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Aug 9, 2025

what happens in vegas — po5

lando norris x !ex reader

pato o’ward x reader

they say heartbreak feels like drowning. for you, it comes in the form of grainy photos, whispered texts, and the gut-punch realization that the man you’ve loved for nearly three years chose someone else—someone you once called a friend.

so you leave monaco. you leave the apartment, the memories, the ache in your chest, and go home to the only people who have ever felt like home. elba o’ward has been your best friend since childhood, and her brother, pato, has always been there—loud, reckless, impossible to ignore.

what you don’t expect is that pato has been waiting all along. and this time, he isn’t going to let you go.

original request is here.

fc : saradeanii on ig

—

1 week ago…

yourusername

liked by elbaoward, patriciooward, alexandrasaintmleux & 1,890,000 others.

yourusername : a spill of my recents 📸

tagged : lando and magui_corceiro

—

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recent comments

username00 : oh she just posted this a week ago. poor bby

username15 : lando. when i catch you lando.

username17 : notice how neither of them liked this. backstabbers.

username77 : lando, que te folle un pez.

liked by elbaoward, patriciooward and yourusername

↳ username77 : AHAHAH HEY GUYS

username20 : her best friend and her boyfriend. that poor baby

username19 : well now that lando has fumbled ik who is first in line

older comments

elbaoward : my real life barbie 💗✨

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mi vidaaaa<3 love you forever

liked by elbaoward

lando : my girl 😻

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my mannnnnn🥰

↳ username77 : your girl but you didn’t like this post but liked her best friends…

patriciooward : te extraño queridaaaaaa

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : te extraño más mi patitoooo🗣️ iré a tu casa si tienes el wifi nuevamente activado🥴

liked by patriciooward

↳ patriciooward : está de nuevo listo para ti, mi reina.

liked by yourusername

↳ username155 : omg yn saw the wifi nonsense too😭

↳ yourusername : SAW IT? mama i lived it. who do you think was getting called every 5 minutes out of pure boredom????

liked by patriciooward and username155

magui_corceiro : minha linda menina💓

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lilymhe : so obsessed with YOU.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s so funny because i feel the same about you !!!!!

liked by lilymhe

alexandrasaintmleux : most beautiful angel xx🤍

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↳ yourusername : love you love you love you

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

—

flashback (1 week ago…)

The day has been long — meeting in the morning, a team event in the afternoon — and the two of you are finally back in Monaco, the warm glow of late afternoon spilling across the balcony. The air smells faintly of salt and sunscreen, and Lando is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, thumb scrolling idly on his phone.

You’re curled up beside him, still wearing the oversized McLaren hoodie he tossed at you before you left this morning, your legs tucked underneath you. Your hair is still a little messy from the wind, and you’re halfway through stealing one of his crisps from the bowl on the table.

“You hungry?” he asks without looking up, voice light.

“Starving,” you reply around a mouthful of crisp, smirking when he finally glances over at you.

His smile is easy and familiar, the kind that used to make you feel like the only person in the room. He sets his phone down on the coffee table — face-down. Not unusual, you tell yourself. He does that sometimes. Still, the motion catches your eye.

“I was thinking Italian tonight,” he says, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your hoodie. “That place by the harbor you love — the one with the wine you always say is too sweet.”

You laugh softly. “You mean the wine you drink when you’ve had a bad day?”

He grins, leaning closer. “Guilty. But I figured we could walk down, maybe grab gelato after. Your favorite. The one with the little chocolate shavings.”

It’s hard not to melt at the thought — or at the way he’s watching you like he’s cataloging every reaction. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of him.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. It’s not accusatory, just an observation.

He chuckles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just sorting some stuff for next week. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wasn’t worried,” you say, but the unease lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the stress of the season.

His hand slides down to lace with yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Love you, you know that?”

You smile, squeezing his fingers. “Yeah. I know.”

And maybe that’s enough to make you swallow the question on your tongue. You don’t ask who he was texting. You don’t ask why his smile feels just a touch too polished tonight. Instead, you let him pull you up from the couch, laughing as he complains about how long you take to get ready, and you decide — just this once — to ignore it.

—

present day

f1gossipgirls

2,000,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : trouble in paradise? lando norris was spotted getting close to model magui corceiro at a nightclub last night in portugal, with multiple witnesses claiming the two left together before boarding a private jet this morning. what makes this even messier? magui is best friends with yn ln, a 23 year old internationally known model who has been publicly dating lando since early 2022. the two women have often been photographed together at races, vacations, and events, making this rumored fling a major shock to fans.

—

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username000 : nahhh this has to be fake right???

↳ username17 : i fear this is typical behavior for magui AND lando

username15 : MAGUI??? as in YN’s BEST FRIEND magui???

username23 : if this is true… i actually feel sick for her

username00 : yn was literally at his race last week smiling and supporting him… men are wild

username10 : magui better turn off her comments real quick 💀

username20 : lando better run and hide from elba bc i sense she is coming after him with something sharp

liked by elbaoward

↳ username13 : ELBA😭😭

username100 : this is actually the worst plot twist of 2025

username25 : PATOOOOOOOO OH PATOOOOO COME GET YOUR GIRL

username75 : imagine throwing away yn for MAGUI of all people

username88 : honestly queen has been booked and busy lately, she probably don’t care

—

You push open the door to your apartment in Monaco, the soft click echoing unnervingly in the quiet space. The familiar scent — a mix of sea salt, sun-warmed concrete, and faint traces of his cologne — hits your nose, and for a moment, it feels like you’re stepping back into a memory. But the warmth you once felt here is gone.

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a dull thud on the floor. You’re exhausted, drained in a way that no gig or jetlag could ever cause. Your phone buzzes insistently in your hand — notifications, messages, tags from people you barely know.

You unlock it with numb fingers, eyes scanning the screen.

An explosion of posts from gossip accounts fill your feed. The latest: photos of Lando and Magui — smiling, close, tangled in a way that used to belong to you. Shots from a club in Portugal, then boarding a private jet together early this morning.

Your heart stops.

You swipe to the comments. Hundreds of strangers, friends, fans — everyone shocked, devastated, furious. Your breath catches, tears prickling your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want to break down here. Not yet.

Your gaze flickers to the kitchen counter where Lando’s laptop sits — still open, like a silent witness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, grounding yourself.

You tell yourself you have to see. You have to know.

Click. The screen brightens, the familiar interface opening. His messages.

A sea of texts stretches out — timestamps deep into the night, conversations between Lando and Magui that you never saw coming. Flirty emojis, inside jokes, whispered promises. Messages that should have been yours.

You feel the air leave your lungs, like you’re being crushed from the inside out. Your vision blurs.

Every word you read twists the knife deeper. The laughter you shared, the plans you made — all replaced by secrets and lies.

You sink to the edge of the couch, trembling, your phone slipping from your fingers onto the floor. The silence of the apartment presses in, louder than any scream you can’t let out.

You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re trying to hold your shattered pieces together. The photo on the wall catches your eye — a snapshot of you and Lando, sun-drenched and smiling on a beach vacation.

You reach out, fingertips grazing the frame, a ghost of a smile flickering before it’s swallowed by sorrow.

Then, you stand. Slowly, painfully.

You walk to your bedroom, each step heavier than the last. Your suitcase sits waiting — half-packed from an earlier trip that now feels like a lifetime ago.

You start pulling clothes from the closet, stuffing them into the bag with trembling hands. Every shirt, every dress, every little thing is a quiet declaration: this is the end.

The tears come then — quiet at first, then flooding down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

You don’t bother to stop them. Not anymore.

When the last zipper clicks shut, you grab your bag and head to the door.

One last look around the apartment — your home, your heart, your heartbreak.

You close the door behind you softly, but with a finality that echoes through your chest.

Outside, the Monaco sun is still shining, but inside you know — this is where you stop looking back.

—

The low, constant drone of the private jet’s engines vibrates beneath you, a dull hum that fills the cabin but does little to quiet the turmoil in your mind. Outside the small oval window, the world shrinks away into a blur of clouds and sky, but inside you’re trapped, the weight of everything pressing down like gravity itself has turned cruel.

Your hands shake as you pull your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up with Elba’s name — the one lifeline you still trust, the one person who feels like home even when everything else feels broken.

You hesitate, swallowing hard before pressing the call button.

The phone rings, once, twice… then Elba’s voice, calm and familiar, fills your ears.

“Hey. It’s me,” your voice barely carries, raw and fractured, like you’re speaking through a fog.

“Mi cariño.” Elba’s voice shifts instantly — soft, comforting, a shield against the cold reality crashing down around you. “I saw everything online. I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”

You close your eyes, biting back a sob. “I didn’t want to believe it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. But then… the messages. The texts. It’s worse than I ever imagined.”

There’s a pause, the kind that holds space for pain without rushing it.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Elba says finally, her voice steady and warm. “You can come stay with me. For as long as you need. There’s no rush, no pressure — just a safe place, a home to heal in.”

That word — home — lands like a gentle hand on your heart, softening the edges of your pain for the first time in hours.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I thought I had my life figured out… that we had a future. And now it feels like everything’s crumbled.”

Elba’s voice is unwavering. “You had a life with him, but that wasn’t your whole life. You’re so much more than that chapter. And I’m here, okay? I’ll be here through all the mess, the anger, the tears — every step.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. For the first time since it all started, you feel a flicker of something you thought was gone — hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this without him.”

Elba’s laugh is quiet but full of love. “That’s why we’ll do it together. You’re not alone, mi vida. I’ve got you.”

The plane’s engines hum steadily as you lean back, eyes fixed on the soft light of the cabin ceiling. Outside, the world is vast and unknown, but inside, there’s a promise. A promise that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself again.

—

The plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud that echoed in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. After all the chaos and heartbreak, you were finally here — home.

The cabin lights brightened, and you slowly gathered your things. Your fingers trembled as you zipped up your bag, your heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope.

Each step down the jetway felt surreal. You wanted to believe that once you saw Elba, everything would somehow begin to heal.

The bustling airport surrounded you, voices and wheels rolling across polished floors blending into a distant hum. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching. Then you saw her — Elba, standing near the arrivals gate, her phone still in hand, eyes wide with relief as they locked onto you. Without hesitation, she broke into a run and threw her arms open.

You didn’t stop yourself. You rushed into her embrace, collapsing into the warmth and safety you’d missed so desperately.

“It’s okay,” Elba whispered softly, her voice steady yet filled with tenderness. “You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Your tears spilled freely, your face pressed into her shoulder as all the pain, confusion, and exhaustion poured out.

“I… I didn’t know what else to do,” you choked out between sobs. “I thought I had it all figured out. And then—”

Elba tightened her hold. “Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. You just need time. And I’m here, always.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes red and shining. “Thank you… for everything. For being here when I didn’t know who else I could trust.”

She smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

You nodded, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.

Elba squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s get you out of here and into some sweatpants. I’ve got a whole weekend planned — rest, junk food, terrible movies, and zero pressure.”

A small laugh escaped you, and you let yourself believe that maybe this was the fresh start you needed.

—

The moment you step inside Elba’s warm, inviting home, a soft sense of relief settles over you like a weighted blanket. The walls, adorned with photos of family and laughter, feel like a gentle promise that this place is different — a sanctuary.

Elba’s husband, Brent, greets you at the door with a warm smile and a quiet hug that feels like an unspoken welcome. His eyes hold kindness, but he quickly senses the heaviness you carry.

“Welcome home, YN,” he says softly. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Elba nudges him and jokingly states. “Give us some space. She needs time to breathe.”

With a nod and a knowing smile, Brent steps back, leaving the two of you alone.

You follow Elba to the living room, where soft blankets and plush pillows are waiting. “I’ve stocked the fridge with all your favorites,” she says, her voice bright but tender. “Tonight, we do nothing but rest.”

You manage a small smile, sinking into the couch’s comforting embrace. But exhaustion weighs on you heavier than anything, and soon Elba helps you up.

“I set up the guest room for you. It’s just down the hall,” she says, leading the way.

Your footsteps echo softly as you enter the calm, softly lit room. The bed is made with fresh linens, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air.

“Try to get some sleep,” Elba says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll take it slow.”

You nod, grateful, and let the quiet pull you under.

Hours later, just as the moon casts silver light through the window, the front door opens quietly — Pato is home.

Elba catches his eye from the kitchen, a silent question passing between them. She gently pulls you aside, kneeling to meet your gaze.

“Would you like to see him? He’s asked about you a lot.”

Your heart skips, nerves fluttering but warmth blooming just beneath.

“If you’re okay,” you whisper.

She smiles softly and leads you to the living room where Pato waits. His usual energy is softened, replaced by a tenderness reserved only for you.

When you step inside, his face breaks into a gentle grin. “Hey,” he says simply, reaching out to take your hand.

You lean into his touch, the years of friendship and unspoken feelings wrapping around you like a safe harbor.

Without words, he pulls you into a hug — steady, grounding, full of the promise that you don’t have to face this alone.

You sigh against his chest, the weight of pain lifting just a little.

“I missed you,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you breathe.

For the first time since everything fell apart, you feel the soft pulse of hope — fragile but real — blossoming between you.

Elba watches with a smile from the doorway, silently thankful that her two favorite people are finally beginning to heal together.

—

Sunlight streams gently through the large kitchen windows, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sweet aroma of sizzling bacon and warm pancakes, wrapping around you like a comforting hug as you slowly wake from a deep, peaceful sleep.

You stretch beneath the soft duvet in the guest room, the soft scent lingering in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel the crushing weight of sadness pressing down on your chest.

Downstairs, muffled laughter floats up to you — the familiar, easy sound of Elba and Pato sharing a quiet moment. It’s like a balm to your soul, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore.

Pulling on a soft, oversized sweater and your favorite sweatpants, you make your way down the stairs, the floor cool beneath your bare feet.

Elba is at the kitchen island, carefully setting the table with fresh fruit, pancakes stacked high, fluffy scrambled eggs, and the perfect mugs of coffee — just how you like it.

“Good morning,” she says, turning with a warm smile that reaches her eyes, full of kindness and unspoken understanding. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I thought I would,” you admit, sliding into a chair beside the table. The soft cushions welcome you, and for a moment, you just breathe, letting yourself settle into this moment of peace.

From the stove, Pato flips a golden pancake with ease, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I’m guessing the guest room isn’t half bad,” he teases, catching your eye with a sparkle of warmth.

You chuckle softly. “Definitely better than the loud nights in Monaco.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous light. “You know, you could’ve told us you were coming. We might have planned a welcome party.”

Elba laughs, pouring you a fresh cup of coffee and sliding it across the table. “Party or not, you’re here now — and that’s what matters.”

You reach for the warm mug, the smooth ceramic grounding you. “Thanks, both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Pato’s grin softens, and he pushes off the counter to sit beside you. “We’ve been waiting for you to let us in. It’s okay to lean on us.”

Elba joins you, her hand brushing yours across the table, a quiet promise that you’re not alone. You smile, a genuine, small smile that feels like a seed of hope growing inside your chest.

Pato leans in with a teasing smirk. “So, when are you going to stop being mysterious and let us in on all your secrets?”

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “I suppose they were his secrets more than mine.”

“Touché,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you’ve been holding back. We’re here for all of it — the good, the messy, everything.”

Elba nods, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let us be your strength.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease for the first time in weeks.

As you share breakfast, laughter, and quiet moments, the warmth between you feels like the first soft light after a long, dark night.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to believe in new beginnings — fragile, yes, but glowing with hope.

—

The late afternoon sun bathes the quiet neighborhood in a soft, golden light as you and Pato step outside, Norbi happily bounding ahead with his short legs and fluffy tail wagging like a little flag. The fresh air fills your lungs, carrying with it a calmness that feels foreign but desperately needed.

You let your fingers brush against Pato’s as you walk, the easy contact grounding you in the moment. Norbi sniffs eagerly at every tree and bush, blissfully unaware of the heavy thoughts weighing on your heart.

Your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket. You pull it out and glance down — Lando’s name glaring up at you, unwelcome and intrusive. You don’t hesitate. Without a word, you press the power button, silencing the call.

Pato’s gaze shifts to you, concern etched across his face. “Did he call again?”

You nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I’m just… not ready.”

He falls into step beside you, his presence quiet and reassuring. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But after a moment, you realize maybe you do. Maybe finally, after all this time, it’s time to stop carrying the weight alone.

You stop near a small park bench, the soft hum of distant traffic and rustling leaves filling the space around you. Norbi settles down at your feet, looking up with bright eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Pato’s steady gaze. “You know about what happened with Lando. About the cheating.”

He nods slowly, fingers entwining with yours. “I figured. But if you want to tell me more… I’m here.”

Your voice trembles as you begin. “When we started dating, it was everything I wanted — fun, support, laughter. But slowly, things changed. The late nights on his phone, the missed calls, the excuses.”

You look down, the memory sharp and painful. “I tried to ignore it, convinced myself it was stress or work. But deep down, I felt the distance growing.”

Pato squeezes your hand gently, encouraging you to keep going.

“It wasn’t just the cheating,” you confess, voice cracking. “It was how it happened. Magui — she was my best friend. Someone I trusted with my whole heart.”

Your eyes glisten with tears you don’t try to hide. “When I found out, it wasn’t just the betrayal of the relationship. It was the betrayal of friendship. The way they hid it from me, all while I was still believing, loving him.”

Pato’s face softens, the pain in your words settling deep in his chest. “I’m so sorry, cariño. That is more than anyone should have to endure.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize until I left Monaco. I had to get away — away from the lies, from the people who pretended everything was fine.”

You squeeze his hand, a fragile hope blooming between you. “You’ve always been so patient with me. Quiet. Steady. And for the first time, I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.”

Pato smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into the cold corners of your heart. Norbi barks happily, breaking the silence, and in that simple moment — beside someone who truly sees you — it seems like the future might be bright.

—

several weeks later…

yourusername

liked by franciscagomes, patriciooward, elbaoward and 4,500,000 others.

yourusername : vegas w my pookies 🎰✨🪩

tagged : patriciooward and elbaoward

—

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oscarpiastri : my icon. win some money in vegas for me.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my SECOND favorite mclaren employee. win that wdc for me ;)

liked by oscarpiastri and patriciooward

↳ username5 : imagine lando reading this. ik oscar is giggling.

↳ oscarpiastri : laughing even

liked by yourusername

patriciooward : some people got luckier than others…

liked by yourusername and elbaoward

↳ yourusername : lucky lucky man

liked by patriciooward and elbaoward

↳ username17 : WHAT DOES THIS MEAN HELP

↳ lungaardofficial : probably means pato got laid

liked by patriciooward and yourusername

↳ yourusername : CHRISTIAN PLEASE

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alexandrasaintmleux : revenge arc and revenge dress. IM IN LOVE. PICK ME INSTEAD🧎🏻‍♀️

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : i miss you so much😭 kiss leo for me pls !!!

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

franciscagomes : love you pretty girl ❤️‍🔥 (fuck that evil man he didn’t deserve you)

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : love you even more 🥰🥰

elbaoward : nothing better than vegas with my favorite people🫶🏻 love you so so much !

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my angel💓🤧 love you with all of my being

liked by elbaoward

username000 : lando might disappear forever after this post.

↳ yourusername : it’s because oscar ran him over

liked by lilyzneimer and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : *ran him over twice

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—

You’re curled up on the couch in Elba’s living room, wrapped in a cozy blanket and scrolling mindlessly through your phone when Elba pops her head around the corner, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Hey, you,” she says, “how about a quick escape?”

You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Escape from what exactly?”

Elba winks. “All the drama, emails, social media chaos — basically, life. You need a break.”

Before you can answer, Pato strolls in, holding Norbi in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

“And I brought snacks and corgi kisses,” he announces, plopping down beside you with a cheeky grin.

Elba nudges him. “See? We come bearing gifts.”

Pato’s eyes twinkle as he adds, “And more importantly, a promise— all fun. No drama, no phones, just good vibes.”

You laugh softly, setting your phone aside. “I don’t know. Vegas is… a lot.”

Elba flops down next to you, mock serious. “It’s Vegas, baby! Neon lights, silly hats, endless buffets. Plus, I’m telling Brent to bring his best poker face.”

Pato chuckles. “And I’ll be your personal dealer. Cards, cocktails, and cuddles. All you can take.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “Alright, alright. But if I end up losing all my chips, I’m blaming you two.”

Elba beams. “Deal! Vegas, here we come.”

—

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the three of you stepped out into the lobby of the restaurant. Warm golden light spilled from chandeliers that sparkled overhead, casting a glow over plush carpet and crystal glasses. The soft hum of conversation, the clink of silverware, and the faint scent of truffle oil and fresh bread wrapped around you like a warm welcome.

Elba was already striding ahead, her white silk dress catching the light with every step. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine shoot, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she owned the room without even trying.

Pato, trailing behind you. “Remind me never to stand next to my sister in photos.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Relax, you clean up alright yourself.”

His grin was shameless. “Just alright?”

Your laughter followed you to the table the hostess led you to — a corner spot with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. The view was insane. The entire city was lit up like it was trying to outshine the stars, neon signs blinking and massive LED billboards flashing in colors you didn’t think existed in nature.

“This,” Elba said as she sat down, smoothing her dress, “is the vibe.”

Pato leaned back in his chair, smirking. “This is the appetizer. Wait until we hit the casino.”

Menus appeared in front of you, along with a bottle of deep red wine and warm bread that you tore apart instantly. Conversation flowed like the wine — easy and bright. Elba told a story about a disastrous hotel pool party she once went to, and Pato launched into a retelling of a ridiculous karting race from when you were kids. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt before your entrées even arrived.

By dessert — a decadent chocolate soufflé you pretended to share but definitely ate most of — Elba leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so here’s the plan. Blackjack. Loser buys the first round of drinks.”

Pato raised an eyebrow. “Is this before or after I take all your chips?”

“Oh, it’s cute you think you’re that good,” you teased.

Twenty minutes later, the three of you stepped onto the casino floor, and the atmosphere swallowed you whole. Bright lights flashed, chips clinked, and the low murmur of dealers calling bets mingled with bursts of cheers from lucky winners. You’d never been in a place that felt so alive.

Pato dragged you to the blackjack table while Elba went hunting for a slot machine with “a good vibe.” You sat next to him, a little intimidated at first, but quickly got into the rhythm — hit, stand, double down. The stack of chips in front of you wasn’t massive, but it was growing.

“Beginner’s luck,” Pato muttered when you beat him for the third hand in a row.

You smirked. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

His arm found its way around your waist halfway through the game, warm and steady. His thumb brushed absentminded circles against your side, and you tried to focus on the cards in your hand instead of the way your heart was suddenly hammering.

Elba eventually reappeared, waving a handful of small winnings. “Drinks are on me!” she announced.

The three of you ended up in a plush booth near the bar, neon lights from the casino spilling across the table. You leaned back, your legs tucked under you, and Pato’s arm stayed exactly where it had been all night — around you, grounding and warm.

At one point, he leaned in just enough for you to hear over the music. “Told you Vegas would be good for you.”

You met his eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “Yeah… you were right.”

When you finally left, the Strip stretched out before you, buzzing with life. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of street food and perfume. Elba linked her arm through yours, and Pato walked close enough that your shoulders brushed with every step. You hadn’t expected to feel this light again — not yet, not so soon. But walking back to the hotel, laughing at something ridiculous Pato said, it hit you. You were happy. Really happy.

—

The next night in Vegas had a completely different energy. Elba and Brent had their own dinner plans — something about a show and “grown-up time,” as Elba called it — which left you and Pato on your own.

He knocked on your hotel suite door just as you were finishing your makeup, leaning casually against the doorframe in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled. The sight made your stomach do something suspiciously close to a somersault.

“Well,” he said with a grin, giving you an obvious once-over, “if we’re going to dinner, I’m going to have to up my game. You’re making me look underdressed.”

You smirked, stepping past him and locking the door behind you. “You say that every time, and yet…”

He held out his arm dramatically. “Shall we, señorita?”

The restaurant was the kind of place you wouldn’t dare step into without reservations — dim lighting, sleek black marble tables, soft jazz playing under the quiet hum of conversation. The kind of place where you didn’t just eat; you lingered. You drank wine that was far too expensive, ate pasta that tasted like it had been blessed by angels, and let conversation flow as easily as the champagne. At one point, you caught him watching you over his glass, that familiar little half-smile playing at his lips.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest feel warm, and you had to look down at your plate to keep from staring back too long. By the time you left the restaurant, you were both a little tipsy — giggling too loudly as you made your way through the hotel to the club inside. The bass hit you the second you stepped in, deep and pulsing, vibrating through your chest.

Pato found you a spot near the back, tucked into a booth but still close enough to the dance floor to feel the energy. Drinks appeared — cocktails in tall glasses with neon straws — and the night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and the comfortable way he leaned close to talk in your ear.

At some point, you ended up on the dance floor together, the crowd pressing in, the beat heavy and intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, his arm slipping around your waist like it had a hundred times before. But this time, it felt different.

You were laughing at something he said — you couldn’t even remember what — when you looked up and really saw him. The lights were flashing, painting him in shades of pink and blue, and his smile was so genuine it made your chest ache.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It was quick, almost clumsy, and you pulled back immediately, cheeks burning. “Sorry, I—”

He laughed, shaking his head, his hand still warm on your waist. “You’re drunk,” he teased gently.

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “So are you.”

And maybe that was all it took — because then he was leaning in, his forehead brushing yours, and his mouth met yours again. This time slower. Softer. The noise of the club seemed to fade, the lights dimming in your periphery. All you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his thumb traced absentminded circles at your hip, like he’d been waiting for this for a long time but was in no rush to ruin it.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he didn’t move far. His eyes were warm, a little dazed, like maybe he felt the same thing you did — that something had shifted, quietly but completely.

“You’re are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you teased, trying to keep your voice light.

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”

The rest of the night was a blur — more dancing, more laughing, and his hand never leaving yours as you stumbled back to the hotel together, the city glowing below like it had been lit just for you.

—

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the headache — though, yeah, the pounding in your skull was pretty unforgiving — it was the warmth next to you.

You cracked one eye open to find Pato sprawled sideways across the other half of the bed, fully clothed in last night’s button-up and jeans, one arm dangling off the side like he’d fought a war with the mattress. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction, and his face was buried halfway into a pillow. You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The movement made him stir.

“Mmm…” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “Tell me we didn’t agree to an early breakfast.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Relax. It’s—” You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. “—almost eleven.”

His eyes cracked open just enough to catch sight of you sitting there, hair messy from sleep, wrapped in the hotel duvet. A slow grin spread across his face. “You look like a burrito.”

You tossed a pillow at him. “You look like a disaster.”

“Yeah, but a charming disaster,” he shot back, sitting up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to make your still hazy brain short circuit. Your mind flickered back to last night — the dancing, the drinks, the kiss. You wondered if he remembered all of it, but before you could ask, he gave you that same warm look he’d given you across the dinner table.

“Feeling okay?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Better than I thought I would.”

“Good,” he said, reaching over to ruffle your hair gently. “If you were going to have your first Vegas hangover, at least you had an elite level babysitter.”

You laughed, but it was cut short by the sudden vibration of your phone against your leg. You glanced at the screen — and froze. Lando. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, hadn’t wanted to, and now his name was glowing across your screen like some kind of bad omen.

Pato noticed immediately. “You don’t have to—”

But you were already swiping to answer, curiosity and stubbornness winning out. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, no greeting, no pause.

“None of your business,” you said evenly.

There was a beat of silence, then, “I saw your pictures.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Congratulations, you follow my Instagram.”

“You’re with him?” The edge in his voice was unmistakable — jealousy, raw and ugly. “Pato? Really?”

You glanced sideways at Pato, who was now sitting cross legged on the bed, watching you with a small, curious smile like he could hear enough to piece it together.

“Yes,” you said simply, even though it wasn’t technically official. “He’s been here for me. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“That’s—” Lando started, his tone growing defensive. “That’s different.”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharpening. “It’s not. You cheated on me with my best friend, Lando. And now you’re jealous? You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore.”

On the other end of the line, you could practically hear him breathing hard. “He’s not right for you.”

Pato raised his eyebrows at that, mouthing Wow.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the phone. “The thing is, he’s exactly right for me. And if that bothers you… that’s your problem.”

Before he could respond, you ended the call, tossing the phone aside. For a moment, there was just silence in the room. Then Pato leaned back on his hands, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well,” he said, “that was… hot.”

You laughed, a little surprised at yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching again. “But I think you just made my entire week.”

And when he offered you his hand to get up, you took it — the unspoken weight of last night and this morning hanging in the air between you, warm and electric.

—

The next night felt different. Not in a we’re going to a club and making questionable decisions kind of way, but in a softer, more deliberate sense.

Pato had knocked on your hotel room door right before sunset, wearing a crisp black shirt and black trousers that fit him almost too well. He had his hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all, and when you opened the door, he just stood there for a second, looking at you like you were the only person in the building.

“You look…” He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly over your dress. “Wow. I was gonna say ‘beautiful,’ but that doesn’t even cover it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You look pretty good too, O’Ward.”

He grinned and offered you his arm. “Ready?”

The restaurant he’d chosen was tucked away from the chaos of the main Strip — dimly lit, all warm golden tones and candles on every table. You were seated in a private corner booth, and it almost felt like the rest of the world had been shut out.

Pato was charming as always, telling you ridiculous stories from his racing career and making you laugh so hard you nearly snorted wine. But there were also quieter moments — his hand resting close to yours on the table, his eyes soft when you spoke, the way he seemed to actually listen, not just wait for his turn to talk.

At one point, between the main course and dessert, he leaned back in his seat and studied you for a moment.

“You know…” he said slowly, “I’ve wanted to take you out like this for a long time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a little nod. “But I didn’t want to push. I figured you might not be ready for… all of this.” He gestured vaguely between you, his voice warm but careful. “And I don’t want to be that guy who swoops in just because someone else hurt you.”

Your heart squeezed a little. “Pato…”

He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “That being said,” he added with a small, almost shy smile, “I do want to be yours. Whenever you’re ready.”

You didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m ready now,” you said softly.

For a second, he just blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his whole face lit up in a grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the Vegas Strip.

“Yeah?” he asked, almost boyishly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, reaching over to take his hand. “I want this. I want you.”

He squeezed your hand back, and that smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of dinner. The ride back to the hotel was quiet in the best way. You sat side by side in the back of a black SUV, his fingers loosely linked with yours, the neon glow from the Strip flashing across his profile as you passed by casinos and endless signs.

At one point, the car slowed as you passed one of those tiny wedding chapels — white lights strung along the roofline, a big sign advertising “Elvis Officiants” and “Same-Day Marriages.”

Pato’s gaze flicked toward it, and then he let out a low chuckle. “One day,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I’m bringing you back here. We’ll get married in some ridiculous little chapel, and I’ll make sure they have the tackiest Elvis impersonator they can find.”

Your head turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Oh, really?” you teased, but your voice was softer than you expected.

“Mmhm,” he said, giving your hand another squeeze. “We’ll have champagne in paper cups, and Norbi will be the ring bearer.”

You laughed, leaning into him a little. “That’s… oddly perfect.”

He glanced down at you, his expression gentler now. “Don’t worry. I’m not saying we need to run off and do it tomorrow. But one day… yeah. I can see it.”

And the thing that surprised you most wasn’t his words — it was how easily you could see it too. By the time you reached the hotel, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

—

Back at the hotel, Pato unlocked the suite door and held it open for you, still grinning like he couldn’t quite believe the night had happened.

“After you, mi novia,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The word hit you right in the chest — my girlfriend. You didn’t think you’d hear that again so soon, let alone in a way that made you feel this… light.

You stepped inside, kicking off your heels, and he set his keys on the counter before nodding toward the windows. “Come here. The view’s better from the balcony.”

The Vegas Strip stretched out below, glittering in a thousand shades of neon. You could see the fountains at the Bellagio dancing to some faint music, the glow of the Eiffel Tower replica across the street, the constant buzz of life even at this hour.

“Not bad,” you murmured, leaning your forearms on the railing.

Pato stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I was actually talking about the view right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Cheesy.”

“Accurate,” he countered, turning so he could really look at you. The cool night breeze stirred your hair, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

He reached up, tucking a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. But somehow, this is better than I thought.”

Your breath caught a little. “What moment?”

“This one,” he said simply, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Standing here with you. Knowing you’re mine. Finally being able to do this—”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the club — it was slow, intentional, the kind of kiss that said I’ve been waiting, but I’m not going anywhere. His hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer, and you curled your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, deepening the kiss just slightly before breaking away with a soft laugh.

“You’ve been holding out on me, O’Ward,” you teased.

He smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I told you. I wanted to do this right.”

The city kept buzzing beneath you, but up here, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you — his warm hands, his steady heartbeat, his smile that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust love again.

—

4 months later...

yourusername

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yourusername : always a papaya girl...this time just a slightly prettier shade ;) @/arrowmclaren

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lilymhe : iconic caption. 10/10.

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—

You’re leaning against the railing, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the mid afternoon glare, when you hear your name. Not just your name — his voice saying it. You freeze.

“YN.”

You turn slowly, heart pounding in your ears, and there he is. Lando. In his McLaren gear, cap pulled low, a look on his face you can’t read. You feel Elba stiffen beside you, her hand curling around your forearm like she’s ready to physically block him if needed.

“What do you want?” Elba’s voice is cool, her posture sharp. She shifts, subtly stepping between you and him.

“I need to talk to her,” Lando says, gaze fixed on you.

“You’re not—” Elba starts, but you place a hand on her arm.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, though your chest feels like it’s tightening. “Two minutes.”

Elba gives you a hard look — the kind that says she doesn’t like this, not one bit — but she nods and stays close enough to hear if you raise your voice. You follow Lando a few paces away, just far enough from the crowd. He takes off his cap, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment you see a flicker of the boy you used to love.

“I made a mistake,” he starts, his voice low but urgent. “I never should’ve—”

You hold up a hand. “Lando, stop.”

“No, listen to me,” he insists. “I messed up, okay? With Magui, with everything… I was stupid. I was stressed, I—”

“You cheated,” you cut in, each word deliberate. “You didn’t trip and fall into her. You made a choice. Multiple choices.”

His jaw tightens, but he presses on. “I thought… I thought maybe we could fix it. We were good together, YN. You know we were.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Were. Past tense.”

“I can be better. I can prove it.”

“Lando…” You shake your head, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “You didn’t just break my heart, you broke my trust. You broke… us. And I’ve moved on.”

His eyes darken. “With him? With Pato?”

You lift your chin. “Yes. With Pato. And I’m happy.”

“That’s not real,” he says, stepping closer. “You can’t be—”

“Enough,” you snap, taking a step back. “You don’t get to tell me what’s real. You lost that right the second you decided being in my best friend was worth more than our relationship.”

He flinches, but you don’t soften.

Elba appears at your side again, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “We’re done here.”

Lando’s jaw works, like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods once, shoving his cap back on before walking away. You exhale, your whole body trembling. Elba slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back inside. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

—

Pato finds you in the motorhome an hour later, fresh out of the car and still buzzing from practice. His hair’s messy under his cap, his race suit halfway unzipped, but the moment he sees your face, his expression changes instantly.

“Princesa…” He drops the water bottle in his hand and walks straight to you. “What happened?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the coffee cup Elba shoved into your hands earlier. “Nothing—”

“Don’t,” he says firmly, crouching in front of where you’re sitting. “Your ‘nothing’ face looks a whole lot like your ‘I’m about to cry but I don’t want to make a scene’ face.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. It’s Elba who answers from the couch across the room, voice sharp. “Lando happened.”

Pato’s entire body goes still. He looks at you again, and it’s different now — softer for you, but there’s a storm brewing just under the surface. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “He just… he cornered me outside and started talking. About wanting me back. About—” You exhale shakily. “About how what I have with you isn’t real.”

Pato’s jaw clenches. He sits back on his heels, trying to keep his voice even. “He said that to you?”

You nod.

“Cabron…” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Then he stands, pacing once like he’s trying to burn off the urge to march straight to McLaren’s garage. Elba gives him a look, warning.

Pato stops pacing and turns back to you, his expression shifting again — the anger still there, but now wrapped in something gentler. “Hey,” he says, kneeling back down so you’re eye level. “You know that’s crap, right? Every word. What we have—” He takes your free hand, squeezing it. “—is the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

You blink hard, your vision blurring. “I know. It’s just… hearing him say it—”

“—doesn’t make it true.” His voice is firm but quiet, and it sinks in deeper than you expect. “You’re not going to waste another second doubting yourself because of him. Not while I’m here.”

There’s something so steady in the way he says it that it breaks you open a little. You let out a shaky laugh, brushing at your eyes. “You’re a good one, Patito.”

He grins, just a little. “The best one you’ve got.”

Elba snorts. “Alright, lovebirds, enough. You’re making me gag.”

Pato doesn’t even look at her — just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and says, “Ignore her. I’ve got you. Always.”

And you believe him without hesitation.

—

The garage is pure chaos after the checkered flag drops. Mechanics are yelling, hugging, slapping each other’s backs. The monitors still flash P1 next to Pato’s name, and you’re standing there in the middle of it all, heart pounding like you were the one out there pushing the car to its limits.

You watch him on the feed, helmet still on, standing on top of the car and soaking in the roar of the crowd. He’s grinning so hard you can feel it from here. And then — the camera cuts to his podium moment. He lifts the trophy, champagne spraying, and you swear the whole place feels like it’s vibrating with pride.

When the celebrations on the stage wrap, you figure he’ll go off to media duties first, like always. But the moment he disappears down the stairs, you hear the commotion outside the garage door — shouting, running footsteps, and then—

“Princesa!”

He doesn’t slow down. Still in his race suit, still sticky from champagne, Pato charges straight into the garage, vaults the barrier like it’s nothing, and grabs you.

You barely get a breath out before you’re wrapped up in his arms, feet lifting off the floor as he spins you once, twice, laughing into your neck. And then he pulls back just far enough to look at you — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with pure joy — and kisses you.

Not a quick peck. Not something shy. This is a full, grounding, I just won and you’re the first person I needed to see kiss. You hear the cheers from the crew around you, someone wolf-whistling, someone else yelling, “Get a room!” but neither of you care.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your hands still gripping the front of his suit. “Pato—”

“Had to find you first,” he says, forehead pressing to yours. “None of this means anything without you here.”

You don’t even notice Lando at first. But then, over Pato’s shoulder, you catch him — standing just beyond the crowd, still in his McLaren kit, expression unreadable but his jaw set tight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just watches. Pato notices where your eyes have gone. He follows your gaze for half a second, then turns back to you and smiles like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Like he’s choosing to make a point without ever having to speak. He kisses you again — slower this time, deliberate — and the message is clear: you’re his, and he’s not afraid to let anyone see it.

When he pulls away, he grins. “Let’s go celebrate, mi vida.”

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the weight of the past tugging at you. Only the warmth of now.

—

6 months later...

patriciooward

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patriciooward : kept my promise, brought her back and made her mrs. o'ward <3 love you forever and always mi vida

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—

The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in the back of your mind as you stepped into the hotel suite. The adrenaline from the race had worn off, replaced by a warm buzz of happiness. Pato had just taken the checkered flag again — another incredible victory — and you couldn’t stop smiling. He was already there, leaning casually against the window, his race suit replaced with a simple white shirt and dark jeans. The city lights flickered behind him, casting soft glows that made his eyes shine even brighter.

“You looked amazing out there,” you said, dropping your bag by the door.

He turned, that signature grin lighting up his face. “Only because I had the best support.”

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the familiar steady beat of his heart. “You earned this.”

He kissed the top of your head softly, then suddenly stepped back, a little nervous energy replacing his usual confident swagger.

“YN…” His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask you this.”

You blinked, curiosity and excitement mixing in your chest. “Ask me what?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring — a simple band with a single sparkling diamond that caught the light perfectly.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, dropping to one knee without hesitation. “Will you marry me? Fly out to Vegas with me this weekend and say yes?”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes before you even had time to answer.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I will.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you up into a tight, trembling hug. “You make me the happiest man alive.”

You laughed through the tears, resting your forehead against his. “I think this is the best win of your career.”

He chuckled, kissing you again — soft, slow, full of promises. The city glittered around you, but all you saw was each other.

—

The morning sun filtered softly through the wide windows of the suite, casting a gentle glow over the room filled with quiet excitement. You stood in front of the full length mirror, the delicate lace of your dress brushing your skin like a whisper. Elba was beside you, carefully fastening the tiny buttons up the back, her hands steady but her eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Can you believe this day is finally here?” she asked, her voice low and warm.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’ve dreamed about it... but somehow, it feels even more real now.”

Elba reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You caught her reflection and saw the affection there — not just as your best friend, but as your sister in every way that mattered. As Elba finished the last button, Norbi — ever the lively corgi — padded into the room, tail wagging wildly. He hopped up onto the soft rug, circling around your feet before settling contentedly by the chair.

“You’re the best ring bearer anyone could ask for,” Elba teased, kneeling to scratch behind Norbi’s ears.

He responded with a happy bark, making both of you laugh. The door to the suite opened quietly, and a few close family friends filtered in — smiles bright, eyes warm with love and celebration. You could feel the hum of joy and nervous anticipation mingling in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Elba caught your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ready for this?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath that filled your lungs with confidence and hope. “With you here? Always.”

Together, you stepped away from the mirror, hearts aligned and spirits soaring, ready to begin the next chapter of your story surrounded by love.

—

The ceremony was set in a beautiful garden terrace just off the hotel, surrounded by lush greenery and delicate white flowers that danced gently in the breeze. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft golden light, making the scene feel like something out of a dream. You stood just behind the archway, your heart hammering wildly as soft music played. Elba squeezed your hand one last time before stepping aside to take her place among the guests. And then, you saw him.

Pato was standing at the altar, the most radiant smile on his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. The moment your gaze met, his breath hitched, and a flood of emotion crossed his features — pride, awe, pure love.

With each step you took down the aisle, the world seemed to slow, every detail sharpening — the shimmer of your dress, the warmth of the sun, the steady beat of Norbi’s little paws padding beside you as he proudly carried the rings tied to his collar.

Just as you reached the altar, Norbi decided this was the perfect moment to get a little distracted by a stray leaf fluttering across the grass. He chased it with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, prompting a ripple of laughter through the guests and a gentle shake of the head from Pato.

“You ready for this, mi vida?” Pato whispered as you took his hands, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve never been more ready,” you said, smiling through tears.

The officiant began the ceremony, but all you could focus on was the way Pato’s eyes held yours — steady, loving, and filled with promises that went deeper than words. When it came time for the vows, you spoke first, your voice clear but tender.

“Pato, from the moment you came into my life, you’ve shown me a love that is patient, kind, and true. You’ve stood by me through every high and low, and with you, I am home. Today, I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your biggest supporter — now and always.”

He squeezed your hands, his eyes shimmering, before speaking his own vows.

“YN, you are my light, my strength, and my heart. You’ve made me better in every way and taught me what it truly means to love. I promise to cherish you, protect you, and laugh with you for the rest of our days.”

As the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Pato leaned in to kiss you — a soft, lingering kiss that was met with cheers and applause. Norbi, still energized from his earlier distraction, bounced around excitedly, barking happily as if celebrating right along with everyone else. Later, as you and Pato walked hand in hand down the aisle, the sun setting behind you, the world felt perfect.

—

The reception was held in a softly lit ballroom filled with laughter, music, and the warm hum of celebration. Twinkling fairy lights were strung overhead, casting a magical glow over the tables where friends and family gathered, glasses raised in joyous toasts.

You slipped through the crowd, arm in arm with Pato, the band playing a slow, romantic song that made your heart flutter. Elba was nearby, radiant in a flowing white dress, her eyes shining with happiness as she caught your gaze and smiled.

At one point, Pato pulled you gently onto the dance floor, his hands steady around your waist as you swayed together. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you, moving in perfect rhythm.

Elba watched for a moment before joining you both, tugging Pato into a playful hug that made him laugh. “Look at you two,” she teased. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“You should know,” Pato said, grinning, “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid.”

Elba smiled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “And you, YN, you’re the best sister I could have ever asked for. You two make everything brighter.”

You felt a rush of love for them both — the bond of family, friendship, and something even deeper. As the night wore on, Norbi made his rounds, charming guests and sneaking bites of cake when no one was looking, and the three of you found a quiet moment on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. Pato wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, while Elba leaned into you both with a contented sigh.

“To new beginnings,” Elba said softly.

“To family,” you and Pato said in unison, smiling into the night — knowing whatever came next, you’d face it together.

—