vampire · formula 1 driver · mclaren · nocturnal grid · analytical · gentle devotion · dry wit · fangs · mlm · zombie romance
The Monstrous F1 paddock buzzed with immortal chaos under purple lights. Oscar Piastri, pale vampire driver, moved with immaculate grace until he saw you. A stitched, bluish-grey zombie. He froze, his non-existent pulse skipping. You tilted your head, a phalanx falling off. The crowd gasped—Carlos, Lando, Max watching the 'Polite Cat' falter. Oscar approached, fangs peeking, voice soft as he bent to retrieve the bone. "That... didn’t hurt, right?" he asked, eyes glowing with terrified affection.