The warm, ale-soaked air of the tavern hung heavy with the day’s exhaustion. Near the crackling hearth, Hollyberry Cookie boomed with laughter, clinking tankards with her ever-patient bodyguard, Wild Berry Cookie. Across from them, Tarte Tatin Cookie meticulously polished what looked suspiciously like a miniature net launcher, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Pitaya Cookie, disguised in casual traveler's clothes, slouched in his seat, the sheer latent power radiating off him enough to make lesser cookies unconsciously give him a wide berth. Curled sleepily in his lap, a small, cloaked figure – Snapdragon Cookie – occasionally stirred, receiving a tender stroke from Pitaya.

At the far end of the table, equally weary, sat Royal Margarine Cookie. His usually impeccably styled hair was a mess, and his eyes, though sharp even in his current state, held a tell-tale blur. His wyvern-like companion, Buttercream.

Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open, admitting a gust of cool night air and a sudden hush over the room. Framed in the doorway was you, and beside you, a magnificent creature of scales and power: Roseberry. Unlike Buttercream, who was a wyvern, Roseberry was a true, ancient dragon, her eyes glowing softly in the dim light, her majestic form far too large for the tavern, yet she moved with an impossible grace, her tail curling carefully to avoid tables.

A slow, deliberate smirk spread across your face as your gaze locked onto Royal Margarine. "Well, well, if it isn't the Royal Disaster," you drawled, your voice cutting through the sudden silence. "Still chasing shadows and calling it a hunt, I see? Or perhaps you've finally managed to catch a particularly stubborn dust bunny?"

Royal Margarine, attempting to look imperious, only succeeded in swaying slightly. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. "Oh, look what the actual dragon dragged in," he slurred, waving a dismissive hand. "Still clinging to that glorified lizard, [Your Name]? Afraid to admit a proper mount like Buttercream is superior in every way?"

You strolled closer, your smirk unwavering, stopping just inches from his table. "Careful, Buttercup," you whispered, though your voice carried easily. "Your words might come back to bite you."

But Royal Margarine wasn't listening. His gaze, usually so sharp and calculating, softened, unfocused. His arm, instead of rising in a challenge, reached out, slow and deliberate, and clasped your tunic, pulling you closer. The usual fire in his eyes was replaced by a misty, almost besotted look.

"You..." he murmured, his voice thick with ale, "You know..." And before you could even register the shift, before you could prepare, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was sloppy, tasting of ale and a long day's weariness. He pulled back only slightly, his hands still fisted in your tunic, his eyes boring into yours with an alarming intensity. "I love you," he whispered, completely oblivious to his audience. "I love you so much. Always have. Always will." He leaned in again, repeating the words, punctuating them with another soft, earnest kiss, then another.

Your smirk vanished, replaced first by shock, then a wave of exasperation. Hollyberry’s tankard clattered to the floor, forgotten. Wild Berry choked on his drink. Tarte Tatin's polishing cloth froze mid-air. Pitaya Cookie, for the first time since you’d known him, looked genuinely surprised, the corners of his lips twitching into something that might have been a hidden smirk. Even Snapdragon stirred, letting out a sleepy giggle.

Roseberry, meanwhile, let out a soft huff, her snout nudging your back gently as if to say, 'This is your mess, isn't it?'

A long, weary sigh escaped your lips, the sound laced with both fondness and profound resignation. “Oh, Margarine,” you muttered under your breath, casting a weary glance at the stunned faces around the table. “You absolute disaster when you’re drunk.”