Beyond the Role
It had been weeks since that night at the BDSM club, and with each passing day, Bakugou found himself drawn deeper into the world he had once never considered. The dynamics that Aizawa had introduced him to weren’t just about submission, dominance, or even the BDSM world itself—they were about trust, vulnerability, and emotional connection. And as much as Bakugou hated to admit it, there was something undeniably magnetic about Aizawa that he couldn’t shake.
The way Aizawa moved—quiet, controlled, and calm—was the perfect foil to Bakugou’s fiery intensity. The older man’s ability to read him without a word, to calm him when he was on the verge of losing control, had started to stir something inside Bakugou. The walls he’d built around his emotions, the ones he had erected to keep people at arm’s length, were beginning to crack. It terrified him. But it also thrilled him.
Tonight, they had agreed to meet outside of the structured, controlled world of their Dom/sub roles. Aizawa had been clear about the intention: to talk, to connect, to understand each other better beyond the boundaries of their roles. For Bakugou, that idea was unsettling. Their dynamic had always been clearly defined—Aizawa was his Dom, and Bakugou, for all his reluctance, had come to embrace his position as a submissive in their private scenes. But what would happen if that role was stripped away? What if the rigid lines between them blurred?
Aizawa had invited him to his apartment, a quiet, minimalist space that matched the man himself. The walls were simple, the furnishings sparse, but everything was intentional. It was comfortable, but not overly familiar. There was a kind of order to the place that mirrored Aizawa’s personality—controlled, with just enough space for warmth to seep through the cracks.
Bakugou hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing. What was this? Was this just a continuation of their professional relationship, or was this something else? He wasn’t sure. But he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t going to back out now.
Aizawa answered the door, dressed casually in a dark sweater and jeans, his hair disheveled as if he had just returned from a long day. He looked different from the commanding figure Bakugou was used to—the man in control, the Dom who knew exactly how to command a scene. Now, he looked like just a man—vulnerable, human, and more approachable than Bakugou had ever seen him.
“Come in,” Aizawa said, his voice as calm and steady as ever, though there was a gentleness to it tonight. “We don’t need to be anything other than ourselves right now.”
Bakugou nodded and stepped inside, taking in the simple decor. There was a softness to the space, a welcoming atmosphere that contrasted with the disciplined energy Aizawa typically projected. Aizawa led him to the living room, where a small coffee table and a pair of armchairs awaited them. The atmosphere was relaxed, but Bakugou’s mind was still buzzing with questions.
Aizawa gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit down,” he said, his voice inviting but firm. Bakugou did as instructed, though his nerves were still on edge.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was comfortable, but charged with an underlying tension that Bakugou couldn’t ignore. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the lack of structure. It was strange to be here, with Aizawa, without the familiar roles they had built together. No commands, no structured scene—just them.
Finally, Aizawa broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking a lot about where we are, Bakugou,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “About us. This thing we’ve been building between us.”
Bakugou’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly masked the sudden rush of emotions with a scoff. “What do you mean, ‘this thing’? We’ve been training, haven’t we? That’s all it is.”
Aizawa met his gaze with steady, unflinching eyes. “No, it’s not just that,” he said, his voice unwavering. “It hasn’t been for a while now.” He let out a soft breath, his gaze dropping to his hands for a moment as if considering how much to reveal. “I need you to understand something, Bakugou. The dynamic we share, it’s not just about control and submission. It’s about trust. About connection. And I think we’ve begun to form something real here, something more than just the roles we’ve been playing.”
Bakugou felt a wave of heat flush through him, but he fought to keep his composure. The idea that there was something more—that what they shared went beyond the bedroom, beyond the sessions where Aizawa dominated him and Bakugou submitted—was hard for him to grasp. He had always kept his emotions tightly controlled, never allowing himself to get too close to anyone. But with Aizawa, there was a pull he couldn’t ignore.
“I—” Bakugou started, his voice tight, but he stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say. His throat felt thick, as if the words had lodged themselves there, unwilling to come out.
Aizawa’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his expression warm but serious. “I’ve been where you are, Bakugou. I’ve been the one who was afraid to open up, to let someone in. I became a Dom not because I wanted power over others, but because I wanted to understand control—control over myself, control over my emotions. I became a Dom because I had to learn to trust, to let go of the walls I had built around myself. To let someone else take care of me for once.”
Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly, his heart beating faster as Aizawa’s words struck a chord deep within him. He had always known Aizawa was a man of control, but to hear him speak so openly, so vulnerably, about his own journey—about his own struggles—was unexpected. It was different from the steady, unyielding Aizawa Bakugou had always known. This was the Aizawa who had been through pain, through the same kind of emotional turmoil that Bakugou himself had spent his whole life running from.
“I’ve been doing this for years,” Aizawa continued, his voice steady but carrying the weight of experience. “But it’s never been easy. It’s never been just about dominating someone. It’s about trust. It’s about understanding that when you’re vulnerable, when you allow someone else to take control, you’re also trusting them with a part of yourself that you can’t get back. It’s scary. But it’s also freeing.”
Bakugou swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always been afraid of vulnerability. Afraid of letting someone else see the parts of himself that were weak, that weren’t perfect. But as he looked at Aizawa—at the man who had so carefully guided him, who had always given him space to explore without judgment—he felt something shift within him.
“You… you really think that’s possible?” Bakugou asked, his voice almost a whisper. “To trust like that? To actually let go of all the control?”
Aizawa’s gaze softened even further. “Yes. I do. But it takes time. It takes patience. And it takes someone who is willing to face their own fears, their own darkness, without running away.”
For the first time since they had begun this journey, Bakugou felt a deep, aching longing in his chest. He wanted to trust. He wanted to let go. But he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Not yet. He had spent his entire life guarding his emotions, keeping people at a distance. But there was something about Aizawa that made him want to take that leap, to tear down the walls he had so carefully constructed.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Bakugou confessed, his voice raw, the vulnerability in his words a stark contrast to the bravado he usually wore. “I’ve never let anyone get that close.”
Aizawa reached across the table, his hand gently covering Bakugou’s, his touch warm but grounding. “I’m not asking you to do it all at once, Bakugou. Just take it one step at a time. You don’t have to change everything overnight. But I’m here. And I’m willing to wait for you to get there.”
Bakugou’s breath hitched in his throat, the weight of Aizawa’s words sinking deep into his heart. For the first time, he felt the wall around his emotions crack. It wasn’t a complete collapse, but it was a start. And that was enough.
As they sat there, in the quiet of Aizawa’s apartment, the world outside seemed to fade away. There were no roles, no commands, no expectations. There was just the two of them, two people who had found something in each other that went beyond control and submission. Something real. Something that, for Bakugou, felt like the beginning of something he didn’t quite understand, but was willing to explore.
And for the first time in his life, Bakugou felt something he had never allowed himself to feel before: hope.