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The morning began like any other.
Cold air clung to the forest floor, damp with the scent of pine and earth. Izuku moved first, silent and deliberate, his paws barely whispering against the ground as he wove through the base of trees. Behind him, Momo followed, her presence steady and quiet, their movements were perfectly in sync without the need for sound.
They were hunting.
A young deer had gotten separated from its herd. Weak enough for them to chase and tire out but strong enough to fight back.
Izuku lunged first.
The forest exploded into motion—hooves striking dirt, leaves scattering, breath steaming in sharp bursts. Momo cut to the side, anticipating, her body curving through the underbrush with practiced precision. They didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to plan.
They just knew what to do.
Moments later, it was over.
The deer lay still beneath them, the forest slowly settling back into quiet. Izuku’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, green eyes flicking toward Momo. She met his gaze, which always calmed him down and grounded him.
Safe. Successful. Together.
Just another morning.
…Until it wasn’t.
A sound cut through the trees.
Soft. Weak. Wrong.
Izuku’s ears snapped forward. Momo froze.
It came again—a thin, broken cry. Not the sharp yip of a lost pup, but something quieter… fragile.
Still, instinct surged.
Pups.
Izuku was already moving before the thought fully formed, weaving toward the sound. Momo followed close behind, faster now, urgency building with every step. The cries grew clearer, more desperate, guiding them through dense brush and over uneven ground until they stopped.
Two small shapes lay tangled in the undergrowth.
They didn’t have any fur, and certainly didn’t have paws.
They had very pale skin.
Izuku hesitated.
The scent was unfamiliar—wrong for the forest. Wrong for anything that should have been here. Momo stepped closer, cautious, her nose lowering as the cries rose again, thin and trembling.
Tiny creatures. Barely covered. Shivering.
Barely alive.
The instinct didn’t fade.
If anything, it grew stronger.
They were small.
They were helpless.
They were alone.
Momo made the first move.
Carefully—so carefully she barely breathed—she grasped the fabric covering one of them, lifting the fragile body just enough to test. It cried louder, flailing weakly, and her ears flicked back in alarm, but she didn’t let go.
Izuku circled the other, uncertain for only a moment before mirroring her. His grip was gentler than any bite he had ever given.
This wasn’t prey.
This wasn’t a threat.
This was something else.
Something that needed them.
Together, they turned back toward the den.
⸻
Back home, the den felt different.
It felt too small now and much too cold.
Momo curled immediately around the tiny bodies, pressing them into her warmth, her tail wrapping instinctively as if they had always belonged there. Their cries softened, then stilled, replaced by uneven, fragile breaths.
Izuku lingered at the entrance.
Watching.
Listening.
Making sure nothing followed.
When he was certain, he stepped closer, lowering his head to gently nudge Momo’s shoulder. She didn’t move away from the small creatures, but her eyes flicked to him briefly.
Understanding passed between them.
He would bring the food.
She would keep them warm.
They would figure the rest out together.
Later that day
Izuku didn’t go straight back in once he brought the deer to the den. There was a scent that pulled at him, beckoning him closer.
Faint now, but still there—lingering in the place where the tiny creatures had been found. He slowed as he approached, paws quieter, nose low to the ground as he searched.
Something had been left behind.
It wasn’t prey or part of the forest. It was something foreign.
His gaze landed on them, the two strange, soft structures slumped against a fallen log. They smelled strongly of the small creatures and something else. Something sharp and unfamiliar.
Cautiously, Izuku stepped closer.
He circled once, then nudged one of them with his nose.
It shifted easily and one of them fell over.
He stepped back uncertain, but sure that whatever this thing was, it wasn’t alive.
It was safe.
His teeth caught one of the dangling straps, lifting carefully. It was heavier than expected, the weight uneven as it swayed. He adjusted his grip, then reached for the second, hooking it alongside the first until both hung awkwardly against his back.
It felt uncomfortable, but something in him told him the things inside were important.
He took one last glance at the clearing and then he turned, heading back.
⸻————————————————————
The den was quiet when he returned.
Not silent, it was never completely silent.
Soft, uneven sounds filled the space. Small, fragile noises. Momo was curled tightly around the tiny bodies, her form shielding them completely. Only a glimpse of pale skin and thin fabric peeked through her fur.
Her head lifted the moment he entered.
Relief flickered in her eyes, it was brief, but he saw it.
Izuku lowered the bags carefully, letting them slide from his back onto the ground. They made a strange rustling sound, earning a flick of Momo’s ears.
She sniffed the air curiously and cautiously as the new, but familiar scent, hit her nose.
He nudged one of the bags toward her, then used his nose to push it open.
Inside the bag was more strange things.
Soft wrappings. Smooth containers. And a scent.
Faint. Sweet. Familiar.
It smelled like the tiny creatures.
Izuku stilled.
He lowered his head further, nudging aside the contents until he found the source: a small, rounded object filled with white liquid. It sloshed gently as he moved it.
Momo shifted slightly, one of the babies letting out a weak cry at the movement.
Both wolves froze.
The sound was thinner now. Tired.
She was hungry.
Izuku looked back at the object.
Then at the baby.
Then back again.
Understanding didn’t come all at once for a wolf, but something close to it did.
Slowly, and very carefully, he picked up the container. It was awkward in his mouth, too smooth, too delicate. He adjusted his bite, mindful of his teeth, and stepped closer.
Momo watched him closely, unmoving but alert.
He lowered the object toward the small creature’s face.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the baby turned weakly, lips brushing against the strange tip.
Movement.
It was a small, desperate movement.
She was drinking the liquid.
Izuku jerked back slightly in surprise, nearly dropping the container before steadying it again. Momo’s body tensed, but she didn’t interfere. They both watched, completely still, as the tiny creature latched on, the soft sounds shifting from cries… to something quieter.
Something steadier.
The second baby stirred.
Crying again.
Momo reacted this time, shifting her body to nudge the other small form closer. Her nose brushed against it, urging, guiding.
Izuku understood.
He set the first container down carefully and turned back to the bag, searching again. There was another one with the same shape, and same scent.
He brought it over.
This time, there was less hesitation.
More certainty.
More purpose.
The den, once quiet and familiar, was now filled with something new.
Soft sounds. Small movements.
Life that didn’t belong to the forest…
But belonged to them now.
______________________________________
The den had settled into a quiet rhythm.
Soft breaths. Occasional whimpers. The faint rustle of movement against fur.
Izuku lay still at the center, his body curved protectively around the small shapes nestled next to him. One of the babies had managed to grasp at his fur again, tiny fingers tangling weakly in the thick green strands near his chest. He didn’t move it.
Mainly because he didn’t want or need to.
Outside the den, Momo moved.
Izuku’s ears twitched immediately.
Her scent drifted through the entrance—close, familiar, steady. She was just outside, stretching, pacing lightly through the brush. Reclaiming space that was still technically theirs, but always felt safer when she was within reach.
Izuku kept watching her even as he stayed still.
One eye he kept on the forest, one on the babies nestled against him, and one on her.
The babies stirred softly against him, one letting out a small, broken sound. Izuku lowered his head immediately, nudging gently until the noise faded back into uneven breathing.
Safe.
Still here.
Still warm.
A shadow moved at the entrance.
Momo returned.
She stepped inside slowly, shaking out her fur before lowering herself beside him. The den seemed to shift with her presence—like something heavy finally settling into place.
Izuku exhaled.
Only then did he move.
His head lowered immediately, pressing against her shoulder, then her side, then her neck—sniffing carefully, insistently, as if checking every inch of her for signs of anything wrong. His nose lingered where her fur was warmest, where her scent was strongest, where she was herself.
Momo let out a low, amused rumble.
“Alright… you’re overdoing it,” she seemed to say without words.
Her tail flicked lightly against his flank in mild protest, but she didn’t pull away.
Izuku didn’t stop until he was satisfied, absolutely sure nothing was wrong with her.
Only then did he stop and relax.
Momo shifted closer, easing down until her head rested against his shoulder. The weight of her was grounding, familiar in a way the forest never was, despite the fact that he was born in the forest.
Her breath slowed to match his. The babies slept soundly between them.
Warm, fed, and more importantly alive.
Izuku let out a slow breath through his nose and leaned ever so slightly into her.
Outside, the forest moved on.
But inside the den, nothing needed to be chased.
Nothing needed to be fought.
Just held.
______________________________________
The next day
The forest didn’t feel right when Izuku and Momo woke up.
There was too much noise and a lot of carelessness in the air.
Izuku moved through the underbrush without a sound, body low, weaving between shadow and leaf as the unfamiliar voices grew clearer. He didn’t step out this time.
He gave no warning.
He watched.
Humans.
Several of them.
They stood scattered near the edge of the clearing, their scents overlapping, their voices sharp and constant. Some held strange objects in their hands, lifting them, pointing them, shifting closer without understanding what they were approaching.
They were too close for his comfort.
Izuku stilled completely, blending into the brush just beyond their sight. His ears tracked every movement, every step that edged nearer to the den.
One of them moved further than the others.
Slow and careful.
But not careful enough.
⸻
Inside the den, the quiet had changed.
Momo’s ears flicked.
Something was wrong.
One of the small bodies wasn’t where it should be.
Her head lifted sharply, eyes scanning the den and spotted movement at the entrance.
The baby girl was crawling out.
⸻
Outside, the humans were still talking.
“These tracks are still fresh.”
“They’re definitely using this area more than others.”
“Careful, we don’t want to—”
A soft rustle cut through their voices.
Not from the trees.
From the ground.
One of them paused.
“…did you hear that?”
Another turned around and saw her.
A tiny figure, emerging from the brush at the mouth of the den. Small hands pressing into moss, thin clothing catching on twigs as she pulled herself forward.
Alive.
Alone.
Human.
For a moment no one spoke.
“…that’s a child.”
“Wait… what?!”
“Where are her parents?!”
Phones lifted instantly.
Recording.
Documenting.
Not understanding fully what they were doing.
The baby made a small, happy sound, completely unaware of the sudden stillness around her. She kept moving, slow and determined, eyes fixed ahead of her.
Toward the clearing.
Toward them.
And closer, closer to where Izuku lay hidden.
⸻
His body had already gone rigid.
Every instinct screamed at once.
If he jumped out now, he would be too exposed. But there was too many getting too close.
One of the humans stepped forward.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay sweetheart.”
They crouched down and reached, their hand extending toward her.
The baby girl for her part, did look quite upset when a hand reached for her and made a confused whimper.
To Izuku, a whimper was a whimper.
He exploded from the brush.
A snarl tore through the clearing as he lunged, placing himself between the reaching hand and the child in a single, violent movement.
His sharp teeth sank into flesh, and a cry split the air.
“AH—!”
The human jerked back, stumbling, clutching their hand as blood welled between their fingers.
Chaos erupted.
“Back up! Back up!”
“He bit him?!”
“Don’t. Move.”
Izuku stood his ground and stood over her protectively.
His body lowered, shielding the baby completely as a deep, furious growl rolled from his chest—no longer a warning— a promise.
“Don’t touch her.” His body language said without words.
The baby didn’t cry or scream at him, she simply reached for his leg and tugged on it gently.
Tiny hands grabbing at his fur as she pressed against his leg, seeking the same warmth, the same safety she always had.
“Da…!”
The sound cut through the panic.
Izuku’s head dipped instantly, nose sniffing to check over her, snapping his head back up toward the humans, teeth still bared.
Behind him, there was movement.
Quick movement.
Momo burst from the den like a tornado.
Her eyes locked onto the scene in an instant—the humans, Izuku, and the baby— her posture changing to a protective stance.
She reached them in seconds, lowering herself beside the baby, her nose moving quickly, checking every inch of her before shifting her body to cover more space—placing herself between the child and anything that might come too close.
Then she looked up.
At the humans.
Her growl joined Izuku’s.
Much colder.
Another small rustle followed—
And the second baby appeared. The boy, slower, more uncertain, crawled clumsily from the den entrance, drawn by the noise, by the movement, by them.
Straight into the open.
One of the humans whispered, voice shaking with fear, “Uh oh… there’s two of them…”
No one moved forward this time.
No one dared to reach for the babies again.
Phones stayed raised, recording the interaction, but their hands stayed back.
Because now it wasn’t just one wolf. It was two of them.
And between them—
Two children.
Not lost.
Not alone.
Claimed.
______________________________________
The humans left slowly.
Step by careful step.
No sudden movements.
No more reaching hands.
Their voices were hushed now—uneasy and shaken, no longer filled with careless curiosity. They backed away from the clearing with wary eyes fixed on the wolves, phones lowered at last, until the sounds of their footsteps faded into the trees.
Only when the forest fell quiet again did Izuku move.
He lowered his head to the baby girl first, nudging her gently, urgently.
Checking.
Alive.
Unhurt.
Momo stepped to the baby boy, grasping the back of his clothing carefully between her teeth. Izuku mirrored her, lifting the girl with the same careful precision, and together they turned toward the den.
Fast.
Silent.
The moment they were inside, Momo set the girl down and immediately began checking her.
Her nose moved quickly over the baby’s hands, her face, her clothes—sniffing away the scent of the humans that clung to her. She licked carefully over her cheeks, her hair, every place unfamiliar hands had almost touched.
The baby giggled softly, reaching toward her fur, unaware of the fear still clinging to the den.
Momo didn’t stop.
She cleaned her with meticulous care, driven by a fierce need to erase every trace of danger.
To make her smell like home again.
To make her safe.
Izuku watched them for only a moment, then turned around and moved back to the entrance.
He sat just outside the den, body rigid.
Ears forward.
Eyes scanning.
Every rustle in the trees pulled at him. Every shifting branch made the fur along his back rise.
The humans were gone.
But not gone enough.
Not for him.
The forest stretched quiet before him, but Izuku couldn’t settle. His breathing was too sharp, muscles too tight, every instinct still screaming to guard, to watch, to be ready.
Behind him, soft rustling came from inside the den.
Then—
Tiny, uneven movement.
Izuku glanced back.
The baby boy was crawling toward him.
Slow.
Wobbly.
Determined.
The little boy reached the den entrance, paused awkwardly, then crawled the last short distance over the soft dirt and leaves until he reached Izuku’s side.
Without hesitation, he leaned against him.
Small.
Warm.
Trusting.
Izuku went still.
The boy let out a sleepy little sound and curled clumsily against his side, tiny fingers tangling in the thick fur near his leg as though this was the safest place in the world.
Maybe it was.
Izuku lowered his head slowly, nose brushing over the boy’s hair.
Warm.
Safe.
Here.
The tension in his shoulders eased just a little.
His ears stayed alert.
His eyes remained on the trees.
But his breathing slowed.
The boy shifted closer, pressing into his side with complete trust, and Izuku leaned subtly into the contact, curling his tail around him to shield him from the breeze.
Inside the den, Momo watched from where she lay with the baby girl tucked against her.
Her mate still sat guard at the entrance, body poised and ready, but no longer alone.
Their now son rested against him.
And somehow, that was enough to pull him back from the edge.
Momo let out a soft huff and lowered her head onto her paws.
For now, the forest was quiet again.
For now, their babies were safe. And to insure that, Izuku would stay right there; watching the woods with one eye, and keeping his son warm with the other.
When Izuku finally turned from the treeline, the tension in his body had eased.
It wasn’t gone completely.
But quieter.
The baby boy padded clumsily beside him, stumbling every few steps through the leaves, tiny hands grabbing at roots and moss as he followed. Izuku moved slowly to match him, a large strip of deer meat hanging from his jaws.
Fresh.
Warm.
Safe to bring home.
By the time they reached the den entrance, Momo had lifted her head.
The baby girl rested curled against her chest, but her ears perked the moment she saw them. Her gaze flicked over the boy first, checking him quickly, then settled on Izuku.
He looked calmer. He was still watching everything alert, but he was calmer.
Izuku stepped inside and lowered the meat onto the floor of the den. The baby boy immediately abandoned his slow crawl to press himself against Izuku’s front legs, babbling softly as if proud of their return.
Momo rose and moved closer.
Izuku nudged the meat toward her first.
She tore off a piece, eating quickly but without urgency. Izuku followed after, the two of them sharing the meal in easy silence.
No tension.
No fear.
Just the familiar rhythm of eating side by side.
The babies, however, had no interest in the food.
They had a lot more interest in Izuku.
The baby girl crawled over first, tiny hands grabbing clumsily at his fur as she hauled herself against his side. The boy followed right after, tugging at the thick fur around Izuku’s shoulder and babbling excitedly.
Izuku paused mid-bite.
One ear flicked.
But he didn’t stop them.
The girl climbed halfway onto his back before slipping sideways into his shoulder. The boy patted at his neck with tiny hands, laughing softly.
Izuku simply adjusted his weight so they wouldn’t fall.
Momo watched the scene with quiet amusement as she finished eating.
The babies crawled over him as if he were part of the den itself—safe, familiar, theirs.
One tiny hand grabbed at his ear.
Another tangled in the fur at the back of his neck.
He let them.
Every time one slipped, he shifted his body to steady them.
Every time one wobbled too far, his nose nudged them back into place.
Patient. Careful. Endlessly gentle.
By the time the meat was gone, both babies were still draped over him, tired but happy.
Momo moved to his side and slowly lowered herself beside him, pressing warm fur against his shoulder.
The contact was soft.
Trusting.
A quiet reminder that the danger had passed.
She let out a slow breath, her head lowering until it rested against him.
Within moments, her breathing evened out and she was asleep.
Izuku stayed upright.
The babies were still awake, climbing sluggishly now, movements slower as exhaustion began to pull at them. The boy curled against one of Izuku’s front legs, blinking heavily.
The girl stretched across his back, head drooping towards the ground.
Izuku watched them both.
Watched the den entrance.
Watched the trees beyond.
Even now, with Momo asleep against him and the babies safe at his side, he stayed awake.
Guarding.
The boy was the first to give in to sleep, his tiny hands loosening where they held Izuku’s fur.
The girl followed soon after, curling awkwardly against his side with a sleepy little sigh.
Only when both of them were asleep did Izuku finally relax.
He lowered himself slowly, careful not to wake anyone.
Momo shifted in her sleep, leaning more heavily against him.
The babies remained curled against his side and back, warm little bodies pressed into his fur.
Izuku lifted his head one last time, eyes on the den entrance, ears listening for anything out of place.
The woods answered with silence.
Safe.
At last, he let his head rest.
His body curled instinctively around the babies, Momo warm against his shoulder.
And surrounded by the family he had fought for, Izuku finally went to sleep.