Tom Holland Imagines

Bad at Golf

A/N: I haven't done a "meeting Tom" imagine in a while...so I figured I'd treat y'all! Sorry it's a day late, angels! <3

You hated golf. Always had. And not because it was a boring sport...in fact, you'd always found golf quite interesting. It was a thinking person's game and you liked to think. No, you hated it because you sucked at it.

You came from a golfing family: your dad had belonged to one of the most popular fairway clubs for as long as you could remember and whenever he went, he would try to drag you along. However, after your dozen first few failed tries at golf, you began refusing. It had been ten years since you'd been to the club last, and though you missed the ritzy atmosphere and the upscale classiness of the clubhouse and the whole establishment, you were glad to not have been forced to embarrass yourself on the course again.

That was, until you were forced to on one fine April moring.

Your father and his group of old-man golf gurus were having their first old-man golf guru party of the year, and since none of them had seen you since you were ten, your dad had decided to force you along to play with them. Needless to say, you were none too happy about it.

Dressed in your light-grey golf skirt and a navy blue zip-up polo with red accents, you trudged somewhat-miserably onto the bright-green teeing ground to begin the fifth hole of the course. Your father and his troupe of golf buddies had long-since left you behind under the precedence that you'd catch up. That wasn't happening. They were pros and you hadn't played in ten years.

You looked up at the Egyptian-blue sky and sighed. Not only were you embarrassed that you'd fallen behind, but even more people had begun to pass you. Desperately, you removed your driver from your golf bag and swung at your ball full-out. You missed. 

"GRRRR!" You shouted into the yellowing midmorning sun, shaking your driver in the air. You'd always hated Hole Five. It was the worst, even when you'd been playing as a child. The fairway was curved and the green seemed to be miles away. To be honest, you were thinking about skipping the hole entirely. But your pride held you back.

You teed up again, this time with an iron, and swung the club more diligently this time, but missed the ball yet again. What was worse, you'd dug a HUGE divot into the ground and had accidentally let go of your club. It flew three feet away and wedged itself into a treetrunk. 

"DAMMIT!" You shouted loudly, digging your fingers into your ponytail. A soft chuckle came from behind you. Great. Someone had been watching. That's just adding insult to injury.

"Bad game?" came a velvet-smooth voice from behind you. You recognized the British lilt, but couldn't recall where from, and were too embarrassed to turn around right away.

Forcing yourself to gather your courage, however, you faced the man that had spoken.

"To be honest, I'm just bad at golf," you laughed sadly. You looked up at the man who had spoken. He wore a red polo and sleek black golf pants, as well as a matching baseball cap. The face underneath that baseball cap made the whole situation a million times worse. It was Tom Holland. The Tom Holland. The same Tom Holland you'd been completely crazy over for over five years. The same Tom Holland who adored golf almost as much as life itself.

"I don't think so," Tom replied. He set his bag down and walked over to you, smiling. "You're just out of practice, it looks like." Then, stretching out his non-gloved hand, he said. "Tom Holland."

"I know," you said rather stupidly, shaking it. Then recovering, "I'm Y/N, Y/L/N. I'm a huge fan of yours."

"Well thank you. And thanks for not being one of those crazy ones who faints the second I speak," he chuckled. Then, gesturing to your iron stuck in the tree, "Want some help with that?"

You'd been so busy freaking out over meeting your idol, you'd forgotten about golfing entirely.

"Oh! Actually, yeah, that'd be great." You laughed. You actually laughed and suddenly it occurred to you you that the whole situation was actually quite hilarious. Tom strolled over and pulled the club out of the tree with a grunt.

"Strong swing," he laughed, handing you your iron in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Thanks," you chuckled. "I guess I forgot what to do with that strength after ten years without being on a course."

"It happens. Don't worry."

"I'm sorry I've held you up...you can pass me if you'd like. I'm just bad at golf," you said sheepishly, blushing at the ground.

"You haven't held me up at all! I'm just here for the fun of it. And quit saying you're bad at golf! Your swing just needs a little tweak. Here...." Tom strolled over and positioned himself behind you. He adjusted your grip on the club a little bit, then placed his hands on your hips. You jumped with surprise and a blush crept to your cheeks. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have been so forward."

"No! It's just..." You didn't want to admit the electric shock from his hands was as heavenly as it had been. "You just startled me. That's all." Tom resumed his position at your hips and gently pulled them backwards, adjusting your stance. Then, he folded himself over your body and gripped the club with his hands over yours.

"Together, okay?" You nodded, too choked with adrenaline to be able to speak. "Okay. One...two...three." You swung, Tom's arms guiding yours where you went wrong, and the club made a satisfying CLACK as hit made contact with the ball. The shot went sailing over the fairway and landed neatly on the green.

"Oh myy... Oh my god. OOH MY GOD!" you squealed. "I've never made it past the fairway!" You jumped for joy and threw your arms around Tom's neck, laughing. He laughed too and returned the embrace.

"See? You're great at golf. You just needed a little help," he told you, smiling widely.

"Thank you, Tom." You said sincerely.

"Of course! Hey...do you mind if I stick with you the rest of the game? I'm here by myself and I could use the company." Your face split into a grin as you returned your iron to your golf bag. Tom Holland wants to hang out with me?

"I'd love that! As long as you're sure I won't hold you up."

"Well, you're a pro now! I should be the one worried," he replied, winking.

Maybe golf wasn't so bad.