Ehiii uagliu sono Nat/Nico. In my 30s. Mostly reblogging fics I enjoy. I write sometimes, check #espressheauxswrites MINORS DNI!!!! Banners by @/cafekitsune
Now that everyone is discussing Nolan's Odyssey movie, I feel like it's a good time to let non-Italians know that the production dumped plastic props into the Italian sea. Weirdly enough I could not find any article in English about it but it's a fucking problem nonetheless.
I might translate this article later today. This one was the most complete one, even in Italian news it's not talked about that much.
Non è la prima volta che la produzione solleva un vespaio in Sicilia. A Lipari una squadra di sub sarebbe però già impegnata a bonificare i
They dumped plastic skeletons in environmentally protected areas, against the literal contracts they had to sign to get the permits to film in environmentally protected areas. Like they not only did a bad ecological thing that freaked out some divers, they literally broke environmental protection laws and their contract with the Italian government
Summer Affair: Part 5 | Harry Castillo x F!Reader/“You” | ~4.6k Word Count
SUMMARY: On the last destination of the trip, everything you’ve been keeping away from Harry comes to light in the most kismet way.
RATING: M.
TAGS: No use of y/n, reader has the nickname (Sol) that is used sparingly, summer romance is romancing, infidelity (reader is married), topless sunbathing, angst… lots of it, Joel Miller is here, a literal fight, a failed proposal, Harry is always getting his heart broken but I kind of love it, hurt/no comfort I think, if I forgot to tag anything else please let me know, more tags found on series masterlist.
A/N: the way that i fully channeled mexican telenovela energy in this chapter. mis lectoras latinas ustedes saben de lo que hablo 🙂↕️ the dramatics of it all always makes the angst that more entertaining, i fear. plus harry has full on galán energy in the likes of fernando colunga, david zepeda y sebastián rulli like c’monnnn. anyways, hope you all enjoy! 🖤 reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, thank you for reading!
P.S. series masterlist. read on ao3. header credit to @/devociones.
The private beachfront of the Mykonos villa Harry rented is its own secluded haven, tucked away from the lively beaches of Paradise or Super Paradise, with only the gentle lap of waves and the soft tunes of your summer playlist breaking the morning hush.
The Daydreamer bobs gently nearby at the private dock. You’ve gone topless again today, savoring the freedom and the way the breeze kisses your skin as you sunbathe, knowing how much this delights your lover.
Harry sits beside you on his own shaded lounger, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while he finalizes details on his iPad. The proposal he’s planning for you occupies his focus, but your half-naked figure keeps pulling his attention.
You truly are a breathtaking sight.
After a few more taps, he sets the device aside, slides his glasses onto the top of his head, and crouches beside you. His lips find the warm skin of your neck, trailing kisses downward.
He licks a warm stripe between your breasts, then lavishes attention on each nipple with his tongue and mouth until sweet moans slip from your lips.
“You’re going to hate me, but…” he murmurs, his hand massaging one of your breasts. “I’ve got a meeting today that I can’t miss.”
You pout. “Seriously?”
“I know, baby,” he soothes, sliding his hand down to squeeze your thigh gently. “I tried everything to get out of it, but it’s important. I’ll wrap it up as fast as I can.” In truth, there is no meeting—only final, in-person touches on what he’s orchestrating for you, the proposal he hopes will be everything you deserve.
Peter had pulled through and managed to help him get the engagement ring—a piece he had specifically designed for you.
“I’ve planned a whole day of pampering for you as an apology,” he adds, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He slips out his credit card and presses it into your hand.
“Do and get whatever you want. The masseuse will be here in an hour, and the driver’s already been briefed on your day. He’ll take you to the spa inland once you’re ready.”
“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, a genuine ache settling in your chest. The separation gives you the space you crave and dread—time to finally decide how to confront the secret you’ve been carrying.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Harry reassures you, leaning in for one last deep, lingering kiss on your lips. He gathers his things and heads back toward the villa, leaving you sighing heavily against the lounger.
Thoughts swirl as you look out at the gorgeous horizon. You didn’t come clean back in Italy because of how incandescently happy he’d been for the rest of the stay, and every opportunity since has left you chickening out.
You can’t keep dragging this out. The summer romance that has carried you from one enchanting destination to another is nearing its end, and the truth must surface here.
The thought of those beautiful brown eyes filled with hurt instead of adoration makes your stomach churn.
If revealing you’ve been married all along shatters what you’ve built and Harry walks away, then so be it. You’ll return to Texas, face Joel, and accept the consequences of your actions.
Both men deserve honesty after everything.
Truth be told, you should have divorced Joel long ago. You know this. However, he’s been your constant for years—friends turned business partners turned husband and wife—a steady presence in your life. It was hard.
You do love him, but not in the same way anymore.
And Harry. God, Harry. He sees you, the real you, in ways no one ever has. His spontaneity swept you off your feet in a whirlwind of passion and discovery. With him, life feels full of possibility.
But what happens when the fantasy collides with reality? When the season ends and you both return to your everyday lives? Would you remain as compatible as you are now?
It’s a terrifying risk… yet the feelings you have for him are strong enough that you’re willing to take it.
By the time the driver winds you back along the coastal road, you feel lighter.
The massage Harry arranged was absolute perfection. Skillful hands worked every knot from your shoulders and back, melting away the tension that had been building with your dilemma.
Afterward, you floated through the amenities offered by the luxury spa: soaking in a private hot bath infused with fragrant oils, an expensive facial that left your skin glowing and refreshed, and receiving a pedicure and manicure with shimmery, seashell-colored polish.
Yet as you step into the villa’s airy open living space, with its sweeping views of the private beach and The Daydreamer rocking gently at the dock, there’s still no sign of Harry.
To quell the sudden boredom and the swirl of anxiety, you break your months-long no-screen policy. You switch on your smartphone for the first time since the trip began, and it immediately erupts with a flood of notifications.
You ignore most of them, your thumb scrolling briefly through emails filled with work updates and mundane life back home. Social media offers a quick glance at friends’ posts from summer barbecues and nights out in the city, a world that feels impossibly distant from this Grecian idyll.
You fire off a few reassuring texts to your closest friends: quick updates that you’re okay and anticipating to return soon with one hell of a story to share.
Miles away, on the other side of the world where the Texas morning stretches long and lonely, Joel’s phone buzzes with a notification. Your location has come back online.
Without hesitation, he taps the alert, his heart giving an unexpected lurch as the map zooms in.
Greece. Mykonos, to be exact. The address of the villa taunts him from the screen.
He doesn’t sit with the decision for long. In a blur of determination, he opens his laptop and starts booking tickets, fingers flying across the keys.
You being gone and treating him like an afterthought has lit a fire under his ass, burning away the fog of the past few years.
He’s been a fucking idiot—blinded by the relentless climb of his career, pushing the most important person in his life to the sidelines while he chased ambition and fleeting successes.
Joel sees it all clearly now, the regret strong and motivating. He loves you (deeply, desperately so) and he’s done taking you for granted.
He’s on a mission now: to fly across the ocean, find you, and win your love back.
THREE DAYS LATER
You’ve spent the day diving off the yacht a few miles out into the water. Your muscles throb with welcomed fatigue as you step out of the shower, stomach rumbling from how hungry you seem to be getting.
As you wrap yourself in a soft towel, Harry appears in the doorway, his eyes darkening with appreciation at the sight of you.
“I have a surprise waiting for you at dinner, baby,” he says. “Get dressed in what I bought for you—it’s waiting on the bed. Take your time.”
You’re a little taken aback by the mention of a surprise, your heart skipping with anticipation even as a shadow of unease crosses your mind.
You share a kiss and he’s off, leaving you to get ready for the night.
The dress he chose is breathtaking: a gorgeous halter-style floral mini that hugs your curves perfectly, the soft fabric accentuating your thicker thighs and flowing with just enough sway to feel playful yet seductive.
You spend time on your makeup—enhancing your features with a glow that mirrors the summer sun and colors that complement the dress’s vibrant blooms.
When you finally descend the staircase, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks.
Harry waits at the bottom, handsome in a simple white button-up shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and olive-colored pants that snugly hug his hips. An expensive watch gleams on his wrist, his curls styled effortlessly, and he smells divine—an intoxicating blend of citrus and spice that makes your mouth literally water.
In his hands, a large bouquet of lush red peonies.
You want to devour him whole right here on the marble steps.
“Gorgrous as always,” he compliments, eyes tracing over you with desire that matches yours.
“You look good enough to eat,” you reply, your leer far more salacious than his, which earns you a playful smirk.
He pulls you close with his free arm and kisses you softly, careful not to smear your lip gloss, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back.
“These are pretty. I’ve never seen a bloom so red,” you note as you take in the beautiful flowers up close.
“It’s exactly why I had to get them for you.” He leads you through the villa until you’re in the kitchen.
The ornate space opens up to breathtaking views of the sea and the twinkling lights beginning to appear along the hilly coastline. Various fresh ingredients and dishes are artfully spread across the counters—ripe tomatoes, olives, herbs still dewy from the market.
“I’m cooking for you tonight,” Harry announces with a proud grin as he sets the flowers down.
The domesticity of it makes your heart soar with happiness even as it aches with guilt.
But you roll with it, letting him pull out your chair at the set table positioned perfectly for you to watch him work.
A bottle of your favorite sweet wine chills in an ice bucket nearby, right next to the peonies.
Harry had mentioned taking cooking classes back in Manhattan to fill his time away from the office, but you never expected this level of expertise. You watch him with heart eyes as he chops, seasons, and sautés, the two of you conversing easily about everything and nothing. Like always.
Once everything is ready, he plates your dishes with theatrical flourish, describing each element like a server at a high-end restaurant—the seared fish with a herb crust, vibrant roasted vegetables bursting with Mediterranean flavor, and a side of creamy orzo that smells divine.
You giggle, scrunching your nose in delight as he sets the plates down. The first bite draws a deep, appreciative moan from your lips. “Harry, this is absolutely delicious,” you tell him, leaning across the table to give him a sweet peck on the lips.
He looks so incredibly proud of himself as he watches you enjoy the meal he prepared.
Surrounded by the romance of Greece at twilight, you feel the full emotional weight of your impending confession pressing against the joy.
When you’ve finished, Harry takes care of clearing the table.
You find a quiet pocket in the conversation, steeling yourself to finally speak the truth. Your hands tremble slightly around the stem of your wine glass as you open your mouth to begin.
“Harry—”
But before the words can form, Harry interrupts with enthusiasm. “It’s time for your surprise, baby.”
The surprise. In the domestic bliss of the evening, it had completely slipped your mind. A knot tightens in your throat as he excuses himself, disappearing down the hallway for a few moments.
You sit there, heart hammering, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs, heels elegantly crossed beneath the table.
When he returns, he carries a bound book in his hands and settles across from you once more, sliding it gently toward you.
“What’s this?” you ask, curiosity sparkling in your gaze despite the rising anxiety.
“Open it. Go through it,” he encourages softly.
Your fingers trace the cover, and as you read the title embossed in elegant lettering, a soft gasp escapes your lips.
It’s a scrapbook of your summer together—a handmade celebration of every moment you’ve shared.
“You inspired me to create this. Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your idea,” he jests. “I wanted to capture these beautiful memories you’ve helped me create and, more importantly, how you’ve awakened a peaceful, grounded side of myself I never thought I’d find.”
You’re speechless as you flip through the pages, each one a sweet little time capsule.
Ticket stubs from train rides through the Italian countryside, pressed flowers from Monte-Carlo, candid photos he snapped on his phone and had printed—your laughter caught in golden hour light in Ibiza, the two of you tangled together on the deck of The Daydreamer in Lagos, stolen kisses against the backdrop of ancient ruins in Sicily. Trinkets, handwritten notes, even a small vial of sand from the beach here in Mykonos are beautifully arranged with care and artistry.
Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the delicate details. “Harry… wow, I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing.”
You turn to the final page, and your heart plummets straight into your stomach. There, written in his distinctive cursive handwriting, is a question you never saw coming: Will you marry me?
Before you can fully process it, Harry has moved. He’s no longer across the table but kneeling beside you. In his hands rests a velvet box, opened to reveal a breathtaking, timeless engagement ring that catches the light like a shooting star—elegant, sparkling, and perfect in its design.
The night seems to hold its breath around you, the distant sea and twinkling hillside lights framing this moment like a scene from a fairytale.
“It’s sudden—I know,” he confesses as he looks up at you. “But Sol, you make me so incredibly happy. I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone in my life. You make me want to be a better man every single day. To provide for you, to support your passions and dreams, to be the partner who stands by your side no matter what comes our way. I love you. You’ve brought sunshine into my life, and I don’t want to let you go. Will you marry me?”
The shock and overwhelming rush of feelings leave you frozen. At first, Harry interprets your silence as a positive sign, his smile bright and hopeful.
But then he sees it—the terror blooming in your eyes, the way your breath catches unevenly. His expression slowly begins to falter, the smile dropping as the seconds stretch into an agonizing quiet.
Panic surges through you as if you’ve been struck by lightning, a full-blown attack creeping up your chest and tightening your throat.
The beautiful dress suddenly feels too constricting, the heels too unsteady, the ring too accusing.
“I—I—” you stammer, shaking your head as you push back from the table on shaky legs. “I need fresh air.” The words tumble out in a rush before you can stop them.
Tears you’ve been desperately holding back spill freely down your cheeks as you turn and flee out onto the terrace.
“Sol, wait!” Harry calls after you, the shock finally breaking as he rises to his feet, but you’re already moving down the path toward the private garden.
The proposal scrapbook and ring are left behind.
Alone in the kitchen, Harry stands heartbroken, running a hand through his hair.
“Fuck, this was the wrong move,” he chastises himself harshly for being an idiot, for moving too damn fast. What level-headed woman would agree to marriage after only one whirlwind summer, no matter how magical?
You’ve found solace in the lush garden near the villa’s entrance.
Moonlight filters through fragrant jasmine and olive branches, casting silvery patterns across the stone paths and the ancient-looking bench where you’ve collapsed.
Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you bury your face in your hands.
What the hell is wrong with you? The question echoes mercilessly in your mind. Did you truly believe you could weave this tangled web of lies and emerge unscathed?
Your shoulders shake with silent sobs as you spiral deeper, replaying every opportunity to tell the truth that you let slip away.
Just as the weight threatens to crush you entirely, the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path makes your heart seize in terror.
You can’t face Harry right now—not like this.
But the voice that cuts through the night isn’t Harry’s. It’s a raspier one that snaps your head up instantly.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Your eyes widen in pure shock as Joel steps into view, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim outdoor lights.
He looks exhausted, worry etched deeply into his rugged features, travel-worn clothes looking like he just stepped off the plane and came directly here.
You shoot to your feet, instinctively backing away and putting desperate distance between you. The movement only deepens his confusion.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you choke out. “H-How did you find me?”
This cannot be happening right now. Karma, it seems, has wicked timing.
“Your location,” Joel replies simply, stepping closer with caution. “On your phone. You turned it back on a few days ago.”
“Joel, you can’t be here—you have to go,” you panic, lunging forward to grab his hand and tug him desperately toward the exit. Your pulse thunders in your ears as you imagine Harry emerging any second.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His voice is firm, rooted like an old oak tree. He stands planted, far stronger than your frantic pulls.
“You’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on and why you’re actin’ like this. It can’t just be because of the problems we’ve got back home, sweetheart.”
The endearment makes you cringe inwardly.
“Talk to me, please,” Joel continues, words softening with regret. “I know I haven’t been the best husband, but fuck… I love you so much. I’ve been a fool for treatin’ you the way I have been. I’m here to fight for us.”
“Joel…” you whisper, fresh tears spilling as your bottom lip quivers uncontrollably. He closes the gap, cupping your face gently in his calloused hands, forcing you to meet the sincerity blazing in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I love you. I want to work on us. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
He leans in, and the world seems to slow as his lips brush yours in a kiss heavy with years of history and desperate hope.
Of course, that is the exact moment Harry steps into the garden.
“What the fuck is this?” Harry’s voice is like a whip, his earlier heartbreak igniting into pure, volcanic fury. He storms forward, eyes blazing as he takes in the scene.
You gasp sharply, shoving Joel away and spinning toward Harry.
“Harry—”
“Who the hell are you?” Joel growls, chest puffing as he sizes up the other man, protective instincts flaring.
“I could ask you the same damn question,” Harry snarls back, ignoring you completely. “Why are you kissing my girl?”
Joel barks out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Your girl? That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.”
The truth detonates like a bomb.
You stand frozen in the middle, heart slamming against your ribs as if it might grow legs and run the fuck away.
Harry’s breath comes in rapid, pained bursts, his fists clenching at his sides as he notices the wedding band on Joel’s finger.
His gaze swings to you, betrayal carved into every handsome feature. “Sol… What is he talking about?”
“Sol?” Joel echoes, confusion twisting into anger. “She hasn’t gone by that since college. What the fuck is goin’ on here?”
You close your eyes for a brief second, drawing a shuddering breath before forcing the words out.
“Harry… I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, the confession ripping from your soul. “Joel’s my husband. I’m married.”
Harry staggers back as if struck, his world visibly collapsing. “No…” he breathes. “After everything—the summer we’ve had, Sol… that can’t be true.”
Joel’s expression shifts as the pieces slam into place. “You’ve been with him this whole time? That’s why you’ve been ignorin’ my calls, hangin’ up on me? Too busy bein’ easy for some rich asshole?”
The unnecessary insult pisses Harry off. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he warns, stepping forward.
“Or what, pretty boy?” Joel retorts, advancing too. “You’ve been fuckin’ my wife and expect me not to beat your ass?”
“Maybe if you had done your job as her husband, as a real man, and kept her satisfied—”
The fight erupts in a blink of an eye.
Joel throws the first punch, connecting solidly with Harry’s jaw. Harry reels but retaliates with equal force, the two men brawling violently amid the flowers and stone benches.
You scream for them to stop, but your pleas are useless. You don’t dare physically intervene, terrified of catching a stray blow in the chaos.
Finally, they separate, chests heaving, bruises surfacing and lips split. You step boldly between them now, hands raised.
“Please, just stop!”
“Get the hell out before I call someone to throw you out,” Harry growls at Joel, eyes like daggers.
“Ain’t got no reason to be here anymore.” Joel scoffs bitterly, yanking off his wedding band and tossing it at your feet where it clatters accusingly on the stone.
“We’re done. That’s what you wanted, right?” Pain flashes across his face despite his hardened words. He turns and stalks away into the night, though you know this confrontation is far from over once you return to Texas.
The garden falls into a terrible silence once Joel is gone, the moonlight now feeling merciless.
“And here I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with you.” He shakes his head, moving his jaw side to side and flinching from the soreness of Joel’s punch, blood fresh on his bottom lip.
“Was any of it real?” He then asks, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it.
Your face crumples with fresh agony. “Yes, of course it was—”
“Or was it all about the money?” The accusation strikes like a dagger to your heart.
“It was never about that, Harry,” you insist, stepping closer despite the distance growing between you.
“Then why did you lie?”
“I was being selfish… trying to live a life I never thought I’d experience. It started harmless, but then you were so good to me. I got lost in this fantasy.” Your words break. “Being with you felt like the most real thing I’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.”
Harry doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“You have until the end of the weekend to get your travel plans in order,” he says at last, tone flat and defeated. “I think it’s best if we go our separate ways from here.”
You expected this, yet it actually happening still cuts deep.
Part of you wants to fight this, argue with him and make the case that you love him so much and hurting him was the last thing you ever wanted to do.
But all the emotions are too raw and fresh for any type of rational conversation to occur, so you just nod weakly, wiping away tears you feel you have no right to shed.
“Okay.”
The way he looks at you now—betrayed, heartbroken, and distant—is almost unbearable. He returns back to the villa, leaving you alone in the garden to drown in your own penitence.
You slip away quietly the following afternoon, not needing the full weekend like Harry had suggested, leaving Mykonos behind as the ferry carries you toward the mainland.
Back in the villa, Harry walks slowly into the bedroom you had once shared.
The space feels unnaturally still now fully stripped of your presence. The afternoon light filters through the open windows, but it only deepens the emptiness.
His gaze falls on the bed, neatly made, and the console table nearby. There, folded and arranged, lies every article of clothing, accessory, pair of shoes, and thoughtful gift he bought you throughout the trip.
A single handwritten note rests amidst the items, your writing addressing him simply.
Harry picks it up, reading it slowly, each word carving deeper into the cracks of his already shattered heart:
Harry,
No amount of apologizing will ever make up for how much I’ve hurt you. I should have been honest from the beginning. This summer with you has been the most magical experience of my entire life. I meant when I said that you are the most generous person I’ve ever met, and I really hope that life treats you as kindly as you deserve, and that one day you find someone who loves you just as fiercely as you love them.
Thank you for everything.
For what it’s worth, my answer would have been yes.
Sol.
He clenches his teeth, jaw tight as he fights the overwhelming torrent of emotions that hit him. The note blurs slightly in his vision.
The room echoes with ghosts of your laughter. He can almost smell your perfume lingering faintly on the clothes you left behind.
Harry sets the paper down gently and runs his fingers over a silk scarf he’d gotten you in Portugal.
He wonders, standing alone in the golden light of this place that now feels too large and too empty, if he will ever truly get over you.
That bittersweet truth is all that remains as the sun begins its slow descent, blending the sky in hues of rose and lavender.
One last beautiful farewell to the dream you shared.
[ ⤷ previous / ⤷ final chapter ]
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Summer Affair: Part 4 | Harry Castillo x F!Reader/“You” | ~3.9k Word Count
SUMMARY: Your time with Harry in Sicily changes everything.
RATING: E.
TAGS: No use of y/n, reader has the nickname (Sol) that is used sparingly, summer romance is romancing, infidelity (reader is married), reader is a history nerd, reader is described as not being thin, feelings have hit these two hard, Harry is OBSCENELY rich (i’m not even sure if you can do what he did in this chapter but idgaf we ball), smut, light dom/sub vibes, blindfolding, creampie (oops), squirting..., pussy pronouns, fingering, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), Harry loves giving praise, if I forgot to tag anything else please let me know, more tags found on series masterlist.
A/N: phew, guys, this chapter had me all dizzy as i was writing it, omfg! i want to shoutout @ak-vintage for her amazing ezra fic that inspired some of the smut in this chapter, so, thanks ashley! anyways, hope you all enjoy! 🖤 reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, thank you for reading!
P.S. series masterlist. read on ao3. header credit to @/devociones.
The sun shines over Taormina as you wander hand in hand through the winding streets, the air fragrant with the faint scent of the nearby Ionian Sea.
Sicily is undeniably your favorite stop on this entire trip. You love the rich, layered history that exists in every corner—from the towering theaters where myths were once brought to life, to the mosaics and courtyards and cathedrals that tell stories of conquest and cultural fusion spanning millennia.
It’s inspiring you more than you anticipated. One thing you love about design in general is being able to pull from the cultures that came before, keeping their art alive and appreciated through the decoration of space. You already know you’re going to be a busy bee the second you make it back to your office.
Harry makes every moment feel impossibly better, transforming the history into something intimate for the two of you.
He arranges exclusive private tours, charming local guides into leading you through parts of the amphitheater where most aren’t usually allowed, then to courtyards filled with blooming bougainvillea, sharing stories of festivals thrown to celebrate gods and goddesses.
Harry walks beside you, listening intently as you marvel at the history and snap photos of everything.
“You light up when you talk about this stuff. I love how passionate you are.”
You bite down on your lip. “Thanks, baby.” You lift your camera up, directing him to stand right where you want him, next to a bust of a Roman general that favors him greatly.
“Riiiight there. Perfect!” You snap the photo, already knowing you’re going to be swooning over how good he looks in his linen outfit, the top unbuttoned enough to showcase his strong chest, the tanned skin teasing you with every glimpse you get.
As you admire a gemstone necklace (that’s way too pricey) in a shop tucked into a narrow alley, Harry leans in close, his fingers tracing lazily across your back, which is exposed from the halter top you’re wearing.
“Get whatever you want. Seeing you indulge, spending my money—it turns me on more than you could possibly imagine.” His voice is a little hoarse, that charming lilt making your thighs tense together.
Your cheeks heat deeply. The way he treats you as if you truly are the rarest treasure amid historic wonders makes you want to mount him right then and there.
This energy leads Harry to sweep you off for a lavish shopping spree in preparation for the special dinner he has planned tonight.
“We’re heading to Selinunte this evening,” he tells you with an excited grin as you stroll towards the boutique.
“It’s about a three-hour drive west across the island. I’ve got something perfect lined up. You’re going to love it. But first, you need the perfect outfit to match the occasion.”
He insists on buying you every and any thing, it seems. The dressing room becomes its own dreamy montage as various articles of clothing and accessories are wheeled in by the associates.
You emerge from behind the curtain in a flowing azure sundress that catches the light beautifully, twirling for Harry’s appreciative gaze.
“Stunning,” he leans back against the small loveseat that’s provided, spreading his thighs wide as he gets himself comfortable for the show you’re putting on.
Next comes a sleek black number that hugs your curves and is extremely short. The tag says it is Versace and you swear it’s the most expensive piece you’ve ever had on your body.
This one makes Harry’s eyes widen, taking in how good your full thighs look. “Turn around,” he orders and you smirk at him, doing so slowly, bending over slightly so he can get a nice view of your ass in the tiny dress, a sliver of your panties tantalizing him.
“You’re getting that one.” He says in such a commanding tone, it makes you wet. “Not for tonight, though, but fuck—you look sexy.”
Satisfied and flustered, you blow him a kiss before disappearing behind the curtain again. He adjusts himself in his shorts, feeling his cock stirring half hard at how gorgeous your body is. No matter what you’re wearing.
Harry loves that you embrace your figure for what it is. You’re thicker, curvier, a lot more to love than his previous partners. Not that it matters to him one bit, but so many women (and men) in his circle focus too much on physical appearance.
He did too, once when he was insecure and his self esteem was at an all time low. However, in order to become the confident man that he is today, he had to learn how to overcome that.
Which he did. It taught him a lot about himself and how much he’s willing to change in order to fit into the box of what everyone else expects of him.
Each time you step out in a different outfit, Harry’s gaze darkens with desire. He pulls you to him between changes, hands sliding greedily over the silk at your waist, stealing fervent kisses.
You can feel how much he wants you right there, his intensity one of the many things about this man that turns you on.
Your back presses against the mirrored wall as his lips trail down your neck, but you laugh breathlessly and gently push him back, teasing, “Harry... behave. You have to keep those hands to yourself until tonight.”
He groans playfully, but respects your words with a wicked smile, planting one final peck at your lips.
“You’re killing me.”
Finally you come out in the showstopper—a deep orange, one shoulder satin dress with blush lace detailing that falls into a softly flared midi hem.
His stomach bottoms out at the sight of you. The hue of the dress compliments your sun kissed skin, hugging your form perfectly, enough skin shown to drive him insane.
“You look…” Harry is at a loss for words, truly.
“Perfect? Gorgeous? Amazing?” You tease, smoothing the fabric down, admiring yourself in the mirror. You look very, very fucking good.
“Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.”
You try not to cringe as the grand total pops up when the associate rings you up, especially since Harry had implored you to also purchase matching jewelry and shoes.
He is totally indifferent about it, however. He just swipes his black American Express card like all of this costs him nothing.
As if it’s not more than the mortgage on the house you own with Joel.
“How on Earth am I supposed to get all these beautiful things back home? My luggage is going to explode.”
Harry shrugs, a charming grin on his lips, carrying all the bags for you as you walk out into the street “I’ll have them shipped straight to your place. Don’t worry about a single thing. What’s the point of all this if I can’t spoil my girl properly?”
This opens the door to a conversation you’ve both been gently circling. As you take a break from shopping at a shaded café terrace overlooking the ancient theater, sipping sweet limoncello, things turn a little serious.
“Sol,” he gets your attention, “what happens when this trip ends? When we leave all this behind and go back to our real lives?”
The weight of his growing feelings is palpable—holding you tight in bed every night, the quiet ways you’ve softened his once rigid need to control every little detail.
“This... us... it’s become so much more than a summer fling. For me, anyway.”
You don’t say anything at first, blinking slowly as you try to figure out what is the best approach to take here. Is this the out you need to finally come clean about your marriage?
You reach across the small table, lacing your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his palm. “I don’t want to think about it yet,” you whisper honestly, your heart thudding rapidly from all the directions it’s being pulled.
“I want to enjoy every single second here—the beautiful world that surrounds us, the way you make me feel so alive and seen. If I spend it all worrying about the future, I’ll look back and regret not fully living in this moment. And I don’t want any regrets with you, Harry. Not one.”
He isn’t entirely pleased by your answer. You catch the flicker of uncertainty and longing in his gaze. It’s the pull of emotions that have been blooming steadily like the flowers you’ve admired this entire trip.
But he exhales slowly, a small, understanding smile breaking through as he lifts your hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “You’re right,” he says, his tone softening with genuine resolve. “You’re teaching me that, you know. I’ve spent my life controlling everything… and here you are, showing me how good it feels to just be. It’s a better way. Our way, at least, for this incredible summer.”
Later, as you’re being driven to Selinunte, Harry briefly takes a call with his brother while you nap in his lap, completely wiped from your eventful day.
His voice is low enough to not wake you.
“Yeah... she’s incredible. She’s the most fun I’ve had… ever.” A small smile stretches on his lips as memories of your time together float through his mind.
“I think I’ve found the one—”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I’m serious—this feels different. Europe with her... it’s like everything makes sense.”
“And to think you almost fucked off back to Manhattan after that meeting in Monte-Carlo.”
Harry chuckles with a shake of his head, eyes tracing over your soft features, his free hand gently rubbing at your hip in a soothing gesture that keeps you comfortable and asleep.
“So if you could look into that for me, I’d really appreciate it. The sooner, the better. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.”
Peter remains silent momentarily, never having seen or heard his brother behave this way before. Harry Castillo is actually in love—he never thought he’d see the day.
That whole thing with Lucy was not love, it was more of Harry realizing what it really was that he was seeking out of a relationship. He understands now that it’s more than just about a partnership. It’s about devotion, vulnerability, allowing yourself to put all of your trust in someone.
“Okay,” his brother answers finally. “I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something.”
“Thanks.”
With that, the call ends and Harry lets out a deep sigh, looking out the window as the sun almost disappears over the horizon.
You get ready for dinner at the villa you’ll be staying in for the rest of your stay in Italy. It’s grand, way too luxurious for just you, Harry and the staff he’s hired—but he had found it absolutely breathtaking and wanted you to stay somewhere unlike anywhere else you’ve been before.
He definitely succeeded in that aspect.
When you finally arrive at the archaeological park later that night, the sight before you steals your breath completely.
Harry has rented out the entire Acropolis of Selinunte just for the two of you. Towering temples stand sentinel against the starlit sky, their honey-colored stones whispering of civilizations long past.
The setup is breathtaking: a private table draped in crisp white linen sits amidst the majestic ruins of the temples, surrounded by hundreds of flickering candles that cast a golden, ethereal glow on the weathered columns.
Moonlight spills across the archaeological site while the gentle rhythm of the waves crashes softly against the nearby shore, creating the most picturesque scene you have ever witnessed.
Even more than your first dinner date with him in Monte-Carlo.
You stand frozen for a moment, eyes wide with disbelief, as Harry takes your hand and leads you forward towards your table.
“This is for you,” he says simply. “If I could give you the whole world, I would.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the candlelight. No one has ever treated you like this—memorizing every small detail you love, from your fascination with ancient history to your quiet yearning for meaningful gestures.
Not even Joel, with all the years you spent together, ever planned something so grand or romantic. He was simple, never one for sweeping, heartfelt surprises.
Harry does it effortlessly, as naturally as breathing.
The dinner unfolds amazingly. Your server brings course after course of local fare: fresh seafood caught that morning, delicate pasta with wild fennel and sardines, tender lamb prepared with fragrant herbs from the surrounding hills, and crisp wine from a local vineyard that tastes like bottled sunshine.
You talk and laugh between bites, the conversation flowing easily like it always has as the ruins stand watch like spectators of your summer affair.
The candle flames dance in the breeze, casting warm shadows across Harry’s handsome face as he watches you with open adoration.
Towards the end of the meal, as you finish your decadent dessert of ricotta-filled cannoli dusted with pistachios and orange zest, Harry reaches across the table and takes both your hands in his.
“I need to tell you something,” he begins, his tone so vulnerable in the quiet expanse of the site. “I know this is crazy—I’ve only known you for such a short time—but I’m falling in love with you. Deeply. These weeks traveling Europe, seeing the world through your eyes... it’s changed everything for me. You’ve changed me.”
You are not surprised in the slightest. The strong feelings growing in your own chest mirror his words perfectly—the way your heart races whenever he looks at you, the comfort of his touch, the effortless joy you find in his company.
Yet a persistent shadow lingers over this perfect daydream. Pursuing this fully would only complicate everything because of Joel and the life waiting back home that you haven’t fully untangled.
Your husband hasn’t reached out to you since you hung up on him, and while you should be relieved—it also brought a small sense of anxiety nitpicking at the back of your mind.
Now, the thoughts stab at you deeply. But looking at Harry—his brown eyes glowing with sincerity and surrounded by so much beauty—you don’t have the heart to break his in this fantastical moment.
Not after everything he has done for you. How he has made you feel loved like never before.
Instead, you squeeze his hands gently, tears slipping down your cheeks as a soft smile curves your lips.
“Harry... I’m falling for you too,” you whisper, the words dancing on the sea breeze. “Truly. I’m so appreciative of everything you’ve done for me—the gestures, the surprises, the way you spoil me and make me feel like the center of your world. You’re such a generous man with the biggest heart. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”
He leans forward, kissing you tenderly over the table, the taste of sweet cannoli tingling on your lips.
In this moonlit bubble amidst the ancient ruins of Selinunte, your summer romance feels timeless and destined.
You decide then that you will tell him the full truth about your marriage soon.
When you return to the private villa, Harry holds his hands over your eyes as he guides you to the main bedroom.
“No peeking, it’s a surprise.”
“I’m not peeking, I swear!” Though, you do attempt to sneak a look between the gaps of his fingers… to no avail.
Once inside, he drops his hands, and for the second time tonight—you’re left breathless.
Expensive linens drape the oversized four-poster bed, scattered with petals that contrast beautifully against the bedding. Dozens of candles flicker in ornate holders around the room, casting their light across tasteful tapestries.
The large open terrace doors let in the soothing rhythm of the ocean beyond, its breeze blowing against the sheer curtains.
“This is what I had in mind for our first time together,” he murmurs against your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “Something slow, beautiful, worthy of you. But someone got a little too eager on the yacht in Lagos... so I haven’t been able to do it properly until now.” He smirks, remembering your frantic encounter on the deck, and you laugh breathlessly as you melt into his embrace.
Clothes fall away in a heated trail toward the bed. His hands roam your body, peeling off the designer dress until you stand naked before him.
“I won’t ever tire of seeing you like this.” He whispers against your lips, grabbing a handful of your ass which makes you shudder as he lays you down on the comfortable mattress.
The foreplay builds languidly and oh so torturously. You kiss like you have all the time in the world, tongues sliding and tangling, breaths shared until you feel like you’re breathing life into the other.
Harry’s large, warm hands caress your curves—squeezing your hips, tracing the dip of your waist, cupping your breasts until your nipples tighten into sensitive peaks.
It feels so fucking amazing. You don’t know what’s better: feeling him touch you like this or seeing how attractive he looks naked. His curls fall over his eyes as his broad figure blankets you entirely, his wide shoulders luring you to leave scratch marks all over them and down his freckled back.
He pauses his affections, lips brushing your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin. “Is it okay if I blindfold you?”
The request sends a fresh rush of arousal straight to your core. You are already beyond horny, your pussy aching and throbbing for him to give her some attention… but the idea of surrendering control to him like this turns you on even more than you thought possible.
“Yes,” you breathe out needily, almost whimpering. “Please, Harry. Do whatever you want.”
Your submission makes a sound rumble in his throat and he squeezes one of your breasts before pulling away, his presence missed the second it is gone.
He uses a soft silk scarf from the nightstand, tying it gently but securely over your eyes. Darkness envelops you, heightening every sensation. You cannot anticipate his next move, and the uncertainty makes your skin prickle with welcomed anticipation.
One moment, his hand glides softly down your stomach, fingertips feather-light. The next, his hot mouth closes around one peaked nipple, sucking hard while his tongue swirls, sending intense jolts of pleasure straight to your clit.
You arch and whimper, fingers threading through his hair.
He continues his exquisite torment, kissing a slow path lower with those full lips of his. His stubble grazes your inner thighs as he settles between your legs. His tongue parts your slick folds, licking along your slit with long strokes that have you gasping.
“Harry, baby…”
He eats your pussy like he’s devoting himself to her, savoring the natural tanginess of you—alternating between broad, flat licks and focused suction on your swollen clit. Two thick fingers slide inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while his mouth works vehemently.
Your first orgasm crashes over you without warning, thighs trembling around his head as you cry out, slicking his tongue.
Harry pulls back just enough to kiss up your quivering stomach, then claims your mouth in a filthy kiss so you can taste yourself on him.
Then he returns between your legs, devouring you again. Another orgasm builds and shatters through you, then another, until your mind melts into pure euphoric bliss.
All the while, you hear the rhythmic creak of the bed as Harry thrusts his throbbing, leaking cock against the sheets, desperately grinding for friction. He groans against your pussy, clearly on the edge himself, barely holding back from finishing all over the luxurious bedding as he pleasures you.
You babble his name over and over, fingers twisting into his soft hair to keep you from floating out of your body.
His thicker digits are building the pressure up so intensely against your g-spot. You start to feel like you need to relieve yourself.
“H-Harry…” you sob, attempting to push his head away. But he’s so lost in sucking on your clit and fingering you zealously that he’s not really taking notice of your weak efforts.
It’s not like you want him to stop for real, but you’re afraid that if you let go then you’ll just make a giant mess and that would be an embarrassment that would ruin the night.
You definitely don’t want that to happen.
But then he twists his wrist in a specific way and his skilled tongue starts to rapidly lick all over your pussy that you manage to dig your nails into his scalp as you finally squirt all over him, the release shuddering throughout your body while you gush everywhere.
“Oh my fucking god!” You yelp loudly, violently shaking in his hold as he just lets it happen, his fingers being pushed out from your core from how tightly you had squeezed around him, his mouth and facial hair drenched from your release.
By the time he finally pulls away, you are a trembling, blissed-out mess, your body humming with the aftershocks.
Harry removes the blindfold. His face hovers above yours, stare shaded with lust and profound love that steals what little breath you have left. The intensity overwhelms you—tears streak down your heated cheeks as the sensations crest.
He moves in a blur, your eyes too bleary to make out the way he swiftly discards the loose sheet that’s been ruined, then climbs over you.
“H-Harry that was…—I-I made a mess—”
“Shh, mi Sol,” he soothes, cupping your cheek affectionately, thumb brushing away the tears that have slipped from your pretty eyes. He leans in, kissing you deeply, pouring every feeling into it, his tongue sliding into your mouth.
The thick, bulbous head of his cock nudges against your oversensitive entrance and you shiver at the feel of it. With a shared groan, he pushes in inch by inch, stretching your tight, warm cunt around his hard length until he is buried to the root.
What follows is hours of hot, slow, passionate sex that is nothing like the frantic, desperate fucking you have indulged in previously.
This is different. Every thrust is given with dedicated purpose, hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that lets you feel all of him, the protruding underside sliding deliciously against your grip.
You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his ass as he fills you again and again. Candlelight flickers across your joined bodies, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his muscles, the way your heavy breasts bounce with each measured stroke.
He whispers praises against your throat, kissing up your jaw.
“So perfect.”
“I love how you feel around me.”
“You’re mine. I love you.”
All while you mutter his name like it’s a hymn, moaning nonsense as you lose yourself in the lovemaking.
You come together multiple times, sometimes with him deep inside you, sometimes with his fingers on your clit while he grinds slow circles.
Positions shift languidly: you on top, riding him with lazy rolls of your hips as he watches you with worshipful eyes; him behind you, spooning close as he thrusts deep and kisses your neck.
It feels like you are laying your hearts completely bare, bodies and souls entwined.
Eventually, exhaustion and satisfaction claim you. You fall sound asleep in Harry’s arms, your body curled against his, the sheets tangled around your naked forms and rose petals scattered across the bed.
Harry stays awake a little longer, gently stroking your hair as he watches you.
The depth of his feelings crashes over him overwhelmingly so. In this moment, he knows with absolute certainty that he wants to marry you.
[ ⤷ previous / ⤷ next chapter ]
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Actually when I say “fuck all billionaires” I particularly mean Taylor “having my wedding in the middle of the busiest city in the world on the busiest weekend in the world in the part of the city the majority of commuters need to get through because fuck working people” Swift
When you moved in with him and Lena (after he moved away from oceanside with her) you wonder what new role you might end up taking. You know that andrew didn't have a good representation of any parents growing up, and he has such a hyper-mascline presentation. You think there are some things he might need help with, when it comes to the soft, sweet Lena.
Well, you were immediately proven wrong. That first evening you were around you watch as andrew suddenly flips into dad mode, his whole focus drawa on Lena. Obediently, she listens when he tells her to get ready for bed. While she changes, he cleans the dishes. As he cleans, he seems to have forgotten you there with him or you'd think that if you didn't know him so well. He's focused on this task, and all his energy goes into it until it's done.
Once she's dressed, Lena appears back in the kitchen and stands there waiting. Pope grabs a box and guides her to sit. From the box he produces a hair oil, a brush and some hair bands. Carefully and meticulously he oils and combs through her hair and braids it into neat plates, so her hair is protected while she sleeps. All while he nods along and comments as she gives him a full run down of the school day and details of every little bit of her friendship gossip. He seems genuinely interested too, you note, as he asks follow-up questions like 'well what did Marcie say? I know she wouldn't like that' or 'what are you going to say to her tomorrow' and the slightly ill-advised (but very pope) 'I would have punched her in the face, I'm glad you didn't otherwise you'd end up like me, but I still would have punched her for that'.
He then guides her to bed and effortlessly deals with the usually bed time talk. All her "but I'm not tired", "why do i need to go to bed now?", "I don't want to go to school." Are effectively parried by practiced speech, "try lying in still in bed for 30 minutes and then see", "well we're reading a story first remember" and "schools important, so you can become smart and have a better life then I did".
You just sit and listen as andrew reads Lena her bedtime story. His sounds beautiful when he is gentle and keeps his voice soft as he settles Lena into bed. He uses different voices for the characters which is equal parts endearing and equal parts dorky. He reads past the point Lena is asleep, so she's never alone with the silence and for a while he stays in her room after he's finished reading. Watching her sleep, keeping her safe.
You feel yourself getting very tired once he creeps out of her room and gently shuts the door behind him. Silently, you reach your arm out and usher him to you. He walks up to you and when he's near enough you plant a soft kiss on his lips.
stormborns
pixelskylines
areudirty
