I woke to a piercing scream that shattered the tranquil silence of the pre-dawn hours, my heart slamming against my ribs like a caged beast before my eyes even fully opened, the sound ripping through the house like a siren's wail. The room was shrouded in the soft, muted gray of early morning, the first hints of light seeping through the curtains in faint, silvery threads that barely illuminated the outlines of furniture and the rumpled sheets tangled around me. Adrenaline surged through my veins in an instant, propelling me upright, the mattress dipping and creaking under the sudden movement. My mind raced in confusion and fear—Miko? The twins? The scream came again, raw and agonized, echoing from downstairs, sending a bolt of pure panic straight through me like electricity.
"Miko!" I shouted, my voice hoarse and urgent as I threw off the covers, the cool air hitting my bare skin like a slap, goosebumps prickling across my arms and chest. Sleep vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a frantic clarity as I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the edge of the rug in my haste. The wooden floorboards were cold and unyielding under my feet, grounding me as I yanked on a pair of sweats from the floor, the fabric rough and hurried against my legs. Heart pounding in my ears like a war drum, I dashed out of the bedroom, the hallway dim and shadowed, the house feeling eerily still except for the echoes of her cries.
Another scream tore through the air as I bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time, the banister slick under my palm from the sweat already beading on my skin. "Miko! Where are you?" The panic clawed at my throat, visions of worst-case scenarios flashing—complications with the pregnancy, an accident in the night. Bursting into the kitchen, the room bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light she'd apparently turned on, there she was: Miko, doubled over by the worn wooden table, one hand clutching the edge so hard her knuckles blanched white, the other splayed protectively over her swollen bump. Her face was contorted in sheer agony, sweat beading on her forehead and trickling down her temples despite the morning chill seeping through the windows, her nightshirt clinging damply to her body, stretched taut over the pronounced curve of her belly. Her tail lashed wildly behind her like a whip cracking in distress, her ears flattened against her head, golden eyes wide with fear and pain as another contraction gripped her.
"It's... happening," she gasped between labored breaths, her voice strained and breaking, teeth gritted as she rode out the wave, a low moan escaping her lips. "The babies... labor... hurts so much!"
"Shit—okay, breathe, kitten," I said, rushing to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her trembling weight as she leaned heavily into me, her body shaking with the intensity of the contraction. Her scent—warm, musky, mixed with the sharp tang of sweat—filled my senses, grounding me amid the chaos. "We're going. Hospital now. Hold on."
Akira appeared at the kitchen doorway moments later, her black hair disheveled from sleep, eyes wide and alert as she took in the scene, her tail flicking sharply. "What's going on?" she demanded, voice thick with alarm, but one look at Miko's pained expression and the way she clutched her bump made it click. "Shit—labor? I'll grab the keys and her bag!"
We hustled Miko to the car—me half-carrying her down the porch steps, her moans echoing in the crisp morning air that nipped at our skin, the gravel crunching under our hurried feet like brittle bones. The world outside was just stirring: birds chirping their first songs, dew glistening on the grass, the river's gentle flow a distant murmur. Akira jumped into the back seat with her, helping prop Miko up with pillows from the go-bag we'd prepared weeks ago, while I slid into the driver's seat, engine roaring to life with a twist of the key that felt like a lifeline. The tires spun briefly on the driveway before catching traction, kicking up a cloud of dust as we peeled out toward the nearest hospital, the road unfurling ahead like a desperate escape route.
As we drove, the car jolting over every bump and pothole—making Miko wince and grip the seat with white-knuckled hands, her screams punctuating the urgency—Akira leaned forward from the back, her voice attempting a forced lightness amid the thick tension blanketing the vehicle. "You two really know how to ruin a girl's morning," she complained, though her tone was strained, a smirk playing on her lips as she tried to inject some humor. "I was in the middle of a killer masturbation session—thinking about you, actually—and then screams? Talk about bad timing. Couldn't wait a few more minutes?"
I glanced in the rearview mirror, catching her wink amid the worry in her eyes, and despite the panic clawing at my chest, a bark of surprised laughter escaped me—it was absurd, her trying to lighten the mood in the midst of labor, the car speeding through the winding countryside roads flanked by blooming fields and distant hills. "Seriously?" I said, shaking my head, the momentary humor cutting through the fear like a brief ray of sun piercing storm clouds, easing the knot in my stomach just a fraction.
Miko, however, gripped the dashboard, her face pale and slick with sweat, another contraction building like a tidal wave, her scream tearing from her throat in a raw, primal burst. "Not... funny," she gasped, but there was a faint, strained smile through the pain, her tail lashing against the seat. Her mind was elsewhere, fragmented by the agony—stressed about the birth itself, the unknowns of twins arriving perhaps a bit early, the pain ripping through her like fire. And then, between labored breaths as the contraction ebbed, "The bill... hospital bill. We're from the US—what if it's insane? No insurance here... we can't afford..."
I reached over when the road allowed, squeezing her knee reassuringly, though my own mind raced with the same worry—the US healthcare nightmares we'd fled, bills that could bankrupt families for a single night. "Hey, we'll figure it out," I said, voice steady despite the internal storm. "Focus on the babies—money's just paper. I've got savings stashed; we'll make it work, promise." But the thought nagged at me too—back in the US, costs were predatory; here in Bulgaria, hybrid care might add unexpected fees, but priorities screamed louder: get her there safe, worry about the rest later.
After a good 30 minutes of driving—the roads twisting through picturesque but mocking serenity, hills rolling by in waves of green dotted with wildflowers, the occasional village flashing past with its red-tiled roofs and church steeples—they reached the hospital. It was a modern, unassuming building on the town's edge, white walls gleaming under the climbing sun, the parking lot half-full with cars reflecting the light like mirrors, an ambulance idling nearby with its lights off. I screeched to a halt at the emergency entrance, horns blaring from startled drivers in the lot, the tires leaving faint skid marks on the asphalt. Nurses in crisp blue scrubs rushed out with a wheelchair, their voices calm but urgent in rapid Bulgarian, wheeling Miko inside through the automatic doors that whooshed open with a hydraulic sigh, the sterile scent of antiseptic and polished floors hitting us like a wave, mingling with the faint undertone of bleach.
Akira and I followed close behind, the waiting area bright with harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like distant insects, rows of plastic chairs lined against the walls, a few anxious families scattered about flipping through outdated magazines or staring at their phones. Miko was rushed down a hallway lined with closed doors and beeping machines, her screams echoing off the tiled floors as another contraction hit, leaving us in the sterile hall outside the delivery room—me pacing the linoleum with heavy, echoing steps, the floor scuffed from countless worried feet; Akira leaning against the wall with arms crossed tightly over her chest, her tail flicking nervously like a metronome counting down.
"She's strong," Akira said after a while, her voice attempting reassurance though her own eyes betrayed worry, pushing off the wall to stand beside me. "She'll be fine—the twins too."
I nodded absently, but the worry gnawed like a beast inside—labor complications, the stress from the kidnapping still fresh, the unknowns piling up like storm clouds. To distract me, perhaps sensing the spiral, Akira took my hand suddenly, her touch warm and firm amid the cold hospital air, pulling me toward a nearby supply closet tucked in a quiet alcove. "Come on—at least let me make you less worried," she whispered, her voice low and urgent, closing the door behind us with a soft click that sealed us in the small, dim space—shelves lined with folded linens, cleaners, and medical supplies casting long shadows in the faint light from under the door.
"One last time," she said, her voice husky with intent, stripping quick and efficient—shirt lifted over her head to reveal her full breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air; pants shimmying down her hips to pool at her feet. "Fuck my brains out—relieve that stress before it eats you alive."
I hesitated, the hospital hum faint through the door, but the tension needed an outlet, the fear coiling too tight. I pinned her to the wall—rough, her back against the cold metal shelves, thrusting deep as she gasped, legs wrapping around my waist. Water from a nearby sink we'd turned on masked the sounds, her moans muffled against my shoulder as I pounded relentless, her walls clenching hot and tight. From the front, I lifted her higher, fucking rough and fast, her breasts bouncing with each slam, nails raking my back until she came hard, shuddering around me. At the end, she dropped to her knees on the linoleum, taking me in her mouth, sucking with fervent pulls, tongue swirling until I came, spilling hot down her throat as she swallowed eagerly, her eyes locked on mine with a mix of triumph and relief.
Less stressed, head clearer, the knot in my chest loosened just enough, we returned to the hall—sitting on the hard plastic chairs that creaked under our weight, the clock on the wall ticking agonizingly slow, each minute stretching like hours. Coffee from a vending machine tasted like burnt paper, bitter and unsatisfying in styrofoam cups that burned our fingers, but it was something to do amid the wait. After a good 3 hours—pacing the scuffed linoleum floors, flipping through dog-eared magazines without reading a word, Akira fidgeting with her tail in nervous loops—the doctor emerged from the double doors, her scrubs slightly rumpled but her smile wide and genuine.
"You can see her now," she said in accented English. "Healthy twins—a boy and a girl. Mother and babies are doing well."
We entered the room—bright with overhead lights that buzzed faintly, the beeps from monitors a steady rhythm like heartbeats in sync, the air scented with newborn freshness and antiseptic. Miko lay in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, sweat-damp hair sticking to her forehead, her face flushed with joy and fatigue. In her arms, two tiny bundles wrapped in soft pastel blankets—a boy with a tuft of dark hair like mine, his tiny fists clenched; a girl with Miko's golden eyes already peeking open curiously, her little tail twitching faintly under the wrap.
"They're perfect," Miko whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked up at me, her voice weak but filled with awe. "Our babies... come meet them."
I leaned in, kissing her gently, my heart full to bursting as I touched their soft cheeks. "What should we name them?" she asked, handing me the boy carefully.
I smiled, the names feeling right. "Boy—Caz. Girl—Ava."
She nodded, beaming through her tears. "Caz and Ava. Our family." The room filled with their tiny cries, a new chapter beginning.