TW: Sexual intercourse. If you don't fuck with it? word to my nigga yella beezy, that's on you, baby.
PHOTOSHOOT | PLAYBOIUZI
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"Yo, where in the fuck is this guy?"
AN AGITATED SYMERE spoke, as he sat on a tall, black stool. He looked around his empty studio, sighing for, what felt like, the umpteenth time.
Symere Woods had a photo shoot set up for Playboi Carti; The perfect combination of rapper and rockstar, this man was, well, "that nigga" in both the music and fashion industry.
To Symere, he was simply Jordan Carter, his client for today, who is a full 32 minutes late. Symere was pissed, considering he cancelled his plans to go out with his friends for this.
He rolled his eyes, standing up from the stool, silently talking to himself in aggravation. "Guess he isn't coming through, wasting my damn time." He placed his camera inside of his carrier.
All of a sudden, there was a bang on the metal door. Symere body jolted from the random outburst. The door opened, and walked in Jordan; along with two of his lady friends. He was too engrossed with his phone conversation to see Symere's obviously pissed face.
"Yo, fuck him. Nigga ain't even worth the clothes off my back. Make em' suck yo dick, then kick him out of the crib since he wanna be a bitch about it." Jordan hung up the phone, averting his attention towards Symere, who stood in place, uninterested in who was in front of him.
"Aye, uh― Simon, right?" Jordan questioned the young boy, who rolled his eyes once again. "It's Symere, Mr. Carter." He still spoke with respect, even though he wanted to gauge his eyeballs out with the tripod that was in his hand.
"Ah, Symere. My bad, man. Sorry I'm late, I was stuck in traffic, man. Yeah, it was raining outside. Car got into an accident. I mean, it was wet. Shit was soaked, yo." He smirked, looking at the girls, as they giggled to themselves.
"Right, anyways―" Symere picked up his camera, placing the strap over his head, allowing the camera to hang from his neck. "We're already running behind, so let's get this shoot started. Ladies, if you'd like to sit down, there are seats in the waiting room." Symere gave a fake smile, gesturing his hand towards the door.
"Nah, we good, pipsqueak." One girl, with a jersey accent spoke, eyeing the boy up and down. The other girl laughed, bending downwards, placing her hands firmly onto her knees as if she was trying to get on Symere's height level.
