Alhelily



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    How, exactly, do you tell the Justice League you weren’t a feral cryptid haunting Gotham?

    That single, most ridiculous question had been gnawing at Bruce’s mind for the past week. He could let them believe it—he had certainly let worse rumors fester when it served his purposes—but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

    or

    The continuation of Unintentional Cryptid.

    Bruce tries to clear up the small misunderstanding but every single time he interacts with the Justice League, it gets worse

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    22 Feb 2026

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    Who.

    Who taught Shane about this.

    Ilya is going to kill someone, and then himself. Not Shane. Never Shane. But he is going to have to kill someone with his bare hands.

    Or: Shane invents advanced blowjob positions with his own beautiful freaky mind, thereby unintentionally turning Ilya into a danger to himself and others.

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    21 Feb 2026

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    Gianna: what'd I miss??

    Sarah: my cousin needs a date and shane hollander has a girlfriend

    Gianna: omg????

    ----

    another WAG Ilya fic <3

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    21 Feb 2026

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    “Don’t–” Ilya starts, already reaching, already cupping Shane’s face between both hands, thumbs warm and tender against his cheekbones like they’ve always belonged there.

    Shane’s eyes are big and gorgeous and genuinely curious. “Don’t what?”

    Don’t make me look like a lovesick idiot. Don’t make my heart trip over itself for a way out of my chest and into yours. Don’t say it like that—so fucking sincere—like you don’t know how devastating it is for me.

    “Don’t butcher my language,” he says instead and kisses Shane’s smile hard, like reflex, like gravity, like there was never going to be another option.

    -

    Shane sets out to learn Russian. Ilya discovers he's incapable of keeping his composure.

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    21 Feb 2026

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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    21 Feb 2026