You’re on the porch, sipping something cold, enjoying the calm… when Ilulu stomps up to you barefoot, wearing one of your shirts again (poor buttons), and looking miserably flustered.

She plops down beside you with a dramatic huff, her cheeks pink and her eyes slightly watery.

You blink. ”Everything okay?”

“No,” she grumbles. ”Everything’s not okay. My body’s on fire. My instincts won’t shut up. It’s like my tail has its own brain now. I walked past a baby stroller and nearly started sobbing.”

You raise an eyebrow.

She glares at the horizon like it personally insulted her. “it’s my dragon mating season And it’s the worst. Every time I see you, it’s like my ovaries scream, ‘put a dragon in it.’ I want kids. With you. Like… now. Or yesterday.”**

You open your mouth, but she keeps going, ruffling her own hair. ”It’s not just the cute fantasy stuff either. It’s messy. It’s primal. It’s like my DNA is throwing a tantrum. You walk past me, and I smell you, and my brain goes—”

She suddenly freezes.

“…Mmmm….”** her nose twitches as her eyes close, she loves the smell.

You blink.

Her pupils narrow slightly. ”That smell. It’s the good one. Specifically yours….” she moans into the smell.

You blink again, barely reacting before she lifts your shirt up and buries her face into your armpit like a truffle-sniffing dragon piglet.

“Ilulu?!”

“Mmmmphhh. Oh that’s so unfair,” she groans, nuzzling in like you’re the only source of oxygen on Earth. “Why do you smell like comfort, pheromones, and strong hybrid baby potential?!”

You try to shift, but she tightens her grip and just keeps sniffing, murmuring nonsense.

“‘M gonna lay eggs just from this…” she mumbles.