A C T O R S || OS

97. Tom Holland | The Photoshoot

By : hufflepuffhollander | Tumblr

summary | you are picked for a social experiment: a couples' photoshoot where you don't meet the person you're posing with until the beginning of the session.

tom x fem reader | contains fluff, fluff, and more fluff | word count: 2.1k | enjoy!

-----

"My god, just pick a dress, y/n. We've been here for hours."

Your friend stood with her arms crossed as you studied yourself in the dressing room mirror, making faces of content then unrest, unsure if this dress was the one to go with- or if it could've been any of the last 15 you'd tried on.

"I can't decide, maybe I just need to go through them again-"

"No!" your friend said, grabbing the pile of hanged clothes off of the hook on the wall and holding them out of your reach. "You're overthinking this, it's just a photoshoot! You don't even know the guy! And the one you have on is obviously the best choice."

You turned back to the mirror and stared at the starchy white fabric of the dress, its eyelet lace design making it a tight fit that accentuate your curves. You sighed in resignation. "Fine. But if the pictures come out and I look like a ghost, I'm blaming you."

You took the outfit home and laid it out in preparation for tomorrow, kicking yourself for having signed up for this in the first place. After a long week, you only wanted to stay in your sweatpants in bed tomorrow instead of getting all dolled up to go take photos in cliche poses with a total stranger. You sent your friend a passive aggressive text about it, since she was the one who made you sign up for the 'social experiment', and all you received back was an annoyingly curt "you'll thank me later". You threw your phone aside and went to bed early, crossing your fingers that tomorrow would go by as quickly as possible.

You arrived to the shoot location the next day- a vineyard an hour away that you got turned around twice trying to find. Once you stepped out of the car, the photographer came to greet you, a friendly woman in her mid thirties wearing all black and a massive camera swinging around her neck like an oversized necklace.

"Ah, y/n, thank you so much for coming! It seems like your partner is running a little behind, so we'll just have to wait for a few," she smiled bleakly, running away to ridicule one of the men setting up the reflective umbrellas.

"We want to capture the people, not the sun, Nicholas."

You leaned against your car already annoyed at your partner for failing to show up. You had woken up two hours early to curl your hair and do a full face of makeup, and this is how you get rewarded? You swore up and down that you'd smack your friend when you saw her later. The photographer, whose name you learned was Karen—typical—brought you into a tangle of grapevines to test the lighting and shoot some practice photos. You were already horribly uncomfortable when it was just you standing alone, and couldn't imagine how much worse it would be when another clueless anti-model had to pose next to you.

"Doll, just put your hand on your hip, like this-

"Well no, not like that—uh, Nicholas, can you go pose her?

"Just smile, dear. You look...really unhappy."

It was nightmarish.

You were saved by the bell as another car pulled into the lot and a guy of average height wearing a crisp blazer stepped out, wearing the snobbiest looking pair of wayfarers you'd ever seen.

"Oh, great! Tom's here," Karen cheered, happy to rush away from the agonizing one-on-one session you'd just had. You looked at Nicholas, trying again to fix the umbrella.