Justin Bieber #Imagines

#8 Imagine

The fact that you were in a group with Justin for your final project was pretty great in itself, but the fact that the two of you had to hang out to finish it was even better. Your project involved making a giant poster to display your subject, and your teacher insisted that it had to be done perfectly. For about the first hour of being at Justin‘s house, your heartbeat was way too fast and you felt nervousness that didn’t seem like it was going to go away settling comfortably in your stomach. But how could you not feel nervous when Justin was so close, when you couldn’t take your eyes off of each other? You knew that it wasn’t just you that was staring, at least, you thought. Hoped.

"Oh! We can use paint so we don’t have to make a mess by cutting up paper for the title, sound good?"

You lean over and whisper into his ear, “Cause paint is so much cleaner,” he laughs, rising from his chair. You turn your head and see that there’s already bottles of paint on a table across the room, Justin’s mom Pattie must have put them there for you earlier. He smiles at you as he walks back over with bottles of paint in his arms, and the nervous feeling stirs inside of you again. He sits to your right, but since there’s tension in the room the two of you sit at an angle, facing each other for the most part. “I guess we can get the paint ready?” He suggests. You nod, unable to find any words to speak. He pops the cap open and pours yellow paint onto a paper plate, the bright circle expanding with time. You stare at the circle, reminded of the sun, the way it would feel on your skin as you run into crystal blue water, hand in hand with Justin who’s laughing wildly.

"(y/n)?" He asks, waking you from your daydream.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Could you pour out some red paint?" You smile and nod, reaching for the red paint bottle. Out of nowhere his hand is on your cheek, and you freak out internally, what’s he doing? Without warning he puts his other hand on your face and pulls you into a long, agonizingly slow kiss, your hands find their place in his hair. When he removes his hands your cheeks feel cold and wet, you lift your right hand up to your face, only to find that it’s covered in blue paint. You laugh hysterically and place your hands on his face after rubbing them on your cheeks, deciding to get even with him. You pull him back in and brush his bottom lip with your tongue, and he opens his mouth obediently. Mid-make out you feel him swirling more paint onto your cheeks on both sides. You pull away and dip your right hand onto the plate, not caring what colours you’re going to paint him with. With your left hand you lift the bottom of his t-shirt, and slide your right hand in to smear paint all over his gorgeously chiseled abs. You’re laughing and smiling and being dumb with each other and you think that you couldn’t possibly love it more, but when he does to you what you did to him you practically melt in his hands. None of the project gets done, but when he’s holding you in his arms and you know that you are his and he is yours, you couldn’t be any happier.