My Hero Academia: Heavenly Restriction

Well, well, well... look who made it to another week! I couldn't help but notice how invested everyone got in the last few chapters. The theories! The reactions! The emotional outbursts! chuckles while doodling little butterflies in my notebook margins

"You can't leave us hanging like that!" I hear you cry. "What happens next?" 

Taps pen thoughtfully against my chin

You know, it's actually quite peaceful here in my writing nook. The sun's streaming through my window, casting the perfect amount of light on my desk. My tea is at the ideal temperature. Even my usually chaotic hair is behaving today! It's like the universe is aligning to give me some well-deserved relaxation time.

Adjusts Stitch hood as it falls over my eyes

"But Wisteria-san!" you protest. "What about the story? What about our beloved characters?"

Grins mischievously while spinning in my chair

Oh, don't worry! I have plenty of chapters planned. The question is... will you ever see them? Remember our little deal? 500 powerstones for bonus content? Laughs while hugging my knees to my chest

I mean, really, who could possibly hit that kind of target more than once? It's practically impossible! Which means... stretches dramatically I can finally catch up on all those manga volumes piling up on my shelf. Maybe start that new anime everyone's been talking about. Oh! Or maybe even take a nap!

Unless...

Tilts head thoughtfully

No, no. You couldn't possibly... Could you?

Shuffles through papers covered in plot notes and character sketches

I mean, I do have some pretty exciting developments written down here. Major revelations. The kind of moments that make readers scream into their pillows at 3 AM... 

Sighs contentedly while leaning back

But since we'll never reach that 500 powerstone goal, I suppose I'll just keep those to myself. Time to put my feet up and-

Oh? What's this? You actually think you can do it? 

Grins while pulling out a fresh notebook

Well then, my dear readers... prove me wrong. Show me what you've got. Because trust me, what I have planned next? 

Let's just say it would be a shame if you missed it.

But for now... yawns and pulls Stitch hood over eyes I think it's time for that nap. After all, it's not like I'll need to write more than two bonus chapters this week...

Right?

(P.S. those waiting for that Izuku Camie chapter, be patient for just a little while longer. It will be happening soon!)

======

The classroom door slid open under my hand. Inside, a small group of my classmates lingered despite classes being over. Their animated conversation died as I entered, replaced by a mix of appreciative whistles and concerned looks at my bandaged state.

"Yo, Midoriya!" Kaminari perched on his desk, grinning. "That fight was intense! The way you redirected Bakugo's explosions? Pure fire!"

"Manly as hell," Kirishima agreed from his seat. "Made me want to step up my own training."

Yaoyorozu approached, her usual composed demeanor tinged with concern. "How are your injuries? I should have created better protective gear during the exercise."

I shook my head. "Not your fault. I chose to take those hits."

"Still..." She touched her collar bone, a habit I'd noticed when she was troubled. "As your partner, I should have-"

"Fam, you both crushed it." Camie's voice cut through the discussion. She'd been unusually quiet in her seat, studying me with sharp eyes that belied her casual tone. "Speaking of crushing things, Izu, your mom texted. We need to grab some groceries after school."

My mother hadn't texted - I'd seen my phone screen earlier. But Camie's pointed look told me everything I needed to know. She'd read the room, read me, and was offering an escape route.

"Right." I adjusted my partially buttoned shirt. "Should probably handle that before it gets late."

"Share the wealth, Utsushimi!" Ashido called out as we headed for the door. "Some of us want Midoriya time too!"

Camie's response was a peace sign thrown over her shoulder as she practically herded me into the hallway. We walked in companionable silence, her presence a buffer between me and the curious stares of passing students. It wasn't until we cleared UA's gates that she laced her fingers through mine, steering us toward the station near our apartment complex.

The streets grew quieter as we moved away from the school crowds. Camie's thumb traced small circles on my hand, but she didn't push me to talk. She understood sometimes silence said more than words.

"My place," she said as we reached our building. "These UA threads need to go, and you should change too."

I nodded, following her lead. Her apartment door opened to familiar territory - I'd spent enough time here helping arrange furniture that it felt like a second home. The guest bedroom held a mix of my own clothes and ones Camie had bought me, claiming it was payment for my interior decorating services.

The soft gray sweatpants and white shirt felt like armor being stripped away. When I emerged, Camie had changed too - a cropped grey hoodie with a simple white bird design, high-waisted athletic shorts, and black thigh-high socks that drew the eye despite my best efforts not to stare.

I sank onto her couch, head tilted back, eyes closed. The day's weight pressed down on my shoulders. Gentle hands slid across my chest, carefully avoiding the bandaged areas. Camie's cheek pressed against mine, her presence grounding me in the moment.

"You good?"

The question carried layers of meaning. Was I physically okay? Mentally stable? Ready to talk about what happened in the exercise?

"Mm…"

"Lie down," she ordered before I could answer. "Those ribs need rest."

I complied, stretching out on the couch as she grabbed the remote. She settled on top of me, her weight surprisingly comfortable despite my injuries. The TV provided background noise - some cooking show I barely registered.

"Not sure this position helps the healing process," I said, but couldn't keep the amusement from my voice.

Camie pushed herself up, looking down at me with a smirk that made my heart skip. "My bestie needs some TLC." Her hand pressed against my chest, directly over my heart, fingers slowly curling into a fist. "Doctor's orders."

"Pretty sure Recovery Girl didn't prescribe this."

"Recovery Girl isn't here." She lowered herself back down, head tucked under my chin. "I am."

Her breath tickled my neck with each exhale, a gentle warmth that made focusing on anything else remarkably difficult. The cooking show droned on in the background – something about proper knife techniques – but my attention kept drifting to the way Camie's fingers traced idle patterns across my chest.

I adjusted slightly, careful of my bandaged ribs, and ran my nails lightly down her back. A contented hum vibrated against my collarbone as she melted further into me. Her legs moved restlessly, toes curling against my calf in a way that sent pleasant shivers up my spine.

"How was your match?" The question came out softer than intended, nearly lost in her hair.

"Do you want to know, Izu?"

"Mhm." 

"Say please." Her voice held that playful lilt that usually preceded trouble.

I turned my head slightly – just enough to catch her gaze. Her breath caught, fingers stilling against my mouth.

"That's cheating," she whispered.

"What is?"

"Those eyes." She poked my chest accusingly. "You know exactly what you're doing."

I widened them innocently. "No idea what you mean."

Her legs tightened around mine. "You're not getting match details that easily."

"Guess I'll just have to watch the footage later."

"Mean." She buried her face in my neck, but I could feel her smile. "My Izu's supposed to ask nicely."

My Izu. The possessive sent warmth spreading through my chest. Her nails scratched gently at my scalp, finding all the right spots. The tension from earlier – from Bakugo, from Recovery Girl, from everything – began melting away under her touch.

We lay there in comfortable silence, trading idle caresses as the TV host enthusiastically explained the difference between chopping and dicing. Camie's presence grounded me, her weight a reassuring constant against the chaos of the day.

Eventually, she pushed herself up, looking down at me with an expression that mixed concern and determination. "Couch cuddles are great, but we should probably talk about what happened with Bakugo."

I started to sit up. She immediately wrapped her legs around my waist, settling more firmly in my lap.

"Not going anywhere," she said, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Just changing positions."

My hands found her waist, steadying her. "There's not much to talk about."

"Mm." She studied my face. "That's why you've got that little crease between your eyebrows? The one that shows up when something's bothering you?"

"You notice too many things."

"I notice you." Her thumb smoothed over the furrow she'd mentioned. "And something about that fight hit different."

I sighed, letting my head fall forward until our foreheads touched. My fingers tightened on her waist. She waited, patient, continuing her gentle assault on my scalp. The words came slowly, pulled from somewhere deep and raw.

"Back in middle school, after they announced UA applications were opening..." I focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing. "Bakugo told me to take a swan dive off the roof. That if I wanted a quirk so badly, maybe I'd get one in my next life."

Camie's hands stilled. "He what?"

"It wasn't the worst thing he'd said." The words tasted bitter. "But it was the one that stuck. Because for a moment – just a moment – I actually considered it."

Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer. "Izu..."

"I didn't, obviously." I pressed my face into her shoulder. "But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had. If he would have felt guilty, or if he'd have found a way to blame me for taking his 'joke' seriously."

"That's not a joke." Her voice carried an edge I'd never heard before. "That's fucking abuse."

"Yeah." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Took me a while to see it that way though. Used to think if I just tried harder, proved myself worthy of being his friend again..."

"Stop." She pulled back enough to meet my eyes. "You never had to prove yourself worthy of basic human decency. Hehad to prove himself worthy of your friendship. And he failed. Spectacularly."

The fierce protectiveness in her tone made something in my chest ache. How long had I wanted someone to say exactly that? To validate what I'd felt but couldn't acknowledge?

"He tried apologizing today," I said quietly. "First time ever."

"But?"

"But actions speak louder than words."

Camie's fingers traced my jaw. "Some apologies are about making the person who hurt you feel better, not about making things right."

"Exactly." I leaned into her touch. "And I'm done carrying his guilt for him."

"Good." She pressed closer, until I could feel her heartbeat against my chest. "Because my Izu deserves better than that."

My Izu. There it was again – that casual claim that felt anything but casual. Her thumb brushed my bottom lip, and for a moment I thought...

But no. We were friends. Best friends, maybe, but still friends. And right now, what I needed most was exactly this – someone who saw me clearly and chose to stay anyway.

"Thank you," I murmured against her hair.

"For what?"

"Being here. Being you. Take your pick."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Does being me include optimal cuddle positioning and superior hair-playing techniques?"

"Definitely in the top five reasons."

"Only top five?" Her fingers tugged lightly at my hair in mock offense. "Guess I'll have to step up my game."

I smiled against her temple. "Wouldn't want to make it too easy for you."

"Please." She shifted, finding an even more comfortable position in my lap. "You're the one who makes things complicated, Mr. Four-Cracked-Ribs."

"They're barely cracked."

"Mhm." Her tone dripped skepticism. "That's why you winced when I first sat down?"

"Did not."

"Did too." She poked my side gently. "Right about... here?"

I caught her hand before she could demonstrate further. "Recovery Girl said three days rest."

"Then rest." She laced our fingers together. "I've got you."

And she did. Even as the TV show ended and another began, even as the afternoon light shifted to evening gold, she held on. We talked about lighter things – her match details (finally shared without begging), plans for the weekend, a new café she wanted to try. But underneath it all was the steady assurance of her presence, the warmth of knowing someone chose to stay.

Sometimes the best healing didn't come from recovery quirks or bandages. Sometimes it came from gentle hands in your hair, from someone who noticed your tells and stayed anyway, from the quiet understanding that you didn't have to be anything but exactly who you were.

The sky outside darkened to purple twilight. Soon we'd need to think about dinner, about homework, about all the normal things that made up our lives. But for now, in this moment, there was just this – her weight in my lap, her fingers in my hair, and the steady rhythm of our breathing falling into sync.

Some wounds didn't need healing. But having someone to hold you while you learned that truth? 

That made all the difference in the world.