"There is No Restart Button" an ex Bakugo x reader fanfic

(Chapter 9) There Was Nothing You Could Do.

Two middle school students...

You stood there, staring at the post carnage of what would likely be just the talk of the week for people until they found something more interesting to murmur about. For you though, everything about this moment felt dreadful. Bakugo was nowhere in sight, no information about the students involved were relayed, the mention of All Might miraculously showing up and how "who knows what could've happened if he didn't" ringing through your head. Whatever paranoia that had forced you to run your whole way here was now replaced with a sinking feeling that you didn't know what was going on. Deep down though, you knew it had something to do with Bakugo. You just knew it. However, there was nothing more you could do.

You were too late.

Later that night, the incident made every headline on every channel, and it only confirmed your worries. Pictures and videos of the scene were leaked on social media, people from your school all pointing out the familiar blond hair peeking out in the blurry collage of photos showing the sludge villain. That was your boyfriend, held hostage by a villain in a manner that made your bones feel brittle and your blood run cold. Your boyfriend in a state of powerless, hopeless restraint. For the first time, as you watched that video over and over, you saw a look you never knew Bakugo could make: fear. You had tried texting and calling him a million times, even debating on running to his house to check on him, but nothing satisfied your worries. What was done was done, and you couldn't do anything about it.

Present Time...

"Wait what?!" Izuku's voice nearly yelled in shock over the phone. You had forgotten to text Izuku when you got back home last night from the park for obvious reasons. You were so pent up with anger and concern for Bakugo's injuries, due to your brother's lash of emotions, that you couldn't think of anything else to do but try calling Bakugo to make sure he was okay. He didn't answer the call, which didn't surprise you, but he did text you he was "fine" and that you should just go to bed. You wanted to explain yourself, figure out how to apologize for Ko's actions, but you realized there was nothing you could say to fix any of it so you let it go. You still stayed up late in the night, staring at your bedroom ceiling, listening to the faint conversation your family was having in the living room. You knew what they were talking about without needing to hear it word for word, but you were too emotionally spiked and worn out to care. You just shut your eyes and told yourself to deal with it tomorrow.

And now tomorrow was here and once you checked your phone in the morning you saw a swarm of texts from Izuku. All of them were frantic, likely caused when he presumably saw Bakugo come back to the dorms last night with a bruised and battered face. Anyone would naturally be panicked seeing a guy like Bakugo evidently roughed up from a fight. You could try answering all of Izuku's many questions and concerns: "are you okay?" "did you get hurt at all?" "did Bakugo say something?" but you figured it would be best just to call him and settle it all in one conversation, which is what you were doing now.

"They got into a fight. Well, more like Bakugo let him knock him in the face," you sigh heavily, sitting crisscrossed on your bed, ruffling your bedhead nest of hair, "I tried pulling my brother off of him but I obviously wasn't much help."

"I'm sure you did your best, I just can't believe something like that actually happened," Izuku responds in disbelief.

You lay back on your bed, still keeping the phone up to your ear, "a part of me was worried something like this would've happened, but I thought he was going to be out all night. Instead I let Bakugo get punched in the face by my rage filled brother..."

"Y/n it isn't your fault it happened," Izuku tries reassuring you, "you couldn't have known."

"Yeah but what I did know was how much my family hates him...all because of me," you mutter, your voice growing more quiet and regretful, "I'd let myself grow spiteful and bitter after we broke up and my family knew it. I never once tried convincing them or myself back then that forgiving, or at least some closure, was better than loathing. I let those angry thoughts fester and now it's coming back to slap me in the face."