5 Seconds Of Summer Imagines

Luke imagine - personal

Personal for @havana_rose

You sit and scroll through the familiar layout of Twitter. The soft blue and white interface showing on the screen and lighting your face up in the dim room. You're switching in between apps, going from Twitter to Instagram, and then everything in between.
Your Twitter feed was filled with random tweets, nothing that you understood or cared that much for, but retweeting the odd one you found funny or amusing.
When you began being active on your account, you Twitter mentions began blowing up. It jumped from 1 notification to a hundred, and then some.
You inhale a sharp breath before clicking the tab. You'd gotten used to this unnecessary attention. Being friends with Luke Hemmings had its pros and cons, this being a massive con in your book.
Yes, some fans were really nice and complimented you and tried to have a normal conversation, but it was the controlling ones that you had a problem with.
More so, they had a problem with you first and you just naturally reacted to it negatively.
'@Y/T/N bitch. Go die'
You roll your eyes at the unimaginative hurling of insults, and continues to scroll through the mentions that kept on refreshing.
'@Y/T/N stay the fuck away from @luke5sos whore'
Getting a bit more boring.
'@Y/T/N attention whore. He doesn't even like you'
'@Y/T/N do us all a favour and kill your self'
'@Y/T/N what does he want with a friend like you #trash'
They began getting progressively worse, and you hadn't realised you was crying until a droplet fell on your phone screen and the hot trails marked your face.
"They're right," you sob, rubbing at your face before pulling your knees to your chest and crying harshly.
"Havana? What's wrong?" Luke's panicked voice rings through the room, the bed dipping as he launches himself to land next to you and he pulls you into his bed to calm you down. It having an opposite effect.
"N-nothing," you cry, holding onto his shirt for dear life and crying against the material.
"That's crap, and you know it. Why are you crying, babe? What's happened? Please tell me," he coos in your ear, stroking a hand up and down your arm, and he patiently waits until you calm down.
"I told you, nothing."
Before he can argue back, your phone lights up with a refresh of mentions. Your phone had not locked itself when you dropped it onto your quilt cover, so the mentions kept rolling in and you flinched at the thought of what they could be.
You make to reach over and close it off, but Luke's too fast for you. He snatches it off the bed and steps up, your face falling further as you whine through your tears for it back.
"Luke, please don't. Give me it back!"
He freezes in place, his jaw hardening and eyes focused on the phone screen.
"How long?"
"What?" You mumble in response, wanting to just drop the situation now.
"How fucking long, Havana? How long have they been sending things like this?" He fumes, his teeth gritting together in anger, and his jaw twitches like he is trying his hardest to stay in control.
"I don't know," you shrug, "from the beginning, I guess."
"Fuck," he gasps, running a hand through his now unquiffed hair, and he paces back and forth with your phone in his tight grip, "why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to worry! They're your fans, I can't do that to you," you argue, trying to make yourself seem like you deserve the hate.
"They can't do it to you, though! You're my best friend! I've known you years, of course I'm going to worry about you. It's natural!"
You sob as he races his voice, feeling a new wave of tears hitting you and falling from your eyes.
"No. Please, don't cry," he urges, pulling you into his body again so that your laying against his chest as he comforts you, "I don't like seeing you sad."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's theirs, and I'll sort this I promise," he whispers into your hair as you fall asleep through your light tears.