Poppy

So one year for charity different pro athletes get asked to participate in a live game based on one of those “how well do you know your partner” games but instead it’s “how well do you know your rival” and participating means you get to raise money for a charity of your choice and obviously Shane and Ilya want to promote the Irina Project so they agree and go up against other current famous rivals from other sports

And Shane and Ilya discuss ahead of time that obviously they’ll have to just play things off as they usually do, light hearted chirps back and forth and what not, “winning” is just for the show and won’t impact how much money gets made for their charity so it doesn’t matter. Except then they get there and become overtaken by the need to Win and Be the Best and they are the best. So without needing to discuss changing the plan, as soon as the questions start they lock in and decide that actually they have to demolish everyone else

The other rivals are laughing and making jokes at the questions but Shane and Ilya are deadly serious and the host starts to get a little weirded out by the fact that they actually know the answers and aren’t just saying things like “how many goals last season? Probably one less than me haha” and actually have each others stats memorized

Because the audience is loving it they go to a lightning round that’s just Shane and Ilya and it’s now the usual couple game questions and they’re still getting them right because they can make excuses for knowing later, right now is about Winning

“What is Shane’s favorite breakfast?”

“Kale protein shake with a scoop of peanut butter and a handful of blueberries.”

“Ok um, what is Ilya’s favorite breakfast?”

“Two sausage egg McMuffins with an extra slice of cheese and hashbrowns.”

“What is something on Shane’s bucket list?”

“Sleeping in one of those see through igloos under the northern lights.”

“What is something on Ilya’s bucket list?”

“That thing where you feed giraffes at a zoo.”

“Ok last one. I think we all know Shane’s answer is former paramour Rose Landry, but who do you think is the most famous person Rozanov has ever slept with is?”

*through teeth gritted so tight he is in danger of chipping one* “Probably a model. Or something.”

“… Yeah, let’s go with that.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 330 | prompt: tremble

For three days, the Auror Office had been tearing London apart for Harry’s missing partner, and he had not slept a wink. 

Now, Harry was at Malfoy’s side, blasting through the restraints. Malfoy slumped forward, and Harry caught him before he hit the floor.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, gathering his trembling body carefully into his arms. “Malfoy, look at me.”

Malfoy’s eyes opened, unfocused and dulled.

“Potter,” he rasped.

“I’m here. Help’s coming.”

Malfoy blinked at him. “You look dreadful.”

Harry let out something that was almost a laugh. “You’ve been tortured for three days and you’re insulting my appearance?”

“Priorities,” Malfoy whispered, closing his eyes.

“Stay awake.”

“I’m trying. Don’t sound so bossy.”

Harry pressed his fingers to Malfoy’s throat. His pulse was there, fast and weak.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I’ll ask nicely next time.”

“Liar.”

Harry’s hand shook where it held him. “Yeah.”

Malfoy stared up at him, breathing shallowly. His whole body kept jerking in little aftershocks.

“I thought about you,” Malfoy said.

Harry swallowed. “What?”

“I—.” Malfoy’s fingers twitched against Harry’s sleeve. “I imagined you, when the pain got too much.”

Malfoy’s eyes fluttered, and Harry tightened his arm around him.

“No. Stay with me.”

“Trying,” Malfoy said again, irritated even now. “Merlin, Potter.”

“Good. Be annoyed. That’s good.”

Malfoy gave the smallest broken huff. 

“The thought of you kept me alive,” he continued. “Without you, what do I live for?” 

“Malfoy.”

“I know. Terrible timing. Always had terrible timing.”

Harry stared at him. “Are you under Veritaserum?”

“Yes, but that means you have to believe me.”

Harry brushed his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, matted and bloodied. “I do.”

“I want you,” Malfoy said bluntly. “There. Bloody humiliating.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do have to. That’s rather the point of truth serum, Potter.” 

Harry’s vision blurred.

“Just believe me,” Malfoy whispered. “Please.”

The door burst open. Voices filled the room as Aurors and Healers flooded in. 

In the early days of their relationship, Draco had wondered about the little notebook Harry kept on his person.

It was a small thing, barely big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Plain black leather. Muggle-made, with crisp white paper instead of the aged yellow of parchment.

Then, as the days bled into weeks and the weeks into months, Draco’s curiosity only grew.

Harry rarely got it out in front of him, but when he did, he was always careful to angle it away, shielding the contents as he scribbled. Tiny little scratches of his hand, sharp and quick, so frantic that Draco often wondered how Harry managed to read his own writing afterwards.

On the morning of their first anniversary, Draco finally asked.

“What is that?”

Sleep-mussed and bleary-eyed, Harry took a moment to realise Draco was speaking to him.

“Darling?”

“Huh?” Harry looked up, blinking once.

He looked adorable like this. Curled up in the corner of the sofa, wearing the ratty grey joggers Draco claimed to hate but, in truth, didn’t. Bare-chested because, apparently, Harry was allergic to clothing on Sunday mornings.

Draco didn’t hate that either.

In his lap was the notebook, perched precariously on his thigh. In one hand, a Muggle biro. In the other, his coffee.

“What is that little thing you’re always writing in?” Draco asked, curling up beside him.

The smile Harry gave him was coy and lopsided, a flush of pink spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, set his coffee down, and leaned forward until there was barely an inch between them.

“A present,” Harry explained, his voice a whisper.

Puzzled, Draco tilted his head. “A present?”

It took Harry a moment to respond. “Yes. For you.”

Then it took Draco a moment to hear the words properly.

“For me?”

And another for Harry to offer the book over.

Carefully, tentatively, he held it out.

Confused, nervous, and a little bit excited, Draco accepted it. Harry’s eyes remained fixed on him as he opened it to the first page.

365 Reasons Why I Love Draco Fucking Malfoy

“I started this the moment you said yes to a date. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago,” Harry explained. “I knew then that I wanted a million plus one days with you. Three hundred and sixty-five reasons are simply not enough to even begin to explain why I love you.”

With shaking hands, Draco flipped through the pages, and with each turn, he felt his heart grow larger and larger until it threatened to tip over and spill out of him entirely.

#16 – Owled me just to say hello.

#45 – Remembered Hermione’s favourite wine and brought it round for dinner because he knew I’d forget.

#51 – Bought me a limited-edition Puddlemere jersey for my birthday. How he did that, I don’t know. They were sold out everywhere.

#96 – Took Teddy to his Junior Quidditch club when I couldn’t get out of work.

#148 – Brewed me Pepper-Up Potion when I caught a cold.

#193 – Booked us a surprise weekend trip to France. He wants to introduce me formally to his mum.

#228 – Saved Christmas dinner when Molly burnt the turkey by Apparating home to get the one he’d saved for our Boxing Day meal.

#274 – Ate my arse out for a solid forty-five minutes until I was a whimpering, fucking mess before shagging me something rotten.

#319 – Took Ron to St Mungo’s when he fell off his broom like the idiot he is.

#339 – Agreed to move in with me.

#365 – Said yes.

Tears fell freely, but Draco didn’t care. He wiped them away, stomach in knots, heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

Three hundred and sixty-five reasons why Harry loved him sat in the palm of his hand.

He looked at the last page again.

“Said yes?” he asked.

Harry nodded, his own eyes welling. With a shaky breath, he said, “Will you marry me?”

The question landed hard and firm between them, and Draco knew he would need three hundred and sixty-five ways to say yes.

He started with the simplest one.

With a teary chuckle, he nodded—resolute.

“Yes. Merlin, yes.”

From the pocket of his joggers, Harry pulled out a small box and opened it.

Inside, nestled in the velvet cushion, was a silver ring.

@drarrymicrofic - 171 words

The Bludger hits Harry right in the back of his head. He couldn't see it, the way it went, and the stupid twins were too slow. He goes down like a stone, the broom flailing after him pointlessly. Just a second, and he will hit the ground, and Draco will win this game. There is no other option. No other seeker would come close.

Just now he couldn't care less. He can literally see the Snitch, and he couldn't give less of a damn. If Harry's impact hurts him, kills him, even, what is the victory worth then? No one will call it worthy, no one will celebrate him.

Draco ignores the little winged ball and dives down instead. Just in time, just in time, catching a breathing, invaluable thing, more important than victory.

Shane starts collecting recipes - as many versions of the same recipe as he can. The next time Ilya goes out for a brand deal or press thing, and Shane's alone at home for the day, he takes the opportunity to meticulously print out cards with the recipes on them so he can keep track, borrows every pot and pan he can from his parents, the neighbours, his teammates, whoever, and starts making all the different recipes, labelling them as he goes.

That evening when Ilya gets home to the overwhelming smell of cooking and sees Shane surrounded by what looks like every pot in Ottawa, he first thinks Shane's had a bit of a mental breakdown. But then he sees the recipe cards and realises what Shane's been making.

"I know we might not find the exact same one, but I thought if we tried a bunch of different ones, you could at least find the one that's the closest."

It's so Shane. Who else would think to make what feels like a hundred pots of the same stew in one day in the hopes that just one of them would help give Ilya a little taste of home?

No accusations can be made about them throwing games for each other, because there are several videos of them being super competitive about absolutely nothing. For example, one of the dumped files is a video of the two playing Monopoly (filmed discretely from a hallway). They look about ready to murder each other. And then, off-screen, Yuna's voice - in a Mom Voice TM, of course - calls, "Boys, you better not be doing what I think you are!"

Ilya says, "Nyet, Mama," at the same time Shane says "No, Mom!" And in perfect sync they hide evidence of the game, not a single movement between them wasted.

There's also a video of them trash talking each other for being slow as they race to put away the most clean dishes from the dishwasher.

It's a whole genre. Play-fighting as they bring out a measuring tape to literally measure who shoveled the most snow from the driveway, bringing up hockey stats as they argue over who deserves to hold the tv remote, etc.