itscoucouharry

[itscoucouharry]

What do u mean my last upload was in marchhhh😭😭thank you to anyone who’s shown love on my writing 🩷🫶🏼

[itscoucouharry]

Hiii, I saw you asking for Carmy requests and wanted to share this idea. If the person he's with is even more shy and quiet than him. And he has to be the outgoing one. So like ordering for them whenever they go out or just kind of knowing what they're thinking about without them saying much. Sorry this is a bit vague 💕

Quiet Love- Carmy request

Author’s Note: Heyyyyyy so I’m so sorry that this took a long long time but here she is. I also added a teensy bit of angsty-ness just for some pizzazz ✨ request sent in by @khxna

Carmy never thought of himself as outgoing. If anything, he prided himself on keeping to himself, staying in the background, avoiding unnecessary social interactions. He had spent years in kitchens where words were used sparingly—just enough to get the job done, no fluff, no small talk. That was how he preferred it. Or at least, that’s what he thought until he met you.

Surprise to him, you were even quieter than he was.

At first, he didn’t mind. Hell, he even liked it. He enjoyed being able to make things easier for you. You weren’t the type to force conversation when there wasn’t anything to say, weren’t someone who expected him to perform, to entertain, to fill the silence with meaningless words. It was comfortable, easy, something he didn’t have to think too much about. But then he started noticing the patterns. You never spoke first. Not in public, not when someone asked you a question, not even when it was just the two of you. At restaurants, you’d stare at the menu like you were memorizing it, but when the waiter came around, you’d just look at him, eyes slightly wide, waiting for him to speak. And Carmy, who had never thought of himself as the kind of guy who had to be the voice in a relationship, found himself doing exactly that.

Like now.

You were at a small sandwich shop, the kind of place Carmy actually liked—old-school, the kind of spot that focused on the food rather than the aesthetics. The smell of fresh bread and roasted beef filled the air, and even though the line wasn’t long, he could already see it happening. You were gripping the hem of your sweater, your fingers twitching slightly as you stared at the menu board. You’d been here before. You already knew what you wanted. But still, when the cashier looked up, ready to take your order, you stayed silent.

Carmy exhaled through his nose, already resigned to it. He stepped forward, nodding at the guy behind the counter. “Yeah, uh—Italian beef, hot. And—” He glanced at you, giving you one last chance, but you just looked back at him, eyes expectant. His jaw tensed slightly, but he turned back to the cashier. “Turkey club.”

The cashier nodded, punching it in. “Anything to drink?”

Carmy looked at you again, but you just shook your head, small and quick.

He sighed. “Nah, we’re good.”

The moment the order was paid for and the two of you sat down, he studied you carefully. You were quiet, more than usual, your shoulders slightly hunched, your hands curled into your lap. He could see the way you were avoiding his gaze, how your fingers tugged absently at the sleeve of your sweater.

“Babe, you know you can order for yourself, right?” His voice wasn’t harsh, just matter-of-fact. But the second the words left his mouth, he knew something was wrong.

Your shoulders tensed, and when you looked down, he saw it—the way your bottom lip trembled just slightly, the way you blinked a little too quickly, like you were trying to stop yourself from crying.

Shit.

Carmy swallowed, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant to upset you, hadn’t meant for the words to hit like that, but now you were pressing your lips together, your fingers gripping your sleeves like they were the only thing keeping you together. He could hear your breathing, uneven and shaky, and when you turned your head slightly, trying to wipe at your eyes discreetly, his chest went tight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, more careful. He reached across the table, brushing his fingers against yours, but you didn’t move to take his hand. You just sniffled, shaking your head.

“I—I know I can,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I just…” Your breath hitched, and you sucked in a shaky inhale, trying to hold yourself together.

Carmy felt like an idiot. He hadn’t thought twice about what he said, hadn’t realized how deep it would cut. But now, watching you fold into yourself, watching you struggle to hold back tears in the middle of a damn sandwich shop, he hated himself for it.

“You’re not a burden,” he said suddenly, voice firm but gentle. He needed you to hear him. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, baby.”

You nodded, but it was small, hesitant. He exhaled slowly, glancing around before shifting in his seat. Without another word, he slid into the booth beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you in. You stiffened for half a second before melting into him, pressing your face into his shoulder like you just needed something solid to hold onto.

“I got you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “However you need me to.”

You didn’t say anything, but the way you clung to him told him everything he needed to know.

…

A few days later, Carmy found himself sitting in your mother’s kitchen, the smell of onions and garlic filling the small space as she moved around the stove, stirring a pot with the kind of practiced ease that reminded him of working the line. She had insisted on making him something, brushing off his protests with a wave of her hand. “You like caldo?” she had asked, and before he could even answer, she was already ladling some into a bowl.

He sat at the table, watching her, trying to find the right words to ask what had been sitting heavy in his chest since that night at the sandwich shop.

“She’s always been that way, you know,” your mother said suddenly, not even looking at him.

Carmy frowned slightly. “What way?”

“Quiet. Careful.” She turned off the stove, finally meeting his gaze. “Her father—”she hesitated, not wanting to share something that wasn’t her place to,“he wasn’t kind with his words. If she said the wrong thing, he’d make sure she regretted it. So she learned to say nothing at all.”

Carmy’s stomach clenched.

“She talks when she feels safe,” your mother continued, giving him a knowing look. “And she feels safe with you. Just give her time.”

Carmy swallowed hard, nodding, but the words stayed with him, weighing heavy long after he left.

…

That night, when you curled up beside him on the couch, he didn’t push. He didn’t ask why you never spoke up, didn’t sigh when you answered his questions with soft nods instead of words. Instead, he just took your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles in slow, steady circles.

After a few minutes, you spoke first. “I’m sorry.”

Carmy glanced down at you, frowning. “For what?”

“For making you do all the talking.”

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured, voice steady. “I didn’t get it before. But I do now.”

You looked up at him, searching his face, like you were trying to see if he really meant it.

“I don’t mind ordering for you,” he continued. “Or talking for us when you don’t wanna. I just want you to know you can talk. When you’re ready. I’ll wait.”

Your eyes softened, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t hesitate. You shifted closer, tucking yourself into his side, your arms wrapping around his waist like you were holding onto something solid.

Carmy pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close. Maybe you weren’t big on words, but that was okay. He’d wait for you, however long it took.

[itscoucouharry]

Safe Haven part 1- OC Harry Styles/ DV! Survivor

Author's note: Here it is! It took me a while to finish because I wanted to include some experience I've taken from my own life. I hope you enjoy!:) P.S. I think this pic of H gives social worker vibes.

My Masterlist

TW: Domestic Violence, abuse, shelter. If you are a survivor of DV and are easily triggered please do not read. This is simply fiction and would hate to make someone feel bad due to this story. Thank you:)

 Elena stared at the clock above the receptionist’s desk at the domestic violence shelter, her gaze fixed on the steady tick of the secondhand. 6:37 PM.

The seconds seemed to stretch, each one dragging on like a lifetime. She tried to steady her racing thoughts, but the anxiety gnawed at her insides, clawing at the edges of her mind. She shivered involuntarily as the wind outside howled through the streets, rattling the windows with the force of the storm. The weather seemed to reflect her inner chaos—the violent winds and relentless downpour echoing the turmoil inside her. The more she thought about it, the more surreal it seemed that the world outside was as unpredictable and unrelenting as the thoughts swirling in her head. She was afraid—afraid of what came next, of what this moment meant for her future. Her life had been upended, and she wasn’t sure where she would land in the coming days, weeks, or hell, even years. The thought made her stomach tighten with dread.

Beside her, Mimi slept soundly, her tiny body nestled in the warmth of her pink puffy coat. The girl’s curls—wild and untamed, just like her mother’s—framed her peaceful face. Elena’s heart ached as she looked at her, thinking about everything she had fought for in the past few years. Mimi had no idea what her mother was going through, and Elena wasn’t sure how to explain it to her—how to make sense of all the things that had led them here. For now, though, the office was quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights above was broken only by the steady tap-tap-tap of the receptionist’s keyboard, as she entered their information into the system. Elena could barely focus on the typing, her mind still caught in the whirlwind of what was to come.

“Elena Thompson?”

The receptionist’s voice sliced through the silence, pulling Elena back into the present. She blinked and stood slowly, her body aching from the tension of the day. Mimi shifted in her arms but didn’t wake, her little face still soft in slumber. Elena adjusted her grip on the child, cradling her as she picked up the oversized diaper bag that had been weighing her down since they’d arrived. It felt like an anchor, a symbol of all the things she couldn’t seem to let go of. The woman at the front desk continued without hesitation, her voice steady and professional.

“I’ve placed you upstairs on the third floor. Unit 32,” she said, offering Elena a quick glance. “There are two beds, a bathroom, and a small kitchenette. You’ll find a bag with toiletries and food in the fridge, so you can settle in.”

Elena’s heart fluttered at the mention of food. It had been a long day, and the thought of something simple like a meal brought a brief sense of calm. She nodded, her lips curling into a small, strained smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice softer than she intended.

She turned toward the elevator, feeling the weight of her exhaustion with each step. The small, old elevator creaked as the doors closed behind her, its jerky motion making her stomach churn. The diaper bag, heavy with all their belongings, seemed to grow even more cumbersome in the confined space. She finally set it down, feeling a slight sense of relief, but her arms never loosened their hold on Mimi. The little girl’s soft breathing reminded Elena that, despite everything, she had someone to protect, someone who needed her more than ever. As the elevator began its ascent, Elena stared at the faded numbers above the door, trying to steady her nerves for what awaited them on the third floor.

The small unit was a major change from their home in the city. Elena was in no place to choose. She was more than grateful for it. Elena slowly started to unpack her diaper bag that held her and Mimi’s necessities. Thankfully, the bag was quite large and was able to fit even clothes and toothbrushes inside. It was now that Elena was able to fully unpack tonight’s events. This had been a long time coming. Elena sat and went through her phone as countless angry and threatening voicemails and texts from Eric kept coming in. Elena blocked all of the numbers he used. And every single time she blocked it, a new number set her phone off as more messages came through.

“You’re gonna reap what you sow you worthless bitch”

“I know powerful people, I can have full custody of Mimi and you will never be able to do anything about it.”

This, of course, was just a few examples of the crude, nasty, and worrisome messages she’s gotten throughout the night. Elena thought about just changing her number completely. But Eric was right in one thing, he knew all the right people, and could have her new number in a matter of minutes. Elena figured that was enough for tonight, and got Mimi, as well as herself, ready for bed.

…

 Elena woke with a sharp jolt, her body drenched in cold sweat, as the remnants of a nightmare clung to her like a heavy fog. The dream had been vivid, too real, and it had shaken her to her core. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced a peaceful night of sleep. Since Eric began showing his true colors, the terror in her nights had only intensified. Each morning, she woke up the same way—disoriented, frightened, her heart racing as if it had been caught in a storm. It felt as if her mind never fully rested, constantly replaying everything that had happened, everything she was still trying to escape. The constant fear and stress were eating away at her, and no matter how hard she tried, sleep seemed more like a fleeting dream than a comforting escape. She had become so accustomed to the unease that even the quiet of the shelter felt unfamiliar. The weight of what she had gone through, and the unknown of what still lay ahead, hovered over her every waking moment.

With a long, exhausted sigh, one so heavy it could probably be heard by the downstairs tenants, Elena slowly pushed herself up from the bed, her limbs stiff from the restless night. She shuffled across the room to Mimi’s small bed, which was just a few feet away from hers. The quiet space between them made it feel like there was an invisible divide that separated her from peace, but she’d gotten used to it. Every morning, though, she did the same thing—she kissed Mimi’s forehead, a soft gesture that gave her some sense of normalcy, a tiny comfort in a world that felt increasingly unstable. As her lips brushed Mimi’s skin, her daughter’s sleepy eyes fluttered open, and with a small stretch, she let out a little yawn, the sound as innocent as it was comforting. Elena’s heart swelled at the sight. There was something about the way Mimi moved that morning that reminded Elena of the days when everything had felt more certain, when the future hadn’t seemed so frightening.

“Mommy,” Mimi mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. Despite her grogginess, she smiled up at Elena, the sleepy but genuine smile that Elena had grown to cherish more than anything.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Elena whispered, brushing a stray curl from Mimi’s forehead as she leaned down to kiss her again. “Let’s get you ready for the day, hmm?” There was something almost magical about those quiet, intimate moments with her daughter. Elena adored being a mother, and it was the one thing in her life that had always felt right. She couldn’t help but think back to when Mimi had first been born—so tiny, so fragile, and yet so full of life. Even though things had gotten hard, even though they were now living in a shelter, Elena couldn’t help but marvel at how much joy her daughter had brought into her life. Mimi had always been a cheerful baby, rarely fussy. While other mothers complained about sleepless nights and endless feedings, Elena’s experience had been different. Mimi was a good sleeper, and the only times she cried were when she was hungry, needed a diaper change, or wanted her binky. It was almost like a dream to raise her—a dream that felt so far away now in the chaos that surrounded them.

After dressing Mimi and making sure she was ready for the day, Elena’s thoughts briefly wandered to the shelter’s daycare. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief, knowing that the shelter had a daycare on the first floor. The first floor itself was a practical space filled with resources like government and job assistance offices, food pantries, and the daycare, which offered a rare sense of stability amidst the uncertainty. Elena had checked it out the day they arrived, shortly before completing her intake, and she’d been impressed by how well-organized it was. As a mother, Elena was fiercely protective of Mimi’s safety, and she’d scrutinized every detail. She wasn’t about to leave her daughter with just anyone. But after seeing how the daycare operated, Elena felt at ease. The staff seemed kind and dedicated, and the space itself was bright and welcoming, with colorful artwork adorning the walls, created by the children who attended. It gave Elena a sense of peace, knowing Mimi would be in good hands, even if only for a few hours each day.

...

Elena had just dropped Mimi off at the daycare, feeling a flicker of warmth in her chest as she watched her daughter’s face light up at the sight of the colorful artwork hanging on the walls. Mimi had always been drawn to colors, to shapes, to anything that sparked her imagination. The daycare was more than just a place for Mimi to stay; it was a space where she could grow, learn, and be herself. As she walked Mimi to the entrance, the little girl ran ahead, her excitement palpable. Elena felt a mixture of relief and a pang of sadness in her heart. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend every moment with her daughter—she did—but in this moment, she was grateful for the time to herself.

A young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, greeted them at the door with a warm smile. She had a youthful energy about her, the kind that was contagious, and Elena instantly felt comfortable leaving Mimi with her. The woman’s name was Cheryl, and her friendly demeanor made Elena feel a little lighter. Elena leaned down, pressed a kiss to Mimi’s head, and told Cheryl that she’d be back around 3 p.m., giving her daughter one last reassuring smile before turning to leave. It wasn’t easy, but she trusted that Mimi would be safe and well taken care of, and that thought gave her some peace.

By the time Elena walked into the social worker’s office, it was nearing 10:30 a.m. The office was minimalist in design, with white walls and simple furniture, but there was an unexpected warmth to the space, a subtle childlike vibe that made it feel less sterile than other offices she had been in. She approached the woman at the front desk, who had given her a referral for a social worker located on the top floor. The receptionist mentioned a man named Harry, a social worker with years of experience working with victims of domestic violence. Elena was relieved to hear that—she wanted someone who understood her situation, someone who could help her navigate the challenges ahead. The receptionist had even joked about Harry being “pretty attractive for a social worker,” which made Elena smile despite herself. She could use a little humor, even if it was unexpected.

Taking a seat in the yellow chair of the waiting area, Elena let herself absorb the calm of the space. The faint scent of fresh copier paper mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee—she assumed it came from the Keurig machine that sat on a nearby table. The Keurig was available to all the tenants, stocked with cups, stirrers, and an assortment of K-cups in different flavors. For a moment, Elena allowed herself to relax into the simplicity of it all, taking comfort in the small but meaningful details that made the place feel like more than just a temporary stop. She needed to gather her strength before her meeting with Harry, knowing that whatever happened next would be another step toward rebuilding her life.

“Ms. Thompson?” The deep, raspy voice echoed through the quiet room, pulling Elena’s attention away from her thoughts. She looked up, and her gaze landed on a man standing at the entrance. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with sharp features that immediately caught her off guard. Elena's mind briefly flashed back to the receptionist’s earlier comment, how she had joked about him being “pretty attractive for a social worker.” Now, as she took in his presence more closely, Elena couldn’t help but agree. He was, in fact, strikingly handsome—his features rugged but refined, a surprising combination for someone in this line of work. She hadn’t expected someone like him, especially a man, to be working in a field so often associated with women. There was something about him that didn’t fit her preconceived notions of what a social worker should look like. It was disorienting, but not unpleasant. Elena blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events.

“Hi, Ms. Thompson, it’s nice to meet you,” the man said, his warm tone immediately putting Elena at ease. His smile was genuine, and there was something about the way he spoke that made her feel like she was in safe hands. “Please, step into my office, and we’ll have a quick chat.” Elena hesitated for just a moment, then stood up, moving toward him. She noticed how different he seemed from the usual social workers she had encountered—his easy demeanor, the way he looked at her as though he genuinely cared. It wasn’t just professionalism; it was kindness that she hadn’t realized she was craving.

As they walked into his office, the weight of the conversation she was about to have settled on her shoulders. She knew she would have to talk about everything—about the events that had led her here, about the pain she had endured and the choices she had made. The thought of recounting it all was overwhelming, but it was necessary if she wanted to move forward. However, despite the intensity of the situation, Elena didn’t feel shame. She wasn’t embarrassed by what had happened; she simply didn’t feel prideful either. It wasn’t that she was proud of the life she had led before, but she knew she had survived it. She had fought to stay strong for Mimi, and in that, she had found resilience.

As she sat down across from him, she met his gaze, feeling her voice steady as she spoke. “I’ve been through a lot to get here,” she said, her words soft but firm. “But I’m ready to rebuild. I just need to know where to start.” Her tone was sincere—there was no hesitation now. She wasn’t here to hide anything, to avoid the truth. She was here to face it, to build a future that wasn’t defined by fear.

[itscoucouharry]

Been having an idea to write a oc about Elena, a woman in her early 30’s that is seeking safety at a shelter after escaping from a DV situation with her now ex boyfriend. She has a daughter, Mimi, who is about to be 3.

Harry is the town’s best and most passionate social worker. His only goal is to help Elena find a home for Elena and Mimi to finally be at peace.

Let me know if I should write this :)))

[itscoucouharry]

I’m so happy she’s putting herself first!! If anything the way things seems right now I’m glad she’s letting him go! And idk if I would see a future with them being together and not losing herself! Maybe a big dramatic time time jump would work 👀

Ahhhhhh we will just have to see! I thought long and hard and didn't want to end it with the usual unrealistic happy ending. I wanted to emphasize the importance of loving yourself before being with someone else. Also the importance of choosing yourself always. I feel like a lot of writers tend to finish off with the reader getting back with harry quickly and wanted it to be more realistic. But we shall see :))

[itscoucouharry]

Ember Cafe pt 3

Hey everyone. Felt like this part was better. I decided to post this anyway since I didn't want to take a break without updating this mini-series. Let me know what you guys think:)

My Masterlist

It's been a week and a half since my emotional conversation with Harry. In that time, I've started rediscovering hobbies I hadn’t even realized had faded from my life--pushed aside, little by little, because of his dislike for them.

Even though he poured his heart out last week, I knew I still needed to set boundaries in our relationship. I’ve been taking the necessary steps to truly understand what I enjoy, what excites me, and what I’ve only ever done to accommodate him. For too long, Harry’s interests always seemed to take priority over mine. Now, it’s time for me to put myself first. Even if it meant beginning with the most mundane of hobbies.

This included simplistic things—taking a long walk, trying a new restaurant, or just simply writing in the self-care journal that I recently bought from this thrift store a few days ago. The smallest things always meant the most to me. Whatever offered me peace of mind, or simply just time for myself to think and fully understand myself again. I slowly started finding my way back to all the things that I invested in before Harry came into my life. It was something that felt scary, and almost foreign. Foreign because of how much Harry’s being had an impact on my personal life. As I took a long walk up this hill a few streets by my apartment, I started to feel a sense of belonging. The golden hue of the sun hovered over the high-rise buildings, leaving a beautiful scenery that I’ve cursed myself for never taking advantage of sooner. How many things I’ve missed due to constantly being completely invested in making my relationship with Harry work. On days like this, I wondered if this relationship was even worth mending.

…

Throughout the week, Harry had taken it upon himself to text me every morning--always under the guise of “checking in,” but I knew it was really his way of holding onto me. Some mornings, I responded. Other mornings, I didn’t. It was a strange feeling. Despite everything, he was still an important part of my life. Harry had been my first in so many ways--my first real friend after moving to the city, my first adult kiss, my first experience in a fully committed relationship. Thinking about him made me sad. For so long, I had made myself smaller so he could shine, and I often wondered if my presence had ever truly mattered to him. When he told me his mental health was spiraling, I had poured every ounce of myself into comforting him, making sure he felt loved and supported. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall a single time he had done the same for me.

*Flashback*

I remembered the night so vividly--the way my chest felt tight, like I was suffocating under the weight of my own thoughts. It had been a long, exhausting day, and everything felt like too much. Work had drained me, my mind wouldn’t quiet down, and I just needed someone to be there, to tell me I wasn’t completely unraveling.

I had called Harry, my voice already unsteady before he even picked up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, but his tone lacked real concern.

I hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking. “I don’t know… I just--I feel off. I can’t get out of my own head. Everything feels so heavy, and I just… I need you.”

There was a long pause. Then, a sigh. “You’re probably overthinking, love. Just try to relax, yeah?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, frustration prickling at my skin. “I am trying. That’s the problem--I don’t know how to. I just need to talk, or… I don’t know. Can you come over?”

Another pause. I could hear the faint sound of a TV in the background. “Babe, I’m shattered. It’s been a long day. Just put on some music or take a bath or something. That usually helps, doesn’t it?”

His words felt dismissive, like I was being brushed off, like my pain was an inconvenience.

“Yeah,” I murmured, voice hollow. “I guess.”

We hung up shortly after, and I sat there, staring at my phone, hoping he’d call back. Hoping he’d realize that I wasn’t just having a bad day--I was drowning. But the phone stayed silent. No follow-up. No check-in.

And in that moment, I knew--I would have dropped everything for him. But he couldn’t even be bothered to stay on the phone long enough to make sure I was okay.

*End of Flashback*

This burned into my memory, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself--maybe he was just exhausted. I always made sure to understand that his lifestyle wasn’t the easiest. It took up a significant amount of his time, energy, and mental well-being. But to brush me off, when I so clearly needed him the most--hurt like hell. Yeah, maybe it was a bit dramatic on my part, I’ll admit it. But there was something about the nonchalant-ness, almost like he didn’t care about my feelings.

…

The next morning, I woke up in one of the best moods I’ve been in a long time. The weight of the instability of my relationship slowly lifting from my shoulders. Finally having a sense of routine again.

I took a long shower, spoiling myself with a new bodywash I had gotten last night. One that smelled of strawberries and cream. The scent of strawberries remained potent as I indulged myself into this tedious skin-care routine. The feeling of providing such care for myself could almost bring me to tears. If only Harry knew just how much of myself I had neglected while trying to hold our relationship together. If only he understood how many nights I had gone to bed exhausted--not just physically, but emotionally--because I had spent all my energy tending to him while leaving nothing for myself.

But that was changing now.

I wrapped myself in a plush towel, the scent of strawberries still clinging to my skin, and padded over to my vanity. As I carefully applied my moisturizer, I caught my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t just see someone tired or worn down. I saw me. A version of myself that was slowly coming back to life.

I put on my favorite playlist--one I hadn’t listened to in ages because Harry never cared for the music I liked--and hummed along as I got dressed. Something light, something comfortable. No pressure to impress anyone.

As I made my way into the kitchen, my phone buzzed on the counter. I already knew who it was before I even checked.

Harry.

Good morning. Hope you’re okay today.

I stared at the message for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. A week ago, I would have felt obligated to reply right away, to reassure him, to keep the connection alive.

But now?

I smiled to myself, placed my phone face down, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

Today, I was putting me first.

…

It was now almost evening, and I was cuddled up on the couch watching old re-runs of my favorite show to binge. The cup of tea—not Earl Grey—sat on the marble coffee table still steaming. The smell of the pasta dinner I had made still lingered in the air while I made myself even more comfortable on the couch. I was so comfortable, I figured, maybe I can dabble in a little nap.

A loud knock disturbs my process of napping. I slowly make my way to the door to find Harry on the other side, running his hands through his hair, looking even more disheveled than before.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”, I asked already feeling a bit irritated due to my interrupted slumber

“You didn’t answer my text” He rasped, while he stood looking at me like he thought I had died.

“I didn’t realize I was required to” I snapped. Harry seemed taken aback at how cold I sounded.

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N”

“Just come in.” I opened the door allowing him access to walk in.

I figured now was the time to tell Harry how the week had been. How much of my life had changed in a matter of a week since being apart.

“You know, I had a good week, Harry. And that concerns me, because why couldn’t I show myself this much care when we were together all the time.”

“Y/N” He started

“No” I interrupted. “I have explored myself again, Harry. I’ve gotten to really know myself and care for myself. I didn’t realize just how much of my own energy went into making sure you felt good. Making sure you felt safe and loved. How much energy you took from me, Harry.”

It felt so good to finally let him know.

“Through all of our time together, I’ve needed reassurance. I needed to feel safe and loved. But what did I get in return? You brushing me off.”

Harry was fully in tears now. To the point it almost annoyed me. Why did he always have to make me feel bad for being honest? Why couldn’t he just understand and accept it.

“And please, Harry. For the love of god, stop fucking crying.”

I never heard the room so quiet. The silence had never been so loud as it is now.

After a few minutes of Harry recollecting himself. He finally begins to speak.

“You look beautiful, look so natural and in your element. I’m scared shitless, Y/N. You don’t think I see you? I see the massive difference in you. How much more at peace you seem.”

It was my turn to cry. The feeling of losing myself wasn’t easy to handle. Especially with Harry. Who seemed to constantly pull me back in with his words, his presence, his desperation to still be in my life. But this wasn’t about him anymore.

I wiped at my face, shaking my head. “Harry, you don’t get it. I am at peace. And that’s what scares me too. Because if being away from you is what it takes for me to finally feel like me again… then what does that say about us?”

Harry inhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “It says I fucked up. That I was selfish and didn’t see how much I was taking from you.” His voice cracked slightly. “I never wanted to be the reason you lost yourself.”

I exhaled, steadying myself. “But you were, Harry. And the worst part? I let it happen.” I gestured around the apartment, at the small, comforting space I was finally learning to love on my own. “Look at me now. I cook what I want. I watch my favorite shows without worrying if you’ll roll your eyes. I wake up and take care of myself because I want to, not because I’m trying to be someone for you.”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “So… where does that leave us?”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. “I don’t know.”

And that was the truth. I didn’t know if we could ever find a way back to each other without me losing myself again. I didn’t know if his apologies, no matter how heartfelt, could erase the way I had felt all those months—years—of putting him first while slowly fading into the background.

“I still love you, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting those words settle over me. I knew he did. But love wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

“I love you too,” I admitted, and his head snapped up, hope flashing in his eyes. But before he could say anything, I continued, “But I have to love me more now.”

The hope in his face faltered. Not completely, but enough.

“I don’t know what’s next for us, Harry,” I said honestly. “Maybe one day, we’ll figure it out. But for now? I need space. Real space. Not just you texting me every morning to ‘check in.’ Not you showing up at my door because I didn’t respond fast enough.”

He nodded slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I understand.”

For once, I think he really did.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” I said softly, stepping toward the door, signaling that it was time for him to leave.

He hesitated, then finally stepped outside, lingering for just a second longer before nodding once and walking away.

I closed the door, leaning against it, my chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

For the first time in a long time, I felt free.

[itscoucouharry]

Ember Café pt 2

Heyyyyyy so im not sure I feel like I kinda let this drag but I wanted to compensate for missed time hehe :) as always enjoy

My Masterlist

Freedom from the shackles of Harry was a breath of fresh air--yet with every step forward, the ache of his absence clung to me like a ghost. Everywhere I turned, something reminded me of him. The scent of Earl Grey tea, the sight of a pearl necklace resting against a slightly unbuttoned shirt--each one pulling me back to a place where his love once felt safe. Before he tore through it, ripping into every little thing until I was left questioning if I had ever been enough for him.

I couldn’t erase the look in his eyes when I finally let it all go. When I stopped softening my words, stopped being the sweetheart he had come to expect, and gave it to him raw, unfiltered. That was the moment I faced the music--the moment I realized he had been slowly turning me into someone I didn’t recognize. Someone I never wanted to be.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

The question lingered in my mind like a bitter taste I just couldn’t shake. In all sincere honesty, I didn’t feel so angry at Harry. The anger I held was more towards myself-for forgetting who I was. For letting him break me down as if I didn’t mean anything to myself. The further our relationship went on, the more I was allowing it to happen. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I had spent so much time trying to love him, trying to be the person he needed, that I had forgotten the most important thing--I needed to love myself first. I wasn’t just me anymore. I was a reflection of whatever version of me he needed, whatever version he wanted me to be to fit into his world.

It was suffocating. The more I lost myself, the more I clung to him, desperate for validation. But now, I could see it so clearly--the way he had chipped away at my confidence, at my sense of self, until I was just a shadow of the person I once was. I had let him mold me into someone who no longer recognized her own worth.

Every memory, every sweet moment we had shared, suddenly felt like a lie. A performance. And I had been the fool, believing it was real. He had made me feel small, and for far too long, I had let him.

But that was over.

I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, my reflection staring back at me--someone I hadn’t seen in months. I looked different now, but it wasn’t just the tired eyes or the slightly worn expression. It was something else--something deeper. I was finally seeing myself again. Not through Harry’s eyes. Not through anyone else’s eyes. Just mine.

The days that followed were a blur. There were moments of deep loneliness--moments where I could feel his absence in the pit of my stomach. I would reach for my phone, only to stop myself, remembering how many times I had reached out for him in the past, only to feel more empty afterward. I couldn’t go back. Not this time. I couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine just to make him comfortable.

I needed to be comfortable with myself.

I thought of Harry again--the way he used to look at me like I was the center of his universe, the way his hands would brush mine gently, as if afraid I might slip away. Now, I realized that was just a facade. The truth was, I was the one who had been afraid to slip away. But no more. I was done being afraid.

And then came the message.

It was a simple text--Can we talk?--but it felt like a heavy weight landing in my lap. It had been weeks. Weeks since I last saw him, since I had allowed myself to feel his presence invade my space. I should have ignored it. I should have kept walking away. But part of me--a small, desperate part--wanted to hear him out. Wanted to know if he had finally seen the damage he had done.

I let the message sit there for a while, weighing my options. My thumb hovered over the screen, and I knew whatever I decided now would be a decision that would shape everything that followed.

I took a deep breath and typed back.

Me: What’s there to talk about, Harry?

The reply came fast.

H: I’ve been thinking a lot. I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I just... I need to see you.

I closed my eyes, feeling a mix of frustration and longing. His words sounded so sincere, so desperate, and part of me wanted to believe them. But I knew I couldn’t trust him. Not yet. Not after everything.

Me: I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not now.

There was a pause, and then the inevitable.

H: Please. Just one more conversation. Please, Y/N.

I stared at the message for a long time, my heart racing. The idea of facing him again--the idea of hearing his voice, of seeing the regret in his eyes--it scared me. But it also felt like a final test. A chance to prove that I had learned from all of this. That I was no longer willing to settle. Not for him. Not for anyone.

Me: Fine. But only to talk. And don’t expect anything more.

The message sent, and I immediately regretted it, but it was too late. I had already agreed to face him.

I put my phone down, took a long look in the mirror, and nervously put my hair into the sloppiest bun. This was my moment to be honest. Honest with my own feelings and honest about who I am as a person.

This was the moment I would reclaim my life--whether Harry liked it or not.

…

The clock had finally landed on 5:00 on the dot, and it was nearing time for harry to come over to speak. I had made a microwaveable dinner for myself as I was not going to host an entire dinner for Harry. Old me would’ve made a mouthwatering fish dinner, perfectly cooked to perfection, immediately accommodating his diet, and making things extra comfortable for him. But not tonight.

Tonight, I planned on eating my simple dinner with a glass of top-notch wine my co-worker, Alexia, gifted me as a thank you for assisting her on her latest project. She raved about the wine’s rich, authentic grape flavor, making it impossible to not have a taste for myself. Tonight, I planned to tell him that I would no longer tolerate his constant nitpicking and criticism of me or my choices.

A knock on the door interrupted my thought process and I slowly made my way to answer.

As I opened the door, I was met with a mere shadow of the man I once knew--someone who had always taken care of himself but now looked completely disheveled.

“Hi.” Harry awkwardly muttered. So mumbled that I almost couldn’t make it out.

“Hi, are you well?” I asked, even if I was pissed at him, I still cared about his wellbeing. Seeing him like this was so foreign to me, it was the only thing I could think to ask.

“Honest? Since the café I’ve been a proper mess.” At this moment, he looked on the verge of tears. Though the world knew him as a sensitive man, he had never shown this much emotion to me before.

Unfortunately for him, I didn’t cave in so quickly. I asked if he wanted a cuppa, or a glass of ice water, to which he accepted. Soon after, I sat on the grey velvet couch, cradling my glass of wine as if it was my lifeline.

"So, you wanted to talk?" I asked, maybe just a little influenced by the bougie wine. Still, I was rational enough to know that shouting my true feelings wouldn’t accomplish much tonight.

"Y/N, I can't even begin to express how sorry I am. I’ve been struggling mentally, and I didn’t realize just how much it was affecting you--and us."

I let out a sigh that I didn’t realize I’d been holding in. I crossed my arms and began my response. “Harry, I hear you and I do feel for you--I really do. I know how hard things have been for you and I’d never dismiss that.” I paused, recollecting my thoughts in order, and being as honest as possible. “But that doesn’t erase, nor excuse how poorly you treated me. you picked apart everything I did, everything I was, like I was never enough. And I stood there, taking it and taking it. Hoping you’d see me for who I was, without trying to change or criticize me.”

“I get that you were struggling, but that doesn’t make it okay, and I need you to understand that.”

I looked at him, hoping he’d finally see I wasn’t going to allow it any further. As I looked at him, he was now fully crying. Two fat teardrops trickling down his face with very red cheeks.

Harry really didn’t understand how hard he made this for me. I always had a hard time seeing a grown man cry. Especially one I have so much love for. Even though my love for him is still there, he still needs to understand that I’m being serious. And if I easily let him back in, the same thing will continue, as he will feel like it was okay.

After a long moment of silence, he finally broke it.

“Whatever you need--whatever--please don’t hesitate to text or call me. I love you so much Y/N. I see you and I love you for who you are. I will take however long trying to prove that to you.”

I sat there, heart pounding in my chest, trying to process his words. A part of me wanted to pull away, to protect myself from experiencing the same hurt, but another part--a quieter part--was beginning to soften.

“I’m not sure when, or how, we’ll get there” I said, my voice quieter now, but still firm. “But I’m willing to listen… and maybe, in time, we can figure this out.”

His eyes met mine and I swore I can see a flicker of hope flash in them.

“Take all the time you need” He whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion. “I’m here, Y/N. Always”

[itscoucouharry]

Ember Café pt 1

Hey everyone! I am finally posting I know😩😭. But I’ve been really into the concept of y/n finally letting go of the nice girl and giving H a taste of his own medicine for once. Hope you enjoy!

My Masterlist

The golden glow of Ember Café did little to soothe the fire burning inside me. If anything, it only made the moment feel sharper, more intense, as if the weight of Harry’s stare could physically press into my skin. He wasn’t just looking at me—he was studying me, like he was trying to decipher every thought running through my mind. But he wouldn’t find anything comforting there. Not today.

Last night’s fight was just the latest in a long string of unspoken frustrations, each one piling onto the last until the weight of it all became unbearable. I had spent months convincing myself that silence was easier, that letting things go would keep the peace between us. But all it did was create a storm inside me, one that had been brewing for far too long. And now, that silence had turned against me, morphing into something ugly—anger, resentment, exhaustion. A deep, aching exhaustion that came from loving someone who constantly made me feel like I was never enough.

*Last Night*

“Why didn’t you tell me you canceled plans with Anna?” Harry’s voice had that familiar sharp edge—the one that always set my teeth on edge, the one he used when he was spoiling for an argument over something that shouldn’t even matter.

I exhaled sharply, already weary of where this was headed. “I told you—I wasn’t feeling well. I’m an adult, Harry. If I decide to stay home, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” My voice was firm, but inside, I could already feel my patience thinning by the second.

His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as he stared at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even realize he had created. “I’m just asking because I ran into her at the shops today, and she said you’ve been impossible to reach.”

I scoffed, folding my arms tightly over my chest. “And? Since when do I owe her—or anyone—constant availability? Maybe I just needed space.”

His brows furrowed, and he took a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling suffocating. “Space from what?” His voice was quieter now, but there was something else beneath it—something vulnerable, something hesitant. “From me?”

My throat tightened at the question, because deep down, I knew the answer. I needed space from everything—from the weight of constantly feeling like I was under a microscope, from the way he scrutinized my every move, from the way I never felt like I was doing enough, no matter how much I gave. But I couldn’t say that.

Instead, I let the words slip out before I could stop myself. “I don’t know, Harry, why would I need space from someone who’s constantly breathing down my fucking neck?”

The second the words left my mouth, I saw something shift in his expression. For a split second, I saw real hurt flicker in his eyes, but then, just as quickly, it was gone—replaced by something else entirely. His face hardened, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk—the one he always wore when we fought, the one that meant he was about to say something cruel just to get under my skin.

“Well, darling,” he said, voice dripping with condescension, “don’t feel like you have to stay. God knows you’ve already overstayed your welcome. This is my fucking house, Y/N. If you desperately need space, by all means—take it.”

It was like a slap to the face. A challenge wrapped in indifference.

That was all it took.

I turned on my heel, grabbed my obnoxiously large tote bag, and started shoving in whatever essentials I could find. My hands were shaking with anger and something I could only describe as shame, but I refused to let him see it. There will be no more timid and weak y/n.

“Fuck you, Harry,” I spat before storming out of the house I had never truly felt at home in.

*End of Flashback*

At exactly 7:15 AM, my phone buzzed with a message.

H: Can we talk about this?

I stared at the screen for a long moment, debating whether to even dignify it with a response. After everything he said last night—after kicking me out—he had the audacity to text me like nothing happened?

I typed out several responses before settling on something simple but honest: You woke me up for this?

His reply came almost instantly.

H: Please, Y/N.

I should have ignored him. I wanted to ignore him. But against my better judgment, I found myself agreeing. Not because I wanted to see him—God knows I didn’t—but because I needed to hear what excuse he had this time.

And now, sitting across from him in Ember Café, I regretted every decision that led me here.

Harry hadn’t said a single word since I arrived. Just sat there, staring, as if he expected me to magically read his mind.

I exhaled sharply, breaking the heavy silence. “Are you going to say something, or are you just going to keep fucking staring?” My voice was sharp, colder than he was used to.

I had played the sweet girl part for too long. The patient, understanding girlfriend who let things slide even when they hurt. That version of me was gone.

Harry leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Listen, baby, I’m tired of arguing. I hate this thick tension between us all the time. You never used to be like this.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. The fucking audacity.

“You have the nerve to bring me here,” I said, my voice low and sharp, “look me in the eyes, and tell me I’m the problem? When it’s you?” I saw him tense, but I wasn’t done. Not even close. “I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long while you disrespected me—whether it was in front of your obnoxious fucking friends or when it was just us, alone in that house. And you sit here, acting like I’m the one who changed?”

My heart pounded in my chest, but I didn’t let up. I was finally saying the things I had swallowed for months.

“You made me feel insecure the second we moved in together, Harry. I was happy in my shitty little apartment. I never needed the big house, the fancy bullshit, the pressure of fitting into your world. I signed up to be with you. I love you. Even though you’ve hurt me. Even though you piss me off more than I ever thought possible. I still love you.”

Silence.

Harry sat there, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes unreadable. It was the first time in a long time that he didn’t have a smug response ready.

And for the first time, I had the upper hand.

I stood, grabbing my bag. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my shitty little apartment. Because, God help me, the past eighteen hours alone have been the most peace I’ve had since we fucking moved in together.”

I walked away without looking back.

Maybe this would change something. Maybe he’d finally hear me.

Or maybe, for the first time, I just didn’t care.

[itscoucouharry]

Guys I’m so sorry for the delay I’ve been dealing with family issues and skill exams and I’m very much overwhelmed.

I do make some posts but the fic is still saved in my word doc and it is almost done I just gotta add in more detail bc I haven’t been too happy with it.

And I’d hate to give y’all anything that feels rushed or not much thought put into it.

[itscoucouharry]

“Every time I see a picture of Liam Payne, it hits me all over again.. he’s always going to look just like this. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much we all grow older, he never will. It’s strange how someone can be gone but still feel so present, like he could walk through the door at any second, cracking a joke or flashing that little smirk. He’s frozen in time now, forever young, forever Liam. And that’s the part that hurts the most.”

[itscoucouharry]

Reblogging so I don’t lose this

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

[itscoucouharry]

For the love of all that you enjoy: DON’T PAYWALL YOUR FANFICTION.

Again, but louder:

DON’T PAYWALL YOUR FANFICTION

It’s getting more and more common. I’ve seen three posts about it in the last 24 hours - patreons where you’ll get “exclusive” fanfiction stories if you’re a subscriber.

Don’t.

Don’t do it.

It’s annoying, but mostly it’s fucking dangerous.

The whole fanfiction community prosper on someone else’s turf under “fair use” laws. In simple terms: we can play with other people’s creations for as long as it’s done for our own amusement, and that of our followers.

Once any kind of financial benefits are made, it becomes another abuse of someone else’s rights.

And look, I get it. It sucks, especially seeing the artists take commissions while the authors get nothing, and it takes hours and hours of our time, and I understand people are looking for a side hustle to make ends meet in this monstrosity of a capitalist society, but if we don’t stop it from happening, the rights owners will stop it.

And they’ll stop it for everyone.

It’s not worth it. Don’t do it.

[itscoucouharry]

[itscoucouharry]

[itscoucouharry]

[itscoucouharry]

there's no greater betrayal than finally starting to read a book you've had sitting for months on your shelf or your desk or your nightstand and then finding out it's bad. like. i gave you a fucking home.

[itscoucouharry]