Trust in the Unknown
The air in the room felt different the next time Bakugou walked in. It was still heavy, thick with the anticipation of what was to come, but now, it carried a certain weight of expectation. There was no turning back now. The door clicked shut behind him, and he felt an immediate surge of tension in his chest. It wasn’t the kind of anxiety he was used to—the type that came from a lack of preparation or from being blindsided—but something deeper, more subtle. A sensation that crept in at the back of his mind, just beneath his bravado.
He had agreed to this. He had chosen to step into this space, to explore this world that felt foreign and intense, even terrifying. And yet, for all his instincts to fight it, there was something about this place—and about Aizawa—that pulled him in. It wasn’t weakness. It was something more complicated, something that made him feel alive in a way that he hadn’t felt in years.
As soon as Bakugou entered, Aizawa’s presence swept over him, filling the space like a cloak. The older man was already seated at the center of the room, relaxed yet alert. His posture was effortless, but there was something unshakable in his demeanor, a quiet power that seemed to command the room without lifting a finger. Bakugou couldn’t help but be drawn to the way Aizawa carried himself. It was the kind of authority that didn’t need to be loud or brash. It was the kind that simply *was.*
"Sit," Aizawa said, his voice calm but firm, as his dark eyes locked onto Bakugou’s.
Bakugou bristled, the command stirring the familiar rebellious streak that ran through him. He wasn’t a man who followed orders without question. But today was different. He could feel it. His feet moved almost against his will, guided by something he didn’t entirely understand. Without saying a word, he made his way to the chair, his movements sharp and deliberate, though the tension in his body was unmistakable.
Aizawa didn’t miss it. He watched with that same, unblinking gaze, his eyes tracking Bakugou’s every movement, like a predator evaluating its prey. But instead of reacting to Bakugou’s agitation, Aizawa simply let it hang in the air between them. He said nothing more, allowing the silence to stretch out.
The moment dragged on. Bakugou’s hands fidgeted, his fingers twitching as if wanting to do something—anything—to release the tension coiling in his muscles. His mind raced with a hundred thoughts, most of them focused on why he was here, what he was doing. He didn’t *need* this. He didn’t *need* Aizawa to show him how to let go of control. Yet, a part of him was fascinated, unable to tear his eyes away from the older man’s calm demeanor, the way Aizawa seemed to command the space with a mere look.
"You’re nervous," Aizawa observed quietly, as if reading Bakugou’s mind. "That’s fine. It’s normal to feel that way, especially the first time. You’re stepping into a space you’ve never been in before. The unknown is always a little unsettling."
Bakugou snorted, his pride flaring. "I’m not nervous," he said sharply, trying to mask the unease in his chest. But even as he spoke, he could feel the lie on his tongue. There was a storm brewing inside him—uncertainty, frustration, and that growing curiosity about this whole *thing*—about submission. He was resisting it, but there was no denying it was taking root in his mind.
Aizawa studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slightly. "I can see through your bravado, Bakugou. It’s okay to admit you’re uncertain. But understand this—when you enter this space, you have to leave that uncertainty behind. If you’re going to do this, you can’t half-ass it. Submission isn’t a game. It’s a commitment, and it’s built on trust. Trust in me, and trust in yourself."
Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. His teeth ground together as he tried to suppress the swirl of conflicting emotions—pride and curiosity, fear and desire. He had always prided himself on his ability to control everything around him, but Aizawa was offering him something different—something he had never truly considered.
Aizawa’s voice broke through his thoughts once more. "Tell me, Bakugou. Why are you really here?"
Bakugou hesitated. It was a question that rattled him, one he hadn’t really allowed himself to think about too much. He wasn’t here because he *needed* submission. He wasn’t some weak Alpha looking for someone to dominate him. He didn’t need someone like Aizawa to tell him how to live his life.
But… part of him did feel something stirring inside. A part of him that had been buried under layers of aggression, anger, and the constant need to prove himself. Maybe, just maybe, he was here because he wanted to see if there was more to life than constantly fighting for control.
"Maybe I’m curious," he muttered, his voice low, but raw. "Maybe I wanna see if I can trust you. Maybe I wanna see if I can trust myself."
Aizawa didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, a silent acknowledgment of Bakugou’s admission. Then, without another word, Aizawa stood and walked to the table of tools once again. He didn’t explain what he was doing, didn’t offer any reassurances. He simply moved with purpose, his every step deliberate, his presence commanding.
Bakugou watched intently, his muscles tight, heart racing. The room felt charged now, as if the air itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Aizawa had said this would be a slow process, that they would go at his pace. But as Bakugou watched him prepare, a part of him felt impatient. He wanted to feel it—whatever this was, whatever Aizawa was offering.
"You have to understand something," Aizawa said, turning back to Bakugou, holding a black leather collar in his hand. "This isn’t about *giving in* to someone’s will. It’s not about surrendering in the way you might think. It’s about choosing to let go. To trust. And trust doesn’t come easily, not for someone like you. But that’s where it begins. With small steps."
Bakugou clenched his fists, the words seeping into his mind like poison. Trust. It was a concept he had long since abandoned in favor of relying on his own strength, his own instincts. He had never allowed anyone close enough to even think about trust. But something about the way Aizawa spoke made him question that certainty.
"I’m not sure I can do this," Bakugou confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The admission felt like a weakness, but there it was—raw and vulnerable.
Aizawa tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if considering Bakugou’s hesitation. Then, slowly, he walked over to where Bakugou sat. He stood there for a moment, just watching, as if weighing Bakugou’s resolve.
"You don’t have to be sure," Aizawa said softly, kneeling before him, his presence so close Bakugou could feel the warmth of it. "I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. But you *are* here, aren’t you? And that’s the first step. Trust doesn’t happen overnight, but it can begin with one small act of vulnerability."
Bakugou’s heart was hammering in his chest, his breath quickening. His usual impulse was to lash out, to resist, to take control of the situation before anyone else could. But this… this was different. There was no fighting it. He couldn’t fight it.
Aizawa reached out, his fingers brushing against Bakugou’s wrist gently. The touch was firm, but not forceful. It was a quiet assertion of control, one that Bakugou couldn’t ignore. "I’m going to put this collar on you," Aizawa said, his voice steady. "You don’t have to wear it forever. But you’re going to wear it now, and I want you to feel what it’s like. To feel the weight of it. It’s a reminder of our dynamic. Of your choice to trust me."
Bakugou stiffened, his pulse racing, but for once, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t push Aizawa’s hand away. Instead, he swallowed hard, nodding once, his voice barely a whisper. "Okay."
The moment Aizawa fastened the collar around his neck, Bakugou felt it—a weight, tangible and unyielding, settle around him. It was a physical symbol of something far deeper, something that forced him to confront his own vulnerability. And despite his initial resistance, despite the way his instincts screamed for him to rebel, Bakugou felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.
He had taken the first step.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was in the right place.