superstar — ns6
smau + written blurbs
nolan siegel x !popstar norris reader
you’ve spent the past year living two very different lives. one as the international superstar who can’t step outside without flashing cameras, endless interviews, and sold out arenas. the other as just you—lando norris’ little sister and the girl who somehow fell head over heels for indycar’s quiet golden boy, nolan siegel.
it’s not always easy balancing two worlds that couldn’t be more opposite, but with him, it’s always worth it. because no matter how loud the spotlight gets, he’s the one place you can always be soft, safe, and yourself.
requested? yes! (& i combined this one with another asking for nolan x !lando sister)
fc : sabrina carpenter (using her only as a fc bc i fear none of her music aligns with the little sunshine that nolan is) (song i used in this fic is sugar! honey! love! by kali uchis)
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yourusername
liked by lando, oscarpiastri, nolansiegel and 4,300,000 others.
yourusername : so many things to celebrate…sold out 4 nights in london (love being so close to home💋🥰), my new album is coming out soon, my super adorable cutie pie bf came to visit (the album is all about him) AND i get to annoy my brother for the next few weeks!!!!!!
tagged : lando
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lando : never been more proud
liked by yourusername
↳ lando : and keep bringing me kinder and idc how bad you annoy me
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magui_corceiro : meu amorzinho😻 so excited to see you againnnnn
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : love u sm pretty angel 😇
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carmenmmundt : YOU in that lace jumpsuit??? i need a moment.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : come to the next show and i’ll dedicate a song just to you 💋
liked by carmenmmundt
alex_albon: congrats superstar 🫶 i’ll take a signed copy of the album pls.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : only if you pay full price xoxo
liked by alex_albon
↳ lilymhe : what about me????
↳ yourusername : everything will be sent to your doorstep FOR FREE
liked by lilymhe
oscarpiastri : if the album is about him, it must be a very wholesome playlist.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : correct! no sad songs this time!!!
liked by oscarpiastri
ciscawaumannorris : So proud of my little girl! I love you so incredibly much 💕💕 My shining star⭐️
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : love you so so so so much mumma 🤍
davidmalukas : so when are you dropping the single??? we’re waiting.
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↳ yourusername : when you learn patience 💋
liked by davidmalukas
↳ username00 : these twoooo???^^ 👀
username57 : so we have no idea who this man is but he is extremely wholesome…do we think it’s a driver????
↳ username001 : the more important question is does lando like this one???
↳ lando : yes.
liked by yourusername and nolansiegel
↳ yourusername : him and lando r bestiesssss😌
username007 : imagine being her bf and getting an entire album written about you omg.
↳ arrowmclaren : lucky lucky man
liked by yourusername
↳ username55 : okay now i’m just CONFUSED
↳ username0000 : check twitter guys!!!!
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It’s the last night of your tour. The final stop in London. Four sold-out nights, and somehow the energy in the arena feels even more electric tonight than it did on the first. You’re standing under the stage lights, still catching your breath from the last song, and the adrenaline is buzzing through every inch of your body.
You’ve done this routine so many times, but something makes you glance toward the VIP section, the one you know your family is sitting in. You spot your mum’s familiar light hair, your dad waving like he always does even though you’re mid-set and can’t exactly wave back, and Lando grinning like an idiot, standing on his chair to get a better view. You roll your eyes playfully and then—your gaze snags on someone else.
Nolan.
He’s standing right there with them, tall and easy to pick out, clapping along with the crowd and smiling so wide you feel your chest tighten. You weren’t expecting him. He was supposed to be back in the States, he wasn’t supposed to leave for MTC until next week. The surprise is so genuine you nearly stumble over your next lyric, but you push through, forcing yourself to keep singing even though your stomach is doing cartwheels.
For the rest of the set, you can’t help it—you steal glances whenever you can. He’s impossible to miss: cheering when you hit the high notes, laughing when Lando does something dumb like hold up a random sign he stole from a fan to get your attention. And your parents? They look absolutely delighted that he’s there, your mum leaning in close to say something that makes Nolan laugh, your dad clapping him on the back like he’s already part of the family.
By the time you take your final bow, the crowd screaming so loud it rattles your bones, you’re fighting the urge to sprint off stage and straight into his arms. Instead, you wave, blow kisses, and give the crowd their moment before finally, finally ducking into the wings.
Backstage is chaos—crew members congratulating you, flowers being shoved into your hands, a blur of hugs and camera flashes—but then you hear it. His voice.
“Yn.”
You turn and there he is, slipping past security with Lando behind him, grinning like he’s the one who just sold out four nights at the O2. You don’t even think—you drop the flowers on a table and run straight to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you instantly, lifting you off your feet and spinning you in a circle like you weigh nothing at all.
“You’re here,” you say, breathless, your face buried against his shoulder.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You were incredible out there.”
When he sets you down, you don’t let go right away, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Lando’s the one who breaks the moment, groaning dramatically.
“Okay, okay, enough of that. Mum and Dad are literally right here.”
You laugh, cheeks warm, but your parents are beaming. Your mum wraps you in a hug next, gushing about how proud she is, and your dad smiles as wide as he possibly can.
“You kept it a surprise,” you say, pulling back to look at him.
Nolan just shrugs, a little bashful. “Your mom may have helped me plan it.”
“Traitor,” you tease, nudging her with your elbow. She only grins wider.
The rest of the night blurs into a cozy, joy soaked haze. You’re crammed in the dressing room with your family and Nolan, everyone talking over each other, Lando stealing chocolates from the snack table while Nolan pretends not to notice, your mum fussing over how tired you must be. Nolan stays close the whole time, his hand always brushing yours or resting on your back, like he can’t quite believe he’s here either.
It’s not the glitz of the stage or the roar of the crowd that makes the night unforgettable—it’s this. The quiet after. The way your family folds him into the circle without hesitation. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, even after you’ve just sung your heart out to thousands.
And for the first time all tour, you feel like you can finally breathe.
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By the time you finally make it back to the hotel, the adrenaline of the show has begun to fade, leaving you deliciously exhausted and a little dazed. You’re still half in stage mode—hair teased, eyeliner smudged, your dress swapped for an oversized hoodie and sweats you threw on in the dressing room—but Nolan looks at you like you’ve never been more beautiful.
He carries your bag into the suite without being asked, drops it by the couch, and immediately pulls you into his arms. The door hasn’t even clicked shut behind him before you’re kissing—long, slow, the kind of kiss that feels like a homecoming.
“I missed you,” you murmur against his lips, hands fisting in the back of his hoodie like you’re afraid he might disappear.
“Missed you more,” he whispers back, punctuating it with another kiss, this one a little deeper, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Every day felt like a month.”
You laugh softly, tugging him toward the bed, where you collapse together in a heap of tangled limbs and muffled giggles. He kicks his shoes off clumsily while you curl into his side, and soon you’re both sprawled across the blankets, your head resting on his chest, his hand sliding absentmindedly through your hair.
It’s not rushed, not frantic—it’s slow, easy, the kind of intimacy that comes from knowing each other deeply. Kisses scattered along your temple, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth. His heartbeat under your cheek, steady and grounding. Your legs tangled together like you never want to untangle again.
You spend hours like that, catching up on everything you’ve missed. He tells you about his offseason training, the nerves and excitement about the year ahead, how the team has big plans for him. You tell him about tour chaos—the travel, the exhaustion, the absolute high of performing every night.
At some point, you’re both laughing so hard tears prick your eyes when you reenact a stage mishap from the second London show, complete with dramatic hand gestures. Nolan’s grin is wide and unguarded, the kind of smile you wish you could bottle and keep forever.
Then there are the quiet stretches, where words aren’t needed. Where you simply lie there, kissing lazily, breathing each other in, soaking up the closeness. His fingertips trace patterns across your hip, yours draw lazy circles on his chest, and it feels like everything is finally aligned again after months of schedules pulling you apart.
“You’re staying through the break?” you ask softly, tilting your head to meet his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. “I’ll be at the MTC a lot, and then the next few F1 races. I wanted to make sure I’d be here for you, too. For all of it.”
Your chest squeezes at that, and you kiss him again, slow and tender. “You’re the best thing in my whole world, you know that?”
He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.”
Eventually, the exhaustion catches up with you both. The city is still humming outside your window, but inside the suite, everything is quiet. Nolan pulls the blankets up over you, tucking you into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. You’re half-asleep when you feel his lips press one more kiss to your hair.
“Sweet dreams, superstar,” he whispers.
And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep without missing him, because he’s right there, holding you close.
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You wake up to warmth. The kind of warmth that makes you want to stay in bed forever. The curtains are still drawn, soft morning light seeping through the edges, and Nolan’s arm is heavy across your waist. He’s tucked in close, his breath slow and even against your neck, and for a moment you just stay still, listening to the rhythm of him.
It feels like peace. Like after months of hotels and soundchecks and screaming crowds, this is the reward. His hoodie is bunched up between you, his hair a little messy from the pillow, and you can’t help but smile as you turn to face him.
“Good morning,” you whisper, brushing a kiss across his jaw.
His eyes blink open slowly, hazy with sleep, and then he smiles—soft, drowsy, the kind of smile that makes your chest ache. “Best morning ever,” he mumbles, voice still raspy.
You giggle, shifting closer until you’re nose-to-nose, and the next few minutes dissolve into sleepy kisses, whispered I missed yous, and quiet laughter when he tries to pull the blanket entirely to his side. You’re wrapped in your little bubble of warmth, perfectly content—
Until the hotel room door swings open.
“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Lando’s voice booms into the suite, startling both of you upright.
“Lando!” you squeak, scrambling for the blanket as Nolan groans and flops back down.
“Seriously?” Nolan mutters, dragging the pillow over his face.
“Seriously,” Lando smirks, already raiding the minibar like he owns the place. “Mum says breakfast in half an hour. Thought I’d make sure you two didn’t oversleep. You’re welcome.”
You throw a pillow at him, which he dodges with practiced ease. “Get out, Lando.”
“I like this hotel room,” he says cheerfully, biting into a piece of chocolate that the hotel staff left on the table. “Nice view. Shame about the PDA, though.”
You’re half-laughing, half-mortified, but Nolan just shakes his head, dragging you back down into the pillows once Lando finally leaves. “Your brother’s never going to let me live this down.”
“Probably not,” you admit, kissing him softly. “But he likes you. That’s a good sign.”
Breakfast with your family turns out to be surprisingly sweet. You and Nolan join your parents and Lando downstairs in the hotel restaurant, the table already crowded with croissants, fruit, and about four different types of coffee.
Your mum practically fusses over Nolan, asking if he’s eating enough during the offseason. Your dad keeps steering the conversation toward racing, clearly impressed by Nolan’s determination. Lando, of course, won’t stop teasing— when does he ever?
But even with all the joking, it feels easy. Natural. Like Nolan has been part of these breakfasts forever, like he belongs. He looks so at home sitting beside you, reaching for your hand under the table, joining in with your dad’s stories, laughing when your mum shushes Lando for being too loud.
It’s everything you could have wanted—your worlds overlapping in the most seamless, gentle way.
After breakfast, you tug Nolan’s hand, leading him out of the hotel. “I have something to show you,” you tell him, excitement bubbling in your chest.
He raises a brow, but follows without hesitation.
A short car ride later, you arrive at a rented studio tucked away in London. It’s quiet inside, sunlight streaming through tall windows, instruments scattered in the corner. You’ve spent the last few weeks here whenever you had breaks between shows, piecing together the finishing touches on your album.
Nolan looks around curiously, hands in his pockets. “This is where the magic happens?”
You grin, guiding him toward the speakers. “Kind of. But the real magic is in the songs. And since the album is… about you, I thought maybe you should hear one of them.”
His eyes widen slightly, like the words take a second to sink in. About you. You don’t give him time to spiral—you queue up the track, then step back, watching his expression as the music fills the room.
The beat is soft, dreamy, and then your voice comes in—clear, full of warmth, full of him.
And I, I had almost given up hope
’Til I met a love so pure and true
Day I met you babe
Freed me from the fear
You put the blood back to my heart
Every day was gray
You put color back in my world
Sugar honey, you gave me so much more to live for…
Nolan doesn’t move at first. He just stands there, completely still, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to memorize every note, every word. You can see the way his throat works, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but can’t quite get it out.
When the verse fades into the chorus, you pause the track, letting the room fall silent again.
“It’s about you,” you say softly, suddenly shy. “All of it. Every word. You’re the reason this album exists. You’re the reason I had something real to write about.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he exhales, shaky, his eyes glassy. “Babe…” He swallows hard, blinking rapidly, like he’s on the edge of tears. “I don’t even know what to say. That’s… it’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that it’s true. You gave me color again.”
He pulls you in tight, burying his face in your hair, and you feel the tremor in his chest as he laughs softly, overwhelmed. “God, I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him. It’s gentle at first, then deeper, filled with all the words he can’t quite get out.
When you finally pull away, his eyes are still shining, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re going to wreck me when this album comes out.”
You grin, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “Good. That was the plan.”
And as he kisses you again, slow and lingering, you know you’ve never meant every lyric more in your life.
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The studio is buzzing with quiet energy the next afternoon when you and Nolan arrive. It’s not chaos like people might expect—more like an organized calm, the kind that comes with a well oiled crew who all know exactly what they’re here to create. Your creative director greets you with a clipboard in one hand and coffee in the other, rattling off the schedule for the day, but Nolan barely registers it. His eyes are on you, watching how naturally you slip into work mode, how your shoulders straighten and your voice carries just enough authority that everyone listens. He loves seeing this side of you—the superstar, not just his girlfriend curled up in an oversized hoodie with him at night.
Still, even here, he can feel the softness that’s uniquely you. When you pause to thank the makeup artist for the smallest detail or when you squeeze his hand as you’re led toward wardrobe, silently promising that you want him with you through all of this.
The concept of the video is simple, intimate—almost like a love letter captured on film. No flashy sets or heavy choreography, just you in soft lighting, wrapped in lace and silk, singing the song as if you’re whispering it into someone’s ear. Nolan sits quietly in a director’s chair while you’re being styled, his knee bouncing out of habit until you catch him staring in the mirror. You grin and tilt your head, teasing, “You’re looking at me like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen me.”
“It kind of feels like it is,” he admits, cheeks warm as he ducks his head. “You look… unreal.”
The first scenes are filmed with you sitting at a small vanity, light pouring through sheer curtains behind you. The lace jumpsuit clings in all the right places, delicate but powerful, and you sing the words like they’ve been stitched into your soul. Nolan feels like he shouldn’t even be watching—it’s too raw, too intimate—but he can’t tear his eyes away.
When the director calls for the “interlude scenes,” Nolan is pulled in. They’ve planned a small feature for him—bare hands, his frame in soft focus, no face. Just his presence. You insisted on it, telling your team, He’s part of the song. He should be part of the video, too.
He’s nervous at first when the crew asks him to sit behind you on a loveseat, just off-center. The idea is simple: you sing the second verse while his arms wrap gently around your waist, his chin resting against your shoulder, your fingers brushing over his. His face won’t be visible, just the suggestion of someone holding you.
The cameras roll, and you sing.
And Nolan can feel you leaning into him, your voice vibrating through his chest. His hands fit so naturally around your waist, and even though it’s a staged setup, it doesn’t feel staged at all. He knows he’s not supposed to move too much, but when you lace your fingers through his and keep singing, his thumb instinctively strokes your knuckles.
Later, while you’re shooting solo cutaways, Nolan stands off to the side, still in awe. Watching you transform on camera—the vulnerability, the strength, the way you pour your heart into every note—makes his chest ache in the best way. He’s used to speed and adrenaline, to being measured by lap times and points, but this is something else entirely. Something slower, deeper.
By the time filming wraps, you’re exhausted, your makeup smudged from hours under the lights, but you’re glowing. You change back into sweats and flop onto the couch in the green room where Nolan is waiting with a bottle of water. He presses it into your hand, then kisses your temple as you sigh and lean into him.
“So?” you mumble, eyes half-closed. “What did you think?”
He laughs softly, almost incredulous. “I think I’m the luckiest person alive. That song… it’s us. And watching you today—you have no idea how much I—” He stops, because the words catch in his throat, too big for the moment. Instead, he pulls you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.
You smile, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s good because I wrote it for you.”
And sitting there, still surrounded by the faint hum of the studio crew packing up, Nolan feels it sink in again: the world may know you as a superstar, but you’re his girl. And he’s never been more in love.
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yourusername
liked by lando, nolansiegel, alexandrasaintmleux and 8,900,000 others.
yourusername : hello my angels!! i am so so excited to finally share this project with you, it holds such a special place in my heart. the first single “sugar! honey! love!” + the mv is out with you now!!!! && i will be releasing my new album, “in my garden…”, on 11/8 💐✨🦋☀️🐝🌼
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lando : you are always so overdramatic with these captions but i will allow it since you look like a fairy
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : she was a fairy 🧚♀️✨
liked by lando
↳ lando : and while we’re at it…11/8 sounds like a special date…any comment???
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i would like for you to shut the fuck up before i get mum after you
liked by lando
↳ username15 : 11/8 is nolan’s bday…🤷🏻♀️👀
ciscawaumannorris : So proud of you my flower 🌸✨
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charles_leclerc : album of the year incoming.
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↳ yourusername : you know it king
carlossainz55 : just don’t forget us when you win a grammy! so proud of you, cariño ❤️
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↳ yourusername : could never forget about you, carlitos! 😌
lilyzneimer : HELLO MOTHER NATURE ?? goddess vibes.
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↳ yourusername : oh my god oh my god ilysm lily
magui_corceiro : this is so soft and dreamy, i’m obsessed w you🦋
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davidmalukas : nah but this mv got me in my feelings. you snapped fr.
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↳ yourusername : seeeeeee. wasn’t it worth the wait???
mclaren : we LOVE 😭 already added to the garage playlist !
liked by yourusername
↳ lando : pls remove, i don’t need to hear her singing about her boyfriend before a race
↳ yourusername : my boyfriend that you also LOVE
↳ lando : blah blah love is a very strong word
username001 : she didn’t just serve, she harvested the whole garden
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : this made me laugh so hard, ily
username005 : so we all agree she’s the main character of the entire music industry right??
georgerussell63 : already on repeat. even the mv made me emotional 🤧
liked by yourusername
↳ georgerussell63 : carmen cried…i totally did not
liked by yourusername and carmenmmundt
↳ carmenmmundt : he most definitely cried first. i’m so proud of you, my love!!!! so excited to hear the rest ✨✨
liked by yourusername and georgerussell63
username0000 : are we all ignoring the fact that it will be out on nolan’s birthday and it sort of kind of looked like his shadow in the mv???
↳ username77 : could all be a coincidence… (trying not to get too excited so i don’t face disappointment if it’s not true)
↳ username55 : it’s def him (im delusional)
alexandrasaintmleux : beautiful angel🌼🧚♀️🦋 so proud of you!
liked by yourusername
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The afternoon sun filters through the glass when you step out of the car and into the McLaren Technology Centre, the polished building gleaming like it’s straight out of a sci-fi movie. You’ve always loved this place—it has the same energy as a concert venue right before a show: hushed, focused, and buzzing beneath the surface.
Your badge gets you through security, but it’s the familiarity of the lobby that makes your chest warm. You’ve been here countless times with Lando, sometimes sneaking in with coffee just to annoy him, sometimes hiding away in one of the lounges when you didn’t want to be recognized in public.
Today feels different though. Today, you’re not just visiting your brother—you’re here because Nolan’s in the building too.
You catch sight of Lando first, leaning lazily against a railing, arms crossed, sunglasses perched unnecessarily on his head. He grins when he sees you.
“About time,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “Thought tour life made you forget about us little people.”
You roll your eyes. “Sold out arenas don’t make me forget my annoying brother.”
“Annoying? Please, I’m the older and hotter brother.”
“You’re delusional,” you shoot back, but the laugh bubbles easily out of you.
Before you can say more, Oscar appears from around the corner, tall and quiet, holding his phone in one hand like always. His eyes flicker up when he notices you, and though his face doesn’t change much, the little half-smile that tugs at his mouth is enough to make you melt.
“Hey stranger,” you say, pulling him into a hug without hesitation. He stiffens for half a second before returning it, his awkward arms patting your back.
“It’s been… a while,” he says.
“A while?” you gasp, stepping back to squint at him. “Try forever! You didn’t even come to one of my shows.”
Oscar shrugs, deadpan as ever. “I saw the clips on TikTok. Good lighting.”
Lando groans. “You’re impossible.”
But you’re grinning. That’s Oscar—blunt, dry, but underneath it, someone who’s always been like another brother to you. He doesn’t need to gush; the quiet presence is enough.
You don’t have long to catch up before Lando nudges your side. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
He leads you down a hall until you reach the simulator room. Through the glass, Nolan sits strapped in, the giant screens surrounding him, hands tight on the wheel, eyes laser-focused. He looks so at home there, the same calm determination you’ve seen on stage in IndyCar but distilled, quiet.
“Don’t let him know we’re here,” Lando whispers, grinning. “Let’s see how he does.”
You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh as you both lean against the glass. Nolan takes corners with sharp precision, shifting his weight like he’s actually in the cockpit. Engineers hover nearby, murmuring numbers, but he’s locked in, not noticing anything else.
When the sim run finishes and he finally lets go of his tight grip on the wheel, he rubs his face with both hands before glancing up—and freezes. His eyes go wide when he spots you through the glass, like he can’t believe you’re really there.
The door opens, and you barely have time to prepare before he’s across the room, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Angel,” he breathes against your hair, as though him mumbling your nickname makes it real. “What are you doing here?”
“Had to see my superstar boyfriend in action,” you tease, but your voice cracks a little.
Lando groans exaggeratedly from the corner. “Oh god, here we go. PDA central.”
You shoot him a glare over Nolan’s shoulder, but Nolan just laughs, not letting go.
Later, after some banter with the engineers and a quick debrief Lando insists on sitting through, you and Nolan slip out for some air. The grounds of the MTC are sprawling, manicured lawns leading down to a small lake, walking paths that wind through patches of trees.
It’s quiet, just the sound of birds and the crunch of gravel under your shoes. Nolan reaches for your hand automatically, thumb brushing your knuckles.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming today. I thought you had press for the album,” he says softly.
“Wanted to surprise you.” You glance up at him, his messy hair still damp with sweat from the sim. “Worth it?”
He looks at you like you hung the stars. “Always worth it.”
You walk in silence for a while, the kind that feels easy. Every so often, he squeezes your hand or points out something small—the way the light glints off the water, a squirrel darting across the path. It’s grounding, a world away from flashing cameras and roaring crowds.
When you finally circle back toward the building, Nolan tugs you closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but… I’m really proud of you. Seeing you on stage, and now here—it’s like…” He trails off, searching for words. “It’s like you can do everything.”
You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “Good thing I’ve got you to remind me when I forget.”
And with that, you walk back into the MTC, hand in hand, the world outside fading to nothing.
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two weeks later…
f1gossipgirls
1,520,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : Miss YN Norris was spotted in the paddock this weekend. She was in attendance for free practice on Friday and was seen in the Mclaren garage yesterday during qualifying. Now, you may be thinking…she is probably just there to support Lando now that she isn’t touring…however, YN has never been in attendance for a practice in YEARS and it just so happens that Nolan Siegel (her rumored bf) drove Lando’s car in FP1 and FP2…coincidence? We think not.
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The paddock is buzzing the morning of Free Practice, more chaotic than usual, because McLaren has a fresh face climbing into Lando’s car for the session. It’s the kind of day that makes headlines, cameras lurking at every angle, and Nolan has barely been able to hear his own thoughts since breakfast.
He’s calm on the outside—helmet tucked under his arm, polite nods to the engineers—but inside he’s buzzing with nerves. It’s one thing to run the sim at the MTC. It’s another to actually climb into an F1 car in front of the entire world.
He doesn’t expect you to be there. You told him you’d stay in London a little longer to wrap up final press for your album, and though he wanted you there desperately, he understood.
So when he ducks into the McLaren hospitality suite for a final pre-brief and hears Lando’s laugh followed by a voice he knows better than his own, his heart stops.
You.
You’re standing there in all Mclaren—black shorts, papaya jacket slightly oversized—with your hair tied back and sunglasses perched on your head. The grin you wear is radiant, wide enough to make the whole room feel lighter.
“Surprise,” you sing, spreading your arms like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
Nolan doesn’t even think—he drops the helmet onto a chair and crosses the room in three strides, wrapping you up in a hug so tight the engineers politely look away. He buries his face in your shoulder, muffling a laugh.
“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You actually came?”
“Of course I did,” you whisper back, hands sliding up his back. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I missed this?”
From behind, Lando clears his throat obnoxiously. “A horrible one. And a horrible sister for missing my race.”
You and Nolan break apart just enough to roll your eyes at him in unison, which only makes Lando laugh harder.
The garage is alive when Nolan climbs into the car, mechanics swarming, tires being wheeled in, the scent of rubber and fuel sharp in the air. You stand beside Zak and Andrea, headset on, nerves prickling under your skin. You’ve seen Lando do this countless times, but this is different. This is Nolan.
When he rolls out of the pit lane, your stomach flips. He looks so small in the cockpit, helmet visor glinting, but his lines are smooth, measured, each lap faster than the last. You clutch the railing without realizing it, biting your lip as you watch the live times tick across the monitors.
“Not bad,” Zak mutters, and Andrea hums in agreement.
“Not bad?” you echo, half offended. “That’s amazing.”
By the time FP1 wraps, Nolan’s time sits comfortably in the midfield, impressive for a debut. FP2 brings more consistency, long runs where he looks like he’s belonged in that seat forever. Every time he comes past the pit straight, you can’t help but lean forward, waiting for the flash of papaya.
When the session ends and he climbs out of the car, helmet tucked under his arm, his grin is visible even before the visor lifts. He waves once to the crowd, but his eyes are already searching, and the moment he spots you in the garage, he points—like that’s mine.
After debrief, he finds you waiting near the back of the hospitality, still in the papaya jacket. He doesn’t care who’s around; he pulls you in, kisses your cheek, and whispers, “You made today perfect.”
“You made today history,” you shoot back, eyes shining.
And when the media ask about his performance later, Nolan smiles and keeps it simple. “It felt incredible. I had a lot of support today, and that made all the difference.”
Everyone assumes he means the team. But when you catch his eye across the room, you know better.
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time skip…day before album release and nolan’s bday! (we are pretending the brazilian gp is not this week but the next week)
The world feels unusually quiet the night before your life explodes again. Tomorrow means press, cameras, interviews, and your album finally becoming everyone’s, not just yours. And tomorrow also happens to be Nolan’s birthday—the one thing he tried to insist didn’t need “a big fuss.” Of course, Lando had rolled his eyes and promised a party anyway, already inviting half the grid before Nolan could protest.
But tonight is yours. Yours and Nolan’s alone.
You’d rented out a small corner of a tucked away restaurant in Monaco—no paparazzi, no noise, just warm candlelight spilling across white linen and soft jazz in the background. The table is set by the window, overlooking the city lit up like a thousand tiny constellations.
Nolan arrives in a navy button down, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from rushing to meet you. He stops in the doorway when he sees you, his mouth parting slightly. You’re in something simple, elegant, your makeup soft, your smile even softer.
“You…” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You can’t just look at me like that before dinner.”
“Like what?” you tease, even though you know exactly what he means.
“Like you’re going to ruin me.”
The waiter barely gets through the first course before Nolan leans over, brushing your hair behind your ear with fingers that linger too long. “You’re glowing,” he says quietly, as though it’s a secret meant only for you. “I know it’s the album tomorrow, but—God, you just look… happy.”
“I am,” you admit, swirling your glass. “Because of you. Because we have this little bubble before everything gets crazy.”
His hand finds yours across the table, thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin. “I’m glad,” he murmurs. “I was worried tomorrow would overshadow everything—your release, my birthday, the party, all of it. But right now? This is perfect.”
You smile, and when dessert comes, you’ve arranged for something extra—tiny candles glowing on a plate of his favorite chocolate tart. The restaurant is discreet, but the few staff nearby clap softly as you sing a quiet version of “Happy Birthday,” just for him.
He laughs, shaking his head, cheeks pink. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did,” you say, cutting him a forkful. “Tomorrow everyone else gets to celebrate you. Tonight, it’s just me.”
Later, after dinner, you both wander through the quiet Monaco streets, the city oddly hushed this late. Your hand is tucked into his pocket with his, and the cold air makes every word between you feel sharper, more meaningful.
At a small bridge, you stop, leaning against the railing to look out at the water shimmering under the moonlight. Nolan steps behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” he whispers. “A year ago, I never thought my life would look like this—IndyCar, F1 tests, you…” He squeezes you tighter, almost like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Especially you.”
You tilt your head back against him, smiling at the stars above. “Good thing you don’t have to figure it out. You just have to live it.”
When you finally make it back to the hotel, it’s still early enough that the night feels endless. You curl up together on the couch with a bottle of wine, your legs tangled, your laughter spilling into the quiet. The conversation drifts from silly to serious, from childhood stories to whispered promises about the future.
By the time you both fall asleep, the half finished bottle sits forgotten on the table, the city still humming below. Tomorrow will be chaos—your album, his birthday, Lando’s inevitable loudness. But tonight? Tonight is only yours.
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liked by lando, nolansiegel, oscarpiastri and 14,000,000 others.
yourusername : album is out! but more importantly, it is this angel babes birthday!!!!!! the love of my life turned 21 today and i couldn’t be more proud of him. nolan, you are the sun in my life, you bring color to my world and i couldn’t ask for a better soulmate. i love you so so so so much and today is all about you 🤍⭐️💗💘
tagged : nolansiegel
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The first light of morning filters through the curtains, soft gold spilling across the hotel sheets. You stir, blinking groggily, and reach across the bed—only to find cool linen where Nolan should be. For a second, your heart skips, until the faint sound of music drifts through the cracked door to the living room.
You recognize it instantly. Your music.
Slipping out of bed, you tug one of Nolan’s sweatshirts over your head, the sleeves hanging almost comically past your hands. You pad barefoot into the suite’s living area, careful not to creak the floorboards.
He’s there. Sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, headphones around his neck so the album quietly fills the space. His posture is slouched, completely unguarded, one hand covering his mouth. And when you get closer, you see it—his eyes glistening, cheeks a little pink.
Your chest aches.
“Nolan?” you whisper softly.
His head snaps up, and for a second he looks caught, like a kid sneaking sweets before dinner. But then he exhales, a shaky little laugh slipping past his lips.
“Sorry,” he says, swiping quickly at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You shake your head, crossing the room until you’re kneeling in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. “What are you doing?”
“Listening,” he murmurs, almost reverently. He tips the laptop so you can see the tracklist glowing on the screen. “I wanted to hear it with the rest of the world. Just… you and me. And it’s—” His voice cracks, and he has to look away for a second. “It’s beautiful, love. You’re beautiful. The way you wrote about us—it’s like I can feel you in every word.”
Your throat tightens. You reach up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing under his damp lashes. “Hey,” you whisper. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it,” he admits, laughing softly through the tears. “Nobody’s ever made me feel like this. Like I matter this much. You put me in your songs, in your world—and I don’t know how to handle it except by falling more in love with you every time I hear you sing.”
That does it. Your own tears sting, but instead of letting them fall, you lean forward and kiss him—soft at first, then firmer, pouring everything you can’t put into words into that press of lips. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you into his lap until you’re straddling him, the laptop carefully set aside.
The kiss turns messy, wet with half-laughs and tiny sniffles, his mouth moving against yours like he never wants to stop. Between kisses, he whispers, “I love you. God, I love you so much. You’re everything.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his eyelids where tears still linger. “And you’re mine,” you breathe. “Every song, every note—it’s all you. You’re the reason I can even do this.”
He hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe, but you don’t care. The music keeps playing in the background—your voice, your words—and the two of you stay tangled together on that couch, kissing until the morning sun paints you both in light.
At some point, you giggle into his mouth. “You know, I was going to wake up early and make you birthday breakfast in bed.”
He grins, resting his forehead against yours. “You already gave me the best gift I’ll ever get. But I won’t say no to pancakes later.”
“Good,” you tease, kissing him again. “Because you’re definitely getting pancakes. With way too many candles.”
And as his laughter rumbles through your chest, you know this morning will stay with you forever—before the chaos, before the parties, just you and Nolan, wrapped in music and love.
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The party is already loud when you and Nolan arrive—Lando insisted on hosting at a private villa near the track, and he’s gone all out. Colored lights, music thumping through speakers, tables piled with food and drinks, and the entire F1 grid crammed inside like a too big family reunion.
The second Nolan walks in, the place erupts.
“Birthday boy!!!” David yells, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes forward with a Solo cup. “Finally legal enough to—oh wait, you’ve been legal here technically. Whatever. Happy birthday!”
Nolan barely has time to laugh before he’s swallowed by a group hug courtesy of Gabriel, Isack, and Ollie who keep yelling “birthday boy!” like a chant.
Meanwhile, Lando comes out of nowhere, hopping onto the back of the couch and cupping his hands like a megaphone. “EVERYONE SHUT UP. MY LITTLE BROTHER IS HERE.”
The music is abruptly cut. Heads turn. And then Lando grins so wide it’s almost comical.
“Look at him!” he announces. “Twenty one years old, drove my car in FP1, AND somehow managed to steal the coolest girl in the room.” He winks at you before tossing an arm around Nolan’s shoulders and dragging him to the center of the crowd.
You can see Nolan’s ears turning red, but he’s smiling, overwhelmed in the best way.
“Speech! Speech!” Alex starts, slamming his cup against the table for emphasis until everyone joins in.
Nolan shakes his head, laughing nervously, but Lando doesn’t let him off. He shoves a mic—where the hell did that come from?—into Nolan’s hands.
“Uh—hi,” Nolan says, voice cracking just slightly, which makes everyone cheer louder. “Thanks, I guess? For making me feel like part of the family already. Even though most of you make fun of me 24/7.” He shoots a playful glare at Alex, who just shouts back, “DESERVED.”
Nolan continues, his smile softer now. “Seriously though—this year has been insane. I wouldn’t have survived half of it without my girlfriend.” He glances at you, trying not to cry. “She has been there through everything. And… thanks, Lan. For letting me drive your car, for believing in me, and, you know, for throwing this absolute circus of a party.”
The crowd awws, but Lando doesn’t let it sit too long. He tackles Nolan into a hug so tight it lifts him off the floor. “You’re welcome, little bro,” he says into his ear, voice wobbly but teasing. “Don’t mess it up out there, yeah?”
When Nolan’s set down, the music blasts again, and chaos resumes.
Oscar is the first to shove a slice of cake into Nolan’s mouth before he even gets a fork. Carlos insists he needs to do tequila shots “to be a proper driver now.”
You find yourself leaning against the wall, watching him. He’s laughing so hard his eyes crinkle, cheeks flushed from the noise and attention, looking utterly at home among the chaos.
At one point, Lando slips beside you, handing you a drink with a cheeky grin. “He’s happy, isn’t he?”
You nod, eyes still on Nolan. “He is. Thanks to you.”
Lando bumps your shoulder. “Thanks to you, more like. He’s in love, and it shows. But don’t worry, I’m still taking credit for the party.”
Later, near midnight, everyone crowds around again to sing an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday,” the drivers louder than anyone. Nolan blows out the candles, looks up at you across the cake, and mouths thank you.
And for a moment, in the middle of flashing lights and roaring laughter, it feels like nothing else exists but the two of you—and the wild, ridiculous family that comes with you.
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several months later…beginning of the indycar season
The Florida sun is already blazing when you step onto the paddock at St. Petersburg, your sunglasses sliding down your nose as the sound of IndyCar engines whines in the background. The air smells of fuel and heat, and the atmosphere buzzes with the anticipation of the season opener.
Lando walks beside you, a baseball cap tugged low over his curls, and despite the casual outfit, his grin is unmistakable. “He has no clue we’re here, does he?” he asks, glancing at you sideways.
“Not a single clue,” you reply, suppressing your own smile. “He thought I was still stuck in tour meetings. And you—well, he’s convinced you’d rather eat glass than willingly spend your F1 off-weekend in an IndyCar garage.”
Lando chuckles, bumping your shoulder. “He’s not entirely wrong. But for Nolan? Worth it.”
You weave through the sea of fans, crew members, and other drivers until you reach the papaya sea that is the Arrow McLaren garage. You can already see Nolan, clad in his crisp fireproofs, crouched by an engineer as he studies data on the screen. His face is serious, focused—until the engineer says something and he cracks the tiniest grin, the one you know so well.
Your heart swells. That’s your boy.
Lando nudges you forward. “Go on then. Go make his day.”
You roll your eyes at him but your pulse quickens as you step into the garage. For a moment, Nolan doesn’t look up—he’s still absorbed in the briefing. But then, as if sensing it, his head lifts. His eyes scan the space, casual at first, and then they land on you.
Shock flickers across his face. Then disbelief. Then joy so pure it makes your chest ache.
“YN?” he blurts, half standing so fast his headset nearly slips off. He doesn’t even wait for confirmation before he strides across the garage, weaving past crew and equipment until he’s right in front of you.
You barely have time to open your arms before he scoops you up, spinning you off your feet. “You’re here!” he laughs, voice breaking with how wide his grin is. “I can’t believe—you actually came!”
You bury your face against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of fireproofs and heat and Nolan himself. “Of course I came. I wasn’t going to miss your first race of the season.”
When he finally sets you down, he pulls back only far enough to kiss you—quick at first, then lingering, almost desperate. The garage bursts into cheers and whistles, mechanics and engineers clapping, and even Lando shouting, “Get a room!” from the back.
Nolan pulls away, red-cheeked but glowing. “You didn’t tell me,” he says, eyes darting to Lando, who just smirks innocently.
“Would’ve ruined the surprise,” you say softly.
From then on, you don’t leave his side until he has to climb into the car. You help him with his gloves, smoothing the fabric over his hands, and press a kiss to his knuckles before he slips his helmet on. He gives you one last look, a silent for you, before stepping into the car.
Watching him race is… different. It’s not like seeing Lando, where you’re used to the rhythm of Formula 1. This is rawer, faster, somehow more dangerous, and yet Nolan looks like he was born for it. Every lap he takes, you feel your chest tighten with pride. Every overtake has you on your feet, hands clutched together. Lando keeps glancing at you, amused, whispering, “Relax, he’s fine,” even though his own leg bounces nervously.
When Nolan crosses the finish line, his race done with a strong top ten finish, you and Lando are the first ones waiting in the garage. He jumps out of the car, helmet still on, but he rips it off as soon as he sees you. Sweat drips down his face, his hair sticking up in messy tufts, but his grin is dazzling.
“Did you see that?!” he shouts, practically running into your arms again.
“You were incredible,” you breathe, and he kisses you right there, sweat and all, uncaring of the cameras snapping. The world melts away for a moment—it’s just you and him, your heart swelling with pride.
When he finally pulls back, Lando claps him on the back. “Not bad Siegel,” he teases, though his smile is genuine.
Nolan just laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. “Best surprise of my life,” he murmurs against your hair.
And standing there, wrapped up in Nolan’s arms, the crowd buzzing around you, you can’t imagine a better beginning to his season.
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