TWO POWERS (Todoroki Shoto x Reader)

Chapter 20: Cut

You awaken (hurray!) when the sun is already up, most likely in the afternoon. You stare at the wall, remembering the events from the previous day and early morning. You made it to Gran Torino, ran away, and ended up training with Stain. You make your way back to the main room and find Stain eating apples. He must have found them somewhere. He throws one at you, which you easily catch. After eating you begin drilling again.

After some time spending on form adjustments and drilling, Stain declares that he's bored and gets up to spar with you. You gulp in concern and watch as he takes out a similar knife to yours.

"Now, I want you to go all in with your strikes. Don't hold back."

"Will you?"

"Obviously. You'd be bleeding before I finish this sentence. I'll still let my blade make contact with your skin, you can't take that satisfaction away from me, but I won't cut deep. Keep in mind that I'm not a typical opponent, but you probably won't be fighting those kinds of properly trained people anyway, so have fun."

This was his speech before the sparring began. At first he took it slow and you mainly dodged, but then you started using your momentum to attack more forcefully. He kept his word and adjusted his aim to only scratch you, but those grazes were too frequent for your liking.

After the first day, you looked at your arm and sighed. He asked if you're still worried about appearance like those fake heroes, and you assured him of the opposite. These scratches would probably heal anyway.

You spent several days training with him, every day getting more intense than the previous. But you also got better at taking jabs at him too. Not that he didn't dodge or twist your arm to make you drop your blade, throwing in a mix of martial arts, but you could recognize progress when you saw it. Seeing how he countered your attacks was a useful reference too.

You don't know how many days passed like this. Thankfully, your daily training had the same effect on him as it had on Gran Torino: he was too tired from the continuous movement and focus that he didn't go out, or at least that's what it looked like. Plus, the sparring kept his bloodlust in check. But you noticed that he was starting to get restless. One day you pointed it out on him.

"I don't want to push my luck, but it seems like you're getting tired of this."

"You're not a worthy opponent, still. But you're also a kid, and you haven't used your quirk at all. So I was thinking," he says with dangerous eyes, "what if we both went all out?"

"You'd kill me, I bet," you say as nonchalantly as possible, as if you weren't discussing a life or death situation that is wildly not in your favor. "And the reason I asked you to train me is because I don't want to use my quirk. I wanted to learn an alternative."

"And you're telling me there aren't clubs you could join to learn the same thing."

"If this is you saying that you don't want to teach me anymore, I hear you. Thank you for teaching me," you say with a bow. To be honest, you're not so sure you could keep up the day-long sparring and getting a cut every few minutes. Examining your arms and probably your collarbone as well, you're sure you could find an area resembling a barcode. Your palms are bruised and hurting as well. Thankfully your shirt is still in one piece and you still have your hoodie to wear to cover up the scars.

"But I haven't let you experience my quirk yet," he says. "What's your blood type?"

"I don't know," you lie. You don't like wherever this conversation is going and stand up from the table.

"One last spar, you and me, until I can use my quirk on you."

"Alright," you say, and a second later you feel something sharp against your cheek. The next thing you know, Stain is pulling you closer, his hand holding your jaw from below and tongue licking your wound. At that moment, the memory of Shoto holding your chin after giving you his medal flashes before you. Your heart jumps and your limbs freeze. Stain pushes you back down, leaving you sitting at the table without being able to move a muscle.