I'm Not Sorry: A Justin Bieber Fan Fiction

Eight

♥ oh, my g o d ♥

 

✌

"So. . .? Do I have the permission to get it on Twitter?" He asked me, taking a few baby steps back as though he was scared I'll kick his balls within the next five seconds, or something.

See, mom being the smart woman she was (pun intended), had forwarded the picture she took of us that day, and being the ol' Justin that we know, he wouldn't stop bugging me to let him upload it onto Twitter.

Ha, oh. And occassionally, he'd even pull out the compromising card for I, always secretly upload pictures of him onto Twitter.

Ugh, if this was his actual revenge on me, it was so not cool.

But. . . Coming to think of it. . . What would happen if that gets on Twitter, and heck, the media? Oh god, I wouldn't dare think any further. . . Shit would definitely get real.

I hesitated a bit before lifting my head, reconnecting my wary brown eyes with Justin's matching desperate ones. "Are you sure?" I slowly began, taking a huge gulp. "What would happen if your Beliebers find out?" I nervously managed to croak out with my sudden dry throat.

I really highly doubt I'll be too fond of that.

Oh, dear God.

These Beliebers are. . . They can make hell turn into reality. They kill! They are so strong. . . they can never be compared to soldiers. I don't ever, want to mess with them because to say the truth, I want to grow old with grey hairs flying all over my face.

Sensing my fear, Justin instinctively intertwined my fingers with his and pulled me down onto his lap, swiftly. "You know I'll protect you from anything and anyone," he whispered; his breath fanning over my cheeks lightly, sending chills creeping up my skin as the heat began travelling from the back of my ears to my cheeks.

"B-But," I stupidly stammered, triple-blinking absentmindedly at how certain he had sounded.

However, instantly snapping into realization of how close our faces are, (not to mention lips, for hell's sake), my cheeks flushed a deeper red and I silently thanked God that the air-conditioner wasn't on and if he had any reason to suspect my blush, it'd be that the weather wasn't treating me too well.

"Do you trust me?" He finally managed to say, cracking my away from my thoughts.

"Can I trust you?"

"I'm not as perfect as people describe me to be, but I assure you this, you can trust me on."

"Fine, then," I let out a breath, flying my hands onto his chest to clutch a handful of his shirt into my palms to get myself mentally prepared for what is to come. "Okay, I'll let you do it. Provided you swear you'll protect me from your die hard, fans."

"Fine, I promise to protect you from them. Mind you, they have a name, which is Beliebers," he corrected, though jokingly with an attitude, but his eyes spelt out otherwise. "Learn it, love it, live by it, 'kay."

"Dumb Bieber," I rolled my eyes, playfully, whacking his chest lightly for the sake of it. "When are you ever going to stop being so silly, I wonder."

"If I behaved like you, every party I've ever been to in this world would crash because I'd be a party pooper," he snickered smuggly, tightening his arms around my low waist, pulling me closer into his chest.