chapter word count: 7.3k
genres/vibes: bartender/dj au, clubbing, angst with a happy ending, lando norris being a little shit, coworkers to lovers, teasing, miscommunication, POV alternating, slow(ish) burn, yachting
chapter snippet:
He ends up with Oscar's drink in his hands, a wicked idea in his head. George and Alex watch as he picks up the glass and turns around in Oscar's lap to face him, waiting for the poor guy to notice that everyone's been staring at him.
And when he finally looks up, Lando starts. "D'you fancy a sip?"
Oscar's mouth opens, then it shuts. Then it opens again as his eyebrows twitch, perfectly resembling a bunny. Lando raises the drink higher, trying to harvest Oscar's attention. He watches in utter satisfaction as Oscar's eyes drop to the drink, then up to Lando's, jerking his head in a curt nod.
A smile tugs on Lando's face as he brings the glass to Oscar's lips, tilting it forward and watching as he takes a few sips — some spilling out the corner of his mouth — before pushing it away. Lando doesn't think he's ever seen such a bright red adorning someone's face before. It's starting to become his favorite color. Once he sets the glass down he watches Oscar's lips as he wipes his mouth, still captured in that web of cotton.
Lando turns back around proudly. Alex just shakes his head, and George is biting back a laugh so hard that his eyes have grown a bit wet. He would feel a bit mean about it if the reactions he gets from Oscar weren't so fucking addicting.
summary: inspired by good girls go bad by cobra starship, y/n fancies the suave british dj that she meets in ibiza. mentions of sex but not written out.
dj!lando x female reader au
he got a way with the girls in the back acting like they're too hot to dance
authors note: lets be real lando gets more girls through his shitty djing than he does by racing... anyways ive been on an emo club music kick lately so there's that. still can't get over the fact that blair waldorf herself did guest vocals on this-
it’s spring break in ibiza and they’re a group of six
college sophomores travelling outside of england for their first time over spring break
the plan was benidorm since it’s cheaper but one of them managed to get a deal on a party trip to Ibiza
and y/n, ever the party hater, said why not. she’s trying to get over a breakup and her friends think she needs to get laid
y/n thinks its the worst idea ever when instead of letting her relax by the water, her friends insist on hitting up the sketchiest of spanish clubs
they're all wearing tight and skimpy dresses, high heels, faces full of makeup
i know your type, you're daddy's little girl
they travel in a could of confidence and bath and body works
y/n feels like she's someone she isn't, uncomfortable showing off so much skin as her best friend angela opened the club door
a large poster on the the door announces the entertainment for the night
emblazoned in big, comic book style letters is the name 'lando norris', and underneath it in comic sans, 'max fewtrell'
the music is loud, bright lights almost blinding as y/n followed her friends to the bar
the group of six found a table in the back corner, drinks between them as they watched the british dj duo behind the turntable.
one was stockier and had more facial hair, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans
the other was lankier, fanning himself with a collapsible handheld paper fan
he was wearing a navy blue button down shirt, and there were no lights on behind his eyes. the man was well and truly drunk
"hey y/n." angela suggested, pointing at him. "that one is quite fit, dont you think?"
"absolutely not." she's shaking her head like crazy. "not him, there's no way. get me drunk and i'll consider it."
just take a bite, and let me show you the world
"his friend is pretty nice, too." her other friend, holly, remarked, eyes travelling over to max fewtrell
"come on!" angela insists, grabbing y/n's arm and pulling her over to the dancefloor
its not even y/n's kind of music
its the bleary, strobe-light, electro-dance music that makes her head hurt.
angela and holly blend in to the crowd right away
ang is trying to get y/n to dance, and holly goes straight to flirting with max
and lando's eyes are immediately drawn to y/n
the girl with the soft face and the little maroon dress, the goofy smile on her face as her friend tries to get her to dance.
now, we've all seen the lando ibiza videos. there are no lights on in his head behind those sunglasses
but that does not stop him from going over to the girls
angela just grins and backs away, mouthing 'good luck' as y/n turns around and sees lando
"can i have this dance?" lando's accent is thick, so drunk his words are blending together
and y/n isn't sober either, the three mixed drinks she devoured while they were in the corner hitting her like a truck
"i don't dance." she practically yells, trying to be heard over the music
just one night would it be so wrong, i i'm gonna make you lose control
"but you could"
"but i choose not to."
"ah, choice. there's the problem. you just need the right song and the right partner!"
cue the song changeover, piloted by max and holly
holly looks over at y/n with a wink as cobra starship begins to play
against her better judgement, y/n finds herself starting to sing along
and even further against her better judgement, she allows lando to guide her in a dance
his hands on hers, starting gentle as he spins her in a circle and they bounce around together
she's slowly letting loose
lando is already as loose as it gets
taking off his plastic sunglasses and putting them on y/n
soft giggles and wide smiles as they keep dancing
you were hanging in the corner with your five best friends, you heard that i was trouble but you couldn't resist
she knows hes trouble, she can see it in his face
but she doesn't care. the perfect rebound has presented itself in her lap
she slowly gets bolder
her back against lando's chest
his hands on her waist, gently guiding her movements as she brushes up against him
and lando is trying so fucking hard to be suave and smooth as he leans down and whispers in her ear, his shirt undone, necklace hanging in between his pecs
"what do you say we get out of here, sweetheart?"
her senses are clouded by his dior cologne, it's the only thing she can focus on, every hair on her skin standing on end
his hands slyly slipping up the sides of her dress, gripping her thighs
lips on her neck
shes running her fingers through his hair, breathing heavily
"my hotel or yours?"
dress on the floor, lando's shirt hanging off the small mirror over the dresser
sheets tangled around bodies
bright red scratches down lando's back
hickies all over y/n's neck
they're at it almost all night
she wakes up first, making coffee and getting dressed
leaves a note on the dresser for him: thanks for the great time, call me <3 with her phone number and name
chapter word count: 10.6k
genres/vibes: bartender/dj au, clubbing, angst, lando norris being a little shit, oscar piastri is down bad, coworkers to lovers, teasing, miscommunication, jealousy, slight possessiveness
chapter snippet:
“You taste sweet,” Lando murmurs into Oscar’s lips.
Oscar pulls back suddenly, like he got electrocuted, and Lando follows suit.
“I-” his lips move around silent words, and he wants to say something but his brain is working faster than his mouth, eyes wide, slightly panicked. The techno beat from the DJ booth doesn't help at all either, only serving to bring him back to reality. What the hell is he doing??
“What, cat got your tongue?” Lando teases, words almost getting swallowed by the buzz of the club paired with bodies pressing against their every side.
He just stares, quiet, long enough that he starts to focus again. Lando’s cheeks are flushed from the heat, lips wet with spit, Oscar's spit. He looks somehow even more dangerous like this, looking at Oscar like he’s holding himself back from eating him. He caresses the skin on the nape of Oscar’s neck again and he can feel himself fucking melting into it. Jesus Christ.
Pulling himself to the present, Oscar surges his lips back on Lando’s – hard and decisive, like he’s made up his mind. Lando almost stumbles back with the force of it, laughing from surprise. The Brit keeps the kiss softer this time, and it stays that way, almost giving him whiplash. Oscar can finally savor the taste of Lando, all around him, mingling with his soul, but regrettably only for a few brisk moments before they pull away when they're forced to breathe, panting into each other's mouths. A certain recognizable feeling starts stirring in the bottom of Oscar's stomach — something he can't ignore, telling of just how affected he is by all of this.
"i'd like to get to know you, i'd like to take you out'
chapter word count: 7k
rating: explicit
genres/vibes: bartender/dj au, clubbing, angst with a happy ending, coworkers to lovers, friends with benefits, family issues, miscommunication, POV alternating, slow(ish) burn
chapter snippet:
Their conversation gets interrupted by Franco’s voice booming through the chatter. Oscar turns his head and, to his immense surprise, is met with the sight of none other than Lando Norris.
He’s very much out of breath as he makes his way to them, sporting an extremely thin white button up paired with light wash jeans and white Jordans. The same silver chain embellishes his neck, the stones almost winking at Oscar in the light. His curls look to be more intentionally defined tonight, dark brown hair complimenting his tanned skin.
Oscar looks away. He’s not staring.
An echo of cheers erupts at the table as Lando makes his way over, sliding into the booth heavily beside Oscar, scent of citrus and cologne immediately overwhelming his senses. Lando tries to catch his breath in shallow breathes so he can give his brief greetings to the entire table, and Oscar decides not to think about it.
The bartender takes a glance to his right, and notices Lando already looking at him, playfully bumping his shoulder once he's caught caught Oscar's eyes. He glances over and is almost blinded by Lando's bright smile.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he jeers, and Oscar rolls his eyes in response. He can’t seem to fix his mouth to speak words, now that Lando’s here and in his space entirely.
genres/vibes: bartender/dj au, clubbing, angst with a happy ending, coworkers to lovers, friends with benefits
some ao3 tags: bartender oscar piastri, DJ lando norris, miscommunication, jealousy, sub top oscar piastri, bottom lando norris, switching, bottom oscar piastri, top lando norris, first time bottoming, light dom/sub, topping from the bottom, praise kink, edging, overstimulation, begging, semi-public sex, dacryphilia, blow jobs, orgasm denial, angry sex, drunk sex, breathplay, dry humping, frotting, vibrators during work, fingers in mouth, POV alternating, slow burn, yearning, recreational drug use, implied/referenced drug use, established george russell/alex albon lando owns a motorcycle, max fewtrell owns a club
snippet/summary:
“It can be casual, no strings attached, whatever you want it to be,” Lando whispers slowly, words slightly muffled into the skin of Oscar’s lips.
“Just tell me that you want it, that you want this, whatever this turns into,”
The movement creates sparks of heat throughout Oscar’s body. His skin vibrates at the contact – not too dissimilar to the feeling in his chest. Oscar’s hand flexes at Lando’s side, not quite as bruising as it was before, switched out for a gentle brush of contact. Lando inches forward, his scent familiarizing itself with Oscar’s senses. It’s enough to quiet the noise in Oscar’s head.
“I want this,” He practically breathes into Lando’s mouth, words getting melted into the other’s lips.
Or: Lando Norris is an up and coming DJ and is quite bored of hook-up culture in London. He decides he wants to try something new - that being Oscar Piastri, one of Quadrant's most beloved bartenders, who has been silently falling for Lando since the very beginning. They agree on casual - however that may take form - but the lines begin to blur until they converge entirely. What's the harm in having fun?
chapter word count: 8.7k
genres/vibes: explicit sexual content, bartender oscar/dj lando au, angst, lando norris being a little shit, oscar piastri is down bad, coworkers to lovers, teasing, praise, frotting
chapter snippet:
“This goes on your head,” he says, holding out the helmet.
Oscar rolls his eyes and takes it, feeling the weight of it pressing back against him. “I know how a helmet works, mate.”
“Just makin’ sure, we wouldn’t want that pretty head of yours getting hurt,”
“How considerate,” Oscar tries pulling the helmet over his head as Lando busies himself with the small storage compartment. He's realizing very quickly that he has no idea what he's doing because there's about three straps dangling and despite his efforts, nothing happens when he pulls them. It's quite humbling, actually, that he can juggle ten drink orders at once but can't figure out a damn helmet.
When Lando eventually notices his clumsy struggling, he starts laughing, genuinely, shoulders shaking as he dips his head down. Perhaps Oscar should admit defeat at some point, but now he's determined to get this damn thing on his head. The more Lando watches him struggle, the harder it is for Oscar to even focus on what he was doing. The only difference now is that his hands have started turning red from the force of yanking the straps.
"Are you gonna let me help?" Lando tilts his head, leaning back on the seat of the motorcycle and crossing his arms over his chest.
Oscar shakes his head, trying to ignore the heat climbing up his cheeks. "I told you I've got it," he takes a deep breath, trying to seem as chill as Lando looks. He figures it would be completely impossible, despite what people say about him being icy, he's almost always out of his element.
"You're cute when you're stubborn," Lando chuckles, his grin still yet to dim. Oscar ignores him in favor of trying to win a pretty pointless argument, but it's clear he was always gonna lose. In a few quick steps Lando appears in front of him, swatting his now red hands away from the helmet, amusement etched into his face. "Let me."
Oscar stutters, intending to make a snarky rebuttal but Lando puts his hands on the edges of the helmet and tug it down, right onto Oscar's head. There's so much confidence in his movements — not a hint of hesitation as he takes control, tightening the straps effortlessly.
Once he's satisfied with the way it sits, on Oscar's head, he holds the sides — where Oscar's cheeks would typically be — in his hands. "Better?"
Oscar nods dumbly, thankful for the visor being flicked down so Lando can't see the mix of about a hundred emotions on his face — embarrassment, awe, and above all else, want. Because that was so hot.
