art by visualtrashman he/xem|23|

I’d love to! first, which one 😭

Ilya drops to his knees in front of Shane, nuzzling the crease of Shane's groin.

"Ilya, what the hell?" Shane sputters. He rubs sleep from his eyes, ruffles his pillow-mussed hair.

Ilya inhales, so his shaky lungs fill with Shane's musk. His dominant hand scoops the back of Shane's knees to his own pecs; his other hand gropes Shane's ass. "I need you,"

His voice is muffled through the fabric, but there is no disguising the pathetic whine to his voice. And, to make his stomach even queasier, he can smell the alcohol on his own breath. His eyes bulge from a swallowed gag.

Shane jostles Ilya's curls a bit, lolling Ilya's limp head on his equally lax neck. He flinches his hand away, like he'd touched something rotten. "You're scaring me."

"M' sorry," Ilya hooks his chin above the bulge in Shane's boxers. His eyelashes are sticky with tears, and his cheeks are radiating a sickening warmth. His nose is running onto his top lip. And he is ignorant to it all. His focus is on Shane, singularly, wholly.

Y’all aren’t getting any context beyond:

-this is the most I’ve written since the 7th

-the names/pronouns stay censored

-this is not a flashback

-you are not ready for part two of this fic

-good fucking luck, I’m feeling evil

-yes this is the TADAA fic

Oh hey :)

Thx for sending this ask, darling. It actually arrived in the middle of me finishing up the next part of my fic. Here's mine:

I’d love to! first, which one 😭

It can be any work in progress that you want it to be. Preferably ones that you haven't added anything 2 in a while.

Something else in the conversation that's been the entire meaning and purpose and reason for his whole damn existence, Kon's pretty sure.

He'd pulled his phone out earlier to look up the kids' names. He knows if Tim had named either of them . . . well. That was the kind of thing to look at, if Tim had named either of them. He'd found more than a few meanings and maybe-etymologies for "Broderick", but most of them had involved references to being either a "son of" or a "descendant of" another name, or had just translated as "brother" straight-out. He'd also found a few that'd said the origin of the most common related name he'd seen meant "a dream" or something like that, and a few that'd said something about "from the broad ridge".

He'd found exactly one that'd said "son of a brother".

So yeah, even if there's interdimensional bullshit involved here, Kon's pretty fucking positive that's the meaning Tim was thinking of.

Then he'd looked up "Tamsin", and literally every single page he'd found had just said "twin", and absolutely nothing else at all.

So . . . yeah, again.

So when the bastard's heart tries to stop the third time, Kon just tightens his TTK around it again and keeps it pumping again, and keeps the ungrateful bastard's lungs working again too. Keeps getting air to his brain and keeps his blood moving, and keeps slowing down what isn't clotting fast enough. He can't stop it, because Tim needs to have actual blood flow and the doctors need to know what the fuck actually needs fixed, but he can definitely minimize the bleeding.

Thirty chest compressions. Two breaths in less than ten seconds. Repeat. Thirty chest compressions. Two breaths in less than ten seconds. Repeat.

It's been hours, and even with what he knows from Guardian and Martha, Kon doesn't know what the fuck to do for these kids and definitely doesn't know who the fuck they even think he is, and he still hasn't made any call-ins to anyone even though he fucking knows he should've, or at least should be, but it doesn't fucking matter.

It doesn't fucking matter, because. Tim doesn't get to fucking leave him like this. Not any fucking version of him, but especially not any fucking version of him that Kon's close enough to see or hear or feel.

Any fucking version of him that Kon's close enough to reach.

Thirty compressions. Two breaths.

Repeat.

There's two Kryptonian kids sleeping like adorable little boulders in his lap that a version of his best friend is trying to die on, and they both clearly recognize—well, his face, if nothing else. Which isn't saying much, but . . .