Jerlan - Blog Posts

NikoBran & JerLan - “Can I have your son for the rest of my life?”

Brandon was having an exceptional day, one of those rare stretches of uninterrupted peace and focus. His latest canvas, an impressionist vision of Nikolai with that usual mix of shadowed wild charm, was coming together perfectly. He smiled to himself, dabbing a bit more paint to capture the angle of Nikolai’s jaw, a touch of light for the smirk that, to him, was pure art. His muse. His Heathen Peasant. Really, if he were to be honest, Nikolai was as good as a prince himself—but it was fun, calling him his Peasant. After all, didn’t Niko call him his Prince Charming?

Lost in his work, he barely noticed the sound of footsteps until the door slammed open behind him. He turned just as his twin, Landon, stormed in, his phone clutched in his hand, looking like he was about to deliver some dire news. Brandon raised a brow, unfazed, and continued to blend colors on his palette. What now?

“Have you seen Jeremy and Nikolai’s story?” Landon asked, his voice sharp with barely-contained annoyance.

Brandon shook his head, shrugging as he wiped his hands off. “Not yet. What’s so urgent?” he asked casually, though he snatched the phone from Landon with practiced ease.

The screen lit up with an image of Jeremy and Nikolai mid-soccer game, both flexing their arms with ridiculous grins, muscles on full display, jerseys clinging from the sweat. It was practically designed to be a thirst trap, and Brandon felt his eye twitch at the sight of them looking like they were on the cover of a sports magazine. Soccer? His mind reeled for a second as he thought aloud, “Why soccer of all things?”

He barely had a moment to process before Eli sauntered in, phone in hand, looking far too amused. “Ah, so you saw it too?” he said with a chuckle, nodding towards the story as Brandon continued staring, his annoyance only growing. “Guess I should explain. Last time I visited Killian, Jeremy and Nikolai were tagging along, as usual. I might have mentioned that Uncle Levi, was a bit of a soccer star in his prime. Thought it would be funny if they used that fact to ‘charm’ the future in-law,” Eli grinned, shrugging. “Didn’t think they’d actually take it this far.”

Landon crossed his arms, shaking his head. “You’re telling me that you planted this insane idea in their heads, and they just ran with it?”

Eli’s grin only widened as he shrugged. “What can I say? They seemed… interested. They said they wanted to get Uncle Levi’s approval.”

Brandon groaned, rubbing his temples, but he couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, of course, they’re using my dad’s ancient soccer past as an excuse to post thirst traps. This is practically bait. As if Dad would be okay with anyone dating us..Dad thinks we are still kids.,” he muttered, exasperated but amused.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Ilya grumbled under his breath, feeling like he’d been assigned to the most ridiculous mission of his life. He was a hardened mafia guard, for heaven's sake, not some influencer’s cameraman! Yet here he was, jogging across a grassy field with his phone clutched tightly, running after two self-obsessed troublemakers as they posed and flexed in front of the camera. It was like watching a pair of overgrown children, except that these overgrown children were supposed to be the “fearsome” leaders of their respective places in Bartva.

Jeremy struck another dramatic pose, arms flexed, grinning with a perfect smile. Meanwhile, Nikolai kicked an imaginary ball, trying to make the whole thing look at least a little authentic. “Ilya, angle it from lower!” Nikolai barked, pointing downwards with an exaggerated motion. “You’re making us look short!”

Ilya rolled his eyes, adjusting the phone reluctantly. Making them look short? He thought to himself.—how much lower did they need him to go?

Jeremy and Nikolai reviewed the picture and immediately groaned in unison. “Ugh, no. We look ridiculous. Try it again!” Jeremy declared, putting his hands on his hips. “We need to look like the type of future sons-in-law who could make a retired soccer player proud. What would Levi think of that one?”

Ilya sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Look, I can tell you what he’d think,” he muttered. “He’d think you’re both insane.”

But the two weren’t paying him any attention. Jeremy was too busy readjusting his hair, slicking back some stray strands that had come loose. Meanwhile, Nikolai tried a new pose, hands on his knees like he’d just scored a game-winning goal.

“Come on, Ilya! Capture the spirit, the intensity! Make it look like we’re professionals,” Jeremy insisted, gesturing with that trademark confidence of his that could either make a person feel like a million dollars or make them want to throttle him.

“Professional what?” Ilya muttered under his breath. “Professional pains in my—”

“Did you say something?” Nikolai asked, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” Ilya grumbled louder this time, raising the phone again. “Just hoping no one comes by to see this madness.”

The two posed dramatically, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, staring off into the distance as though contemplating their destiny. They were fully committed, completely unfazed by how utterly absurd they looked.

After a dozen more failed shots and several changes in angle, they finally settled on one they deemed acceptable. Ilya breathed a sigh of relief, ready to reclaim his dignity as a serious bodyguard—but, of course, his relief was short-lived.

“Alright, now off to the art studio,” Nikolai announced with a grin, completely unaware of the suffering he was causing. “If we’re gonna win over Brandon and Landon’s mom, we need her to know we’re more than just pretty faces and sports studs.” He winked at Jeremy, who smirked back.

Ilya groaned as the two trotted off toward the mansion’s art studio like it was some grand adventure. He trailed behind, reluctant but helpless, resigned to the fate that being their bodyguard—and, apparently, their personal photographer—was his life now.

When they got to the studio, Jeremy immediately went to the paint supplies and smeared a few colors on a palette. Nikolai changed to a spare hoodie like he was prepping for the biggest art show of his life, eyeing himself in the mirror and adjusting his hair.

“What are you doing?” Ilya finally asked, unable to hold back any longer. “This is getting embarrassing. No one’s going to take you seriously if word about this gets out, you know.”

Nikolai laughed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “No one will know, Ilya. That’s the point of having a loyal, trustworthy guard.” He winked, entirely too cheeky for someone who had just spent the last hour meticulously arranging his poses for Instagram stories.

Jeremy was even worse. He dipped a brush into a bucket of dark red paint, flicking it around on the canvas with the dramatic flair of a true artist, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Just a few more shots, Ilya,” he said, grinning as he smeared paint on his cheek with his thumb. “Make sure I look soulful, you know, like I’ve got depth.”

Depth? Ilya couldn’t help but wonder what depths these two had beyond the ridiculousness he’d been forced to endure all afternoon. Still, he raised the phone and clicked another photo, this time capturing Jeremy looking “deep and thoughtful” with his paint-smeared face and Nikolai gazing intensely at his “masterpiece” on the canvas.

The two reviewed the photo, nodding approvingly, clearly impressed with their own efforts. “Oh, this one is perfect,” Nikolai said with a proud smile, patting Ilya on the back as if he were some award-winning photographer.

Ilya muttered under his breath, casting a wary glance toward the studio entrance, just in case anyone came in. The last thing he needed was for someone else in the mafia to see him in this compromising position, photographing Jeremy and Nikolai pretending to be artists. He’d never hear the end of it.

Ilya clicked off the shot, shaking his head in disbelief. “This… this is a new low,” he said, but Nikolai just laughed, wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder as they reviewed the clip, fully satisfied.

“Well, we’re off to charm the in-laws,” Jeremy said with a grin, giving Ilya a thumbs up. “Thanks for all the hard work today, Ilya. You’re a real gem.”

Ilya groaned, fully intending to take the next two days off to recover from the utter humiliation of being their camera-wielding sidekick.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Levi sat at his desk, his phone in hand, scrolling through the barrage of photos and videos sent by those two hooligans, Jeremy and Nikolai. Each shot was more ridiculous than the last—images of Jeremy flexing and grinning like a wolf, Nikolai attempting to look “soulful” while smearing paint on a canvas, and, of course, the final pièce de résistance: a slow-motion video of them “playing” soccer, all dramatic lighting and ridiculous poses.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “What am I looking at? Did they… did they even kick the ball once?” He squinted at one of the pictures, which featured Jeremy with his arm around Nikolai, both gazing dramatically into the distance .

“Who do they think they’re fooling?” Levi mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. “They probably don’t know the first thing about soccer. They’re just trying to butter me up.” He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing as he came to grips with the fact that these two were very likely going to be his sons-in-law.

Astrid breezed by, catching a glimpse of the photos over his shoulder. She laughed, taking the phone from him to get a closer look. “Oh, that’s adorable! Look how hard they’re trying,” she said, scrolling to the picture where Jeremy was staring off into the horizon with paint smudged on his cheek. “They’re doing this to impress you, you know.”

“Impress me?” Levi huffed. “By making themselves look like fools? If they wanted to impress me, they’d stay out of trouble and keep their little mafia nonsense to themselves. But no, my sons have to fall for the most dangerous mafia boys.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “You’re just mad because they’re flaunting how much they adore our sons.”

Levi grumbled as she handed him back the phone. “I’m mad because they think this’ll win me over. Look at them—posing like a couple of overgrown schoolboys!.”

Astrid shook her head with a smile. “Oh, Levi. They’re in love. And those two hooligans will do whatever it takes to show you they’re serious about Brandon and Landon.”

Levi scrolled “What do Brandon and Landon even see in these idiots?” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

Astrid smiled, amused. “Oh, you know exactly what they see. What I saw in you. Love. Protection and a bit of madness .”

playing pretend rather than have a serious conversation with me.”

Astrid shook her head, still smiling, as she went to pour herself a cup of tea. Levi watched her for a moment, then turned his attention back to his phone, smirking despite himself at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Levi let out a sigh of grudging acceptance. “Well, I suppose I could be stuck with worse. At least they’re entertaining.” He gave one last look at the ridiculous soccer photo, muttering with a half-smile, “But they’d better be ready to prove themselves, because winning over this father-in-law will take a hell of a lot more than paint and muscle flexing.”

......

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@lanterns-and-daydreams

JerLan - Letter to my Husband

To my husband, my forever,

There are nights when I lie awake and watch you sleep, wondering if this is real—if we are real. If I close my eyes, I can still taste the venom of our hatred, feel the sharp edge of every cruel word we once hurled at each other. We were reckless, violent, self-destructive—a war bound in flesh and fire. I wanted to break you, and you wanted to burn me to the ground.

And yet, here we are.

I have always been obsessed with you, Landon. Whether it was with my hate or with my love, my mind has never known a moment where you did not exist within it. Even in the days we stood on opposite ends of the battlefield, I was still yours. My thoughts were filled with you, my rage was carved for you, my hands ached to touch you—even if only to hurt you.

But love is just another form of destruction, isn’t it?

I think I started loving you when you smirked at me in that dark alley, cigarette between your lips, daring me to do something about the fire you lit inside me. I think I knew you would be mine when you let me touch you that night, even though we both pretended it meant nothing. It was always you, wasn’t it? You, with your goddamn arrogance, your sharp tongue, your chaos wrapped in elegance. You, who made my blood boil, who made me lose control, who pulled me apart and put me back together without even realizing it.

You have always been my obsession, Landon King. And now, you are my husband.

Even now, I still crave you like I did back then. My need for you is not gentle—it is violent, all-consuming, endless. You should know that by now. The way my hands still tighten around your waist, the way my lips still trace every inch of you, the way I still grow jealous when anyone dares to look at you for a second too long.

You are mine.

And I am yours, in a way that both terrifies and completes me.

Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever stop wanting you the way I did when I first realized I couldn’t live without you. But then you look at me—with those sharp, wicked eyes that once held so much hatred, now drowning in love—and I know.

I will want you like this forever.

I will love you as long as I breathe.

I will destroy anything that tries to take you from me.

We are not a love story written in soft words and tender touches. We are a love story written in obsession and ruin, in fire and devotion, in the blood of those who dared to come between us.

I would burn the world for you, Landon. And I know, without a doubt, that you would do the same for me.

So here’s to us. To our war that became love. To our love that will never die.

Your forever, Jeremy Volkov

______________________________________

To my ruin, my obsession, my husband, my greatest temptation

Jeremy, if someone had told me years ago that I would one day wake up with you in my bed, your ring on my finger, your name wrapped around my soul like a brand, I would have laughed in their face. Because you and I were not meant to be a love story.

We were meant to destroy each other.

I still remember the first time I hated you. Hated the way you looked at me as if I was something you could own. Hated the way your presence filled up every space I entered, like a shadow I could never outrun. Hated the way my heart picked up speed whenever you smirked at me like you knew something I didn’t.

But the worst part? I loved it.

I loved the way you made my blood burn. Loved the way you challenged me, infuriated me, made me reckless. Loved the way our war was always laced with something neither of us wanted to name. It was always you. I didn’t want to admit it, but I think some part of me knew it from the very beginning.

And now, here we are.

Husband. I never thought I would wear that title, much less for you. And yet, I do, and I wear it like a crown, like a warning, like a declaration to the world that I am yours and you are mine. Forever.

It should scare me how much I need you, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me want you more.

There are moments when I catch you looking at me—like I’m something worth worshiping—and it makes me want to tear you apart and put you back together just to remind you that I am just as obsessed with you as you are with me. You are my favorite thing to break. My favorite thing to ruin. My favorite thing to love.

And I do love you, Jeremy.

In the darkest, most twisted way a man can love another.

I love you in the way I refuse to let you out of my sight for too long. I love you in the way I would carve out the hearts of anyone who dares to touch what’s mine. I love you in the way my hands find your skin in the dead of night, tracing every scar, every bruise, every mark I’ve left on you.

You once told me love is just another form of destruction. I used to think you were wrong, but now I know better.

Because you? You have destroyed me completely.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yours, always, Landon King

Jeremy Volkov x Landon King - The Devil's Match

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60931777