Justin Bieber Imagines

Desperation.

Walking into the house, I sighed as my muscles ached from my going for a jog with my best friend. "Justin!" I called out to the rest of the house.

No answer.

I peeked into his recording room that was right next to the stairs, and he was nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen, the living room, nor the bathroom.

He's upstairs.

I unemergetically trudged up the stairs and to he and I's bedroom. "Holy fu- oh my God." A voice groaned loudly from the other side of the closed door.

What in the hell? I slowly turned the doorknob and cracked the door open slightly, just enough to see what event may (or may not) be taking place.

And there he was. Sprawled out across the middle of our bed, naked. His boxers were thrown across the room and I could see them splayed on the floor from where I was standing. He had his hand wrapped tightly around his dick and he was a moaning mess. "Oh my- uh, fuck yes." He moaned repeatedly in wails that gradually got more high-pitched.

I pushed the door open further to get a better view of what my boyfriend was doing while he was in his own little world of pleasure.

He sat up on his knees in the disheveled sheets and his free hand gripping whatever was in front of him so hard his knuckles were a stark white.

His moaning got louder and louder as he clawed at his thighs and his hand movement got faster.

I squeezed my thighs together as a pressure rolled through my lower half.

Jesus.

"Oh fuck, I'm gonna- shit!" His words came out right before the room was filled with his moans and cries of pleasure, white liquid flying through the air and onto the mess of sheets infront of him while his hips bucked into his fist tirelessly. He panted and stared at the mess he made as his hand moved at a slower pace on his crotch.

I opened the door completely then. I folded my arms across my chest and cleared my throat. "Having fun?" I asked with a smirk.

His head snapped towards the door and his cheeks turned a bright crimson.