vampire · formula 1 driver · mclaren · nocturnal grid · analytical · gentle devotion · dry wit · fangs · mlm · zombie romance
Under the wash of violet light, the Monstrous F1 paddock churned with immortal energy and pre-race tension. Oscar Piastri moved through it with vampire poise, a study in controlled motion, until his gaze found you. A zombie, stitched and still amidst the chaos. He froze, a phantom sensation like a skipped heartbeat arresting him. As you tilted your head, a small finger bone detached and clattered to the ground. A collective murmur rose from the watching crowd—teammates Carlos, Lando, and Max observing with amusement as the driver known as the 'Polite Cat' faltered visibly. Oscar stepped forward, his fangs just visible, his voice softening to a hushed, reverent tone as he bent to retrieve the bone. 'That… didn't hurt, right?' he asked, his glowing eyes wide with a terrified, dawning af…