RACING AU - Toshinori is one of the first graduates from the One for All Racing Academy, managed by Nana, and after an incredible debut last year when he scored points for 🌟FA (Nana's license to drive was unceremoniously revoked by AFO, because he is a dick), he's signed on for the 20XW season!
*This is not a Formula 1 AU, or even a Super Formula Championship AU. This is a world where AFO has clawed together enough time, money, and influence to host his own All for One Racing Series in Japan. Yoichi, with Kudou and Bruce, are playing a very long game in attempting to pave a new way forward for Japan racing.
23. carrying the other one in their arms | en & banjo | wc: 220
a/n: implied pre-sixthtorino
//
“You’re heavier than I thought you’d be,” Banjo commented.
“I’m going to beat you up,” En said, already squirming to escape the bridal carry. It was totally unnecessary. Where did his role model get off on trying to impose a curfew on a fellow pro-hero? Granted, it was the witching hour, and En was running on the fumes of the last handful of almonds he crammed in for dinner, but still! Who didn’t miss a rung or two on a fire escape ladder when trying to scramble down a rooftop and provide back-up to Lariat?
“Uh-huh, yeah, sure. Before or after Gran Torino happens on the scene?”
“He would help me.” En made one more valiant lurch sideways, but Banjo only had to readjust his hold once to get a better grip. And a building headache dizzied En, worsened by Banjo’s heavy-soled gait as they presumably went to go find a clinic. “You know he’s actually helping me build muscle mass? That’s why I’m heavier than I look.”
Banjo gave him a critical once-over.
“Don’t. Don’t even.”
“Did I say anything?” He let the silence rest for a beat, and then, because his senior couldn’t resist teasing this poor junior, Banjo innocently said, “You’ve been hoarding a lot of red bean snacks in your pocket, Doraemon--oof! Hey! Watch the goods!”
17. holding the other's chin up | en & daigoro | wc: 306
En flinched away from Daigoro’s tender mercies, yelping at a pitch high enough to shatter his eardrums if not the mirror. He counted his blessings. Experience had taught Daigoro that En was able to flood an enclosed room with smoke in seconds, and the trigger for Smokescreen rested on a twitchy flight instinct. A bit of ringing in his ears was a small price to pay for clean air.
“I’m fine!” En said, batting at the alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
“You nearly got your throat cut, soot sprite. And ‘nearly’ is me being very generous. C’mere, you little--” Daigoro stopped bothering with niceties and fitted his hand along the jawline, firmly set his thumb at the underside of En’s chin, and tilted the stubborn head back.
The wound wasn’t deep. But En was both literally and figuratively thin-skinned, and the bastard in charge of holding him apparently hadn’t accounted for En’s contrary nature. One insult too many led En to preemptively escape before Lariat could lend a hand; now, a long, slow-bleeding ribbon decorated his neck. Daigoro shook off his worries and doubts, and he started dabbing away at the edges again.
“That hurts.”
“Yep.”
Despite the angle, En managed to aim his poisonously bright-eyed (shiny with unshed tears, too) glare at Daigoro. “Recovery Girl would never do this to me.”
“Maybe,” Daigoro said, amused. He set aside the bloodied cotton ball and contemplated his options. The usual ‘slap some antiseptic gel on a bandage and pray’ method was available. So were the butterfly bandages. “I hear she’s a lot nicer to babies than her colleagues.”
En scoffed. “She’s barely twenty. How mean can she be?”
“Tell me in advance if you ever meet her, I’m imagining the two of you trading elbows and yowling about disrespect.”
“Am I winning?”
Charitably, Daigoro offered, “The physical fight, sure.”
