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The air in the bathroom was thick and cloying, smelling faintly of the expensive lavender soap Dominik’s mother had sent.
To Y/N, it was suffocating. She sat on the cold, unforgiving tiles, her back pressed hard against the vanity cabinet, knees curled so tightly to her chest she thought her bones might fuse together. The small plastic stick lay abandoned by the sink, its digital screen not displaying words, but two stark, undeniable pink lines.
An accusation. A life sentence.
Her heart wasn't just beating; it was a frantic, caged bird slamming against her ribs. Each panicked thud was a drumbeat to the echo of her mother’s voice, a record she’d spent a lifetime trying to break.
“You’ll never make it as a person, much less a mother.”
The words, once a dull ache, now cut with the precision of a scalpel. And the cruelest part? In this dizzying, terrified silence, she believed them.
Her hands trembled violently as she snatched the test from the counter. She yanked open the bottom drawer, a tomb of half-finished lotions and abandoned makeup bags, and shoved the evidence deep into its shadows, burying it beneath a tangle of hair ties and forgotten lipsticks. As if out of sight could mean out of existence.
But her mind, the ultimate traitor, dragged her back. Not to a major event, but to a mundane moment of sin.
A single piece of chocolate. A small, perfect square of dark, bitter-sweet comfort melting on her tongue. The memory was so vivid she could almost taste it.
Then, the voice, sharp as a whip crack from the doorway. “Are you aiming to become a cow or something? You know damn well no one would want to marry a cow. God, you’re so stupid. I keep telling you to cut sweets, and you don’t listen, pathetic useless waste of space.”
The shame had been a hot flush. But worse was the next day. Her mother, humming in the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air. A smile as she kissed Y/N’s younger sister on the cheek. “I love you all equally,” she’d chirped, her tone so convincingly warm that if not for the fresh, aching hole in Y/N’s chest, she might have been fooled.
She was never loved equally. Her siblings received praise; she was given a leash. They were the shining examples; she was the cautionary tale.
And now, faced with the terrifying specter of motherhood, all she could see was her own reflection warping into the woman she hated most. She would become that voice. It was inevitable.
The bathroom door creaked open, shattering the memory.
“Hey?” Dominik’s voice drifted in, soft and warm, a stark contrast to the cold dread in her veins. “You okay, szívem? You’ve been in here a while.”
She jolted, scrambling to her feet. She splashed icy water on her face, the shock helping to steady her breath. She practiced a smile in the mirror, a small, tight thing that didn’t reach her eyes, before turning to face him.
“Yeah,” she lied, her voice unnaturally bright. “Just… my stomach’s acting weird again.”
Dominik leaned against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. Worry was etched into the lines of his handsome face. “You sure? You’ve been pale all morning.”
She nodded, too quickly. “Positive. Must be something I ate.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze so perceptive she felt transparent. But he didn’t push. That was something she both loved and hated about him, his profound respect for her silence. He gave her space, even when she used that space to build fortresses around herself.
“Alright,” he relented, his voice a gentle murmur. He took a step closer, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. “You know,” he added, almost casually, “you’d be the best at anything you set your heart to. Don’t ever forget that.”
The kindness was a physical blow. Her throat closed up, tears threatening to spill. She wanted to crumble, to confess, to scream her fear into the safe harbor of his chest. But the words were trapped behind a wall of terror. Instead, she just nodded, slipped past him, and buried herself in the mindless motions of the day.
The days dissolved into a hazy, guilt-ridden blur. The secret lived in the drawer, but she carried its weight everywhere.
It was there at breakfast, when Dominik reached across the table, his hand enveloping hers with a boyish grin as he recounted a joke from training. The pure, uncomplicated joy on his face made her want to vomit.
It was there at night, when he fell asleep beside her, his breathing deep and even, an arm slung possessively over her waist. She would lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, counting the ways her lie was poisoning their perfect world.
It was there in the afternoons, when he’d collapse on the couch after a brutal training session, resting his head in her lap with a contented sigh, trusting her to be his sanctuary while she fought the violent urge to sob because she was betraying that very trust.
Every kindness he offered, a cup of tea, a back rub, a silly text in the middle of the day, only honed the edge of her guilt into something sharper.
A few weeks later, he cornered her with that look again. They were in the kitchen, and he was fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, a telltale sign of his anxiety.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his voice low. “More than usual. Is everything okay?”
Her chest constricted. No. Nothing is okay. I’m drowning and I’m taking you down with me. The words sat on her tongue, bitter and desperate.
But what came out was, “Just tired. It’s nothing, Dom.”
He frowned, his brow furrowing. “I don’t like seeing you like this. It feels like you’re a million miles away.”
She forced a laugh, the sound brittle and foreign. “You’re imagining things. I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced. Not one bit.
The worry gnawed at him all through training. During a water break, he found himself next to Mohammed, the veteran’s calm presence a magnet for his spiraling thoughts.
“Hey, Mo?” Dominik’s voice was uncharacteristically strained.
“What’s up, brother?” Mohammed asked, taking a swig from his bottle.
“It’s Y/N,” he blurted out, the frustration leaking through. “She’s been acting so strange and distant. I don’t know how to… speak to her. Has your wife ever been like that? Where it feels like she’s hiding a whole world from you?”
The Egyptian chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eye. “Every woman has a whole world inside her, Dom. That is not news. But distant? Yes. Sometimes they go to a place we cannot follow.”
“But how do you bring her back?” Dominik pleaded, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Every time I ask, she says she’s fine. It’s like she’s building a wall, and I’m just watching her do it.”
Mohammed’s expression softened into something more serious. “You cannot knock the wall down. You must wait by it. Let her know you are there, waiting, when she is ready to come out. Be steady. That is the best thing. Your presence, not your pressure.”
Dominik sighed, the advice feeling both wise and utterly insufficient. “I just hate feeling like she’s alone in whatever this is.”
“Then make sure she knows she is not,” Mohammed said simply. “Without saying a word.”
That night, Dominik tried to embody that very presence. He pulled her onto the couch, wrapping her in his arms, the television casting flickering shadows across the room.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he murmured into her hair, his hand rubbing slow, grounding circles on her arm. “Anything at all. I am not going anywhere.”
Her heart shattered. She wanted to believe him so desperately it was a physical pain. She wanted to spill the entire awful truth, the test, the fear, the ghost of her mother hissing in her ear.
But fear was a louder voice. What if he leaves? What if he looks at you with disappointment? What if you fail him, fail this child, fail yourself?
“I know,” she whispered back. But the words felt like a betrayal.
Later, alone in the bathroom again, she pressed her feverish forehead against the cool mirror. Her reflection looked back—tired, haunted, a stranger. Her trembling fingers drifted to her stomach, still flat, but somehow different.
I can’t do this.
The solution whispered to her from the darkest corner of her mind. A clinic. A procedure. A way to erase the mistake before it became real, before she could ruin a life. But then she pictured Dominik’s face, full of love and excitement for a future she might unilaterally erase, and a guilt so profound it choked her rose up in response.
She slid down onto the tiles, just like that first day, and sobbed into her hands, the sound muffled by the relentless hum of the extractor fan. She didn’t know what terrified her more: becoming a mother, or losing the only man who made her feel worthy of love.
The cruelest truth settled over her like a shroud. She wasn’t just hiding the pregnancy from Dominik.
She was hiding it from herself.
When the house was finally quiet, she curled on her side, drifting into an uneasy sleep. Dominik stayed awake, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across her. He watched the pale moonlight trace the worry lines on her face, even in slumber.
He noticed it then, a new detail: how she clutched the extra pillow tight against her stomach, her fingers curled into the fabric like a lifeline. It was a small, subconscious thing, but it made his chest ache with a protective ferocity.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, careful not to wake her. “What is going on in that beautiful head of yours, szívem?” he whispered into the darkness.
There was no answer but her shallow, uneven breath. He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. He wanted to shake her, to demand answers, to tear down the walls. But the gentler, wiser part of him, the part that loved her, knew that would only make her build them higher.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling, and decided to trust Mohammed’s advice. He would be steady. He would be present.
Slowly, he slipped his hand into hers where it rested on the pillow, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed gently, a silent promise in the dark.
I’m here. Even if you won’t let me in yet, I’m not going anywhere.
And though she didn’t stir, her fingers twitched against his in her sleep, a tiny, unconscious reflex that gave him just enough hope to hold on.
The confrontation finally came on a Tuesday. Dominik had come home early, hoping to catch her before her afternoon nap. The flat was silent, but the bathroom door was closed. And then he heard it, the faint, unmistakable sound of retching, followed by a choked sob.
His heart plummeted. “Y/N?” His voice was sharp with alarm as he dropped his bag and crossed the room in three strides. He knocked on the door. “Open the door. Please, baby, open the door.”
A long, painful silence. Then, a weak whisper. “I’m fine.”
The lie, delivered now, in this context, shattered his patience. He pressed his forehead against the cool wood, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and frustration. “No, you’re not. Don’t tell me you’re fine when I can hear you getting sick. I’ve watched you for weeks. You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, you’re hiding from me.” His voice rose, laced with a pain he couldn’t conceal. “Do you even trust me anymore?”
Inside, Y/N leaned against the sink, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to open the door. God, she wanted to.
“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
Dominik’s fist hit the doorframe, a dull thud of pent-up emotion. “Stop saying that! Stop pretending like I can’t see you falling apart! Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I don’t notice when you run to the bathroom every morning, when you wear my sweaters to hide, when you flinch when I touch you?” His breath hitched. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. Something is wrong. And if you won’t tell me… then what am I supposed to do?”
The silence that followed was heavier than any wall.
“I can’t tell you,” she wept, her voice barely audible.
“Why?” he begged, his own voice raw. “Why can’t you tell me? I’m supposed to be your person. But you’re locking me out like I’m the enemy.”
“Because if I tell you,” she choked out, “everything will change.”
He leaned his head back against the wall, exhaustion and hurt washing over him. “Maybe it should,” he said, the fight leaving him, leaving only a hollow ache. He turned away, his footsteps retreating. “You know what hurts the most? It’s not that something’s wrong. It’s that you don’t trust me enough to share it.”
The sound of him walking away was the final crack in her foundation. She couldn’t let him leave like that. Not after everything.
The door creaked open. Y/N emerged, slumped against the frame, utterly broken. In her trembling hand, she clutched the small, white plastic test.
Dominik’s eyes fell on it, and the world stopped. The color drained from his face as a thousand realizations clicked into place at once. The sickness, the hiding, the fear. His chest tightened, a maelstrom of shock, understanding, and a dawning, terrifying joy.
“How long?” The words were a whisper, fragile.
She flinched. “I… I don’t know how to say it.” She sank onto the couch, drawing her knees up. “I didn’t… I didn’t plan for this.”
He moved closer, slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal. His hands hovered. “Y/N… you have to tell me. I need to know. How far along?”
Her grip tightened on the test. “Three months… maybe a little more,” she admitted, each word a struggle. “I… I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” His voice was incredulous. “You think hiding this from me doesn’t hurt me? That watching you suffer alone doesn’t tear me apart?”
She pressed her face into her knees, a shudder wracking her body. “I was scared. I’m still scared. I… I don’t even know if I can do this, Dom. What if I mess it up? What if I become ..."
“You can’t know that,” he interrupted, his tone firm yet unbearably soft. He finally closed the distance, cupping her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. There was no anger there. Only worry, and a love so deep it made her want to believe. “Look at me. You are not alone in this. Whatever comes, we face it together. But you can’t shut me out. Not like this. Not when it’s us.”
The dam broke. Sobs tore from her throat, great heaving things she couldn’t control. “I didn’t mean to hide it! I’m just so terrified. Terrified I’ll become like her. Terrified I’ll fail… I’ve thought… I’ve thought about ..."
Dominik’s hand covered hers, squeezing hard. “Shhh. Don’t. Don’t say that. We’ll figure it out. Together. Whatever you feel, we face it together. But you are not walking this road alone, Y/N. Not ever.”
He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she finally, finally broke apart. He held her through the storm, whispering her name, anchoring her with his steadiness.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair, his own tears mingling with hers. “I’ve always got you.”
The first ultrasound was a revelation. Dominik held her hand the entire time, his thumb stroking her knuckles. When the grainy, black-and-white image flickered to life on the screen, a tiny, bean-shaped being with a flickering, rapid heartbeat, Y/N gasped.
“That’s… that’s our baby?” she whispered.
Dominik’s grip tightened, his eyes wide with awe. “Yeah,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s them.” He looked from the screen to her, his eyes shining. “You see that? You’re doing that. You’re amazing.”
The technician smiled. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”
A sound filled the room then, a fast, strong, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. It was the most beautiful sound Y/N had ever heard. She looked at Dominik and saw tears streaming freely down his face. He leaned down and pressed a fierce, loving kiss to her forehead.
“Our baby,” he whispered.
Later, as they left the clinic, he couldn’t stop grinning. He kept one arm around her, his hand resting possessively on her still-flat stomach.
“A little person,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Our little person.”
Y/N smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes for the first time in months. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was now shared, its weight halved by his unwavering presence.
“I still don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted softly.
“Neither do I,” he said, laughing. “But we’ll learn. Together. I’ll read all the books. I’ll annoy Mohammed with a thousand questions. I’ll be there. For everything.”
And he was. He attended every appointment, asked more questions than she did, and began talking to her belly every night, his voice a low, soothing rumble.
“Hey, little one,” he’d say, his lips close to her skin. “It’s your dad. Just reminding you to be nice to your mom in there. She’s the strongest person I know.”
The day they found out the sex was the day the future truly began to feel real. The technician moved the wand and smiled. “Well, looks like you’re having a little girl.”
The air left Dominik’s lungs in a rush. “A girl?” he repeated, his voice cracking. He looked at Y/N, his eyes swimming with tears of joy. “We’re having a daughter.”
He kissed her, deeply, passionately, right there in the examination room, oblivious to the technician’s chuckle. “A little girl,” he whispered against her lips. “Our daughter.”
They spent the afternoon dreaming aloud, debating names between kisses, Dominik insisting she would have her mother’s eyes and her father’s stubbornness.
The fear didn’t vanish, but it was slowly being crowded out by something else: hope. And love. An immense, terrifying, all-consuming love that started with the two of them and now reached toward the future, toward their daughter.
One evening, as they lay in bed, his hand splayed over her now-prominent bump, feeling their daughter kick, Y/N spoke into the quiet.
“I’m still scared sometimes,” she confessed.
Dominik turned to her, his face serious in the moonlight. “I know, szívem. So am I. But we’re scared together. And that’s enough. That’s everything.”
The pain was a living thing, a tidal wave that pulled her under and spat her out, over and over. The hospital room was bright, sterile, a universe away from their lavender-scented bathroom.
“I can’t,” Y/N sobbed, her body trembling with exhaustion. “Dom, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted, his voice firm but his eyes soft, never leaving her face. He was perched on the bed beside her, one hand crushing hers, the other wiping sweat from her brow with a cool cloth. “You are the strongest person I have ever known. You are doing this. Look at me. Just look at me.”
She locked onto his gaze, a blue anchor in the storm of pain. She pushed.
And then, a new sound pierced the air. A strong, indignant cry.
Time stopped.
A moment later, a nurse placed a tiny, squirming, perfect human being on her chest. She was red and wrinkled, with a shock of dark hair and a furious little mouth.
Y/N’s sobs turned into a disbelieving laugh. “Hi,” she breathed, her voice ragged with wonder. “Hi, baby girl.”
Dominik was weeping openly, his forehead pressed against Y/N’s temple, his large, calloused finger stroking their daughter’s tiny, perfect hand. “She’s here,” he choked out. “Oh, God, Y/N. Look at her. She’s perfect.”
He looked from his daughter to the love of his life, his heart so full he thought it might burst. “You were incredible,” he whispered, kissing Y/N’s tear-streaked cheek. “Absolutely incredible.”
Y/N leaned into him, their daughter cradled between them, the three of them forming their own complete, unbreakable universe. The fear, the secrets, the pain, it all melted away in the face of this.
Dominik looked down at his daughter, her tiny fingers now curled around his. “Welcome to the world, kislányom,” he whispered, his voice thick with a love so profound it reshaped his very soul. “Your mom and I… we’ve been waiting for you.”
He kissed Y/N again, slow and deep, a promise of a thousand tomorrows.
They were a family. And for the first time, Y/N knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that everything was going to be okay. More than okay. It was going to be beautiful.
The first night home was a symphony of tiny sounds. The soft whir of the baby monitor, the creak of the floorboards as one of them paced, the delicate, snuffling breaths of their daughter, Amelia, swaddled tightly in her bassinet beside their bed.
Y/N was propped up on pillows, exhaustion a heavy blanket over her, but sleep felt like a betrayal. What if she missed a breath? What if she needed her?
“You need to sleep, szívem,” Dominik murmured from his side of the bed. He was on his side, watching her watch the baby, his own eyes dark with fatigue but soft with adoration.
“I can’t,” she whispered back. “What if she stops breathing? What if I roll over and don’t hear her?”
He slid out of bed and came to her side, kneeling so they were level. He placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Then I will watch her. My turn. You sleep for two hours. I promise, I will not take my eyes off her. Not for a second.”
The trust she had struggled to give him months ago came easily now. She nodded, her eyelids already drooping. “Just two hours,” she mumbled, already sinking into the pillows.
Dominik didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He rested his chin on the mattress, his face inches from Amelia’s. He watched the rise and fall of her tiny chest, counting her breaths like they were the most precious things in the world.
“You have her nose,” he whispered to the sleeping infant. “And her stubbornness, I think. That’s okay. You’ll need it.” He reached out, his finger dwarfed by her miniature hand. She grasped it in her sleep, a reflex, but it sent a bolt of pure, undiluted love straight to his heart. “I’m here, kislányom,” he breathed. “Always.”
True to his word, he woke Y/N after two hours with a cup of tea and a warm bottle. “She’s perfect,” he reported, his voice rough with emotion. “She sighed seven times and made a little snort that sounded exactly like my father. It was magnificent.”
Y/N took the tea, her heart swelling at the sight of him, the elite athlete, revered on pitches across Europe, looking more proud of counting baby sighs than any goal he’d ever scored.
The weeks that followed were a beautiful, exhausting blur. They learned her rhythms, her cries, the hungry wail, the tired whimper, the frustrated shriek that meant a diaper change was urgently required. Dominik became an expert swaddler, his large, precise hands folding the blankets into a perfect baby burrito that Amelia found deeply soothing.
One afternoon, Y/N found him in the nursery, Amelia cradled in one arm while he attempted to assemble a mobile with the other, the instructions scattered at his feet.
“You know,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, “the box says ‘some assembly required,’ not ‘requires a PhD in engineering.’”
He looked up, a screw held between his teeth. “She deserves the best,” he mumbled around it. “This monkey is supposed to play Brahms. Brahms! She’s cultivating an appreciation for the classics.”
Y/N laughed, the sound still surprising her with its ease. She walked over and took the baby from him, inhaling her sweet, milky scent. “I think she’d be just as happy with you humming the Liverpool chant.”
“Nonsense,” he said, finally getting the pieces to click together. “She’s a cultured lady. Aren’t you, kislányom? Yes, you are.”
But the old fears, though quieter, didn’t vanish entirely. They crept in during the 3 a.m. feedings, when the house was silent and her mind was too tired to defend itself.
One such night, Amelia was fussier than usual, arching her back and refusing to latch. Y/N’s milk let down with a painful rush, a physical manifestation of her frustration. Tears of exhaustion and inadequacy welled in her eyes.
“Shhh, baby, please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Please, just eat. For Mummy. Please.”
The more she pleaded, the more Amelia cried, a feedback loop of despair. The voice, her mother’s voice, slithered from the shadows of her sleep-deprived mind. See? You can’t even do this simplest thing. You’re failing her already.
A sob escaped her. She felt paralyzed, trapped in the rocking chair with her crying child, a perfect portrait of maternal failure.
Then, a warm hand settled on her shoulder. Dominik, awakened by the cries. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He simply knelt beside them, his presence a calm in the storm.
“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb stroking her arm. “It’s a tough night. That’s all it is.” He looked at Amelia’s red, furious face. “And you, little miss. You’re giving your mum a hard time, eh? Let’s take a breath.”
He didn’t take the baby. Instead, he leaned in and began to sing. It was a old Hungarian folk song, his voice a low, off-key rumble that was somehow the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever heard.
“Aludj el, gyermekem, aludj el...”
Amelia’s cries hiccupped. She turned her head towards the sound of his voice, her little brow furrowed in concentration. Y/N’s tense muscles began to unlock. She guided Amelia back, and this time, she latched on, feeding greedily.
Dominik kept singing, his hand now resting on Y/N’s knee, his song for both of his girls. When he finished, the only sound was Amelia’s contented swallowing.
Y/N looked at him, her vision blurred with tears of relief. “How did you know?” she whispered.
He smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I didn’t. I just knew you weren’t alone. We never are.”
It was the final, crucial brick laid in the foundation of her new certainty. The fear might visit, but it would never again move in. It had been evicted by a love that was louder, stronger, and shared.
A few months later, they ventured out to a team BBQ at Virgil van Dijk’s house. It was their first big social outing as a family. Y/N felt a flicker of the old anxiety, worried Amelia would cry or she’d do something wrong in front of everyone.
They were greeted by a wall of curious, smiling footballers. Amelia, perched on Dominik’s hip in a tiny Liverpool kit, stared wide-eyed at the giants surrounding her.
“Who is this little champion?” Virgil boomed, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“This is Amelia,” Dominik said, puffing his chest out with pride.
One by one, the hardened athletes melted. Trent Alexander-Arnold made silly faces. Andy Robertson offered her a clean (and approved) teething ring. Mo Salah, a seasoned father himself, gave Y/N a knowing wink. “She is beautiful. You are doing great.”
At one point, Y/N went inside to get a drink, leaving Dominik chatting with Konaté. When she returned, she stopped short at the sight that greeted her.
Dominik was sitting on a garden bench, away from the main crowd. Amelia was curled against his chest, fast asleep, her head tucked under his chin. One of his large hands splayed across her entire back, holding her secure. He wasn't talking to anyone. He was just looking down at her, completely mesmerized, whispering softly to her in Hungarian. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow around them, illuminating the absolute, unwavering devotion on his face.
Y/N’s breath caught. This was it. This was the picture that would forever be etched in her mind, the man, the father, the love of her life, utterly captivated by their daughter. There was no audience, no performance. It was just them, a perfect, self-contained universe of love.
He must have felt her gaze because he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. The smile he gave her was slow and deep, filled with a joy so profound it was almost sacred. He didn’t need to say a word.
She walked over and sat beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Together, they watched their daughter sleep.
“You were right, you know,” she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.
“About what?” he murmured, kissing her hair.
“That we would be okay.” She looked from his face to their daughter’s and back again. “We’re more than okay.”
He squeezed her closer. “I told you. You’re the best at anything you set your heart to.” He nodded down at Amelia. “And being a mother? It’s your masterpiece, Y/N.”
The old echo tried to surface, the ghost of her mother’s criticism. But it was faint now, drowned out by the sound of her daughter’s breathing, the steady beat of Dominik’s heart under her ear, and the new, strong voice in her own head, her voice, that finally, completely, believed him.
The first year of Amelia’s life passed in a kaleidoscope of firsts, first smile, first tooth, first wobbly steps held tightly by her parents’ fingers. The fear that had once been a constant, cold companion for Y/N had been warmed away by the relentless, sunny love of her little family. She still had moments of doubt, shadows that passed over her heart, but they no longer settled in. They were chased away by Dominik’s steady hand in hers, or by Amelia’s gummy, triumphant laugh.
Amelia was a year old, a whirlwind of curiosity and joy with her mother’s eyes and her father’s determined spirit. They’d settled into a beautiful, chaotic rhythm. Life was no longer about surviving the day, but about savoring it.
One crisp autumn afternoon, Dominik suggested a picnic in Sefton Park. “Just the three of us,” he said, bouncing a giggling Amelia on his hip. “The leaves are changing. It’ll be beautiful.”
They found a perfect, quiet spot under a canopy of gold and crimson. Dominik spread out a thick blanket while Y/N unpack the picnic basket, simple sandwiches, Amelia’s favorite banana pieces, and a bottle of sparkling apple cider.
“Remember this?” Dominik said softly, holding up the cider. “We had this the night we found out we were having a girl.”
Y/N smiled, a flush of warmth spreading through her. “I remember. You cried.”
“You cried more,” he shot back playfully, his eyes crinkling.
They ate, they laughed, they watched Amelia toddle after falling leaves, her chubby hands outstretched. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a long, golden light through the trees. It was perfect. Peaceful.
Dominik reached into the diaper bag, pulling out a small, crinkly book. “Hey, kislányom, come here. Daddy has a story.”
Amelia wobbled over and plopped into his lap, her attention captured by the bright pictures. Y/N watched them, her heart so full she thought it might burst. This was her world. Right here.
“This is a special story,” Dominik began, his voice taking on a theatrical tone that made Amelia look up at him with wide eyes. “It’s about a family. See? There’s the daddy.” He pointed to a clumsily drawn stick figure with a football. “And there’s the little girl.” A smaller figure with a scribble of dark hair. “And there’s the mommy.” He pointed to the third figure, drawn with a heart over its chest. “And the daddy loves the mommy more than anything in the whole world.”
He turned the page. The next drawing was even simpler. A large circle with a smaller circle inside it. “This is a ring,” Dominik said, his voice dropping into a more serious, intimate register. He wasn’t just talking to Amelia anymore. Y/N felt the air change, grow stiller, more charged.
Dominik looked directly at Y/N, his blue eyes blazing with a love so intense it stole her breath. “And the daddy wanted to give the mommy a ring. To ask her a very important question.”
With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket. Amelia, sensing the shift, patted the book and babbled, “Mama! Mama!”
And as Dominik held up a small, velvet box, Amelia, following a routine they had practiced a dozen times in secret, reached her tiny hand into the box and fumbled out its contents. It wasn’t a toy ring. It was the most breathtaking diamond Y/N had ever seen, set on a delicate band of rose gold, catching the last of the sunset and scattering tiny rainbows across the blanket.
Tears sprang to Y/N’s eyes instantly. Her hands flew to her mouth.
“The question is,” Dominik continued, his voice thick with emotion, his gaze locked on hers as Amelia proudly held up the ring, “will you make me the happiest man in the world? Will you and Amelia officially become my family forever? Y/N, will you marry me?”
Amelia, pleased with her important job, waved the ring and let out a happy squeal, “Da!”
It was the most perfect, most them moment imaginable. The grand gesture filtered through the beautiful, messy reality of their love. Sobs of joy shook Y/N’s shoulders as she nodded, unable to form words. She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around both of them—her fiancé and her daughter—pulling them into a tearful, laughing, perfect embrace.
“Yes,” she finally choked out, her voice muffled against his neck. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”
He took the ring from Amelia’s grasp and slid it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. He kissed her, a deep, promise-filled kiss that held the memory of their past struggles and the bright hope of their future.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I have never been more sure of anything.”
Amelia, squished between them, giggled and clapped her hands, the official seal of approval on their new beginning.
The wedding was not a large affair. There was no guest list of hundreds, no cathedral, no stress over seating charts. It was exactly what they both wanted: small, intimate, and profoundly personal.
__
They were married a few months later in a tiny, sun-drenched stone chapel in the Hungarian countryside, near Dominik’s family home. The guests were their anchors: his parents, beaming with pride; a handful of his closest teammates and their partners, Mohammed, Virgil, Trent and many who had become their extended family; and one very special flower girl.
Amelia, now a year and a half, walked down the aisle clutching her grandmother’s hand, a crown of tiny flowers perched adorably on her dark curls. She wore a miniature version of Y/N’s dress. When she saw her parents waiting at the altar, she let go and toddled the last few steps on her own, straight into Dominik’s waiting arms. He scooped her up, holding her on his hip as he turned to watch his bride.
Y/N walked down the aisle alone. It was a conscious choice. She was no longer the girl hiding in the bathroom, tethered to the ghosts of her past. She was a woman walking into her future, strong and whole, on her own two feet. She carried a simple bouquet of lavender, a nod to the day that had started it all.
She looked at her husband-to-be, holding their daughter, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and her own vision blurred. This was her family. Her redemption. Her joy.
The ceremony was short and heartfelt. They exchanged simple, traditional vows. But then, as they held hands, Amelia now contentedly playing with the ends of Y/N’s veil, Dominik asked the officiant for a moment.
He turned to Y/N, his voice low and clear, meant only for her and the few loved ones witnessing their promise.
“Y/N,” he began, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “I vow to always be your safe place. To hold your hand through every storm, real or imagined. I vow to make you laugh every day, because your smile is my favorite sight in the world.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes glistening. “But most of all, I vow to spend every day of the rest of my life showing you what I already see. To show you that you are not the sum of your fears. You are not the echo of words that were meant to break you.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, tears streaming freely down her face now.
“You are so much more than your emotional scars, szívem,” he whispered, his voice fierce with love. “You are strength. You are resilience. You are the most incredible mother to our daughter. You are my best friend, my greatest supporter, and the love of my life. I vow to be the mirror that always reflects back to you the beautiful, capable, and deeply loved woman you truly are.”
It was the most perfect vow ever spoken. It wasn’t just a promise of fidelity; it was a promise of healing, of seeing her, all of her, and loving her more for it.
Y/N, through her tears, managed her own, simpler, but no less profound promise. “I vow to let you,” she whispered back. “I vow to believe you. And I vow to love you, and our daughter, with every single piece of my heart, forever.”
They kissed, with Amelia giggling between them, to the sound of their loved ones’ joyful tears and applause.
The reception was held under a canopy of fairy lights in the garden of a rustic farmhouse. There was hearty Hungarian food, plenty of wine, and music. Dominik, of course, stole the show with a surprisingly graceful traditional dance with his mother, before sweeping a laughing Y/N into a waltz.
Later, as the stars came out, they sat together at a quiet table, Amelia finally asleep in a travel cot nearby. Mohammed raised his water glass.
“To Dom and Y/N,” he said, his usual playful demeanor softened into genuine warmth. “I remember when this one,” he nodded at Dominik, “came to me with a heart full of worry. He did not know how to fix what was broken. But I told him, you cannot fix it. You can only be steady. You can only be present.” he smiled, looking at Y/N. “And he was. He is. You both fought for this. It is a beautiful thing to see. To love that chooses to fight, every day.”
It was the truest toast anyone could have offered.
As the night wound down, Dominik led Y/N to a quiet spot away from the lights, under a ancient oak tree. He pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head.
“Happy?” he murmured into her hair.
“I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy,” she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. She looked up at him. “Your vows… Dom, how did you know that was exactly what I needed to hear?”
He cupped her face, his touch infinitely gentle. “Because I see you. I have always seen you. The real you. The one that was hiding under all that fear. And now,” he smiled, a slow, sure smile, “the whole world gets to see her, too. My wife.”
The word sent a thrill through her. Wife.
“I love you, Mr. Szoboszlai,” she said, testing the new title.
“And I love you, Mrs. Szoboszlai,” he replied, before kissing her under the starlight, a perfect seal on their perfect day.
The future was no longer a terrifying unknown. It was a promise, written in the stars and in the vows they had made. It was a path they would walk hand-in-hand, with their daughter between them, building a life where love was louder than fear, and where every day was a chance to choose each other, all over again.
Xie Lian is the perfect character for Angst of a Creative Nature Fics bc omg
He can't die and goes through the usual roster of angst tropes in canon (stabbing, buried alive, attempted suicide, amnesia, etc) and has a Super Protective Significant Other (TM), plus the self worth issues!! All in the canon! Which means people who want angst can read that and the people who go and write fics often want something more FUCKED UP
There's something wrong with these authors but seeing as I read the tags and open the fics ANYWAYS there's something wrong with me too.
I'm looking for some johnlock angst fics😗 if you have any recommendations
Perhaps something with John crying over Mary or having a PTSD attack or maybe him crying over Sherlock being dead...point is a fic where john is sad and Sherlock comforts him :)
Thank you lots! 🫂🫂
Hi Nonny!!
Ooo, I've got a whole section on my Permalink dedicated to Angst Fics here, but here are some lists that may specifically please you:
Angst With a Happy Ending
Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 2
Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 3
Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 4
Letters from Sherlock After the Fall
Angsty Fluff
Angsty Fluff Pt 2
Angsty Fluff Pt 3
Loneliness
Major Character Death / Heavy Angst
Major Character Death / Heavy Angst Pt 2
One Lives, One Dies
John’s Suicide Before TEH
Dies After the Fall and Becomes a Ghost
POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst/Angsty Fluff or BAMF Fics
POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 4: Angst/Angsty Fluff or BAMF Fics Pt 2
POV John 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst, Angsty Fluff or BAMF John
Crying John (July 2025)
=====
I'm sure there are even more lists but these are the ones that caught me immediately!
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all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut)
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a leaf falls on loneliness (highly recommend this fic!!)
by: iimpossible_things
"buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence."
word count: 11k
important tags:
hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending, original male character
catharsis by: rogerzsteven
"it only takes one minor inconvenience for buck to have his long overdue breakdown"
word count: 5.3k
important tags:
emotional hurt/comfort, mental/emotional breakdown, bobby nash as evan buckley parent, multiple pov
still
by: brewsrosemilk
"for the first time, buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. dirt to dig at. a door to break through. something. there’s nothing. “your guess was correct, diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “you’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. don’t shift. when you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it."
word count: 9.3k
important tags:
near death experience, love confessions, happy ending, first kiss
august
by: daisies_and_briar
"buck, eddie, natalia, and marisol go on a beach vacation in august of 2023. It gets angsty and gay."
word count: 40k
important tags:
vacation, eddie/mariol, buck/natalia, mariol/natalia, coming out, feelings confession, sexuality, everyone is queer
listen to you breathing (is where i wanna be)
by: yavilee
"the one where buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone"
word count: 41k
important tags:
presumed dead, major character injury, mutual pining, grief, panic attacks, friends to lovers
all that we intend is scrawled in sand (and slips right through our hands)
by: withmeornotatall
"buck and eddie get trapped together, time is running out, and eddie doesn't want to die alone"
word count: 6.9k
important tags:
near death experiences, major character injury, whump, love confessions, getting together, first kiss
actually, truly
by: milenadaniels
"helena (and ramon) tries to find a way back into eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding buck around every corner she turns."
word count: 14k
important tags:
multiple pov, season 4/shooting, homophobia, internalized homophobia, recovering from injury, pre-relationship, getting together, team as family, supportive!isabel diaz, coming out
i know you're hurting (but so am i)
by: justhockey
"eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck"
word count: 3.7k
important tags:
hurt/comfort, ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda
i want to reach out
by: orphan_account
"buck was a very emotional and physically clingy person, he knew this, once he had someone, he held on tight, scared they'd one day leave them. a drunk ana points out that maybe everyone is tired of it, and buck realises: maybe they are."
word count: 5.7k
important tags:
insecure!evan buckley, ana flores bashing, hurt/comfort, touch starved, abandonment issues, love confessions
the aftermath of liberation and love confessions
by: elvensorceress
"in which eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and December is the most dramatic time of year."
word count: 17k
important tags:
pining!eddie diaz, idiots to lovers, coming out, love confessions, demisexual!eddie diaz, post 5.09
and this is his life
by: shyaudacity
"in late june of nineteen ninety-one, mere hours after losing her son to cancer, margaret buckley takes a baby out of the hospital nursery and decides to bring him home"
word count: 26k
important tags:
established relationship, kidnapping, emotional hurt, panic attacks, flashblacks, comforting!eddie diaz
mirror, lie to me, tell me you can see
by: anonymous
"buck struggles with food and his body. it's not new."
word count: 20k
important tags:
TW: eating disorder, established relationship, hurt/comfort, protective!maddie buckley, marriage proposal, sibling love, caring!eddie diaz
without you, i'll never be home
by: the_forgotten_nobody
"after the tsunami, eddie invites buck to stay with him and christopher."
word count: 45k
important tags:
hurt/comfort, post-tsunami/season 3, anxiety, separation anxiety, pining, sharing a bed
I've been on a Batfam fanfiction kick, and I'm a sucker for angsty fics. I've been reading some where Damian was not only abused by Talia (brainwashed/trained in The League) but also by Bruce (Mostly neglect, like completely ignoring his existence while he more or less gets raised by his brothers and Alfred). However, as much as I like these fics, I cannot get behind the ones where Bruce is outright yelling and physically hurting him, and Alfred just stands around not doing anything about it (often being too afraid to confront him). Because, like, Alfred? That Alfred? The Alfred that raised Bruce? The one that helped raise the batkids? The one that is an army veteran who hides so many guns around the manor that not even he nor Batman can find them all? The same Alfred that said, "Perhaps you relied on my master's vow against using lethal force. Let me assure you that I subscribe to no such niceties." THAT Alfred?
PLEASE. Alfred would see Bruce scream at and purposefully be mean to Damian and promptly chastise him, stand in the way, and attempt to fix whatever fight they were having. And if he saw him beating him, just whaling on him black and blue for the fun of it? I have no doubt Alfred would use his handy-dandy shotgun to give Brucie a new belly button.
