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littlemisspascal · 5 months

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Part 2: Take What Comes

Summary:

Once Javi learns about the hour of free time you have after media training he starts seeking you out every day. Sometimes you both just play on your phones, scrolling through social media, showing each other memes and videos, but mostly you spend the hour talking, chatting about anything that comes to mind, growing more comfortable in each other’s company.

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)*

Word Count: 5000+

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Human AU, Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language, Food, Holiday party--reader wears reindeer headband, Reader's Mom included

Author Note: Been a year since last update and it's still just as super self-indulgent as ever ✨ Thank you anyone who gives it a read!

Winter Dividers credit here!

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

*see series masterlist for more info

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

You start collecting facts about him throughout the conversations, little tidbits filed away neatly in a box you’ve labeled Javi in your mind. His mom died when he was young, leaving his father to fill the void while also successfully running his multimillion olive empire. He’s an only child, but his cousin’s a year older and they were practically raised as brothers. (“Butt heads like brothers too,” Javi chuckled, but you didn’t miss how hollow it sounded.) He likes brightly colored shirts, oranges and greens and blues, the kind that only 1% of the world population can actually pull off. Besides racing and swimming, his third passion is life in script writing, but no matter how much you poke and plead at him he refuses to share any of his potential plots, nerves getting the better of him.

He started his career in karting a year before you did. Javi admitted he hadn’t been interested in racing until his father took him to the final Formula 1 race of the 2007 season where he witnessed Pietro Alvarez win his first of three championships. The older Spaniard became his idol, inspiring Javi to follow in his footsteps.

“You have no idea how jealous I was when I heard you were partners at the Ando Overland,” Javi told you, followed by a nudge against your side with his elbow. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, getting to race against him on the grid was…”

He’d trailed off, a soft smile brightening his face. And even without words, you’d understood. The opportunity to race alongside your heroes, some of the best drivers in the world—it’s like something out of a dream, one of those pinch me moments you pray you don’t wake up from.

You briefly entertained the thought of telling Javi he was one of your idols. That he’d been a part of the collage of driver posters adorning your childhood bedroom walls. But your fear and embarrassment of his reaction—whether flattered or weirded out—perished the idea as quick as it came.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you said instead with a matching grin. “A bit of a coffee addict, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Says the lemonade addict,” Javi said, laughing when you kicked at his shin. “What’s that saying about the pot and kettle?”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, but the smile on your face hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it’d stretched even wider.

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed your shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You learn Javi has a love-hate relationship with social media. Well, maybe not love-hate but rather love-indifferent. Unlike you who likes to tweet or post a photo at least every other day, he’ll go weeks without an update, then either go on a short spree of liking and commenting on stuff or just post a random photo of his food before bailing again for another month. Still, he never makes fun of you when he catches you live streaming or angling your phone for the perfect selfie, simply dodges out of the way until you’re finished.

“Did you suddenly become camera-shy or are you trying to be all mysterious and cool like Bigfoot?” you asked him once and he merely shrugged.

“I appreciate the fans, but it’s nice having this time out of the spotlight,” he’d answered. You were content to leave it at that, but then he smirked and added, “Also, everyone knows the only reason Bigfoot doesn’t show up on camera is because he’s naturally blurry.”

Bantering with Javi is easy. More than that, you enjoy it. You don’t have to worry about him not understanding the obscure film references you make or mistaking your sarcasm for sincerity. He even laughs at your stupidest jokes which spurs you on to make more stupid jokes, the sound of his laughter contagious and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes oddly endearing.

Javi can quote any Nicolas Cage film from memory, line for line, a talent which comes in handy winning bets against Melshi and some of the pit crew boys who underestimate Javi’s skills. He happily shows you some more photos of his memorabilia collection after you mention seeing the ones on his Instagram.

“When we’re in Spain for the race next season, come with me to Majorca and I’ll give you a tour,” Javi says decisively, looking like he’s already planning the trip right then and there. “You can stay at our house. There’s lots of spare bedrooms. I’ll take you to all my favorite places.”

Your head spins a little at that. You haven't even known each other a whole month and here he is inviting you to stay at his family’s home. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise though. Between the daily hanging out after media training and challenging each other in the simulator, Javi had inserted himself seamlessly into the narrative of your life like he was always meant to be there.

“Okay,” you say, smiling. “Sounds like fun.”

“We’ll have a great time,” Javi agrees, and it sounds like a promise.

From: Barbara Minerva ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]) Subject: Upcoming Interview w/ Speed Beasts

Oddball,

I’ve just finished confirming a future interview for you with Speed Beasts magazine at their head office in January. Their questions should be similar to what you experienced last time, mainly discussing your hopes and goals for the 2023 season, but regardless I’ll help you prepare as the date draws nearer so no need to worry too much.

However, they have expressed interest in potentially including Ben Miller and making it a joint article and cover shoot. Given your close friendship with each other, I don’t imagine you being opposed to the idea but I wouldn’t be a good PR manager if I didn’t check in and listen to your opinion on the matter.

Give it a thought and get back to me once your mind’s made up.

Barb

To: Benny (5:10pm)

I said yes to us doing an interview together

To: Benny (5:10pm)

Don’t make me regret this, young man

From: Benny (5:12pm)

Relax, O. I’ll only say nice things about you ;)

To: Benny (5:13pm)

And there it is. Instant regret

“That new teammate of yours certainly grew up cute, didn’t he?”

It’s only thanks to your quick reflexes that you don’t accidentally cut off a finger.

“ Mom.” Setting down the knife, you glare at the half-finished pile of chopped carrot pieces for your salad. They didn’t do anything wrong, but seeing as your mother is on a whole other continent they’re the unfortunate victim of your irritation.

“I’m just saying I have eyes, dear,” she laughs. “The hair, the muscles, those dimples—he’s quite the package.”

You make a strangled sound not unlike a choking cat, unable to believe her lack of filter sometimes. Your mother lets out another peal of laughter that has your thumb itching to press the hang up button.

“Mom…”

“Alright, alright,” she says, sobering. In the background you can hear the faint sounds of a television show with a laugh track. It makes your heart twinge a bit, recalling days the two of you spent lounging around the house binge marathoning sitcoms with a bowl of popcorn.

“I remember seeing him in those magazines you used to buy,” Mom continues, a soft smile in her voice. “Now you’re going to be right there beside him in the pictures. Funny how life works out sometimes.”

You hum. “Yeah, it is.”

Outside your kitchen window the sky’s a dark wintery gray, promising a dropping temperature as night gradually approaches. Your socked feet shuffle against the tile floor, already dreading the cold walk to your car in the morning.

“Are you getting along with him?” she asks.

“We had lunch together.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s…”

You rack your head for a word that can encompass everything that Javi is. Nice, intelligent, funny as hell and so genuine it’s almost unbelievable someone like him can exist in the world of F1. You don’t know what his personality is like during a real race when the pressure can make tempers ignite, but if he’s anything like the glimpses you’ve seen during shared simulator practices though—competitive and serious, determined to do whatever he can to achieve good results, but also fair, congratulating you on the rare, yet slowly increasing occasions when you do better than him with a smile and pat on the shoulder—then you have hope your partnership will be a positive experience this season.

“He’s Javi,” you end up saying with a tiny shrug. “He’s my teammate.”

“I see,” Mom replies in a tone you can’t quite identify.

Your brow scrunches, mouth opening to ask but before you can get the question out she’s already speaking again, beating you to the punch.

“Is Javi doing anything for the holidays?” The lightness of her tone is just a hair too innocent.

“He’s going home to his family,” you say, bursting her hopeful bubble of inviting him to Sorgan. She’s about as subtle as a bantha. “You’ll just be getting me.”

“The best present of all,” she declares, and the words warm you from the inside out as if she’s hugging you across the distance. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I’m starting to forget what you look like.”

“Same as always,” your mouth turns up at the corners with a teasing smirk, “plus a couple of new tattoos.”

“For your sake I hope you’re kidding.”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch me on the Drive Awards to know for sure.”

She exhales a quiet huff, and you imagine her shaking her head, eyes lifted towards the ceiling. “You say that like there’s any chance I’m gonna miss my one and only daughter appearing at the most prestigious award ceremony for motorsports. Don’t be foolish.”

“Me? Never.” Your stomach growls, reminding you of your interrupted lunch preparations. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom, food is calling me.”

“Be sure to text me as soon as you’ve got your flight home booked.”

“Will do.”

From: Vivian Etten ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]); Javi Gutierrez ([email protected]); Vulpecula Staff ([email protected]) Subject: Mark Your Calendars Attached: Upcoming Dates to Remember for Vulpecula F1 (pdf)

Hello,

Attached is a list of upcoming important events for the F1 team. January dates are still in the process of being scheduled and a follow up email will be sent in the upcoming weeks once everything’s properly organized and settled.

Please note this year’s Drive Awards will be held in London. Formal attire is a necessity and a gourmet meal will be served prior to the ceremony. If you plan to invite a guest you must register them with me beforehand. Swing by my office or respond to this email ASAP with their name if you plan on bringing someone.

Happy holidays to all!

Vivian Etten

CEO of Vulpecula Racing

You blink sluggishly, trying to stay awake. Stuck in a meeting room listening to Vivian and her top executives sweet talk investors to secure additional funding from them isn’t the most riveting way to spend your morning, but what Vivian wants Vivian usually gets. And this time she wanted you and Javi to be present so the investors could personally meet the new faces of the team.

A glance across the table shows Javi leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping a silent beat against the armrest. You wonder what it means, if it’s a trick to keep him alert or a subconscious tick like the way your leg bounces when you’re nervous. He’s probably attended several meetings just like this in the past. Knows when it’s necessary to listen and when he can get by merely pretending he has an inkling of what's going on.

Dressed in entirely black with a cobalt blue pocket square and tousled curls, Javi looks like a different person compared to the rest of your interactions. Less like a racing driver, more like royalty. You’re certainly not the only one who’s noticed his handsome looks. Of the dozen investors, at least three have eyed Javi with such blatant interest they might as well be waving neon signs.

Javi catches you staring, fingers halting their drumming. There’s a second or two where you simply stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away. Then he sticks his tongue out childishly, brown eyes crossing. It’s neither the time nor place for such an expression—you’re pretty sure Vivian’s talking about inflation or something else equally important and serious—and yet you find yourself stifling a giggle into the palm of your hand before your tired brain can summon enough energy to stop it from forming.

“Of course that’s all subject to change depending on the results of the season,” Vivian’s saying at the head of the table, flipping closed her folder. “Any final words you’d like to contribute, Odds?”

Every pair of eyes in the room turns to look at you, and your blood runs cold. You hadn’t spoken throughout the meeting, content to just smile and shake hands at the beginning and then let Vivian take the lead for the rest. You rack your head for a response that doesn’t sound completely stupid.

“Uh, well,” you straighten your spine, projecting as much of an aura of confidence as you can muster, “I’m extremely grateful to have been given the chance to be one of Vupecula’s drivers. I’m also proud to be a part of a team with such a long history, too. And I think I speak for both myself and Javi when I say that we’re determined to win as many points as we can to increase Vulpecula’s ranking.”

“We’ll keep fighting from the beginning to the end,” Javi agrees with a firm nod. “No giving up. No surrendering.”

“Fantastic,” Vivian says, beaming at you both with pride. “I think that about wraps everything up for the time being. Anyone up for some lunch?”

The investors all eagerly agree, neatly filing out of the room to be the first ones in the cafeteria line.

Javi waits for you by the door, walking out into the hallway close enough his arm brushes against yours. “What do you think about leaving headquarters for our lunch break?”

“Works for me,” you say, absently pulling at the sleeve of your sweater. It’s one of your nicest ones you own but it never fails to make your skin feel itchy. “Where were you planning?”

“Somewhere close by,” is his cryptic, grinning reply.

Somewhere close by winds up being Javi’s apartment, a quiet and private spot on the edge of town about fifteen minutes from your own place. The drive is pleasant, if not more than a little confusing for you, sitting in the passenger seat without a clue about the final destination until Javi’s suddenly parking and waving a hand towards an apartment complex as if to say ta-da!

“You like salmon?” Javi asks you as he unlocks his door, standing to the side to let you enter first. Apparently chivalry isn’t totally dead.

Still, you can’t help the teasing smirk pulling at your mouth. “They’re alright. Not as cute as clown fish though.”

“Well, duh, nobody can take away Nemo’s crown.” Javi rolls his eyes playfully before heading for the kitchen. He opens the fridge, poking his head inside as he calls out, “How about salmon skewers for lunch?”

“Sounds delicious. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got it all under control. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Despite only recently moving here, Javi’s created a warm and cozy home with bright pops of colors and personal touches, like the impressive collection of DVDs next to the television and numerous hanging plants in front of the windows. There’s a pair of checkered vans kicked off in the entryway, a dog-eared book about script writing on the coffee table, and a box of fruit loops left on the kitchen bar counter—a cheat meal that has you biting back a snicker, thinking of your own guilty pleasures stashed back home.

Javi hums as he moves around the kitchen, piercing chunks of salmon and onions on bamboo skewers to be grilled on a skillet. His actions are smooth, confident, same as the way he handles the sim’s steering wheel back at headquarters.

When he sets the plates down on the table, your mouth instantly salivates from the delicious smell as you lean in for a sniff. Fuck that’s good. Eggsy might have a rival for being the best cook amongst the drivers.

“Go on, I promise it isn’t poisoned,” Javi says before sinking his teeth into a massive bite of fish.

You snort quietly, taking a bite of your own.

And well, if you have to sink your fingernails into your palm to hold back a moan then that’s between you and your stinging hand.

Still, something must flash across your face because there’s a glint of amusement in Javi’s brown eyes. “You like it, no? Best meal you’ve ever had? C’mon, let me hear it.”

Swallowing, you hum a long note, pretending to think. “Top ten for sure.”

“Top ten? Ugh, you wound me, Odds.” Javi groans, throwing a hand over his heart as if your words had been a dagger. “First guest I cook for in my new place and I barely earned an honorable mention. Unacceptable.”

You laugh. “Just means you’ll have to cook for me more often.”

“Mm.” He nibbles on one of the onions, eyes narrowing. “Challenge accepted. I’m coming for the gold.”

After finishing your meals Javi grabs a couple of pomegranate popsicles out of the freezer for dessert. He stretches out his legs beneath the table, knocking the side of his shoe against your ankle. Smirks when you immediately nudge him back. And to think he’s supposed to be the older, more mature one. Vivian would be rolling her eyes if she saw you two right now.

“I like your place,” you say in-between licks. “You settling in alright?”

“Hmm?” Javi blinks, as if startled out of his thoughts. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, it was a smooth move all things considered. Nothing got lost in transit this time, gracias a Dios.”

Right, this isn’t Javi’s first rodeo when it comes to packing up all his belongings and moving to a whole new place. You’d faced a difficult enough struggle moving from Sorgan to Altair, you can’t imagine doing it again and again. Fingers crossed Vulpecula keeps you around for a long, long time.

“And what about Vulpecula? Good so far?”

“Everyone’s been very welcoming,” he answers, biting off a piece of his popsicle with a slight crunch. He offers a grin once he swallows. “I’m happy to be here. I think it will be a fun time for us. Hard as hell, but fun.”

“One for the history books,” you murmur, imagining the potential of putting Vulpecula back on top again. Where it belongs. “It’d be amazing, wouldn’t it? You and me on the podium.”

Javi laughs. “It would be pretty entertaining pouring my bottle of champagne over your head.”

“Oi!” You swat at his arm, but you’re unable to stifle your own laughter. “Forget it. You’ll be down in the crowd, looking up at me and my trophy in total envy.”

“You got it all wrong, Oddball. I’d be front and center, cheering your name louder than anyone.”

You feel a pulse of warmth bloom in your chest, and you look back to your popsicle, sticking it into your mouth before you say or do something embarrassing.

From: Eggsy (3:05pm)

Hey! My turn to host the holiday party this year so stick around London on the 19th. Better bring a good gift this time >:(

To: Eggsy (3:07pm)

Kk. You make it sound like what I brought last year was terrible tho

From: Eggsy (3:08pm)

You brought an empty tin of cookies and said you’d been swarmed by raccoons

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)

Those trash pandas are vicious beasts

From: Eggsy (3:09pm)

You had chocolate stains all over your face

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

I don’t know what you’re talking about

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

It was a longer driver than I anticipated, alright?

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

You’re one to talk Mr. Hoverboard. At least I didn’t set anyone on fire :P

To: Eggsy (3:13pm)

What time should I come with my great gift?

From: Eggsy (3:14pm)

See you at 7 :D

“A lot of famous faces from the motorsport community are coming to this ceremony tonight. Is there anyone in particular you’re excited about seeing, Javi?” asks the interviewer.

Javi offers a dimpled grin, a hand reaching up to adjust his glasses as a ripple of flashing cameras erupts at the arrival of another guest. “To be honest, if I named everyone I’m excited to see we’d be here all night,” he answers with a chuckle. “There are so many big names appearing on stage. True legends of motorsport I’ve looked up to since I was a kid. And then there’s also so much rising talent too, like rarita here.”

The interviewer, you think her name is Shelley, blonde haired with a beaming smile, turns the microphone to you. Your dress suddenly feels two times too tight, constricting air flow. God, you wish you had even a smidge of Javi’s confidence, charming everyone he talks to, looking like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine in his black suit. Even his glasses manage to come across as elegant rather than boring.

Focus, you tell yourself, remembering your lessons with Barbara. No slouching. No pineapple face. And absolutely no public displays of vomiting regardless of your level of anxiety.

“That’s right. You’ll be a full-time driver in F1 next season. Things can’t get much better for you at the moment Oddball, can they?”

You stand up straighter, imagining your parents watching back home, no doubt having bragged to everybody in the village about their daughter appearing on tv, on a red carpet no less. Thinking of them, of their pride and love, of their support and sacrifices, makes the smile stretching across your face feel a little less forced.

“It’s been an unbelievably great year,” you say, using every bit of self-control to keep your voice level. “I didn’t expect a second-place finish for the season. It was a very competitive bunch, including some of my best friends who I’m thrilled are going to join me on the grid. To finish 2022 with that ranking and gain a seat with Vulpecula is just amazing.”

Shelley nods, then proceeds to make an exaggerated show of looking you over head to toe. “Well, I’d bet all the money in my wallet that if you turned up to the paddock looking as stunning as you do right now you’d win the race by a landslide.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refraining from grimacing. She’s the third interviewer tonight to make a comment about your appearance, meanwhile Javi and the other male drivers have been asked questions about racing and their preparation for the upcoming season.

“I don’t think the FIA would approve of these heels,” you reply, adding a chuckle even though it sounds hollow to your own ears. You feel Javi’s hand on your lower back, a grounding touch. A silent message of reassurance that he’s on your side. An ally in this sea of fancy clothes and flashbulbs.

Stay together, Gabriella had said before you and Javi got in the limo to the event, a command echoed by an equally-stern looking Barbara. You’re not just teammates at headquarters and during grand prix weekends. As long as you race for Vulpecula, you’re partners through thick and thin. Even if one of you makes a mistake, no matter what, stay together.

“You want me to cough or something next time?” Javi murmurs in your ear as you scoot along the red carpet a couple more steps.

“What?” you ask distractedly, barely avoiding stepping on the extravagant train of Lauren Van Chance’s dress. The mauve fabric probably costs more than the budget of the whole award show. No way you would have left here alive if you’d torn a hole in it.

“If another interviewer makes an objectifying comment, I could have a coughing fit. Or try to trip them. Or stare down the camera like we’re on The Office —”

“As hilarious as that would be,” you say through a snort of laughter, genuine this time, “nah, that’s alright.”

“You sure?” Javi checks.

“I’m sure. Thanks, curls.”

Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Style Post #37 Sunday December 18 2022

Summary: See the best dressed at the most prestigious award event for the motorsport industry.

FOURTEEN BIGGEST MOMENTS AT THE 2022 DRIVE AWARDS

By Pippa Vitalis, Bubblefeed Updated 19 December 2022

Ricky Hauk wins Rookie of the Year Award

Robert McCall’s selfie with Eggsy Unwin, Oddball, and Ben Miller

Marcus Moreno dedicates his Racing Driver of the Year Award to his mother, Anita Moreno

Pero Tovar’s priceless facial expressions the whole night long

Javi Gutierrez calls his teammate Oddball “Rarita” on the red carpet

The night after the Drive Awards, you arrive at Eggsy’s place right on time wearing a reindeer antler headband and a present tucked under your arm. Eggsy immediately steals the gift away when you enter, shaking it for suspicious noises as he takes it to the small pile in the corner. Ben flicks one of the plush antlers because every party needs an asshole, and Ricky brings you a glass of his famous sparkling punch with a happy grin.

You’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow taking you back home with Sorgan. This is the last night you’ll spend with your friends for a long while, too busy and too spread out in the upcoming weeks to see each other. You hope you’ll see at least one of them at the start of the new year before the pre-season testing begins in February, but you also remember how virtually impossible it was for Ricky to carve out a spare day in his schedule before his rookie debut. For as hectic and rushed as things already seem, it’s only going to get worse for all of you.

“Benny brought his brother. You remember Will, yeah?” Eggsy says, gesturing with a nod of his chin to the blond chuckling at a wildly gesticulating Ben recounting a story. “He’s gonna be Benny’s new trainer, got a degree for it ‘n everything.”

William Miller. Of course you remember him. Can’t ever forget the boy who was your first crush once upon a time, heart beating a little faster whenever you saw him and his bright blue eyes at the karting races—not that you let anyone else know about your pining. Oh no, you had rather run over your own foot with your go-kart than let it slip you thought your friend’s older brother was cute.

And he’s only become cuter since you last saw him several years ago, growing up into a tall, ruggedly handsome man with a scruffy beard and arm muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of his snowflake-patterned sweater when he crosses them over his chest.

Cheerful notes of a Christmas song blast out from the speakers on Eggsy’s stereo system, adding to the festive atmosphere as more drinks are poured and conversations continue to flow. JB the pug darts about the room, body wiggling madly with every friendly scritch to his ears he receives, dressed for the holiday in a collar adorned with a little green-and-red plaid bowtie. Spoiled, critics might say, those who don’t know the story of how and when JB came into Eggsy’s life. Cherished, you say instead, because you do know.

Ben tells you what a great teammate Frankie’s been so far, taking him to The Chill Zone for the first time. The local snow cone stand in Altair has closed for the winter season, but you make a mental promise to take Javi to it as soon as the temperature warms up. You’d invited your teammate to come along to the party, certain none of your friends would mind, but he’d had an early morning flight back to Spain. Hopefully the trip soothes some of his homesickness.

“Just do yourself a favor and avoid lavender bubblegum at all costs.” Ben sticks his tongue out, face scrunching with disgust. “Frankie’s got a shit sense of taste.”

You congratulate Ricky again on his Rookie of the Year Award, surprised when he confesses how nervous he was standing up on stage in front of the crowd because he looked so professional in his suit and tie, thanking a long list of people who helped him on his journey. Will smoothly cuts into the conversation to offer some tips to improve self-confidence, saying he worked as a motivational speaker in order to pay for his classes. And you can picture it, him easily capturing an audience’s attention with his honeyed voice.

Ricky makes a hasty exit to fight Eggsy over the last sugar cookie, claiming he already called dibs, leaving you and Will alone in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but there’s a noticeable weight to it, neither one of you knowing what to say to alleviate the tension.

“You look like you’re enjoying the holiday spirit,” Will says finally with a crooked smile, glancing up at your antlers with amusement.

“I love it,” you answer with a wide grin, bells on your headband jingling lightly. “Are you looking forward to next season? I heard you’re gonna be Benny’s trainer. Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, I’ll definitely need it,” he chuckles and then shrugs his shoulders. “It’s going to be interesting—working with family always has its own unique challenges. But there’s no one else I’d like to help accomplish their dream more than my brother.”

You blink, watching as his eyebrows climb up his forehead, abruptly looking like a deer paralyzed by headlights.

“Not that I wouldn’t be excited for you if you became champion—or Eggsy or Ricky either!” He’s full-on babbling now, cheeks going pink. “We’re on opposite teams, but that doesn’t mean we’re archenemies, right? Right. I mean, I could-I could still take you out to dinner to, uh, catch up. Or a cup of coffee at least? Maybe?”

And suddenly you’re hit with the realization of what's happening. Will is asking you out. Your childhood crush is asking you out on a date. Wow. That’s—that’s hard to process. You feel as if your entire brain has forgotten words.

“Huh?” you say, more of a strangled noise than anything intelligible.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this. I must sound like an idiot.” Will’s expression turns sheepish. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other, in person at least. You probably have a boyfriend or—”

“No, no! No boyfriends for me,” you quickly interject, then internally cringe because now look who sounds like an idiot. You avert your gaze to the snowflake pattern, unable to meet his blue eyes. “Dinner sounds great. I’d like that. When were you thinking?”

Will chuckles again, a little shaky and relieved sound that has some of the tension draining from your shoulders. It gives you the courage to look up and see the gentle smile playing on his lips. “Ben said you two are doing an interview together for Speed Beasts in January. I could tag along, bet you and me could find something we both like.”

You smile, heartbeat fluttering as you raise your cup in a mock-toast. “I bet we could.”

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x you #javi gutierrez x ofc #pedrostories #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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putellas11 · 2 years

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🩹 🚪🍯🔥 whoever you want

Reblog and let your followers send in one or multiple emojis from each category, and write a blurb about it.

I want you to write a blurb about two characters 🩹 tending to each other's wounds or 🚪 showing up at the other's door, needing comfort please include this dynamic 🍯 friends to lovers with a little bit of 🔥 slow burn

It’s the last race of the 2022 motocross season and you’re the favorite to win the championship. You only need to get eighth place or higher to take home the trophy. This should simple for enough for you.

You’re not just looking forward to being crowned champion and lifting the trophy, however. You’re also looking forward to fulfilling a promise you made a long time ago to someone you hold very dear to your heart.

To the left and right of you are twenty or so of the best racers in the world, all preparing for a battle on the track. You don’t look at any of them, instead your attention is on the rocky dirt that lays ahead of you. If the track could talk, it would have some stories of impossible victories, championship battles, and broken dreams.

You want your story to be one of triumph.

The gate drops and adrenaline surges through your body. You pull back on the throttle and the bike roars into action, propelling you onto the track with ferocity. As expected, you find yourself in front of the pack, cruising through the track with ease.

It comes out of nowhere— an unexpected rut in the track. At the speed you’re going at, it’s impossible to maintain control. The bike jolts out from under you causing your body to slam to the ground. Upon impact, you feel an intense, throbbing pain in your wrist. The inside of your suit feels sticky and judging by the warmth, you know it’s blood.

You decide against waiting for the stretcher. There was no chance you’re going to let them carry you off the dirt and to a hospital. You have a promise to keep, and that’s more than enough to keep you going.

With gritted teeth, you heave yourself up and run to the bike. With every ounce of energy you have left, you manage to prop it up from the dirt. Fighting through the pain, you twist the throttle and dirt spews from the back wheel as you get back in the race.

You cross the finish line in seventh place. Any other day you would be disappointed with the result, but not this time. Seventh place gives you enough points to be crowned motocross champion. Just like that, the dream you’ve had since you were a child has become a reality.

Surprisingly, you don’t immediately need to go to the hospital after the race. You walk away with a sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and some bloody scrapes, so pretty much a normal day at the office for you.

That doesn’t mean you’re not in pain, because you most definitely are. But you know exactly where you need to go and the person you need to see to feel better.

At your third knock, Mapi opens the door and the first thing you notice is that her right eye is blood-shot and bruised from a cut that is covered with a small strip of white medical tape.

Before you can say anything about it, Mapi pulls you in for a very, very tight hug.

“Enhorabuena, mi campeona!”

You groan in pain and she immediately pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders with her eyes scanning your body in a bit of a panic. Despite how nice it feels to have Mapi’s arms around you, bruised ribs make it difficult for you to enjoy the moment.

“Joder! I forgot about the accident,” she says, finally noticing the tape wrapped around your sprained wrist and the scrapes decorating your arms and legs. “I checked Twitter at halftime, and I swear my heart almost stopped.”

“It wasn’t too bad, nothing I couldn’t handle.” Anyone else would call you crazy, but you know Mapi shares your mentality. She’s a fighter, just like you. You’ve lost track of how many injuries she has sustained through the years, and yet she’s always managed to come back stronger than before.

Now inside, you grab the medical kit Mapi has stored away specifically for you and join her on the sofa. And without fail, she cuddles up to your side for warmth.

You rummage around in the aid kit in search of something for the scrapes on your arms. Mapi realizes what you’re looking for and finds the antibiotic ointment before you do.

“Here, let me help.” She says, squeezing some of it onto the palm of her hand.

She takes her time to apply the ointment to your injuries, and she makes sure to call you out for being a baby every time you let out a whimper. A nurse would probably have a gentler touch, but as long as you have a choice in the matter, Mapi will always be who you run to for care.

“You’re gonna tell me what happened?” You couldn’t help but grimace at her swollen eye.

“I went in to clear the ball from a corner and I got a nice elbow to the face,” she says very casually with a shrug of the shoulders, “it was an accident, it happens. You hear me?” She has to clarify that it was an accident because of how upset you get whenever she clashes with an opponent on the pitch.

Back when you two were little, Mapi used to play futsal and you accompanied her mom and dad to every game. One day, a girl from the other team pushed Mapi so hard to the floor that you jumped from your seat, ran up to the girl as fast as your little feet could take you, and gave her a good shove in return.

Mapi has never forgotten that moment and she teases you relentlessly about it every chance she gets.

“I hate it when you get hurt.” You brush a lock of hair from her face, lingering to caress her cheek with the back of your finger.

Mapi reaches for your hand, “and how do you think I feel when you show up at my door all bruised and banged up?”

You squint your eyes at her and playfully scrunch your nose, “you make a good point.”

She giggles and it makes your heart skip a beat or two.

“So, how does it feel to be a motocross champion?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows at you with that big, goofy smile of hers.

“It feels good, like really good.” The feeling of finally accomplishing something you’ve worked your whole life for is indescribable, but Mapi knows a thing or two about that. “Kinda like how you felt when you won the champions league— a dream come true.”

For a brief moment, Mapi once shared your dream of becoming a motocross champion. Her father was the one who sparked her passion for riding bikes, and at three years old, she was already putting her older brother to shame.

Eventually her love for football grew too strong for her or anyone to ignore, so Mapi decided to take a slightly different path, but it was one that didn’t take her too far away from you. Everything worked out so that you both were able to remain in Barcelona, pursue your dreams, and most importantly remain friends.

Mapi can’t control her excitement and lunges at you again for another hug. “I’m so proud of you, princesa!”

Hearing her she’s proud of you means the absolute world, so this time you ignore the pain and wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer so she’s sitting on your lap.

“I really wish you could have been there,” you mumble against her skin, your face buried in the crook of her neck. Her familiar scent brings you all the comfort you need from the pain.

When Mapi realized she wouldn’t be able to be there for your last, and most important race of the season, she was adamant on asking Jona to leave her out of the squad that day. Fortunately, you were able to talk some sense into her.

“Me too,” she says, her lips brushing against your ear. “Jona got mad at me because I was on my phone at halftime instead of paying attention to him.”

You lean back in laughter at your ability to keep getting her in trouble even when you’re not around. It reminds you of how Mapi would always get in so much trouble at school because of you. She would draw your favorite cartoons in class to give to you at lunch instead of listening to the teacher.

“Well, if he has a problem, tell him that he can take it up with the champion of motocross.” You give her a wink and lean in to give her a peck on the cheek.

“That’s right, you are a champion.” Mapi bites down on her bottom lip and you wonder if she remembers the promise you made to her so long ago.

“When we were sixteen, I remember you telling me that you would only date champions,” your voice is soft, and you choose your words carefully. “I made you a promise that day, do you remember?”

It was a silly promise made in your youth, but what you’ve felt for Mapi all these years is everything but silly. It’s a promise that has given you the motivation to do the impossible, and the strength to get back up even in the worst of moments.

“You promised me that one day you would be a champion,” she replies, her fingers playing with the little hairs on the back of your neck, “so that in case I don’t meet the love of my life, I’ll always have you as an option.”

Mapi’s hand travels from your neck to your cheek, eventually finding its way to rest on top of your beating heart. “You’ve always been so much more than just an option to me, Y/N.” Her words are a mere whisper, like she’s making a confession to you.

You nod your head, and you have no control of your hand as it sneaks under her shirt to feel her warm, soft skin. “You deserve to be with someone you’re proud of, a real champion. For so long I’ve had nothing to offer you, but now I do and I just—”

Mapi interrupts you with a kiss.

It's slow and tentative, her lips brushing against yours ever so lightly. It lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

When you open your eyes, you see her staring right into your soul with an intensity you're sure matches your own.

“Do that again.”

This time it’s everything but slow and tentative. Caution is thrown to the wind as you deepen the kiss. Her tongue teases, taunts, and indulges all at once. It becomes a greedy kiss as you both take and demand everything from one another. Mapi releases a sweet little moan into your mouth and you tighten your grip on her waist, wanting her closer even though there’s no longer any space between your bodies.

She takes mercy on you and finally releases your lips. You have some trouble getting your breathing under control and judging by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she’s having a similar problem.

The world eventually stops spinning and when you finally look at each other, both of you immediately start laughing.

Mapi tries to hide the blush on her cheeks with her hands and it only makes you laugh even more.

“Did that just happen?” She asks with her hands on her face, looking at you through the gaps of her fingers.

“What? You pouncing on me like a hungry lion? Yeah, that just happened.”

“Shut up!” She says, giving your shoulder a light slap with the biggest grin on her face.

“Make me.”

Mapi’s grin transforms into a smirk and she doesn’t hesitate to take you up on the challenge.

#mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

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junker-town · 4 years

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How the Nuggets built the NBA’s tightest defense

Can Nikola Jokic and the Nuggets take the next step as a contender?

Inside the Nuggets’ championship bet on defense and continuity.

In an attempt to put his finger on how the Denver Nuggets grew to own the NBA’s second-best defense, Brooklyn Nets head coach Kenny Atkinson didn’t see any statistical marks that leapt off the page. They rebound pretty well, don’t turn the ball over, and allow a ton of threes (albeit contested ones), but besides that nothing stood out.

Instead, chatting with his staff, they settled on something so simple yet inexpressibly important to explain Denver’s success on that end: continuity. “That’s the conclusion we came to,” Atkinson said. “Both their starters and their second unit, those guys have been playing together for a long time.”

Denver’s decision to run back the same roster (plus a spring-loaded Jerami Grant) is not breaking news. But coming out of a summer where nearly half the league’s players changed teams, their ingrained connection separates them from almost every other contender.

Last year, Denver returned 98 percent of its previous season’s minutes, second only to the Miami Heat. This year, they brought back a league-high 89 percent of a team that was one or two plays from competing in the Western Conference Finals. And within that same roster, the Nuggets play the same lineups. They spend more time with all five starters on the floor than any other team (41.5 percent of all their possessions), and more time with zero starters on the floor than any other team (19.7 percent of all their possessions). Depth makes that possible, but one hopeful byproduct is a togetherness that can delete hesitancy from the hothouse of playoff basketball.

So far, the results have been mixed. Thanks to a recent road trip through the Atlantic Division, the Nuggets have lost five of their last seven games. They’re slow and can’t score or get to the line, with a franchise superstar who’s off to arguably the most disappointing start in the league. On some nights Nikola Jokic looks like the profoundly creative All-NBA center he is. In others, he appears disengaged and out of shape.

But, at 15-8, that resilient defense has kept them afloat amid one of the toughest schedules in the league. Warts and all, their progress on that end is significant. Last year Denver finished No. 10 in defensive efficiency, and the season before that they were No. 23. This year’s group is almost identical to those previous two, with similar faces, terminology, and principles. What’s different, naturally, is their collective experience.

“It’s a huge advantage because I think you have a sense of where your teammates are going to be, always covering each other’s mistakes,” Nuggets President of Basketball Operations Tim Connelly told SB Nation. “None of us are perfect, none of our players are perfect...You don’t stop anyone in the NBA, you just make it hard. But I think the energy and overall commitment to the gameplan have been excellent.”

Chemistry is a complicated, frustrating, and valuable concept. Common sense affords that the best (only?) way to establish it is through repetition. The longer players are around one another, the more recognizable everybody’s habits will be. Bonds will take shape and important dynamics found in any successful partnership will crystallize.

In an age of analytics, chemistry belongs in the cosmos. It’s hard to measure but easy to see. For teams attempting to leap from very good to great, it’s priceless. Teammates must know one another’s tendencies, how to read each other on and off the court. Denver’s base defense — which relies on back-line rotations, aggressive ball pressure, and constant communication — would crumble without it.

Against pick-and-rolls, the Nuggets typically bring the screener’s man up to the point of attack. As this happens, the low man behind him will sink into the paint to cover the open roller until his initial defender can get back. They keep their hands high, force difficult passes, and help the helper.

It’s a bet on timing and cohesion. When it doesn’t work the Nuggets forfeit shots at the rim and behind the three-point line. (Their location-effective field goal percentage is bad for this reason.) But more often than not every player on the floor shares the same brain, five synchronized swimmers scurrying around as one body. It’s beautiful to watch, and a nightmare to score on.

The clip below begins with Jokic doubling Bradley Beal at the top as Grant shuffles over to pick up Thomas Bryant. With no other options, Beal kicks it to Davis Bertans, which lets every Nugget settle back to their original assignment. The possession resets with the shot-clock winding down, and the Wizards eventually chuck up the exact contested floater Denver hoped they would once Jokic takes away Beal for the second time.

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When they don’t have time to scram switch off the ball, help in the paint often comes in the form of an undersized guard or wing, but the Nuggets still don’t make anything easy. Everybody has quick hands and they either swipe down at the ball or wall up and try not to foul. It’s a vulnerable spot to be in, but the Nuggets have knowledgeable players who time everything right — from Gary Harris, Jamal Murray, and Barton, to Monte Morris and Malik Beasley.

“We’re not perfect,” Malone said. “But I think our guys, after five years, finally have a pretty good understanding of what we’re trying to do.”

All this chaos looks great when it works, but it’s not easy. Even the tightest units get burned by smart teams that anticipate what’s coming, and, in a three-point-happy league, there’s a reason why most teams don’t use multiple defenders to stop a pick-and-roll: It’s easier to drop the big, keep help defenders home on the perimeter, and force pull-up jumpers. But the Nuggets want to have their cake and eat it too.

For the second year in a row, Denver is allowing a bunch of threes, particularly from the corner. That’s not ideal. But also for the second year in a row, nobody is holding opponents to a lower shooting percentage from beyond the arc. Right now shooters are only making 35.2 percent of the wide-open ones, which is the second-lowest mark in the league.

Some of this is good fortune, and some of it’s because the Nuggets make an effort to race out and contest, run good shooters off the line, and let the bad ones fire away. They’re rabid, and aware that success in every possession is contingent upon multiple efforts, gameplan discipline, and wise use of their speedy athleticism.

This corner three by Sacramento Kings rookie guard Justin James is a decent example of what happens when they dictate the offense’s action instead of it being the other way around. The Nuggets neutralize Sacramento’s initial pick-and-roll, then settle into a coverage that allows them to dictate terms. It’s by design and speaks to their attention to detail:

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To some degree, opposing three-point percentage is a noisy statistic that’s dictated by myriad variables outside Denver’s control — the most prominent being luck, which won’t always be on their side. And in the play below, Jokic compounds the high-risk nature of Malone’s scheme by putting himself in no man’s land. He isn’t high enough to bother Spencer Dinwiddie and isn’t low enough to let Harris know not to help in the paint. The result:

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Beyond the pick-and-roll, their half-court defense is smart enough to take away primary and secondary options. Watch for the subtle feints on this possession against the Philadelphia 76ers, from Barton initially stepping off Matisse Thybulle to thwart Ben Simmons’ drive, to the three (count ‘em, three) major efforts Paul Millsap makes before he steals the ball.

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Later on, the Sixers ran a similar action trying to get Simmons going downhill, but Jokic reads it from the jump, comes off Joel Embiid, and forces a turnover.

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“Just knowing each other, knowing the spots where you’re supposed to be,” Jokic said when asked about continuity’s effect on Denver’s defense. “You sacrifice yourself for the team, and that’s the main thing.”

There are long stretches where the Nuggets will make perfect rotations and reads. Everybody knows Malone’s system like the back of their hand, and are prepared in switch situations that demand assistance, stunts, and a grasp of the entire opposing roster, not just their own man. “If you gotta help or switch,” Nuggets guard Monte Morris said. “You’ve kinda got a head start on it. I think that’s something we take pride in.”

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If this defense has an identity, help is its name. Straight line drives don’t exist when they lock in. All ball-handlers see are bodies after bodies after bodies in front of them. There are occasional miscommunications and run-of-the-mill blunders seen from any team in any game, but for the most part trying to score against the Nuggets is a miserable, 1-on-5 confrontation. There are no spectators in Denver’s rotation. Everyone participates.

“It’s good because you know your teammate has your back,” Harris said. “You trust to send your man to a certain person, or you trust that your teammates will be in a certain spot to help you out if you do the right thing. So I think it just helps us all out, because we know that we’re helping each other out.”

(On Harris, Connelly said, “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a better perimeter defender in the league.”)

Familiarity breeds trust, and trust leads to the quick decisions that stand in as oxygen for Denver’s defense. It’s also the foundation of any cultural buy-in, wanting everyone else to succeed even more than you do. Sure, they know the nightly gameplan, each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and the fundamental philosophies behind how they want to get stops, but just as critical coming into this season was the bond from having shared a heartbreaking Game 7 loss at home in last year’s Western Conference semifinals.

That can either pollute a roster’s self-belief or make them thick as thieves. The Nuggets have gravitated towards the latter. As a minor yet telling example, they all watch NBA League Pass, and, outside of a film session, will chat among themselves about what they’re seeing around the league, then share notes about upcoming opponents. Every smidge of information helps when the margins are so slim.

“It’s helpful to see some of the intel they gather on their own pay off during the game,” Connelly said.

But continuity is no magic bullet, even when tied to a savvy scheme that’s well executed and understood. Denver has a glut of above-average-to-excellent defenders, too. And outside Jokic — whose perceived defensive shortcomings will be melded into his narrative as a franchise centerpiece until he either retires or wins a championship — the Nuggets don’t have any one rotation player who opposing offenses can sink their teeth into.

Murray is probably closest, given his minutes, size, and heavy offensive burden. But so far he’s vindicated himself as one of their feistier pieces. Players feel him, even when he’s not guarding them.

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Before this season began, the Nuggets challenged Murray. Don’t be a guy that has to be hidden. Don’t be a guy that we have to try to be creative with. He’s responded, with more responsibilities to come. “Jamal knows the next step for him is to defend the elite guys,” Connelly said.

Guys like Millsap and Mason Plumlee are rock solid, and others have made noticeable strides on an individual level.

“I think it’s really neat to see a healthy Will Barton play at a defensive level he’s never played at,” Connelly said. “He’s a guy who really knows the game and has always had a high defensive ceiling, but maybe he didn’t have the commitment or the focus for 48 minutes.”

Denver’s defense allows 97.9 points per 100 possessions with Barton on the floor, and is 8.5 points per 100 possessions worse off when he sits. A lot goes into both those numbers, but they’re still ridiculous for a player who had the worst defensive rating on the team a year ago. (Barton currently leads the NBA in defensive real plus-minus. Millsap is third.)

Sustaining this defense for 82 games and then taking it into the holy hellfire that will be this year’s postseason won’t be easy. A bit of their success might be attributed to most of their opponents using the early part of this season to get acquainted with their new surroundings. Those teams will eventually figure themselves out.

But if Denver’s defense stays as locked in as it has, supporting an offense that’s too talented not to finish in the top 10, a deeper playoff run should be in the cards. The Nuggets won’t turn on each other in times of adversity, and more reps should only tighten the string they’re already holding.

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kansascityhappenings · 4 years

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Kyle Busch leads Gibbs trio to win 2nd NASCAR championship

HOMESTEAD, Fla. — Kyle Busch casually collected the championship flag from his team and did a slow, subdued celebratory lap. The most polarizing driver in NASCAR had just won his second Cup title and wanted to soak in the moment with his true fans.

He didn’t do his customary bow to the crowd, asked NASCAR for permission to take his 4-year-old son along for the ride to victory lane, and when the duo finally got there it was then that Busch remembered he’d just won both Sunday’s season finale at Homestead-Miami Speedway and his second NASCAR title.

“I do remember taking the white flag and crossing underneath that — I had some tears rolling down my eyes for the last lap and I was just like, ‘Come on, man, we’ve still got to finish this damn thing. Don’t be such a siss,’” Busch said. “Emotions were starting to set in. I probably didn’t know where the hell my mind was at. I knew we had won and won big and were being a big more subdued about it.”

Busch emerged from the Joe Gibbs Racing juggernaut as NASCAR’s latest champion, winning his second title Sunday after teammates Denny Hamlin and Martin Truex Jr. were slowed by pit-road gaffes. He snapped a 21-race losing streak and beat Hamlin, Truex and rival Kevin Harvick for the Cup.

Busch joined seven-time champion Jimmie Johnson as the only active drivers with multiple titles. He’s the 16th driver in NASCAR history to win multiple championships, and one of only five to win titles in both the Cup Series and the second-tier Xfinity Series.

The No. 18 crew climbed the pit wall and handed Busch the championship flag for his post-race celebration, and he was met on the frontstretch by son Brexton, who immediately asked: “Dad, are you going to throw me in the air again?” about their celebratory tradition. He also asked to join his father for the final ride into victory lane.

Busch had raced for a second championship in each of the last three seasons and fell short a year ago in part because of his crew’s own pit error. This time, it was Truex and Hamlin bitten by silly mistakes. Truex dominated early but fell a lap back after his crew put tires on the wrong side of his Toyota.

“You’ve got to be perfect, one mistake probably cost us the championship,” Truex said. “I’ve never had that happen. I don’t even know what to say. It doesn’t drive good with the left front on the right front, though, I can tell you that. It’s very tight.”

Hamlin fell out of contention when an aggressive aerodynamic gamble backfired because a large piece of tape placed across the front of his car caused his engine to overheat. Hamlin had to make an unscheduled pit stop to remove the tape.

Truex recovered to finish second, but Hamlin didn’t have enough time to overcome the miscue and was a disappointing 10th.

“I feel like I did all I could. I don’t feel I could have done a better job. I didn’t leave anything out there,” Hamlin said. “I was thinking we got a chance and it just didn’t work out. We got a little aggressive there and it cost us.”

Harvick, the only Ford driver in the championship field, never had anything on long runs for the Gibbs cars and finished fourth.

“On the restarts I could do what I wanted to do and hold them off for 15 or 20 laps,” Harvick said. “This race has come down to that every year. You kind of play toward that and they were quite a bit better than us on the long run. We had a really good car for those first 15 to 20 laps on the restarts and had a lot of speed, we just never got to try to race for it there.”

The finale pitted a trio of Toyota drivers from Hall of Fame owner Gibbs against Harvick, the hand-picked driver of former Gibbs protege Tony Stewart at Stewart-Haas Racing. The Gibbs group had the edge based on its tremendous season — Busch’s win was the 19th out of 36 races for the organization — and the trio insisted it would continue its note-sharing all weekend.

Las Vegas couldn’t chose a title favorite and the four had essentially even odds at the start of the race, even though Busch was probably the least likely contender of the group. Although he won the regular season crown, his last Cup win was at Pocono in June, his playoffs leading into Homestead had been mediocre at best and his mood soured with every missed victory lane.

“We had a cold spell there. It’s been well documented,” crew chief Adam Stevens said. “Quite a few questions about it. We’re in such a unique situation, as a competitive team that runs up front with the goal of winning the championship every year, everything we do is to make that happen, right? To win the regular season points championship, then try to maintain that and get to Homestead, that’s what it’s all about.”

Hamlin, Harvick and Truex had all won playoff races, and Hamlin’s win at Phoenix last week gave him all the momentum. But with friend and fan Michael Jordan in attendance, Hamlin failed to win his first championship in his third try. Hamlin is the only driver in the final four without a Cup title.

“Our year was fantastic in every way you can think of, and it just didn’t pan out in one race in our favor,” said Hamlin, who won the Daytona 500 and five other races a year removed from a winless season.

Busch, ironically, had one of his worst races in the pits in last year’s finale as his front-tire changer had hiccups on two stops. But he was flawless Sunday night and led a race-high 120 laps.

“Everybody always says you never give up. We’re no different. We just do what we can do each and every week,” Busch said. “Sometimes we may not be the best, sometimes we may not have the right track position. We had a really good car and I could race around and move around. That’s what’s so special about Homestead Miami Speedway, is the ability to put on a show.

“I felt like we did that there racing those guys. I know it kind of dulled out toward the end. It was exciting enough from my seat. It was a lot of fun to cap off such an amazing year.”

Busch gave Gibbs his fifth Cup title and bookended a season in which the Gibbs cars opened the year 1-2-3 at the Daytona 500. Gibbs this entire year has been mourning the death of his son, JGR co-chairman J.D. Gibbs, and the organization promoted a “Do it for J.D.” theme the entire weekend.

The season ended with a 1-2-3 finish in the finale as it was Busch, Truex and Erik Jones across the finish line for Gibbs.

“I know J.D. was looking down on us all year long,” Busch said. “I mean, damn, what a season Joe Gibbs Racing put together.”

Busch gave Toyota its third drivers’ championship in five seasons.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/11/18/kyle-busch-leads-gibbs-trio-to-win-2nd-nascar-championship/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/11/18/kyle-busch-leads-gibbs-trio-to-win-2nd-nascar-championship/

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