliding up his neck and into his hair, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He stares at you for a moment, lips quirking up as he takes you in, the soft smile on your lips, the way you’re looking back at him with such open affection it feels like his heart’s cracked open.

“‘M being serious, you know. I love this face.” he says, his hands coming up to frame your face, thumb slowly rubbing your cheekbone as he takes a deep breath. “‘nd these eyes, the way your right one crinkles more than the left when you’re laughing really hard. ‘nd this smile…’s my favorite smile, feels like it’s just for me.”

“It is,” you say softly and time freezes for a moment, butterflies flying in his stomach because he can wax poetic about you and his feelings for you for days, weeks, years and it still won’t feel like enough and you somehow manage to capture it in a few simple words, words that make him feel like he’s flying, the reminders that you love him, that you’ve always loved him for far longer than he ever deserved.

He knows he’s not subtle about his plans, as secret as he’s trying to keep them, knows you’re starting to see through his pattern of being unable to do anything but tell you things he loves about you whenever you’re alone, tongue practically tripping over his words as he tries to get them out, needs you to know, needs you to understand how much he’s going to mean it when he gets down on one knee, that there will never be anyone else for him, that there never was.

He leans in, nudging his nose against yours before kissing you, slowly, thoroughly, like he’s got all the time in the world, trying to express himself in every way possible. He revels in the way you sigh into his mouth when you open up for him, goosebumps on his neck when he gets a taste of your tongue, sweeter than all the wine he had before, his favorite taste, his favorite kiss, his favorite, his favorite, his favorite.

He slides his hand down your body, refusing to pull his lips from yours for even a second, one hand squeezing the back of your neck before sliding down your back, grabbing a handful of your arse before sliding back up, pushing up the hem of your t shirt to rest there, his other hand rubbing mindless patterns up and down your side, squeezing every so often to get a new sound out of you. He feels drunk on this day and this moment and you, caught up in how good you feel in his hands, how good you taste on his lips, he can’t help it when Italian starts flowing from his lips.

“Mi tesoro”, he mutters against your jaw, pressing kisses in a slow line down your neck, his tongue darting out to taste the skin, feeling you try to catch your breath against him. “Sono pazza di te.”

He hears your light gasp, knows those are phrases you understand, knows you both feel on the precipice of something more, the conversations you had around this time last year soon coming to fruition. He can’t stop mumbling against your skin, spurred on by the way you're squeezing his shoulder, your hand sliding down to rest on his chest, nails digging in when he bites down on your neck.

He makes his way back up your neck, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw before pulling back to look at you, the two of you catching your breath as you smile at each other. He’ll never get tired of seeing the effect he has on you, your slightly swollen lips, your cupid’s bow rubbed raw from his mustache, the way you’re looking back at him, something he wishes he could bottle up forever. He drags his knuckle down the side of your face, heart clenching when your eyes flutter shut at the touch, sliding his finger under your chin to tilt your mouth towards his once again, humming into the kiss. Your hand slides up to hold his face, your thumb occasionally dragging along his cheekbone, holding him so gently he just might melt.

He pulls away slowly, pressing a line of kisses up your cheek before pausing at your temple, arms tightening around you, holding you impossibly closer.

“Mi rendi felice, molto felice. Ti adoro.” he murmurs against your skin, throat clogging with emotion when he says: “Sei l’amore della mia vita.”

He can feel all the air leave you in a rush before you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close, his hand rubbing up and down your back, breathing each other in. You tilt your head to kiss slowly along his jawline, before you whisper in his ear: “And you’re mine.”

Your lips find each other’s once more, holding tight as your lips meet over and over, like you’ve got all the time in the world, the sweep of your tongue making him moan into your mouth, content to stay here forever, on this chair, wrapped up in you, snogging the life out of each other. He’s unable to stop himself from muttering against your mouth, a phrase he knows you won’t know, at least not yet.

“Ti voglio sposare, amore mio. Ti voglio sposare. Amore mio. Amore mio. Amore mio.”

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rough italian translations:

mi tesoro - my treasure, Sono pazza di te - i'm crazy about you, Mi rendi felice, molto felice. Ti adoro - you make me happy, so happy. I adore you, Sei l’amore della mia vita - you are the love of my life, Ti voglio sposare, amore mio. Ti voglio sposare. Amore mio. Amore mio. Amore mio - i'm going to marry you, my love. I'm going to marry you. My love. My love. my love.

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#something old #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #havent edited it at all but am posting anyway and logging offf #bye lmk what u think !!!

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