Chris Brown & August Alsina Imagines

Your boyfriend/his girlfriend

“Why must you get so mad? Don’t hate on me baby, hate the game.” Christopher states and you smack your lips and roll your eyes for how corny he’s being. His wannabe playa line died in the early 2000’s and he should just leave it there. You saunter leisurely down the sidewalk beside dogs that belong to your male best friend, Chris who by the way swears he’s a hoop star and genuinely believes he’s better at any sport because he’s more athletic, knows the rules, knows a list of tricks and teases you about it. He’s definitely a show-off. “Boy you know you need to quit.” You giggle, extend a hand to his shoulder and push him into someone’s mailbox and fortunately he doesn’t get hurt and catches his balance. Christopher doesn’t give you a chance to apologize, he grips the basketball tighter in his hands, aims, and launches it at your booty as you’re sprinting ahead of him down the asphalt. He begins to cackle, observes the ball bounce off your round derrière and he runs up behind you, swings his hands forward, and roughly smacks his palms to your booty. “Ow!” You whine, lowering your hands to the spot on your backside to rub away the temporary soreness. I hope he doesn’t think he’s gonna get away with it. You move a hand to slap up Chris’s arm, shoulder, collarbone and stomach right when his cellphone begins to ring and the ringtone he’s set for his girlfriend blares inside his pocket. A small piece of you wishes he wouldn’t answer the phone call and would send it straight to voicemail to reciprocate all his attention to you, but he doesn’t. Chris drags out the celluar device, touches a button on the smartphone and speaks into the reciever. “Yeah baby I’m here, wassup?”