A few days had blurred by since I'd landed the bar gig, each one a mix of anticipation and cramming. I'd spent evenings hunched over the menu at home, Miko quizzing me on drink names and ingredients in Bulgarian, her tail swishing with amusement at my stumbles. "Pivo—beer, easy. But 'rakia s med'—rakia with honey? You're getting there," she'd tease, rewarding correct answers with kisses that often derailed our sessions into something steamier. The house felt more like ours with each passing day, furniture settling in, our routines syncing like clockwork. War news flickered on the edges—radio snippets about escalations—but we tuned them out, focusing on the baby bump that grew a tiny bit more noticeable, and the life we were building.
Finally, Monday rolled around: my first day on the job. I woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through our bedroom window, the Struma River glinting in the distance like it was winking at me. Miko was still asleep beside me, her tail draped over my hip, her breathing steady. I lay there a moment, nerves buzzing under my skin, but excitement won out. A job meant stability, especially with the baby on the way. I slipped out of bed quietly, planting a kiss on her forehead before dressing and heading out. The walk to town cleared my head, the crisp air buzzing with possibility.
The bar was quiet when I arrived, the owner—Viktor, he'd introduced himself—already wiping down counters. He was a solid guy, mid-forties, with a no-nonsense vibe. "Dobro utro," I greeted, my Bulgarian still clunky but improving. He nodded, handing me an apron and pointing to the bottles. "Practice drinks. Show me."
I dove in, mixing basics from the menu he'd drilled me on: rakia cocktails, beer pulls, simple martinis. First one—a gin tonic—came out perfect, balanced and crisp. Second, a local herbal mix, nailed it. Third flopped; I overpoured the soda, turning it into a fizzy mess. Viktor chuckled, clapping my shoulder. "One fail out of five? Good start. Keep going." The rest went smooth—whiskey sour tangy, vodka shot clean. By midday, I felt like I could handle a rush, even chatting with a few regulars in broken phrases about the weather or local festivals.
That's when she sauntered in—a human girl, early twenties, with a flirtatious smile and tight jeans. She leaned on the bar, batting lashes. "Hey, new guy. What's your name? You look like you could mix me something... special."
I felt her eyes roaming, but my mind flashed to Miko. "Az... imam priyatelka," I managed in broken Bulgarian, holding up a hand. I have a girlfriend. She pouted, but backed off with a shrug. "Lucky her." Viktor overheard, smirking from the back. "Smart man."
Lunch break rolled around, and Viktor pulled up stools, sharing sandwiches. "Tell me about you," he said, switching to a mix of Bulgarian and English for my sake. "Where from? Family?"
I answered truthfully, no reason to hide. "From America. Left during... troubles. Civil war stuff." He nodded knowingly. "Girlfriend? She's a catgirl—hybrid. I'm human, but it works. We met in college, roommates at first. Shared space, then... more. She's pregnant now. We're building a life here."
Viktor's eyes lit up with interest. "Hybrid? Brave choice. Love doesn't care about that." He leaned back, sharing his own story. "Me? From Romania. Hated it there—corruption, poverty, always watching your back. Came here years ago, started this bar. Fresh start." He paused, eyeing me thoughtfully. "You love her? Propose. Make it official. Life's short—especially now, with borders heating up."
His words hit home. Propose? The idea had flickered before, but hearing it aloud... yeah, I should. Miko deserved that commitment, ring or no. I mulled it over the rest of the shift, serving a light crowd without major screw-ups. By closing, I felt accomplished—tips in my pocket, Viktor's nod of approval.
Work wrapped early, and I walked home with dinner from a nearby spot—roasted chicken, veggies, and fresh bread, aromas wafting from the bag. Stepping inside, Miko greeted me with a hug, her tail wrapping my leg. As she pulled back, I noticed it—her baby bump had grown a bit, subtle but there, a gentle curve under her shirt. Not very noticeable yet, but enough to make my heart swell. "Looking good, kitten," I said, kissing her. "How was your day?"
We ate at the table, her chattering about work, me sharing mine—the drinks, the flirt (which made her ears flatten playfully), Viktor's chat. She beamed at the proposal suggestion, eyes sparkling, but didn't push. Dinner done, Miko's mood shifted, her hand trailing up my thigh. "End the day right?" she purred, leading me to the bedroom.
In bed, she stripped slow, teasing, her curves accentuated by the growing bump. I pulled her close, kissing deeply, tongues entwining as hands roamed. She pushed me back, straddling my hips, grinding against my hardening length through fabric. "Want you," she whispered, claws grazing my chest as she peeled off my shirt.
I flipped us, trailing kisses down her neck, to her breasts—swollen slightly now, sensitive. I sucked one nipple, flicking with my tongue, her moans rising as she arched. Lower, I kissed her belly tenderly, then parted her thighs, tongue delving into her folds. She was wet, tangy-sweet, bucking against my mouth as I lapped at her clit, fingers curling inside to stroke that spot. "Yes—there," she gasped, tail thrashing, coming hard with a cry, flooding my tongue.
She pulled me up, guiding me inside her slick heat. I thrust deep, slow at first, savoring the clench, then harder as she urged, legs locked around me. Her claws raked my back, drawing thin lines of fire, heightening everything. We rolled, her on top riding fierce, hips rolling in waves, breasts bouncing. I gripped her ass, thrusting up to meet her, feeling her tighten again. She ground down, taking me fully, her tail wrapping my thigh as she bounced, moans turning feral.
Not sated, she slid off with a wicked grin, bending over the bed's edge, presenting herself. "Like this," she demanded, ass arched high. I stood behind her, hands on her hips, slamming in deep with powerful thrusts. She pushed back, claws shredding the sheets, her walls pulsing around me. The angle hit perfect, every stroke drawing gasps, her tail lashing against my chest.
I pulled her up then, pinning her to the wall beside the bed, lifting one leg over my arm for deeper access. Face to face, I fucked her hard, her back against the cool surface, breasts pressing into me. She clung, nails digging into my shoulders, lips crashing in messy kisses as I drove in relentless, the slap of skin echoing. "Deeper—yes!" she cried, shattering again, her heat clenching tight.
We tumbled back to the bed, me on top for the finish, pounding until release crashed over us—her pulsing, milking me as I spilled deep inside with a guttural groan.
We collapsed, her curling into me, tail draping over. Sleep came fast, the proposal idea lingering like a promise in my dreams. Tomorrow, maybe.