Harry Styles Interracial Imagines

I Promise We're Okay...

A/N: Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read, voted or even scanned over the first page of this book. I really appreciate it! Also please, please, please request stuff bc I'm starting to realize I'm not as creative as I thought, lol.

Heads up: the Twitter names used in this imagine may or may not be real (I don't know if they are...) and any Twitter names that I used that are real is purely coincidental...

Social media has never been something you really care about. Your Instagram is filled mostly of pictures your food mixed with the occasional selfies. Your Twitter consists of retweets from feminist celebrities and Beyoncé and rants about random life things. Facebook is filled with your high school friends and people you never want to nor will see again. Your Tumblr is a deep abyss of fandom text posts and rants that no one should ever have to experience. That was until you started dating Harry. In an instant, your status changed. Pretty soon, you had fans...like actual people that cared what you're doing with your life. People make fan accounts, vine edits and blogs dedicated just to what you wear. And, while all the attention is extremely flattering, you know that it isn't exactly for you. You know that the only reason you get all the likes and have all the followers was because people like. Harry. Nobody is really, truly interested in you, they're interested in the selfies with Harry that you were expected to post. But you still have fun with it, thought. You have to admit, a lot of one direction fans are pretty damn cool, and you tried to be as nice to them as possible. You even gave a fan waiting outside in the cold closer tickets to one of the shows. The fandom is so diverse and interesting, filled with so many different people, which is why you thought that people would accept you. You thought that people would accept the fact that, well, to be blunt about it, you're not a model-bodied, white blonde chick with blue eyes. That people would accept the fact you wear leggings as much as possible and you don't tote around the newest designer...anything. But as you log into Twitter this morning, you are proved wrong. Everybody always had they're comments here and there about your outfit or your makeup. And you never let those bother you because you know they come from a place of jealousy. But lately, a lot of "fans" seem to be coming at your race, and the amount of racism you've encountered both in real life and online in the past month is more than you've had in you're entire 20 year old life..."Why is Harry dating a black girl?" "Why isn't y/n dating a black guy?" "She's obviously using him for money since she doesn't have any..." The list goes on and on. Today, however, something felt different, you felt vulnerable and the littlest things got you upset.

"@directionercentral915: When your side hoe is black...@y/Tn @harrystyles." The tweet is followed by a candid picture of Harry and you walking, his head facing downward and an unhappy look on his face and you looking at him, your facial expression smiling and looking at him. This picture was taken way out of context. You had just gotten done telling him a really corny joke, which resulted in his reaction. Ouch. But whatever...You think as you continue to scroll through your mentions. You respond to a few tweets from fans and your friends, before coming across yet another racist tweet.

"@directionerfosho: @harrystyles couldve dated a VS model but instead went for some black chick with bad weave...well okay then...@y/T/n #yougotlucky" A VS Model? You cringed at the thought of Nadine, Sara and Cara and how ridiculously beautiful they are. Any male (or female, for that matter) would be stupid not to be any of attracted to them. You don't know if it's because you're PMSing or you're just taking everything to heart, but you begin to get angry. How dare someone take shots at your relationship that they know nothing about. How dare they question Harry's love for you and who you are. You start to type a response tweet, but end up deleting it, knowing that if you tweeted it, you'd end up looking like a bad person in the eyes of everyone, fans included. Instead, you decide to keep scrolling and start liking positive tweets, so not only do you make a fan's day, but you also get a little confidence boost. As you were about 50 tweets in, you decide to refresh your mentions. A second after the little "pop" goes off, the first tweet is short, but still grabs your heart and rips it in two...

"@larryismycriptonite: @y/T/n Go back to your own people please..." Your own people. Huh. Didn't realize we still lived in tribes here. You look at the ever growing number of likes on the tweet and close your laptop. You sit in silence and contemplate the current state of your maybe too high profile relationship. Maybe I'm not good enough for him. I mean hell, he could be off screwing some white blonde actress right now. Why did he choose me? I'm not worth all the drama and the hate. Maybe I should just...leave. It would be better for the both of us maybe if--Your thoughts are interrupted by the slamming of your apartment door. You stay on your bed with your knees on your chest, you heart feeling too heavy to move. Harry opens the door saying,

"Honey I'm hoooome..." Harry walks and sits on the bed, "Hey, y/n, are you crying? What's wrong, my love..." Unaware of your own tears, you quickly wipe your eyes and sniff your nose.

"Nothing, babe. I'm fine, just allergies..." You say. Harry give you look. "Harry, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Wow. I'm offended that you would even for one second think that I would believe you're not upset about something." He says jokingly. You look up at him, your eyes wet with tears, and take a deep breath, saying,

"I was on Twitter earlier and people were saying stuff..." You trail off. Harry scoots closer to you and wraps his arms around you.

"What stuff were they saying baby?" Harry clenched tighter around you, a painful mixture of concern, worry, and anger in his eyes. He rubs his thumb up and down your arm.

"T-t-th-they said that you should have dated a blonde model and that I should," you pause, it being too painful to repeat what was said, "go back to my own kind. And I know you said not to read that stuff but it's hard, Harry. How can so many people be so mean because of something I can't change. Why can't people accept love. Before you came in I was questioning everything...and I thought of leaving. I thought it would be easier than living with all this hate..." After you say it, you burst out in sobs and bury your face in Harry's chest. He rocks you back and forth, eyes closed, softly shushing you and whispering "It's gonna be okay..." You continue to cry for what seemed like forever, and when your done you look up at Harry.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, love?"

"For being an emotional pain in the ass..."

"Y/n, look at me." You tilt your head to look at him. "You have nothing, and I mean nothing to be sorry for or apologize for. The only people that should be sorry are the people that make you feel bad about yourself because of something so uncontrollable. I love you so much, and I'd still love you if you were purple. You make me happier than any model or actress or anyone for that matter can. If you left, I don't know what I would do. I would be lost without you. So, please, y/n, my love, don't ever feel the need to question anything about our relationship. I promise, we're okay."

"Pinky promise." You hold out your pinky. Harry wraps his significantly longer one around it.

"Pinky promise." Harry whispers and kisses your forehead. Both of you strip off your clothes and get into bed, emotionally and physically tired. You get snuggly with each other and you face Harry. You lay together in silence, foreheads pressed together, the love between you unbroken, as you drift off to sleep.