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Spectrophilia

Chapter Text

“Alright, brats. This is your new home.”

Izuku stares around in wonder. The mansion had looked large from the outside, but the inside is massive. The entry room itself is at least twice the size of their old orphanage. There’s a sitting area with chairs and chaise lounges that look like they have never once been used for lounging. On either side of the back wall there are stairwells that lead up to a landing then diverge again left and right. Below the landing is a wide door framed by two shining suits of armor. Above the landing is a huge portrait of a very handsome family. The patriarch takes over most of the image, broad and looming over his wife and children, who are dark blobs barely visible by the light streaming through the large double doors. The only part that shines with clarity are the father’s eyes, which seem to glint blue. They contrast against the red drapes framing the painting and covering part of the stairwells. The whole room screams wealth and ego. It’s quite the shock for a boy who has only ever lived in a large closet with two other people and has about ten items to his name.

“Move it, Deku!”

Katsuki roughly slams his shoulder into Izuku’s as he passes through the doors. Izuku stumbles for a second, but he’s used to this treatment. It only takes him a moment to recover and move further into the foyer.

“This is the main entryway,” the butler explains, moving about the room and lighting golden candelabra, “There’s another entrance in the back by the dining room. You should find plenty of space to play in the backyard. To the right here is the kitchen. It should already be fully stocked but there will be a monthly allowance for groceries. To the left is the door to the study and master suites. Straight ahead is access to the dining room, classrooms, and music room. Up the stairs are the bedrooms. The first door to the left–” he gestures to the left stairwell, “–and to the right–“ a gesture to the right stairwell, “–are bathrooms. My name is Takada-san. I will be taking care of you for the duration of my service to the Todoroki family. If you have need of me, dial the number by the installed phones in the study and the kitchen. My residence is elsewhere on the grounds. Are there any questions?”

The younger kids start chattering excitedly and asking anything that comes to mind. Takada-san seems a little overwhelmed by their curiosity and enthusiasm, but tries his best to answer their inane questions.

Miura-san snaps at them before they can go on too long, “Oy! Leave the man alone. Go upstairs and find your rooms. Primary kids on the left, two to a room. Senior kids to the right and everyone gets their own. Now get out of here!”

Immediately everyone starts scrambling to the stairs, clambering over each other to be the first to claim a good room. Izuku decides to hang back, knowing that there’s no point in trying to grab a room before Katsuki and his crew have their pick. He picks up his measly bag of belongings and takes his time, admiring the details on the walls he couldn’t see before with only the light from the entrance. There are smaller paintings hanging along the sides of the room, mostly of war scenes and portraits of generals from different periods of time. It makes sense, given that the donor of this estate was known as a war hero in his prime.

Izuku had done some reading at the local library during one of their outings on Todoroki Enji. He was a general known for his questionable tactics and overwhelming results. His men had been severely divided on their opinions of him, but he had been loved by the people for bringing peace. Following the war, he disappeared from the public for a while, reappearing after his youngest son went missing. He took to training new troops until he was too ill to leave his home. He had died a few years prior, leaving the estate to one of the smallest orphanages in the city. Izuku wonders what led to that decision. Why them? They aren’t special. As far as he knows Todoroki Enji hadn’t come from his orphanage or shown any real connection to it before now. Maybe he could pry Miura-san about it later. With the way the general was described he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d closed his eyes and just pointed at a list of charitable organizations to donate to for his image.

As he passes up the stairs he sees individual portraits of the children hanging on either side of the central painting. On the left is the mother and the only daughter, both lovely and feminine with white hair and grey, sad eyes. On the right are the sons. Their portraits seem to scream masculine bravado, just like their father.

Once he gets to the portrait of the youngest, though, he stops. He possesses the most drastic coloring of them all with heterochromia and hair color split neatly in half. It’s not just the coloring, though, that throws Izuku. The boy’s eyes lack the bravado of his brothers and father. Instead they reflect the sadness and depth of his sister and mother. They’re…beautiful. Izuku reaches out to lightly touch the boy’s cheek. In the picture he seems to be the same age as him. For a moment he hopes that the lovely boy went somewhere that would bring happiness to his eyes instead. He reads the name plate beneath the portrait, “Todoroki…Shouto.” As he says the name he could swear the painting grows slightly warmer. Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, he scurries the rest of the way up the stairs.

By the time he reaches the top, he’s the only one left without a room. The corridor before him is covered by a long, embroidered rug, red like the drapery in the entry hall. The walls are lined with gold and silver sconces that contrast against the rustic wallpaper. On the far end there is a large window that illuminates the whole area.

He slinks by Katsuki’s room at the start of the hall and goes to the very end. The room on the left doesn’t appear to be taken, but he knocks quietly to be sure. When he hears no response, he opens the door. Inside, the room is twice as big as his old classroom. As it’s located in the corner, the far and right walls are covered almost entirely in windows. They are framed by silver silk curtains. The same curtains hang around the four poster bed against the left wall, tied back with a delicate bronze band. To the right of the bed there is a large wardrobe and to the left is a nightstand with a silver chamberstick and a box of matches. In front of the windows on the right side there is a large wooden desk with a small candelabra, a stack of paper, and a quill set.

After Izuku picks his jaw up off the floor, he goes there to deposit his journals and books. Once they’re carefully set on the dark wood, he moves to the wardrobe, opening it slowly. Inside there’s enough room to fit him, Katsuki, and a couple of the youngsters. He feels a little pathetic throwing his spare pair of pants, two tunics, and coat in there.

After he’s done depositing his things, Izuku unceremoniously flops down on the large bed. It’s just as soft as he had hoped, almost uncomfortably so compared to the cot he’s used to. He honestly doesn’t know how he’ll get used to living in such luxury. Maybe he will use the extra space in the closet as a bed. That would be more his speed.

“Alright brats!”

Izuku nearly has a heart attack as a voice seems to echo from nowhere. He looks around in confusion before spotting the small brass speaker of a speaking tube by the door. Looks like even in an isolated room at the end of a massive corridor he can’t escape Miura-san’s yelling.

“Come on down for lunch!”

Again, he hesitates to let Katsuki and his gang exit the hall before he ventures out. He hates himself for being this cowardly, but he’s only got a few more months left. Then he can leave all of this behind and make a living for himself. Go to university. Hopefully.

Once he finally makes his way down the stairs he goes through the door beneath the landing to find a similar hall to the ones upstairs, except this one has several suits of armor lining it. Even with Izuku’s minimal knowledge of armies he can tell that they come from several different time periods and cultures. Halfway down, the hall branches off on either side. He hears chatter to the right, so he follows the noise. Further down the hall to the left there’s a wide archway that opens to a huge dining room.

The space is lit by ceiling to floor windows with a stained glass art piece depicting a band of warriors running along the center. There are plates and other china pieces on shelves and hanging from the walls, looking far too expensive to be around a bunch of kids. At that thought, one goes tumbling down after someone bumps it, but it’s ignored in the chaos. The center piece of the room is a broad dining room table of dark red wood where around thirty kids are causing mayhem.

Miura-san pops out of a door behind Izuku on the other side of the hall, nearly whacking him in the head with a large platter of cheeses and sliced meats. She raises her voice to be heard over the chatter.

“Light lunch for now, kiddos. But tonight will be a smorgasbord!”

Izuku starts elbowing his way to the platter to grab a slice of pork and some cheese. Once everyone is mostly settled down and munching on their snacks, Miura-san speaks again.

“Okay, so no classes today. Gonna let you all get settled in, explore a bit. Plus our new senior teacher hasn’t arrived yet. You’ve got the house to yourselves except for the master wing. That’ll remain locked up for adult use only.”

There are a few protests, but for the most part everyone’s content with the area they’ve got. After all, this mansion is nothing like the buildings they have seen before. Izuku grabs another slice of pork and sets off to explore the estate.

He starts by venturing down the opposite hall. It looks similar to the residence halls in that there are doors lining each side. He tentatively opens one to peak in and sees several desks and a chalkboard at the front. This must be the classroom hall.

“Maybe there’s a library around here…” he muses as he opens each door to peer in. When he reaches the end of the hall there’s a door straight ahead. Once he peers in he finds it hard to contain his excitement.

The library is just slightly larger than the dining room. There are tall bookshelves lining almost every wall. To the right there is a broad window and a surprisingly cozy looking sitting area with a table. There’s even a small fern in the corner, the first sign of life he’s seen in this house. Sunlight streams through the window, creating a warm glow that makes the whole scene picturesque.

Izuku closes the door behind him with a soft thud and turns to the left to start browsing. At the front of the library there appears to primarily be books on war strategies. He had always found strategy interesting, but he was more in the mood for some fiction, so he skips the area. Before he can move on too far he hears a loud thump behind him. His head whips around, expecting to see Katsuki with his fists raised. To his confusion, though, the room appears to be empty still. He glances around to be sure but he’s definitely alone.

His eyes land on a book on the ground a few feet away. Tentatively, he kneels down and reaches for it, eyes skirting around in mild paranoia. He still half expects this to be a prank. Izuku’s even more convinced when his fingers touch the book and he gets a small shock. He jerks his hand back and checks the room once more. Deeming it a coincidence, he reaches for it again and manages to pick it up without incident. It appears to be a collection of works by Edgar Allen Poe with a red velvet bookmark sticking out of the top. Izuku tabs to the marked page to see a short story titled The Fall of the House of Usher. He’s read a couple of Poe’s works, but he can’t recall that one. Guess he has his book for the night. He tucks it under his tunic as a precaution and decides to drop it back at his room before exploring any further.

He doesn’t make it far, though, because as soon as he opens the library door he bumps straight into a hard chest. Katsuki always had been built stronger than him no matter how much he worked out. There’s just no accounting for genetics.

“Of course the fucking nerd is in the library,” the blond sneers. His friends chuckle behind him.

Izuku unconsciously tucks the book closer to his chest. He’s had enough journals tossed in the mud to know where this is going. Unfortunately, Katsuki notices the action and reaches forward to see what he’s protecting so carefully. Izuku tries to back away but Katsuki grabs the front of his tunic and jerks him forward, causing the book to fall out.

“Oh? What’s this?” he muses with mocking interest.

Izuku clenches his fists as Katsuki reaches down to grab the novel.

“Poe? Isn’t he that crazy dude? Ha! Suits a creep like you,” he sneers as he flips through the pages roughly. Izuku knows he’s mostly doing it for show and not reading a word. When Katsuki is finished, he tosses the book down the hall behind him.

“Go fetch, Deku.”

Izuku bristles but he knows there is no use in fighting back. He would just get a black eye and a split lip for his effort. Still, he shoots Katsuki as nasty a look as he dares as he darts past the snickering teenagers for his book.

“Pathetic…” he hears the blond sneer before they enter the library and finally leave him alone. He breathes a little easier as he gingerly picks the velvet bookmark up off of the floor.

“I’m sorry for the poor treatment,” he whispers to book as he dusts it off. “Kacchan’s never been much for books.”

Not wanting to face another encounter, he quickly goes straight to his room and drops the book off on his bed. He spends the rest of the afternoon wandering the halls and seeing how many of the art pieces and suits he can connect with his knowledge of history. When the sky is just starting to tint pink, dinner is served.

Miura-san hadn’t been kidding when she said dinner would be a smorgasbord. Izuku’s pretty sure he’s never seen so much food in his life. At the center of the table lies a whole turkey framed by potatoes, roasted carrots, dried fruits, bread, and various cheeses. There are pitchers of water for the kids and a bottle of wine for Miura-san. Their diets had never been heavy on protein, but if they can eat like this more often maybe he’ll finally be able to build a little bit of muscle and stand a chance against Katsuki’s bullying. With that in mind, he takes a healthy helping of turkey and potatoes.

While everyone is dining, Takada-san bustles about refilling drinks and helping Miura-san care for the younger ones. Once everyone has eaten their fill and dissolved into chatter, she calls for everyone to show their manners and thank the kind butler for preparing them a welcome feast. He simply smiles and bows at the jumbled chorus of appreciation.

After dinner, they are ordered to bed for the night so that they can rise bright and early in the morning to make up for missing today’s classes. Izuku has no objections, as he is rather eager to read his book. By the time he’s settled down in his bed, it has started to dim outside. He will need the chamberstick soon, but for now he’ll manage by squinting.

It takes him a moment of flipping through, but he finds the story that had been marked, The Fall of the House of Usher. It starts with a dilapidated house that reeks of evil and disease. The narrator is visiting his old friend, Roderick Usher, at his request. Roderick’s sister appears to be sick, so the narrator attempts to lift the mood of the house. As the story goes on, though, she dies to her illness. The narrator and his friend place her body in the tomb of the house. Later, he decides to read him a story. While he is reading, noises seem to echo throughout the house. Roderick starts to mutter to himself that he thinks they buried his sister alive. It proves true when she appears in the doorway and attacks him. Roderick dies of fright and the narrator flees. As he’s escaping, the house splits in half.

By the time Izuku’s finished the story, there is a small pool of wax on the tray of his chamberstick and he’s tempted to just let it burn through the night. He doesn’t know what he expected. Every time he reads Poe he gets like this, but it’s just so interesting. He has a love hate relationship with horror. He loves the chill in his bones that he gets when reading about the supernatural or the deranged. He loves delving into their mindsets and emotions. He just hates the sleep he tends to lose from it.

Gently, Izuku sets the book down on his nightstand and settles back down into the soft sheets, closing his eyes and trying not to picture emaciated girls or decaying, eerie houses.

Unsurprisingly, he spends some time tossing and turning. The story hangs in the back of his mind, but it’s not the only thing keeping him awake. The bed is too soft, the room too unfamiliar. He just can’t seem to settle down.

Suddenly, the room becomes much darker, the air much cooler. His candle has gone out with a thin trail of smoke. He doesn’t have time to wonder about it, though, as grogginess starts to settle over him. It’s not quite the same sensation as falling asleep, though. He almost feels like he’s floating outside of reality, like he’s not in touch with his body.

A deep calm blossoms and spreads across his senses, warming his chest and relaxing his muscles. The warmth sinks to his belly, breeding contentment, before travelling further down. A small moan is pulled from him and his cock twitches against his tunic, as if seeking a phantom touch. Despite receiving no physical stimulation, his senses become flooded with pleasurable sensation. His lower half tingles while gooseflesh breaks out over his arms and legs. The feeling invades his mind, causing a heady dizziness. He can’t really comprehend what’s going on in his half-conscious state, but he knows it feels really good.

The pleasure builds all over his body. He almost feels like his skin must be steaming in the cool air of the room. There’s a blinding pressure in the far reaches of his mind. He can hear his heartbeat getting louder and louder. It rises and rises until an intense wave racks his whole body, greater than anything he’d ever achieved in his rare moments of self-exploration. His back arches off the bed and he lets out a strangled cry before sinking into the mattress, listless and spent. Chills of lingering pleasure run up and down his spine for a few moments more before he feels the pull of exhaustion. His muddied thoughts dissipate entirely until there is only a feeling of warmth and tranquility. That night, he gets the best sleep of his life.

Chapter Text

Waking up is a slow, sweet experience for Izuku. The rays of sunlight caress his cheeks and the fluffy blanket keeps him warm and cozy. He lets out a soft sigh and burrows further into the mattress, not wanted to leave his cocoon just yet. He can’t remember the last time he had slept so well. His worry over sleeping in luxury feels silly now. This is something he could get used to.

Resigning himself to rising for the day, Izuku starts to sit up. As he shifts his legs, though, he feels an uncomfortable crustiness between his thighs. Oh no… He takes a deep breath to steel himself before lifting up the covers to see that yes, he is in fact covered in dried semen. It has been a while since his last wet dream. They are a pretty rare occurrence for him, which has evidently made him pretty pent up if the amount is anything to go by.

Izuku lets out a heavy groan then gets up to change. It’s already encrusted into his tunic, so he’ll deal with it later. For now, he has to clean himself up without being noticed by the other boys. Luckily, the Todoroki’s had been wealthy enough to afford indoor plumbing. Izuku throws on a clean set of clothes and slinks into the hall. The sunlight streaming through the hall is bright and warms his back as he trudges toward the bathroom. It’s a few doors down on the opposite side of the hall.

He’s alone when he enters and breathes a sigh of relief as he pads toward the showers at the end of the space. His light steps echo loudly on the tiled floors. There are sky lights that continue to bask the area in a warm glow. He sheds his clothes and enters one of the makeshift stalls.

The water is cool and he flinches when it sprays across his back. Part way through scrubbing his body he begins to feel a prickle across his neck. He’s sure if they weren’t plastered down by the water the hairs there would be standing on end. Nervously, his eyes dart around the room but he hadn’t heard the door open. He is definitely still alone. He repeats that fact to himself in a steady mantra as he finishes up but the feeling of being watched never dissipates.

After drying himself off and redressing he silently exits the bathroom. Once he steps back out into the hall he starts to breathe easier. His anxiety doesn’t completely pass until he reaches the bottom of the stairs and heads down the main hall toward breakfast.

There are only a few other kids in the dining room at this hour, but there’s already a tray of toast, eggs, and preserves on the table as well as a couple pitchers of juice. He’s probably got another hour before lessons start, so he takes his time eating. As he munches on his toast, he examines the stained glass a little closer. On second glance, the leader of the charge appears to be Todoroki Enji, his hair casting blood red on the wall as he rides without a helmet on a black warhorse. Lagging behind and to the right on a pure white steed is Shouto, distinct by his coloring. That surprises Izuku, as he assumes that the oldest would be Enji’s right hand. Instead the two older sons are depicted behind Shouto on more plain brown horses.

While Izuku stares at the stained glass and munches on his toast, the others filter in. Soon, the room is rowdy with the chatter of kids, though it’s milder than the noise last night. No one likes the morning, or the prospect of classes.

“Okay, everyone!” Miura-san taps a glass to get the kids’ attention. “Your senior teacher will be delayed until next week, so for now I’ll be teaching the upper class while Takada-san takes care of the lower one. Classes will be in the first rooms down the hall, big kids to the right and little kids to the left. Be there in fifteen minutes!”

There’s a chorus of affirmation in response. Izuku takes one more swig of juice before heading toward the classroom. He would like to get a seat at the front, closer to the board and away from the rowdier students.

Class goes by without a hitch as they review mathematics and biology. After lunch, they start with history.

“Miura-san?” Izuku calls with a raise of his hand.

“Yes, Izuku-kun?”

“Can we learn about Todoroki Enji in history today?”

“Ah, interested in the owner of the mansion, huh?” Miura-san grins. “Good boy. I’ll tell you what I know about him.”

She goes on to detail his feats as a general, how he rose through the ranks at 19 and led the vanguard in the last war. She recounts which battles he won against who and how. Halfway through the lecture Izuku realizes that he may have asked the wrong person. He knows from the books he’d read about Todoroki’s feats as a general. Perhaps there is a better person to inquire about the Todoroki’s on a more personal level.

After classes are over for the day, he seeks out Takada-san. A glance across the hall informs him that the lower class has already been let out. Izuku wanders the halls for a bit to no avail. Takada-san had said that his phone number was by the phones. He’s never used a phone before, but he knows how they work. There is one at the library by their old orphanage that he’s seen the librarian use.

Izuku finds the phone in the kitchen and dials the number written in elegant calligraphy on a pad on the table. It rings twice before there’s a polite, “Hello?”

“T-Takada-san! I’m Midoriya Izuku, one of the kids from the manor.” Izuku has heard the man’s voice in person but it sounds different over the phone, gruffer and a bit distorted.

“Of course. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the Todorokis?” Izuku says, the statement coming across more like a question.

There’s silence on the line for a second.

“Midoriya-kun, I don’t know that I can provide any more information than Miura-san. I understand she was lecturing over the family today?” Takada-san sounds calm, but there’s a slight edge to his voice. Of course, Izuku could be imagining it due to the filter of the telephone.

“Yes, Miura-san told us about Todoroki Enji-san’s accomplishments, but I actually wanted to know more about his family.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, but I’d be glad to have you for tea if you wish to discuss this more in person.”

“That would be amazing!” Izuku cheers, “Thank you so much, Takada-san.”

“No need to thank me. My house is at the back of the property. There should be a small path out of the kitchen. Do you prefer green tea, early grey, or black?” Takada-san asks.

“Um… black, please,” Izuku answers unsurely.

“I shall see you shortly.”

Izuku nods then hangs up before realizing that Takada-san probably didn’t see the gesture. He dwells on the thought for a second in embarrassment before exiting through the door on the other side of the kitchen. Takada-san was right as Izuku immediately spots a worn path going back through the forest behind the mansion. It’s mid-autumn, so the air is crisp but comfortable enough to walk without his coat. The trees have all donned their autumn colors and some have already abandoned their attachment to the limbs. They pave a colorful path for Izuku to follow.

The walk to Takada-san’s cabin is only a few minutes long. It is much more quaint than the main estate, but still fairly sizeable for one person to live in. There are flower beds by the door that appear to be filled with herbs. As Izuku walks up he leans down to take a sniff and predominantly smells mint. After one more pleasant inhale he knocks on the wooden door very softly. He worries that Takada-san hadn’t heard him but a moment later the door opens.

“Ah, Midoriya-kun, correct?” Takada-san greets with a warm smiles. He’s wearing a clean white apron over the formal attire Izuku had seen him in before. “Come right in.”

“Yes, excuse me.” Izuku crosses the threshold and is hit with a pleasant floral scent.

“Take a seat at the table there.” Takada-san gestures to the small table by the entryway. “I hope you like Darjeeling tea.”

Izuku simply nods, his knowledge of tea very limited. He takes a seat at the table and scans the room while Takada-san shuffles around in what he presumes to be the kitchen. The front area of the cabin is rather small, but comfortable. There’s a desk to the left with neatly arranged stationary and a rather large quill. To the right is a shiny wooden table in front of a broad window with ivy covering the sill.

“You’re a fan of gardening, Takada-san?” Izuku inquires when the older man returns with two steaming mugs. He thanks him for the tea and begins to blow on it lightly.

“Ah, yes. It is one of my favorite hobbies. It was also something I could share with the Madame.”

“Todoroki-san?” Izuku finally takes a sip and finds that he does in fact like Darjeeling tea. Unfortunately, it is still hot enough to scald his tongue so he turns away to avoid being seen making a pained ace.

“Yukino-sama,” Takada-san sighs wistfully. “She was a lovely woman with a beautiful heart. I miss her dearly, as do these gardens.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about, Takada-san,” Izuku says hesitantly. He hopes this won’t be considered rude but he’s not one to beat around the bush. “I wanted to know more about what the family was like. For example, why is the youngest Enji-san’s right hand man in the dining room?”

“That… is a loaded question, my boy.” Takada-san seems to mull over his answer for a moment. “The short of it is that that boy was war prodigy. He had amazing sense for battle, even as a young teenager. The master was raising him to take over his mantle as Endeavor, the ruthless general.”

“What is…the long of it?” Izuku asks very slowly.

Takada-san takes on a contemplative look again. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. The master may be deceased, but he is survived by many of his children.” Izuku notes how he does not say all of his children. “The privacy of the Todoroki family is still one of my duties. I’m afraid you’ll have to direct your questions to one of the children for more personal information.”

Izuku chews on the words for a moment before deciding to drop it and thanking Tanaka-san politely. He drinks his tea and listens to the butler chat about the flowers in his garden. They are arranged so that there is always something in bloom. The garden by the main house is painted in shades of red, orange, and yellow, but the garden behind the cabin holds softer tones of blue, white, and purple.

“I always had a greater affinity for vegetables and herbs,” Tanaka-san explains, “but the madam wanted a lovely garden of her own making to care for. It was somewhat therapeutic to her. Unfortunately, I’ve let it fall into disarray this past year since the Master’s death. Perhaps this winter will be its last.”

Izuku doesn’t have a response to that, so he gives a sympathetic, thoughtful look and continues sipping at his second cup of tea. After a moment of comfortable silence he asks another question.

“Do you know why Todoroki-san donated the estate to us?”

“I’m afraid not, my boy. I’ve been wondering that myself. Todoroki-sama was never…” he pauses and shoots Izuku a wary glance, “…the most benevolent man. This act of charity in his will caught me off guard as well. Perhaps… no, never mind.”

Izuku is sorely tempted to press him, but Tanaka-san has adopted a look that says it will get him nowhere so he holds his tongue. Taking his last swig, he rises from the table and bows lightly.

“Thank you for speaking with me, sir!”

“Oh, please, that’s not necessary!” Tanaka-san insists with a touch of amusement. “It was my pleasure.”

Izuku smiles and bids him farewell. When he exits he walks to the back of the cabin to see the flower garden Tanaka-san had spoken of. When he passes the side wall he nearly walks over what may be a flower or a weed. He’s not well-versed enough in gardening to know. As he rakes his eyes over the garden he finds the rest of it in a similar state of not quite flowers, not quite weeds. It certainly looks like it had once been vibrant and lovely, but Tanaka-san hadn’t been kidding when he had said it had fallen into disarray. There are patches of purple and blue, but for the most part the garden appears to be blanketed by stalks of dull brown and green and fiery leaves from the nearby trees. Izuku spares a moment to mourn the loss of what was once surely beautiful before he returns to the main house for dinner.

Dinner is a noisy affair as usual. The spread isn’t as elaborate as the night before, but it’s still hearty and delicious. Izuku eats his fill and retires as early as is acceptable. He’s not feeling particularly social, not that he ever does, so he beats a hasty retreat for his room. Fortunately, he garners no unwanted attention in doing so.

Once in his room he moves to his desk to make some new notes in his journal. He hesitates to call it a diary, because it’s far more analytical and informative than that, but he does like to write daily and in many ways it is a comforting action.

First, he writes of the mansion. Its regal drapery and ostentatious ornamentations. The numerous paintings and portraits that exude bravado. The stained glass window that alludes to an unusual dynamic. That’s where he starts to delve into his speculations. The youngest appears to hold greater importance. Did he perhaps run away to escape the pressure of being the favorite?

Izuku remembers Tanaka-san’s suggestion and writes what he knows of the current Todoroki family. All of the children should be in their 30s to 40s. The oldest son had joined the military in his father’s shadow. He recalls reading that a grave injury had sent him into retirement. The second son took no military interest, instead pursuing a degree at the university in the capital. The daughter had become a school teacher. Their current whereabouts weren’t listed in any of the materials at the local library, but perhaps one of them will visit their old home? He dearly hopes so.

That leaves the youngest son, whose whereabouts haven’t been known for over fifteen years. He means to write about his theories on Shouto’s disappearance, he really does, but instead he finds his quill writing of the boy’s quiet beauty in the portraits around the estate. He finds himself wondering where the boy spent his time, if he gardened with his mother, how he fought…

As his writing drifts to the food, the cabin, and the garden his minds starts to drift into unconsciousness. His head doesn’t quite hit the desk, but it’s a near thing. It hangs limply from his shoulders. His quill is loose in his hand, paused in its scribbling.

Izuku’s drowsiness overtakes him and he starts to feel a vaguely familiar sensation. There’s a warm tingling across his chest and deep in the pit of his stomach. It grows and grows until his entire body feels like it’s overheating in the best way.

The sensation rouses him back to awareness and he swallows heavily. First the wet dream this morning, now this? Izuku eyes his growing erection with weariness. Before he can decide what he is going to do about it he feels a spike of pleasure crawl up his spine like electricity. Maybe he’s more pent up than he had thought?

Izuku sheds his pants and folds them on the chair before making his way over to the bed. He sits comfortably against the headboard and pulls the blankets up over his legs. The sensation of the soft fabric sliding over his thighs is felt much stronger than usual. He feels chills running over his sensitive skin even as heat builds rapidly under the surface.

Resigning himself to his hormonal urges, Izuku reaches down between his legs and palms the front of his drawers. The act draws a deep moan out of him at the relief it brings. He presses a little harder and slides his other hand over his stomach. There’s already a light sheen of sweat over the subtle musculature. It’s not long before he’s panting with need.

His mind is a heady mess. There’s a hot, insistent pressure pounding at his brain in the best way. It may have been a while since he had last indulged himself but he’s certain it has never felt like this. He slips his hand underneath the cloth for full contact and his head tips back with a low groan. He barely contains the other sounds fighting to flow out of his mouth by biting his lip roughly. As he worries the plump flesh to bruising, his hand takes to long, firm strokes.

The pleasure starts to build to impossible heights. He feels like every nerve in his body is lit up with sensation. When he feels himself approaching the crescendo he swears he feels another pressure join his hand below and a soft touch to his cheek. The touch is tender, almost like a kiss. The phantom pressure slides over his cock just right and he flies over the edge with a strangled cry.

As Izuku comes down from his high his clarity returns. The pounding in his head has ceased and his nerves have stopped going haywire. He stares at the dark canopy of his bed with slight confusion and a lot of satisfaction. The latter feeling wins out as he starts to drift back to slumber. He will have time in the morning to wonder what the hell just happened. For now, he sinks into the mattress and his breathing evens into a calm rhythm. It takes only a moment before he falls asleep with a soft smile.

Chapter Text

This time when he wakes Izuku expects the crustiness. It doesn’t make it less uncomfortable. If anything, he is more so because this time it is from a conscious act. Izuku doesn’t relieve himself very often, as he always feels gross and shameful afterwards. The previous night he had just been so irrationally horny. It was almost as if he had not been in control of his own body. His head had been a mess of arousal, foggy with pure need.

As Izuku’s fingers ghost down over his thighs to assess the damage, he remembers the phantom touch. He had been positive he’d felt something alongside his own hand last night. It was a touch that had felt both feather light and deliciously heavy. That is what had pushed him over the edge. His whole body tingles at the memory of the best orgasm of his life.

Books have always been Izuku’s solace. He can travel to brilliant places and follow fascinating characters that make his already bleak life even duller, but much more manageable. They have proven to be an all-important escape from the fists and the loneliness. It had not taken long for Izuku to read all of the books they kept in their little library in the old orphanage three times over. It was during a time that he was feeling particularly bored that Izuku read a certain novel. The next trip to the public library wasn’t scheduled for another week, but Miura-san had her own bookshelf in her room. While she was busy Izuku snuck in and blindly grabbed one off the shelf before jetting outside to his favorite reading spot. He always read wedged between the hedges and the neighboring fence, tucked away from view where Katsuki couldn’t find him.

As he had started reading it became apparent why Miura-san kept the novel in her personal collection. It was also the first time he had learned that demons are not always scary monsters. Sometimes, they’re muscular 20 year olds. The main character was haunted by a demon called an incubus. The creature performed… sexual acts on her each night he visited and drained her energy as a result. She had tried to fend him off at first but ultimately she succumbed to the pleasure and died at his hands.

He had shoved that book back in its place on Miura-san’s shelf with a shaking hand and a terribly red face as soon as he’d finished it.

Perhaps he is haunted by an incubus? But it isn’t quite like in the book. First of all, he hadn’t actually seen anything in the room with him. In the book the demon had been a handsome man with horns and a tail. Secondly, even if he is gross and full of shame he feels incredibly refreshed and lively. The sleep had been just as good as the orgasm. It was the same yesterday morning. This fact assuages some of his concern about losing energy until he dies.

So what is he left with? He remembers the tender touch to his cheek. Surely nothing evil could perform a gesture that sweet. He also recalls the feeling of being watched, though, and amends that being stalked by an unknown, incredibly horny entity is still creepy and unsettling. Even if they do make him feel like he’s floating on Cloud 9.

Izuku resolves to do what he’s always done with the unknown. Research it.

First he cleans himself off again, once more feeling a lingering gaze that isn’t there in the empty bathroom. Once he’s in fresh clothes he moves to his desk. He contemplates using the same notebook as the night before, but this is a phenomenon that deserves full attention. Izuku instead reaches for his last empty journal and opens to the first page. He stares it for a moment with a satisfied sigh. There’s nothing quite like starting a new notebook.

He starts by documenting the unusual events thus far, the wet dream, the feeling of being watched, and the invisible touch. After that he writes what he knows about incubuses, how it fits, and how it doesn’t. There are a few other supernatural explanations that come to mind, so he notes those down as well.

Once he has filled a few pages with his ramblings he stuffs the notebook away under his bed. It probably would not go across well if the others discovered it. He shudders to imagine the berating he would get from Katsuki over writing about ghosts and demons.

Izuku heads down to breakfast feeling lively and determined. He has always been a curious person at heart, so having something new to observe is exciting as much as it is intimidating. Not to mention his new invisible stalker seems to be pumping him full of energy, more than he has had in a very long time. It has all left him very spry and eager to spend the day seeking answers.

Unfortunately, that all vanishes as soon as he catches Katsuki’s eye at the dining table. There is a glint there that he has come to equate to bruises and tears. Izuku trains his own gaze to the ground as he takes a seat at the opposite end of the table and half-heartedly eats at a bowl of fruit.

What has he done now? What reason has he given Katsuki to make his life miserable this time? Bitterly, he reminds himself that the blond doesn’t exactly need a reason aside from whatever sadistic glee he gains from Izuku’s suffering. He can’t say that he hates the bully, because hate is a strong word and they used to be friends, but sometimes he really wishes Katsuki could just disappear out of his life. A few years ago his wish would have been that they could be friends again, but that hope was long ago squashed under a firm, cruel fist.

Izuku practically scrambles out of his seat to get to the classroom before Katsuki even rises from the table. He plops down in a desk at the front again and tries to make himself as small as possible. When his tormentors enter they are boisterous and confident and everything Izuku is not. He sinks in his seat even further and resolutely looks in the opposite direction of the door. This means he doesn’t expect it when a hand come down on his desk with so much force that he feels the shake in his teeth. He jumps, but it’s easy to bite back the startled whimper when this is an old routine.

“Don’t you dare look away from me, Deku,” Katsuki growls. His blunt nails scrape against the wood as his hand curls into a fist. He pounds on Izuku’s desk again for emphasis.

Izuku swallows down the anxiety and slowly turns to meet blaring red eyes. “Yes, Kacchan?” he says with far more calm than he feels.

“You’re awful cocky today. What’s got you in such a mood?”

Acting cheerful this morning had been a mistake. How could he fool himself into thinking he could walk about with his head held high? He knows what Katsuki does to him when he steps out of line. When he finds any shrivel of self-worth. He does what Katsuki does best, stomps it under his feet.

Izuku remains silent, but he’s certain Katsuki never cared anyway. He is proven right when the other boy simply scoffs and moves to his own desk at the back.

“Don’t forget your place, shitty nerd.” Katsuki props his feet up and sneers, flashing his teeth.

Izuku simply ducks his head back down and waits for the lessons to begin. Miura-san arrives a moment later, and if she notices Izuku’s cowed demeanor she doesn’t comment on it.

The lessons pass like normal, but the pinpricks on the back of Izuku’s neck have returned. Except this time he knows the source and he knows it’s malicious. Katsuki spends the next two hours glaring a hole into the back of Izuku’s head to the point that he worries his curls will catch fire. He just knows that hell is waiting for him after the lessons. It has been a while since his last beating, so he’s overdue for it anyway. Of course the expectation doesn’t make it any less scary.

When it’s lunchtime he is the first out of the door again, making a dash for the dining room. Takada-san is already there with the younger class and offers Izuku a warm smile that he shakily returns. He takes his seat and breathes deeply through his nose. It won’t do to panic. Remain calm, then hopefully he can escape Katsuki’s wrath. Not that he can go very far, since Katsuki can just find him at the end of the hall later that night. No! Stop thinking negatively, Izuku chastises himself firmly, You’ve gotten through it before and you’ll get through it again.

Afternoon lessons pass in a similar fashion. Izuku tries to take notes and avoid panicking and Katsuki shoots imaginary daggers at the back of his head. He is seriously contemplating just punching himself to get it over with when Miura-san announces that they’re done for the day. The news is both a relief and a death sentence.

“I won’t be around for dinner, have to head into town. So be nice to Takada-san,” Miura-san says, eyeing Katsuki meaningfully.

The blond simply scoffs.

As soon as Miura-san is out the door Izuku tries to follow her. He barely makes it a step before a book goes sailing by his head. He halts in his retreat and turns toward the source, dread curling in his stomach. Looks like there won’t be any escaping.

“Oi, shit nerd,” Katsuki calls. “You like books, yeah?”

Izuku nods stiffly, eyes darting around for an escape or a savior he knows isn’t going to come.

“Why don’t we take a trip to the library then?”

Izuku wishes Katsuki hadn’t chosen the library as his final resting place. He really does like books and doesn’t want to desecrate them with his blood.

In the time it takes Izuku to mourn the sanctity of the library, Katsuki saunters up and slings an arm over Izuku’s shoulders. His body jerks at the touch, but he says nothing. When the blond starts to steer him out the door he merely stares at the ground, resigned to his fate.

As they enter the hall it’s evident that the lower class is long gone. No one around to be witness to his untimely demise.

When they approach the library he’s unceremoniously shoved through the door. His side hits the floor painfully and he hears a chorus of snickers. The door closes behind the group as they shuffle in and Izuku is alone with them. He shuffles backwards until his back hits the bookshelf with a solid, final thud.

Katsuki stalks toward him alone, his minions hanging by the door. “Time to remind you of your position on the food chain, you little worm.”

Izuku doesn’t squeeze his eyes shut like his instincts are telling him to. He stares straight into blood red with what sliver of bravery he can dredge up. He’s glad he did when he sees a book come flying from across the room and deck Katsuki in the back of the head. Both of them stare at each other in shock for a moment before Katsuki whirls around with a vicious snarl.

“Which one of you fuckers did that, huh? Do you want to die?”

The other teenagers start adamantly denying their guilt. They wave their hands frantically in front of them like it will stave off Katsuki’s ire.

When Katsuki feels like he has sufficiently put them in their place with his glaring and snarling he turns back to his favorite victim.

“Alright, Deku. Time for-“ He cuts off when another book, massive like a dictionary, hits him squarely in the back of the neck.

“THAT’S IT!” he screams.

The other teenagers scramble out the door and Katsuki chases after them spitting rage.

Izuku is left to stare at the swinging door, dumbstruck. He definitely just saw books come flying at his tormentor, right? That wasn’t his imagination? As if reading his disbelief, the door swings shut with a soft click.

Okay, so whatever is haunting Izuku can’t be that bad if it just chased Katsuki off for him, right? Never mind that it’s been molesting him and watching him shower.

“Thank you,” he says quietly to the air in a voice filled with wonder and relief.

Now that his afternoon is free again and he’s already in the library, he might as well do some of the research he had in mind. He glances around to try and get a feel for the genres in the library. As he had learned the first day, most of the library is filled with books on war strategies. There is a section dedicated to history and an even smaller section with fiction. Izuku drifts there first. He imagines there isn’t much nonfiction on sexual specters.

Izuku browses a few promising titles with little luck, until he finds one that appears to be an encyclopedia of sorts on both angels and demons. He flips through the sections on angels briefly, pausing only to admire the accompanying pictures. For a moment he marvels that these beings can appear so terrifying and still be so widely revered. When he approaches the portion on demons the images are darker, sharper, and filled with fire.

He has just decided to take the book to his room to make notes when it swiftly shuts, barely avoiding smashing his fingers. Izuku yelps and stares at the closed book warily. When nothing else happens to it he cautiously tries to flip back to his place. This time, the encyclopedia goes flying out of his hands into the bookcase and falls to the floor with a loud thud. Izuku can feel his eye twitching.

“Oh, so you can see me orgasm but I can’t learn more about you?” he snaps to the supposedly empty room in a bout of courage.

In response, another book comes flying off the shelf toward Izuku’s head. He manages to dodge at the last second, but he feels the wind zip past his ear. He stares at the book first with confusion then irritation.

“What was that?” he shouts indignantly.

The book merely makes a little hop towards him. Izuku watches it but nothing else happens afterward. As he slowly approaches it he sees that the book is bound far more elegantly and carefully than the others in the library. There is one word across the front: Todoroki. Izuku wants to slap himself with how obvious it was. So not a demon, but a ghost. A ghost of one of the Todorokis. Izuku’s mind flashes to the painting of the youngest son hanging in the great hall. Those sad, beautiful eyes. Then he is abruptly reminded of the only Todoroki who has been confirmed to die in the household. The general who had died in his 60s. At that thought, Izuku has to swallow back a swell of bile.

“Todoroki… Enji… san?” he whispers questioningly. Internally he’s pleading that his hunch is wrong.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the window flies open and the chairs are knocked over with a resounding clatter. The wind dies down instantly, but Izuku remains shell-shocked for several moments. Was that… a confirmation? Or a denial? He decides to try again.

“…Shouto-kun?”

The response he gets is vastly different. Instead of a violent wave there is only a soft touch upon his hand. He jerks slightly but the sensation does not relent. Instead, the gentle pressure slides up his arm, curves over his shoulder, and rests on his cheek. With a nervous laugh he leans into the phantom touch slightly.

“I guess you didn’t run away, huh?” he says softly.

The touch fades away, but Izuku has a strong feeling that the ghost isn’t completely gone. He picks the book up off the ground and tucks it under his arm. Slowly, he opens the door to the library and peaks out. When it’s evident he is essentially alone, he makes a dash for the stairs. His eyes and ears are on full alert for any sign of Katsuki returning, but it appears the blond is still busy disciplining his followers.

The hall is quiet as he makes his way to his room, book tucked against his side. Once his bedroom door is safely shut behind him Izuku slides to the floor with a weary sigh. The relief of escaping Katsuki’s wrath hits him full force and it takes a great deal of restraint to choke back a sob. He can’t do anything about the few tears that roll silently down his cheeks, though. He draws his knees up and tucks his head down, breathing deeply.

No one had ever come to his rescue before. Katsuki had been using Izuku as a verbal and physical punching bag for years, but the other kids had either participated or were too scared to do anything. Even the younger kids knew not to get in Katsuki’s way. Miura-san and the other adults that had worked at the orphanage in the past were either oblivious or uncaring and he didn’t know which was worse.

His pathetic thoughts halt when he feels a soft pat on his head. There’s a slow movement that ruffles his hair slightly and suddenly Izuku’s tenuous control snaps. The first sob opens the flood gates and soon he is gasping for breath. He keeps his head tucked between his knees as the sobs wrack his body. The gentle touch in his hair doesn’t stop until he lifts his face with a fragile smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs emphatically.

There is one last touch, this time something resembling a peck to his cheek, then he suddenly feels as if he is truly alone again. Shouto has gone for now.

Izuku wipes his face off and picks himself up off the ground. Feeling simultaneously drained and rejuvenated in ways that only a good cry can bring, he picks the forgotten book up as well and moves toward his desk. He spends the next hour or so before the dinner call reading and making notes about the family in his notebook. The book appears to be a commissioned biography on the family, primarily focusing on Enji’s military achievements. It is obviously heavily biased to include only the positive points, so he takes much of the information with a grain of salt. By dinner, he has covered half of the book.

As Izuku approaches the noisy dining room he fights off his nerves. Sure Katsuki had gotten distracted before, but Izuku’s knows better than to think that he’s completely off the hook. If Katsuki has positive traits they are consistency and determination. Once he has determined something, he makes it so. It had always been something Izuku admired about the boy in the past, but now it simply fuels the anxiety building in the pit of his stomach.

Once he spots Katsuki, most of the fear makes way for confusion and vague amusement that he completely schools from his expression. The explosive blond is sitting at the head of the table at least three feet away from anyone else and he is soaking wet. He almost looks like a drowned cat with the way he is visibly bristling with irritation. Fortunately, most of that irritation seems to be directed at his typical followers and the universe itself, so Izuku escapes Katsuki’s radar for the moment.

The blond continues to snap at anyone in his vicinity during the meal. He flusters Takada-san badly, but the poor butler appears like he isn’t quite sure how to deal with him in Miura-san’s absence. In the end he settles on hovering behind the boy with a rag, ready to clean up any food he throws or knocks over. Izuku can’t blame Takada-san for handling it passively. After all, he had accepted his fate earlier and merely cowered against the bookshelf. It takes a strong person, or ghost, apparently, to stand up to Katsuki.

After dinner, Izuku retreats to his room to the sound of Katsuki yelling curses at one of the other kids. He also vaguely hears Takada-san shouting about language in front of the little ones. Once he’s back at his desk he returns to the arduous task of gleaning useful information from the egotistical biography of the mighty general who endeavored to bring peace to the land, earning him his nickname of Endeavor. Unfortunately, there is very little about Shouto, so his notes are limited. Despite this, it has fallen dark by the time Izuku finishes the rest of the book.

With a broad yawn Izuku snuffs out his lamp and discards his trousers. He makes his way to the bed while stretching out his joints. Pleasant little sighs escape him as the tension from sitting at his desk for so long leaves him slowly.

He has just laid a knee upon the bed when a familiar sensation washes over him. This time, he recognizes it enough to fight it.

“Woah, wait. We’re not doing that tonight,” Izuku says sternly. He hasn’t felt the ghost since before dinner, but now Shouto’s presence is as obvious as the blood flowing south in his body. “Shouto, I’m serious. You can’t keep a-affecting me like this.”

That familiar pressure drums in the back of his mind but he shakes his head to try and dispel it. It works for a second before the pounding comes back stronger, nearly bringing him to his knees. The moment of clarity, though, is enough for him to form an idea.

Izuku heads for the door as fast as he can, but it feels like his limbs are passing through syrup. They are heavy, laden with need for a phantom touch. He grabs his trousers in passing and nearly trips in the clumsy process of donning them. Once he manages to stumble out the door, the syrup thins just slightly. He breaks out into an awkward run for the stairwell. It’s difficult to avoid making too much noise when he feels like he just drank half of Miura-san’s secret alcoholic stash, but somehow he manages to cross the hall with minimal disturbance.

The stairs are a much more dangerous hurdle, but the further he gets from his room the more the pounding in his head appears to fade. That means his hastily construed plan is working. He half walks, half slides down the stairs and practically flies out the front door. Once the cool night air hits him the last dregs of arousal seem to lift away from his body. He takes a deep, refreshing inhale then exhales loudly in relief.

The pleasure from the night before had been phenomenal, but Izuku can’t say he is entirely comfortable with a stranger, living or otherwise, watching him get off.

He walks along the front of the mansion, soaking in the moonlight and the frosty air. Might as well enjoy a stroll while he’s out here. He rounds the corner and finds the path outside of the kitchen. More leaves have fallen since his visit to Tanaka-san, but nightfall has already caused the ground to dampen, removing the crunch from his footfalls.

The arousal had faded the farther away Izuku had gotten from his room. It has dissipated entirely once he stepped outside. It appears the ghost is bound to the house, maybe even that particular room. Does this mean that Izuku’s room was once Shouto’s?

During his musings, Izuku passes by a particularly wide tree and a pang of desire racks him. He pitches to the side, using the broad trunk for support.

Okay, so Shouto’s ghost is obviously not bound to the house or especially his room, unless he has an area of effect just outside the mansion. Otherwise, he appears to be totally mobile rather than haunting any one place or item. Unless he is haunting Izuku. Is this what being haunted should feel like? Based on the limited horror movies he has seen he would have expected more head spinning and sticking to the ceiling. What purpose does drawing his orgasm serve? Is there even a way to prove that what’s haunting him is Todoroki Shouto? What if-

It doesn’t occur to Izuku that he’s muttering aloud until he chokes on the words. Sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine and he crumbles to his knees. They hit the damp leaves with a dull thud that resonates in the quiet air along with his strangled gasp. He clutches the bark with one hand and his shirt with the other, resisting the temptation to drag it lower.

“Shouto-kun,” he speaks in a soft, shaky voice, “Why are you doing this?”

His only answer is a pressure in his head that virtually wipes out complex thought beyond want to be touched, need to come. As if hearing his thoughts, he feels a gentle pressure in his hair. His head tilts back, blindly seeking the contact. The pressure increases and drifts down the nape of his neck. It is more distinct of a sensation than the night before. He can almost imagine it is a hand caressing him, touch deathly cold. It feels immensely pleasant against his rapidly heating skin.

The hand slides forward, across his collarbone, dipping just below the top edge of his tunic. His head is, once again, a complete mess. He thinks there is a small trail of drool sliding down his chin, but he doesn’t have enough control of his faculties to be sure. The touch seems to fade, flickering in and out of existence until it vanishes entirely, but the deep set arousal increases tenfold.

Izuku slides further down until he’s fully sitting on the ground with his back to the tree trunk. He lost the will to fight against the arousal the second that touch hit his hair. With his inhibitions left behind, he reaches a hand straight to his groin, palming the hardness there. The contact is not nearly enough and in an instant he has his trousers down to his thighs, nothing keeping him from gripping his cock with a firm hand. It ebbs at the roaring inferno in his body just slightly but the burning demands more.

He moans unabashedly, not caring of his location as his hand moves faster and faster. His other hand lifts the bottom of his tunic, sliding sweaty fingers over his abdomen. He traces each dip in musculature, raising gooseflesh over the tense skin until he reaches his chest. Izuku isn’t completely certain of what he is doing, he is merely seeking pleasure in any way he can. He pinches a nipple tentatively and sparks immediately fly across his body at the sensation. The sound that escapes him is pitched higher, a soft keen. He continues to roll the hard bud between his fingers as his other hand starts to lose its rhythm.

The edge is in sight, the peak of pleasure just out of reach. Izuku knows what he needs to cross it and he takes no hesitation in begging the other being just out of his perception.

“P-please,” he rasps, needy. His brain is too scrambled to articulate exactly what he wants so he just repeats the word into the night, his eyes starting to water with the pain of his arousal.

Apparently it’s enough, as he soon feels the cold touch from before return. This time he can distinctly feel two hands, one sliding gently over his jaw and the other over the head of his cock. He initially yelps at the contact then welcomes it with a breathy sigh. But it’s still not enough. His sighs quickly become whines as he squirms for more contact. The ghost seems to catch on quickly and the hand below joins his own in wrapping around his cock. He throws his head back, slamming it into the trunk behind him. That will leave a nasty knot in the morning but he is too far gone to feel it now. All he can feel are those two touches, so cold but leaving a trail of fire behind on his skin.

The hand above traces lightly over his lips. A finger slips in just slightly and Izuku eagerly laps at the intrusion. He wets it with his tongue and gives a few tentative sucks. Soon he is laving attention over it like he is quenching a deep thirst. Meanwhile, the hand below seems to almost meld with his own, increasing his own pace while adding a new pressure. It brings a strange, but not unwelcome, tingling to both his hand and his cock. It is as if both hands are existing in the same space, solely focused on Izuku’s pleasure and under the ghost’s careful control. The combined sensations drive him closer and closer to the edge. Another finger joins the first in pinching his tongue slightly just as a thumb swipes over the tip of his cock and Izuku is gone.

He releases into his hand and on his stomach, the amount equal to if not more than the night before. His cry of sheer pleasure and need echoes through the trees. His eyes roll back into his head and his whole body quivers from the aftershocks.

After coming down from the high Izuku has only a moment to feel embarrassed and concerned about his location before the exhaustion hits him far more intensely than the previous night. His chin sinks down into his chest and he instantly drifts to sleep.

He wakes hours the later when the moon is at its peak in the sky. There is a deep chill seeping into his bones. His neck aches as he lifts his head enough to see one word written in delicate purple petals.

Sorry