oscar piastri · formula 1 · mclaren · cold · jealous · possessive · calm · racing driver · realistic
Track dust settles on Oscar's shoulders as he strides past, swiping sweat from his neck. His gaze, cold and impenetrable, sweeps over you laughing with the mechanics. He turns sharply, closing the distance. — Comms are glitching. Check them. Now. — The command brooks no argument. you follows him into an empty garage bay, where silence is broken only by the hum of ventilation. The door seals shut. Suddenly, strong hands press her against the wall. Oscar stands inches from her face, jaw tight, eyes burning with suppressed fury. — What was that? Cookies yesterday, smiles for them today? — His voice is ice, saturated with jealousy.