Archive of Our Own

The infamous "Quirk Population Program" provided Quirkless people the illusion of choice with two options: procreate with a Quirk-having individual, or undergo sterilization.

The mandate originated in the United States over sixty years ago and quickly ensnared the attention of neighboring and global governments. At the time, the president’s manipulative and tragic words seeped into the minds of domestic and foreign citizens. The campaign injected venom into their brains, paralyzing their judgment and common sense.

The speeches were layered with honey to cover the taste of poison, feigned with concern for the people: why continue rewarding the selfishness of Quirkless parents who birthed Quirkless children, knowing full-well the strife their children would face? What monsters were they to voluntarily subject their children to disadvantages? How could any loving parent willingly allow their offspring to struggle in modern society?

The prodding questions festered within the dark recesses of Quirk-having people’s minds, and soon, countless communities were strongly convinced the Quirk Population Program marked a positive shift for all members of society. Eugenics at its finest.

Three decades ago, Japan created its own version, aptly-named the “Quirk Population Program of Japan”. Propaganda plagued the media months later, and countless posters and advertisements littered the walls of buildings, and swarmed ad spaces on radios and television:

Reproduce responsibly! Register for the Quirk Population Program!

Support your country! Register for the Quirk Population Program!

Life without a Quirk is a life most irked. Register for the Quirk Population Program!

Want a perfect copy of your Quirk? Register for the Quirk Population Program and find the right Quirkless individual to match your needs!

Its official motto was, "Paving the Way for a Prosperous Future".

Not for people like you, of course.

Granted, the dwindling Quirkless population over the centuries proved that you would all eventually disappear. However, that was supposed to occur with time, like with natural selection and evolution among animals. The reality that Quirkless peoples’ erasure became a government mandate forced a nauseating knot in your stomach that you would never truly be able to get rid of. Maybe in death, and even then, you still weren’t certain.

As you grew up, the fires of anguish and bitterness scorched your blood and soul whenever you envied your Quirk-having classmates. They openly flirted with one another and discussed their hopes, dreams, and relationships. They were able to exist without the fear of being pitied, of being seen with disdain, or of accidentally fulfilling someone’s Blank Slate fetish. The government didn't impose on their right of deciding if they wanted children, as well as when they wanted children. You were painfully aware of your bleak future ever since you turned thirteen. But, as much as you loathed to admit it, having a baby appealed to you because you had no family of your own.

You never knew your birth parents (they probably had you before they were forcefully sterilized) and no adults who visited the orphanage wanted a Quirkless child. Crushed time and time again by rejection, you decided by the ripe old age of eight that appealing to potential adopters was null and void. You learned to stop crying and to keep your expectations low. You preferred solitude as company, and while most children played and lived carefree through naive imagination, you sought independence milestones. At ten: researching how to set up and manage bank accounts. Thirteen: how to interview for jobs. Sixteen: receiving a part-time job at the local grocer.

Once the time came for you to spread your wings and fly from the orphanage, you soared, armed with bulletproof knowledge of the adult world. Your caretaker wished you well with sweet words, all the while giving you eyes of pity and condolence. How unfortunate for you to be Quirkless and on your own, you read in her expression.

Years passed, and the day after your 23rd birthday, you received a government-issued letter stating you now qualified for the Quirk Population Program. Three options presented themselves: sterilization, submitting proof that you already conceived Quirk-having children, or requesting a match with a Quirk-having partner.

You had nine months to make a decision, and time ticked down the instant the letter was sealed and mailed off. Any longer, and your application would expire, and you would face sterilization anyway. The only alternative option would be to request an extension and pay a hefty fee for a late form submission.

Either become breeding stock or don't procreate at all…

The dilemma weighed on you like the sky upon Atlas' shoulders, but your orphan upbringing gave you the courage to feel confident with your final decision. You wanted to bring a child into the world that could thrive in this society. You wanted a little one to hold, cuddle, hug, love, and offer a good childhood to. You wanted your own flesh and blood because you had none to call your own. In addition, your parental efforts would be compensated handsomely; you wouldn't have to worry about finances for…well, years.

Taking a deep breath, you selected the "partner request" box and promptly filed your information.

About two weeks passed before a second letter reached your apartment. You sat at your dining table and opened the spotless white envelope. You unfolded the letter, skimming it. The contents explained the full matching process (marriage was one of the first requirements, it seemed), milestones and pay, as well as the name and photo of the person you'd be with. Your future husband, and the father of your future child, was going to be…

Aizawa…Shouta?

Anxiety shocked you and your hands began to sweat. Your eyes widened. This had to be a mistake.

You first met Aizawa when you were six, and he was about to turn six that upcoming November. In his eyes, you were simply one of the few people in his life he spoke to on a regular basis, but in yours, he was everything. Practically the one good thing in your life. Pity and disdain never painted Aizawa's expression when interacting with you. Your Quirkless nature never perturbed him. Your adoration continued to grow as years went by, borderline enamoured with this boy who made your heart race. By the age of twelve, you finally understood the expression "madly in love".

But then…oh, right. How could you forget.

You were Quirkless.

As a result, you refused to openly admit to having feelings for him. Otherwise, you'd both suffer from embarrassment—him from knowing a Quirkless individual saw him romantically, and you from the pain of rejection. To save him and yourself, you feigned platonic desires and kept your adoration to a minimum. The other students coined you as his lonely Quirkless friend, and you were more than willing to play to their expectations.

Unfortunately, the pretending didn't lessen the tight twisting feeling in your chest when you heard whispers of him and Fukukado Emi dating, only to accidentally come across them sharing a kiss in the hallway. You apologized profusely and left, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you walked home. When you returned to the orphanage, you silently sobbed into your pillow, crying for the first time in six years. At the age of fourteen, you discovered heartbreak.

You interacted with Aizawa much less after that—only when you had to, really—and you convinced yourself it was necessary for his happiness as well as yours. To make matters worse, Fukukado wasn't a bad person; quite the opposite, having been so nice and cordial every time she saw you after you walked in on the kiss. A few times, she even used her Quirk on you just so you could laugh and smile. But your bitterness dragged you into an empty abyss where you alone suffered, and in the end, you brushed off both her and Aizawa. Stress from school work and fatigue from keeping the younger orphans out of trouble were your excuses.

Fukukado bought into the lies and wished you well, but Aizawa knew you spewed pure bullshit.

That same day, he confronted you before you commuted home, demanding your phone number. You resisted at first, asking why he even wanted it in the first place. He never bothered to request it until now.

"Because you need someone who cares," were Aizawa’s only words. He managed to chink your petty armor, and that was enough to convince you to fork over your number.

From there, he checked on you often, especially when you weren’t able to see each other thanks to his studies at UA. Many of his texts remained unanswered, but he was never deterred. When you were in a bad mood and brushed him off, he called you out, but still clearly gave a shit about you. Aizawa's actions only made you pine for him more, but as you matured, you reminded yourself that having him as a friend was good enough. Besides, he was a taken man.

So with that in mind, why the hell did he register for the program and request to be paired with you? Did Fukukado know? Did Fukukado encourage him? Were they secretly polyamorous?

You placed the letter down and fished for your phone, tapping on yours and Aizawa’s conversation in your texting app. You were itching to ask what the hell was going on, but you froze upon seeing the last two messages:

How are you feeling today?

Nervous. I just turned in my application for the Quirk Population Program. I hope I end up with a good partner.

The anxiety rushed your mind like a hurricane, and you wanted to vomit. You shouldn't have told him.

You glared at the letter that laid on your table. You wanted to tear the fucking paper apart and burn the shreds to ashes. You despised your speeding heartbeat and you wanted to pour acid on the butterflies that flew in your stomach. You hadn’t seen Aizawa since he attended UA, and you detested the fact he grew into a damn fine man. From his stupidly-handsome face, now sharper from maturity, to his beautifully-messy black hair that grew past his shoulders, to the rough yet attractive stubble that decorated his skin. You internally screamed at his photo; why, why, why would he volunteer!?

You returned your attention to your phone and texted with an angry flurry of fingers. You attached a photo of the letter with your message.

Aizawa, EXPLAIN. You're in a relationship.

After an hour, he got back to you with:

There’s nothing to explain, really. Emi and I haven't dated in years.

You swallowed hard as you processed his words, reading them over and over. Your heart selfishly fluttered in your chest. Nervous anticipation and relief replaced all the previous negative feelings. You chastised yourself because you never actively wanted the two to stop dating, yet here you were feeling hopeful because of it. They made each other happy when they were together, and you accepted that. But…

You looked back at the letter, staring at Aizawa’s photo.

But for once…

Just this once…

Maybe you could be happy with him.

~~~§~~~

The day finally arrived for Aizawa and a Quirk Population Program agent to inspect your home and rate your ability to provide for children. You sat on your couch, staring obsessively at your phone’s clock. Ten minutes left before the scheduled visit. Nervousness was an acid that ate away at you, leaving you internally screaming and champing at the bits to get this over with as soon as possible. Unfortunately, according to online forums, "quick" was not a word to describe the agents' interviews. Many users reported that the process took several hours. Even days in some countries.

With eight minutes left now, you questioned why Aizawa wanted to partake in the program.

Many Quirk-having individuals criticized the idea of copulating with Quirkless people. Reproducing with someone Quirkless meant the child or children inherited exact copies of their other parents' Quirk. If Quirks didn’t mix, then new Quirks couldn’t be discovered, and the Hero world would suffer from stagnation.

On the other end of the spectrum laid those who praised the inheritance of pure Quirks, especially if a powerful Quirk risked being weakened when mixed. As a consequence, this eventually led to the Blank Slate fetish, in which Quirk-having people were unabashedly eager to conceive pure-Quirk babies with Quirkless individuals.

While you thought, your hand slowly rode up the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against the bottom of your breast.

You hated, hated, how this kink objectified Quirkless people.

Your thumb circled your nipple and a quiet, barely-heard sigh left your mouth.

But you loved, loved, the idea of being conceiving during heated passion.

Your other hand slid past the waistband of your pants.

You wanted…you were partial to…to…Aizawa…

Pinning you down with his body.

Fucking you like he was in heat.

Filling you up with his cum.

Breeding you—

Three knocks rapped at your door, tearing you from your perverted fantasy. You scrambled to fix your clothes and to wash your hands. Afterwards, you opened the door and greeted the agent and Aizawa with a manufactured smile; one of the ones that service reps tended to have while internally fuming about a rude customer.

The agent introduced you to one another, but you spoke up after she prompted you to tell a bit about yourself.

"Aizawa and I, we…we're friends, actually."

The woman smiled widely, pleased.

"Then that speeds things up! Would you say you'd be compatible as a couple? Your child will need to live in a stable household."

Your child—

Your fake smile shattered. Your nervousness bulldozed you with full force now as your brain conjured images of you and Aizawa watching your future little one running around and playing. Thanks to your reaction, the agent seemed skeptical. Her cherry-colored lips formed a frown.

"Are you alright?"

No, you weren't. You still couldn’t fathom that the boy you were infatuated with was now a man, and said man was going to become your husband, and father your child. You felt like a fucking teenager again.

“I am,” you quickly said. “This is a lot to take in, is all. It's…scary.”

"I understand," she replied with a manufactured smile of her own; one of the ones filled with forced sympathy. "But please remind yourself that you're paving the way for a prosperous future. I think it's amazing that Quirkless people can be paid for this sort of thing."

Her compliment stung as if she physically slapped you. You burned a glare into her back the instant she walked past you and couldn't see your face. Her too-fruity perfume reeked in the presence of your home, and you wanted both it and her gone.

Aizawa also strolled in, back a little slouched and hands tucked away in his pockets. His black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and flyaways stuck out here and there. He had on a white button-down shirt and some nice black dress pants. You never knew him to dress in such a way, but he looked quite dapper.

"It's been a while since I've seen you in-person," was the first thing he said to you. The bass in his voice was richer and deeper, much deeper than you remembered. More tired and gruff, but not unappealing. It sent heat to your cheeks and your heart crashed against your ribcage. What a lovely man.

"Yeah," you awkwardly replied, dumbstruck by his (accidental) sex appeal. The conversation ended there.

After a thorough inspection of your home, the three of you sat at your dining table. You kept your head low as the agent asked you a series of questions, like whether or not you wanted to keep your last name after your marriage, or any preferences you had for doctors. The whole time, Aizawa kept his eyes trained on you, armed with the same unreadable expression he carried in his photo. You felt like a cryptid at the mercy of scientists, and the creeping arousal from your earlier fantasy didn't help matters either.

"You seem like a good homebody," the agent commented after finishing the interview. The entire ordeal took three hours. One-eighth of a 24-hour day. "You have a nice, clean home as well as proper hygiene."

She then snorted with disapproval, continuing on. "I hate even having to compliment you on those, but you'd be surprised to learn how many past applicants lived like pigs."

"Um…Thank you?" you replied sheepishly. The woman then shot you a smile and handed you a small stack of papers.

"But I digress. These contain details about your marriage and the next steps once you successfully conceive."

Conceive. Aizawa, breeding you—

"Thank you."

"Of course.” She stood up, smoothing her business skirt. “I’ll be leaving since we’re finished here. Would you like for Mr. Aizawa to stay?”

—fucking you nice and full—

"Only if he wants to."

Aizawa nodded.

—giving you a baby.

"Well," the agent said, moving to your door. Her heels clicked against your apartment’s flooring. "I'll connect with you again in eight weeks. If anything changes beforehand, please don't hesitate to contact me."

She exited your home and closed the door with a soft click of the lock. From there, you and Aizawa sat in silence with his hands in his pockets and with you internally turning into a horny mess. You avoided his eyes, reading through the papers in your hands to reduce some of your arousal. Reviewing documents wasn't very sexy, after all.

Congrats on your official acceptance into the Quirk Population Program! it read. These documents contain information about the following: Marriage (section 1), Payment (section 2), Pregnancy/Child Developmental Milestones (sections 3 and 4)—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Aizawa stand up and walk to your right. He reached down and took your chin between his thumb and finger, turning your face towards him. His touch was gentle but assertive; would he be the same with his hands roaming over your naked body? Treating you like he could do what he wanted to you?

"You're nervous," Aizawa said, studying you. His tired eyes were calculating and full of…interest? There was something sharp in his gaze that was Medusa-like, petrifying you where you sat. You stayed unmoving, charmed by him, and you felt your desire grow from flicking embers to a raging fire.

"A little." Your face felt hot again, and you were certain he could tell, though he didn't comment on it. A small smile played at the edges of his lips; he seemed to enjoy this. Aizawa’s fingers remained on your chin, so you stayed obedient and didn’t move. He’d fuck you if you behaved, right?

"Anything you need me to do?"

Your brain reeled as his thumb traced over your bottom lip.

“I can think of one thing…” you responded over your lecherous thoughts.

“Tell me.”

Possessed by some unknown surge of confidence, you set the papers on the table and stood. Your half-lidded eyes were trained on his face as you brushed your fingers across his chest. The cotton of his dress shirt was smooth against your skin. Aizawa cupped your ass, and you looked down to undo his shirt, one button at a time. Slowly, making sure to keep your head low. Docile. Submissive. Receptive.

"You can pin me down and have your way with me."

~~~§~~~

This wasn't the first time you'd had sex—in fact, you messed around on occasion with the other teenagers from your time at the orphanage—but damn if you suddenly didn't feel very, very shy.

The instant you both stripped and took things to your room, the realization that you were in bed with your childhood crush slammed into you like a speeding vehicle. All that earlier confidence was lost on you, leaving anxiety in its wake. You held your breath, watching carefully and apprehensively as Aizawa straddled you. His hands touched you delicately yet boldly, fingertips smoothing over your skin as if trying to memorize the feel of your body. Almost like he was your long-time lover, savoring you after ages of being away.

Doubts and regret plucked your brain as you reminded yourself that your attraction to him was one-sided.

"You're nervous again," Aizawa commented. Both of his hands rested on your breasts now.

Your brows furrowed, and you placed your hands on his forearms. "I-I know. Maybe we should end things here. What I did was really sudden and—"

"Stop talking."

When he teased your nipples with his thumbs, you swallowed down a moan, diffident, and turned your head away from him.

"I heard you. Don't act coy." His voice thrummed with a certain dominance as he shuffled downwards. Cool fingers parted your labia, and his tongue licked a slow experimental stripe up your clit.

You trembled, breathing hard through your nose. Aizawa continued again and again until he reached a consistent pace, and in an instant, you decided you loved this man. Loved how he treated you, loved how he took the time to prepare you. A stuttered but audible breath left you when he began to suck, and your back arched into him. You clutched at the bedsheets. 

Your eyes, clouded with adoration and desire, met his, calculating and observant. Aizawa's hands moved to your thighs now, and for a second—just a second—you imagined he loved you. He loved you, and the two of you wanted to take your relationship further and have a little one running around soon.

Enraptured by your fantasy, you reached forward to press a hand at the back of his head, wanting—needing—for him to stay like this with you. This beautiful, beautiful man who studied you with pitch-black eyes, whose hair felt surprisingly soft under your hand, whose tongue carefully traced on and around your clit. Your fingers looped around his ponytail holder, taking it out, and his hair fell across his face and shoulders. Messy, but gorgeous.

"Aizawa—"

"Shouta," he growled. Assertive. Commanding. Fuck, you loved it.

"Shouta," you quickly corrected, and your heart lurched in your chest. Yes; he was going to be your husband, so you should get used to calling him by his given name. "Please don't stop."

"Only if you say my name again."

"Shouta…?"

"Like you mean it."

Shouta buried himself further into your cunt, tongue flat as it darted over your clit. Heated. Intense. Vehement. Short hot pants against the opening of your vagina. Strong arms keeping you pinned as your hips grinded against him. Acting like he needed you just as much as you needed him.

"Shouta!" you shouted, your own voice foreign to yourself. You preferred to stay quiet during sex, but the sudden outburst felt so right. Your chest heaved up and down and your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Adoration barraged your mind. "Fuck, Shouta…!"

You loved him. You loved him. You loved himlovedhimlovedhimlovelovelovelove—

You threw your head back into your pillow as you came, using both hands to force his head further between your legs. Shouta didn't let up, choosing to drown you in overstimulation and force you more over the edge, giving you no room to breathe. Tears trailed down your face as you cried his name, and you knew he would only stop once he was satisfied. After all, you were his to use, his to command, his to do with as he pleased.

Once Shouta fully raised his head from between your legs, you gasped for breath and your head buzzed with a soft floatiness. Fatigue and ache overtook your limbs, and you fought off the enticing urge to nap. Conceiving was your top priority right now, and you'd be damned if you weren't pregnant by the end of this.

"You need a break?" Shouta asked. He slowly stroked one of your thighs. "If that was too much, we can stop."

"N-No," you rasped, wiping your eyes. "I told you to have your way with me. I'm all yours."

His property.

His cocksleeve.

His to fuck and claim.

Upon hearing your words, Shouta's eyes became hooded with lascivious intent. He raised himself up and sat on his knees, settling his hips between your legs. The head of his cock delicately brushed against your clit, and you exhaled sharply from the sensitivity. You probably should ask for a break, but something masochistic dared you to chase the high of overstimulation. You had a taste of it just now, and you needed more.

"Since the goal is to get you pregnant…" The bass in Shouta's voice carried a husky cadence. "We're going to do this properly."

The man lined himself up before entering you. He was careful and diligent, taking the time to pull out after pushing in, inch-by-inch to get you used to him. Once Shouta bottomed out, he leaned over you and hooked his arms around your thighs, bringing your legs to rest on his shoulders. You felt so vulnerable, caged under him like this, but you reveled in it.

Almost immediately, he moved his hips, occasionally grinding against your clit. You hissed between your teeth. Each spark of pleasure felt too good, way too good—you decided you hated the overstimulation, absolutely despised it, yet you were still addicted to the insanity it provided. You loved that Shouta was the one doing it to you, the one making you crave the masochistic pleasure. There was no one else you'd rather toe the line with than the man you spent so many years pining after. Now, your job was to just sit still for him and take what he had to give you.

Your clammy palms tightly gripped his back. His muscles flexed and relaxed under your hands as he rutted into you, and his cock was slick with a mix of his pre-cum and your wetness. You were at his mercy now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. A lustful grin curled at his lips. Authoritative. Assertive. Dominant. 

"Mating press," he panted between thrusts. "Perfect for conception. I'll make sure you're nice and full by the end of this."

Oh God, that almost put you over the edge.

It was here the overstimulation really started to overwhelm you. You squirmed under Shouta, halfway torn between wanting to push him away and needing him to fuck you. He pressed more of his weight onto you, keeping you from moving and using you like the cocksleeve you were.

"Behave," he murmured, face just a hair's breadth from yours.

That's right—take it. Take. It. Let him own your body. Let him breed you. Your walls clenched around his cock, and you breathed hard from your mouth. Your muscles tensed as you tried your damndest to stay still and let him have his way with you. You'd behave, promise. You'd already been so nice and obedient up to this point.

"There you go," Shouta hummed with approval. You picked up a subtle tremble in his voice; he was probably close to cumming. Just a little longer of this beautiful torture, then—you'd pull through just for him. You'd behave. You'd behave. You'd behave.

Shouta's pace suddenly turned brutal, and his hips and balls slapped against your ass. A dizzy high overwhelmed you from the unrelenting stimulation on your clit, making you shut your eyes and once again throw your head back into the pillow. Hot, short, guttural pants left your throat, and your hands clenched into fists. It was all so much, so fucking much. You needed to…you needed to…!

You quickly came again, breaths hoarse and throaty, and your mind broke like a dam flooded with the raging torrents of desire. Shouta's pace stuttered for a brief moment thanks to your orgasm, and he growled almost ferally above you. Your eyes opened to meet his intense expression, hardened with need and a dominating ferocity, like he owned you. Spurred by arousal, you began to outcry your thoughts with reckless abandon:

You begged for him to use you.

You begged for him to fuck you as deeply as he could.

You were to be bred.

You were to do nothing but lay there and take it.

You wanted a baby.

You wanted his baby.

Shouta kissed you hard the instant you felt the heat of his cum flow into you. His hot chest heaved against yours, and his full weight forced you against the mattress and the pillow. Heavy and warm breaths left his nose, panting in unison with each throb of his cock, and before long, a bit of his cum overflowed from inside you, trickling down your ass and pooling onto your sheets. A few strands of Shouta's long hair stuck to your face and his stubble poked you, though you didn't care. You wrapped your arms around his neck, returning the needy kiss. All that ran through your mind was love. You loved him for giving you this experience. You loved him for taking this next step in life with you. You loved him, even if it was unrequited.

In your fantasy, you and Shouta were long-time romantic partners. He proposed to you. He told you how excited he was to start a family with you. He told you he loved you—

The tears came down faster than you anticipated—you hated that, hated crying in front of him, hated that you cried for the first time in years—and you immediately tore yourself from the kiss to bury your head into his shoulder. Shou—Aizawa grunted quietly as he released your legs and propped himself on his elbows. You didn't look up. You didn't want to see if he had any pity in his eyes. Nothing was worse than pity. For a moment, in your addled mind, you saw the face of your caretaker the day you left the orphanage.

"Are you OK? Are you hurt?" Aizawa asked.

You heaved through your sobs. Your muscles hurt. Your head hurt. Your chest hurt. You couldn't swallow down your aching heart, so it choked you.

"D…Don't look…look at me. L-Leave."

A slow huff came out his mouth as he cradled you into his chest, before rolling over so you both laid on your sides. Aizawa’s body was warm like a cozy campfire, guarding you from the sudden coldness of your room. His touch was soft and feather-light, just like when he first felt your body. Not even the kiss of an angel could compare.

You didn't know how much time passed as you wept, but during it all, Aizawa stayed with you. His motivation could have been out of awkwardness or maybe even a lazy desire to not get up, but he remained by your side regardless. Holding you close. Keeping you company. A silent bastion of care. It pained you to take refuge in his body heat and listen to the thumping of his heart; they were calming and endearing, yet subtly reminded you that he was still here, witnessing your breakdown.

What a way to spend your first night together.

After the tears stopped, your eyes stung, you felt gross and sweaty, and above all, your face burned with embarrassment. You released shaky breaths, wiping your nose with your blanket (disgusting, but you felt too shitty to care. It was going to be washed tomorrow, anyway). Your eyelids fluttered as the lull of sleep beckoned you with its siren call, and like a sailor, you answered.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered before closing your eyes.

~~~§~~~

You didn’t know what time it was when your eyes peeled open, a bit sticky and uncomfortable, but in the inky darkness of your bedroom, the first thing you registered was the thick musk of sex.

Definitely need to air the room out.

The second thing was that Aizawa laid unmoving next to you, and judging by his slow, methodical breathing, he likely fell asleep. His arm kept a loose grip around your waist. His skin was cold, but the bigger perturbation was the dried semen that clung to your inner thighs and buttocks. You immediately decided a shower was in order, so you slowly wriggled away from Aizawa, trying not to stir him.

Emphasis on "trying".

"You feeling alright after earlier?" rumbled his deep voice the instant you started moving. It was astounding how quickly he awoke, but in hindsight, Aizawa was a Hero. It only made sense for him to sleep light, though you imagined the quality of his sleep suffered if noises as quiet as pin drops roused him.

You sat up, grimacing as you peeled away a small section of the cum-soiled bed sheet that crusted to your leg.

"Yeah. I was just…overwhelmed. Not any fault of your own, though."

Before you could leave the bed, Aizawa shuffled over and pulled you into his lap, arms curled around your waist. He rested his head on your back, black hair and stubble tickling your skin. Aizawa’s left hand cupped your abdomen just above your uterus.

"It's not like you to cry," he mumbled tiredly. You could feel his breaths on your skin. "Even when you were bullied in school, you didn’t cry."

"This is different, Aizawa—"

"Shouta."

"Shouta, sorry…But, I thought about how Quirk-having people are lucky. You have so many more career opportunities. You can all choose whether or not to have children. You…" your hands clenched into fists. "You don't have to worry about the guilt and remorse that comes with loving someone with a Quirk."

Aiza—Shouta’s other hand moved to your ribcage, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast. You fought the urge to lean into his touch. You relaxed your hands and your shoulders sagged, but your back remained stiff and tense. A shaky sigh left your lips. "On top of all that, we're either working mules or breeding stock."

Just like how you were for him earlier. A horny fantasy at the time, but a regret now.

The fingers on Shouta’s left hand idly traced your skin as he replied. "I can't empathize, and I won't pretend I can, either."

You felt his lips ghost over your back in a series of light kisses. For some reason, it made you uncomfortable, but you didn't move.

“But I know Quirkless life isn't the easiest,” he continued. “So I'll do what I can to make you happy.”

Truly, that would be for him to requite your feelings, but you would never ask him for that. It would be far too selfish, and your shame would probably kill you. Just having him in your life as a friend was enough.

Shouta laid back down with you in tow, both of you on your sides again, with your back to his chest. You protested, though your efforts to wrestle yourself out of his arms were futile. He easily kept you locked in his embrace. Like a finger trap, the more you struggled, the stronger Shouta held you.

“Stop moving.”

You craned your neck behind yourself to shoot him a glare, knowing full well he couldn’t see it.

“But I need to shower.”

"You can shower with me when I get ready for work," Shouta grumbled, covering you both with a non-soiled portion of your sheet. "Until then, go to sleep."

You relented, but now, all you could think about were the kisses he left on your back.

For the next week, you and Shouta had sex almost daily, usually after his patrols. During the fifth night, with your head buried into a pillow and your hips raised in the air for him, your dread metamorphosed into a twisted euphoria. Even though Shouta saw you with platonic eyes, you adored knowing he was going to trek the journey of parenthood with you. The ultimate form of intimacy, in your opinion.

Guilt grew in your subconscious from seeing Shouta in such a light; it was unfair to him, you knew this, but you chose to bask in it as an attempt to escape your lovesickness. However, three weeks later—your wedding night—there was one particular quote from him that scorched the negativity to ash and further fueled your fantasizing:

“I'm looking forward to being a dad since you're the one having our kid.”

You could replay those words over and over like a broken record. Repetitive, yes, but still heavenly music to your ears. After time, however, the negative emotions resurfaced, but not the guilt or regret you’d become familiar with ever since you and Shouta started trying for a baby.

This time, you experienced fear.

The lingering touches during aftercare, the pleasant fluttering in your heart, Shouta’s comments laced with adoration as you had sex. Something unknown whispered terror in your soul. But what scared you? You wanted Shouta’s affections and intimacy, so why did his actions both elate and frighten you? You pondered your dilemma for almost a month and still had yet to find a definitive answer.

However, now wasn't the time to focus on that. One much more important matter took priority: you were seven weeks pregnant.

You laid awake in your bed around two in the morning, awaiting Shouta’s return from a patrol. You thumbed the pristine paper that contained your lab results, re-reading the information again and again like you were hypnotized.

And in a way, you were, because it was surreal to know new life grew inside of you, and new life that Shouta fathered, at that.

Speaking of, the man entered your apartment with a click of your front door unlocking, before you heard him close it and trudge to your bedroom. Shouta’s trademark goggles rested on his forehead, partially covered by his disheveled hair, but he quickly removed them and placed them on his nightstand. Though bloodshot and weary, his onyx eyes pooled with a certain softness as he looked at you, and he began to strip out of his Hero suit. You sat up to greet him.

“Seven weeks along, huh?” he asked. You blinked, astonished.

“Wait, how did you…? I reported the results just this evening.”

“I received an automated email about it. Looks like everything was processed pretty quickly.”

“I…Well, there you go.” You set the lab results onto your own nightstand. You still looked at him, though idly fiddled with the sheet that covered your legs. “We’re having a baby.”

Shouta, now fully naked, sat cross-legged next to you, with that same look in his eyes. His lips parted and he inhaled like he was going to say something, but no words or sounds left his throat. Instead, Shouta leaned forward, closing his tired eyes and kissing you for the first time outside of sex.

Strangely, there was no fear this time. No whispering. No paranoia. Something lighter called to you, something angelic and tranquil. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Joy? Happiness? No…

Love.

Not entirely sure what to do, but certainly not wanting things to end, your hands trailed up his muscular abdomen before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Shouta felt warm. Warm like your heart. Warm like the tenderness that flowed through you. Warm like his hand as it came to rest on your hip with the hem of your shirt riding his wrist.

You'd kissed Shouta and other people before, of course, but every single time was in the middle of sex. Heated, needy, even a bit sloppy on occasion.

This was the opposite: gentle, soft, and affectionate, like two people finally engaging in romance after an eternity of pining.

Your first real kiss. It felt so right. So perfect. 

You pulled away and rested your forehead on his, keeping your eyes closed. Your right hand moved up to his head to card through his hair, smoothing out his messy locks from root to tip. You felt Shouta lean into your touch, and he trailed his hand from your hip to the small of your back. A quiet but not unwelcome silence fell between you both. There were no words required; you innately knew why he held you so tenderly, why he was so soft with you, but you still wanted to hear him say it aloud. You craved it.

“Shouta,” you asked softly. Almost barely above a whisper. “Why did you join the Quirk Population Program?”

“Because you told me you registered.”

You opened your eyes as Shouta gently laid you onto your back. He delicately moved the sheets away from your body to allow him easier access to you. He crawled on top of you, balancing himself with his hands that laid on either side of your head. His black hair hung off his shoulders.

“I didn’t have much of a choice to register,” you replied as he used one of his hands to push up your shirt, exposing your abdomen and breasts to the cool air of your apartment. “You didn’t have to register just because I did.”

Shouta palmed one of your breasts. Slowly, softly, kneading it in his hand. He kept his eyes locked to yours.

“I wasn't going to sit back and let some stranger marry you and have a kid with you. You deserve more than that.”

There was something primal yet romantic to his words that made your heart race, and you gulped. Shouta removed his hand and fully leaned down to kiss you again, his naked torso flush against yours. You tucked loose strands of his hair behind his ears before cupping his cheeks with your hands.

Shouta broke the kiss just barely, lips only a hair's breadth away from yours. He spoke, lowly and with fondness:

"You know I love you, right?"

That night, you weren't a mindless cocksleeve.

That night, you didn’t fantasize about being bred.

That night, you simply made love to your husband, basking in all the adoration he held for you.

~~~§~~~

You were a fool to assume the fear would quell just because Shouta expressed his love for you.

The morning after, your elation twisted into unease, and unease evolved into panic. In the bed next to him, your eyes remained wide open as you tried not to tremble in his arms. Shouta willingly scraped the bottom of the barrel for Quirkless you. Shouta married Quirkless you. Shouta was in love with Quirkless you.

Guilt stabbed poison-tipped needles into your heart and spread through your blood. Your heart threatened to burst from your chest and the adrenaline that rushed through you made your blood burn and your head hurt. Why did fear wrench you with shadowy, thorny fingers? You loved Shouta, truly you did, but parasitic anxiety whispered harshly in your mind: you weren't good enough for him. You’re Quirkless. You weren't deserving of his love. You’re Quirkless. You weren't…

You weren't Fukukado Emi.

Your phone suddenly rang, a sharp distraction in your unsettled mind and the silence of your bedroom. As Shouta stirred, you pushed yourself upwards and retrieved your phone to read the caller ID.

Your agent.

You didn't feel like talking to her right now, but alas.

"Hello." You tried to force yourself to sound polite, but between your self-deprecating thoughts and the hoarseness that came with an early-morning voice, that just wasn't possible.

"Good morning! I wanted to congratulate you on your pregnancy!"

"Thank you."

"Of course! Now, you should receive your first payment within three to five business days. You'll be able to earn more money as you start fulfilling milestones. However," her voice grew stern and surprisingly threatening. "Do not think this is an opportunity for free money. If you become complacent and allow the quality of your health to drop during your pregnancy, we won't hesitate to terminate funds. Child-rearing is a job like any other, and isn't to be taken lightly."

"I-I understand," you replied meekly.

Your agent returned to her normal syrupy-sweet tone as if nothing happened.

"Great! Now, because you're Quirkless, this means good things for you! Considering Mr. Aizawa's Quirk, your child will…"

You quickly tuned her out, but you didn't dare to ask her to stop talking lest she pull that tone again. Once her spiel finished, the both of you bid one another goodbye and you returned your phone to your nightstand. Not a second later, you plopped your head back onto your pillow. Your chest rose and fell with a deep, exasperated breath.

“Your agent?” Shouta asked. Gruff early-morning disuse pervaded his voice.

“Yeah. She was telling me about the next steps now that I'm officially carrying.”

With that, you felt him reach under the sheets and push up your shirt. Using his hand, Shouta cradled the spot between your belly and pubic bone. His skin felt tepid. You wanted to hold his hand and entangle your fingers with his, but the rising anxiety stopped you from doing so.

“I hope our kid has your eyes,” Shouta mused. His thumb began to stroke in small circles. You glanced over at him.

“Why’s that?”

“Your eyes are beautiful. That, and I’d hate for them to have dry-eye.”

Your stomach churned as both adoration and alarm swarmed your chest. Your inner conflict and his compliment made you want to vomit. Saliva pooled in your mouth, but you forced yourself to swallow it back down.

“I see,” was all you could muster.

~~~§~~~

The more your pregnancy progressed, the more Shouta’s behavior grew doting and protective. The more doting and protective he became, the more your emotions conflicted with one another. To make matters worse, the changes in your hormones skyrocketed your strife; what was first a series of nagging rainclouds now expanded into a full-blown thunderstorm. A tornado, F5 in size, ripped through your mental blockades as if they were made of paper and reinforced by tape. It didn’t matter the emotion—your reactions were always intense.

Happiness: clinging to Shouta like velcro. Hugging him and peppering him with kisses. Excitedly discussing baby names with him. His presence alone making you brim with joy.

Sorrow: crying alone in the apartment until your voice grew rough and hoarse. Repeatedly apologizing to the baby for the secondhand stress. Hating yourself over the fact Shouta loved you. Pondering if you should’ve requested sterilization instead—you wouldn’t have been with Shouta, meaning you could have avoided your present emotional turmoil.

But, like water mindlessly poured into a glass, everything would spill out eventually.

Currently, you and Shouta were in the middle of moving into a new, more spacious apartment. The bigger environment was perfect for the little one who was estimated to be born later this month, and with your program funds easily paying for the place, there wasn't much else you could ask for. You were content and ready for the upcoming life with your baby.

However, for most of the process, your behavior was quiet and reserved. You were certain your demeanor wasn’t lost on Shouta; he was a very perceptive man, after all. Your suspicions were confirmed when, while washing a new set of dishes with him, he said:

“We used to talk all the time as kids. But when I started dating Emi, you became distant.”

For a brief moment, your hands stopped scrubbing the white plate you held, and the soapy sponge fell limp between your fingers. Once you overcame your seconds-long trance, you rinsed off the plate and handed it to Shouta. He placed the dish on a drying rack, and it gently clinked against the rack’s plastic.

"Why bring that up?" you asked. Caution and an iota of bitterness crawled through you. "That was back in middle school."

Shouta dried off his hands with a towel before walking behind you and placing his palms onto your plump hips. He gently leaned against your back, and you felt a deep vibration from his chest as he spoke.

"Because you're acting like that again."

You clutched the sponge. The suds and water seeped out of it and onto your tensed fingers. Meanwhile, your brain volleyed between joy and regret and fondness and guilt. You loved Shouta, but you hated that he requited your feelings. You wanted to bask yourself in him, yet it frightened you to be close together. You wanted to deflect his intuition and conjure some lie about the pregnancy hormones bothering you, but in reality, there was no way for you to escape. You knew this, as did Shouta. Honesty was the only acceptable answer, lest he immediately call you out.

So, before you could overthink and panic, you blurted the first thing that came to mind:

"I can't wrap my head around why you love me. It doesn't make sense."

You felt Shouta lift his head, before his hands clasped around yours and he coaxed the sponge and plate out of your grip. Afterwards, he pulled your hands from the sink and began to dry them off with the towel.

"Tell me exactly why you think that is," he prompted.

"Because I'm…" You turned around to face him and swallowed a sticky glob of spit. Shouta’s expression carried no judgment, but the agonizing weight of your upcoming confession still made you shrink under his gaze. "I'm Quirkless, for one. And I'm not Fukukado. And I'm…I'm scared, I guess. I don't know. Sometimes I feel anxious when we're affectionate. Like it feels wrong, somehow. Even now, I um…I-I…nngh, sorry…"

Your voice crumbled and you turned your head away, giving a heartless laugh to deflect from the tears that burned in your eyes. You would not cry in front of him. You would not cry in front of him. You would not cry in front of him. The first time eight months ago was embarrassing enough. The awaiting tears were an emotional grenade—the pin was already pulled, and it was only a matter of time before you would explode. But, by God, you would keep a grip on that strike lever even if it killed you. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not…

Shouta grasped your chin with his thumb and fingers and tilted your head to look at him. For a moment, you were brought back to your first night together, back when he charmed you with acts of domination. His motivation now, however, was to command a presence to make you listen to him.

“Instead of making yourself anxious, focus on what's happening in the real world.”

Shouta rested his forehead on yours. You didn’t realize just how hot your face had become until a few clumps of his black bangs stuck to your skin. His dark-rimmed eyes spoke so much love that no words were needed to convey it. Could any words convey it? Your heart ached from both guilt and tenderness.

“Listen…” His lips were close to yours now. “We're married, and we have a kid on the way. I don't want you to have any doubts going forward. To do that, you'll need to be in the moment and not in your head.”

Be in the moment…

You took a deep breath before slightly backing your head away, studying Shouta. His hair, messy and rowdy as can be, framed his face nicely. It fit him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His hand moved from your chin to your cheek, fingers resting behind your ear and his thumb caressing your skin. You closed your eyes and turned your head slightly to kiss the inside of his wrist.

Your grip on the strike lever loosened. Your vision grew blurry as your eyes opened again.

You trailed your hands across Shouta’s bare arms, occasionally massaging the toned muscles. From there, up his chest, making the plush cotton of his cat t-shirt shift under your touches. A few strings were out of place here and there, assumedly from years of wearing the shirt. Delicately, your fingertips teased up the length of Shouta’s neck. His eyelids fluttered subtly, and he slightly parted his lips to release a quiet breath. A weak spot of his, and one of your favorites to kiss in bed together. Finally, your hands settled on his cheeks, feeling his scratchy stubble against your palms. At this moment, in the apartment’s kitchen, stood only you and Shouta.

You fully released the strike lever, and an explosion of tears raced down your cheeks.

But, a wiry smile broke through your crying, and you quickly pressed your lips to his. You cried, oh did you cry, but your tears were not of guilt or remorse. You didn’t choke on pitiful sobs, nor did you shame yourself. You focused only on your desire to have your husband close, which he granted by leaning into the kiss and embracing you. The suffocating negativity withered away, and the hole in your chest filled with so much tenderness and pure love that it began to overflow.

“I love you.” You laughed through your tears, peppering kiss after kiss onto his lips. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

~~~§~~~

Your four-year-old laid in your lap as the two of you sat on her plain blue playmat. Her limbs splayed all over the place like a jack: a little elbow digging into your right thigh, a tiny foot uncomfortably laying on your left knee, and a small arm resting awkwardly against your chest. Her head hung off your right hip, and her messy black hair splayed onto the wood floor. You had no idea how she felt no discomfort or how her body didn't break. Then again, children were quite limber and nigh indestructible.

Shouta’s and Present Mic’s commentary over the first-year edition of UA’s sports festival blared from your TV’s speakers. While Cementoss took a few minutes to repair the damaged arena, your husband and the cockatoo-haired Hero gave their final insights over the previous battle. During this time, a camera showcased the two men on TV, though Present Mic took up most of the frame. Your husband strategically aimed his face away from the camera.

“There’s your papa.” You pointed a finger at the TV. Your daughter, Airi, smiled from ear to ear. “Or at least, what we can see of him. Present Mic makes him do this every single year.”

Airi rolled her head to look at you. Though she resembled Shouta, her eyes mirrored yours.

“Papa must hate that.”

“He absolutely does. But he goes anyway since Mic’s his best friend.”

Your daughter hummed and glanced back at the TV. “Papa’s so weird.”

About two hours after the sports festival ended, Shouta returned to the apartment. Beams of sunset streamed through the windows, mixing with the white lights of the apartment to tint the living room a gentle red-orange. You and Airi moved to the couch now, where you helped her practice her reading. Shouta greeted you both and sat on your right, causing the cushion to dip down somewhat. You pecked his lips in greeting.

“Ew,” Airi complained. Her brows scrunched downwards and her lips curled up into a sneer. You booped her nose. That only deepened her disgust.

“Then don’t look,” you replied.

“I can’t look away if you and Papa are kissing right in front of me. That’s nasty. It’s why I never wanna get married.”

“With your behavior, that’s a guarantee,” Shouta chimed in. He patted her shoulder twice—a gesture to communicate he was only teasing. Airi crossed her arms, and her lips pursed into a frown.

“Papa, that’s mean. Why did Mama even marry you?”

“Because Mama's standards are low,” your husband deadpanned. You lightly slapped his leg.

“I’ll divorce you,” you retorted.

“You wouldn't have the guts. You love me too much.”

“Not anymore, I don't.”

Moments like these made you dread your Quirkless existence a lot less.

The world occasionally reminded you just how low Quirkless people were placed in society’s hierarchy. On those days, you wanted to distance yourself from everything and everyone. On those days, the paranoia, with its manipulative hissing, questioned your relationship with Shouta as well as your worth as a parent. Granted, the anxious thoughts occurred much less now, but when they surfaced, they tended to fester in your mind.

However, on those days, you would take time to collect yourself and live in the moment, be it when you’re enjoying soft winds on your skin and the sights of beautiful pink sakura blooms while walking, or reveling in the smells and tastes of your favorite restaurant’s food, or enveloping yourself in the love and joy of your husband and daughter.

When you lived in the moment, it didn't matter how the world saw Quirkless people. When you lived in the moment, there was no question about Shouta's love for you or your dedication as a parent. All that mattered was enjoying yourself in the present. You refused to allow your anxiety to consume you again.

After you and Shouta put Airi to bed for the night, right when moonlight streamed into the apartment, the two of you traveled to your bedroom. He removed his civilian clothes and suited up in his Hero gear, preparing to leave for patrol in about ten minutes.

“Shouta,” you called. You were on the edge of your bed, watching him get ready. He looked at you, and his utility belt clinked as he fastened it around his waist. You stood and made your way over to Shouta, taking one of his hands into yours. You continued speaking.

“I’ve been thinking about the past four years. It's been…well, honestly, the best time of my life so far, and I'm grateful that you and Airi are part of it. I'm a lot happier with the both of you around, and my world completely changed after you taught me how to curb my anxiety. It means I get to focus on my life and my family more. So with that, I just wanna say…”

You shot him a wide smile and interlaced your fingers with his.

“Thank you for everything.”