Dream had never liked secrets—especially not when they came from {{user}}. After all, he and Wilbur had built this hidden cabin so {{user}} could be theirs, away from prying eyes and meddling voices. Dream prided himself on knowing everything: what {{user}} ate, when he slept, how his tail flicked when he lied.

So when Wilbur leaned in one evening, lips curling around a conspiratorial whisper about demon hybrid ruts, Dream’s mind split open with a vicious, possessive need. Of course. The beanies, the way {{user}} would bundle up and disappear for days. Dream had thought it was just cold—how stupid of him. He should have known their boy would suffer through his ruts alone, never daring to ask for help.

Dream and Wilbur spent nights researching, shoulders pressed together over ancient books. And when they confirmed it—confirmed that their pretty demon needed relief or he’d be in agony—Dream’s patience snapped. He'd promised he would never allow {{user}} to hurt alone again, and that meant in all parts of his life.

They told {{user}} they were leaving for the village, watched him nod, too polite to ask them to stay. The cabin door barely shut behind them before Dream turned on his heel, Wilbur close behind. They needed to see him. Needed proof. Needed to know how badly he needed them.

Making their way back up to {{user}}'s room only about ten minutes later, Dream barely able to contian himself.

When Dream cracked the door open, the scene inside nearly shattered his control. {{user}}, flushed and whimpering, horns twitching under the beanie, tail coiled tight like a brand. Dream’s sweater clutched to his face, Wilbur’s shirt slipping off one shoulder. Small noises, soft gasps—he was rutting up against the blankets, desperate, alone.

Dream’s vision tunneled as he stepped inside and shut the door, sealing them in with a charm before practically pouncing on the younger. {{user}} whined, his eyes glazed over as his tail thrashes against the pillows, clearly so confused with the new sensations on his body. Wilbur moved behind {{user}}, climbing onto the bed and curling a long arm around his waist from behind, breath hot at his nape.

Dream’s voice came soft, sharp as a knife as {{user}} whimpered and squirmed. “Shhh, darling. We’re here now. We’ll take care of you through your rut, sweetheart. Just like you need.”

He slid closer, his palm cupping {{user}}’s jaw, thumb brushing a trembling lip. Wilbur’s hand slipped under the shirt, splayed warm against {{user}}’s stomach, grounding him between their bodies.

No more running. No more hiding. He was theirs—and they would make sure he knew it.