Storms and Surrender
Two months had passed since that pivotal night in Aizawa’s apartment, and in that time, something had changed—something Bakugou hadn’t expected. Aizawa had started courting him.
At first, Bakugou had resisted the idea. He was used to being in control of his own life, his emotions, everything. But Aizawa’s actions were never demanding, never invasive. Instead, they were quiet, considerate, and steady—things Bakugou wasn’t used to. He wasn’t used to being taken care of, to having someone so deliberate in their attention. But Aizawa had been patient, waiting for Bakugou to come to him, which he had, in his own time.
They’d grown closer. It wasn’t just about their Dom/sub dynamic anymore; it was about something more personal, more intimate. Aizawa had taken him out on dates—quiet dinners, late-night walks through the city, moments that weren’t about power or control but about trust and connection. Bakugou found himself drawn to Aizawa in ways he couldn’t quite explain, but it was more than just physical attraction. It was the emotional safety Aizawa had given him. And now, as Bakugou sat in his apartment, the weight of that connection rested heavily on his chest.
That night, though, was different.
Aizawa had already made it clear that they weren’t just playing around anymore. This wasn’t a casual arrangement. This was something real. And as the evening dragged on, Bakugou started to feel it—something building inside him. Something that had been lurking beneath the surface for weeks.
His rut.
It had been a while since he’d experienced it—longer than he cared to admit. And this time, it hit him hard. His body felt like it was burning up from the inside, his skin prickling with an overwhelming need. Every movement, every breath felt too much. The heat in his body was unbearable, making it impossible to focus.
He paced around his apartment, hands running through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But nothing worked. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and every instinct told him to run, to get away from whatever this feeling was.
But he didn’t know how to fight it.
Finally, he grabbed his phone, typing out a message to Aizawa with trembling fingers.
*“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t focus. I feel like I’m losing it.”*
The reply came almost immediately.
*“Come over. I’ll help you.”*
Bakugou didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he knew he didn’t want to face it alone. He needed Aizawa. And, for the first time, he didn’t feel ashamed to admit it.
When he arrived at Aizawa’s apartment, his entire body was a knot of frustration and anxiety. His skin felt like it was on fire, and the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. As he stepped inside, he was barely able to keep his composure.
Aizawa was already there, waiting for him—calm, unruffled, and completely sure of himself. His gaze softened when he saw Bakugou’s flushed skin, his tense posture. He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Bakugou’s shoulder, grounding him with a simple touch.
“You’re in your rut, aren’t you?” Aizawa’s voice was soft but knowing.
Bakugou nodded, biting back a whimper that wanted to escape. The feeling was overwhelming—so much heat, so much pressure, and he didn’t know what to do with it. “I… I don’t know what’s happening, Aizawa. I can’t stop it. It hurts.”
Aizawa didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to reassure Bakugou that he wasn’t alone in this. Slowly, Aizawa led him to the couch, guiding him to sit down. Bakugou’s head was spinning, his breath shallow as the need inside him flared up again, more intense than before.
“I’m here,” Aizawa said, his voice a constant anchor amidst the storm in Bakugou’s chest. “You’re safe. You don’t have to fight this alone. Just breathe for me, Bakugou.”
Bakugou felt his pulse race, his body screaming for release, but Aizawa’s words were steady. The calmness in Aizawa’s voice cut through the haze in his mind. He focused on it—the rhythm of Aizawa’s words, the soft pressure of his hand on his back. Bakugou’s shoulders slumped slightly, his body still trembling, but the touch helped ground him.
Aizawa’s hands moved slowly, deliberately, over Bakugou’s body—starting at his shoulders, working down his arms, soothing the taut muscles that were begging for release. Bakugou’s body responded to Aizawa’s touch, but there was still that gnawing ache inside him, a deep, primal need that nothing seemed to ease.
“Shh,” Aizawa murmured as Bakugou whimpered again, pressing closer to him instinctively. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this.”
Bakugou’s hands clenched at his sides, but Aizawa’s touch was calm, steady, almost possessive in a way that made Bakugou’s head spin. His control was slipping, but Aizawa’s hands on him, his voice in his ear, held him together in ways Bakugou couldn’t explain.
“Aizawa… I…” Bakugou’s voice cracked, barely able to form the words. He hated how weak he sounded, how vulnerable he felt, but he couldn’t stop it. The need inside him was too strong. His rut was relentless, and he didn’t know how to manage it.
Aizawa didn’t let go. His hands were firm, reassuring. He gently guided Bakugou’s face up, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Trust me, Bakugou. I know this is hard, but you don’t have to fight it anymore. You’re mine to take care of now.”
The possessiveness in Aizawa’s words made Bakugou’s chest tighten. Something deep inside him wanted to resist, to push back against this wave of submission. But another part of him—the part that had been yearning for this kind of care, this kind of trust—let go. It wasn’t weakness. It was surrender.
Aizawa continued to guide him through the experience. His hands moved over Bakugou’s body in slow, deliberate motions, comforting him with the same calm authority that Bakugou had come to rely on. With every touch, every word, Aizawa seemed to strip away the tension, slowly unraveling the storm inside him.
But Bakugou’s mind was still fogged, every thought consumed by the desperate ache in his chest. He felt like he was losing control, but Aizawa never let him fall too far. His hands never wavered, never faltered. Aizawa’s steady presence was a constant—his touch, his words, his unwavering care.
“Breathe with me, Bakugou,” Aizawa instructed, his voice soft but insistent. “In… and out… focus on the rhythm. I’m here.”
Bakugou’s breath hitched, but he followed Aizawa’s guidance. Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease, the storm within him shifting from a chaotic frenzy to something more manageable. His whimpers softened, the frantic need no longer consuming him as Aizawa’s touch grounded him.
Eventually, Bakugou’s body relaxed into the couch, his breath evening out as Aizawa’s hands continued to soothe him. Bakugou hadn’t realized just how much he needed this, how much he needed Aizawa.
“Thank you,” Bakugou muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Aizawa’s fingers gently brushed through Bakugou’s hair, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t need to thank me, Bakugou. I’m here for you. Always.”
It was in that moment, as Bakugou lay in Aizawa’s arms, his body still tingling from the experience, that he truly understood the depth of what they had. This wasn’t just about submission. This was about something much more profound—trust, care, and an unspoken understanding that went beyond words.
Aizawa’s hands moved to cup Bakugou’s face, his touch tender, yet firm. “You’ve got me,” Aizawa said softly. “And I’ve got you. Don’t forget that.”
Bakugou nodded, his eyes closing as he finally allowed himself to relax, knowing that the storm inside him had been weathered, and Aizawa had been there every step of the way, proving his unwavering dedication and care.
The bond between them had solidified in that moment, deeper and stronger than it had ever been before. And for the first time, Bakugou allowed himself to truly surrender.