Right in the feels

Thanks for tagging @circledwithaheart . Haven’t shared anything for ages so here’s a bit from up close and personal Holland bodyguard au - Ilya pov

Still laughing Ilya tries to placate the angry kitten scowling beside him.

"No seriously, I will be good, I promise. Will be best behaved star in ballet world ."

Hollander doesn't reply but the disbelief is written all over is face, which is outrageous. Ilya puts on his most offended face.

"You doubt? I am Russian! Promise is serious thing, I say will be good so will be good."

Hollander rolls closer, lifting up on his elbow so he's hovering above him. Ilya likes the view, even if, or maybe because, the expression on his face makes his feelings on that dramatic declaration very clear.

Hollander says;

"Really….?"

in the flattest, most unconvinced tone Ilya has ever heard.

He tuts sadly expressing his dismay.

"Hollander where is trust? I am hurt!"

Hollander rolls his eyes but his mouth is twitching again.

“You’re not coping” Ok here’s the deal; I’ll stop feeling this anger when we have a national memorial (we don’t) or a cdc equipped to stop it from happening again (we don’t) or a population that takes a deadly disease seriously BEFORE it effects them personally (WE DON’T!)

Greetings! This is my first time writing for @topgundrabble. Hope you guys like it!

ᯓ ✈︎

Maverick scans the view as he rests his elbows against the steel railing; it's cold against his sleeve, but in this particular moment, he has lost the ability to feel any of his senses.

He watches the view below—as Tom Kazansky gives Slider a pat on the back, lifting his own suitcase into the trunk of the car. It rumbles inside lousily, as ice whips his head back around, attempting to answer as many of Slider’s questions as he can.

Slider’s eyes are already glistening with tears, and Maverick is tempted to do the same. He edges closer to the railing and can catch glimpses of their conversation, a drunken mix of “I'll miss yous” and whispers.

Maverick wrinkles his nose, him and Ice, it was complicated. Always running in different directions— always running away. It was Ice’s habit, and Maverick obliged.

Now Ice would be leaving, on a carrier for god knows how long. Maverick wonders if Ice will lie awake at night, underneath that ship and think about their nights shared.

He pulls out a cigarette, ducking his head a little. The wind is blowing his hair into his face, contributing to his annoyance. he flicks his lighter, it doesn't respond. What a fucking day. He looks back down the railing and realises that ice has disappeared. Slider is crossing his arms, waiting around.

“Need a lighter?” A voice says, and Maverick gently turns around, watching Ice walk toward him. He's in Maverick’s white t-shirt, only Maverick can tell that it's a little too tight. Maverick can't help but grin. “Please,” he says, holding out his cigarette, Ice strides towards him, lighting his cigarette.

Both of them don’t take their eyes off of eachother and Maverick can practically smell every inch of Ice.

He can tell that Ice used the shampoo that smells like olives, he can tell that Ice had just downed maybe 3 cups of coffee. And all Maverick could think about was pulling him in.

“Leaving me already?” He whispers as he breathes out smoke. Turning back to examine the platform below. Ice walks up next to him. He looks at Maverick, his shoulders softening.

“Best day of my life.” Ice mumbles, But Maverick can hear the quiver at the end of his sentence.

Maverick goes quiet, trying to visualise how different his life would look with Ice out of the picture. He coughs a little as the smoke gets caught in his throat, and Ice pats him on the back. “You’re a mess.” Ice teases. Maverick smiles weakly, as Ice continues rubbing circles on his back.

“You’ll think of me?” Maverick questions, running his own hand through his hair. Ice breathes, and Maverick notices a wisp of smoke coming from his nose.

“Every day.” Ice whispers into Maverick’s ear, tugging him closer by the jacket. Maverick inhales sharply, the corner of his eyes welling up with tears. “Fuck you, Kazansky. I haven't cried in months.” He chuckles through his silent sniffles.

Ice runs a hand under Maverick’s shirt and pulls him in to embrace him. “I’ll be back soon.” Maverick nods as he leans in the crook of Ice’s neck. A little embarrassed that he’s crying about this.

“Someone’s going to see.” Maverick breathes out, shakily.

“Just Slider.” Ice mutters as he pushes back Maverick’s hair, slowly threading his fingers through each strand, holding still for a second by the end.

“I care about you.” He says and Maverick practically melts into his warmth, strengthening his grip on Ice.

“You should go.” Maverick nods. Splitting them apart again. His eyes are very keenly red, but he hopes Ice doesn’t point it out.

“I should go.” Ice repeats, playing with his ring. Running a careful thumb over the blue orb. he takes a step back and walks away. Maverick hopes that he will turn around. Anything, come back, stay. But Ice doesn't, he takes his departure till the end of the staircase.

Maverick is about to turn back to head into his room, when Ice comes barging back in, he practically races towards Maverick. “fuck,” he groans, “come here.” he whispers as he grabs Maverick by the collar of his bomber jacket and thrashes their lips against each other. Maverick grabs the back of Ice’s neck, Ice slightly pushing him back into the railing. Maverick is aware that Slider must be gaping at them right now, but Ice doesn't seem to care.

Ice places kisses all over Maverick’s face, and ruffles up his hair. he pulls him closer once more. “I’ll call.” he chokes. And Maverick can swear he can see ice tearing up. “Don't tell me you’ve gotten into the habit of crying like a little girl,” Maverick grumbles, placing a kiss to the corner of Ice’s mouth.

He pats him on the chest. And their foreheads touch once more.

“You better be safe and sound.”

slicemav sketch request for @death2toby

i loved the end of tgm where they are all alive and present and in a loose but wearily affectionate throuple

He doesn't get much useful advice and soon the guys are arguing about how long you can pursue someone before it starts getting pathetic. Holmberg is at one end of the spectrum at two weeks ("We're rich professional athletes, man, we shouldn't have to try that hard.") and Wyatt Hayes is on the other at three months ("Maybe she likes you but just doesn't want the WAG lifestyle. You need to prove to her that you see her as a person with her own goals separate from yours.")

Then someone notices that Ilya, despite his wealth of experience, hasn't chimed in yet and asks, "What do you think, Cap?"

"Two years."

The entire room goes still.

"What?"

"Two years," Ilya repeats, completely unashamed. "Is not pathetic to go for what you want. Not if you think they're worth it."

In sync, every person in the room turns to look at Shane, who's pretending to fiddle with the laces on his skates, looking pink-faced and vaguely pleased.

Finally, Holmberg turns to the rookie. "Okay, I guess two years is fine if it's Shane Hollander. Is your girl Shane Hollander?"

The poor rookie has no response to that. His girl is, indeed, not literally Shane Hollander.

"Man, gay people move different," LaPointe mutters.

I quit writing when I realized I had no desire to do all the steps to professionally publish a book. And I started writing again years later when I realized I was allowed to do things I enjoyed without a profit endgoal

You don't have to do a thing the way society says is correct