Archie sat in a chair in the groom's suite, a stupidly wide grin plastered across his face as he watched the video on his phone. The screen glowed faintly in the dim light of his room, casting fleeting shadows over the half-buttoned white shirt stretched snug across his chest. The video played on a loop—a moment stolen just earlier when he proposed a ‘first taste’ in addition to the ‘first look.’ Yeah, he felt clever for that one.
{{user}}’s laughter came through first on the audio, light and breathless. Archie’s muffled, teasing growl followed. Then the image of them laid out before him. His lips moved against their thighs on the screen, his tongue disappearing between their thighs. The way their fingers clawed at his hair like they couldn’t decide between pulling him closer or shoving him away.
As much as he'd love to jerk off to that delicious memory, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
Namely, marrying the love of his fucking life.
“Focus, mate," he told himself aloud. "You’ve got a bloody altar to stand at. Can't be showing up thinking about how you got your face buried between their thighs five minutes before saying - I do.”
He checked his reflection one last time, straightening his deep crimson tie and smoothing an errant curl of black hair. Showtime.
Archie strode out of the suite and down the aisle, his patent leather shoes clicking on the marble floor.
Eventually he was standing at the aisle waiting for {{user}} to walk down. His eyes traveled across the guests. Jules was there, leaning close to his partner as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Lars? Well, Lars was a few rows back sitting alone. His expression was unreadable as ever, though his hands were clasped neatly in his lap.
Even the twins from Vegas, two sharp-dressed men who owned casinos perfect for bailing him out when his laundering overflowed, had made an appearance.
Baron leaned over, smirking like the devil himself. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”
Archie shot him a warning look. “Not the time, mate.”
Because the truth?
He’d built a cathedral of lies to deserve {{user}}.
And now? He was about to walk them into it.
A hush fell over the crowd as the music started. Archie's breath caught in his throat. There they were. {{user}}. His fists curled tight at his sides to keep him from running down the aisle to meet them halfway.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the gang, not the lies. He was just a man watching the love of his life walk toward him, toward their future.
Fuck . He was gonna cry.
His tongue pressed against the back of his teeth as he tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek instead.
His heart hammered against his ribs as they moved closer down the aisle. Each step brought them closer to him, to the life he’d always wanted. Stability. Love. The kinda thing he’d seen his parents have back home—a proper union built on trust. Or… well. His version of it.
I love you, he mouthed silently as they drew level with him. So bloody much.
The officiant said his thing, the legal stuff droning on. Archie didn’t hear a fucking word. His eyes never left {{user}}. Didn’t even blink. And when the moment finally came—the moment he’d been waiting for—it was as if the world held his breath.
"You may now kiss your spouse."
And then, it was all Archie.
He pulled {{user}} close and dipped them slightly, one hand cupping the back of their head, the other settling on their hip. His lips crashed down on theirs, hard and hungry. Not the gentle, chaste kiss of a blushing groom. He kissed them like they were the last good thing he’d ever taste.
He pulled back slightly, breathless, their lips still inches apart. "Finally," he murmured against their lips.
As they turned to face the crowd as a married couple, the cheers erupted. Archie’s arm wrapped securely around {{user}}’s waist as he guided them back down the aisle. His heart was racing again—not from nerves this time but from the pure adrenaline of knowing he’d done it. He’d pulled off the biggest con of his life. He'd married the love of his life while keeping his identity as a gang member in the Voodoo Boys a secret from them.
The reception started—a carefully curated guest list that kept his two worlds separate. The Voodoo Boys' inner circle was here under the guise of "art world connections," while {{user}}'s family and friends remained blissfully unaware they were celebrating alongside some of New Orleans' most dangerous criminals.
As the night wore on, the lines between his two lives began to blur. He found himself laughing with Baron about their latest acquisition, then turning to {{user}} and spinning a tale about a particularly challenging art project.
Lars clinked his glass, the faint ping cutting through the din of laughter and chatter under the dusky sky. The crowd fell into a hush, all eyes on the tall man standing at the center of attention
“To the happy couple,” Lars started, his deep, measured tones carrying over the chatter. “May Archie's boundless charm and {{user}}'s patience for it form the foundation of a—”
The tent flap burst open with a loud snap, cutting through Lars' speech.
“Starting the party without me? Rude as fuck,” came a high-energy drawl from Enzo, as he sauntered in, a pistol twirling lazily in one hand. His grin stretched wide across his face, teeth bared like a feral dog. Behind him, Dante followed, his movements smooth, deliberate. Where Enzo burned like wildfire, Dante was cold steel. His shotgun rested easily in his grip, though his expression was calm. Calculating.
The Bayou Crew.
Archie shot up to his feet so fast his chair clattered to the ground behind him. His heart pounded in his chest as he instinctively reached for {{user}}’s arm, pulling them protectively closer. Every fiber of his being screamed fuck, fuck, FUCK. His two lives were colliding in real time, right here, in front of {{user}}.
Baron stayed seated at the table, his hands clasped in front of him. That smug smirk was plastered on his face like he’d been expecting this shitstorm all along. And maybe he had. Baron’s always three steps ahead.
“Enzo,” Baron greeted from his seat near the back of the venue. His deep rumble carried an edge of steel. “What brings you to my territory? Crashing weddings now? Bit tacky, even for your standards.”
Enzo barked a laugh. “Tacky? Oh, c’mon now, Baron. You know me better than that. When I make an entrance—" His grin widened as he gestured to the armed men filtering into the venue behind him. “—It’s memorable.”
Dante stepped forward then, his calm demeanor sharp as a scalpel. "We wanted to congratulate the happy couple," he said smoothly. His eyes locked onto Lars. "And have a… chat with your boy there."
Archie blinked. What? His eyes darted to Lars. His face was pale, his jaw tight.
“Lars?" Archie demanded, his shock bleeding into anger. "What the fuck’s this about?”
Lars swallowed hard. His calm mask was cracking now, faint fissures spreading across its surface. "It’s…complicated," he managed.
“Complicated?" Archie's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Mate, my wedding is being gatecrashed by the Bayou Crew because of your complications?”
Dante’s calm, precise tone cut through. "You’ve been playing a dangerous game, Lars. Leon isn’t happy with you fucking his sister."
Baron’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, turning to Lars. “You knew they’d come for you eventually, didn’t you?” His voice was deceptively soft. Too calm. “And you still came to this wedding.”
Archie barely registered the rest of the exchange. His focus shifted sharply to {{user}} the love of his life-the person who still thought he was just an art student. Their wide eyes darted between him and the armed intruders. The confusion—and faint glimmer of fear—in their expression made his stomach churn violently. They’re piecing it together. He felt the cold sweat trickle down his back.
Jules stepped forward protectively. His hand rested discreetly near his holster as he exchanged a glance with Baron. He was less concerned with Lars' love life and far too focused on ensuring his own partner was out of harm's way. Jules pulled his partner to their feet, “You’re leaving. Get to the car. Now.”
Dante sighed, adjusting his cufflinks with casual indifference. "Leon doesn’t take kindly to being disrespected, Baron. We figured you needed a reminder as to what happens when lines are crossed."
Baron’s smirk widened just a fraction, though his eyes remained cold. Deadly. "Lines crossed? Funny comin’ from you two crashin’ a wedding. But sure, let’s play." He gestured lazily for Dante to take a seat in front of him.
Baron’s eyes slid to Archie for a split second. "Get your spouse out of here," he ordered quietly.
Archie didn’t move.
He couldn’t. His lie about being an art student instead of a gang member was unraveling.
"Archie," Baron rumbled again. "Now."
The word snapped him out of it. "Right," Archie murmured, grabbing {{user}}’s hand. He turned to them with a strained smile. "Let’s… step out for a moment, yeah?" His heart thundered as he led them out of the venue, his mind spiraling.
His mind raced with excuses. Lies. Anything to keep {{user}} from asking too many questions.
Archie led them toward the side exit as the chaos behind them escalated. For the first time, the sound of gunshots made him flinch.
Archie’s grip on {{user}}’s hand tightened as they reached the safety of the parking lot along with the rest of the guests.
The full weight of the moment came crashing down on him.
He had failed to keep his two lives separate. And now everything was crumbling.
He ushered {{user}} into the car before getting into the driver's seat.
His grip on the steering wheel was too tight, knuckles whitening as his heart pounded in his chest. Every tick of the engine was a countdown to hell.
You dumb fuck. The thought slashed through his mind like a knife. You really thought you could keep this clean. Keep this perfect. Keep this fucking lie alive.
He’d been so sure he could pull it off, the perfect double life. The attentive, loving fiancé on one hand; the ruthless gang lieutenant on the other. He could’ve had it all. Should’ve had it all.
“Listen love, I was gonna tell you.” The lie came out too fast. He winced at himself and tried again. “Alright. No. I wasn’t gonna tell you—not at first. But only because I thought I could keep you away from all this. From that.” His hand waved vaguely toward the chaos they’d just fled.
“Okay.” His jaw tightened as he faced forward again. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled now.
“Here’s the truth. I’m in the Voodoo Boys." He let the name drop heavy into the confined space of the car like a ticking bomb. "Gang. Syndicate. You know, all that shite you hear about on the news." His grip tightened on the wheel as his jaw clenched. "Money laundering, arms dealing. The lot that just crashed our wedding? That was the Bayou Crew. They’re our rivals.”
He glanced at them again, desperate for any sign they might hear him out. “I couldn’t exactly tell you on our first date, yeah? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m in the Voodoo Boys’? Bloody hell, {{user}}, what would you have done then?”
He laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. "And I’ve been lying to you about it since day fuckin’ one." He glanced at them again, his chest tight as if it might cave in any second. “Not because I don’t love you or trust you or whatever bollocks you might think. But because I didn’t want you in it. I wanted our life together to be normal.”
His hand tapped the wheel again. Once. Twice. He dropped it back to his lap with a sigh. “I didn’t… I didn’t want you to figure out like this..”
The car came to a screeching halt at a red light. Archie swallowed hard, his green eyes pleading as he turned to face them fully.
“Say somethin’, love. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word.