Imagines (everyone)

Just imagines really:) request one maybe? Xx


1. Imagine 1: Larry Stylinson. (warning: Self Harm.)

"Louis! Hurry up! We're going to be late for god's sake!" Harry shouted up the stairs to his boyfriend Louis.

They were about to go to a big meet up, the managers had told them there was approximately 2,000+ girls there just waiting to meet them. You see, Harry and Louis were in a boyband called One Direction. Biggest boyband in the world, some may say, of course, many other people disagree. But it's always like that with boybands. There was Zayn, Liam and Niall in the band, also. The most loved group of boys in the world.

Louis walked slowly downstairs, head down as usual. Or maybe, not "as usual". Louis has certainly been more... Depressed since he'd been getting more hate on twitter because of recent bad press. But Harry hadn't realised. 

So Louis walked downstairs and Harry looked him up and down. He was wearing a long sleeved, striped top and red chinos. He lifted his chin slightly to allow his blue eyes to meet Harry's green, twinkly ones. He smiled softly and dipped his head back down. Harry swung his arm around his shoulder and kissed his hair. 

When they arrived at the meet up there were thousands of girls lined up. Louis scanned the crowd, trying to look the slightest bit happy. "I love Niall" t-shirts. "I love Harry." "I love Zayn." He looked and looked. No Louis t-shirts. 

The boys walked out onto the opening stage, ready to announce the start of the meet-up. Louis took the mic and started talking. Halfway through his mini-speech a girl shouted; "why are you in this band Louis?! No one likes you! Go die in a hole!" Louis's eyes welled up. He ran out of the auditorium and towards the car him and Harry had come in. He started it up and drove home as quick as he could...

I just ran home. I didn't stop. I had to find Louis, I had to. He wasn't answering his phone or anything. "Voice mail is the worst invention ever..." I thought to myself. I had listened to it over 20 times in the last 20 minutes, so I had a reason to think that. 

I shouted up the stairs. 

"LOUIS!" No answer. "LOUIS! LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON?!" Still no answer.

I ran upstairs, looking in every room. Except... THE BATHROOM. NO! Louis Tomlinson you'd better not've! I stormed to the bathroom, ripped open the door only to see Louis. I dropped to the floor. His arms. Covered with them. 


How could he? No. No. I refuse to believe this. No! Motionless. Led on the floor. His wrists bleeding. I could see the bloodstains on his sleeves and under his chinos where his thighs would be. The razor next to him. I took it and threw it against the wall in anger. I couldn't do it. Then I saw a note next to him. Oh no. Louis don't do this to me. 
I opened it. I couldn't read it. My tears fell onto the paper causing it to turn a grey colour. I read it a second time.

"Cos I'm tired of feeling alone..."


"ARE YOU READY BIRMINGHAM?!" I shouted down the mic. 

This concert was a car crash. The first one after Louis's death. We had all taken it hard, obviously, but Harry... I was honestly worried about him. I'm scared he'll go the same way. 

"The next song we'll be singing... Is moments... Sing along if you know the words!" I said more quietly.

"Flashing lights in my mind, going back to the time, playing games in the street, kicking balls with my feet." I sung. 

I looked over at Harry. He was crying his eyes out. 

"There's a numb in my toes, standing close to the edge. There's a pile of my clothes at the end of your bed." More lyrics. 

I looked over again. He wasn't there. I looked over at security. They said he'd gone backstage. Couldn't handle it. I ran offstage so quickly I thought my feet were going to fall off. I walked into his dressing room and saw him. Dead. I started crying as I ran over to him. I fell to my knees, balling. 

"No Harry. No. Please. No." I cried, shaking him.

I heard in the background the boy's voices. They said something about how Harry and I had gone backstage. I had a look at his wrists. Cuts. Everywhere. His thighs. More scars. Then my eyes caught sight of a note. A bloodstained note. It wasn't Harry's blood, Harry's was fresh. That blood was old and dried. I opened it and read it. 

"'Cos I'm tired of feeling alone."

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