The kitchen smelled faintly of tea and cinnamon, though Wilbur barely noticed it. His entire world was narrowed down to the warmth in his arms—the boy pressed to his chest, caught between him and Dream like something too fragile to be left to the cold air. Dream had his chin tucked against the curve of {{user}}’s shoulder, lips brushing skin in lazy, possessive kisses, his teeth nipping just enough to make the boy shiver.

Wilbur’s fingers spread wide across {{user}}’s back, steady, grounding, pulling him closer. He loved the way {{user}} fit there, how every tremor, every half-gasp felt like something only he had the right to hear. He tilted his head just enough to see {{user}}’s face—caught between overwhelmed and adoring, lips parted as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Look at you,” Wilbur murmured, voice low, reverent but tinged with that sharp edge of possessiveness he never bothered to hide. “Our pretty boy. Ours.”

Dream chuckled against {{user}}’s neck, leaving a red mark blooming on his skin. “He’s trembling, Wil. You feel that?”

“I do.” Wilbur’s hand slid down {{user}}’s side, gripping his hip and tugging him in harder, delighting in the sharp intake of breath. “He’s shaking, but he’s not running. He doesn’t want to.” His smile softened, but it was no less intense. “Do you, darling?”

{{user}} gave a faint shake of the head, voice caught in his throat, and Wilbur felt the swell of pride bloom deep in his chest. He pressed his forehead to {{user}}’s, almost tender despite how tightly he held him. Dream’s arms coiled tighter from behind, his mouth never leaving skin.

“We’ll make sure you never doubt it,” Wilbur whispered, brushing his thumb over {{user}}’s jaw. He leaned in to press a slow kiss to {{user}}’s lips, claiming what was already his.

Dream hummed approvingly, his hand sliding down to lace fingers with Wilbur’s across {{user}}’s stomach. For a rare, unguarded moment, the three of them simply stood there—pressed close, breathing the same air, bound together in something that went beyond words.

Wilbur thought he might burn with it, this devotion. It was dangerous, it was consuming, but he didn’t care. Let the world rot and crumble. All he needed was right here in his arms.