#tom holland ask

[noodles-and-tea]

hi i love your art style so much! i saw some of your marvel fanart and i was wondering if you enjoyed the spiderman trilogy? could you please draw matt murdock and peter parker? :D they're my favorite characters and i was so happy to see them interact in far from home! it's okay if you don't want to, either way, have a nice day!

Spider-Man is my favourite super hero!! I haven’t seen much of Daredevil but this FEELS like something that might happen

[tasenwrobots]

I feel like Casey jr would drop apocalypse lore and spoilers accidentally all the time without even intending to. One minute it would be fine and then he'd say something like:

"Mikey, just levitate to grab it off from the ceiling"

And everyone is like:

I had to draw this

Also reminds me of this one

[boltsinmycereal]

“Clearly Zac Brown Has A Type”

Yeah twi- *gunshots*

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi again! Could you possibly do a tom fic where the reader is Tom's gf but she's not famous or anything and ehe he's on the Jimmy Fallon show promoting bero she's there backstage. Jimmy kindly asks Tom if it would be ok to bring her out for the rest of the interview so tom goes backstage to escort the reader by the hand and Jimmy includes her in the interview

I tried my best. I literally wrote three drafts for this one. Then combined it. Still not so happy with the outcome but it is what it is.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° . •°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . °

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → none

Summary → Tom taking you on the stage of Jimmy Fallon show.

The backstage green room was cozy and buzzing with quiet activity as you sipped on a cup of tea. The hum of the Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon echoed faintly through the walls, and you couldn’t help but smile watching Tom on the monitor.

He was in his element—charming, quick-witted, and completely at ease. Promoting BERO, his non-alcoholic beer, was something he was clearly passionate about, and it showed in every word he spoke.

“And there he goes,” you murmured to yourself, watching as Tom made the audience laugh again. You’d been with him long enough to know how natural this all was for him, and honestly, it was something you’d grown used to, too.

You adjusted the hem of your simple but elegant outfit, making sure everything was in place. Even though you weren’t famous, you’d walked enough red carpets with Tom to feel comfortable in the spotlight when the occasion called for it.

On the screen, Jimmy grinned at Tom. “Tom, congratulations on BERO! I’ve tried it, and I have to say, it’s really good.”

“Thanks, mate,” Tom said, flashing that boyish smile that made your heart flutter. “It’s been a labor of love. I wanted to create something for everyone to enjoy, and the feedback has been amazing so far.”

Jimmy leaned forward conspiratorially. “Now, I heard from a little birdie that your girlfriend is here backstage tonight?”

Tom’s face lit up at the mention of you. “She is, yeah. She’s been my biggest supporter. She’s been with me every step of the way.”

Jimmy’s grin widened. “Do you think she’d be okay with joining us out here for the rest of the interview?”

Tom laughed, glancing off-camera toward the backstage area, as if he could see you. “Let me go ask her. She’s used to this sort of thing, but I always like to check.”

The audience chuckled as Tom stood and walked offstage. Moments later, the door to the green room opened, and there he was, grinning like a kid at Christmas.

“Hey, darling,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Jimmy wants to bring you out. Feel up to it?”

You tilted your head, amused by the way he asked like you hadn’t done this a dozen times before. “Do I have a choice, or will you just drag me into it like always?”

Tom smirked. “I’d never force you… but I do think the audience would love you. And I’d love to have you out there with me.”

You sighed dramatically but smiled, standing up. “Fine. But only because I don’t trust you to keep any secrets without me.”

He laughed, reaching for your hand. “Fair enough.”

As he led you toward the stage, you squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You really don’t have to check with me every time, you know. I’ve got this.”

“I know,” he said, glancing back at you with a warm smile. “But I like to make sure. Besides, you keep me in line.”

The stage lights were blinding as Tom guided you out, and the audience erupted into cheers. You smiled confidently, giving a small wave as Jimmy stood to greet you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the lovely Y/n Y/l/n!” Jimmy announced, shaking your hand. “Welcome! Thanks for joining us.”

“Thanks for having me,” you said, settling onto the couch next to Tom. “He didn’t really give me much of a choice, though.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy chuckled. “Tom’s persuasive, huh?”

“Very,” you replied, shooting Tom a playful look.

“Oi,” Tom said, feigning indignation. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Jimmy leaned back with a grin. “So, tell me—what’s it like dating one of the biggest stars in Hollywood? And don’t hold back. We want all the juicy details.”

You laughed, glancing at Tom, who gave you an encouraging nod. “Honestly, it’s not as crazy as people think. Sure, there are red carpets and press tours, but at the end of the day, he’s just Tom. He still leaves his socks everywhere and forgets to replace the toilet paper.”

Jimmy beamed at you. “So, you and Tom have been dating for two years now, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you confirmed, glancing at Tom, who smiled proudly.

“And you’ve known each other since childhood?”

Tom jumped in, eager to share. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. She used to boss me around when we were kids.”

You shot him a playful look. “Only because you deserved it.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Bossing Spider-Man around? That’s impressive.”

The audience roared with laughter, and Tom groaned, running a hand down his face. “Why do I feel like this is going to turn into a roast?”

“Because it probably will,” you teased, nudging him lightly.

Jimmy laughed, clearly enjoying the dynamic. “You two are adorable. So, Tom, does she ever help with your projects? I feel like she’d be the perfect taste tester for BERO.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tom said, turning to you. “She has better taste than I do, so I always run things by her first. She’s brutally honest, though.”

You shrugged. “I’m just not going to let you release something that isn’t perfect.”

“And that,” Tom said, gesturing to you, “is why I keep her around.”

The rest of the interview was filled with laughter, lighthearted banter, and a few endearing moments that left the audience swooning. By the time it was over, you realized just how much fun you’d had.

As you walked offstage hand-in-hand with Tom, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You were amazing, as always.”

You smirked. “Told you I’ve got this.”

Tom chuckled, pulling you close as the noise of the audience faded behind you. “Remind me to bring you to every interview from now on.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[fsugirl1]

She really does love gripping onto his arms

Can you blame her @sublimeblahblahblah?

I wouldn’t let go.

[justice-maul]

Can I request Tom's peter parker x male reader

Peter hasn't seen his bf for a while and when they finally meet they try to have sex and make out but are getting interrupted by the avengers every single time. Getting Peter annoyed little by little until he finally reaches his limits and tells the avengers to leave them alone since he is going to get fucked by his bf and doesn't want any interruptions

With a breeding kink, eating out peters ass, playing with peters pecs, praising kink

Thanks :)

«Temptation» Tom!Peter Parker x Top Avenger Male Reader

Word count: 1,366

Author Note: thank you anon I love this request so far it’s one of my favs! English isn’t my first language!

WE WERE JUST AT 400 A FEW DAYS AGO AND NOW I HAVE NEAR 800 FOLLOWERS?!?! YALL ARE THE BEST I LITERALLY LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH ❤️

Warning(s)⚠: Sub Peter, breeding, rim job, breast/pec play, nipple play, p in a, and of course, praise

It’s been so long since Peter has seen let alone touched his boyfriend, with the constant missions you two weren’t able to do anything together but finally, you two were both free and he was desperate to just feel you…

You two were in his room on the bed with Peter in your lap straddling your waist, his hands rested on your shoulders, your lips on his just as desperate to taste him as he was eager, you gently sucked his lip between your teeth, nipping at his bottom lip signaling him to open his mouth just enough for your tongue to slide into his warm wet mouth

But suddenly there’s a knock on the door and both of you are forced to pull away as Tony comes in to grab Peter for yet another time-consuming project, and it wasn’t the first time the Avengers had cock blocked both of you

Last week you were on top of him your hands trailed down his pants and felt up the fat of his ass as he let out a soft noise of pleasure in your mouth before Sam sent you a text to help him train. After a mission, Peter and you were desperate to feel each other as he palmed your cock but Steve sent out a message to all the Avengers for a long meeting

You can see that it was starting to get to Peter so one day as you two were on your couch in your bedroom you gently gripped his thigh moving your hand deeper in between as you began to kiss his neck in order to calm down his nerves, he let out a little whine as he’s been needy to just feel any sexual contact these past few weeks

Your lips gently sucked on his neck, pressing in hickeys to his skin as you began to leave light bites along his nape letting your teeth graze his skin causing him to let out louder noises but just as your hand moved to his pants one by one the avengers all came into the room

You saw Peter’s hands clench into fists as he watched all the Avengers swarm into your room and began to talk as if you two weren’t even there trying to spend time together alone and he couldn’t help but just snap, finally reaching his limit and stood up

“All of you, get out NOW!”

He yelled, it was unusual to see Peter yelling at anyone but it was clear he was pissed. “You have been bothering us all week can’t you leave for one day?!” He snapped and slowly the Avengers began to leave and he slammed the door shut behind them making it clear that he didn’t want anyone to disturb him

He let out a sigh of relief and turned back to you and you couldn’t help but just chuckle and you grab his waist pulling him in against your body and smashing your lips against his and soon you two were on the couch again making out, your hands snaked up his sweater lifting up right above his chest and began to gently grope his pecs

"Your body's so beautiful baby" You whispered against his lips causing him to shudder as your hands felt up his pecs gently squeezing and groping the fat, Peter was always incredibly sensitive and his chest was one of his weakest areas, especially his pink little buds

You pushed him against the couch getting in between his thighs as you began to grope his chest, feeling the supple skin against your fingers through his sweater was already driving you crazy and causing him to make the most pornographic noises only by you just you barely touching his chest

“Keep making those pretty noises for me sweetheart," you manhandled him on his knees with his ass raised in the air and removed both his pants and underwear, his sweater being the only piece of clothing left. He hid his face on the armrest as you grabbed handfuls of his cheeks

You waste no time in spreading his plump ass making his pink hole twitch as your breath fans over it jerking forward when you press your tongue flat against his rim and you began to take long strips along his hole making him whine pathetically which turned into a string of cusses as you pushed your tongue inside his slick heat

You can barely make out anything he was babbling but you continued to fuck his hole with your tongue, pulling back for a moment, you licked your own fingers, coating them in saliva before pushing two inside of his heat, your tongue joining them, spreading him open while enjoying the way he arched his back against your face

Your cock throbbed and harden between your legs, leaking precum into your boxers as it begged for attention when you finally were able to scissor and put three fingers inside him, is when you decided he was ready and pulled your fingers out of his cunt unbuckling your belt

When Peter saw you pull out your hardening length he felt a wave of nervousness and excitement coursing through him as you gently flipped him over on his back. Slowly, you began pushing into him inch by inch, “You're taking me in so well Peter, just relax for me baby, I’ll always take care of you,” you continued to praise him even as you bottomed out letting him adjust to your size

“I’m ready… you can start moving now…” he said nervously but you both knew when it came down to it he wasn’t shy about wanting your cock at all “Fuck, you feel so good,” you groaned feeling his tightness wrap around you, you began moving slowly inside of him his eyes locked in yours the entire time as you made love to him

“You’re so fucking beautiful Pete,” you added, your voice full of praise making him moan softly “I can’t believe I get to be with you like this…” Wordlessly, Peter pulled you into a passionate, heated kiss. You moaned into his mouth feeling your passion for him growing with each passing moment.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as you continued to thrust into his sloppy hole. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sexy," you whispered against his lips making him whimper. "I can't get enough of you." You deepened the kiss, your tongue tangling with his. Peter’s brain turning to mush as he whispered “I love you” over and over again, against your lips

“I love you too baby, M’gonna fill you up so fucking good, gonna make you mine…” your voice thick with lust as you began to thrust harder and faster, slamming your body into his with each movement making him babble and moan loudly from your length dragging along his heat

“Come on baby, let me hear you scream,” you added with your eyes locked on his “Let me hear how much you want it.” He yelled out wordless moans, screaming for your cock so loudly there was no way the Avengers hadn’t heard you two now but neither of you cared at the moment

Your hips moved faster, fucking into him relentlessly “Gonna cum, gonna cum, f-fuck!” You felt him tighten around your hardness making you groan loudly as he screamed, your thrusts becoming sloppy as you both came together, feeling your cum gushing out of your cock filling him up, and his shooting out over his own stomach

“Feel so full…” he said breathlessly, you put a hand over his lower abdomen and pulled out, watching as his cum seeped out of his messy hole, “That was just what I needed,” he said panting and resting his head on the armrest as you chuckled and gently helped him to the shower to get you both cleaned up.

Let’s just say when you guys both came out of your room no one made eye contact and made sure to always ask you two if you were busy before bothering either of you, some of the Avengers made jokes about it (especially Tony) and every time they did Peter would groan and hide us head in his hands making you laugh

If you want more… check out my Masterlist

[sunhlland]

He's so "old money" and i love the color.

prada maybe...?

[taleofharrison]

Sport!AU anyone?

[joker-daughter]

I mean I'm grateful for this article but where was this a few years ago???😭😭

https://comicbook.com/tv-shows/news/tom-holland-best-performance-the-crowded-room-apple-tv/

That was a nice read 🥲

The following passage stuck out to me the most:

His performance is gentle and thoughtful, never slipping into clichés. And honestly, The Crowded Room might be the most important work of his career so far because of how emotionally powerful it is and how much it shows his growth as an artist. While a lot of actors are sticking to the safety of franchises, Holland took a big risk. And he paid a price for it. But you can’t deny that he came out of it stronger, more versatile, and way more interesting. If you’ve been following his career since The Impossible, it’s actually kind of moving to see how far he’s come – and how much more he clearly has to offer.

[hurtspideyparker]

I’m sending this because I saw your post on the tags. You’re not a Tom Holland fan, you’re a Peter Parker/Spider-Man fan. You only talk about this character on your blog. You’re a Marvel stan. I doubt you can't even name more than 5 Tom projects that aren't Spider-Man movies. You’re not obssesed with him, you’re obssesed with his version of the character which is not the same as being a fan of the actor and support his career outside of one thing.

Well this is a very rude way of supporting someone who only promotes kindness and adores his work with Spider-Man.

First of all, this is a Marvel side blog. So I only post about Marvel and adjacent things on here, in my personal life and other blogs I do have other interests. I will also say I have a hyperfixation on Marvel, especially the MCU, and my favourite character since I was a child is Spider-Man. So yes, that is my favourite Tom Holland role, he is my favourite spidey, so my blog focuses on him a lot. And the thing about hyperfixations is 1. I can't control it and 2. I am literally mentally ill about him.

But I do absolutely adore Tom Holland as an actor, so I'll take this as an opportunity to gush about some of my favourite projects of his!

The Crowded Room: If someone says Tom isn't a good actor I know for a fact they've never seen this. The amount of roles he plays in this, heavy and variable, was remarkable. Switching between the accents, mannerisms, even down to the way they stand. I was in complete awe, especially when he would switch between them without cuts. I watched an interview where he said he doesn't memorize scripts completely, but he learns the characters so deeply that he knows what they'd say and do anyways. To do that in a role like this just shows how seriously he takes the art. The story in and of itself was very moving, well written, and paced beautifully. I loved all the characters and how they fit together in order to protect Danny. 10/10 would recommend, there is heavy subject matter and I cried when he was on the stand and they didn't believe he had DID (especially when the man who loved him also started doubting if Ariana was real), and then again when he said Adam was him :(

Cherry: Incredibly real story, hurt my heart that people go through this. Tom did a fantastic job being respectful of the subject matter—a veteran with PTSD who falls into drug addiction and crime to fuel it. You can see his character harden over time, and I have a crush on the version of Cherry when he was in college hehe. The way he loves Emily so intensely through it all, how reverently he treats her, and his total breakdown when she overdoses. He rather have her clean and away from him than be together in their suffering. And it has a happy ending! Ngl Tom with a mustache made me giggle, just looks so silly lol. I know he can't grow facial hair to save his life

Uncharted: While Tom is fantastic in those heavy roles and I love seeing him cry, let my boy have fun! This movie was a great action movie, and idc about all the video game nerds who says he isn't a good fit for Nathan. He might not be Nathan, but he is BORN for action babyyy. Suave, intelligent, and sweet. I know he had a lot of fun with this role and is a big fan of the game, so happy he got it! I am still hoping for a sequel because I need Tom in more action and light-hearted films

Chaos Walking: The sci-fi aspects of this are really cool, and a unique way of commentating on patriarchy. The plot twists were cool and Todd Hewitt is my sweet little feminist king. He's so funny to me, bro is trying his best, I definitely view Todd as an underdog who has all this responsibility put on him. World building and characterization was sick, wish it got a bit more love

The Devil All the Time: Okay this movie was objectively really good but SO WEIRD? I felt very discomfited after. But Tom's character was definitely my absolute favourite, what a terrible journey he goes through. Even though the movie was odd Tom made it all worth it. A genuinely good guy pushed to do terrible things because of other terrible people, like yes you get em king!!! Had me on the edge of my seat

The Impossible: The fact that this was his first film!? SO INTENSE, and yet he did fantastic. Tom Holland didn't really plan to be an actor, he truly just had greatness thrust upon him. Scooped up as Billy Elliot, then scouted as Lucas in this film. He genuinely has a natural talent for this stuff, this movie is based off a true story and seeing the devastation and little Tom covered in dirt and grieving his family that is still alive, oh gosh. Heavy but the happy ending will make you cry.

Can I also say lip sync battle as one of my fave projects? I need this man to do more dancing or at least physical work. So enamored with him and his confidence. It's interesting looking back on that video after a recent interview he spoke about how young he was and eager, but as an adult (and the adults around him at the time) being more hesitant and cautious about putting yourself in the media like that. It's been cool watching Tom mature!

Films I would not recommend as a Tom Holland fan:

How I Live Now: Tom isn't in it that much, and it was a really slow, disturbing film. I felt sad, gross, and uncomfortable watching it, just for Tom to barely be seen. Do not recommend

Edge of Winter: Also a very disturbing film. Tom was in it more, but it's mostly a slow horror film without much closure, and Tom's character isn't that interesting. Bland and uncomfortable

Now I'm not interested in his animated voice work, and I don't like period pieces, so I haven't seen those films. But if they're great enough and Tom has a good role in them pls feel free to recommend!

I just want to say you don't need to hit a quota to be a fan of someone. If you like one song, book, film... you're allowed to call yourself a fan! Gate-keeping art is not cool, and even if someone only likes one character then that sure is one fantastic character. Spider-Man is something very important to Tom; it's a big part of his career, he met his future wife through it, it changed his world to become his childhood hero. And his depiction of Spider-Man is something very special to me. It isn't just the character, it's him; the freshness, the awkwardness, the naivety he brought to Peter that Andrew and Tobey didn't choose to do. It is such a fantastic character to show off his physical skills, humour, his range from childishness to the grief and fury. You look at him in Homecoming and compare it to NWH and you see how Tom has evolved the character. I'm in awe of every thing Tom Holland does, but Spider-Man is 6 huge projects of his and to be more, which shows so much of his skill.

I also love his interviews. He's a very down to Earth, sweet, and genuine man. I think he's funny, charismatic and confident, but has fantastic work-life balance. I watched that 2 hour interview of his talking about spirituality and mental health, and seeing where he is now with Bero after his struggles with alcohol warms my heart. I wish I could have seen his Romeo & Juliet production, but in the least I think it was a nice break from the big screen for him. And best believe I was fighting for my life in comment sections for his costars—the racism was disgusting. One day that man is going to be a father and we'll never see him again, and I'll support that too. Can't wait for his Nolan film, can't believe how far he's come so quickly, and oh yes, I'm most excited for more Spider-Man films ;)

[flodaya]

two insanely hot people like no one is doing it like them 🥵

a bisexual dream tbh

[youandtom2]

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

[fsugirl1]

I can’t imagine how excited they both are to see each other lol

Does it make me a bad person if I say I can’t stop imagining it?

[tomdayaqna]

If you go to a YT channel you can view their videos in order of most popular :)

Amazing

Ladbible owe Tom a lot

[rosesradio]

Hello! I saw that you were taking requests. Would you mind writing a Peter Parker x Reader fic where he is just absolutely head over heels and the reader just doesn't know. The two are good friends so when the reader needs a date for a destination wedding she asks Peter. Cue the classic tropes. ✨💕

hii, here you go !! 🫶 i put in all the best tropes, including friends to lovers, fake dating, only one bed, he fell first she fell harder…it’s a lot, and it was so fun to write. thanks for the request & reblogs are appreciated <3

my inbox is open, please read my pinned!

word count: 4,105

warnings: light swearing, some sexually suggestive jokes

The Wedding Date

"Hm," you hummed, pacing from one side of your living room to the other. In balancing out your racing train of thought, you had picked up the giant stuffed teddy bear that rested on your couch. "Hm, hm, hm..."

"Hm," Peter echoed, narrowing his eyes as he watched you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Can I ask what's bothering you, or am I gonna be left in the dark while you keep humming for another five minutes?"

"Ugh, I'm sorry," you sighed, forcing yourself to stand still and hug the giant bear to your chest. It was then that you remembered how you got this bear, Teddy, in the first place: Peter won it for you at a carnival. He must have played the stupid, rigged ring toss half a dozen times before he finally scored the big prize. He was such a gentleman, too, holding on to it while you got cotton candy for the both of you.

He was the most selfless person you knew. When you saw behind the Spider-Man mask after two years of knowing Peter, you weren't at all surprised; anyone else with his abilities would have given in to darker fantasies, though he had none.

If Peter was always so willing to be helpful, he could probably do you this tiny favor, right?

"I was just thinking," you started. "I got this wedding invitation recently from my friend, Lindsey—"

"A wedding?" Peter asked with raised brows. "On—on purpose?"

Noticing his smile, you rolled your eyes and flipped him the bird, unable to help but smile yourself. "I know, we're at that age—we're gonna get a ton of wedding invitations, and each one is gonna prompt some sort of crisis where we feel both too old and too young for any major milestone."

"Wow," Peter whistled. "That's so wise—are you seeing a therapist?" Without waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, he continued: "You know, you could avoid a lot of crises if you just didn't have friends." He gestured to himself.

You looked at him incredulously. "You have me—and Ned. And MJ."

Peter hesitated. His brows furrowed, and he avoided your eyes. "Sure, but...I mean...you're not even close to getting married. You don't even have a boyfriend."

"Gee, thanks."

"Sorry," Peter cringed. "I didn't mean—"

"That's okay," you said. "You kinda have a point. That's actually what I've been contemplating. My plus one."

Peter's brows rose. "You need a wedding date."

You nodded. "I don't have to have one—and I'd ordinarily just say screw it and tell MJ to put on her best suit, but..." you shrugged, putting Teddy back down on the couch. "Lindsey is..." you sighed. "She means well, but she can be a bit...uppity about my love life? She always points out when I don't have a boyfriend, and it obviously makes me feel...well, like crap."

"Again, sorry," Peter said, grabbing Teddy and cuddling into him. It was honestly a cute picture—not that you would admit that to your best friend. "But you don't have to find a date to the wedding unless you really want one, you know? You shouldn't do anything just because of what other people are gonna think."

You smiled slightly. "Peter, you're starting to sound like an after-school special again." You paused. "But you have a point...I don't want the stress of finding some random guy for the wedding, and I can't bring just a friend..." you lit up. "So, I could make my own boyfriend! Peter, you're a boy, right?"

Peter laughed softly. "Last time I checked, yeah."

"Could you..." you started. "I mean, I don't want to take advantage. You're too kind for your own good sometimes. But, if you wanted to go to a beautiful destination wedding on a beach at Prince Edward Island..." you rocked on your feet from heel to toe. "You could maybe play the role of my fake boyfriend?"

Peter blinked, the smile not leaving his face, though his eyes appeared distant. "I don't know, y/n. That seems—"

"You're right," you shook your head. "It's not right of me to ask that—you need to be here because Spider-Man needs to be here. Forget I said anything. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll download Tinder again..." although you tried not to, you made a face at the thought of plunging back into the cesspool.

Peter gave you a strange look, then, as if there were some sort of misunderstanding. You didn't like that—understanding social cues were a hit or miss, but communication with Peter was usually crystal clear.

"Wait," Peter shook his head with a sigh. "It's a beach wedding, right? At some point, they're probably gonna have popcorn shrimp..."

You smiled slightly. "Are you seriously thinking of going on a four hour plane ride there and back, pretending to be my boyfriend, and giving up your entire weekend just for...popcorn shrimp?"

"Yeah, of course," Peter nodded. "I've gone on trips and taken time away from being Spider-Man before. If anything really goes wrong, I can find my way back and try to help. Besides, I don't want this Lindsey girl to make you feel bad. I might not be the best looking stand-in boyfriend, but at least I'm here with fast and free shipping." He did some half-hearted jazz hands, though his smile was genuine.

"You're the best, Peter!" You sat down beside him, pulling him (and Teddy) into a hug. "And don't you dare talk bad about yourself. We're gonna go to that wedding with two missions—one, we're gonna make everyone jealous with what a cute fake couple we are. Two, we're gonna get you as much popcorn shrimp as you want."

"Sounds like a plan," Peter agreed, leaning his head against yours.

You could only hope that he really wanted to do this. You remembered all of those faux-sweet comments Lindsey would make about how she worried about you being alone. With Peter's help, you'd make even those newlyweds jealous, all the while making sure you and Peter had the times of your life on the trip.

———

The first bump in the road hit you when you arrived at the hotel room.

The flight there was nice; you and Peter watched movies and played games. In the last hour, you had drifted off to sleep leaning against Peter's shoulder. That was a little embarrassing to wake up to, but it was nothing that hadn't happened before.

This had never happened before.

"One bed," Peter commented blankly, though the surprise across his features was clear.

"You've gotta be kidding me," you huffed, dropping your bags down onto the massive bed. The place appeared pretty romantic, with a plush red duvet and a light dimmer. There was even a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne, and—

"Chocolate dipped strawberries," you lit up, going over to the display and reading the adjoining card.

"Are we in the wrong room?" Peter asked. "'Cause I can go back down and—"

You shook your head, holding up the card with a smile. "For y/n and Peter, Compliments of Lindsey and Matt. You know, this doesn't surprise me at all. Lindsey's always had money, and she likes to keep up her appearances."

Peter narrowed his eyes, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched you eat one of the strawberries. "I'm still not sure if we're supposed to like Lindsey."

You shrugged. "She's got her flaws, but I like her. Almost as much as I like these strawberries. Almost." You offered him a strawberry, expecting him to take it. What you did not expect was for him to lean forward and take the strawberry with his mouth. Your face flushed, though you weren't sure why. You and Peter had done that with fries before, why were strawberries different? It was probably just the romantic vibe of the room, with the dimmed lights and the—

"So, the bed," you tried to distract yourself from that odd train of thought. "I can try to get a different room, but Lindsey might get wind of it and start asking questions...it's fine." You shook your head, offering Peter a smile. "I can just sleep on the floor."

Peter laughed. "You'd sleep on the floor? No way. This isn't like crashing at Ned's studio after a night out. This is a nice vacation. I'll take the floor."

"I don't want you on the floor," you protested.

"I don't think anyone wants either of us on the floor, that's why we're here fake-dating each other." Peter pointed out. He said the joke quickly, as if not thinking about it, and his cheeks grew pink.

You snickered. You knew Peter hated when he let the dirty jokes in his mind get ahead of him, but it was something that endeared you to him. He wasn't always Spider-Man the superhero, or Peter Parker, dressed like a Mormon to meet your parents for brunch. Sometimes he was almost...normal.

You knew more than anything that nothing could be normal for Peter.

You rolled your eyes and finally settled. "If it's not pushing any boundaries, maybe we could just...share the bed? If you promise not to sleep naked, I mean."

You don't know what prompted you to say that...or to picture it, though you quickly tried to dismiss it.

"Okay," Peter's voice was surprisingly soft at the suggestion. "I mean, just a couple hours ago you were drooling on my shoulder on the plane, so—"

"I said I was sorry!" You interjected, your own cheeks heating.

Peter grinned. "You know, I think I brought my nightgown in case this exact thing—" the rest of his smartass reply was cut off as you pushed a pillow into his face, only able to hear a muffled laugh.

———

You were too focused on your own breathing. It was unnatural.

You rolled over to see the clock on Peter's side. 12:54 AM. You huffed, trying to nuzzle into your pillow. You'd had a couple glasses of champagne with Peter, which typically would have put you to sleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, but...

But...

"Can't sleep?"

Peter's voice was soft and low with sleep, though not so much so that you worried you had woken him. You couldn't see him in the dark, though you could picture him—tussled brown hair, his baggy I Survived NYC shirt wrinkled against the sheets.

You always took notice of him in the mornings—when you spent the night at his place or vice versa, and he'd make you both waffles. You could appreciate a gesture from a friend, but in those strange moments, he seemed almost like a boyfriend.

"No," you replied. "Not used to the space, I guess."

Peter nodded—you could hear it against the sheets in the darkness. "I get that—'m living the dream, though. Couldn't tell you the last time I had a girl in my bed."

"Gross," you jabbed him in the ribs, and you smiled at the sound of his snicker. "In your dreams, Parker."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter murmured. "I do kinda miss it, though. I don't have a lot of...experience, but that's not what I'm thinking about..."

In that moment, you were sure Peter was talking some half-asleep nonsense. You were tempted to ask him some silly questions, like what his dream blunt rotation would be, or what his social security number was.

Instead, you pressed on, curious. "What are you thinking about, then?"

"Mm," Peter hummed, hesitant even in this careless state. "Just...being in bed with someone, holding them close, feeling 'em breathe. Knowing that you're keeping them safe. Knowing they want you there, that you're not a screwup..."

Something in Peter's tone made your eyes sting. "You're nowhere near a screwup. You're a hero."

"I know..." he let out a soft breath, though something in it sounded heavy.

"I was friends with you before I knew about that, anyway," you pointed out. "Because you're more than a hero. You're Peter. That matters so much more than anything else you do. Anybody would be lucky to be in bed with you...even if you have the dirty mind of a teen about it." You grinned.

Peter let out another breath, this one of laughter. A comfortable silence spanned between the pair of you.

It was silent for so long, you thought Peter had fallen asleep.

"Do you," he started, and you listened curiously. "Would you be okay with maybe cuddling with me? We've done it on the couch with movies, but I know this is different, so..."

"Yeah," you replied in agreement. "I mean, um—yeah, of course, that's fine..."

Slowly, a little awkwardly in the dark, Peter reached out, his fingertips delicate against your skin as he sought you out. He found your forearm first, reaching up and tracing along the palm of your hand.

"Sorry," his voice seemed much more awake now, much more aware. "If you could maybe just..."

You nodded even though he couldn't see you in the dark. You rolled onto your other side, facing away from him as you pushed back against him. You felt the warmth of his chest against your back, the feeling all-too-overwhelming. The feeling increased tenfold when, all implications disregarded, Peter wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his breath against the crook of your neck.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been in bed with someone like this.

You let out a soft, shaky breath of your own, trying to calm the sudden bout of nervous butterflies in your stomach that now fluttered with no bounds. Strangely enough, that feeling only lasted for a moment. The last thing you remember was the feeling of Peter's thigh moving against yours, wrapping you closer in the embrace. It was then that comfort overwhelmed you, and you found yourself drifting off to sleep easier than ever before.

———

The morning light was bright despite the blinds, waking you up as you hummed in protest.

You and Peter were still cuddled close together, though the embrace had lost all structure. His leg was slung over your waist, his hand somehow cupping the side of your face. He was nuzzled between your shoulder blades, letting out warm breaths against your skin that woke you up far more than the brightness.

"Peter," your voice was low in your drowsiness. You rolled away before stretching. "You were a second away from putting me in a headlock..."

"Mm," Peter hummed. "Sorry..." he yawned, blinking as he processed what was going on. Something then seemed to click within him, and he stiffened like a deer in headlights. "Shit, sorry!" He repeated, his cheeks flushing. "Man, I didn't mean to do that..."

"It's okay," you insisted. "Why are you all jumpy? What, were you worried about your super-strength or something?"

"Oh, uh," Peter avoided your eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly it—I mean, I could crush a watermelon between my thighs without even worrying—without even thinking about it, so..." he lifted his arm up to flex, which you glanced at with raised brows. He was no Captain America, but he was built well enough.

"Okay," you said slowly. Realization then dawned on you, and you sighed, your cheeks heating. “Is it that we, like, cuddled last night? Because that didn't have to mean anything—we both just like cuddling."

"Sure," Peter nodded. "I mean, I cuddled with Ned all the time in high school, but..."

"But?" You inquired.

"No but!" Peter shook his head. "No but at all, an absolute flat-ass situation..." he paused to catch his breath before nodding, his mouth pressed in a thin line. "I'm gonna go get ready."

He then went and locked himself in the bathroom. You looked at the door, then over to the closet where his clothes were, wondering what the heck had gotten into Peter.

———

Luckily, Peter seemed calmed down by the reception. The ceremony must have bored him; he kept glancing at you the entire time, as well as shaking his leg until you put a hand on his knee to still him.

Despite the social atmosphere, Peter seemed to open up more. After the first few times of introducing himself as "y/n's boyfriend", the obvious looks in your direction slowed to a stop. That did not stop his awkwardness, though. As endeared as you were to him, you were glad he never had to do any acting to save the world.

"Excuse me," a small voice piped up. It wasn't the umpteenth elderly couple doing their rounds of greetings, but instead a little girl of about six years old. She wore a pastel pink dress and small matching heels.

"Oh, hi," you smiled at the little girl. "You were the flower girl—Katie, right?"

Katie nodded. "I wanted a dance." She looked over at Peter, then back at you. "Mind if I take him for a spin?"

You nearly snorted. "Oh, sure—what do you think, Peter?"

Peter seemed to be trying to tone down his amused smile. "I'd be honored, Katie." He took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the floor.

As you ate—the shrimp here being unfortunately coconut, not popcorn—you watched them dance. She was standing on top of his shoes, and he seemed to be masking the pain from the jabbing of her tiny heels. As he smiled and chatted with her, you couldn't help but smile as well. Peter was good with kids—you wondered if that came from being Spider-Man, or just being Peter.

When the song was over, Katie curtsied and Peter bowed in turn, as if they were at a ball. Peter returned to the table beaming, and for some reason, it made your heart catch in your chest. You felt as if you wanted to say something, though you weren't sure what, or if you were allowed to.

Just as you opened your mouth to say something, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to see Lindsey, who was practically glowing with excitement in her cream-colored reception gown.

"Hey!" You gave her a hug. "Wow, you look gorgeous. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Lindsey swept a black, curly strand of hair from her face. "And you do too! Is this," she gestured to Peter. "Is this your plus one? I saw him dancing with Katie, it was adorable!"

Peter nodded. "I'm y/n's boyfriend," he stood to shake her hand, then her new husband's. "Peter."

"It's so nice to meet you, Peter," Lindsey replied. "I didn't think y/n was seeing anyone, but she never lets me get too nosy. I was worried about her for a little bit, though!" She laughed.

Peter gave you a look, as if some of your previous description of her was clicking into place.

"We've been together for a little while," Peter shrugged, fixing Lindsey with a curious look. "Nine months, right, babe?" He glanced back at you and smiled, his gaze warm. "It feels like it's been years, but also a few great days."

For a moment, you sat in stunned silence, unsure of how to respond. His acting was so real; he seemed utterly infatuated.

Lindsey gasped softly, placing a hand on her heart. "That's exactly how I feel with my husband. Well, how'd you two meet?"

"Um," Peter started with a slight smile. "We were at this bagel place on 76th, and I was ordering my usual—"

"An everything bagel," you added out of habit. "With plain cream cheese, smushed down really flat, like a weirdo."

"Exactly," Peter laughed. "And you said that, too, remember? I remember you scoffed, and when I asked, you said that only a weirdo would want a bagel that was...what was it? Looked like it was ran over?"

"I had a point," you replied. "And you asked me what I liked, since I was such an expert in all things bagel. So I got my—"

"Blueberry bagel," Peter recalled. "Strawberry cream cheese, plus you paid extra for assorted fruit on top, like an absolute princess."

You grinned. "But you paid for mine...and you walked me to the subway, like a gentleman, while I spent the entire time roasting you on your food preferences."

"And then I offered to take her to dinner," Peter looked up at Lindsey. "I said that I knew this great pizza place, and if she wasn't blown away, I'd cover her bill. Turns out she was blown away, as expected," he met your eyes with a smile, reaching over and grabbing your hand. "But I paid, anyway. It was worth it times a thousand to get to know her..."

You squeezed his hand, and in that moment, you felt as if something were squeezing your heart, too. The way he talked about it made it sound so romantic...but, of course, neither of you mentioned the fact that his friends were at the dinner. That you had asked for it to not be a date, because you had been stood up a few nights before and were not feeling the dating scene. It was a friend thing, and at that dinner your friend status was cemented.

You never thought you wanted anything else, but...

"Excuse me," Peter's voice brought you back to reality. He smiled thinly at both you and Lindsey before standing and starting for the exit.

Perhaps he just needed to use the restroom down the hall, but something about his exit seemed...swift. Offering a smile to Lindsey as well, you followed in Peter's steps.

When you finally found him, he had a hand over his eyes, his face flushed as he tried to steady his breathing.

You felt as if you'd walked in on something you shouldn't have—or perhaps you needed to.

"Peter?" You asked softly.

Peter nearly jumped, looking at you before making a pointed effort not to do so. "Hey! Hey...y/n...I'm alright. Just...taking a second to—"

"Cry?" You asked, the word slipping out before you could think about it, and you slapped a hand over your mouth.

Peter laughed. You rushed through surprise, relief, and concern so fast, you had whiplash.

"Yeah," Peter admitted with a sigh. "I'm...not alright. But I'm trying to be. Just...go enjoy the reception, don't let me ruin it."

You shook your head. "That story...it was how we met, but you made it sound romantic."

Peter nodded. "I thought that was what we were supposed to do."

You swallowed. "It sounded really convincing. You...you like me, don't you, Peter?"

Peter seemed laser-focused on the sleeve of his suit. "How could I not, y/n?" He settled. "You're beautiful, you're fun in the same weird way I am, and you have no idea when someone's into you—you're exactly my type. But...I mean, I was trying so hard not to be that guy. You know, the 'be my girlfriend or I'll never talk to you again' guy? I can't do that—not to you, and not to myself. I want you in my life in whatever way I can have you, even if it kills me, because you're really important to me. And if you don't want to talk to me again, I understand, I won't push—"

His words faltered into silence as you reached out and held his hand.

"I like you, too, Peter. I don't think I realized it until now, but..." You started to smile. "You're one of my favorite people in the world. You’re already a great friend, so I'd love to be your girlfriend."

Peter seemed incredulous, though a moment later, his uncertain smile grew until he was fully beaming. His smile was contagious, and you couldn't help but smile as well. You went in for a hug, and he in turn lifted you, spinning you around as if you were in a romcom.

"So," Peter started. "Do you wanna go back in there and turn up the charm now that we're a real couple?"

You pondered the idea for about a half a second before shaking your head. "Screw those guys." You said. "You wanna get out of here? I bet we could find a good ice cream place."

"Sounds good to me," Peter replied, offering you a fist to bump. "Let's go to the room and get changed into some comfier clothes."

As he started towards the stairs, you reached for his hand, your heart skipping a beat as he squeezed your hand gently. You didn't want to rush things, though you wondered...perhaps when you got up to the room, you could kiss him. Perhaps, if he were interested—and while that romantic room was on someone else's bill—you could do a little bit more.

[sunhlland]

Speaking of the dish podcast, on youtube if you sort their videos by most popular, Tom's already at 474k view in just two days, and their most viewed video is the one with Flo from 9months ago, it has the most views on the channel at 550k.

529k already.. 1M soon 😮‍💨 I think what I liked most in the comments were those from the public who are fans of the program more than Tom's fans... that episode became his favorite and that says a lot about how eloquent this man is in convincing the people.