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maddiwrites · 4 years

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Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Pogues x reader, eventually JJ x reader.

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Hey guys! Thank you so much for the support of my last couple of fics. All your messages have been so kind and so sweet! I’ve made a rewrite of the show with a new character that eventually falls in love with her best friend. I’m gonna be posting a new chapter three times a week. Let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None

Chapter 2

"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?" John B tip toes across the middle of the roof as he sips out of the can of beer in his hand.

I lean to my right, pressing against JJ's shoulder as we sit on a construction slack used to hold construction workers as they work on the siding of the home. Scaffolding, I think it's called. I narrow my eyes at my brother, counting down the seconds until he falls.

"I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival," Pope jokes from the deck below us.

John B shrugs. He licks his finger and holds it up in the air as if he's feeling which way the wind is blowing. "Hm. Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump." Pope holds up a power drill and points it at John B like it's a gun. "I'll shoot you on the way down."

"You'll shoot me?"

"Yep." Pope closes one eye and pretends to shoot it. "Pow!"

I roll my eyes and look forward again, letting the beer slip down my throat like a refreshing glass of water. The warm North Carolina air presses soothingly against my freshly tan skin and I bask in the sunlight. Its days like these that I like the most. Days where none of my best friends have work, we're drinking causally, and joking with one another. Even if it's on a construction site in the middle of Figure Eight. But the idea of getting caught just gives me an adrenaline rush.

"They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," Kie says as she walks out of the unfinished house.

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?" JJ says next to me with a shrug like it's not the craziest thing that a Kook would own.

"This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, I guess."

"I can't have cold towels."

Kie looks up at John B, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you please not kill yourself?"

"Don't spill the beer. I'm not giving you another one," JJ says.

As if on cue, John B's foot slips. Luckily he catches himself, but his beer, however, drops to it's death on the deck below. As John B steadies himself I release the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I take another greedy gulp of my warm beer to steady the nerves in my chest.

"Whoa! Oh, shit," John B curses.

"Of course you did," JJ rolls his eyes playfully. "Smooth."

"A plus, really." I glare up at my brother, feeling his mischievous smirk right back at me.

"Dumbass," Kie mutters under her breath. She looks up at me as if waiting for me to say something, but I only giggle to myself. John B can be clumsy but he's not going to accidentally kill himself.

"Hey!" I hear another voice shout behind us towards the street and front of the house. A voice that doesn't belong to any of my friends or my brother.

"Hey, uh, security's here," Pope says.

Immediately knowing what that means, I jump to my feet with the help of JJ right after he slugs the rest of his beer. A delirious grin dances along my lips as I hop down to the main deck.

"Let's wrap it up!"

"Boys are early today."

"Humpty Dumpty, let's roll!"

My legs take off after my friends through the house. Adrenaline rushes through my veins and straight to my head like a power high. I can't even feel my legs as they jump over wooden slacks and construction tools. The high from running from the police is better than any drug JJ can get his hands on, even the good stuff.

"Gary is that you?" JJ plays along before accidentally running into him, making him slip on his feet before running the other way. I grab his wrist and pull him closer to me to catch up. "Gary, good to see you man!"

I laugh as my feet land on the freshly cut grass in the front yard. "You're asking for it."

"JJ!" The obese cop chases after us, recognizing my best friend's face instantly. I'm not surprised, not even a little bit. JJ had his fair share of run-ins with the law.

"They're going out front!" I hear another cop shout. I can barley hear through the wind rushing through my ears.

We run into a tall white painted fence that blocks us from our car, better known as the Twinkie. Hopping fences is something I've learned to become better at after doing it so many times. However, I can't say the same about Pope. He's always struggled.

I swing my legs over the fence and land with a small 'oomf.' I look over my shoulder for my slow-poke friend and see him falling over the fence, landing on his side. I laugh as I pick him up by the shoulders.

JJ is waiting for us, clapping his hands like a coach on the sidelines at a football game because his players aren't running fast enough. But there's a smile on his face. "Get up, Pope, fatso's coming!"

"Hey!" The guard shouts behind me. He's halfway up the other side of the fence, but he doesn't have the strength to pull himself over completely. "Come here you little pricks!"

I hear the familiar honk coming from the van John B and I learned to drive in. My brother and Kie are waiting for us in the front seats of the Volkswagen van that would look better in the 70s than the 2020's but I love it. It fits our friend group perfectly. Plus I'd choose this car over any fancy Mercedes Tourons usually drive. The only time I've ever been in one of them is when I snuck off with a golf player from Georgia after a boneyard party. It was luxurious of course, but nothing like the Twinkie.

"Bus is leaving!" John B says as we get closer.

"Come on!" Kie yells at us from the passenger seat, banging the flat of her palm against the door.

I dive through the back first, landing on my elbows and rolling over. Pope and JJ follow less than a second later.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Gary calls after us as John B steps on the gas.

JJ leans out of the sliding side door that's still wide open. I lay on my back watching him as I try to catch my breath. His smile is contagious. For a boy who's been through hell and back, he smiles a lot, and I love every second of it.

He holds out his beer can as if he's offering it to the cop who's still trying to catch us...if he can catch up to it. "Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise. Come on, Gary!"

"Wait. Slow down. Hey! You little pricks! Hey!"

"You're gonna give him a heart attack!" Kie tries to scold him but she can't fight the smile on her lips either as she watches from the side rearview mirror.

"You're so close! You can do it. There you go. They don't pay you enough bro."

"JJ, stop. Stop!" Kie says through her laughter.

I love Kie. She always tries to keep the peace between her friends and the world itself. Always the girl who raises money for charities that protect this Earth and save animals and solve world hunger. She's going to change the world someday. Her and Pope. Maybe if they can tolerate each other, they'll do it side by side.

JJ slumps back into the van with a toothy grin. He sits next to me and pulls me up so I'm sitting up straight. He dangles his arm around my shoulder and I lean further into his side. If I could choose one position to be in for the rest of my life it would be this one.

But I'd never admit that.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," JJ says.

I hum in response and lean back into the seat behind me and stare out the window. A view of passing vibrant green leaves takes over the window as John B drives. The scene comforts me. Summer is my favorite season. No school. Just work and friends and the Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth, some may call it.

It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. We're currently driving through Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So, guess where we don't live.

As John B drives further South, the houses get smaller and smaller, feeling more like home. This is the South side. Or as we like to call it, the Cut. Home of the working class who make a living bussing tables, washing yachts, running charters. The natural habitat of...drumroll, please...the Pogues. That's us. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest members of the food chain.

I know... a little harsh, don't you think?

So, the downside of the Pogue life is we're ignored and neglected. But the upside of the Pogue life? We're ignored and neglected, which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want.

The second John B parks the car, the boys are gathering all their fishing gear and we set off to our next destination. The marina.

"Nice haul, dude. Look at that!" JJ teases my brother when he reels in what I think is the smallest fish I've ever seen. If it was orange, I would have thought it was my old pet goldfish from when I was six. "Been all bait for, like, three weeks."

John B pulls the fish off his hook and tosses it in JJ's direction. JJ flinches back, knocking into me and almost throwing me into the water below. That was probably my fault, though. I shouldn't be sitting on an open ledge, dangling my legs twenty feet above the water.

"Watch it, idiot!" I smack JJ upside the head after letting go of the death grip I had on his bicep when I was about to fall to my death. Well...I'd probably survive, but it would hurt like hell.

"It's not my fault you chose the most dangerous seat!" JJ retaliates.

Yeah, that's JJ. John B's best friend since the third grade, which subsequently makes him my best friend since the third grade too. He's about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Second best surfer I know. First being me of course. Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.

"Yeah, Mar, you should really get down from there," Kie says, walking over to me to help me down. I decide not to put up a fight. If I'm going to break my leg, I'm gonna do it in a surfing accident or something cool, not by falling off the dock.

Kiara. Or Kie as we call her. When not saving turtles or listening to Bob Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why though. She's a rich kid, actually. Her family owns the Wreck, this Outer Banks institution. Total cash down with the tourists and my current job. You know, I'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. But they like me enough to bring them money towards their restaurant. I bring in a lot of regulars. Advertising is kind of my thing. I'm pretty sure all my friends, even my brother, have a thing for her.

Kie hands me a water bottle and lays her legs across my lap. She lies down on the wooden bench and bathes in the sunlight the day still has to offer. Kie is my best friend. Best secret holder known to man, for the most part.

"I think she needs a leash," Pope adds, making me pass him a glare.

"The only thing useful about a leash is how I can strangle you with it," I say.

"Kinky," JJ says and winks at me. "That's my girl."

John B slaps JJ upside the back of his head.

I'm lucky my sunburnt skin is hiding the blush that creeps along my cheeks.

Pope glares at both JJ and I which only makes my growing smirk widen.

Pope...the brains of the operation...finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person I know. Little bit of a weirdo. His father's this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you wanted on the island, Heyward could get for you. Now, I'm not sure Heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. He was a Pogue, just like the rest of us.

"Trust me, if a leash was that easy, I would have tried a long time ago," John B mutters with a hint of a smile.

John Booker Routledge. My insufferable twin brother. Pain in my ass. Number one partner in crime. I hate him but I love him. Pretty much like any sibling relationship. We live in an old fish shack on the marsh. The Chateau as my dad use to call it. My dad disappeared at sea nine months ago looking for a shipwreck. I mean seriously, who disappears at sea these days? I miss him a lot. He may have been a little neglectful, but he took care of us the best that he could. My mom, however? She split when I was three. Last I heard she was in Colorado. At least I think it was Colorado. Honestly who knows and who cares.

Since my dad vanished, my Uncle T is supposedly my legal guardian. At the moment, he's in Mississippi, building houses which means it's just me right now, on my own, hangin' out with my brother and my friends.

Three months after my dad went missing, he was officially presumed dead. John B is more of an optimist than I am. He refuses to sign the paper and until he sees a dead body, he's not giving up. I back John B's decision, but I'm more realistic about what happened to my dad. The ocean, although my favorite place to be, is also one of the scariest.

My dad is probably dead and I will never get the closure that I want. So I'm dealing with it the best way I can, although I'm pretty sure everyone is a little worried about me, especially Kie now that John B is starting to follow in my footsteps by exhibiting reckless behavior.

But I'm getting better now. Day by Day. At least I wasn't acting like I did when my dad first left us.

~ ~ ~

I woke up with a slap to my ankle and my head buried deep into my pillow. I groan from the abrupt living alarm clock that's now pacing my room and throwing clothes from my closet at me. It only makes me squeeze my eyes tighter in hopes for at least five more minutes of sleep.

"Seriously, Mar, we need to go. We're late." John B rips my blanket off my body, leaving me exposed in just my pajama boxer shorts and a tank top. The sudden chill sends goosebumps up my arms and legs.

"Go without me." I push myself up on my elbows and grab the clothes he threw at me. I knew meeting the social worker alone wasn't an option. Even if one of us goes to this stupid meeting, it will prove to the social worker that we're not being responsible enough to keep DCS off our backs. As far as they know, Uncle T is still living with us and keeping us safe.

"You have five minutes." John B ignores me and leaves my room, slamming my door shut.

I roll my eyes and tumble out of my soft bed. I slip on my jeans shorts and a white t shirt that I tie in a knot to make it a crop top. Underneath it I have on my plain black bikini, knowing that I will be surfing the second we get home. The News has been reporting a storm for weeks that's suppose to hit tonight. Vicious waves and crazy winds sends a thrill through my body.

We arrive to the social worker's office only two minutes late. I thought that was a sign of responsibility, but the social worker only looks at us with distaste as we sit in the two chairs in front of her desk.

"John, Marleigh, it's come to our attention that you two are unemancipated minors living on your own." Her hair is pulled back into a tight low bun and her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose. Her suit looks way too tight for comfort, like it's squeezing the life out of her.

John B scoffs and leans back into his seat as if we have nothing to worry about, but I know his heart is beating just as wildly as mine. "No....no." The social worker raises one brow in suspicion and glances in my direction to either confirm or deny what John B is saying. John B sees this and answers for me. "No."

I just shrug as a response, which only makes the social worker more weary. She leans into her desk and folds her hands on top of our folders that are piled in the middle. "I need honesty to help you. That's what we want, right?"

"Yeah. I'm being honest."

"Okay, then when is the last time you spoke to your uncle?"

John B looks down at his watch and purses his lips. "Uh...thirty-four minutes ago."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Two hours and...forty-three minutes ago?"

I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. It's clear on the social worker's face that she's not buying into any of John B's lies.

She sighs and turns to look at me. "We're gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster care." Foster care. The words make me dig my nails into the wood of the arms of the chair I'm in. The last place I ever wanna be is in foster care. I want to stay here on the island with my brother and our friends. Not with some random family who couldn't care less about us in a place I'm not familiar with. "I want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

She says it like she's offering us a better life, one that we would want, one that sounds like the better option but it isn't. I ignore the worried look John B sends my way and watch the seconds go by on the clock above the door. We basically have twenty-four hours to find Uncle T or someone to be pretend to be him.

~ ~ ~

The winds begin picking up early in the afternoon, the rain hitting by 5. On my way home from working at the Wreck, I watch people board up the windows of their stores and homes. All John B and I can do is hope that our little shack won't blow away by morning.

Unfortunately for Pope, he's at our house when John B catches me leaving the house with my board. When he tells me to stop, I'm prepared to put up a fight. I've been looking forward to surfing in this storm all day - something I can use to push the DCS lady out of my head and the promise she made that sounded more like a threat.

"You think you were gonna go out without me?" John B smirks and leads the way to the beach.

Pope follows behind us like a lost puppy, basically talking to himself as he tries to convince us that this is a bad idea. We stop at the edge of the beach. It's almost impossible to see the ocean through the wind and the rain.

"Those aren't surfable waves, bro," Pope says, squinting through the rain that splatters our faces wet.

"Says who?" I say, passing him a devious smirk and make a run for it towards the ocean.

I paddle past the choppy waves, letting the water knock me around like a feather in the wind. When I see a decent looking wave to ride, I prop myself up on my feet and stand. I lean into my board. The warmth that's taken over my body outruns the cold water I fall into when the waves crash over me. My body tumbles under the water and my board bumps against me. I try to swim back up to the surface but the current is strong. I don't know where I am and I can't see under the water. My nose burns when water rushes up my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes tight and just swim upwards in hope of reaching air. Maybe this was a bad idea, but the thrill is still keeping me excited.

I finally reach the surface after what feels like years. John B and Pope's screams are dull against the whistling wind. I hop back on my board and give the two guys a thumbs up and a wicked smile. Pope looks like he's about ready to have a heart attack and John B breathes out a sigh of relief as he paddles closer to me.

"You alright?" He asks me.

"Fine," I yell against the wind.

John B nods. He looks like he's about to say something else, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I turn myself around, intrigued at what's he's seeing other than the water, clouds, and a bunch of rain. Then I see it. A boat that barely looks afloat, so far out that it looks like a speck against the rain.

"We should probably go," I say. I don't want John B's mind to run to what might have happened to Dad out there. Maybe he was caught by a storm like this, maybe his boat went overboard and his body is out there floating with the fishes. I don't know. The last thing I need him to do right now is speculate. Even if the same thoughts are running through my head, John B thinks he's still alive. These thoughts will keep him up all night. He doesn't move, however. "John B let's go."

~ ~ ~

JJ is already laying on the pull out bed in my living room when I get out of the shower. JJ crashes here most days of the week. He'd much rather be here than with his drunk abusive dad. Our friends don't know the extent of how shitty his relationship really is with his dad. But I do. I found out when I was thirteen. JJ snuck through my bedroom window after a tough night with his dad. His face and torso were covered in bruises. It took everything in me not to burst out in tears right then and there. But for some reason, he trusted me of all people with his biggest secret. I cleaned him up and let him sleep in my bed with me. Every once in a while we repeat the process. Sometimes he's not even hurt, he just shows up. And I let him in because I like having him there.

I fall onto the mattress next to him and prop my head up on my hand, leaning on my elbow. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling satisfied and bubbly when he moans in response.

"When did you get here?" I ask him.

"You were in the shower. Don't worry I didn't peak, but I was tempted," He says into his pillow.

I use the same hand I had woven in his hair and punch his shoulder playfully, making him fall on his back. His lips turn up in a grin.

I lay there for a second, looking up at the ceiling. My eyes feel heavy, the events of the day officially taking over my body. I peek an eye over at JJ who's watching me carefully as if I might break under his fingertips.

"What?" I grin to myself, thankful for the darkness so he couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. Again.

"You all right?" He asks, pushing my hair out of my face so he can look straight into my eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

JJ hesitates, like he's trying to pick the right words to say. I watch him closely, studying every mark and crevice on his face. Beautiful and clear like always. Even when it's covered in bruises and blemishes, he's handsome. I could look at him all day.

"You hate storms," He says.

"I can sleep through anything," I tell him. "And I don't hate storms. They make for...eventful surfing days."

His face drops to a more serious one. "You know what I mean."

I do. Storms have never really frightened me. Not really. But ever since my dad disappeared nine months ago, I worried that he would get caught in a storm like this, that by morning there would be a knock on my door from an officer who would tell me that a dead body has washed up on shore and they ID'd him as my father. The image leaves me with nightmares on nights like tonight.

JJ's the only one who knows this.

I don't like talking about it. Like JJ, we have this in common. So instead of telling him I'm fine and him not believing me, I pull the blanket at the edge of the mattress over our bodies and tuck myself into his side, laying my head on his shoulder. A position so intimate for just us "friends." I hope he can't feel my heart pounding beneath my skin, against his side. I let my body soften against his, feeling sleep take over me. I fall into a dreamless sleep next to JJ, hoping that the storm will be gone by the time we wake up.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank fic #jj fic #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank imagines #outer banks rewrite

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bubmyg · 6 years

Note

Can you write about crushing Yoongi always trying to find an excuse to hold your hand or touch you in little affectionate ways?? 💞

prompt: seven different types of physical affection and seven different times yoongi acted upon those

word count: 2,215

1. caressing/stroking

Yoongi had an unwarranted itch to be closer to you. He barely knew the taste of your name on his tongue yet he so badly wanted to crush his fingers around yours, flatten his lips against your cheek, test if your skin tasted like the sweet vanilla wafting off the soft cotton of your shirt.

He rocked onto his heels, shoving the tips of his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. The relaxed lean of your stature was in direct contrast to the rigid tip toe of his own, your head tilted against your shoulder, care free smile painting your lips as beautiful laughter tumbled past petaled lips to each squeaky giggle presented by Hoseok.

Rocking steps tottered Yoongi closer, a pendulum sized movement that seemed to account for a hinge drilled between the exaggerated part of his feet. Hoseok acknowledged him with a tilt of his head, parting the flush of his apple cheeks as he followed the shy crush the elder’s chin against his clavicle, scuffing his untied shoe into the tile.

“Hi!” Hoseok cheered, folding his arms to his chest as he took a heeled step backward.

Yoongi acknowledged his friend with a curt nod while peering under thick eyelashes, gaze instead swinging to where you stood. An equally bright smile stayed toothless over your plush lips, eyes crinkling slightly, chin tilted toward him.

“Hello,” He greeted lowly, a rumbling timbre that shivered at the waver of your bottom lip. Gingerly and almost unconsciously did his arm raise, crooked fingers gently rubbing over your bicep down to the crook of your elbow where his touch shyly returned to glue against his hip. “How are you?”

You refused to recognize the surprised puff of air that caught in your throat as his feathery light contact.

“I’m great, Yoongi,” You hummed, meeting the bashful scrunch of his squished cheeks, “How are you?”

2. back rubs/massages

Yoongi eyed you as you chewed raw into the dip of your bottom lip, hunched over your laptop, one eyes scrunched and the other bordering on a mist of elicited tears.

His steps were slow, calculated, sinking a sizable distance away from the bend of your thighs on the couch cushions. Quietly, he inquired, “Where did Jimin run off to?”

You shrugged, a full bodied movement that had your wrists clattering to your laptop and your fingers clicking into a jumbled mess of keys. “Taehyung called him I think,” You whispered, voice meek as the angry red squiggle of a typo mocked the frustrations of your key smash. “I don’t mind being here alone. I was about to head back to my place anyway…”

He nodded, leaning back a bit to support his elbows on the high rise of his thighs, ring clad fingers clasped underneath his chin. Eyes craned, sliding over the expanse of your open word document. Softly, “What are you working on?”

A small whine gurgled in the back of your throat, head shaking as you shoved your laptop up to teeter off your knees. “Just an essay,” After a moment, you added with a bitter laugh, “it’s really frustrating. I don’t think I’m ever going to get done.”

Yoongi leaned further, crooked fingers rubbing soft circles into the small of your back before he could coil the jump of his muscles. He reveled when you seemed to relax into his ministrations, braving him enough to flatten his expanse palm over your spine.

“Are you okay?” He softened between circled rubs.

You arched your back when his fingers flexed, blunt fingernails scratching into your skin, watching his profile from the crease of your eyes.

“I will be. Thank you for asking.”

3. holding hands

The shake of your giggling shoulders brushed against Yoongi’s, his head tearing away from darting between the playfully heated exchange of Jeongguk and Seokjin to instead map the smile lines that laced the beauty of your visage.

“Do you even know how to hold a golf club?” Jeongguk lipped, effectively dodging the playful box of Seokjin’s fist to his collarbone in a fit of high pitched giggles.

“First of all,” Seokjin huffed, “it’s mini golf…”

Namjoon mediated it, stepping between the two with a soft smile crinkling crescents into his eyelids and palms flattened out to the eldest and youngest. “We can split into teams,” The leader suggested, “It’ll make everything go quicker for us and for everyone else that’s just trying to have a peaceful evening.”

“I like teams,” Hoseok chirped, smiling affectionately at a bouncing Jimin who threw himself against his arm, “Teams are good.”

Yoongi shoved his fingers between the spaces of your own, tugging you impossibly close into the dip of his side. He barely had time to consider the repercussions or the dusted pink cotton that rooted to his cheeks, announcing a space above a whisper, “Y/N’s my partner.”

When no one acknowledged him, he cleared his throat, speaking evenly, “Y/N and I are on a team,” His gaze cut promptly to the shine of your eyes, stuttering, “I mean, if that’s okay.”

Six pair of eyes softened knowingly.

“Okay, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung beamed.

You nodded, securing the crook of the top link of your fingers to the prominent veins on the back of his hand, squeezing tenderly before turning your pointed attention to a gloating Jeongguk, “We’re going to kick your ass-”

4. hugging

A towel etched over the droplets of sweat painting ebony locks against a crinkled forehead, sweeping away the result of the exhaustion clinging to Yoongi’s sore muscles. The pain balled and wretched away in favor for the jump of his heart in his throat the second a small commotion erupted near the door of the dressing room, the stocky figure of Jimin diving over a chair to intercept a bobbing figure.

“Jimin!” You gasped, thrashing in his grasp when damp locks dug into the juncture of your throat. The stick of sweat surrounded you, drenching at your top and clinging to the back of your nostrils as a nearby staff member tutted in reprimand at the small man.

He huffed, pulling away to inspect you with a smug grin. “You mean you come to visit us and you can’t even handle a little post show sweat?” He feigned hurt, hand fist into his shirt over his heart, features scrunched as his chin jerked back.

“Yeah, yeah,” You swatted at chest, barely catching the pads of your fingers to the wrinkle of his top as you craned your neck over his shoulder. “Where’s Yoongi?”

His heart swelled, towel clutching tighter in delicate digits as he slid into your line of sight, waving softly, “Hi, love,” Yoongi greeted, teeth in his cheek unable to contain the light of his gums stretching over his lips. The towel met the drench of sweat at the nape of his neck on habit, eyes trailing the bounce of your figure around Jimin as you moved to stand in front of him.

“You did great,” You blurted. The sole of your shoe dug shyly into the tile as you sidestepped a purposeful staff member. “I mean you always do, but…”

The brunt of the towel smacked Jimin’s cheek as Yoongi stepped forward, softly looping his arms around your stature to bring you into a tentative hug. “Thank you,” He hushed, alternating the slide of his hands over the supple skin of your back. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

5. cuddling/holding

Yoongi spun in his desk chair, mouth parted to question what you wanted for dinner. The sighed inquiry instead stuttered down the length of his tongue, getting lost in the sharp swallow he took as his eyes cast down the curl of your stature on his studio couch.

You were curled into yourself, holding a pillow across your arms like a blanket. The awkward curve of your wrist cradled your phone, the soft illumination brightening the contours of your features in a separate shade from that in which cast in shards from the monitors of his computers. Faintly, he caught the rise of goosebumps littering the bare expanse of your skin, eliciting a tighter clench to your jaw as your toes curled into the cushion.

Cute.

A chuckle matched the creak of plastic as he rose, trekking the short distance to slide in beside you. The movement of his hand against your thigh was planned, thumb stroking out the bumps, smile curtaining when you glanced at him over your phone.

“Are you cold?” Yoongi reached, plucking at the puny upholstery of the pillow with his thumb and index finger, “Because I have much better blankets than this.”

You rolled your eyes, launching it to bounce off his chest. “I mean yeah,” You trailed off, dropping your phone in your lap, “I’m a little cold, I guess.”

He shook his head, touch leaving your skin as he shuffled for a stack of shelves in the corner. The spread of his arms came wielding a downy grey blanket, one that wrapped over the planes of his stature as he fell back in beside you.

“I come with the blanket,” Yoongi’s teeth bit into the corner of his lip, gauging your reaction, “If that wasn’t clear.”

You crawled the short length to the surface of the blanket, cuddling against the warmth of his chest as he aided in wrapping the fuzzy surface over the chill of your skin. Your cheek met knuckles curled in the puffy hem of the blanket, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to gather his embrace around your figure in his lap.

“I wouldn’t have wanted anything less,” You whispered.

6. kissing on the face

He met you halfway down the hallway, catching the trip of your stature into his chest with a muted, “Hey, hey, what-”

A spilling sob racked your shoulders, tears seeping through the thin cotton of Yoongi’s shirt as you clung to him. He stuttered only for a moment, gently drawing his arms over the high slope of your shoulders to crush you against him. “Please, you have to calm down,” He told the frantic shake of your shoulders, “Breathe for me angel, try to calm down.”

You met his requests in stutters, sharp breaths drawing your swelled bottom lip under your teeth, stalling the wet of your cheeks to gentle streams rather than rushing rivers, loosening the clutch of your grip on his shirt to flatten your hands to the dips in his collarbone.

“Sorry, I just came straight here, I meant to call…” A huff dropped the tautness of your shoulders, voice a bit smaller as you told him, “Jin let me in. They all saw me, I’ve probably worried everyone, I’m sorry, I just-”

Yoongi hushed you, cupping your cheeks in his palms to bring your gaze firmly to his own. “It’s okay,” He assured you softly.

You silently observed as he ducked at the waist, angling your head to press a tender kiss to your forehead. The wet of his lips lingered on your flaming skin, pooling a fond buzz all the way to the tip of your toes as you froze in his hold.

“You’re okay,” Yoongi corrected, pecking your cheek on the way down in slotting his forehead to yours, “You’re okay, yeah?”

7. kissing on the lips

“Angel?”

Yoongi covered his laugh by the back of his wrist when your head shot up, scattering granules of cinnamon and sugar across the treat balanced on the paper plate perched in your lap. The clump of fried bread continued to snag on the crease of your mouth, faltering when your lips parted in a soft shape of questioning.

“You uh,” He pointed with a crooked finger, arching over the bend of his knees, “You’ve got a little something on your lips.”

You pouted, a soft whine of indignation falling from your lips. “Get it for me.”

He blinked, once, twice, cheek dimpling when his teeth sanctioned the inside of his mouth. His knees straightened, coming to crouch next to you as the curled edge of his thumb reached for the piece of the treat. It plucked easily to the pad of his thumb, flicking to the soft blades of grass wavering in the gentle breeze.

You held your breath as Yoongi’s hand slid back across your cheek, thumb clearing the collection of sweetened spice on the crease of your mouth before rising to the soft apple of your cheek. A sharp inhale met the puff of his own cheeks as he leaned, softly pressing his mouth against the spot he’d just cleaned.

“Got it,” He hummed, dark chocolate orbs falling to your own.

Bluntly, you corrected, “You missed.”

“I-I what?”

You giggled, sliding the elephant ear to the grass below as you shifted, sliding your fingers across the pliable squish of his cheek. Your mouth slotted just a breath away from the dead center of his lips, nose cocked to slide against his own.

“I said,” You breathed quietly, “You missed.”

The heel of your palm flattened to the middle of the dessert when Yoongi leaned over you, eagerly tasting the sought after sweetness of your mouth, suddenly sure that the sugary syrup of your lips he’d so often envisioned was natural and not due to the soft pieces of bread you’d shoveled into your cheeks.

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenario #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagine #THIS WAS SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IM SO SORRY OH GOD #selcaboysmain

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Second in Command (Ch. 13)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: A few things about the writing in this chapter: I have been reading a hell of a lot of Cocktober fics and editing mine, so that mature rating comes into major effect here (even if I’m less descriptive in this story than the others). Also, I have been writing angst in something else plus a, like, three-day headache, so I had difficult time writing this because it’s literally fluff guys. It’s just all of the fluff, and I really, truly hope that this chapter lives up to its expectations. I would normally wait a bit longer between chapters, but maybe this will brighten someone’s Saturday!

Oops. Forgot to link the story to ao3 | here |

You guys are forever the best, and every comment, kudos, like, reblog, private message, etc. fills me with the most joy ♥️

Tag list:

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff

@ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld

@jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi

@captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat

The New Year passes with little fanfare, just a quiet celebration at home as they watch the fireworks over the Thames on the television, glasses of champagne in hand. Emma didn’t even make it out of the living room before falling asleep, her neck twisted in a way that would keep her out of commission for a week if left that way. He simply slid her down so that she was more comfortable on the couch, not wanting to wake her by taking her upstairs. He was thankful that they’d gotten some new furniture because his old couch was not nearly as comfortable as the new one Emma had picked out while he was in Africa.

He’s already packed for their trip, his suitcase spread out in the middle of the closet, everything carefully folded, while Emma has half of her summer wardrobe simply tossed in hers. He can’t help himself from folding everything up so that it will pack more efficiently and he’ll be able to put it away in the closet of their bedroom more easily. He is meticulous in the way that he lives, and Emma is not. It drives him crazy, but it is worth it in every way.

By the time Wednesday morning rolls around, Killian is more than ready to leave the cold of Britain behind for the warmth of Seychelles and the privacy of having Emma to himself, no royal protocol or photographers or hostile family members or need to wear a suit and tie. When they escaped to Switzerland a few years ago Emma was reluctant to let him do something like this, and the nerves practically rolled off of her until they were secluded within the walls of their lodge or cautiously skiing down the slopes (see: Emma landing on her ass in the snow more often than not). Today, she is calm, relaxed even, as she sits opposite of him on the plane with her nose in a book and her feet propped up in his lap, his thumbs running across the bones of her ankles while he watches both Netflix and her.

Sometimes he is struck by her beauty. Actually, all the time really, but he’s often struck by how much she’s grown in herself since he’s known her. When they met, she was inherently kind, something no one can ever take away from her despite her protests otherwise. She was inherently kind but fighting a battle with herself over if she deserved to receive that kindness in return. She always had. She’d been subjected to things she didn’t deserve by a man who didn’t deserve her, and Killian wanted nothing more than to take away those demons and replace them with the goodness he saw in her and with the light that she brought into his life just by talking to him like he was any other guy. And as much as he knows that he did have an impact on her growth and her ability to believe in herself, it was really all Emma. It’s always been Emma.

So to see her today as she is, someone who is sure of herself even when the world has a target on her back, it’s a wonderful, beautiful sight.

She kicks at his lap with her foot to get his attention from where he was obviously daydreaming and most likely staring.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course, love, why?”

“If you look at me any harder you’re going to drill a hole in my head.”

“I’m just happy.”

She smiles at him before shaking her head and going back to her book, running her toes across the top of his thighs, and he knows this is her way of being affectionate with him even when most of her attention is focused on her book.

By the time they get to their private villa, far away from any of the other villas and on their own private beach, he almost cannot wait to be out in the ocean air and all of the freedom that provides, even if he knows that he’s got two security guards discreetly trailing behind them and staying in the small cabin next to them.

“Well shit,” Emma murmurs when they pull up to the villa, her hand slapping against his knee.

He can’t help but laugh as Emma takes in their home for the next ten days while he’s grabbing their luggage out of the golf cart they drove here in.

“Very eloquent, love.”

“Can you blame me, Killian? This looks like it’s out of a movie.”

“You’ve got to see the inside. And the view of the ocean.”

It’s like their own personal paradise, natural elements scattered across the villa with white linens and pillows that are the many colors of the sea dispersed throughout. He’d seen everything online before securely booking it, but Emma’s amazed as she’s walking around and running her hand over the balcony railing that overlooks their private pool which melds into the ocean, two types of blue becoming one. He doesn’t always feel the need for this kind of luxury, but he has the ability to give Emma this and he very much wanted to.

Especially for the sake of the ring in his carry-on.

“Damn,” she says later when she sits down on the swing on the balcony of their bedroom, a clear view of the ocean in front of her as he puts their suitcases in the closet. They can unpack later. “This is amazing, babe. Can we move here?”

“Considering the thing that lets us come here is me spending my time in Britain and getting paid to be me, I very much doubt that we can do that.” He moves to lean over her and wrap his arms around her neck, resting his chin on to top of her hair. “And I suspect that you’ll miss everyone too much. I know for a fact that you’ve already asked Abigail for a picture of Elizabeth with Alex.”

“They’re so cute, babe. And Alex cried when I left. Obviously I’m going to miss them. Don’t pretend that you don’t either. But I think I can do without them for ten days when I feel like I’ve walked into a book or a movie or something else ridiculous. How is this place even real?”

“It is one of my personal favorite places,” he admits before unwrapping his arms and moving to sit next to her on the swing, kicking his legs against the ground to sway them back and forth.

“Have you been here before?”

“With my family when I was a teenager. Wasn’t quite as romantic then.”

“I would hope not. That’d be super concerning and frankly pretty damn weird.”

They spend their first day there getting used to the place, exploring the rooms and discovering all of the hidden gems within the villa. He can feel all of the tension that’s been building in his shoulders, years of stress and worries that have accumulated and have been weighing him down, lifting and evaporating in the salt air. It looks as if the same thing is happening with Emma, her smile brighter than it’s been lately as she lounges in one of the beach chairs. They didn’t manage to get out to the beach until late in the evening, the sun setting and the temperature cooling, a light breeze causing Emma’s hair to blow in the wind as she wraps herself in a blanket and stares out at the horizon.

It’s perfect.

But then the heavens open up unexpectedly, one of those island storms that come out of nowhere, quickly drenching the earth before disappearing just as quickly. He and Emma don’t move out of it fast enough, too far down the beach to be anything but soaked by the time they get back inside, absolutely drenched as the water on them falls to the tile floor of the entryway, pooling at their bare feet. .

Emma strips out of her knit sweater, leaving her in just her bra as she grabs a towel out of the linen closet and dries off. He’s a bit of an ass, grabbing onto her and giving her a tight embrace as he buries his chin in her neck and makes sure that she becomes just as soaked as she was a moment ago.

“Killian,” she laughs, trying to squirm out of his grasp, but he just holds on tighter, breathing her in, smelling more like salt air and rain water than the flowers of her perfume or the vanilla of her shampoo. “Killian,” she whines again before wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him as he’s holding her. He can feel the laughter shaking through her chest. “You are such a kid. We’re going to stay wet forever and catch pneumonia.”

“Well, I’d quite like you to be wet all the time.”

She scrunches her face, her nose becoming a wrinkly mess and her eyelids closing.

“That’s the worst pickup line you’ve everused on me.”

He laughs against her shoulder before kissing it and releasing her, shedding his own clothes as he reaches for another towel and dries her down, slowly moving the towel down her body while she runs her fingers through the water droplets falling off the top of his hair until he takes the time to dry himself off.

By the time the two of them have changed clothes, he looks outside to see that the rain has stopped falling while the night sky has fully emerged, white stars contrasted against the black canvas of the sky, and he falls back onto the living room couch with a bit of a huff of frustration.

“You’re being cranky over a bit of rain, babe.”

“I am not.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, then maybe my thighs hurt from running on the uneven sand.”

“Your fitness is going to have to be better than that for the plans I have for you and your thighs this week.”

A laugh passes through his lips before he reaches his hand out to grab hers on the armchair she’s sitting in beside him. “It’s a good thing we’re already together because we apparently have lost our touch when it comes to flirting.”

“I don’t think you could ever trulylose the ability to flirt. That’s, like, you’re second language.”

“That would be French.”

“Ah, yes, the language of love.”

She lets go of his hand, their fingers falling from each other while she walks into the kitchen and out of his sight so that he’s left to look out at the night sky again through the floor to ceiling windows, the wind blowing the palms as the aftereffects of the storm blow through.

When he awakes the next morning, Emma’s staring at him, green eyes peering into blue, with her head propped up in her right hand as her left trails over his arm, small little taps that he wouldn’t feel if he wasn’t so in tune to Emma’s touch.

“I’m still going to be here if you blink, Nolan.”

She rolls her eyes before moving closer to him, folding her body into his, the heat of her automatically washing over him as she rests are head on his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her waist to keep her as close as possible.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She shakes her head up and down against him, nuzzling further into his shoulder if that’s even possible. He noses at her forehead, encouraging her to look up at him even if she doesn’t listen.

“So you’re simply being extra affectionate this morning?”

“You are incredibly warm today, and while I’m loving this whole open concept feel of this place, us not closing the windows last night was not our most brilliant plan.”

“Ahhh,” he sighs before snaking his arm around her to rub at her back, sneaking underneath her top to find the bare skin of her back. Her skin is cold where it’s usually warm, and that just won’t do, his hand moving up and down to try to bring heat back to the skin. “Well,” he purrs, dipping his head down to capture her lips in a lazy kiss, “I think we can change the temperature with a little bit of physical activity.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she tells him, somehow managing to not roll her eyes, when he pulls back from her, “and neither have you.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“I also need to shave today.”

He raises his eyebrows while his lips tick up to one side. “Has that ever stopped me before, my hairy little love?”

She laughs before crawling out of his grasp and sliding her shirt over her head, her breasts encased in the most raggedy bra that she owns. She loves that thing, and he sees it more than he sees any of the satin or lace she keeps in the closet.

“Looks like I can still flirt if I’m getting you out of your clothes that quickly.”

“Baby, you’re just lucky we don’t have to schedule our sex because we’ve been together so long.”

She crawls onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs before hooking her arms behind her and snapping her bra off, the tan straps falling off her shoulders and exposing herself to him before she begins nibbling on his jaw.

“Is this not our scheduled monthly morning sex?”

“Oh no it is,” she giggles as he starts running his fingers up her sides, hitting underneath her armpits like she absolutely hates, “so you better do your best work, my love, because this is it.”

He stops tickling her arms then and cups her breasts, his fingers ghosting over her nipples as he dips his head to the side to whisper in her ear, “I have a feeling I can renegotiate our terms.”

He leans back and grabs onto Emma’s waist, tossing her forward onto the bed so that she bounces against the mattress, her hair spreading out behind her like a golden blanket as she laughs and smiles up at before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You are the most stunning woman alive,” he coos as he lowers himself on top of her, aligning their hips and their lips, the softness of both driving him wild as she moves against him. Emma may not know how to waltz, but they have this dance down, so well-practiced that even through the cloudy haze of passion, they both know exactly what to do to drive each other crazy. “Just, everything about you is wonderful.” He leans back down to slant his lips over hers, running his tongue along the line of her lips until she allows him entrance, the slick slide of her tongue against his making everything else in the world blur away only to leave Emma.

He quite likes it that way.

Emma runs her hands against the skin on his back, her nails scratching red lines into his skin as his scruff mostly likely rubs similar red marks into her chin, his lips moving from hers to run across her jaw and behind her ear, running his tongue below the lobe a biting until she whimpers. When he chuckles at her whines, she digs her nails a little further into his skin and pointedly rolls her hips against his so that he’s whimpering as well.

Oh gods that feels good.

“It’s not so funny now, is it?”

“You’re a bloody minx.”

She laughs against his shoulder before her hands inch down to his boxers, thumbs moving the elastic down until the cool air hits his skin. He lifts his hips to help her get him undressed before doing the same thing to her so that their skin is pressed together, her softness pressed against his hardness while he checks to see if she’s ready for him, slowly sliding into her when he feels her slickness, a gasp escaping from Emma at her sudden fullness.

“You ready to renegotiate our terms now?” he whispers before moving inside of her, her walls always so tight that it takes everything in him to not lose himself completely right then and there.

“You are an idiot,” Emma laughs before wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging into his ass to push him further inside her and bloody hell. “You are an idiot, and I love you to pieces.”

He dips his head down to kiss her, murmuring I love you against her lips before increasing his pace, thrusting in and out quickly as they whisper quietly, or not so quietly, mixtures of loving little nothings and dirty little things into each other’s ears, pants and moans echoing throughout the room and out the open windows so that the sounds of them rocking together are mixed with the rocking of the waves, slow and fluid at one moment only to be harsh and demanding the next.

Emma falls before him, her teeth biting into his shoulder as she whimpers beneath him, and he’s not long after, spilling himself inside of her before collapsing on top of her, knowing that if his weight becomes too much, she won’t hesitate to tell him. Instead she kisses his shoulder, her tongue soothing her bite mark before sighing beneath him and closing her eyes when he rubs his scruff against her cheek, the harsh hair blending in with the softness of her skin.

“So only once a month in the morning, huh?”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, pushing him off of her, not that she can really do that without a little help from him, so that he pulls out of her and tumbles onto his back. “You are impossible, and you really know how to run with a joke.”

“I may be impossible,” he kisses her collarbone before crawling out of bed to get her a towel, “but you love me for it.”

“Aye,” she mimics in his accent, propping herself up on her elbows and smiling at him like he’s the reason the sun is in the sky and the ocean is at their feet, smiling at him like he’s everything to her in the way that she’s everything to him.

He lets Emma sleep in for a little while longer while he takes the engagement ring out of his carry-on and slips it into the sole of the shoes he’s going to wear for dinner tonight. Yeah, he could just put it in one of his pockets, but Emma’s been known to slip her hands into his pockets when kissing him and he just can’t risk keeping the ring somewhere she’ll find it.

So he slips the ring into his shoe and dresses in his swim trunks and a button down, going downstairs to fix himself some coffee and eggs, knowing not to bother fixing Emma anything because she won’t be up for at least another hour or two. She surprises him, though, coming down the stairs dressed for the beach not thirty minutes later, and she doesn’t even teasingly berate him for not fixing her something, instead grabbing a fresh muffin the resort provides and sitting out on the deck to watch the ocean roll in and then roll back out, the sun glittering across the water.

If he didn’t so love his home country and wasn’t required to be one of the faces of the nation, he’d move somewhere like this like Emma jokingly requested last night, a place near the sea where everything is romanticized just the tiniest bit, where he can watch his girlfriend drop crumbs down her shirt as she sits in a swing with her hair curling in tight ringlets because of the salt of the water.

Killian likes to think that he’s a bit of a romantic, always making sure that Emma has fresh flowers or leaving her notes when he leaves the apartment for the day. He likes to think that he’s a romantic as he tells her he loves her for the seventh time in one day or when he readily (most of the time) admits that he’s wrong when they’ve gotten into an argument because one of them did something stupid. More often than not, he’s the one who’s done something stupid. He likes to think that he’s a romantic despite the fact that they’ve been together for nearly six years, or maybe even because of it. He likes to think that he’s a romantic in the little, everyday things, the ones that truly mean more than the big gestures, but today is a big gesture kind of day.

Today is an asking Emma Nolan to marry him kind of day.

He’s nervous.

So damn nervous.

Marrying her is all he has wanted for the past five and half years, and he has no doubt that she’ll say yes, but as they tan on the beach later that day all he can think about is his plans for later that night and the ring resting in the bottom of his loafers.

She’s so beautiful in every way, but right now she’s got nothing on but the tiniest pieces of blue fabric, her skin sparkling as the sun beats down on the mixture of lotion and sweat, and her hair is falling over the top of her chair so that the tips mix with the white sands of the beach. She’s got a book in her hands, and he idly wonders how many she brought with her because she reads more than any person he’s ever met, especially lately.

She’s beautiful and he loves her, and he’s so nervous for this evening that he thinks he might need to have a small, or large, glass of rum before he asks her. Does that make him awful? How do you love someone this much and still get nervous?

He must have been noticeably staring for too long because she turns on her side and reaches her hand over to run her fingers across his torso, resting them at the curve of his hip as she continues to read, only stopping when he returns her action and places his hand on her hip, her green eyes peering over the top of the pages after she pushes her sunglasses to her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring again.”

“It’s difficult not to stare at you.”

She puts her book down on the ground between them, making sure to mark her page, before crossing the small gap between their chairs and crawling into his side, half of her resting on top of him, her bare legs running up and down his calves while she props her head up on her forearms that are resting on his chest.

“What?” he questions, wrapping his arm around her to tug her more fully onto his body, a heat spreading across him that has nothing to do with the sun.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

She smirks, pressing her lips against his chin before pressing her lips against his own. “It’s difficult not to stare at you.”

“Darling, you have to come up with your own compliments.”

“Okay,” she says, her foot tapping at his. “You’re hot as hell.”

He throws his head back as much as he can in laughter while his hand squeezes her ass cheek for, well, her cheekiness. She’s not the kind of funny where everyone in the room knows it. It’s usually more subtle, nuanced, but he thinks she’s the most hysterical person he’s ever met, especially with her not-so-eloquent flirtations.

“That’s much better.” He kisses her nose before shifting her so that she’s at his side while he grabs her book from the ground. “What are we reading, love?”

“A trashy beach novel because I finished all of my good ones.”

He flips through the pages, skimming the words until he gets to her bookmark and begins to read where she left off, continuing until Emma yawns against his neck and her skin begins to pink.

“So what exactly does our date tonight entail?” Emma questions later as she runs her brush through her hair, smoothing out the curls she just put into it with her curling iron.

“It’s a surprise.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“Killian,” she whines, leaving her spot in the bathroom, clad in nothing but her robe, to sit on his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. He likes relaxed, beach vacation Emma. She’s extra affectionate, and that’s going to work well in his favor tonight…hopefully. “What have I told you about surprise dates? I love them, but I need guidance on my clothes and if I need to eat beforehand because I’m not going to like the food.”

“This is like our first date all over again.”

“What?”

“You asking me for help on your outfit. You didn’t know what to wear.” He presses a kiss against her temple. “Darling, I own the same suit pieces in multiple colors. You dress me all the time. And while I would be perfectly okay with you wearing your birthday suit, I know that whatever you wear will be fine. We’re going to be out on the deck, and I promise you’ll like the food.”

“I still can’t believe I had to ask you for help that day.”

“It was endearing.”

Emma ends up dressing in a white sundress, and it’s almost comical how appropriate that is for the occasion. The entire evening is nice, the resort delivering grilled fish and bottle of wine as well as setting up candles and fairy lights that keep the area illuminated even under the canopy of trees. He’s especially glad for the wine, not getting to have his glass of rum earlier, and with every fidget of his foot, he can feels the ring in its protective bag under the arch of his foot in his shoe.

“Emma?”

She’s looking out at the water, her glass of wine swirling as she absentmindedly holds it out beside her. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything else for awhile, still trying to run through the words he’s been rehearsing for weeks now, until she looks over at him, sweet smile on her face as her head falls back, hair tumbling down the back of her chair.

Instead of proposing, he blurts out, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.” She slips her sandals from her feet before stepping onto the sand, looking at him curiously as he stays in his shoes. “You don’t want to take your shoes off? Those are nice ones. I wouldn’t want you to mess them up.”

“Um,” he scratches behind his ear and hopes that his internal grimace doesn’t become an external one, “it’s fine this way.”

They walk silently for a little while, their fingers twined together, and even though their silence has been comfortable, like most of them are, he has to break this one. He will not chicken out of this moment.

“You know,” he begins, trying not to have to take a deep breath because that will most definitely give him away, “the day I met you I was pissed beyond belief at my father. I don’t even remember what about, but it led me to going on one of my walks and to meeting this fiery blonde lass who has just…who has just become my entire world. So you could say I like my walks like this.”

He looks over to her, her lips slightly parted, and he can see the gears running in her head by the way her brows are furrowed together. He knows the moment she’s figured out what’s about to happen, one corner of her mouth ticking up and her eyes widening the slightest bit as her brow unfurrows, but he soldiers on, confident that this is going to go well.

“Emma, I have loved you for five years, four months, and seventeen days…”

“Did you count?” she laughs, interrupting him like only she could in a moment like this.

“Of course,” Killian confirms, stopping their walk so that he can stand in front of her, the moonlight making her hair look almost white. “I have loved you for that specific amount of days, so long that I cannot remember what it’s like not to love you. You’re everything to me. You’re the love of my life and my partner in everything. You’re brave and you’re kind and you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

He finally gets down onto one knee, and when he looks up to Emma, she’s nodding her head in encouragement while she absolutely beams down at him.

“You’reit, my love, and…hold on, I’ve got to get the ring out of my shoe.” He reaches down to take his left shoe off, struggling to get it out from underneath the sole, and when he does finally get it, Emma’s squatting down in front of him trying to hold back her laughter at his scrambling. He has to kiss her then, totally out of order of how this thing is supposed to go.

When they part, their foreheads resting together and their lips so close that when Emma speaks, her lips brush against his. “Killian, ask me.”

He does.

“Will you marry me?”

She nods her head against him before closing that small distance again and slanting her lips over his, and he can feelher smile. He’s sure she can feel his.

“Yes, Killian, of course. A thousand times yes.”

She peppers kisses across his face before her lips land against his.

“Bloody hell, you said yes.”

“Did you think I’d say otherwise?”

“No,” he laughs, grabbing her left hand so that he can finally slide the ring on her finger. It looks right, like it belongs there. Probably because it does. “But this is nerve wracking, sweetheart. I’ve felt like I was going to pass out all day.”

She chuckles before leaning back and holding her hand up against his shoulder, looking at the ring for probably the first time since they’ve both been a bit distracted. “Babe, this is beautiful.” She cups his cheeks, and he can feel the metal from both of her rings against his skin. “You’re beautiful, and I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Can I call my mom?”

He barks out a laugh before tugging Emma into him with such a force that their teeth clack together in their kiss, his hands threading into her hair while her hands grab the collar of his shirt, little whimpers emanating from her throat as he moans into the kiss, not breaking apart until he feels the sand at his back and Emma on top of him.

She’s breathing heavily, harsh pants that match his own as their foreheads press together, her nose pushing into his cheek as his does the same. “Is that what you wanted to call your mum for?”

She shakes her head against him, her nose brushing over his while he moves his hands down to hold onto her hips. “We’re getting married,” she sighs against his lips. “Babe, we’re actually going to do it.”

“I know,” he grins, the feel of her smile so near his lips and the skin of her thighs underneath his touch making him feel like his entire body is tingling. She said yes. She bloody said yes. “I cannot wait to marry you, Emma. Absolutely cannot wait.”

“I can’t either.”

Eventually the do make it back to the villa, and while he’d never planned a beach proposal, never meant to do it down by the water, he’s glad that it happened that way. He’ll probably have sand in his hair for years, but he doesn’t bloody care. After celebrating their newly engaged status with just the two of them, Emma calls her mum, bubbling over in so much excitement that he thinks she might burst.

“I’m nervous,” she whispers against his shoulder as they sit out on the chaise on the balcony, her phone ringing as she dials her parents.

“Don’t be.”

“Did they know it was happening?”

“I talked to your dad about it a few months ago.”

“Oh that was smart not to tell Mom,” she laughs, not hearing the phone click as someone answered the call.

“What did we not tell, Mum?” Mary Margaret asks through the speakers, and Emma practically jumps out of her skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation, sweetie?”

“I have something exciting to tell you.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to be a grandmother.”

“What?” Emma gasps, looking down at her stomach, still flat as ever, like Mary Margaret can see her even though this is just a regular phone call instead of a video message. This is going about as well as he thought it would. Mary Margaret is likely to scream bloody murder when she finds out the real news. “Why is your first guess that I’m pregnant?”

“Well because you and Killian are obviously sexually – ”

“Mom,” Emma groans, and he just leans over to kiss the top of her head as her face goes red, “please just let me tell you so that we can nothave this conversation.”

“Okay, go. I’m all ears.”

Emma takes a breath, looking over at him and kissing the side of his jaw before holding up the phone to her mouth and whispering, “Killian asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

The phone is silent for a minute before Killian hears Mary Margaret sob on the other end of the phone.

“Mom,” Emma prods, “Mom, are you okay?”

“My baby is getting married,” Mary Margaret absolutely wails through the phone, and he imagines she’s going to give Emma the tightest hug when they get home. Probably give him one, too. “I’m so happy. Ooooh, I cannot wait for your father to find out. I’m assuming I can’t tell him while he’s down at the pub?”

“Probably not the best idea. You’ll have to keep a secret for at least a few hours. You can text me when he gets off, and I’ll call him, too.”

The conversation lasts for a few more minutes, Killian joining in every now and then before they let Mary Margaret go, Emma curling into him and resting her left hand on his chest. He likes that, seeing the shine of the diamond reflected against his chest, and when they fall asleep later that night, it’s with her left hand resting on his chest instead of the usual right.

The next morning Emma wakes him up with a kiss before he even manages to open his eyes, her tongue running across his lips and then suddenly pulling away so quickly that he thinks he’s dreaming until he opens his eyes, hazy from his late night, and sees her clothing her bare skin with a sports bra and a pair of leggings.

“Darling, are you going somewhere?”

“For a run on the beach because apparently I hate myself and still feel the need to exercise when on vacation.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

“Give me five minutes.”

By the time they’ve been running for twenty minutes his legs and his lungs are burning, not used to the uneven terrain of the sand and the water, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that he’s stopped running, hunched over with his hands on his knees. Maybe those kids in Africa were right. He is out of breath quickly for a healthy, twenty-nine year old man. Emma does eventually notice that he’s fallen back, turning around and jogging back to him until she’s standing in front of him, her lips upturned as she smirks.

It’s that smirk that sparks an idea in his head, and before Emma even has the chance to run away he’s got her thrown over his shoulder.

“Killian,” she warns even as he carries her to the water, smacking her ass when she pinches his side in retaliation. “Killian, that water is going to be ice cold. I swear, don’t you dare throw me in there.”

He doesn’t listen, and he doesn’t care how much trouble he’s going to get in with her later, he gets knee deep in the water, and she’s right, it’s damn cold, but he’s still throws her into the water before diving in after her, making sure to pop up right where he tossed her to make sure she’s okay.

When he surfaces, she’s already above water, slicking her hair back while her lips twitch, eyes bright even as the salt water brushes over her brow, maybe especially because the salt water brushes over her brow and reflects in her eyes.

“You are a dead man.”

“What a way it’ll be to go.”

“You,” she swims over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her tennis shoes sinking into his back, “have got some balls, Killian.”

“You of all people would know.”

He kisses her nose before wading them back to the shore, their clothes already weighing them down the more he exposes them to the air instead of the water, and if he’s going to regret doing that, it’s going to only be because now he’s walking them back to the villa, their clothes heavy even with Emma quitting her squirming by the time he is halfway back. This is a hell of a better workout than their run, and his heart pumps at a faster rate with the way Emma’s nibbling at his pulse point, her tongue soothing her bite every few seconds.

Getting engaged is bloody brilliant for one’s libido.

He manages to get her all the way upstairs and to the stone shower, putting her down right outside of it, his arms screaming in protest even as he strips down, finally getting his wet shoes off and reaching into the shower to get the water started, a steady stream falling onto the light stones and darkening them as he steps in, letting the water fall over him, his hair matting down as the sand falls off of him

Killian looks over to see Emma staring at him, her bottom lip between her teeth as her hip rests against the wall, still dressed in everything but her shoes.

“You like the view, sweetheart?” he teases, slicking his hair back so that it doesn’t fall in his eyes.

“I do like it,” she seductively purrs before peeling out of her soaked thru sports bra, the material getting stuck when she gets it over her shoulders, and he barks out a laugh as her seductive strip tease transforms into a struggle of simply getting out of her clothes. She eventually gets it off before snapping it at him for his laughter, her hair falling in wet waves down her back when she bends to strip off her leggings, laughing and mumbling something about stupid spandexuntil she finally steps into the shower with him, her hands running up his chest until they land on his shoulders, her body tightly pressed into his.

If all early morning runs ended like this, he’d go every damn day.

“That was quite the little show you put on there, darling.”

He reaches around to grab her bottom, pulling her even closer to him so that his growing hardness can get some friction while her hardening nipples press into the hair of his chest. He backs her up to the wall so that the water is only hitting at his back, his body shielding Emma from the spray getting into her eyes as he dips his head down and kisses her, little moans coming out of her throat as he devours her, rolling their hips together and making himself moan, too.

“I like this being engaged thing,” she breathes while he runs his mouth across her jaw and her hands simply hold onto his neck and card through his hair while his travel over her stomach, down her thighs, against her core, feeling the wetness that’s starting to pool there that has nothing to do with the water in the shower. “It makes you extra sexy.”

“Are you saying I needed incentive to be extra sexy?” He bites at her ear lobe and pushes against her clit with the heel of his hand simultaneously, and all of the air rushes out of Emma as she gasps and leans her head against his shoulder while her body reacts to him.

“No, babe,” she kisses his shoulder, peppering kisses across his collarbone before running her tongue across the underside of his jaw, her hands snaking down to stoke him while he fingers at her folds and fuck, she’s amazing. “You are always sexy,” she presses up on her tip toes to reach his ear, “saucy even.”

He chuckles at their inside joke, and at that she runs her fingers across the underside of his length before circling the tip and his laugh is dispersed into a moan, his heavy breathing only increasing the more she works him up…and down.

“Turn around, darling,” he grits out, kissing her temple before she turns and he can kiss at the back of her neck and down her spine, his hands tracing down her sides until he’s kneeling on the ground, edges of the stones cutting into him as he licks a stripe against her folds, his tongue teasing at the soft ridges while Emma grapples at the wall, pushing her ass up against him so that she can get more friction.

“Baby,” she moans when he gets into a particularly good rhythm, his forearm holding her stomach and pushing her back into him as his fingers toy with her bundle of nerves. “Babe, I can’t – I can’t hold on. I need…I need you to ah – fuck,” she whimpers, her voice cutting above the sound of the water beating down when he harshly smacks her bundle of nerves and her legs fall out underneath her as her release finally hits her. He works her through it while holding her up and keeping her from falling in any other way but the pleasurable one.

It’s bloody amazing.

Once her legs have gained their strength back, Killian rises from the ground, kissing his way up Emma’s back before capturing her lips with his in a bruising kiss and lining himself up to her entrance and sliding into her, her walls fluttering around him, little aftershocks from her previous orgasm.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips as he starts to move inside her, dragging himself in and out before harshly pushing back in, his arms supporting Emma under her breasts and at her waist while he rolls his hips against her backside. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, my darling.”

It continues like that for awhile, the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other mixed with moans and the fall of the shower water beating against Killian’s back and to the floor, the heat of it waning the longer they’re in there. When Emma falls for a second time, Killian isn’t far behind, suppressing his moan against the skin of Emma’s shoulder while he holds both of them up, all of the sounds blurring and muting as he attempts to come back to himself.

Eventually Emma manages to turn in his arms and push them back underneath the shower spray, grabbing the shampoo and condition to wash the sand, the sea, and the sweat out of their hair.

“You’re right, love,” Killian says later when they’re both wrapped up in towels and Emma is twisting her hair into two fishtail braids.

“I mean, always,” Emma teases, “but what am I right about this time?”

“That ring on your finger makes you extra sexy.”

They just had sex in the shower, but her cheeks still go red. He loves when he can still make her blush.

“So how many official duties are we going to have when we get home?”

“A hell of a lot,” he sighs before shuffling around in his suitcase and pulling on his swim trunks for when they eventually get to the beach, handing Emma one of her bikinis and a cover-up, “but we don’t have to worry about any of that this week. And we won’t have to announce it to the world for at least six weeks, but there will be behind the scenes things to do.”

He steps forward to twist his fingers through the tips of her braided hair, and when she scrunches her face, her nose wrinkling, he leans down to kiss her forehead.

“But today, my future wife, today we eat whatever the hell we want because we have done quite a bit of physical activity this morning and then we bask in the sun so that we can rightfully complain about having to wear several layers of clothes when we get home.”

“Sounds like a plan, my future husband.” A beat passes. “Oh God, we’re that cheesy couple aren’t we?”

“Absolutely.”

The day passes in a blur of food, fruity alcoholic drinks that are almost obligatory when visiting an island, the sun beating down on pale skin changing to tanned, sand between the toes, and nothing between Emma and Killian as they lounge on the deck or in the pool, drifting off into the ocean almost as naturally as they drift to sleep later that night.

He wakes around two in the morning, the moonlight causing Emma’s ring to shine as she runs her left hand over the exposed hair of his chest, her delicate fingers pressing against his skin.

“Hey,” he whispers before running his fingers down her back and tugging her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “What are you doing up?”

“I’m just thinking.”

“Would you like to share with the class?”

“Hmm,” she hums before kissing his chest, right over where his heart is beating. “It’s nothing big. Just life.”

“Life isn’t something big?”

Even in the darkness he knows she rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d rather you tell me.”

“I’m simply thinking about how lucky I am,” she sighs, her fingers still toying with his hair, “how lucky we are to have this life. And not necessarily the fancy vacations and the nice things, but to have each other. I think about all of the things that had to go wrong, and more importantly that had to go right, for you to walk in that door that night…and for you to keep coming back.”

“I like to think I was too stubborn to not come back. You fascinated me. Still do. Probably always will.”

“Killian, you know everything about me.”

“Aye, but we’ll change as we get older. We already have in the past few months, but in a good way, you know?”

“Yeah,” she exhales, leaning down to kiss his bicep, “I know. Everything about this is so crazy, but you and me, we make sense, don’t you think?”

“I know that we do.”

They eventually drift back to sleep and don’t wake until mid-morning, the sun shining brightly even with the curtains closed and shrouding them in the hazy light. He’s got a day scheduled out on a ship for them, and while he promised her he’d take her sailing, he couldn’t manage to get anything other than a motorized yacht, but she seems fine with it as the wind blows through her hair while they’re driven out into the sea by one of the resort officials, a day’s worth of food and drinks stocked in the kitchen below deck.

It’s a wonderful day, even if it is a little awkward having the driver and his security onboard with them. At one point he and Emma jump off the back of the boat just to get away from the others, letting the salt water wash around them while they wade in the ocean.

“I think my skin is going to be completely wrinkled by the time we get home.”

“Aw,” Killian coos before swimming over to her and wrapping his hands around her waist under the water, “my own little old woman.”

Emma scrunches her face, and he tries to swoop in and kiss her, but she squirms out of his hold and ducks under the water to climb up the ladder to get out of the water, her bottoms clinging to her.

“Your ass looks amazing, love.”

She turns to look at him still down in the water, her lips slightly parted in surprise before she smirks and hooks her finger to call him toward her, and he scrambles out of that water like a man possessed.

The rest of their week goes like that, mixtures of salt water and alcohol or sand and sex, not necessarily in those combinations. Killian hasn’t been this carefree in years, and when he zips up their luggage the morning of their flight home, he feels a legitimate sense of melancholy wash over him at the thought of leaving and having to go back to his real life with duties and work, no matter how much he’s missed his bed and not-so-surprisingly-anymore, his family. Emma simply smiles and squeezes his forearm, lugging her suitcase down the stairs before he gets the chance to carry it for her.

She walks out the front door on her way…their way…home.

Together.

#second in command #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff

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meridiansungc · 5 years

Text

Steal a tour-proven technique for better chip shots

By Austin Cook

On the way to my most successful season in professional golf, including a win at the PGA Tour's RSM Classic, I avoided bogey 62 percent of the time when I missed a green in regulation. Without those saves, the 2017-'18 season might have been my first and last on tour. So if I can give you one piece of advice about your game, it's to start looking at your wedges as the tools for survival—and success. First, learn everything you can about the ones you use (loft, bounce, grind, etc.) and if they're right for your game (go see a clubfitter). Once you're happy with your clubs, use them—and use them a lot. If you don't practice, you'll never understand how each wedge and swing technique affects ball flight and spin. And if you don't have an understanding of those two things, you're not going to get up and down very often. Here I'll explain how I decide what club and shot to play and teach you my favorite drill for chipping it to tap-in range. Hopefully you'll follow my lead and become more confident with your wedges. —with Keely Levins

HIT THE TOWEL FOR MORE CONTROL

We did this drill in college, and I still use it. Grab a towel, get it wet to keep it from blowing away, and lay it on a green between you and the hole. Now chip balls from off the green on that line trying to land them on the towel. Experiment with different wedges, and hit from different spots paying attention to how the ball reacts to each shot.

You'll soon discover how to produce the trajectory and rollout you want. When you play, imagine the towel is still on the green, and hit the shot best for that situation.

“Whenever you can, go with a lower chip than runs out.”

GO WITH THE PERCENTAGES

This is a really tricky lie—downhill in light rough with a bunker between me and the hole. I can hit a variety of shots from here, but there's always one that stands out a little more than the others. The smart play is the shot that will leave you with a decent chance to save par (or carding no worse than a bogey) even when you don't quite execute it.

Here I can either land it in the fringe and let it roll out to the hole or fly it most of the way and let it land soft by the hole. Generally speaking, the easier of the two shots is usually taking a lower-lofted wedge and hitting the runner. But sometimes the lie, or the location of the pin, dictates that flying it with a higher-lofted club is smarter. For example, if I were hitting into the grain of the grass between me and the hole, getting the ball to release when it lands might be tough. In that case, I'd want to fly it high and let it trickle out.

LET IT GLIDE TO STOP IT QUICKLY

As I said, you need to get to know your wedges, including the bounce for each club. Without getting too technical, it's how much bulge is on the back side of the club, the spot I'm pointing to here. This design feature helps you slide the club under the ball and pop it up, which is why I want to use a high-loft, high-bounce club for chips that need to be in the air longer than they roll.

I get in a narrow stance with my feet open. Then I open the face a little before taking my grip. This exposes more of the bounce, making it easier to slide the club along the ground. If you swing with a shallow, sweeping motion along the turf, the ball should pop right up.

FIND YOUR COMFORT ZONE

Some things about chipping technique are fairly standard. For example, the farther forward you play the ball in your stance, the higher it will tend to fly. So keep that in mind if you like to play the ball back in your stance and hit down on it. It's probably not going to get too far off the ground. But there are other things about chipping you can personalize.

Two of my preferences are to leave my glove on and to make a swing on a path that's a little in to out in relation to the target. My path helps shallow the club and keeps me from chunking it. The glove? Not sure why I leave it on, it just feels comfortable. The point is, I own it. If you do what makes you comfortable, you'll be more confident on the course.

Source: GolfDigest.com

0 notes

wesley-nivans · 5 years

Text

Advantages Of Mallet Putters - InfoBarrel

One of the "secrets" inside the golf bags of numerous successful golfers will be the wedge. Many people mistakenly believe playing golf is a cinchbecause on any given day you can find senior citizensplaying the game and playing it quite well. These techniques or knowledge were once considered as superstitious within the western world, but are now widely found in many civilized countries. These techniques or knowledge were once considered as superstitious in the western world, but are now widely used in many civilized countries. Today you will find many clubs that replace the traditional gold clubs. A golf towel, golf shoes ( though not absolutely necessary it's going to assist with stability while you swing), Golf tees ( Note: you can find different height golf tees designed for different drivers, woods and irons - I would recommend which you pick up an assortment of sizes - 2 1/8" for woods and irons &amp official golflaserrangefinderhq blog 2 3/4" or 3 1/4" for Drivers depending on type and size. If you are more of your casual diner, then benefit from the complete buffet in the morning too as lunch and dinner. Yes, that's right, forget the entire address the ball, waggle, smooth eliminate and also the rest. " According towards the sales page, you will probably be able to begin generating revenue right away without any experience using http://www.ausgolf.com.au/ their step by step instructions. Very Interesting stuff here.

youtube

Eliminating the Reverse Pivot One approach to eliminate overturn pivot would be to practice this drill: Adopt your address position, after which place the club over the back of your shoulders. Practice by using it so you could have confidence in getting out of the bunkers and you'll find your game much more enjoyable. Is this system worthwhile? Is it a scam? Can you're making cash with it?. Horse training is a mixture of understanding your animal,. Check with golf pro or sales person for recommendations or even sure), a golf glove ( not required but it will give that you simply definite advantage in gripping and holding the club more effectively), ball markers ( used about the green to mark your ball so you won't to block the path of your fellow player - a rule of golf etiquette), along with a divot repair tool ( used to repair the indentation made inside the green when the basketball lands - certainly one of the principles of etiquette to be addressed in a future writing ). Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player's were slightly faster. Board Games are A Blast!. With a huge selection of Golf GPS devices on the market, each attempting to out do the other person using the latest buzz words and fancy features, it is difficult to figure out what features are essential within your new tool and which are marketing bull that aren't worth paying extra for. Kennedywas a large fan of Bond for instance, as was Prince Philip of England. Kennedywas a big fan of Bond for instance, as was Prince Philip of England. Taking your time in choosing wedding favors for men, and women too, boosts the likelihood that your favor will be kept and used again.

0 notes

turnberrycountryclub · 5 years

Text

Steal a tour-proven technique for better chip shots

by Austin Cook

On the way to my most successful season in professional golf, including a win at the PGA Tour’s RSM Classic, I avoided bogey 62 percent of the time when I missed a green in regulation. Without those saves, the 2017-’18 season might have been my first and last on tour. So if I can give you one piece of advice about your game, it’s to start looking at your wedges as the tools for survival—and success. First, learn everything you can about the ones you use (loft, bounce, grind, etc.) and if they’re right for your game (go see a clubfitter). Once you’re happy with your clubs, use them—and use them a lot. If you don’t practice, you’ll never understand how each wedge and swing technique affects ball flight and spin. And if you don’t have an understanding of those two things, you’re not going to get up and down very often. Here I’ll explain how I decide what club and shot to play and teach you my favorite drill for chipping it to tap-in range. Hopefully you’ll follow my lead and become more confident with your wedges. —with Keely Levins

HIT THE TOWEL FOR MORE CONTROL

You’ll soon discover how to produce the trajectory and rollout you want. When you play, imagine the towel is still on the green, and hit the shot best for that situation. “Whenever you can, go with a lower chip than runs out.”

GO WITH THE PERCENTAGES

This is a really tricky lie—downhill in light rough with a bunker between me and the hole. I can hit a variety of shots from here, but there’s always one that stands out a little more than the others. The smart play is the shot that will leave you with a decent chance to save par (or carding no worse than a bogey) even when you don’t quite execute it.

LET IT GLIDE TO STOP IT QUICKLY

As I said, you need to get to know your wedges, including the bounce for each club. Without getting too technical, it’s how much bulge is on the back side of the club, the spot I’m pointing to here. This design feature helps you slide the club under the ball and pop it up, which is why I want to use a high-loft, high-bounce club for chips that need to be in the air longer than they roll.

FIND YOUR COMFORT ZONE

Some things about chipping technique are fairly standard. For example, the farther forward you play the ball in your stance, the higher it will tend to fly. So keep that in mind if you like to play the ball back in your stance and hit down on it. It’s probably not going to get too far off the ground. But there are other things about chipping you can personalize.

Two of my preferences are to leave my glove on and to make a swing on a path that’s a little in to out in relation to the target. My path helps shallow the club and keeps me from chunking it. The glove? Not sure why I leave it on, it just feels comfortable. The point is, I own it. If you do what makes you comfortable, you’ll be more confident on the course.

Originally published on GolfDigest golfdigest.com/story/wedge-wise

The post Steal a tour-proven technique for better chip shots appeared first on Turnberry Country Club.

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jimmydemaret · 4 years

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sherwoodforestgolf · 6 years

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The 10 Best Golf Swing Tips!

1. Keep Your Hands Low

Limiting the height of the followthrough will effectively reduce the height of your shots. The lower the hands, the lower the ballflight. Moving the ball back in your stance or choosing a stronger club and trying to swing easy are other ways to accomplish the same thing, but they’re less reliable and more difficult to execute. Instead, keep your hands low in the finish (compare the two photos at right), and the trajectory of your shots will be lower.

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

Make sure you’re on-plane at the top of the swing to guarantee solid ballstriking and increased accuracy. Notice in the photo at left how my right forearm is parallel to my spine, my left wrist is flat and my elbows and arms form a tight triangle. These are indications that I’ve rotated my shoulders into the backswing perfectly.

3. Use Your Body For Power

Every good golfer knows that power comes from the body, not the arms. To learn to power the club with your body instead of your arms and hands, put the club behind the ball at address, with your body in a dead-stop position. Without taking a backswing, try to drag the ball into the air. If you’re a player who uses his or her hands to control the club, you’ll probably struggle at first. However, you’ll quickly find that once you start moving the club with your body, you’ll begin to get the ball in the air more consistently. This helps you turn fully through the ball on the downswing.

4. Hinge For Power

Amateurs have problems hitting crisp iron shots due to two fatal flaws. First, the takeaway tends to be too low to the ground, which delays the proper hinging of the wrists until too late in the backswing. Second, in a misguided effort to create power, the arms tend to swing too far in the backswing. This causes a breakdown in posture and usually leads to a reverse pivot. These flaws cause mis-hits and a lack of distance and control.

Several simple steps can be taken to gain control over the length of the swing in order to create more solid contact. At setup, a 45-degree angle should be present between the left arm and the clubshaft. This starts the swing with the wrists already hinged halfway to the necessary 90 degrees. During the takeaway, the hands should stay close to the ground while the clubhead moves up quickly. The goal is to get the left thumb pointing at the right shoulder as soon as possible. You’ll know you’ve achieved the proper wrist hinge when your left arm is parallel to the ground and the clubshaft is perpendicular to it. This sets the wrists much earlier in the backswing, eliminating the need to swing the arms too far at the top. The tendency to lose posture and reverse pivot will be removed with this more compact golf swing.

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

Some players like John Daly swing with their elbow flying out, while others like Sergio Garcia keep it in, proving that it’s possible to hit great shots with either method. However, my biomechanical studies indicate that the flying right elbow position favors a fade ballflight while a tucked right elbow promotes a draw. If you struggle with slicing or have always wanted to develop a power-rich draw, then the right elbow may hold the answer. Plus, when you let the right elbow fly, it has the tendency to raise the right shoulder skyward, which almost always causes an over-the-top move during the downswing and an array of bad results.

The key for long-term success is to eliminate the faulty shoulder tilt and right elbow position at the top. The most efficient right elbow position for keeping slices at bay and promoting a draw is on or just inside the seam running down the right side of your shirt. When you place your right elbow in this general area, it allows the shoulders to turn level to the spine, making it much easier to drop the club inside on the downswing for maximum power and improved control.

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

An open face at the point of contact can cause a slice. So, too, can a faulty swing path, even if your clubface is square to the target at impact. Slicers’ swing paths tend to come too much outside in (hookers, vice versa). All golfers need a path that comes just slightly from the inside. Try the Box Drill. Take the top half of a golf ball box and stand it on its side. Align the box parallel to your target line as shown. Strive to groove a path that allows the shaft to pass just over the box. For slicers, set up the box on the same line, but just forward of the golf ball. Don’t hit the box!

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

Hookers need to stop the clubface from closing too soon. To do this, adopt a thumbs-down approach to impact. In the photos at right, you clearly can see the red side of the paddle with both my thumbs pointing down toward the ground. This type of movement slows the closing of your clubface, thus eliminating shots that curve to the left. In the second photo, the blue side of the paddle shows. This thumbs-up position is what slicers need to attain (a closing of the clubface).

8. No Flips

“Flippiness” (the dreaded early release) occurs if your body gets too far in front of the golf ball. When this happens, your club will drastically lag, usually with an open face. Instinctually, your hands will work to close the face at impact. This level of timing is difficult even for the pros to execute on a consistent basis. What usually happens is the clubhead races in front of the shaft and strikes the ball with an open or a closed face, and typically on an ascending arc. In baseball, if you get too far in front, you’ll hit the ball to right field, unless you flip the wrists. The same is true in golf. You need to establish a firm left side to keep your head behind the ball and stop the flip. Photography by Warren Keating

Usual suspects

Enemy number one: Your body is out of position or out of balance. Your body senses this, so your hands take over to try to get the clubface squared at impact. However, this adjustment usually takes the form of a flick or flip of the wrists.

Fixing The Flip

Set up to an impact bag (or an old duffel bag stuffed with towels), push the clubhead into the bag and set your body into a good impact position. The lead arm and shaft should form one straight, vertical line with the head back. Make sure your lead leg is braced and that your hips are turned slightly open. Hold this position to create the proper feel.

9. Chipping

Although it’s tempting to hit chips indoors, all it takes is one broken lamp to realize that golf is an outdoor activity. Nevertheless, you can improve your chipping technique within the friendly confines of your own living room with the help of a wooden dowel or broken golf shaft.Take the dowel and place it through the hole on the top of the grip on a pitching wedge. Push the dowel roughly eight to 12 inches down the butt end of the shaft (a little Vaseline may help the dowel slide easier through the clubshaft). Two to three feet of the dowel should extend outward from the top of the grip.

Now, practice your chipping motion, making sure that your left wrist remains rigid as the clubface passes through the impact zone. If your left wrist breaks down (a flaw that can cause a lot of short-game misery), you’ll feel the protruding portion of the dowel hit against your left side. In addition to guarding against wrist breakdown, the dowel will also help you to establish the proper hands-forward position at address—a crucial factor for clean contact.

The dowel also will force you to keep your hands moving forward and swing the club down the target line in the followthrough. Once you master this drill, you’ll be able to get up and down with the best of them.

As you perform these drills, you’ll begin to see the value of other everyday items in helping you improve your game. Don’t be afraid to experiment—you may just develop the next must-have training aid.

10. Stay In Your K

Even good golfers with sound, grooved swings come untracked now and then, especially if they lose the flex in the back leg trying for distance. If you stiffen your back leg during the backswing, your body will likely tilt out of balance, making it tough to re-flex the knee just the right amount in time for impact. If you can play some great golf, but consistency is your problem, it might be that you need a dose of Special K. Here’s how it works.

K Pasa?

At address, the Special K is the angle formed in your back leg by the upper and lower leg. The manner in which you stand to the ball determines in large part how well you maintain your Special K during your swing.

The best advice is to establish an athletic, ready-to-move setup. Create this posture by bending forward from the hip sockets and back from the knees. When your back leg is flexed correctly, it creates room for your arms to swing and aligns the joints, one on top of the other. You should be able to draw a line from the top of the spine through the tip of the elbow and then from the tip of your knee down through the ball joint of your foot.

Keeping The K

To keep your swing level, this angle should be maintained from address to just after impact. A good way to experience what it feels like to keep the Special K while you swing is to look in a mirror while you take practice swings. Start with the setup position shown in the photo, below left. Hold it steady, then look in the mirror to connect the sight and feel of the correct back leg flex for that position. Next, swing to the top. Again, hold that position and use the mirror to see if you maintained the angle in your back leg.

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post The 10 Best Golf Swing Tips! appeared first on Sherwood Forest.

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culbertsonhillsgr · 6 years

Text

The 10 Best Golf Swing Tips!

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post The 10 Best Golf Swing Tips! appeared first on Culbertson Hills.

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noblesvilleparks · 6 years

Text

10 Best Golf Tips Ever!

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post 10 Best Golf Tips Ever! appeared first on Fox Prairie Golf Course & Forest Park Golf Course.

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melodyhillcc · 6 years

Text

10 Best Golf Swing Tips!

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post 10 Best Golf Swing Tips! appeared first on Melody Hill.

0 notes

dudleyhillgc · 6 years

Text

10 Best Golf Swing Tips!

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post 10 Best Golf Swing Tips! appeared first on Dudley Hill.

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hailridge · 6 years

Text

10 Best Swing Tips Ever

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Source: golftipsmag.com

The post 10 Best Swing Tips Ever appeared first on Hail Ridge Golf Course.

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makefieldhighlandsgc · 6 years

Text

Tune Up Your Game with these Swing Tips

10 Best Swing Tips Ever!

Follow These Drills To Shore Up Your All-Around Game

1. Keep Your Hands Low

2. Give Your Spine The Forearm

3. Use Your Body For Power

4. Hinge For Power

Creating the proper wrist hinge in the backswing will lead to noticeably better ballstriking and, as a result, more consistent distance and direction on all iron shots.

5. Give Your Slice The Elbow

6. Solid Plane = No Slice

7. Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

8. No Flips

Usual suspects

Fixing The Flip

9. Chipping

10. Stay In Your K

K Pasa?

Keeping The K

Setup

In the Special-K setup, the body has that athletic look common to many sports—a posture ready for action. At address, flex your back knee to discourage any up-and-down body motion while you swing. If you prepare yourself correctly, you won’t have to make any adjustments once your swing begins—all you have to do is rotate. Check your lower leg to make sure that it’s straight up and down (note that the crease in my pant leg is vertical). When the crease points toward the shaft, you know your lower leg is slanted at a bad angle. The reason the Special-K position is so important is that it unlocks the hips so they’re free to rotate. When the back leg locks and straightens at the knee, the back hip freezes, causing the body to tilt rather than turn.

Impact

Through impact, the trailing arm snaps straight, releasing power into the ball as the back knee kicks toward the target, still in its Special-K flex. Just after impact, both arms are straight, with the clubhead below the hands and the butt of the club pointing toward the middle of the body.

Backswing

When you keep the Special-K position during your backswing, it allows your elbows to stay level near the top of your swing. This, in turn, keeps the clubface from twisting out of position. Staying in your K makes your backswing more rounded and, instead of elevating the clubhead suddenly and tearing it off of its swing arc, the clubshaft travels on the correct swing path with a gradual, power-gathering ascent of the club.

Another good learning method is to practice swinging with a shaft placed in the ground and angled to match the slant of your upper leg. You won’t be able to see the shaft while you swing, but you’ll sense that it’s there, and that will help you maintain your Special K.

Once you establish the Special K at address, your goal is to maintain it all the way through your swing until after the ball has been launched. In order to do so, you’ll have to start your swing by shifting your weight into your trailing hip so you can make a level lower body turn. If you fail to make this crucial weight transfer, your trailing hip will likely float upward and destroy your Special K.

A second key occurs as you start back down to the ball. Here, establish your front hip as the rotational center of your swing. By focusing on the right hip, you’ll better prepare it to receive your forward weight shift, and it also allows you to maintain your back leg flex through the impact area and beyond.

SOURCE: Golftipsmag.com

The post Tune Up Your Game with these Swing Tips appeared first on Makefield Highlands.

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