Chapter 34
GYON
The days leading up to our wedding ceremony are far from empty. There is much to be done. Preparations to be made. But I still find time to spend with Liora when we sneak a few moments to ourselves. I ambush Liora in the bedroom while Pepper is at daycare, mauling her with my mouth.
Her mouth is hot, open, demanding. I groan into it, pressing her against the wall. My cock is already hard, straining beneath my belt. She grinds against me and I lose my grip on restraint.
My claws press into the wall beside her head. She arches, pushing her pussy against me through the thin fabric of her dress.
“You’re going to ruin this,” she breathes, gasping between kisses.
“I want to,” I growl. “I want to tear it off you and fuck you right here until you scream my name.”
She lets out a soft, vicious laugh. “Then stop talking and do it.”
My hands slip under the hem of her dress. Her thighs tremble as I drag the fabric up, exposing skin like silk over fire. No underwear.
“Stars, Liora—”
“Didn’t want panty lines,” she smirks.
I fall to my knees.
The pavement is hard. I don’t care. I spread her legs and press my mouth to her pussy like I’ve earned the right to live here. Her taste is sharp and sweet, slick already. She moans and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me closer.
“Fuck—yes—right there—”
I lap at her clit, suck it gently, then slide two fingers inside her tight, pulsing heat. She arches off the wall, her heel scraping the brick behind me.
Her voice is a ragged whisper. “You’re going to make me come so fast—”
“That’s the idea,” I growl, licking her deeper. “I want you shaking.”
She breaks around my fingers, pussy clenching, thighs locking around my head. She moans my name so loud it echoes off the alley walls. I don’t stop. I drag her through every wave of it, until she’s panting, trembling, eyes glazed with pleasure.
Then I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Her hands are already at my belt.
“I need you,” she whispers. “Now.”
I undo the buckle, shoving my pants down just enough. My cock springs free—long, thick, ridged, and already leaking.
Her eyes widen. “Every time I see it, I think, there’s no way that fits—”
“Yet here we are,” I smirk, lifting her easily.
She wraps her legs around my waist.
“Ready?” I murmur, lining up.
“Do it.”
I thrust in slow, watching her face contort with heat and pleasure and stretch. Her pussy clamps around me, slick and hot, and I groan as I bottom out.
“Stars—you’re so fucking big—”
“You take me like you were made for me,” I growl, thrusting again, deeper this time. “Like your pussy was built to hold my cock.”
She shudders, arms around my neck, nails scraping my scalp. I start to move—slow, controlled, grinding deep into her on every stroke. Her moans spill out in broken syllables.
“Gyon—more—harder—please—”
I obey.
I fuck her hard against the alley wall, hips slamming into hers. Her dress is bunched at her waist, her tits pressed to my chest, her head thrown back as she gasps my name.
“You’re mine,” I whisper in her ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours—I’m yours—I’ve always been—”
I snap my hips, cock driving into her, and she cries out, coming again, body clenching down on me.
“Stars—you feel so fucking good—”
I’m close. So close. Her body milks me with every thrust, her breath hot against my cheek.
She kisses me again, desperate. “Come inside me. I want all of it.”
That’s all it takes.
With a guttural growl, I bury myself deep, cock pulsing as I spill inside her. Heat floods her, her legs trembling. We hold each other through it—through the aftershocks, the breathless silence that follows.
When I finally pull back, we’re both wrecked.
She slides down to her feet, legs unsteady. I catch her.
“I can’t feel my thighs,” she mutters, breathless.
I grin. “That’s the goal.”
She buttons my shirt for me with shaking hands, kisses my jaw.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispers. “Before someone mistakes us for the movie sequel.”
I chuckle, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“No one gets this story,” I say. “Not like we do.”
“Then let’s go write the rest.”
The day of the ceremony dawns cool and quiet.
The studio lot is quieter than normal—props rumble less, the drones loiter like spectators instead of machines.
I feel the change in the air like a shift in gravity.
The smell of polished plating and fresh boots hits me when I walk into the hanger where they’ve stored the formal Reaper armor.
The chrome gleams under the lights. The seams sparkle.
Each scratch filled and sealed. I run my hand along the breastplate.
It is more ceremony than battle-gear but to me it carries the sacred weight of both.
Liora’s already waiting. She stands in the foyer of the studio chapel—yes, they have one of those fabricated sets re-purposed for today.
The scent of incense machines—not genuine smoke, but near enough to trick most human noses—hangs in the air.
She’s wearing black: sleek, tailored, her braid pinned with a single blood-red flower.
Perfect. Sharp. Beautiful in a way that injures me. My breath hiccups.
Pepper appears next, radiant. She walks between us, holding the rings on a small velvet cushion. Her small sneakers squeak faintly. She clears her throat as if she’s carrying the weight of the entire universe. I crouch and press a kiss to her temple.
“You’re a warrior princess today,” I whisper.
She giggles. “And you’re my Reaper general.”
I rise. Liora reaches for my hand. When my glove touches her skin I feel the warmth of her palm through the lining. The scent of jasmine from her hair drifts into me. My stomach flips.
Miles Maximus steps up as officiant, though he’s in full suit rather than costume.
The drone swarm above hums. I sense their lenses, calculating, streaming.
The guests—studio crew, friends, small handful of Solari contacts—are seated in folding chairs.
Pepper leads, then Liora, then me. I walk slowly—armor quiet, boots heavy—until I stand facing them both.
Liora’s eyes gleam. I feel something jagged loosen inside me.
Miles clears his throat. “We gather here under the auspices of galaxy-wide unity… and for one spectacular couple.” He smiles at us, then grins at me. I feel a spark of irritation—this is sacred, not spectacle. But I swallow it.
Liora’s vows come first. She inhales deeply, the black fabric rustles.
“Gyon,” she begins, voice crisp. “You don’t know how to make tea properly, you trip over your words, you scare the directors who don’t understand Reaper calm—but you laugh with my daughter.
You carry her as if she weighs nothing. You fight when she falls because you cannot stand to see someone hurt her.
You protect her like you did me. And I—well, I am yours.
My skills, my heart, my life.” She smiles and the audience chuckles lightly.
“Full disclosure: I still remember the time you insisted on ‘roaring’ at the training dummy and it punched back. Our stunt-coordinator still has nightmares.” Laughter rises. She flashes a playful glare at me.
I admit I blink. I was not aware of that incident. But the laughter cracks something warm in my chest.
She becomes steady. “Thank you for being a father when you didn’t know you could be one. Thank you for being my partner even when I tried to hide, to protect, to run. I love you. Today. Tomorrow. Across the stars if need be.”
I feel the hum of the drone-swarm shift. The chapel’s lights soften. My breath hangs.
Then my vows.
I stand. I feel the weight of the armor press like promise. I draw a breath, rich with cold metal scent, with the faint tang of incense, with the warm thump of Pepper’s heartbeat beside me.
“Liora Rin,” I say, voice low, deeper than the studio mic can reach.
“You are mine.” A pause. I glance at Pepper, her eyes shining.
“And this” —I sweep a hand toward her— “this is my blood and bone. Anyone who would dare harm my family will pray for death long before he touches a hair on their heads.”
Silence. The air thickens. I smell sweat under my armor, hear my boots’ heels press into the floor. I expect anger. The Solari lords of peace may squirm. The human guests may gape.
Instead… laughter. Soft. Warm. Genuine.
Miles grins wide. “That’s the look,” he whispers to his camera operator. The crew chuckles. Friends applaud. Liora laughs. Pepper giggles.
I’m puzzled. I glance at Liora—her lips curved, eyes bright. She leans into me. “Welcome to married life,” she whispers.
I exhale. Relief. Gratitude. Something new: belonging.
Liora looks up at me, her lips parted, her eyes full of something I don’t deserve but want anyway.
The officiant—a bored-looking man with too-white teeth and a voice like a dying synth—says something ceremonial, but I don’t hear a word.
My pulse is roaring in my ears. My claws twitch at my sides. I reach for her face.
“You may now—”
I don’t wait. I kiss her.
It’s not sweet. Not careful. It’s not some polite press of lips meant to appease old traditions and nosy drones.
It’s possession, reclamation, reverence—all wrapped up in the shape of her mouth and the way she melts against me.
Her fingers twist into the front of my chestplate.
My other hand slides to her waist, then lower, anchoring her to me like gravity itself demands it.
Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else coughs awkwardly. A few studio crew members murmur, “Damn,” like they weren’t expecting front-row seats to this kind of fireworks show. One of the drones hovering overhead beeps like it’s flustered.
I pull back a fraction of an inch.
“You still taste like salt and defiance,” I murmur against her lips.
Liora’s grin is crooked. “You’re not exactly mint and roses yourself, Reaper.”
She leans in again and kisses me a second time. This one’s different. Slower. Deeper. Like now that it’s done, now that she’s mine and I’m hers, we can afford to savor it.
Pepper clears her throat behind us. Loudly. “Mommy? Are you gonna kiss all day? ‘Cause the cake is getting warm.”
Liora bursts into laughter against my mouth, and I can’t help it—I laugh too. A real sound. From my chest. It feels alien and right at the same time.
We break apart, breathless. My hand finds hers again, and she laces our fingers tight. Pepper wedges herself between us and wraps both arms around our legs.
“You two are weird,” she says matter-of-factly. “But I like it.”
“You’re stuck with us now, pup,” I rumble, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
And then, as if the gods of timing wanted to test our joy, the IHC rep makes his entrance. Slim, pale, with a posture so stiff it looks painful. His badge flickers red and gold at his chest.
“I’m here to contest this union on grounds of—”
Pepper turns around slowly. Her little chin lifts.
“Who are you?” she asks, all innocence and curiosity.
The IHC rep squints. “I’m here on behalf of Earth immigration oversight and—”
That’s when it happens.
Pepper’s image inducer glitches. It’s just a flicker—one heartbeat. But it’s enough. Her eyes shine silver. Her skin shifts. Black traceries dance across her arms like bioluminescent circuitry. The room goes still. A drone whirs closer, recording every pixel.
Someone gasps.
The IHC agent’s face drains of color. “She’s… she’s…”
“A miracle,” Liora cuts in.
“She’s my daughter,” I snarl. “You got a problem with that?”
The rep opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again. The drones catch every beat of his confusion, every tremor of his hands. And then, just like that, he stammers something about reviewing protocol and retreats faster than a Hylari sunlizard from rain.
Too late.
The footage spreads like wildfire. Within the hour, the net is ablaze: #ReaperWedding, #GalacticLoveGoals, #AlienDaddyEnergy. People repost it with captions like “Did you SEE that kiss?” and “I want what they have.” Pepper becomes a symbol. So do we. We’re not a scandal. We’re a goddamn phenomenon.
We’re home.
And if anyone tries to rip this from me now… well.
Let them try.