#maksim kurylenko

[maksimkurylenko]

Maksim Kurylenko’s London Awards 2024 Attire.

Location: Royal Albert Hall Accompanied by: Isla Hunt. @islahvnt When: 23rd of March, 2024.

#2024mobawardsattire #attire #event #event ; awards 24 #maksim kurylenko #pre awards

[theundergroundlondon]

MAKSIM KURYLENKO (RU) VS. YVES DE METZ (FR)  

While the de Metz brother Maks truly wanted to fight was now six feet underground, the man’s brother was a suitable substitute. Maks was aware that his track record in the ring was not the best and the French man in front of him most likely wanted nothing more than murder. Which was why for the first time, Maks was being strategic.

His eyes remained focused solely on Yves. Without the pleasure of seeing him in the ring, Maks didn’t know what kind of fighter he was, but he could guess the Frenchman was emotional enough to be goaded. This needed to be a quick fight, if only for the sake of Maks’ wellbeing. Letting de Metz string it along had the potential to end unfortunately. Positioning himself on the balls of his feet so that he could duck away at a moments nothing, he reached out and made a come and get me gesture with a full blown smirk spread across his face.

-

Given how many times Varden had asked him whether he was ready for his head-to-head, one might’ve come to the conclusion he was the underdog.

He had some words to say about that.

When Yves de Metz stepped out into the ring—though admittedly for the first time in longer than he would’ve liked—there was no lack of confidence. No last minute second guessing his ability. No real reason to feel disheartened into believing he deserved anything but a victory tonight. Yves didn’t fight often because he didn’t have to. But people would soon be reminded that that didn’t mean it was because he couldn’t. Too, that taunting a man like him wasn’t meant for a stage made for a spectacle.

There had been plenty of bloodied fists thus far. No doubt, that was precisely what the Russian had been expecting as his first move. Instead, as soon as his distance was measured, Yves had delivered a kick in the direction of his head so reminiscent of Noa’s favourite means of disarming an enemy, he hoped she was watching. The shot, even if connected, did leave him open to retaliation, but he’d delivered it with such enormous force, coasting right on his fucking anger, that catching his opponent off-guard with the assault had meant ample time to put space between them once more. A strong opener, perhaps, but Yves was aware you could only catch a man like Kurylenko by surprise once. And that once was for his sister.

Two could play the taunting game. Now it was his turn.

“Where do you think she learned it, huh?”

-

Maks was too busy watching for the swing of Yves fist to catch his foot in time to completely dodge it. What he did manage to do was get his forearm up in time to prevent any broken teeth, but he was sure that wouldn’t stop Vika from performing a concussion check the second he stepped out of the ring. Using his one moment of peace, Maks wiped at his mouth just to make sure there was no blood yet before his hands were up and ready and his feet were closing the gap Yves had put between the two of them.

But his lips turned up into a wolf’s snarl at the mention of Noa. Without thinking, Maks’ swung out in a blind man’s fury, putting all of his power into making contact somewhere on the Frenchman, he didn’t particularly care where. All technique was flying out the window. As was all semblance of propriety. If the crowd hadn’t guessed that the two men in the ring wanted each other dead, they surely did now. “Shame you didn’t teach her enough to keep her alive.”

-

People underestimated body shots. Especially without gloves.

Everyone always wanted to go for the glamorous knockout. One minute, a fist connecting with the face of their opponent. The next, said opponent on the fucking floor. It rarely worked out that way, though. Aiming for the head, particularly when a fight was descending into a scrap, was always a risky move when there were more bad places to hit than good. It was hard to tell whether the punch Maksim landed in his side was meant for there, though, or whether it was at best, an opportunistic flail with the sole intention of hitting something.

Didn’t matter when it was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Still, after a momentary pause in which he gathered himself in recovery, Yves kept on his toes. Momentum was important here. Hitting a stationary target was a fuck tonne easier than a moving one, and stamina was absolutely something Yves had on his side, even after an absence from hand to hand. Striking out was a chess game. Throwing too many hands, out of desperation or whatever else, was the best way to wear yourself out. So he waited for his moments. Even in spite of the words that left Maksim’s mouth, he refused to let his anger cloud a patience that was necessary to succeed. Eventually, the Russian would get frustrated…

“Shame you never got over it. All that bitterness must’ve been hard.”

…be it because Yves wasn’t making big moves and he wanted to finish it, or because Yves refused to be baited by his comments about his family.

And when he got sloppy, the Frenchman would counter.

-

Fucking Frenchman.

No showing off. No losing focus. Vika’s words echoed in Maks’ head as he forced himself to slow down and think. As much as he hated to admit it, brute force was not getting him what he wanted. But, making contact had winded de Metz. That was a fucking start. He breathed in once again, feeling more calm descend over his body.

Which didn’t stop his eyes from narrowing at the other man’s words. Instead of retorting, his shifted his weight on to his back foot and returned the Frenchman’s opening kick, this time aimed at the opposite side of the body that he’d stuck. All he needed to do was get de Metz on the ground. That had to be his sole focus if he wanted to walk out of the ring on his own.

-

The kick landed, and it’d hurt.

Yves had seen it coming, though; the shift in the weight, the brief pause to position himself right, all indicators one looked out for. Whilst he hadn’t particularly wanted to take it, it would be worth it to catch him on the back foot. Literally. Even though he’d attempted to grab the Russian’s leg before he could get back on two feet, Yves had narrowly missed his window. So, instead, he threw himself full force into the bastard in front of him like a fucking freight train. He’d take the recovery time from the kick to shove him back into the ropes; hopeful to catch him off guard, and more so to smother him enough to avoid any further attempts at his face.

Their closeness made a prime case for kneeing him in the torso. Repeatedly. Wherever he could fucking reach. As many times as the brief moment he’d caught him off guard would allow. Ribs. Stomach. If he could’ve found an angle to grab his head and drag it down to meet it, he’d have fucking done that too. There was no referee in this ring to split anybody up.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” It came out between pants. And Yves meant it.

-

It wasn’t until Yves was throwing himself at Maks that he realized just how much of a mistake the kick was. He saw the French man push forward, but his footing wasn’t solid enough to get out of the way without ending up on the floor. A loud groan left his mouth as his back hit the ropes with the force of a freight train.

It was all Maks could do to hit any part of Yves’ side that his arms could reach. Which wasn’t much with how each knee to his torso caused his body to contract further and further in. There was no doubt in Maks’ mind that he was going to break his promise to Vika that he would walk out of the ring. The pain was simply too much and he had no doubt in his mind that the Russian would carry out his promise and that the Rutherford princess would let him. Maks’ knees were collapsing underneath him as he used the little strength left in his arms to tap on the rope.

-

Even though he was hurting bad from the hits he’d taken to the side, movement obviously hindered by the fact he assumed his ribs were broken, adrenaline was a hell of a fucking thing. It kept him going in spite of the fact his body was telling him to stop. Maybe if he was smarter, he would’ve listened.

“Yves, enough.” Hard to tell who the voice belonged to. The crowd was deafening.

Was the motherfucker trying to tap out?

With what little strength that remained, muscles on fire, Yves dragged him away from the ropes and shoved the scumbag down on to the canvas. It dawned on him that he could’ve managed a repeat of his brother’s impressive end to their own fight; a kick to the head that wouldn’t have been undeserved in the slightest. Instead, and fully ignorant of the French people ringside calling his name, he took advantage of the man’s stunned state. Hands around his neck.

If Lara had any intention of stopping the fight, she didn’t seem to be vocalising it.

Maybe he wasn’t angry before, but now that he had him like this, Russians heckling loudly, completely at his mercy, it was sure flooding his fucking veins like a reflex to being so damn close to ending it. All he wanted to do was squeeze until the worthless life left his eyes. And maybe if Varden hadn’t jumped in to end things, a good sportsman until the fucking end, Yves might’ve finished what he so badly wanted to. Dev hadn’t quite been a murder but he sure wished Maksim had been one.

As if brought back to reality by Varden’s grip, though, the ragged breathing tempered, the red he saw fading, the Frenchman eventually stopped struggling.

It was called.

The fight might have been over. But he wasn’t fucking finished.

#fightpara #fightclub32 #maksim kurylenko #yves de metz

[maria-azenha]

Where: Berkeley Manor Post Plot Drop Who: @maksimkurylenko

Fingers comb through her hair, the dire need to drown out the screams and pleas that echoed in her head.

She could feel bodies push past her, all heading in the opposite direction, but she had this sudden urge to push forward. If she kept going, she could escape that night.

A quietness suddenly engulfed her and something snapped that pulled her back, which in reality she wished hadn't, that the reflection in the window was one she didn't want to see.

Maria turns to face him, noting that he was blocking the exit. "Maksim." Her tone flat.

#thread: maksim kurylenko #after party #post plot drop #event.mobawards2024

[ayda--demir]

Ayda: Happy New Year Ayda: I thought I might see you around the borough tonight.

#text: maksim kurylenko #text

[laurent--stpierre]

@maksimkurylenko Event: Valentine's Day Auction. Time: After Party.

The after party was in full swing. People were too distracted with their own shit, their own drinks, their faltering fucking relationships...nobody was paying attention to anything outside of the bubble. They were the types that never really did, anyway. Finding him in the crowd was easy, because the creepy little scarecrow fuck stood out like a sore thumb amongst other, normal human beings.

If he'd thought he wouldn't notice earlier, he was wrong.

The two had already clashed over Maksim's inability to keep away from his very-uninvolved-in-mob-shit partner, and yet still, he'd sought her out pre-auction to taunt her. And this is why the Russians would never fucking learn. They always had to make shit personal. Weaving through a few drunk hookers, the Frenchman subtly switched his two Commandant rings onto his right hand.

"I warned you to stay away from Leyla. Evidently, you're too dumb a cunt to listen."

The Russian hardly had time to acknowledge he was being addressed before Laurent's silver and gold adorned fist collided hard with his jaw. Enough to do real damage? Nah. He wasn't looking to get kicked out. Enough to send him stumbling a few steps back into the bar, the girls around him shrieking in surprise? Yes.

"Next time, I'll kick your fucking teeth down your throat."

#conversation: maksim kurylenko #event: vday 2024

[emine--yalaz]

Where: Haringey When: May 10, 2023 Who: @maksimkurylenko

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be by now.” Annoyance evident in her tone. “You have until tomorrow to get me my money, otherwise you will be dead.” Her words were warning enough for them to know she would act on them. 

The petite Turk turns away, finding a body in front of her. “A wanted man." Chocolate hues rake over the Russian before she steps around him, sliding back into her chair.

#thread: maksim kurylenko #thread

[leylayilmazx]

☎

NAME: Murderer #5

PICTURE: 

LAST TEXT SENT:

N/A: WHY WOULD SHE TEXT HIM, SHE DOESN'T HAVE A DEATH WISH!!

#;; muse asks #ft maksim #;; maksim kurylenko

[mikhailvorshevskyx]

@makskurylenko​

They were being played as fools. In the time Mikhail was gone, captured, starving, beaten - he at least hoped things would have moved along. With Eva gone, with her doing so much for them before her eyes shut - he at least hoped it would not have gone in vain. 

Now, with Lara Rutherford dead and then coming back to life and one of their own joining the ranks? They looked like fools, more and more. 

Things like this wouldn’t have happened in Launceston, it would have never come to this embarrassment. Maks had always been one of the people who got things done. So what the fuck happened? 

“Are you preparing to die? Because I can offer you a fucking bullet right now.” 

#;; Maksim Kurylenko

[elainahalevyx]

@makskurylenko​

It wasn’t hard to spot him, especially after the fight. As she walked over to the bar, she placed her hands on his shoulders and forcibly turned him around to face her. “You know, for a moment I felt sad that your face wasn’t stomped to fucking dust in that ring, but then...” She pressed her lips together, disgust clearly written all over her face. “I thought the last face you should ever see, is hers.”

She pressed her fingers into the place she knew it would hurt. “Are you counting your last days yet?”

#;; Maksim Kurylenko #;; Event ; Fightclub'22

[lararutherford]

☎

NAME: Maksim Kurylenko. RINGTONE: Standard. PHOTO:

LAST PICTURE SENT:

none.

LAST TEXT SENT:

> I saw a building on fire today and it made me think of Vorya. > Such fond memories. > Hope you're all well.

#lmaoo #answered: meme #text: maksim kurylenko

[maksimkurylenko]

Maksim Kurylenko's Valentine's Day Event Attire 2024.

Venue: The Barbican Centre Date: Friday, February 23rd, 2024. Escorted by: No one.

#maksim kurylenko #valentines day 2024 #event ; valentines day #attire

[cassandra-acton]

@maksimkurylenko Location: Vorya. Dated: 30/9/23.

"I can't be here, Jess." "Why?" "You know why. It's Russian. Clue is in the name, you dumb slut." "So what? It's just a bar, Cass. Chill out..." "A bar full of fucking Russians."

Maybe she could've made that disdainful comment with an inside voice...

When her best friend had mentioned a night out on the town, this wasn't exactly what the politician had in mind. So ready to make the most of Silas looking after the kiddos, though, she'd stupidly asked too few questions from a best friend who would've walked into a burning building if she thought the drinks were good enough. The blonde briefly glanced over a bare shoulder, anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of catching sight of a familiar face. Lo and fucking behold, the worst one imaginable was outside taking a smoke break.

And before she could look away, their eyes met. And then he was walking their way.

If looks could kill, Jess would never know reincarnation. She'd be dead forever.

Voice lowered to a hushed tone, lest he overhear: "I'm going to push you onto a tube line later. I know you think I'm joking but like actually."

#conversation: maksim kurylenko #dated: 30/9/23

[lefebvre-emilia]

When: Sept 29th, 2023 Where: Park in Camden Who: @maksimkurylenko

The sun was finally out and she couldn't pass up the opportunity to take Édith out to the park. Get out of the house and feel some normalcy in her life. They had a nice small picnic and when she saw it was getting closer to dinner time, she packed up their belongings, making their way back to the SUV.

With the driver in the front, Édith buckled in the back, Emilia did a once over to make sure they had everything. "Teddy." She glances around, not seeing the bear. Even at three weeks old, Édith would only calm with certain things, and the bear was one of them. Taking a second to think, she knew exactly where it was.

"I'll be right back. The bear is on the bench." The driver nodded at her, one bodyguard sat with the baby, and the other gave her that look. "I'll be two minutes, I'll be fine." There was no harm going to fetch the stuffy. Even when she made her direction down the path, she could feel him twenty yards behind her.

She came around the small bend, emerald hues widening when she saw him standing there, the bear in hand. It took all her will power not to want to end his life.

"That is mine." She states, straightening her body, a cold glare narrowing at him.

#thread: maksim kurylenko #thread

[bangarax]

“Wooow, the Frenchman really has some anger issues... Did you see that? He literally had to be clawed off of him! Pity though it had to be stopped...” 

“Boss definitely will not be happy. Isn’t it like a third year in a row he loses? I better bring him some tea later... I’ll pay with the wins from this fight.”

#;; reaction #Maksim Kurylenko (RU) vs. Yves de Metz (FR)

[ayda--demir]

Who: @maksimkurylenko Where:

She hadn't talked to Maksim since new year's eve. The night was quieter than she was expecting and she was home soon after the bar closed. There were times she contemplated messaging him again, but with everything going on with all sides, she sort of spent some time hidden in the background. Turning her attention back to her community; reminding herself what mattered to her.

Ayda had bought a few items from the market, making her way back down the street to the bakery. Over the last several months she had slowly renovated the apartment over top and moved in. Debt was screaming at her, and selling her flat, it allowed her to pay off most of all the debt and keep some in a savings account for a rainy day.

Coming around the corner, she halted in her steps to stop from colliding into a body, widening hues looking up at the face.

"Maks," a small smile pulls on her features.

#thread: maksim kurylenko #~convo

[mobscene-awards]

RUNNERS UP:

Maksim Kurylenko | 13

Lyudmila Korshunova | 12

Yvonne Rutherford | 9

#y'all are so wrong for this #2024winners #w:berat