I was sprawled on the couch that evening, the living room bathed in the soft, flickering blue glow of the TV screen, the faint hum of the movie's soundtrack blending with the distant murmur of the Struma River outside our open window. The air carried the comforting scent of the house—faint traces of dinner herbs from earlier, mixed with Miko's lavender shampoo that lingered on her skin. Miko was curled tightly against me, her head resting on my shoulder, her tail draped lazily across my lap like a possessive living blanket, the tip twitching occasionally in time with the film's dialogue. The movie was some lighthearted rom-com we'd picked at random from the streaming list—predictable plot twists, easy laughs, nothing too heavy to disrupt the quiet contentment we'd carved out after the proposal. Her ring caught the light every time she shifted, the emerald glinting like a captured star on her finger, a constant, sparkling reminder of yesterday's magic by the lake, the sand still faintly clinging to our memories.
Halfway through the movie, during a quiet scene where the on-screen couple shared a tender moment, I turned down the volume a notch with the remote and asked the question that had been quietly nagging at me since I'd slipped the ring on her finger. "So... should your family come over sometime? I mean, I've never met them. Might be nice, especially with the wedding coming up. We could invite them—make it a real family thing."
Miko tensed slightly beneath my arm, her tail stilling for a heartbeat before resuming its slow sway. She lifted her head, golden eyes meeting mine with a sad, distant look that made my chest ache. "I... don't even know where they are," she said quietly, her voice softer than usual, almost fragile, as if saying it aloud made the loss feel fresh again. "Lost contact way before I met you. Things got complicated back home—family fights over the hybrid laws, moving around to avoid raids, then everything just... fell apart. Last I heard, they were somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe Romania or further east, but that was years ago. Phones changed, addresses lost, no way to reach out without risking exposure. I stopped looking after a while. It hurt too much to keep trying and getting nothing."
I pulled her closer, my arm wrapping more securely around her shoulders, fingers gently stroking her back through the thin fabric of her shirt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up like that. I just... wanted to know if there's anyone else we should include."
She shook her head, resting her hand on my chest, her claws lightly tracing idle patterns over my heart. "It's okay. Really. I have you now. And the baby. That's family—the one I chose, the one that chose me back." She paused, then tilted her head, curiosity softening the sadness. "What about your side? Any siblings, parents? We could invite them if... if they're around."
My throat tightened at the question, the old wound flaring briefly. I stared at the paused screen for a second, the frozen image of the movie couple laughing mid-kiss, their joy frozen in time. "They died," I said flatly, the words coming out quieter than I intended. "Murdered in an alleyway back in the States. Random violence, or maybe targeted—who knows. Never found the killer. It was years ago. Funeral was small, just a few friends. I don't have anyone left."
Miko's ears flattened against her head, and she shifted to cuddle up fully against me, her body pressing close, tail wrapping tighter around my waist like she could shield me from the memory, her warmth a balm against the chill of the recollection. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, nuzzling into my neck, her breath warm and steady. "I didn't know... or I guess I did, in pieces, but not like that. You never talked about it much." Her claws lightly traced soothing circles on my arm. "Then it's just us. And the people we've found here. We don't need more than that."
I kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent, letting the moment settle. "Yeah. So who do we invite for the wedding? Small thing, right? Just the people who matter."
She thought for a moment, her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt, twisting the fabric absently. "Definitely Elena and Sylvia—they're basically family now, after everything we've been through. Not sure who else. Maybe some folks from the store where I work, or your bar regulars? Viktor seems nice—he's the one who suggested the lake, right?" She smiled faintly, the sadness easing. "We can keep it intimate. Just us, the lake, a few friends. No big crowds, no pressure."
"Sounds perfect," I agreed, holding her a little tighter, my thumb brushing over her ring finger. "Intimate. Ours."
After a bit more of the movie—neither of us really paying attention anymore, the on-screen romance paling compared to our real one—Miko sat up suddenly, ears perking with determination. "You know what? This time, I'm cooking dinner. You've been doing it too much lately—let me take a turn."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking as I leaned back into the cushions. "You sure? Last time you 'cooked,' we ended up ordering pizza because the pasta turned into charcoal. I can still taste the smoke."
She swatted my arm playfully, tail flicking in mock offense, her eyes narrowing in challenge. "That was one time! I was distracted. I'll be careful this time. Watch me be domestic and amazing." She hopped up with a bounce, heading to the kitchen humming a tune under her breath, her hips swaying with exaggerated confidence.
I laughed, raising my hands in surrender. "Alright, chef. Impress me. I'll be here if you need a fire extinguisher."
She stuck her tongue out over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. I stayed on the couch for a minute, savoring the quiet, then reached for the remote, changing the channel to the news—curiosity getting the better of me, even though I knew it would probably ruin the mood. The Bulgarian broadcast was grim, the anchor's voice steady but laced with urgency: grainy footage of troops marching in formation, tanks rolling across dusty roads, the screen cutting to maps marked with red arrows showing Russian advances deeper into Romania. "Bulgarian forces have been deployed to support the front lines in Romania amid escalating Russian advances. Voluntary enlistment is rising, and reports indicate selective drafts from major cities like Sofia and Plovdiv." My stomach twisted—drafts. The word hung heavy. Then the next headline: "Taiwan has been officially annexed into China following the invasion, with international condemnation mounting and calls for sanctions." Maps flashed on screen, red zones spreading like ink, cities marked with conflict symbols. It felt closer, more real, the world's chaos inching toward our quiet corner, borders blurring.
I quickly switched back to something lighter—a cooking show rerun with cheerful music and a host demonstrating pasta techniques—before Miko could notice. I caught her glancing over from the kitchen, stirring something in a pan, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes wafting over, promising something Italian-inspired and surprisingly promising.
I got up and joined her, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, careful of the bump, my chin resting on her shoulder as she sautéed onions. "Need a hand, chef?"
She leaned back into me, smiling, her tail brushing my leg. "Maybe. Taste this?" She lifted a spoon of sauce—rich, herby, tangy with tomatoes and a hint of basil. Surprisingly good. "Better than last time?"
"Way better," I said, kissing her neck, tasting salt and warmth. "You're getting the hang of this."
We finished cooking together—her leading with confident stirs, me chopping veggies and tasting, the kitchen filling with savory aromas and easy laughter. Dinner was pasta with homemade sauce, fresh basil from the windowsill pot, and garlic bread that came out golden and crisp instead of charred. We ate at the table, her foot brushing mine under it, the ring on her finger catching the light as she twirled pasta on her fork.
During the meal, I brought up something I'd been thinking about. "I might be able to find a place for your wedding dress. There's a boutique in the next town over—someone at the bar mentioned they do custom for hybrids, accommodating tails and all, and maternity styles too. We could go look soon, get measurements."
Her eyes lit up, fork pausing mid-air, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Really? That would be amazing. I've been daydreaming about it—something flowy, maybe with lace on the sleeves, elegant but not too heavy?" She glanced down at her belly, which had grown noticeably longer in the last couple weeks, the curve more pronounced under her shirt, a gentle, undeniable swell that made my heart skip every time I saw it. "Though... might need to account for this little one. It's getting harder to hide."
I nodded, reaching across to rest my hand on the swell, feeling the warmth through her shirt. "Yeah. Speaking of—we should go to the clinic soon, get a proper check-up. Make sure everything's progressing okay, hear the heartbeat again."
She agreed, squeezing my hand over her belly. "Soon. Promise. I want to know everything's good."
After dinner, dishes cleared and stacked in the sink with a clatter, Miko dragged me toward the bedroom with a mischievous grin, her tail swishing with intent. "Celebrate the day properly?" she purred, pushing me onto the bed with surprising strength, her eyes dark and hungry.
She stripped slowly, teasingly—first her top, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air; then her bottoms, shimmying them down her hips with a deliberate wiggle that made my mouth go dry. Naked and glowing, she lay back on the bed, legs spreading wide in invitation, her slick folds glistening, her bump a beautiful curve between us. "Rough tonight," she whispered, eyes locked on mine. "I need it."
I climbed over her, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, tongues tangling as I positioned myself. I thrust in deep and hard, her moan vibrating against my mouth, her walls clenching tight around me like velvet fire. I pinned her wrists lightly above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip as I drove into her relentlessly, each thrust deep and powerful, the bed creaking under us. She arched, meeting every stroke, her breasts bouncing, claws raking my back in delicious trails that stung and heightened everything. "Harder," she gasped, legs wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my ass to pull me deeper.
We switched—her on all fours for doggy, ass up high, presenting herself with a wicked arch of her back, tail raised teasingly high. I gripped her hips firmly, pounding from behind with raw intensity, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room, her cries feral and desperate as I hit that perfect spot deep inside. Her tail thrashed, brushing my stomach, her walls fluttering around me with every thrust, building her toward the edge.
Then cowgirl—she straddled me, sinking down slowly at first, savoring the stretch, then riding with fierce energy, hips grinding down hard, rolling in circles that made me groan. Her breasts bounced with each bounce, and I reached up to cup them, thumbs teasing her nipples until she whimpered. She leaned forward, claws on my chest for leverage, riding faster, her moans turning to breathless cries as she clenched tighter.
Reverse followed, her back to me, ass grinding against my pelvis as she bounced, tail wrapping my thigh possessively, giving me a perfect view of her curves moving. I gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her, the angle deep and relentless, drawing out every sensation until we both shattered—her pulsing around me in rhythmic waves, milking my release as I spilled deep inside her with a guttural groan, our bodies trembling together.
We collapsed, tangled and spent, sweat-slicked skin cooling in the afterglow. She curled into me, ringed hand resting on my chest, her breathing slowing to match mine. Sleep claimed us quickly, the world's shadows distant for now, our future brighter in the dark, wrapped in each other.