#brandonking

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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The gallery buzzed with excitement, the energy palpable as people moved from painting to painting, marveling at the artistry Brandon had poured his soul into. Nikolai stood at the back of the crowd, leaning casually against a column, his sharp suit barely containing the restless pride burning within him. He wasn’t one for crowds, but tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight was about his Brandon—his lotus—blossoming for the world to see.

Bran's family mingled among the guests, his mother dabbing her eyes with a tissue, and his father proudly recounting stories of how his son had always been a prodigy with a brush. Meanwhile, Bran himself stood at the center of it all, glowing under the lights, the very picture of an artist who had found his place in the world.

Niko's gaze never left him. Not for a second.

When Brandon finally stepped up to the microphone to address the crowd, the murmurs quieted into anticipation.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Bran began, his voice steady but warm, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Nikolai. “This exhibition means the world to me, not just because it showcases my work, but because it represents a journey—a journey I couldn’t have made alone.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow, his chest tightening as Bran's words washed over him.

Bran continued, a small smile curling his lips. “Every piece here tells a story, a part of me. But there’s one piece that’s the most important. It’s not just a painting—it’s my heart on canvas.”

The room erupted into applause as Bran walked toward a large, shrouded frame in the center of the gallery. With a flourish, he pulled the curtain away, revealing the final painting: Nikolai’s portrait.

Gasps echoed through the room.

Nikolai froze.

The painting captured him with an ethereal glow, his striking features softened by the kind of warmth only someone deeply in love could see. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were filled with light, as if Bran had painted the very essence of Nikolai’s soul.

Bran turned back to the microphone, his voice trembling slightly. “This is my masterpiece. No matter how many paintings I create in the future, this will always be the one closest to my heart. Because Nikolai saved me. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. He pulled me out of darkness and showed me what it means to be loved unconditionally.”

Nikolai’s vision blurred as his throat tightened. He blinked furiously, trying to swallow the lump forming, but the dam broke when Bran stepped down from the podium, the crowd parting like a sea.

Bran stopped in front of Nikolai, his eyes bright with determination and love. Then, to Niko’s utter disbelief, he got down on one knee, pulling out a ring with a diamond so brilliant it caught every light in the room.

Gasps turned into murmurs as the room held its collective breath.

Bran looked up at him, his voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. “Nikolai Sokolov, you are the love of my life, the reason I can stand here today. You’ve cherished me in ways I never thought I deserved, and now it’s my turn. I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re more than enough, that you’re extraordinary, that you’re loved beyond measure. Will you marry me?”

Nikolai’s chest heaved, his breath hitching as tears spilled freely down his cheeks. His knees buckled, and before Bran could react, Nikolai dropped to his own knees, facing him.

The crowd gasped, but Niko didn’t care. His hands cupped Bran’s face, his voice breaking as he whispered, “You idiot. Of course, I’ll marry you. But let me say this—” He gripped Bran’s hands, his voice trembling. “You say I saved you, but you saved me, too. Every time you smile, every time you touch me, you remind me there’s light in this world. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not letting go. Never.”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as Bran slid the ring onto Niko’s finger, their foreheads pressing together as they both laughed through their tears.

“God, I love you,” Bran whispered.

“Love you more, love,” Niko murmured, pulling him into a kiss that left no room for doubt about their forever.

…………………………

Nikolai sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of their living room, his daughter Leigh Sokolov-King nestled snugly in his lap. Her wide eyes focused on the spoonful of yogurt he held out for her, but her curiosity was clearly more on the story he was telling. At three years old, Leigh already had her father’s sharp attention to detail and her papa’s endless curiosity about everything.

“Alright, little princess,” Nikolai said, his voice soft and warm, “where were we?” He dipped the spoon into the yogurt and waved it playfully. “Ah, yes. So, your Papa, he had this big, big event. All these people came to see his paintings.”

Leigh clapped her tiny hands, already enraptured. “Papa paints pretty!”

Nikolai chuckled, nodding. “Yes, he does. The best paintings in the whole world. But there was one painting—” He leaned in conspiratorially, as though revealing a secret. “—that was extra special. Do you know what it was?”

Leigh tilted her head, her curls bouncing as she thought hard. “A bunny?”

Brandon, lounging on the couch nearby with a sketchpad in hand, snorted, shaking his head. “Close, sweetheart, but not quite.”

“No, not a bunny,” Nikolai said with mock seriousness, though his lips twitched with amusement. “It was a painting of me.”

Leigh gasped dramatically, her tiny hand flying to her mouth. “You, Papa?”

“Me,” Nikolai confirmed, holding out another spoonful of yogurt, which she obediently accepted. “And it wasn’t just any painting. Your Papa said it was his masterpiece. The best thing he’s ever made.”

Leigh squinted at Bran as if trying to see the truth in his face. Bran gave her a playful wink and nodded. “That’s right, little one. Your papa’s face is my best work.”

Leigh giggled, yogurt smudged on her chin, and Nikolai used her distraction to wipe it away with a tissue. “So,” he continued, “after he showed everyone that painting, do you know what your Papa did?”

“What?” she asked, leaning forward, her yogurt momentarily forgotten.

“He knelt down, right in front of everyone,” Nikolai said, his voice dropping into a dramatic whisper, “and asked me to marry him with a BIG RING.”

Leigh gasped again, her hands clutching her cheeks. “Did you say yes?”

Bran laughed from the couch, his sketchpad forgotten as he leaned forward to watch them. “Of course, he did, Leigh. But do you know what your Dada did next?”

Leigh shook her head, her curls bouncing wildly.

“I knelt down, too,” Nikolai said, his tone softening. “Because your Papa wasn’t the only one who wanted forever. I wanted it just as much.”

Leigh’s eyes sparkled with delight as she squirmed in Nikolai’s lap, reaching for Bran. “Papa, did you cry?”

Bran let out a laugh, moving to sit beside them on the carpet. He scooped Leigh into his arms, peppering her face with kisses, much to her delighted squeals. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his eyes meeting Nikolai’s. “But only because I was so happy.”

Leigh beamed, clapping her hands. “That’s the best story, Papa!”

Nikolai smiled, his gaze lingering on Bran. “It is, isn’t it? The best story, because it’s ours.”

Bran leaned over, pressing a kiss to Nikolai’s temple before turning back to Leigh. “And you, little one, are our favorite chapter.”

Leigh giggled, squirming between them. Nikolai scooped up the last bit of yogurt from the bowl and held it out to her, chuckling as she eagerly devoured it.

“Alright, little princess,” Nikolai said, his voice filled with affection. “Now, off to bed. Tomorrow, your papa and I will tell you another story.”

.......

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Brandon King had always known that Nikolai Sokolov was it for him. There was no question in his mind, no hesitation in his heart. Nikolai had ruined him for anyone else. There would be no other, no alternative, no second choice—just Nikolai, with his sharp grin, easy laughter, and eyes that saw straight through him.

But Brandon was a coward.

He had never once said it aloud. Not the way he should. Not with the kind of conviction that Nikolai deserved. Instead, he had let the words rot inside his chest, let them fester beneath the weight of his own fears.

So he kept Nikolai in the shadows.

He pretended not to notice the flash of hurt in Nikolai’s eyes when he said, “Pretend you don’t know me in public.”

He convinced himself that Nikolai’s goofiness afterward meant he was fine, that he didn’t mind, that he understood why Brandon needed to keep them a secret.

He ignored how Nikolai would practically light up when someone casually asked, “Are you two together?” only for that light to die the second Brandon laughed and brushed it off with a, “We’re just friends.”

He acted like he didn’t see the way Nikolai’s shoulders slumped whenever he pulled his hand away in public, as if being seen with Nikolai was some kind of sin.

But he did see.

Brandon saw it all.

It was in the quiet moments, when no one was around, that the weight of his actions pressed down on him the hardest. When they were alone in his apartment, tangled up in sheets and silence, Nikolai would look at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, like he was Brandon’s, and Brandon was his, and that nothing else mattered.

Brandon knew he had that look too, the one that told the truth even when his mouth spewed lies.

He knew because Nikolai wasn’t stupid.

And that was what made it all worse.

Nikolai knew. He had to know. Because he stayed. He stayed even though Brandon treated him like a dirty secret. He stayed even though Brandon denied him in public. He stayed even though he deserved better.

And Brandon?

Brandon was selfish enough to let him.

It wasn’t until one night, when Nikolai was sleeping beside him, his face soft in the dim glow of the city lights, that the realization hit Brandon like a fist to the gut.

If he lost him—if one day, Nikolai decided he was done waiting, done hoping, done pretending that it didn’t hurt—Brandon would break. He would shatter into something unfixable. Because this wasn’t just some passing thing. This wasn’t just love.

This was forever.

And Brandon was the one ruining it.

The idea of losing Nikolai?

That was the one thing that terrified him.

It wasn’t enough to love him in the quiet.

It wasn’t enough to keep him behind closed doors.

Because love wasn’t meant to be hidden. It wasn’t meant to be whispered in the dark and ignored in the light.

And if Brandon didn’t do something—if he didn’t fix this—he was going to lose the one thing in this world he could never replace.

The question was: did he have the courage to fight for it?

Or would he let his fear be the thing that destroyed them?

…………………

Nikolai has always known that Brandon King was a coward.

A beautiful, brilliant, maddening coward.

And yet, Nikolai would wait. He would wait forever if he had to.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t see it—the hesitation in Brandon’s eyes before he pulled away, the way his laughter sounded just a little too forced when he denied their relationship in public, the way his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long before slipping out of Nikolai’s grasp as if being seen with him was a sin. Nikolai wasn’t a fool. He saw it all. He felt it all.

But he never said a word.

Because for every moment of hesitation, there was another where Brandon looked at him like he was the only thing that made sense in this world. There were the nights where they lay tangled together, where Bran kissed him like he would die without him, where he whispered "mine" against Nikolai’s lips like it was a prayer. And wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t that real?

But then morning would come. And Brandon would step back into the perfect little world of the Kings, and Nikolai would once again become the secret. The unsaid.

"We’re just friends."

Brandon would laugh, easy and careless, whenever someone asked.

And Nikolai would feel something inside him crack—sharp and painful—before he forced a grin, matching Bran’s energy, as if it didn’t fucking hurt. As if his heart didn’t splinter every time.

But still, he stayed.

Because Brandon was the only person who had ever felt like home. The only person he had ever loved with the full, unrelenting force of himself. And if waiting was the price to pay, if being hidden was the cost, then so be it.

He would endure. He would be patient.

Because one day, Bran would wake up and realize.

One day, Bran would see that Nikolai wasn’t just some secret to be kept.

He was the forever that Brandon was too afraid to claim.

And Nikolai? He would wait for that day. He would wait forever.

……………….

Nikolai had dragged Brandon to this café, like always, because he was craving something sweet. Like always.

Bran had just rolled his eyes, muttering something about Niko’s addiction to sugar, but still followed without complaint. Because, really, when had he ever denied Nikolai anything?

The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air as they settled into a corner booth. Nikolai, as usual, was already eyeing the dessert menu like it held the secrets of the universe.

A few minutes later, the waiter—a bright-eyed girl with bouncing energy—came to take their order.

Nikolai was halfway through debating between a chocolate lava cake and a strawberry shortcake when she suddenly squealed.

"Oh my God! You guys are a couple, right? You look so cute together!"

Nikolai stilled.

His heart clenched, his fingers tightening around the menu, but he didn’t look up. He knew what came next. He always did.

"We’re just frie—"

Except, the words never came.

Instead, he felt something warm—solid, grounding—enclosing his hand. Brandon’s hand.

"Yeah," Bran said, voice casual, but there was something in it—something steady, unshakable. "He’s my boyfriend."

Nikolai snapped his head toward him so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

What.

He must’ve misheard. Right?

But no—there was Bran, completely relaxed, fingers laced through his like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like this wasn’t the first time he had ever acknowledged Nikolai as his.

The waiter exploded into fangirling, gushing about how adorable they were, how she knew it the moment she saw them, how they totally gave off soulmate energy.

Nikolai didn’t hear any of it.

He was too busy short-circuiting.

Because—Brandon King just called him his boyfriend. In public. With actual witnesses.

Nikolai was still frozen even after their desserts arrived, still blinking at Bran in stunned silence

From the moment the words left his mouth—"Yeah, he’s my boyfriend"—Brandon knew there was no going back.

And maybe he should’ve done this a long time ago.

Because seeing Nikolai’s usual confident, playful smirk wiped off his face—replaced with genuine shock, awe, and the softest pink dusting his cheeks—was something Bran knew he would remember forever.

But the best part?

He wasn’t done yet.

The entire day, Bran made sure Nikolai knew exactly what he meant by those words.

It started small.

Then, when they walked out of the café, Bran interwined their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Nikolai? The Nikolai Sokolov?

Tripped over his own feet.

Bran caught him easily, biting back a smirk. "Careful, baby."

Niko choked.

The rest of the day was even worse.

Bran held his hand whenever he got the chance. Opened doors for him. Tugged him close.

When they stopped by a street vendor, he casually fed Niko a bite of his crepe, not even thinking twice about it.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was not okay.

"You—you—you’re doing this on purpose," Niko accused, looking like his brain had fully short-circuited.

Bran tilted his head. "Doing what?"

"This! The—" Niko waved his hands in the air, as if trying to capture whatever sorcery Bran was pulling. "The boyfriend treatment!"

Bran pretended to think about it. Then, he smirked. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Niko opened his mouth, then closed it. His ears were so red now, they could rival a fire truck.

Bran leaned in, voice dropping into a soft murmur. "You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you, Niko?"