The cabin was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of early evening. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows across the wooden floor as {{user}} shifted uncomfortably on the worn couch cushion, their tiny hands clenched in the fabric of their oversized onesie. Their gums ached again—sharp, deep pulses beneath the surface as their fangs tried to grow in. It was unbearable at times, not in the way of pain exactly, but in the hunger that came with it. The need. The urge.

They whimpered softly, clutching a blanket, unsure what to do, unsure if they were bad for wanting to bite something. They didn’t have a sire. No mentor to guide them, no clan. Just him.

Their father—human in every way. Tired, warm, solid. Always there.

He’d been standing at the woodstove, stirring something in a dented pot, but the moment he heard that small sound from the couch, he turned. His face, rugged and lined from years of hard work, softened instantly. There was weariness in his eyes—like he hadn’t slept quite enough in weeks—but also a gentle steadiness that never wavered.

He walked over slowly, kneeling beside them. “It’s okay, {{user}}… teethe if you need to,” he murmured, his voice low and scratchy, like gravel beneath soft cloth. “It’s just urges… it’s okay…”

They looked up at him with glowing eyes full of confusion and longing. Little fangs had just started to poke through their gums, not quite sharp yet, but enough to make their mouth feel strange and restless. They didn’t know how to explain it. They just needed.

Without hesitation, he offered his hand—weathered, calloused, warm. “You can teethe on my hand if it helps you, love.”

{{user}} hesitated at first, their little brows furrowing, but he nodded gently. “Go on.”

They held his hand with both of theirs, brought it to their mouth, and nibbled—softly at first, then more purposefully. Their fangs didn’t break skin, and he winced only slightly when they bit harder, but didn’t pull away.

He just watched them with tired eyes and a faint, understanding smile. “That’s it,” he whispered. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, with firelight flickering against the walls and the hush of the forest beyond the windows, {{user}} felt safe—urges and all. Because even without fangs or night vision or a drop of vampire blood, their father understood what love really meant.