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With a little bit of HTML, you can do some incredibly neat things in an AO3 work. Here’s the website running Doom. Here is a very comprehensive guide to Limited HTML on AO3. It may look intimidating at first, but you can get a lot done by copying and pasting and paying attention to the results. As a fun bonus, check out the rest of the series, which includes step by step instructions for making your fic look like text messages on a phone screen, newspaper articles, sticky notes, and more.

Why is Wattpad doing this now? Have similar things happened before?

Fandom creatives have been outrunning purges and legal threats for a long time. Here is a comprehensive timeline of fandom purges and legal actions taken against fanworks, from 1977 to the present day. Here is another timeline written by @olderthannetfic, with associated commentary from other fans.

Purges on LiveJournal and other sites circa 2007 influenced the founding of AO3. You can read in detail about the circumstances of its founding and the construction of the policies it abides by today here.

She was tall and rangy, with a strong, angular face and short blond hair that refused to lie flat. She wasn’t beautiful in the polished, motionless way of magazine covers—hers was a face made vivid by the animated way she recounted a story to her friend.

Alfred knew her before he understood how he possibly could.

She was just another human girl, maybe, but the quick lift of one eyebrow, the flash of her uneven teeth, and the way her pale eyes sharpened whenever her expression turned serious were all pieces of somebody he knew in motion. He knew her looking toward the sky.

That was his Amelia. He could have sworn it.

He rarely found himself choked up, but the sight of her sitting so casually on a café patio sent his heartbeat rushing through his ears. He had waited years for her to come home—a lifetime to see her face again—and here she was, sipping a matcha latte at a corner café in Bed-Stuy, telling a story about something that had happened between two friends, lovers, or some relationship in between.

Alfred didn’t realize how intently he had been staring until those sharp, gray-green eyes met his. When they did, the rushing blood in his ears came to a halt, and he felt his heart stop with it. It was impossible for him to die, but in that moment, he swore he could have dropped dead.

Just as Amelia would have, the woman held Alfred’s gaze, made a face, and turned back to her friend—most likely to say something about the creepy man across the street who had been staring at her for anywhere between a minute and an hour.

Alfred realized he had to say something—selfishly. He could have walked away, and that would have been that, but he had waited years for this moment. He just couldn’t help himself.

He jogged up to the table where the two women sat and cleared his throat. She looked up at him with the same no-bullshit expression Amelia would have given him.

“Hey. Sorry for staring at you from over there. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything.”

“You’re too cute to be creepy.”

Her no-bullshit expression shifted into one of amusement, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Hey, I’ll take it.” Alfred laughed politely. “I just came over to ask—”

The thought of asking whether she knew who he was floated through his mind, but that felt too forward. Maybe he could just ask whether or not she was Amelia. She had a scar running through one eyebrow—maybe from the plane crash?

Before he could respond, he realized that he was staring again, saying nothing, suddenly as shy as a schoolboy.

“What’s your name, I’m sorry?” she asked, her eyes darting between him and her friend, her smile now undeniable.

“Alfred. You?”

“Kate.”

A rush of disappointment—and another feeling Alfred couldn’t quite place—washed over him. He felt a prickle at the bridge of his nose, but he sniffed it away before it could turn into tears.

“Nice to meet you, Kate. Can I take you out sometime?”

“Ahem. Well, you know what?” her friend piped up, grabbing her tote bag and taking a long, dramatic sip of her coffee. “I was actually just about to head out, so this chair is all yours.”

Alfred heard Kate hiss her friend’s name under her breath, the apples of her sun-kissed cheeks flushing pink. He couldn’t help but smile.

Still, just like his Amelia.

“Oh, no, I hate to intrude on homie time. Please don’t feel like—”

“Nope, I’m out. See you later, Kate.”

And off her friend went.

Laughing, Alfred politely nodded toward the vacant chair. Kate nodded in return, so he took it.

“Sorry to interrupt your little friend date.”

“Hey, no worries. We were just beating a dead horse, anyway. If anything, you saved us from abusing a poor old animal.”

“Hey, it’s what I do best.” Alfred shrugged, smiling again, but softer this time. “What brings you to the city, Kate? You live here?”

“Yeah, I moved here after college about three years ago. What about you?”

This was the part Alfred always struggled with when encountering humans: telling the truth and explaining his circumstances or inventing a lie and putting distance between them. It was never in his best interest to build relationships with them. Ever since he was a child, he had felt that pull toward humanity, and ever since then, he had endured loss after loss, each carrying the same unbearable weight of grief. He still stopped in his tracks when he saw blue daisies, the memory as sharp now as it has ever been.

So he chose to lie.

“I’ve lived here longer than I can remember at this point. I go between here and D.C. for work.”

A half-truth.

“Oh, so you’re from here? I hope you can forgive me for being a transplant.”

“Yeah, something like that. Hey, transplants keep the city alive.”

“You would be the first native New Yorker to ever compliment transplants.”

“Hey, the city changes with its people. It’s good to get new perspectives. And this is the greatest city in the world, after all. Of course people want to move here.”

“You say that like you’re an old man.” Kate laughed, quirking an eyebrow.

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

“Feels that way sometimes.”

Eventually, Alfred went inside and bought them a platter of small pastries. They spent the next few hours chatting. Kate explained that she was an aerospace engineer and described how she had always been fascinated by flying. Laughing, she told him about a flight she’d once taken through horrific turbulence. The bouncing had lulled her to sleep while everyone else clutched their armrests in terror.

The connection was not lost on Alfred. Coincidence or not, the similarities were striking. He went back and forth over whether to tell her who he really was—whether to explain why he had really sat down, but he didn’t.

“I had a friend like that once.”

“What, a freak who was comforted by turbulence?”

“Nah. Brave,” Alfred said sincerely. “It takes a certain kind of bravery to take to the sky. It’s really admirable.”

Kate looked at him with wide, gray-green eyes and genuine gratitude. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she managed a quiet, “Thank you.”

“I’ve always felt like I was meant to conquer something bigger than myself, you know? I just feel so drawn to the sky—and to outer space. Thank you for saying it’s brave. Sometimes people tell me I get lost in my own head.”

“Never that.” Alfred shook his head. “But please, don’t fly too close to the sun.”

“Too close to the sun?” Kate laughed, looking down to pluck a chocolate macaron from the plate. “Listen, man, I’m bold, but I’m no Icarus.”

By the time she looked up from the pastries, the chair across from her was empty.

Alfred had vanished into thin air.

“What the hell? He was just here a second ago,” Kate muttered around a mouthful of macaron. “He didn’t even give me his number. Weirdo.”

Somewhere across the city, Alfred touched the frayed edges of a photograph he kept in a book filled with all his favorite mortals. He let out a heavy sigh and allowed the prickle at the bridge of his nose to finally bloom into tears.

He wiped a tear from his cheek. As it fell, he realized that a part of him was still stranded in July of 1937, even as humanity pushed onward without her. He was still that boy who was waiting with his hands under his thighs, stubborn and frustrated, waiting for the wire telling him she was coming home. Foolishly, mortality was a concept he found too hard to get a grasp on, even now. Especially now. She had called him an old man, sometimes he felt that way, but in the grand scheme of things, he was so young. He was perpetually in the early June of the springtime of his life, watching the fleeting beauty of petals whip away with the wind while he still held his longing in his chest like late March.

Ivan had watched the boy from the frozen edges of awareness long before the ink on any declaration had time to dry.

Alfred was young, dangerously so for a fully formed nation, just barely stepping into the world on legs still shaky from war. Yet there was something magnetic about the way he charged into his first international diplomatic meeting, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, blue eyes blazing like the summer sky over his vast plains.

His smile was wide, determined, almost blinding. He spoke too loudly, gestured too boldly, and pushed his ideas with the raw, unfiltered enthusiasm of someone who still believed the world could be made better if only people listened. No one took him seriously.

England scoffed, face red with embarrassment. Spain offered a patronizing smile. Even France, his closest ally at the time, tilted his head with fond exasperation.

"Mon petit, you are adorable when you dream, but the world is not a tavern brawl you can win with loud words and good intentions."

After the formal talks dissolved into polite murmurs and clinking glasses, Alfred refused to retreat. He bounced from delegate to delegate, grin never quite fading, eagerly suggesting they continue negotiations over simple food somewhere outside the stuffy halls.

Rejections landed like soft slaps.

France waved him off, irritation leaking through his tone. "Perhaps another time. I have... other engagements."

England didn't even glance up. "Grow up first, boy."

The others dismissed him with polite smiles that never reached their eyes.

Ivan watched from the edges of the room, arms crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips. The poor fool. So painfully, wonderfully human in all the best and worst ways: loud, hopeful, and desperate to belong.

It was entertaining. And strangely beautiful.

Something dark and sweet uncoiled in his chest as he watched the light in those blue eyes dim, shoulders slumping just a fraction at each rejection.

When Alfred stood alone, Ivan finally stepped forward.

"You look like you could use some company, little one," he said, voice low and calm, carrying the faint accent of endless winters.

Alfred's face lit up again, that smile returning with such force it could have outshined the sun. Warmth radiated from him, bright and deadly. Ivan felt it like a spark against dry tinder. He couldn't wait to crush him. Couldn't wait to watch that radiant smile shatter into a million broken pieces beneath his hands.

But Alfred grew stronger faster than Ivan had anticipated.

Maybe it was youth. Maybe it was that ferocious need to prove he belonged among the ancient. Whatever the reason, every time their paths crossed, at conferences, border talks, or chance encounters, Alfred would spot him from across the room and beam that devastating grin.

"Ivan! Hey, big guy! Come over here!" he'd call, waving enthusiastically before launching into an endless stream of conversation about his railroads, his inventions, his dreams of freedom and opportunity for everyone.

Ivan would nod, half listening, while his mind wandered darker paths. He imagined those calloused, tanned hands pinned beneath his own, how it would feel splitting under his grip as he broke bones one by one. Picturing the way those bright blue eyes would fill with tears, that plump lower lip bitten bloody and trembling as Alfred begged for mercy he would never give.

Then Alfred would say something particularly earnest, “Don't you think the world could be better if we all just gave everyone a fair shot?"

"Da," Ivan would murmur, forcing his focus. "Your dreams are... interesting. Very American."

He almost smiled, genuinely, when news of the Civil War reached the frozen heart of his empire. Grief would suit the boy, tearing the young nation apart from the inside. It would soften those sharp edges, make him smaller, more breakable. Ivan arrived at their next quiet meeting with unusual anticipation, scarf wrapped high, snow still clinging to his boots.

Alfred looked lost.

Shoulders hitched, eyes distant and hollow, the usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet, trembling fragility that made him look unbearably human. When Alfred spotted him, he didn't wave or shout. He simply crossed the space between them and all but collapsed into Ivan's chest, arms wrapping around him in a crushing embrace. His skin was fever-warm, seeping through Ivan's thick coat like sunlight through frost.

"I thought winning meant we'd all just... get along. Why does it hurt so much?"

Ivan stood frozen for a long moment. Then, almost against his will, one large hand rose to rest on the back of Alfred's head, fingers threading gently through soft hair.

"Shh, little sunflower. Breathe. The pain passes. Even for ones like us."

Alfred clung tighter, face buried against Ivan's shoulder, and for the first time, Ivan felt something dangerously close to tenderness crack through the ice.

"Don't let go yet, okay? Just... stay."

After the second great war, everything shifted.

Alfred had seized the power he had lusted after for decades. He moved through the halls of victory with a new confidence: eyes still soft at their core, but now hardened by unimaginable loss and the weight of leadership.

He shook shake hands and signed treaties, that once bright smile turning cold and calculating when anger surfaced. There was a ruthlessness in the way Alfred climbed, fingers metaphorically crossed behind his back, ready to crush obstacles on his path to the top.

Ivan watched the transformation with an ache he refused to name. He found himself missing the innocent boy who had looked up at him with wide eyed hope and wonder, who had dared speak of a world where everyone could live and love in harmony. Stupid, impossible dreams. But they had been his dreams, voiced so boldly no one else had dared.

"You've changed," Ivan said quietly one evening during postwar talks, when they found themselves alone in a dimly lit corridor. "That boy... where did he go?"

Alfred glanced at him, smile sharp. "Had to grow up sometime, Ivan. World doesn't wait for dreamers, does it? Sometimes you take what you want. Sometimes you make sure no one can take it from you. You of all people should understand that."

Ivan said nothing. But that night, he lay awake missing the warmth that used to burn without calculation.

The Cold War swallowed them soon after.

They saw each other constantly now, two superpowers circling like wolves. They made each other bleed in proxy wars and tense standoffs. They laughed through gritted teeth as they pinned one another against brick walls, cold ground, knives pressed to throats, guns to heads, blood trickling warm between them.

“You think your bombs scare me, comrade?" Ivan would snap, pinning Alfred down, his scarf loose around his neck. "I have buried empires older than your little republic."

Alfred would grin up at him, blood on his teeth, eyes alight with something feral and bright. “Big talk from the guy who's always one step behind. Come on, Ivan, admit it. You need me to keep things interesting. Without me, you'd just sit in the snow feeling sorry for yourself."

Yet neither ever truly aimed to kill. Something always stopped them. A shared understanding of the darkness that lived inside both of them, a darkness neither would ever run from.

That old, stubborn humanity flickered back into Alfred's eyes during the space race.

When Sputnik slipped across the night sky above American soil in 1957, Ivan made sure to be there. He stood beside Alfred on a quiet rooftop, breath fogging in the cold night air, ready to brag.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ivan said smugly. "My people reached the stars first. How does it feel, little hero, to watch your 'land of the free' playing catch up?"

Alfred didn't snap back. He only tilted his head, breath catching in quiet awe as the tiny blinking light crossed the darkness.

"It's... incredible. Really. Even if it's yours." He laughed softly, almost breathless. "We'll get there too. But damn... look at it. We're actually touching the sky."

Ivan's gaze never left Alfred's face, tracing the wonder written there like new starlight.

"Da," he murmured, softer than intended. "It is incredible."

The feelings inside Ivan festered and grew like frostbite he couldn't amputate. He clawed at his own chest in the privacy of his home some nights, desperate to tear his heart out if it would stop aching.

But nothing changed.

Not when a smile like endless summer kept haunting him. Not when eyes as warm as open skies continued to pull him back from the edge.

One bitter night, years into the endless tension, Ivan found Alfred just outside his border.

The younger nation sat on the frozen ground, back against a barren tree, face a devastating mix of regret, exhaustion, and a brokenness that should never have touched something made of so much light. A cigarette burned between his fingers, embers eating into his skin without him seeming to notice. Fresh, angry marks marred his wrists, red and raw.

Alfred looked up slowly. His voice came out rough, cracked at the edges.

"Was it even worth it, Ivan? Becoming this cruel, twisted version of myself just to grab power... only to lose everything I used to stand for? Who the hell am I anymore?" His eyes shimmered, but he refused to let tears fall. "Why can't I look in the mirror without hating the guy staring back? All those dreams, they're gone. And I helped kill them."

Ivan stood silent for a long moment, snow drifting around them. Then he reached into his coat, pulled out his lighter, and passed it over without a word. Alfred took it with trembling fingers, lit another cigarette, and they sat together in the freezing dark until the horizon began to lighten.

"Light another," Ivan said quietly. "Sometimes the burn is the only thing that feels real."

Decades of push and pull later, Alfred was beneath him.

Warm skin pressed against unrelenting ice, nothing between them but sweat and trembling breath. Ivan's hands were locked tight around that throat, tears he refused to name dripping onto Alfred's face as he demanded, voice shattered and furious:

"Why do you keep taunting me? Why do you drag me back into this burning light that feels more like hell than heaven ever could? Why won't you just let go?"

His grip tightened, thumbs pressing against the frantic pulse beneath his palms. Alfred's hands rose, not to push him away, but to gently grasp Ivan's wrists, holding on as if Ivan were the only steady thing left in the world. His face wore that soft, impossible look again. The one that should never, ever be directed at a monster like Ivan.

"It's funny," Alfred rasped, voice strained but steady, blue eyes never leaving Ivan's. "You call yourself smart... but you still haven't realized it. I've always been chasing you. Two steps behind, maybe... stumbling through the dark. But now I'm finally here. In the darkness with you. And for once, it doesn't kill me. It comforts me."

His fingers tightened around Ivan's wrists.

"You're the only thing that makes sense anymore. The only one who won't look away from what I've become. I want to keep you. All of you, even the parts that scare you."

Ivan's hands trembled violently. He realized with a sick jolt that Alfred wasn't going to fight him off. He was going to let him do it. Let him squeeze until the life went out.

A desperate, broken sound tore from Ivan's throat, before his strength collapsed. He fell forward, burying his face against the curve of Alfred's neck, hands sliding from throat to shoulders as he clutched him like a drowning man. Strong, warm arms immediately wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer. Alfred held him tight, one hand stroking slowly through Ivan's silver hair, the other rubbing soothing circles along his back.

He didn't whisper that it would be okay. It wasn't. It probably never would be.

But in the quiet aftermath, with Alfred's heartbeat steady beneath his ear and the distant sound of wind howling outside, Ivan felt something dangerously close to peace settle over the both of them.

Maybe that fractured, painful understanding was enough.

However you’ve came to realise that there was a lot more going on that Ford claims that you and Stanley weren’t aware of as his eyes shifted everywhere out of paranoia. You were still blinking your eyes after getting abruptly blinded by Ford upon first meeting, something about possession? You were certain this wasn’t how you thought you’d be meeting Stan’s twin -not in the slightest- but it was clear to you that Ford was afraid of something, what it was he wouldn’t tell only saying that he needed Stan to hide his journals, scatter them as far from each other which did nothing but annoy Stan.

You could see the clench in his jaw and his fists and were about to reach out and ground him but before you could blink, Stan and Ford were tussling over the journal across the lab as the portal thrummed with power, almost as if entertained by the fight between twins and you were left unable to do anything but watch.

‘Is that all you brought me here for! To help you hide your journals?! I bet I didn’t cross your mind not even once!’ Stanley shouted as he kept the journal close to his chest with his lighter as he managed to keep Ford where he wanted him.

‘You don’t understand Stanley! This is dangerous things you are holding in your hands!’ Ford replied, eyes firmly locked onto the journal and the flickering flame of his brother’s lighter that got too close to the journal’s pages for his liking. ‘Think about the potential threats-‘

‘Fuck that! I want my brother back!’ Stanley cuts his brother off as he grew frustrated at how his brother was - once again- not listening to him or what he had to say. ‘You could’ve called upon me any time! But you only call upon me when you want someone else to do your dirty work for you! What about what I want! My life is in ruins because of you!’ Ford lunged towards Stan and managed to knock the lighter out of his hand, grasping at the bottom half of the journal while Stanley tightened his grip on the upper half of the journal.

‘You ruined your own life and you’ll ruin y/n’s with the way that you are going!’ Ford retorts in a strained voice as he and Stanley tugged the journal in two different ways, just for Stanley to loose his grip, fall backwards and hurt himself on a hot surface that caused him to scream in pain. ‘Stanley!’ You and Ford yelled as you both went to rush to Stan’s aid, hoping he wasn’t too hurt, only for him to Punch Ford in the face and as Ford stumbled backwards he bumped into you. which then caused you to fall back into a lever of sorts; before soon finding yourself beginning to float and be drawn towards the portal with nothing to grab onto to prevent it from happening.

Freaking out you yelled, ‘STANLEY! HELP ME!’ You screamed as you found yourself getting closer and closer to the entrance of the portal, helplessly flailing out of pure panic and need to get away from it, not realising that your attempts to get away were fruitless. Your screams had dragged Ford and Stan from their fight as they could only watch in horror as half of your body was already in the portal.

‘Y/n! Baby! HOLD ON! JUST HOLD ON BABY IM COMING!’ Stanley yelled back as he frantically looked for anything he could use to rope you back to the ground, but grew frustrated when he couldn’t find not a single piece of rope or metal rod lying about, the lab was clean of any and all obstruction. ‘FORD HELP ME!’ He cried as he looked back at his twin, who was frantically looking himself for anything to get you away from the portal, just to face the same problem that frustrated Stanley. ‘I’m trying!’ He shouted over his shoulder as his guilt for bringing both you and Stan here began to weigh down on him heavily.

‘Well you’re not looking hard enough!’ Stanley barked as the fear of losing you was slowly crushing his chest, making it harder for him to breath as his mind raced with the thought of having to live a life without you, his anchor, his best friend and his beloved partner. He hated it, he didn’t want to envision it but here he was living the nightmare he swore would never come true, feeling helpless and useless as he was forced to hear your frightened sounds and not be able to do anything about it.

He didn’t even get to say the words ‘I love you’ yet as he was scared that you’d find someone better then him before he even mustered up the courage, but you never did. You stayed by his side, even if it mean moving from state to state almost every week because of him and Stanley knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to loose you from his life either.

Stan and Ford tired their hardest but it wasn’t enough as by the time they looked back at you, your outstretched hand was the last thing the pair saw as the portal closed, leaving them to stare at the portal in denial of their failure to rescue you. ‘Baby?’ Sanely said as he stepped forward hesitantly. ‘BABY! THIS ISNT FUNNY! COME OUT PLEASE!’ He cried louder now when the realisation began to set for him as he ran towards the lever, pulling it and pushing it in desperation of re-opening the portal in hopes of seeing you rush out and right into his arms; where he would keep you for as long as you’d allow him to.

Only for neither of those things to happen, the portal remained shut and you remained lost to whatever was on the opposite side, scared, confused and alone.

‘WHY ISNT IT WORKING!’ Stan screamed as he pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled the lever so much that Ford had to physically drag him away from it before he broke it, thus making more work for them in getting you back. ‘Stop Stanley, it’s not working!’ Ford said as he managed to stand between his twin and the lever, ‘the portal is out of power, it won’t open up unless we get the necessary materials to open it again.’

‘Then what are we doing! Let’s go get it!’ Stanley said as he was about to leave the lab but was stoped by Ford’s hand on his arm, which he shrugged off violently. ‘It’s not so easily obtained Stanley,’ Ford said as he let his hand drop to his side as Stanley glared at him, ‘we need money to get the parts needed to power the portal up. I only had enough to open it once and that took a lot of time, even with Fiddleford’s help, and without him or the necessary materials…’ Ford trailed off which didn’t help Stanley’s mood as he grew angrier at his brother’s insinuation.

‘They’re trapped on the other side forever?!’ He yelled. ‘Bullshit! I don’t believe that! I want them back now!’ Stanley then grabs Ford by the collar and brings him so that they were eye to eye. ‘Give them back or I swear to fucking god Stanford-‘

‘I can’t bring them back without the necessary materials Stanley I told you.’ Ford reaffirmed as he started at his heartbroken twin as the first signs of tears left his eyes, Ford felt Stan’s grip loosened on him until they went completely slack at his side as he fell to his knees, chin dropping to his chest as he silently wept. ‘Bring them back.’ Stanley chanted softly, ‘being them back to me, I can’t loose them. You don’t understand. They’re everything to me and now I’m nothing without them.’ Stanley whispered to the air as if someone with the power to grant his wish will hear him, but instead elected to ignore him and his pleads.

Ford, heartbroken at seeing how distraught and lifeless his brother had became, slowly knelt in front of him in silence, not knowing how to comfort him correctly as he felt himself to blame for your disappearance into the portal. He had taken away the one person who cared for Stanley in the times where his family couldn’t be bothered, someone who loved him unconditionally regardless of what he did and Ford had taken you away from him seemingly forever, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Stanley would hold a grudge against him for it.

As you both bustled around the apartment, preparing for the trip, Jean stole a moment to share his concerns with you. Leaning against kitchen counter, he hesitated before finally speaking up,

“Y/n,” Jean began, his voice tinged with a hint of anxiety, “I just want to warn you about my mom. She can be a bit… unique. I love her, but sometimes she tends to be a bit embarrassing. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”

You, with a warm smile on your face, walked over to Jean and gently placed your hands on his shoulders. “Jean, it’s going to be fine. I’m sure your mom is lovely, and besides, I’m here with you. We’ll navigate through it together. Families are all different, and that’s what makes them special.”

Jean sighed with relief, grateful for your understanding. “I just want everything to go smoothly, you know? I want you to feel welcomed and not get overwhelmed by her… quirks.”

You chuckled, “Jean, I appreciate your concern, but I’m sure we’ll have a great time. Your mom is part of what makes you who you are, and that’s something to celebrate. Plus, I’ve heard embarrassing family stories from everyone. It’s part of the charm.”

With your reassurance, Jean felt a weight off his shoulders. He couldn’t but smile at you, realizing how lucky he was to have her by his side. As you both finished packing and headed out the door, Jean held your hand, grateful for your calming presence.

The drive to Jean’s mom’s house was filled with a mix of excitement and tension. Jean couldn’t shake off the nervous energy, glancing at you from time to time, for your reassuring smiles.

You couldn’t help but squeeze Jean’s hand, “It’s going to be okay, love. I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

Jean nodded, and as he turned onto his mom’s street. Jean couldn’t help but notice the extravagant display outside her house. Bright lights adorned every inch, and inflatable holiday characters seemed to have taken over the front yard. The sight made Jean Sigh and chuckle nervously.”

“Y/n… Brace yourself,” he said with a lighthearted tone, “My mom really goes all out with the decorations. I hope you’re ready for a winter wonderland.”

You grinned, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I love it! The more festive, the better. Your mom seems like someone who knows how to make the holidays special.”

Jean chuckled, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation. Parking the car, you two made your way to the front door, where an over-the-top wreath greeted them with jingling bells and blinking lights.

Before Jean could ring the doorbell, the door swung open revealing his mom, a spirited woman with a contagious enthusiasm for the holidays. She wore a Santa hat, and her eyes twinkled with joy.

“Jean boy! Look at you, all grown up and handsome as ever!” She explained, her voice filled with joy.

Jean winced at the use of the nickname he had been trying to escape for years. “Mom, please, not in front of Y/n.” he whispered with a half-smile, trying to suppress his embarrassment.

But his protests fell deaf ears as his mom swooped in, pinching his cheeks affectionately. “Oh, hush, Jean boy! You’ll always be my little boy. Now, come on, let me get a good look at you!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the endearing scene unfolding before you. Jean, with a resigned expression, allowed his mom to fuss over him for a moment. Despite the teasing, and there was a warmth in the way his mother looked at him, a love that only a mother could convey.

“Jean boy? Huh? You never told me about this little nickname of yours~” You say in a mocking tone, rolling in your luggage and bags.

Jean shot you an annoyed glare, and furrowed his borrows. Jean’s mom turned her attention to you, her eyes widening with delight. “And who do we have here? Oh, you must be Y/n! Jean’s been talking so much about you. It’s about time he bought such a lovely lady home for the holidays!”

You blushed, feeling an unexpected wave of comfort in Jean’s mom’s exuberance. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Your house looks incredible, and I can’t wait to spend the holidays with you.”

Jean’s mom pulled you into a warm hug, saying “Oh, sweetie, the pleasure is all mine! I’m so happy Jean has someone charming as you by his side. We’re going to have the best time!”

“Jean boy, why don’t you go ahead and take yours and Y/n’s bags upstairs to your room? I want to steal a moment with Y/n and get to know her better.”

Jean, feeling a mix of relief and mild nervousness, nodded in agreement. “Sure, mom.”

As Jean made his way up the stairs, he shot a glance at you, his eyebrows raised in a silent plea for understanding. You, however, reassured him with a playfully smile, your eyes conveying a message that everything was going to be fine.

Once Jean disappeared upstairs his mom turned to you with an excited gleam in her eyes. “Now, let me show you something special! You help yourself to some cocoa, and I’ll be back!”

You smiled and nodded, and walked over to the kitchen and couldn’t help but notice the refrigerator that was scattered with pictures of Jean when he was younger. You couldn’t help but be in awe, and giggle to yourself.

You then grabbed a mug and used a spoon to pour yourself some of the delicious smelling beverage that just made the holiday ten times better.

You managed to walk back to the couch and waited patiently for Jean’s mom to come back. She soon appeared from the adjacent room with a well-worn baby picture album.

Your eyes lit up with curiosity as Jean’s mom flipped through the pages. “This is Jean when he was just a little tyke. Oh, you won’t believe the mischief he used to get into!” she exclaimed, her laughter echoing through the room.

You leaned in, captivated by the adorable pictures of Jean with messy hair and a mischievous grin. “Oh my goodness, look at those cheeks and that hair!” You say giggling.

“He was such a handful, let me tell you! He was always climbing trees and getting into scrapes,” she continued, pointing at a particularly amusing photo of Jean covered in mud. “But he was such a sweet boy, always with a kind heart.”

You couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the glimpse into Jean’s past. “Yeah haha, I can tell!” You say nodding your head.

The stories painted a vivid picture of the person he used to be, and you felt a deeper connection to him, knowing more and more about the boy who had grown into the man you cared for.

Meanwhile, while you and Jean’s mother shared stories and laughter, Jean was carefully arranging your guys bags, his nervousness fading into a sense of gratitude. Once he was finished, Jean descended the stairs, feeling a mix of curiosity about what his mom and you had been doing and or discussing.

When he entered the room, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle change – the room seemed to have received a fresh coat of paint, and a warm, inviting glow emanated from the festive decorations.

“Wow, Mom, you really spruced up the place,” Jean remarked, genuinely impressed. “It looks great!”

His mom beamed at the compliment, but as Jean’s eyes flickered to the coffee table, he caught a glimpse of his baby picture album open to a page featuring his younger self. His face immediately flushed with embarrassment, and he sighed.

“Mom, seriously?” Jean muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not supposed to share those without my permission.”

His mom chuckled, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. “Oh, hush, Jean boy! Y/n was enjoying it. Besides, it's all in good fun!”

You, catching the exchange, couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the awkward moment. You shot Jean an empathetic smile, understanding the embarrassment he must be feeling.

Jean, while appreciating his mom’s lightheartedness, couldn’t shake off the annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, fun for everyone except me,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes, while his cheeks still tinged with red.

His mom, sensing his discomfort, patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t be such a grump, It’s all part of the holiday spirit. Now, come join us…”

You smiled, and patted the couch cushion and signaling Jean to sit next to you. Jean sighed, but obliged, walking over next to you. As the brunette sat down, he couldn’t help but lean his head on your shoulder, while you were rubbing his back tracing shapes.

As you all settled back into conversation, he couldn’t help but shoot you a half-smile, silently appreciating your ability to find humor in the situation.

As the night unfolded, Jean’s mother couldn’t resist bringing up a topic that often lurked in the back of parents’ minds.

“You know,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “you two make such a lovely couple. Have you given any thought to the future?”

Jean’s eyes widened, he choked on the sip of cocoa he had just taken, Panic set in as he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with you. You were trying your best to stifle a laugh. Jean’s mother, oblivious to the sudden tension, continued with a smile.

“I mean, I can’t help but wonder when I’ll get to plan a wedding and hold adorable grandchildren. It’s every mother’s dream, you know!”

You were unable to contain your amusement any longer, burst into a fit of giggles. Jean shot you a look, a mix of panic and amusement on his face.

“Mom, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jean stammered, desperately trying to change the subject. “We’re just enjoying the holidays right now.”

His mother, undeterred, persisted, “Oh, I know, I know. But a mother can dream, can’t she?”

Trying to cut the conversation short, Jean glanced at the clock. “Wow, look at the time. It’s getting late, and we should probably get some rest. Right Y/n?”

You were catching onto Jean’s subtle plea for diversion, nodded with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Absolutely! It’s been a wonderful evening, but we should call it a night.”

Jean’s mother, sensing their desire to end the conversation, relented with a knowing smile. “Alright, you two lovebirds. Off to bed then.”

As you and Jean made their way upstairs, laughter echoed from the living room, leaving behind a mix of relief and amusement. In the privacy of their room, Jean couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as he closed the door.

“Well, that was an unexpected turn,” he remarked, shaking his head.

You were still grinning, replied, “Your mom has a way of keeping us on our toes.”

In the quiet stillness of the night, Jean and you prepared for bed in the cozily decorated room. Jean, clad in comfortable sleepwear, took a moment to appreciate the warmth of the holiday-themed blankets.

As the two of you both slipped under the covers, Jean reached over to the bedside table, flicking off the light. The room plunged into a soft darkness, with only the glow of twinkling lights from outside casting a gentle ambiance.

Jean turned towards you, wrapping his arms around you as you both settled into the cozy cocoon of the bed. You were feeling the warmth of Jean’s embrace, couldn’t resist a mischievous smirk.

“Goodnight, Jean boy.” you teased, knowing well that it was a nickname he preferred not to be reminded of.

Jean rolled his eyes playfully, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re lucky I love you.” he responded, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your lips.