#for this i was thinking hob ended up hospitalized for something rather serious

[euzede]

(part 1)

"HeLLo HoBsIE."

"... Robin?"

"YeAh, y0U'vE bEeN CalLing mE tHaT... bUt tHaT's NoT mY NAmE. IF YoU wAnt, i CaN sHoW H1m to ¥oU..."

"N-no. Please, Del."

"SorRy."

"Is Dream here? Can I see him?"

"i SuPpOsE yOU c0uLd. YoU WOuLd. buT DReAm iS. aNGrY. fURIoUs. SaD. WoRr13D. sC4rEd."

[gabessquishytum]

I blame this one on watching too many racing movies recently, but Racecar driver Hob and nepo-baby Team sponsor Dream.

Dream somehow (he suspects Desire) becomes the representative of the Endless Corporation for the racing team they sponsor. It is Dream’s idea of hell, large crowds, loud noises, fleeting seconds of action to watch directly, and then being expected to chat with others while watching the tv screens. He doesn’t know what is happening and doesn’t really care, and it shows. Sure, being in the luxury of the owners/sponsors box helps, but still he’d rather be anywhere else.

Dream eventually heads to the team’s garage with the excuse that he wants to listen to the race engineers and driver directly. Everybody in the garage is too busy doing their job to try and chat with him or pay him more attention than is needed to get him a headset and settled out of the way, so it’s perfect for Dream.

Robert “The Immortal” Gadling is the newest addition to the Endless racing team, so named because he has survived more on-track crashes and accidents than any other active driver, most of them weren’t even his fault. He always says the reaper is going to come for him in a car, so he might as well make it an interesting death. The press thinks he is just a thrill seeker chasing fame. In truth, he lost Robyn, Elanor, and the baby from being hit by a drunk driver while he was driving, and it haunts him. He wants to prove that he is the best driver, because if he is the best and he still lost his family in an accident, then no one else would have reacted faster or handled the car better.

Hob isn’t the best yet. He is always in the upper pack but hasn’t consistently broken onto the podium. He’s hoping this new team will be a chance to really show what he can do. Hob always has a running commentary going on the team comms no matter how long or intense the race is. People constantly have to break into his chatter to give him the information he needs about the car, his competition, or track conditions.

Dream is intrigued by this man who constantly jokes around while driving a heavy death machine around at break-neck speeds. They end up talking a few races later when after the race Dream stays long enough for Hob to notice a new face in the garage. Dream finds he enjoys having all that intense focus on him alone. Chats after the race become drinks out, then become dinner together. Soon, they are exploring the cities the races are in together when there is downtime. Eventually, they end up testing the structural integrity of Dream’s hotel’s beds as Hob sets out to prove that he is an athlete in peak shape thank you very much.

Poor Dream who has never had a healthy relationship in his life is insistent that what they have is a friends-with-benefits or fuckbuddy situation even though neither is looking elsewhere, they are always talking to each other and they’ve both shown each other the skeletons in their respective closets. Hob would like to call their relationship more but also knows his constant dance with death or at least serious injury is as good a reason as any for Dream to avoid any kind of commitment to him not counting both their emotional baggage.

Things come to a head when Hob is caught in a multi-car crash and is sent rolling into the center of the track where the car quickly catches fire. Dream pushes himself into the pack of people from the team following the first responders to the crash, hoping that the safety gear the team poured some of the sponsorship money into actually did something. He isn’t allowed on the medical helicopter when Hob is airlifted out, but he does set some speed records of his own getting to the hospital.

The safety equipment does its job and Hob will only have to miss a few races for recovery, but Dream is not letting Hob go one more day without formalizing their relationship because no one else gets Hob, not even Death. Hob’s memory of that first “I love you” is hazed by painkillers, but they exchange the words so many times during his hospital stay that he isn’t too worried about it.

When he is cleared to begin racing again Hob starts consistently placing on the podium and each time he makes sure his boyfriend gets caught in the champagne spray no matter how much Dream grumbles about the cost of cleaning his designer clothes. Years later, when Hob retires from being a driver so he can spend more time with his husband, he is considered the chattiest driver of all time, Dream listened to every single one of his races after all. He also incidentally will be remembered as one of the best drivers of his generation.

-💥

I know close to nothing about racing but omg I am so here for this!!! Driver Hob!!! Chatty, risky, charismatic driver Hob with a tragic backstory!! I love it, once again I can only thank you for honouring me with this mini fic <333

I love to imagine Hob doing press conferences and managing to turn every answer for every question into a rant about how amazing Dream is, he loves Dream so much, he never thought he'd be able to get to the top of his sport but Dream has given him the motivation. And Dream himself is standing at the back of the room desperately wishing that the floor would swallow him up <333

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Original Female Character(s), Narcissa Black Malfoy, Andromeda Black Tonks, Teddy Lupin, Original House-Elf Character(s) Additional Tags: Auror Harry Potter, Ministry Worker Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic, Deadly nightshade, Hurt/Comfort, Grimmauld Place, Cooking Lessons, Wine, Addiction, Potion Overdose, Sharing a Bed, Bickering, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Board Games, Insomnia, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Nightmares, Magical Outbursts, Family Fluff, Romance, Flirting, Stretching, Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Masturbation, Spooning, Frottage, Pining, Sexual Frustration, Explicit Sexual Content, Competence Kink, Public Speaking, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, First Time Topping, Top Harry, Bottom Draco, St Mungo's Hospital Summary:

When Harry encounters a frail and fidgety Draco Malfoy at the Ministry, he just knows something is wrong and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

A story about Deadly Nightshade, crippling insomnia, excellent wine … and finding what you need in the strangest of circumstances.

Excerpt:

Harry stepped through the Floo and threw off his Auror robes. It wasn’t until he’d collapsed onto the sofa with his head in his hands that he realised he could smell food.

He groaned. As much as he loved his friends, all he wanted after the day’s events was to curl up, alone, with a bottle of Draco’s expensive white wine.

He stumbled through to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway as if Stunned.

Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Harry was greeted by the sight of a familiar shock of white blond hair. Draco was bent over the hob, stirring the contents of a saucepan.

He’d changed out of his formal robes into a dark green jumper and a pair of fitted grey trousers. One of Harry’s tea towels hung from the back pocket.

“I figured it was my turn to cook.” His tone was light, but his eyes were careful.

“About time,” Harry replied hoarsely. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it took every shred of willpower he had not to cross the room and snog Draco senseless.

A glass of white wine floated smoothly across the room and into Harry’s hand. He swirled it and inhaled slowly, deeply, as the cool beads of condensation on the glass soaked his fingers.

“Lemon and … grapefruit?” he guessed.

Draco shook his head. “Gooseberry. You’re along the right lines, though – it’s a sharp one. Bit of an acquired taste.”

Like you, Harry thought as he nodded and took a sip. The wine was dry and tangy; it almost fizzed on Harry’s tongue. 

“I needed that.” He sighed. “I had a nightmare of a day.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I made a twat of myself in front of someone important,” Harry said, looking pointedly into Draco’s grey eyes.

Draco smirked. “Sounds like you.” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You are such an arsehole. I honestly don’t know why I let you into my house.”

Draco appeared to be biting back a laugh. “Because I have world-class taste in wine?” He paused. “Or perhaps because you find me terribly attractive and excellent company to boot?” he added cockily.

“Definitely the wine,” Harry said stubbornly. “What are you cooking, anyway?”

He padded across the room to peer into the saucepan, but Draco stepped in the way, effectively blocking his path.

“Wait and see – though if you can't tell from the smell of it, you’re not the chef you held yourself out to be.” Draco put his hands on Harry’s shoulders again – that same, light touch he’d used in his office – and turned him gently around to face the door. “Go and make yourself look presentable,” he said, his breath ghosting across the back of Harry’s neck. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

Harry stumbled off to get changed, barely registering where his feet were taking him. His stomach was a bundle of nerves and excitement, and he began to wonder if he was out of his depth.

When Harry returned to the kitchen, feeling rather more put together in his nicest pair of jeans and the black shirt Ginny always said made him look ‘buff’, he found Draco sat in his usual spot at the table.

Draco’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Harry. He’d opened his mouth to speak, but it took a moment before any words came out. 

“You took your time,” he said eventually. “I was starting to wonder if I should cast a warming charm.” He gestured to the two steaming bowls before them.

“Sorry,” said Harry sheepishly as he slipped into his seat. He leaned down and inhaled the rich, sweet aroma of tomato and basil. “Spaghetti bolognaise.”

Draco nodded. “Of course. It was the—”

“—first thing we ate together,” Harry interrupted. “I remember. I cooked it, after all.”

They ate in silence for a while, focusing their full attention on twisting the thick ribbons of pasta around their forks. The sauce was rich and glossy; Draco had clearly followed Harry’s tip of adding a cup of starchy water from the pasta and boiling it down to the right consistency. The flavours were well-balanced, too, if a little more subtle than Harry was used to.

All the while, Draco watched Harry closely, eagerly anticipating his verdict. Harry decided, somewhat cruelly, to make him wait. He ate slowly, pointedly avoiding Draco’s expectant gaze. Of course, Draco was far too stubborn to simply ask Harry what he thought of it. Only when Harry had finished his final mouthful and set his cutlery against edge of the bowl did he put Draco out of his misery.

“That was pretty good,” he said, licking his lips. “Very good, actually.”

“I’ve been having cookery lessons. A night school, of sorts,” Draco said with a wry smile.

“Oh, really?” Harry grinned, playing along.

“Yes. I’ve not been the best student, though. I keep getting distracted by the teacher. He has the most fantastic arse, you see…” Draco put down his knife and fork, looking intently at Harry.

Harry’s pulse stuttered, then picked up at speed, bringing with it a wave of dizziness. “Is that so?” he asked weakly.

“Oh yes,” Draco said seriously. “And naturally, he’s a teasing bastard and insists on walking around half-naked at every opportunity.”

Harry desperately tried to think of something to say, but his brain failed him. He sat, gaping like a Freshwater Plimpy, as Draco got to his feet and cleared the table with a flick of his wand. After a few moments, Harry picked up his wine and took a sip, mainly to hide his slack-jawed expression. The last thing he needed was for Draco to start teasing him.

When every pot, plate and pan was stacked neatly by the sink, Draco came and stood by Harry’s chair. Harry automatically stood up and turned to face him, causing the chair legs to scrape harshly against the floor. An awkward laugh escaped Harry’s lips, but Draco’s face remained perfectly serious.

Draco gently took Harry’s glass from his hand and set it down on the table, without taking his eyes off Harry. Time seemed to stand still. Harry’s heart was beating so hard he was almost convinced Draco could hear it.

Draco reached up and slowly ran his fingertips along the line of Harry’s jaw, ending at his chin and coaxing him forward, and Harry suddenly had no doubt where this would lead.

All those weeks of agonising frustration, the awkward moments and casual flirting, it had all been leading up to this.

Harry realised he was holding his breath but didn’t dare release it. The moment felt fragile as spun glass. They were standing so close that the tips of their noses were touching. Harry could smell the sharp tang of the wine on Draco’s breath.

“I’ve wanted to do this for months,” Draco whispered. “I’ve never been this patient about anything, before.” His eyes flitted down to Harry’s lips, granting Harry a fleeting view of his pale lashes before he closed the miniscule distance between them.

It took Harry a moment to catch up, to register that Draco was finally kissing him. His lips were soft but he kissed firmly, insistently, mapping every inch of Harry’s mouth with his tongue. 

It was even better than Harry had imagined, and he wanted more.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco nudged Harry backwards until he was pressed against the counter, cornered in his own kitchen. 

Once there, the kisses became desperate. Harry tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair as Draco bit his lower lip, hard enough to sting.

After several long minutes, Draco broke the kiss and pulled back to look at Harry, breathing heavily. 

When Harry opened his mouth to ask why he’d stopped, Draco dropped to his knees in a single fluid motion.