jeff atkins: skittles
Request: “please write more jeff atkins imagines”
Pairing: Jeff Atkins x Reader
Word Count: 373
It was Friday night. Jeff had picked you up from your house and cruised over to the Crestmont. He played his country music, mocking the deep accents. You had the window rolled down, your hair blowing in your face.
Once you arrived, Jeff had bought tickets to the new thriller in town. You linked your arm to his, feeling his warmth.
“Hey Clay,” Jeff fist bumped your brother. “She’s here, safe and sound.”
Clay shook his head. He got the movie packet together, which consisted of two medium sodas, a large popcorn, red vines and-
“Skittles?” Jeff looked at Clay. “I thought it was just red vines?”
“Well, yeah,” Clay shrugged. “But y/n likes skittles. I won’t charge for that.”
You gave your brother a small smile. “Thanks Clay.”
“Of course,” he nodded. “Enjoy your movie.”
Jeff held the large box in one arm, and even though he struggled, he still took your hand. Once you settled down in the middle of the theater, you ripped open the bag of skittles.
You poured a few into your hand. You motioned your handful to Jeff.
“You want?” You offered.
Jeff chuckled, taking a few colors. He dropped them in all at once. Once he swallowed his sweets, he turned to face you.
“What’s your least favorite skittles flavor?” He asked, not minding his volume at all.
You widened your eyes at him. You folded your lips into your mouth. When he wouldn’t look away, you whispered to him your answer. He nodded, and took the bag of skittles. He took out all the colors that you claimed were not in your palate.
You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?” You whispered. His smirked, holding the solid color in his hand.
“I’m getting rid of what you don’t like,” Jeff announced. He tossed the number of skittles in his mouth, squinting his eyes. “Apparently, I don’t like them either…” He coughed.
You laughed into your hand, muffling your giggles. Jeff got to the point where he had to swallow the sugary treat. He sipped his cola, clearing his throat.
“I will get rid of anything you don’t like, Y/N,” Jeff spoke, his voice raspy. “Unless I hate it too, then it’s up to Clay.”