devipa

37 | married | i have an mfa so you may refer to me as master

[devipa-abdl]

Table of Contents

Welcome to the devipa literary universe. I write ABDL short stories that get a little spicy as a treat. My favorite stories hew close to real life, authentic and believable, and that's what I like to write.

In Progress, Active & Updating

Spellbound [M/f. Idiot guy fumbles a diapered baddie. You probably don't believe me but this is not biographical. At least the second part.] Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 Daycare, Goodnites [F/f. 'Big girl' goes back to daycare.] Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

The Friend-sitter [F/f. Little bit of wearing, little bit of feels.] Part 1 (DA) - Part 2 (DA)

The Caring Machine [F/f. Diaper machine/automatic nursery vignettes.] Trial 1 (DA) - Trial 5

Forbidden Fruits [F/f. Role-reversal, age gap, slowish burn.] Part 1 - Part 2

Just Date Me? [F/f. Relationships are hard and sometimes there's diapers.] Part 1 (DA)

Completed, Probably

(unless somebody asks nicely for more then maybe i would accomodate i dunno) The Playdate [M/f x 2. A daddy-daddy-daughter-daughter double date.] Oneshot

I Don't Need a Babysitter! But... [F/f. Slow burn CG/L vibes into slow burn romance(?!).] Oneshot

Her 'Little' Plan [M/f, F/m. Role reversal. Early relationship romance.] Oneshot

Potty Buddies [F/f. Daycare role reversal & 'falling behind' younger kids.] Oneshot

Daycare Demotion [F/f. Slow regression with a little spice.] Oneshot

The Road Trip [F/m. Diapered road trip and whirlwind con weekend.] Oneshot (DA) Diapered in the Dorm [F/m, M/f/m. Experimental for me. Humiliation, non-con, probably cringe.] Oneshot (DA)

Technically Not Finished and People Keep Asking Me to Continue but I Kind of Don't Like Where It Is Right Now and It's Not Really What I Like to Write Anymore so My Motivation Is Low

The Nurserymaster's Apprentice [F/f. My first work, a magic realism diaper machine story.] Chapter 1 (DA) - There are 23 chapters on DA, not going to link them all here.

[devipa-abdl]

just got back from watching backrooms. it was great. it's kind of like a movie that was made just for me. if nobody else digs it, i'm glad it was made. i have an uncoordinated fistful of thoughts and feelings and I can't stop thinking about it.

one of my most formative reading experiences was House of Leaves. I was in eighth grade. it ruined normally experiencing the written word for me forever.

i also don't think it's filmable. backrooms might be the closest thing i ever get. i think i'm okay with that.

anyway, if you're on the fence, or if you think there's no way a movie that had its genesis on youtube based upon a 4chan post can be viewed without a harsh veil of protective irony, give it a chance.

it's blair witch via david lynch. it is LOVINGLY set designed. it's a singular experience that's worth having.

[devipa-abdl]

daycare, goodnites part 9 status report: i spent most of sunday playing BBMKR.

i don't really dig 'diaper dimension' stuff because i prefer realism and happy endings, and heavy diaper dimension stories are basically fantastical body horror. but BBMKR is just kind of innocuous and cozy.

anyway, i'm telling you this because instead of finishing dcgn 9 I spent today putting a ton of words toward a story about a girl who basically backrooms into a mystery daycare filled with regressed adults and staffed by nice giants i have failed you and I am not sorry

[devipa-abdl]

Daycare, Goodnites [Part 8]

[ABDL. F/f. 'Big girl' goes back to daycare.] Part 6 - Part 7

With renewed vigor Emma spent all of Thursday immersed in job applications, LinkedIn stalking, and follow-ups, determined to prove, if only to herself, that she wasn't giving up on adulthood. In the gray morning light of a rainy Friday, she had even dug out her panties from the closet. Dress for the job you want, right?

She made sure to be awake before Olivia's morning visits, made a show of rejecting the sippy cup, even made sure to stretch tall, arms up, shirt lifting up her tummy, giving Olivia an unobstructed view of... nothing. Regular fucking panties. The kind you don't pee in because you're a professional adult who has her shit together. It felt good to be back.

"Look out," Olivia said, with the same interest she might regard a child holding up macaroni art. "Big girl today." She took a defiant swig of the apple juice in the sippy. "More for me."

"I'm a big girl every day," she murmured, not really intending to be heard.

Olivia tilted her head, twirling her pink hair around one finger. "You okay?"

Emma turned away sharply. "Just busy. Got a full day today." She clicked through tabs aggressively, as if to prove her point.

Olivia's fingers tapped against the sippy cup, her pink nails clinking against the plastic lid. "Cool," she said lightly, swallowing the rest of whatever she seemed to want to say. "Guess I'll see you later then."

Emma nodded, already clicking through another job posting without really reading it. The door shut softly behind Olivia, leaving her alone with the hum of her laptop fan and the faint scent of rain slipping through the cracked window.

The moment it seemed Olivia was out of ear shot, Emma bent down, pressed her head to the desk, lifted, dropped, bang. "What the fuck are you doing, Emma?"

It was another late lunch day. After what felt like hours of chasing a lead through a cached 'About Us' page using the internet archive, Emma had located who she at least presumed was the hiring manager for an agency gig, determined to break through the stonewall of impersonal HR screens. The name on the email address she dug up matched a blank LinkedIn profile for a Sam who claimed to work there. Was worth a shot?

"Dear Sir..." she typed out, speaking the words aloud, then, "or... Ma'am? Sam-mantha" She read through the blank profile, praying for a pronoun or a full name.

From there the email progress stalled. Emma stared at the blinking cursor, the words "Dear Sir" feeling increasingly inadequate. She deleted it, tried "Dear Hiring Manager," deleted that too. The cherry of top of the shit pie was the growing realization that she had to pee -- badly -- and had been ignoring it for some time. "Not now!" she grumbled at her own bladder, shifting in the chair. After a week in Goodnites it took her a few seconds to realize she had to clamp down on muscles she hadn't been actively engaging recently, and small spurt of urine escaped before she locked it down. The wet spot in her panties was small, almost negligible, but the sensation was starkly unfamiliar to how it felt in a Goodnite. She exhaled sharply through her nose and kept typing, determined to ignore it, but she couldn't shake the rogue thought once she'd had it. Why did it feel so good to wet herself in a Goodnite? Surely that was a design flaw? Because... Because she really wanted to put one on right now. Because... was she really thinking this? Because this full bladder was going to go to waste!

Emma physically shook the thought off and hastily typed something, anything into the document. Reading it back: "Greetings! My name is Emma. I recently applied for your--"

Another spurt of pee escaped into her panties. "Oh, shhhhhhittttt..!" she hissed, jumping to her feet. She extremely had to pee, had somehow distracted herself, and now it was a billion times more urgent. Emma crossed her legs tightly, bouncing on her toes, tried to make sure she was securely clenched enough to make to the walk down the hall before opening her bedroom door and peeking out. Seemed clear.

With stiff, slow steps, she made it just past the threshold when she felt a heavier spurt leak, dampening her panties further. Emma froze mid-step, horrified as the wet warmth spread, before she simply gave up the ghost, stopped holding it and started jogging to the bathroom, a hot flood soaking through her underwear and jeans in seconds.

When she finally made it to the toilet there was nothing left to release. It was all in her panties, her jeans, in a short, sloppy trail sloppy trail along the bathroom floor.

Emma sank onto the closed toilet lid, staring at her soaked jeans in disbelief. Undoing the button, her face burned as she peeled the wet denim away from her thighs, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her skin. The humiliation was sharp, immediate, and beneath it, something darker and hotter coiled in her stomach.

There was a knock at the door.

Of fucking course there was.

Emma's throat tightened as Olivia's voice floated through the door. "Em? You okay in there?" The doorknob jiggled slightly, tested but not turned. "Lys asked me to bring you lunch, but there's... 'water' on the floor out here."

Emma's fingers dug into the damp fabric of her jeans. Even through the door she could hear the air quotes around the word water as she spoke it.

"I'm fine," she called, voice cracking. "Just, dropped a glass."

There was silence behind the door, then, "Okay... Do you need help cleaning up the... spill?"

Emma stared at the puddles on the floor, her damp thighs sticking to the toilet seat. "It's fine. Just go."

Silence, then, "Can I bring you another... 'glass'?"

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, fingers curling into fists against her thighs. The damp denim clung to her skin, cooling fast. "Yeah," she said, then louder, "Please." A pause. Then, softer, "Thank you."

Listening for Olivia's footsteps to retreat, Emma exhaled shakily, peeling the soaked panties away with trembling fingers. The tile was cold beneath her bare feet as she stepped out of the ruined clothes, wadding them into a damp ball. She dropped a clean towel on the floor and soaked up most of her mess with unsteady hands. She was glad it was Olivia. Glad it wasn't her mother. Glad, in some dark corner of her mind, that Olivia already knew everything.

The knock came again, soft, hesitant. "Em?" Olivia's voice was muffled through the door. "How about you jump in the shower? I've got your glass here and I'll come grab the one you have in there."

Emma swallowed hard, staring at her reflection in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wild eyes. There wasn't any fight left in her today. "Yeah," she managed, turning the faucet on hot. "Okay."

Steam curled against the shower curtain as she stepped under the spray, the heat scalding away the shame clinging to her skin. She heard the bathroom door creak open, the rustle of Olivia gathering the damp towel, the wet jeans. Spraying something, wiping down the floor. Emma pressed her forehead against the tiles, water sluicing down her back. She wanted to apologize, but the muscles in her throat and chest had gone slack.

"You good?" Olivia's voice was muffled through the curtain.

Emma watched water spiral down the drain between her feet.

"I'll come back during nap time. We can talk. Or not talk. Cool?" Olivia's voice was soft, punctuated by the click of the bathroom door closing.

Emma let out a shuddering breath, before shutting off the water, wrapping herself in a fresh towel. Her discarded clothes were gone, no damp denim mocking her from the floor, no soggy panties left as evidence. Just a clean stack of clothes. Sweats, a t-shirt, and a Goodnite with her pacifier. What else would there be? She clearly didn't deserve panties right now.

Pulling the diaper up into place, Emma sighed. She pressed her palms against the padding, appreciating its thickness. She'd missed it, a little bit.

Back in her room, lunch was waiting, a club sandwich cut into 8 bite-size triangles. As she sat down at her desk, the laptop woke up, displayed the half-written email. Emma's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She should finish it. Should prove she could be a functional adult, current underwear and potty status notwithstanding. It's a working lunch. Real professionals have those all the time.

She took a bite. Chewed thoughtfully, staring at the words on the screen without reading them. "Applied for the role... last week... haven't yet heard back... excited about the opportunity..."

Emma popped another bite of sandwich into her mouth. It was always a little funny eating leftovers from daycare lunch. This sandwich was just turkey, American cheese, bacon, and mayo. No lettuce, no avocado, no mustard. And no crusts, of course. Kids didn't know what they were missing.

"Where... my skills align with the job description..." she typed. "Led... cross-functional teams... multimedia campaigns..." Her typing slowed. "Blah blah synergy... business words... boring myself... fuck."

She erased it all. Looked at the last piece of sandwich. It was just the good stuff. Meat, cheese, soft bread.

"I'm writing you the one cold email you won't delete today," she read out loud, fumbling the words around the rubber nipple. "You're hiring a digital marketing specialist, and I'm interviewing for it right now. You've opened this email. That's a 100% open rate. And you're about to click this link to my portfolio, and that's 100% CTR. Let's set aside some time to talk the role next week. Cheers, Emma."

The words on the screen would've terrified her a few weeks ago when the job hunt was new, but what more was there to lose at this point? Oh no, the company that was never going to call her back thinks she's unprofessional?

Emma hit send before she could second-guess it, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh. The pacifier bobbed gently between her lips as she stretched, the Goodnite crinkling faintly beneath her sweats. She warmed it with a trickle of pee as a little reward before slamming the laptop shut.

The door creaked open without a knock. Olivia stood there holding two juice boxes, her pink hair slightly frizzed from the daycare chaos downstairs. "Hey!" she said, with a extra dose of cheeriness. "Break time!" She tossed Emma a juice box, before settling in cross-legged on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight.

Emma caught it reflexively, a little impressed with herself. "Kiddos down?" she asked, chewing absently on the pacifier nipple.

Olivia nodded, stabbing her straw into the juice box with practiced ease. "Out like little lights." She took a long sip, eyeing Emma, the laptop, the whole room. "Job hunt going well?"

Emma shrugged, spinning her unopened juice box between her palms before popping out her pacifier. "I think I've turned a corner. Did I turn the right way? That I don't know."

Olivia nodded. "And you? Doing okay?"

Emma stabbed her own juice box. "Yeah, I think so."

Olivia leaned back on her hands, watching Emma carefully. The juice box crinkled between her fingers as she gathered her thoughts. "So," she started, then hesitated, tapping the straw against her bottom lip. "About earlier..." She then rushed to clarify, "Not, not to make a thing! Just... are you okay?"

Emma's cheeks warmed instantly. She took a long sip from her juice box, too long, until the carton collapsed inward with a wet gasp. "Thanks for helping."

Olivia's knee bounced slightly against the mattress, her pink hair catching the afternoon light as she tilted her head. "You don't have to tell me anything," she said softly. "But I just, " Her fingers flexed around her juice box. "Was it...?"

"I just... goofed. I was holding it one second and not holding it the next." Emma's fingers twisted the empty juice box into a crumpled accordion. "No big deal."

Olivia's gaze dropped to Emma's lap, not lingering, just a flicker, before she nodded slowly. "Okay. But..." She wet her lips.

"I'm honestly more embarrassed you cleaned my pee," Emma interjected.

Olivia snorted. "Pee is, like, 90% of my job. You weren't even my first accident of the day."

Emma groaned, tossing the crumpled juice box at Olivia's head. "Stop lumping me in with the kids!"

Olivia caught it effortlessly, grinning. "Is that why you've been acting kind of weird?"

Emma frowned. "Acting weird?"

"Since Wednesday," Olivia said. "You kind of kicked me out of your room out of nowhere. And then this whole 'I'm a serious adult' performance..."

"Performance?" The word came out sharper than Emma intended.

"Oh, come on, you know I didn't mean it that way," Olivia sighed, scooting off the bed and crossing her arms. "I just..." She gestured vaguely at Emma's crinkling waistband. "You were finally letting yourself go, and then suddenly..." She mimed slamming a door shut.

Emma looked down at her hands, where the pacifier's rubber teat still glistened from her mouth. "Your diaper thing freaked me out, kinda," she finally admitted.

Olivia blinked. "Oh."

Emma twisted the pacifier between her fingers, watching the light catch its slick surface. "Not, not in a bad way," she amended quickly. "Just... It freaked me out a little bit that you were... planning? For me? Like, everything I've decided up until now was my idea, but you..."

Olivia chewed her bottom lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I didn't mean to make you feel--"

"I know. You told me you were excited. You already apologized. But like... It freaked me out a little that you even were excited."

Olivia, lost in thought, sank back onto the bed, her fingers tracing the stitching on Emma's comforter.

"Livvy!" Lys called from downstairs. "Naptime's over!"

Olivia looked up at Emma, then down at the floor, exhaled sharply through her nose, her shoulders sagging before she straightened abruptly. "I should--" she gestured vaguely toward the door, her expression conflicted. "You're still sleeping over tonight, right?"

Emma nodded before she could second-guess herself. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Olivia hesitated, her hands up in a ready position, unsure of what to do. "Okay. Good." She flashed a quick grin, but it didn't reach her eyes the way it usually did. "We'll talk more tonight." With that, she slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

---

The display on her phone read 5:05. Emma stared down the clothing laid out on her bed in quiet contemplation. Sleep shorts, a camisole, a baggy tee, and then, in a separate corner, a fresh bag of Goodnites. A bottle of baby powder. Wipes. Lotion. Her pacifier. Her bottle. What did she want to bring for tonight?

"Bring! Everything!" Olivia had gleefully demanded at their last sleepover, but Emma hesitated now, reading the Goodnites package like she'd find the answer there.

Things were weird now. Bad weird.

But why? What was really so wrong with what Olivia was doing? Enthusiastically participating? How dare she? Emma spiked the diapers like a football. The problem wasn’t Olivia. Every time Emma let herself sink into this, the diapers, pacifiers, juice boxes, it felt like the first sunny day after a long shitty winter. But the second she let herself enjoy it? The guilt slithered in, the shame, whispering about how she was failing, regressing, wasting time, how she was huge fucking weirdo, and Olivia, four years younger, couldn't see her as a peer, just a project. Which was stupid! Olivia was just... there, offering to hold her hand while Emma figured it out. And Emma was fucking everything up!

"Fine. Bringing everything," she murmured to herself, stuffing her overnight bag with the shorts and the tee, then every last bit of baby paraphernalia she had bought or 'borrowed' from the closet over the past two weeks. The final item: the entire unopened bag of Goodnites. She hoped she wouldn't need all twelve, but... maybe she could leave a few at Olivia's?

Downstairs, the daycare was winding down, the last few parents trickling in to collect sticky-fingered toddlers. Emma hovered awkwardly near the stairs, watching Olivia sweep up crushed goldfish crackers while Lys wiped down tiny chairs. The fluorescent lights made Olivia's pink hair look almost neon, her usual bounce subdued but still present as she leaned into the broom like it was a dance partner.

"You packed?" Olivia asked without looking up, pushing a pile of crumbs toward the dustpan.

Emma shifted the overnight bag on her shoulder, the crinkle inside deafening in the sudden quiet of the emptying daycare. "Yeah. Maybe overpacked."

Olivia straightened, the broom handle tapping against her thigh. She eyed the bag, then Emma's face, her expression softening. "Good." She said it like she'd been holding her breath since their awkward conversation earlier.

The last parent left with a wave, toddler balanced on their hip. Lys locked the front door, turning back to them with a tired smile. "You girls heading out?"

Olivia nodded, already shrugging into her jacket. "Yeah, you wanna hang with us, too? Open invite."

Lys chuckled, shaking her head as she flicked off the overhead lights. "Pass. You two have fun." Her gaze lingered on Emma's overnight bag before she added lightly, "Be safe."

The car ride was thick with unspoken words. Olivia drummed her fingers against the steering wheel to a pop song Emma didn’t recognize, the radio filling the silence neither of them seemed willing to break. Streetlights flickered across Olivia’s face as she chewed her bottom lip, her usual chatter replaced by an unfamiliar quiet.

Emma stared out the window, watching the suburban streets blur into half-closed strip malls. "We should talk," she muttered, more to the glass than to Olivia.

Olivia's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening briefly before she exhaled. "Yeah." The car slowed at a red light, bathing them both in crimson glow. "I didn't mean to," she started, then shook her head. "Fuck. I don't even know what I didn't mean to do."

Emma picked at a loose thread on her seatbelt, the streetlight catching the silver in Olivia's earring when she turned her head. "You didn't do anything wrong," she admitted quietly. "I just panicked. It's like..." She gestured vaguely at her own chest. "Every time I start feeling safe doing this, my brain screams that I'm sabotaging myself."

"But you are safe," she said softly, flicking the turn signal. "With me. Even if it's just... this." She waved a hand between them.

"I guess I just feel like I don't deserve it," Emma admitted as Olivia pulled into a gas station parking lot, cutting the engine. "Every time you're nice to me I just get suspicious. I can't help it."

Olivia unbuckled her seatbelt with a sharp click, twisting in her seat to face Emma properly. The neon lights from the convenience store painted stripes across her concerned expression. "That's fucked up," she said bluntly. "You know that's fucked up, right?"

Emma huffed a wet laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But I'm moving past it." She gestured to the overnight bag at her feet. "See? Packed everything."

Olivia's fingers hovered near Emma's knee before she shifted the car into reverse with a quiet sigh. "You don't have to prove anything to me," she murmured. The neon sign above them flickered, casting shadows across her face. "I just... I like the idea of taking care of you? It makes sense to me."

Emma watched condensation slide down her window as Olivia pulled back onto the road. "It makes too much sense," she admitted. "That's what scares me. That this fits too well."

"So let it fit," she said, as if it were that simple.

Emma studied Olivia’s profile, the faint freckles across her nose, the way her pink hair curled slightly at the ends where it had escaped her ponytail. The car smelled like citrus hand sanitizer and the faint, artificial strawberry of Olivia’s lip balm. "Did the drive take this long last time?" she asked.

Olivia snorted, eyes still on the road. "No, I've been taking every wrong turn I can."

Emma blinked, then burst into laughter, the tension shattering like dropped glass. Olivia grinned, turning onto a residential street with exaggerated care. "Just wanted to hash everything out in the car. Once we step foot into the apartment, no more bad vibes, okay?"

The turquoise garage-turned-apartment glowed under mismatched string lights when they pulled up. Olivia fumbled with her keys theatrically, dropping them twice before unlocking the door with a flourish. "Pardon the mess." She kicked aside a pile of laundry with her foot. "I clean up so much at your house that I can't be bothered to clean mine."

Emma shrugged, stepping inside. "Fair enough." Olivia's apartment was a chaotic love letter to her personality, fairy lights tangled around curtain rods, polaroids pinned haphazardly to the fridge, and a pile of half-read paperbacks and daisy-chained DVDs teetering beside the couch.

"Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing vaguely at the space. Olivia kicked off her sneakers by the door, wiggling her socked toes against the hardwood.

Emma set her bag down carefully beside the couch, the crinkling contents suddenly feeling absurdly conspicuous. The apartment smelled like Olivia, something sweet and floral mixed with the faintest hint of Sharpie markers and microwave popcorn.

Olivia bounced onto the couch, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table with a long sigh. "Alright," she said, putting on the TV and unpausing whatever schlocky horror movie was playing. "You wet?"

"Excuse me?"

Olivia didn't even glance up from adjusting the volume. "Your diaper. Is it wet?" She said it like asking about the weather, fingers tapping the remote against her knee.

Emma's face burned. The dampness between her thighs suddenly felt ten times more obvious. "A little," she mumbled, shifting her weight.

"Change first, then snacks." She nodded toward the bathroom door down the hall. "Wipes are under the sink."

Emma clutched her overnight bag tighter, the plastic crinkling in protest. Olivia had already turned her attention back to the TV, kicking her heels against the coffee table as a zombie ate someone's face. The normality of it made Emma's pulse slow, just two friends having a sleepover. Nothing weird about that, right?

She hesitated at the bathroom door, glancing back at Olivia's sprawled form. "You're not... gonna help?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice small.

Olivia paused the movie, turning to study Emma with a curious tilt of her head. "Do you want me to?" There was no teasing in her tone, just quiet sincerity. The flickering TV light caught the silver hoops in her ears as she waited.

Emma feigned a casual laugh. The little angel and devil on her shoulders were shrieking. "No, no, I was just joking."

Olivia's fingers tapped against the remote control before she suddenly tossed it aside, leaping to her feet. "Well I wasn't," she said, closing the distance, eyes locked onto Emma's twitching fingers clutched around the overnight bag. Emma's breath hitched as Olivia reached... past her, to push the bathroom door fully open, revealing the cramped space lit by a single bulb, before she turned on her heel and started walking back to couch. "Nah, I was kidding too," she said. "I told you last time, I change too many damn diapers to also be in charge of yours."

Emma watched Olivia flop back onto the couch, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt... disappointed? Then she stuffed those feelings down.

In the bathroom, she stepped out of her sweatpants and peeled off the damp Goodnite. She grabbed the wipes from under the sink. It was a new pack. Olivia must've bought them just for her. The thought made her a little queasy.

Emma powdered herself thickly. This part was unnecessary, she just liked the way it smelled. She liked the way it felt. She liked the stray traces of white powder between her thighs. She liked pulling up the fresh Goodnite, pressing it snugly up against herself. She liked the crinkle as she adjusted her stance in the mirror. She liked how pink her cheeks were. Pulling her sweats back on and tying off the used diaper in a grocery bag, she felt good. Officially good-weird again.

She emerged from the bathroom to find Olivia already curled under a blanket, popcorn bowl balanced on her knees. "God, I was gonna ask if you fell in, but we both know that didn't happen."

Emma brandished her tied-off grocery bag. "Big talk for someone in diaper-nunchuk distance."

Olivia inhaled handful of popcorn. "Don't threaten me with a good time." She patted the couch cushion beside her. "Come on, the movie's getting to the part where the zombies start making out."

"What the fuck are we even watching?" Emma asked, dropping her diaper off in the trash before talking her spot on the couch.

"Mmm, love that baby powder smell," Olivia said, tilting the popcorn in her direction. "Probably the last time you're going to smell that good tonight, though..."

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed a handful, fingers brushing Olivia's. The couch cushions sagged beneath them, pressing their thighs together.

On screen, two zombie paramedics gnawed on each other's faces with sloppy moans. Emma wrinkled her nose. "Are they kissing or eating each other's faces?"

"Yes," Olivia said, popping another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "It's like middle school all over again."

Emma thought to laugh, but as she sifted through some old, dusty memories, she was transported to a particular night during a particular dance. "No comment," she finally muttered.

"You gonna pee yourself during the scary parts?" Olivia asked without looking away from the screen.

"I'm going to pee myself during every part," she retorted.

Olivia grinned, tossing another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Hell yeah."

Emma sank deeper into the couch, letting the absurdity of the moment wash over her, the crinkle of her diaper beneath sweatpants, the scent of baby powder clinging to her skin, Olivia's socked feet nudging against her thigh. None of it fit with the image she'd constructed of adulthood: spreadsheets, business casual, pretending to enjoy wine tastings. Yet here, bathed in the flickering glow of a B-movie, she felt more anchored than she had in months.

Olivia suddenly stiffened beside her, knocking the popcorn bowl sideways. "Shit, I didn't get you a drink." She scrambled off the couch, bare feet slapping against hardwood. "Water? Wine? Juice box?"

Emma blinked as Olivia vanished into the kitchenette, hearing cabinets bang open. "Fuck it, wine," Emma declared.

"Party," Olivia declared, returning with one stemless glass and a sippy cup.

"No you fucking did not," Emma said, staring at the sippy cup Olivia was extending toward her, its cartoon penguin grinning mockingly.

Olivia wiggled it enticingly. "I bought it just for you-uuu..."

Emma snatched the wine glass instead, taking a dramatic sip. "God this sucks, I hate wine." She laughed as Olivia clanked the sippy to the glass.

"Your loss." Olivia took a long slurp from the penguin spout, her eyelashes fluttering mockingly. "Mm, aged to perfection. I think the sippy cup decants it a little. Adds oxygen. Another?"

"Another," Emma agreed, finishing off her glass.

Olivia grabbed the wine glass, but returned with a second sippy cup full of wine, handing it to Emma before flopping dramatically onto the couch.

"How many of these do you have?" she asked.

Olivia grinned around her own sippy cup's spout. "They don't spill!"

Emma hesitated, then lifted the penguin cup to her lips with both hands and took a slurping sip through the little holes in the spot. "It is kind of better..."

Olivia's triumphant grin stretched wide as she snuggled closer under their shared blanket. The movie droned on, something about zombie strippers now. Emma shifted, her diaper rustling softly as she stretched her legs across Olivia's lap.

"You're squishing me," Olivia complained without heat, poking Emma's thigh.

Emma took another sip from the sippy cup, letting the wine warm her throat. "Good." She nudged Olivia's side with her foot. Her Goodnite was already growing damp, just a little, just enough to feel the padding swell against her skin, the soft trickle climbing up the back of her padding.

Olivia made a show of dramatically adjusting her legs beneath Emma's weight, tossing the blanket higher over them both. The zombie strippers were now engaged in what appeared to be a choreographed dance routine involving severed limbs.

Emma wiggled slightly, pressing her thighs together. The warmth spreading through her padding was impossible to ignore now: a slow, steady soak that made the material puff up between her legs. She took another sip from the sippy cup, watching Olivia's profile from the corner of her eye.

"You're doing it right now, aren't you?" Olivia murmured, not looking away from the screen where a zombie twirled a tasseled nipple.

"How can you tell?" Emma whispered, her cheeks flushing hotter than the wine in her belly. The diaper crinkled as she shifted again, the swollen padding pressing insistently against her thighs.

Olivia smirked, tapping her temple. "Superpower." She reached down without looking and pressed her palm briefly against Emma's padded crotch, confirming the dampness before withdrawing just as quickly. "The wine's going right through you."

Emma stiffened, her grip tightening around the sippy cup. "Look, you can't just--" she started, caught herself, heat crawling up her neck, but Olivia's casual touch had already sent an unexpected thrill through her, warring with indignation.

Without looking, Olivia ran her fingers through Emma's hair, attention fixed on the movie. "Shhhh, relaaaaax," she whispered, the way you might console a barky purse dog.

"You can't just tell me to relax. I specifically said--" but her protest dissolved when Olivia's fingers scratched lightly at her scalp, the sensation short-circuiting her irritation. The diaper between her thighs squished as she shifted, unmistakably soaked now, as Olivia carded her fingers through Emma's hair with the same effortless rhythm she used when rocking toddlers to sleep. Emma recognized every move but was powerless against each one. Onscreen, a zombie cheerleader's pom-poms caught fire.

Olivia's thumb traced the shell of Emma's ear, poked the center of her forehead. "What's the worst that happens if you just... stop?" Her fingers stilled. "Not forever. Just tonight."

Emma watched wine slosh inside her sippy cup, the liquid catching the TV's gory reds and greens. She didn't answer, just closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the couch cushion.

Olivia's fingers resumed their slow path through Emma's hair, nails dragging gently against her scalp. "There you go," she murmured, as if Emma were one of the daycare toddlers resisting naptime. The zombie movie's soundtrack swelled with dramatic strings, completely at odds with the quiet moment unfolding on the couch.

Emma exhaled, letting the wine and the warmth between her thighs and Olivia's touch melt her into a puddle. The Goodnite was warm, wet, swollen against her skin. Olivia's fingers kept moving through her hair, slow and rhythmic, and Emma sank deeper into the couch, her body heavy with contentment.

'I'm going to check you again, okay?" Olivia whispered. "Be good..." Her fingers traced the waistband of Emma's sweatpants, before shimmying them down little by little, seemed to be waiting for the inevitable protest from that never came. Emma wanted to protest, watching the ceiling fan spin lazily above them, fighting every urge to clamp her legs together and curl into a ball. But she did want to be good for Olivia, whose fingers were gentle as they pressed against the swollen padding between Emma's legs, testing the saturation, before sliding a single finger directly into the legband at her crotch.

"You're soaked," Olivia confirmed, withdrawing her hand with a soft crinkle. Emma expected teasing, expected Olivia to crow about her victory, but instead, Olivia just wiped her fingers on her own pajama pants and resumed stroking Emma's hair. "Want me to change you right here so you can watch the movie?"

Emma swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering against her throat. The wine buzzed in her veins, blurring the edges of her hesitation. It would feel so, so nice to just lay back and get clean again. Onscreen, zombies writhed in a grotesque pile, their moans muffled by the sudden ringing in Emma's ears. Olivia's fingers still carded through her hair, patient, waiting. Emma exhaled shakily and gave the tiniest nod, her cheeks burning.

Olivia's breath hitched, just once, before her face split into a grin so wide it dimpled her cheeks. She scrambled off the couch with uncharacteristic clumsiness, knees knocking against the coffee table, sending popcorn flying. "Okay, okay, okay..." she chanted under her breath, darting toward the bathroom. The string lights swayed in her wake.

Emma remained glued to the couch, lifted the sippy to her lippies and filled her mouth with the sweet wine, a little warm now. The damp diaper clung to her skin, heavy and warm, and with the small bit of alone time she had, she rubbed a few show circles into the soaked padding, felt the cotton squish under her fingertips, a jolt of something electric racing through her belly. She pulled her hand away quickly, cheeks burning, as Olivia's footsteps approached.

Olivia returned with an armful of supplies: wipes, powder, fresh Goodnite, and a nervous smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She began unfolding something brightly patterned and plasticy. "Okay, uh," she muttered, more to herself than Emma, "lift up." Emma arched her hips obediently, letting Olivia slide it beneath her. The plastic was cool against her thighs, a stark contrast to the warmth trapped in her soaked padding.

"What is this?" she asked.

Olivia spread Emma's legs slightly, tugged her sweatpants all the way off, discarding them on the nearby recliner. "Changing mat. Waterproof." Emma could feel Olivia's fingers trembling slightly as she began to rip the sides of the Goodnite.

"Why do you have that?" she asked.

Olivia paused mid-task, fingers hovering over the waistband of Emma's soaked Goodnite. "I was gonna surprise you with it. Well, I guess I am... Surprise?" She swallowed hard, her usual confidence fraying at the edges. "It's got penguins, like the cups..."

Emma blinked down at the waterproof mat beneath her, suddenly aware of the damp diaper in a different respect: Olivia was protecting the couch from her. Because her diaper was soaked. And she had leaked the other day! The late realization crashed over her like a slow wave. Olivia's hands fluttered nervously before settling back to work, peeling the sides of the Goodnite apart with practiced efficiency but leaving the front panel carefully in place.

Reaching for a baby wipe, she offered it to Emma. "You do? Or... me do?"

Emma instinctively reached for the wipe. Of course she'd do it herself. But her arm felt heavier than usual, her fingers thicker. The wine made everything soft and fuzzy around the edges, her thoughts, her limbs, the way Olivia's pink hair caught the lamplight. Part of her wanted to insist on doing it herself, prove she wasn't helpless. Another part, drunker and warmer, wanted to curl into Olivia's touch like a kitten in sunshine. "You," she mumbled, staring at her hand before letting it flop onto the couch cushion. "Please."

Olivia inhaled sharply, her pulse visibly fluttering at her throat. The wipe crinkled in her grip as she hesitated. "Okay," she whispered, as if afraid speaking louder would shatter the moment. "Okay. Me do."

Emma watched through half-lidded eyes as Olivia gently pressed the damp Goodnite's front panel flat against her stomach before peeling it downward. Cool air rushed over Emma's exposed skin. Olivia made a soft, involuntary sound in her throat, not disgust, but something tender, almost reverent, as she began wiping with careful, methodical strokes.

The baby wipe was colder than Emma expected, with a gentle scent of aloe. Olivia's touch was clinical at first, like she was handling fragile glassware, but gradually softened into something more intimate. Emma found herself holding her breath when the wipe traced her inner thighs. The sensation was absurdly vulnerable, like being unfolded. She squeezed her eyes shut, hyperaware of every pass of the wipe, the way Olivia's fingers occasionally brushed bare flesh, the quiet crinkle of the packaging as she reached for another.

Emma took another drag of her sippy as Olivia's fingers brushed her inner thigh, the wipe tracing dangerously close to territory that hadn't been touched by anyone but herself in several unfortunate months. Two weeks ago she would not have guessed this was how she'd break the streak. "Um," she interjected, feeling Olivia's hand stop. "Why penguins?"

Olivia exhaled a shaky laugh. "Promise you won't get mad."

Emma squinted up at her, suddenly sobering.

"Promise!" she repeated, holding up a fresh wipe, "Or I'll make this one extra cold."

Emma groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Just tell me."

Olivia lifted the wipe to her lips, blowing warm air across it in short bursts. Emma peeked through her fingers as Olivia repeated the gesture until it was no longer cold.

"Because," Olivia murmured, gently pressing the warmed wipe between Emma's thighs. Her fingers moved in slow circles, cleaning with meticulous care. "You kind of walk like one when you're really wet."

Emma's hands dropped from her face. "What?"

"All clean!" Olivia chirped, before displaying for Emma the bottle of baby powder. "Now it's time for a little baby seasoning..." she cooed, dusting Emma with a fine layer.

"We're not just passing over the fact that I look like a penguin to you," Emma scolded as Olivia opened up and fresh Goodnite and tugged it up her legs.

"Hips up," Olivia requested with a simple tap on the thigh.

Emma grumpily complied, lifting slightly, helping Olivia slide the Goodnite snugly into place, followed closely by her sweatpants.

"How was that?" Olivia asked, stepping back to admire her work.

Emma wiggled slightly, testing the snug fit of the fresh Goodnite. "Maybe a little silly. I probably should've just gotten up and did it myself, huh?"

"Nah," Olivia said, gathering up the wipes and used diaper. "You looked so comfy, like you were melting into the couch. Would've been a crime to make you move."

Emma rolled onto her side, allowing Olivia to retrieve the changing mat from beneath her. "I am feeling very comfy right now..." she murmured, hugging a throw pillow to her chest as she watched Olivia bundle the used supplies into a grocery bag, the wine buzzing pleasantly through her veins.

Olivia paused mid-knot, noticing Emma's drowsy blinking. "You're not falling asleep during the best part," she teased, gesturing to the screen where zombie cheerleaders now engaged in synchronized vomiting.

"I'm going to level with you. I don't like zombie movies, and I haven't been paying any attention," Emma admitted.

"What you're saying is," Olivia said with a smirk, "that you're much too little for this scary grown-up movie?"

"That is emphatically not what I am saying!" Emma protested.

Olivia tossed the tied-off diaper bag toward the trash can, missing spectacularly. "Uh-huh." She crawled back onto the couch, nudging Emma's legs aside to reclaim her spot. "Too scary for little Emmie?"

Emma's grip tightened around the sippy cup. "Don't call me that." The words came out sharper than intended, wine-fueled heat prickling up her neck.

Olivia blinked, her smirk faltering. "Whoa, okay. Sorry." She held up her hands in surrender, but something flickered behind her eyes, confusion, maybe hurt. The movie's gory soundtrack filled the sudden silence between them.

Emma stared at her wine-filled sippy cup, the penguin's grin suddenly mocking. The fresh Goodnite crinkled as she shifted, suddenly too aware of its presence. "No, I--" she exhaled sharply.

Olivia stayed unnaturally still, fingers curled around her own cup. "Bad joke."

Emma swallowed hard. "It's not, " She pressed her palms against her thighs, stared absently at the coffee table. Anything but eye contact. "I don't mind the other stuff. The diapers. The... care. But talking to me like that makes me feel like I'm five." She hesitated, watching zombie entrails splatter across the screen. "And not in a good way. I can't explain why."

Olivia's posture softened. She reached for Emma's hand, tracing the knuckles with her thumb. "Noted." The word carried unexpected weight, like she was filing it away somewhere important.

Emma let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The movie's glow painted Olivia's face in shifting blues and reds, highlighting the thoughtful pinch between her eyebrows.

Olivia's thumb kept moving in slow circles across Emma's knuckles. "Tell me what does feel good," she murmured quietly. So quietly Emma almost missed it. So quietly it felt like it had escaped.

Fighting the knee-jerk urge to pull back her hand, Emma instead studied their joined hands, Olivia's nails chipped pink; her own nails plain, short. "When you're just Olivia being Olivia. Not performing some babysitter version of yourself. You're not at work, you know? I'm not one of your kids."

Olivia blinked, then let out a breath through her nose, shoulders relaxing. "Right. Yeah." She squeezed Emma's fingers once before releasing them to grab the remote, pausing the zombie orgy unfolding onscreen. "But I do want to watch something you'd like. It doesn't have to be Bluey or anything."

Emma's ears burned. She fiddled with the penguin sippy's spout. "Bluey's actually... I've heard it's good?" she mumbled to her lap.

Olivia's entire face lit up like someone had plugged her in. "Oh my god." She clapped her hands together once, sharp and delighted. "You absolutely have to see the 'Sleepytime' episode. It's got the same rating on IMDB as Ozymandias from Breaking Bad!" She had rejoined Emma on the couch and was already pulling up Disney+ before Emma could protest any further.

But Emma was content to not protest further. It was kind of a relief Olivia was so resilient, could bounce back so quickly every time Emma fucked up the mood with her dumb hangups. It wasn't so long ago she was sitting on a couch watching TV just like this. Except it was Nick, and she was in a depressive spiral absolutely fucking up her life. Emma didn't even remember what she said, just the tone of it, that same nasty tone she just used with Olivia, and he just got up. Walked out of the room. Left her there like that.

"You're crying." Olivia's voice was soft, barely louder than the hum of the ceiling fan, but it cut through the fabric of whatever dark place Emma had sunken to just now.

Emma blinked, lifting a hand to her cheek. Her fingertips came away wet. "Oh," she said dumbly, staring at them. Her face felt hot. She was so frustrated with herself. Every blink just seemed to multiply the tears.

Olivia hesitated for only a second before scooting closer, pressing her forehead against Emma's temple. "Hey," she murmured, breath warm against Emma's skin, separating her from her sippy cup of wine. "Hey, it's okay. I think we need some water."

"I'm really drunk," Emma admitted, watching Olivia's pink hair blur through unshed tears. She hiccupped a laugh, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

Olivia grimaced, plucking the sippy cup from Emma's loose grip. "My bad." She disappeared into the kitchenette, returning with a tall glass of water and a damp washcloth. "Hydrate," she ordered, pressing the cool glass into Emma's hands, then dabbed gently at Emma's flushed cheeks and wet eyes with the cloth.

Emma gulped the water obediently, the chill shocking her system slightly back to coherence, but uneasily dodged the washcloth whenever it got too close.

Olivia laughed. "How am I supposed to not baby you when you act like this?" she teased, catching Emma's chin between her fingers to hold her still while swiping the damp cloth under her swollen eyes.

The coolness did feel nice. Emma leaned into the touch just slightly, her eyelids fluttering shut as Olivia wiped away the tear tracks.

"Better?" Olivia murmured, pulling back just enough to study Emma's face.

Emma nodded, rubbing her sleeve across her nose with an undignified sniffle. The hot tears and cold water had cleared some of the wine haze, leaving her tender and raw, with a dull sting of embarrassment. "Have you even been drinking too? Why am I the only messy one?"

Olivia tossed the washcloth toward the laundry basket, missing again, before picking up her half-full glass and downing it. "Caught up!" she announced. As if the television remote was a magic wand, she whisked it through the air, making a show off passing the play button, and the Bluey intro music filled the apartment, cheerful and bright. She bounced slightly with each note, humming along off-key. "Did you know the theme song alternates between 4/4 and 5/4?" she asked.

"You're a force of nature," Emma mumbled into her water glass as Olivia wiggled closer on the couch, draping a heavy blanket over them both.

"It's the pause before they introduce each family member. Do-do-do do-do... There!" she explained, gesturing at the screen.

Emma hid her smile in her glass. Olivia's enthusiasm was infectious, like watching a golden retriever explain particle physics. She let herself sink into the couch cushions, closed her eyes, and wet her fresh Goodnite. Just a little. Maybe a lot. The warm trickle climbed up the padding and down between her legs while Olivia narrated the episode's opening scene with the fervor of a film professor.

"Hey! Stop peeing your pants and listen to me!"

Emma startled at Olivia's sudden exclamation, cheeks flaming as she instinctively clamped her thighs together. "Stop doing that!" she hissed, knocking her knee against Olivia's thigh. "How do you know every time?"

"I told you, superpower." Olivia grinned, wiggling her fingers in front of Emma's face.

Emma groaned and buried her face in the blanket, sheepishly resuming her slow wetting now that Olivia had called her out. The padding grew steadily warmer between her legs, the faint crinkling drowned out by Bluey's cheerful soundtrack. Olivia's fingers found their way back into Emma's hair, scratching lightly at her scalp in that way that made her eyelids flutter. "You're really good at that," Emma mumbled against the blanket fabric.

"I have a lot of really specific superpowers," Olivia murmured, her fingers still working magic against Emma's scalp. Onscreen, Chilli read Bingo a bedtime story as Bandit dragged Bluey into bed. Despite her insistence she isn't tired, she fell asleep immediately.

"God, same," Emma murmured, almost purring.

"You sleepy?" Olivia whispered, her fingers slowing their strokes through Emma's hair. The episode played softly, casting flickering shadows across their legs beneath the blanket.

Emma hummed noncommittally, her Goodnite already dampening again, the warmth spreading lazily in sync with her slowing breaths. She blinked heavily at the screen as Bingo told Chilli she wants to do a 'big girl sleep' and wake up in her own bed.

"Does Emma want to do a big girl sleep tonight?" Olivia murmured, her fingers never stopping their slow path through Emma's hair. "I can make your bed out here."

Emma stiffened slightly. The answer was obvious, but having to ask for it was a little mortifying. Onscreen, Bingo nestled into her mother's arms, safe and warm. "We can just do it like last time," Emma answered diplomatically.

Olivia's fingers stilled. "Last time?" she echoed innocently, but Emma caught the playful lilt. "I can't remember, did you sleep in my bed last time?"

"You're doing this on purpose," Emma whined.

"It's a simple question. Do you want to do a big girl sleep, or..." Olivia trailed off, her fingers resuming their slow strokes through Emma's hair, deliberately avoiding finishing the sentence. The episode played on, Bingo's cosmic dream sequence unfolding in stellar visuals, but Emma barely registered it over the pounding in her ears. Olivia was making her say it.

Emma pressed her thighs together, squeezed the thick, wet padding. She could feel Olivia's expectant gaze burning into the side of her face, waiting. "Not a big girl sleep," she mumbled finally, barely audible over the cartoon soundtrack. The admission sent a hot flush crawling down her neck, equal parts mortification and relief.

"Uh huh, I see," Olivia said, writing fake notes down into a fake notepad. "The lady will have the little girl sleep this evening..."

Emma groaned into the blanket, kicking weakly at Olivia's shin. "Stop making it weird."

Olivia tossed her imaginary notepad aside with a grin. "Sorry darling, but it's already been weird."

Emma exhaled sharply through her nose, could feel her blush deepening, and tried to concentrate on the episode. It was a dazzling dance of dream and real life scenes stitching together a simple story about sleeping troubles as a child. Olivia settled back against the cushions, her fingers resuming their gentle strokes through Emma's hair, neither of them speaking as Bingo floated through planets and stars in her dream. The silence between them was comfortable now, the earlier tension dissolved into something softer, like sugar melting in warm tea.

By the time the credits rolled with its melancholic piano score, Emma's eyelids were heavy, her Goodnite swollen and warm between her thighs. She barely registered Olivia shifting beside her until she felt gentle pressure against her shoulder. "Come on, sleepyhead," she whispered.

Emma blinked up as Olivia hovered over her, backlit by the television's glow. A dumb grin slid across her lips. "But I'm not tired, Livvy," she whined.

Olivia snorted. "Uh-huh." She snatched the remote, pausing the next episode's intro mid-jingle. With exaggerated ceremony, she straightened her pajama top like a flight attendant preparing for takeoff. "Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking." She nudged Emma's thigh with her knee. "We'll be ascending shortly to Bed Level." Nudge. Nudge. "Please keep your diaper secured at all times."

Emma groaned but didn't move, her limbs leaden with wine and warmth. Olivia crouched beside the couch, pressing her forehead against Emma's shoulder. "Up-up-up!" she chanted like a gym coach, her voice muffled against fabric. When Emma merely giggled, Olivia huffed dramatically and hooked her hands under Emma's armpits, heaving with theatrical effort. "Christ, what do they feed you at that daycare? Bricks?"

"You feed me at daycare!" Emma shot back defensively. "Bricks are what's in your dumb head, dummy."

Olivia grinned wildly. "Okay grumpy girl. Let's get you in bed so you can sleep off the grumpies."

Emma groaned as Olivia manhandled her upright, her legs wobbling slightly from the wine, pushed slightly apart by the thick padding between them. Olivia steered her toward the bedroom with hands on her shoulders, still making exaggerated pilot announcements about turbulence and "preparing for diaper descent." The bedroom doorframe wobbled in Emma's vision as she leaned against it, watching Olivia pull back the covers with unnecessary flourish.

"You're ridiculous," Emma muttered, but her lips twitched against her will. The bed looked impossibly soft, the pillows plumped just right, and Olivia's string lights cast a warm glow over everything.

"Oh wait wait wait wait," Olivia interrupted just as Emma was about to crawl into bed. She scurried back out into the living room, returning with the changing pad and laying it down on the bed. "Okay, happy feet, you're up."

Emma groaned but complied, flopping into her back on top of the changing mat, starfish style. Olivia's grin was triumphant as she grabbed the supplies from earlier, the wipes, the powder, and set them beside Emma's hip with exaggerated care. "Alright, princess," she announced, fingers hooking into the waistband of Emma's sweatpants. "Let's get you all fresh for bed."

It sounded casual, but Olivia's fingers were trembling. She fumbled with the fabric a few times. But the final tug downwards was gentle but decisive, exposing Emma's swollen Goodnite to the cool bedroom air. All along the crotch and bottom the sweatpants were wet spots from everywhere she had leaked. Olivia sighed, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. "You drowned these, Em," she murmured, balling them up before tossing them toward the laundry hamper. Her voice was arch, tight.

Emma squirmed instinctively as Olivia spread her legs slightly, the changing mat crinkling beneath her bare thighs. A fresh wave of embarrassment prickled up her neck when Olivia's fingers hooked into the waistband of her fresh Goodnite, peeling the sides apart with slow deliberation. The cool air pebbled her skin beneath Olivia's assessing gaze. Then, nothing. Olivia exhaled shakily.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, her head too heavy to lift from the bed.

"We talked about this already. Kind of. I know how you feel about it, but..." She shrugged. "Maybe this is for me. Or, maybe it's for both of us. But just... keep an open mind, okay?"

Emma didn't lift her head, just stared at the ceiling, watching the string lights blur. "Okay..."

Olivia exhaled sharply, like she'd been holding her breath. She disappeared under her bed for a moment, returned with a large plastic package decorated in pastel stripes and animals playing instruments. There was a cat, a panda, and a penguin. She paused for just a moment before sloppily tearing open the package. What she pulled out next was not the discreet Goodnites Emma had been wearing for weeks. What she pulled out was a diaper, full-on baby prints and tapes. Olivia's fingers trembled as she unfolded it. It looked gigantic. "You can say no," she murmured. "Please don't."

[devipa-abdl]

Spellbound [Part 3]

[M/f. ABDL. Idiot guy fumbles a diapered baddie... or does he?] Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Tossing an empty can of beer into his wastebin, Nick flopped onto his bed, stared at the ceiling fan as it wobbled on its axis. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids until colors burst behind them--burgundy like Lucy’s sweater dress, black like her nail polish. Today had been… good. Actually good! He’d fixed most of his fuck-ups, between Lucy avoiding him and his failed paper, and Lucy hadn’t just tolerated his presence--she laughed, she smirked. In that dress. That dress that clung to her hips when she walked, that dipped low enough to show the hollow of her throat when she leaned over the table.

If he was a smarter man he would've dropped a sugar packet. Ducked under the table. By chance her legs would be spread open a little... he'd peek up the hem of her burgundy dress and see the thick white diaper. The plastic rustling softly as she shifts in her seat, crosses her legs self-consciously. Then, they are walking, she drops a ring she's been fiddling with, and bends over at the waist to pick it back up. The hem of her dress slowly creeps up the backs of her thighs until that same flash of white is gradually exposed. Maybe even on purpose? And what he wouldn't give to just reach a hand out and...

Nick's fingers were already working at his waistband before he'd fully processed the thought. He shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't. But Lucy's smirk burned behind his eyelids, the way her sweater dress had clung when she'd leaned forward to push that napkin at him, the sharp inhale she'd taken when he'd joked about her 'pampers.' He groaned, palming himself through his underwear.

What was Lucy doing right now? Nick wondered, fingers moving urgently beneath the waistband of his boxers. Was she still in that burgundy dress? Had she changed into something more comfortable--something loose and soft, maybe. He imagined her stepping into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her, peeling off her thigh-high boots one by one. Would she sigh as she wiggled her toes free, roll her shoulders to relieve the tension of the day? Nick’s fantasy spiraled--Lucy’s fingers lifted the hem up and over her head. She’d be wearing something beneath it--something plain and practical, probably a simple black bra--but his mind supplied the image of a white, lacy number with slits, thick white diaper barely obscured by thin tights. Would she blush if she knew he was thinking about this? No, she'd be pissed. If she knew how much the contrast of her barbed, witchy exterior and the childish necessity of her protection turned him inside out? She'd probably beat the shit out of him. But that just made it better.

He imagined her tugging the tights down, inch by torturous inch--but she wouldn't rush, wouldn't be self-conscious. She'd move with the same deliberate precision she used when handling rare manuscripts. She'd press a palm against the padding, feeling how wet she inevitably would be. Not like she could help it.

Nick groaned, twisting his fingers tighter. His fantasy-Lucy would peel the tapes open, slide the damp padding down her thighs--but not before glancing at herself in the mirror, hips swaying slightly, like she was imagining an audience. His audience. Just him.

The ceiling fan wobbled faster as Nick squeezed his eyes shut--Lucy’s thighs parted slightly as she stepped out of the diaper, leaving it pooled around her ankles. The scent would be--no, he shouldn’t think about that. But he did. His hips jerked involuntarily. He could practically hear the soft crinkle as she reached for a fresh one, shaking it out with that same effortless competence she applied to everything. Except this time, she'd hand it to him, he'd guide her to lay down on the bed, her smirk never wavering as she lifts up her bottom...

Nick's fingers moved frantically, the friction almost too much as his fantasy spiraled-- Lucy lifting her hips off the bed, watching him with dark amusement as he fumbled with the fresh diaper.

"Pathetic," she'd say, but her voice would be breathless too.

His hips jerked off the mattress as he came with a choked gasp, stripes of white painting his stomach.

The silence afterward was deafening. Nick stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Disgust pooled in his gut--this is what got him off now? He rolled off the bed with a groan, wiping himself clean with a discarded t-shirt. The afterglow curdled into something sour--like licking a battery.

Nick scrubbed his hands over his face hard enough to see stars. The shame sat like a lead weight in his gut--not the performative kind he'd felt when caught mocking her, but something viscous and genuinely revolting. He'd jerked off to the idea of diapers. Not Lucy's sharp wit or the way her sweater dress hugged her hips, but the fucking medical equipment she had to wear. Was he gonna get hard watching someone adjust their hearing aides?

The shower water scalded Nick's back as he scrubbed at his skin with brutal efficiency, but the phantom stickiness lingered--less on his body than in his mind. He turned his face into the spray, letting the water pound against his closed eyelids until the image of Lucy's smirk blurred into abstraction. Toweling off with mechanical motions, he avoided the mirror entirely, tossing on a crumpled t-shirt and boxers before collapsing onto his bed again.

He woke with a jolt, sheets tangled around his waist, heart hammering against his ribs. The dorm room was dark except for the glow of his phone screen--4:37 AM, and a single unread message from a number he wasn't familiar with: You left your wallet at the café. Come get it before I sell your ID to a freshman.

Nick blinked at his phone screen, the blue light searing into his retinas. His fingers hovered over the keyboard--half-formed apologies and jokes dying before he could type them. He didn't know the number, but there was only one person who'd have his wallet. Who'd text like that.

His thumb hovered over the reply button, his pulse hammering against his sternum. Four fucking AM. He could practically hear Lucy's dry voice in the text--no greeting, no sign-off, just that same razor-edged nonchalance that made his stomach twist. He typed three responses and deleted them all before settling on: We go 50/50 on the profit.

Lucy's reply came less than thirty seconds later: Meet me at the 24-hour laundromat on 5th. Bring quarters.

Now? Nick's thumbs hesitated over the screen. He glanced at the dorm window--no sign of sunrise, but the small city that surrounded the school never truly went to sleep.

No response. Nick stared at his phone screen until it dimmed, then sighed and hauled himself out of bed. He pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie, shoving his hands into the pockets as he stepped into the hallway. The dorm’s elevator smelled like stale beer and regret--fitting, considering the way his stomach churned with both.

The laundromat’s fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps, flickering over rows of empty machines. Nick spotted Lucy immediately--perched on a folding table in the far corner, legs swinging like she owned the place. She was dwarfed by a black hoodie covered in a pattern of anatomical drawings. Her dark hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in messy waves that looked softer than he expected.

Nick hesitated in the doorway, the laundromat's automatic door groaning shut behind him. Lucy didn't look up from her book--some thick hardcover with yellowed pages--but he saw her lips twitch as she turned a page with deliberate slowness. Just be cool, casual.

"My hero," he called out, immediately regretting the choice.

Lucy's face lit up for half a second--a flash of genuine brightness that made Nick's stomach flip--before she schooled her features back into practiced indifference. She snapped the book shut, the sound echoing in the empty laundromat. "Took you long enough," she said, but there was no bite to it.

Nick could've sworn he saw the ghost of that smile still clinging to the corners of her mouth.

The laundromat's humming fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Lucy's face as she swung her legs idly, her combat boots scuffing against the metal table leg. Nick watched the way her fingers tapped against the cover of her book--some old-looking text with peeling gold lettering--before she finally slid off the table with a quiet thud.

Nick watched Lucy's boots hit the linoleum with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the laundromat's mechanical hum. She dug into the pocket of her oversized hoodie and tossed his wallet at him without ceremony. It hit his chest with a slap.

He caught the wallet, the leather warm from Lucy's pocket. He flipped it open--everything intact, even the crumpled five tucked behind his student ID. "You didn't rob me," he observed, snapping it shut. "You're getting soft."

Lucy snorted, tucked some stray hair behind her ear, allowing an expectant silence to settle between them. "The only thing soft around here is your early-onset dad bod, bucko," she said, pressing an acrylic nail into his chest.

"Dad bod?" He clutched his chest dramatically.

"Oh, spare me," she muttered, but her lips twitched.

Nick's gaze flickered down to Lucy's waistline, hidden beneath the oversized hoodie. The joke burned on his tongue, but something in the way she tilted her head, like she already knew exactly what he was thinking, made him swallow it down.

Lucy rolled her eyes, leaning back against a row of dormant dryers. The metal rattled softly. "You're practically vibrating with whatever dumbass thought just infected your brain. Out with it."

"I mean... if we're talking baby soft..." he began, immediately regretting it as Lucy's entire posture shifted--shoulders squaring, chin tilting up. Nick swallowed hard, the joke dying halfway.

Lucy burst into laughter--sharp, startled, and unexpectedly loud in the humming silence of the laundromat. "You're afraid of a girl in diapers?" She wiped at the corner of her eye, her dark eyeliner smudging slightly. "That's rich."

Nick's ears burned. "I'm not--that's not--" He floundered, watching Lucy's shoulders shake with silent laughter. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers catching on his hoodie's frayed stitching. "You're too good at fucking with me."

The rattling dryers fell silent, leaving only the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Lucy’s laughter faded into a smirk as she studied Nick’s burning ears. “You’re right,” she said, plucking at the strings of her hoodie. “I am good at fucking with you.”

"Just imagine," he said, "if you took all the effort you put into fucking with me... And used it to make it to the potty."

Lucy doubled over, clutched her abdomen as laughter wracked her frame--real, unguarded laughter that made her eyes crinkle at the corners and her nose scrunch in a way Nick had never seen before. The sound bounced off the laundromat's tiled walls, louder than the industrial dryers. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, smearing her eyeliner further. "Fuck you," she gasped between giggles, "fuck you for making me laugh at that."

Nick beamed as Lucy's laughter dissolved into breathless giggles, her shoulders shaking beneath the oversized hoodie. He'd never seen her like this--unguarded, almost giddy.

He wanted to be the reason she laughed like this every time.

Lucy's laughter trailed off into hiccuping breaths, her cheeks flushed pink under the laundromat's harsh lighting. Nick watched, transfixed, as she wiped her smudged eyeliner with her sleeve--the movement careless, uncalculated. For once, she wasn't measuring every reaction.

"So... Do you usually do your laundry at 4 in the morning?" Nick asked.

Lucy glanced at the empty machines lining the wall. "You gotta admit, it's nice and quiet. Every machine is open."

Nick nodded, finally taking a seat at the folding table. "Makes sense. Except the whole being-awake-at-4am thing."

"You were awake," Lucy shrugged, kicking her legs lightly against the table legs.

"I'm glad I was. Can't beat this company."

Lucy retched.

"Oh, come on," her chucked.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it. Nick noticed she didn't deny it.

The laundromat smelled like detergent and faint mildew, the rhythmic thumping of dryers providing a steady backdrop. Lucy swung her legs idly, the toe of her boot occasionally bumping against Nick’s shin--not hard enough to be purposeful, but not quite accidental either.

"So," Nick said, leaning back against the folding table, "why library sciences?"

Lucy peeled the label off her water bottle with deliberate precision. "Why business?" she countered.

"Just seemed... Responsible, I guess." Nick shrugged. "Not like I'm passionate about P&Ls or anything."

Lucy arched a brow. "And you think I'm passionate about Dewey Decimal?"

"Aren't you?"

"Fiercely," she grinned. "I'm actually getting my master's."

Nick blinked. "Wait, seriously? You're already a senior?"

"Mmhm," Lucy nodded, taking a sip from her water bottle. "Kind of a super senior, I'm already taking classes toward my next degree."

"Damn," Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You look so young. Must be the diapers."

"Alright, bozo. You get one diaper joke a day, and it has to be funny."

"Was that not funny?" Nick leaned forward on the folding table, watching Lucy's nose wrinkle as she swallowed a sip of water. "I thought that was funny."

Lucy sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Nick grinned, nudging her boot with his sneaker. "I put you in a good mood, huh?"

"Don't push it," Lucy muttered, but she didn't pull her foot away.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of a vending machine in the corner. Nick watched Lucy’s dryer spin through the circular window--dark fabrics tumbling in lazy circles like storm clouds caught in a slow-motion tornado.

The dryer finally buzzed, though Lucy seemed loathe to actually get up and unload it. And when she finally did, their feet no longer touched under the table, he missed the feeling. God, he was pathetic.

Nick watched Lucy wrestle a tangle of dark fabric from the dryer, her arms disappearing up to the elbows in the machine’s gaping mouth. A sock tumbled to the floor. She didn’t bend to pick it up--just kicked it toward him with the toe of her boot.

Obediently, he sighed and picked it up, tossed it in her laundry basket, watched it land silently atop a pile of folded black leggings. The dryer door groaned as she leaned deeper into the machine, the oversized hoodie riding up just enough to reveal the waistband of her leggings--and beneath them, the white waistband of her diaper.

"Thank you for this gift," he said, just loud enough for her to hear, as he folded up his hands and looked to the heavens.

Lucy froze mid-motion, half-buried in the dryer, before one hand snaked its way behind her back, felt for the exposed waistband of her diaper, then tugged the hoodie back down. Whatever she said next was a muffled echo from inside the dryer. It probably wasn't very nice.

She finally emerged from the dryer with a bundle of fabric clutched to her chest that she spilled out into the folding table in front of him. "No free shows. If you're gonna look, you're gonna fold."

Nick stared at the pile of laundry dumped unceremoniously in front of him--mostly black dresses, trousers, a few oversized sweaters, and one violently pink sock that clashed with everything. "This feels like entrapment," he said, picking up the sock between two fingers like it might bite.

Lucy smirked as Nick gingerly lifted a lacy black bra from the pile with two fingers, his ears flushing crimson. "No fun stuff," she said casually, snapping it from his grip before he could drop it. "Shirts and pants only."

Nick's fingers fumbled with the hem of a sweater, folding it in a messy approximation of the neat stacks she'd already made. He glanced at Lucy's hands moving deftly beside him, her fingers smoothing wrinkles from a black skirt with quick, precise movements, the same way she handled rare books in the archives. The dryer's warmth clung to the clothes, making the air between them thick with heat and the scent of lavender detergent. He tried to focus on folding, but his gaze kept drifting to the way her hoodie rode up whenever she reached for another garment.

Lucy snatched the sweater from Nick's hands with an exasperated sigh, refolding it in three quick motions before adding it to her growing pile. "You're hopeless," she muttered, but there was no real venom in it--just that same dry amusement that made his stomach do strange things.

"I'm sorry, I just fold my clothing... differently," Nick murmured, watching Lucy's nimble fingers correct his haphazard folding.

"I can tell," she said, nodding at his wrinkly tee. "Anyway, you can still make it up to me," Lucy said, swinging the full laundry basket on her hip, dropping it on his lap. "Carry this to my room for me."

Nick's fingers tightened around the laundry basket's plastic handles, the weight settling against his thighs. His throat went dry--was this an invitation? Or just Lucy being Lucy, making him haul her shit across campus at ass o'clock because she could? The conflicting possibilities tangled in his chest--hope and wariness knotting together beneath his ribs.

Lucy was already halfway to the door, her boots scuffing against the laundromat’s linoleum with that same infuriating, unhurried stride. She didn’t look back. Ugh, fine.

The laundromat’s automatic doors wheezed shut behind them. Nick adjusted his grip on the laundry basket, the plastic handles digging into his palms as he hurried to match Lucy’s languid pace. The predawn air was sharp with autumn, and Lucy’s breath curled in faint wisps as she led him down the empty sidewalk toward the graduate housing complex without looking back. It was a looming brick building with ivy crawling up its sides like veins. Lucy pulled a keycard from her pocket with practiced ease, the scanner beeping green under her touch. The door swung open with a pneumatic sigh.

The dorm hallway stretched before them, dimly lit and smelling faintly of burnt popcorn. Lucy's boots squeaked against the linoleum as she led Nick past rows of identical doors, no nameplates, just numbers, until finally stopping at a nondescript door halfway down the hall and slipping her key into the lock.

Lucy's dorm room smelled like lavender, old paper and bergamot, the scent hitting Nick like a physical force as he crossed the threshold. The space was small--barely wider than the twin bed shoved against the far wall--but every inch hummed with chaotic energy. Clearly thrifted bookshelves bowed under the weight of leather-bound tomes and dog-eared paperbacks stacked horizontally atop vertical rows. A single black curtain hung lopsided over the window, allowing thin stripes of predawn light to slice across a desk buried under teetering piles of notes and a mug of long-cold tea with a floating dust skin.

Nick's foot knocked against something solid as he stepped further in--a wooden box overflowing with dried herbs, colorful rocks, and what looked like small animal bones. The entire room looked like a witch’s apothecary had collided with a library dumpster.

The door clicked shut behind them with finality, and Nick realized he was holding his breath. Lucy flicked on a desk lamp--its stained-glass shade casting fractured emerald light across the stacks of books--before turning to pluck the laundry basket from his stiff arms. "You look like a lost puppy," she said, nudging a pile of folded sweaters aside with her hip to make space on the bed. "So, sit."

Nick sat on the edge of Lucy’s bed--carefully, like it might collapse under him--and watched her unpack the laundry basket with methodical precision. Her movements were efficient, almost ritualistic, as she tucked folded garments into drawers already overflowing with dark fabrics.

"You've been quiet," she remarked, pressing the last sweater into its drawer with a little effort.

Nick watched Lucy's fingers brush against the drawer's edge--a fleeting hesitation before she shut it with finality. The bed creaked slightly as she sat down beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint detergent clinging to her hoodie. "I'm just thinking," he admitted, picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants.

"Nervous?" she asked. The word hung between them, heavy as the silence that followed. Nick swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly. Lucy's knee bumped against his--accidentally or not--and he felt the warmth of her through his sweatpants.

"Freaking out a little bit, yeah. If I'm being honest." Nick avoided her eyes, afraid of the withering gaze he might find.

"Me too," she said. He felt the weight of her head resting on his shoulder. Nick froze--every muscle locked in place, afraid that even breathing might shatter this impossible moment. Her hair smelled like lavender and something darker, the strands tickling his jawline. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head just enough to press his nose against her scalp, inhaling deeper. His hands flexed uselessly in his lap, unsure where to put them.

Nick exhaled a wavering breath through his nose, trying to quiet the hammering in his chest. Lucy’s warmth seeped into his side, her fingers brushed against his thigh--just a fleeting graze--as she adjusted her position, and the contact sent a jolt through him like he’d touched a live wire.

"You... like me, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nick froze, his fingers twitching against his knees. The question hung between them, thick and heavy, like the scent of old books and bergamot that filled her room.

"Nick," she whispered, nudging him. "Be a big boy and say it."

"Yeah," he breathed, voice cracking. "Yeah, I like you."

Lucy nodded against his shoulder--once, firm--then slid off the bed. Nick's stomach dropped, watching her pad across the room to flick off the desk lamp, plunging them into near-darkness. Only thin slivers of predawn light sliced through the crooked curtains now. She turned back toward him, her silhouette blurred at the edges by the dim glow.

The mattress dipped as Lucy climbed back onto the bed, but this time she didn't sit beside him. Instead, she lifted the comforter and slid beneath it in one smooth motion, settling against the pillows with a sigh. Nick watched, frozen, as she lifted the edge of the blanket in silent invitation. "I've decided I like you too."

Nick's fingers trembled as he reached for the blanket--not quite believing this was happening, half-convinced he'd wake up any second in his own sweat-drenched sheets. The comforter was heavier than expected, thick and weighted, smelling faintly of something uniquely Lucy. He slid beneath it stiffly, afraid to move an inch.

His breath caught as Lucy shifted backward, her body slotting into his. The moment her diapered bottom pressed against his lap, every coherent thought evaporated, replaced by the sheer, impossible warmth of her. Actually feeling the padding, it was thinner than he'd imagined, softer too, molding against him in a way that made his pulse hammer in his throat. Lucy sighed, nestling deeper into the curve of his body, and he realized with dawning horror that he was already half-hard.

Nick inhaled sharply through his nose, willing his body to behave as Lucy settled against him with a sleepy sigh, wriggling backward, completely unselfconscious. His fingers hovered over her waistband, unsure where to land, before he snaked his hand through the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. He held his breath, waiting for her to recoil--but she only arched her back slightly, pressing the padding more firmly against his growing erection with a sleepy murmur. His stomach flipped. He wanted to say something, anything, but was afraid the first word from his mouth would shatter the moment like glass.

Lucy exhaled softly, her body going lax against Nick's chest. The silence between them stretched thin as morning light crept across the floorboards--neither moving, neither speaking, just the steady rise and fall of her back against his ribs. Nick shut his eyes, hyperaware of every point where their bodies connected: her head tucked under his chin, the press of her diapered hips against his thighs, the way her fingers had gone still atop his wrist where it lay draped over her waist. It was all far too much. It wasn't nearly enough.

[devipa-abdl]

i am sick as fuck and not in the tony hawk way.

i'm not going on that work trip after all, but I also tacitly promised I'd finish some stories tonight at the hotel, which now also feels like it's not going to happen.

tell me to go lie down and not finish a chapter of something for the people edit: dear reader i posted spellbound 3

[devipa-abdl]

the bad news: i am being sent to florida for work on 1 week notice the good news: i have spellbound pt. 3 and daycare goodnites pt. 8 about 80-90% written and I'm not going to have much else to do on monday night but finish them in the hotel room.

dcgn's new part has been particularly difficult for me to write. i think i've written and fully erased the big scene twice so far.

i want it to feel real and earned and not just happen because we're all rooting for it, and that's where i'm struggling. everything feels too easy and convenient.

[devipa-abdl]

Hi!!

I just found your blog, and I wanted to say that I’m obsessed with your Diapered in the Dorm story!

I know Rory ended up not enjoying his relationship with Roxy, but one diaper boy’s hell is another diaper boy’s heaven ig — I seriously can’t stop thinking about their relationship, and the way you wrote it. The mixture of emotions including frustration, lust, control, and humiliation that all seem to underpin a genuine affection and care mixed in there somewhere… 🤤. And I also loved their more vanilla outing to a dive bar; it really helped lay that foundation to make the relationship believable!

Anyway, I just wanted to say you did a fantastic job with this story! (And to maybe ask if u had written anything else similar…)

Thanks for reading! Diapered in the Dorm was one of my more experimental stories, was just trying out a different dynamic and different gender expression for a perspective character. Funnily enough, I think everything you liked about it was everything I was most self-conscious about. I always worry that long vanilla sections get boring for some readers.

Unfortunately that also means that I don't have anything else quite like it. But I'll keep that in mind for the future!

[devipa-abdl]

normal things happening over on deviantart

[devipa-abdl]

Item: The Clay Personality Mold Rarity: ✸ Legendary

What video game do you think shaped your personality and are you okay with that?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

This is an interesting question that I have a boring answer to. It's Pokemon. Blue version, specifically. I was 8.

I had played Mario and Donkey Kong Country, I like platformers, but Pokemon was like... all-encompassing to me.

I made Fakemon in MS Paint. I looked up stupid glitches and weird secrets, except some of them were true! I caught a Missingno, taught it Surf, evolved it into a Kangaskhan and was a golden god at school for a day. Wild times.

I think Persona 3 was a reset for me later in life, but Persona is just grown-up Pokemon.

[devipa-abdl]

ok first of all: i LOVED LOVED LOVED Playdate and Spellbound! they’re SO good, i love your writing so much!

idk if i buy Lucy forgiving Nick so quickly though… i think i would’ve never, EVER talked to him again after the way he acted! especially the grabbing and ripping the skirt, and her wrist, those seem like pretty bad red flags to me. but i guess she went for coffee with him anyway, knowing all of that AND knowing his apologies were somewhat motivated by self-interest, so maybe she saw something i’m missing… just a clueless freshman boy? i wonder what she was thinking… will we ever get a Lucy POV chapter? 🤔

and i LOVED the tension in Playdate, between the shame of liking all of this little stuff, but also finding it so very intriguing and attractive. or the embarrassment of having to actually tell someone you kinda maybe sorta want to wear a diaper: why is admitting things so hard!? (and so… spicy?) but also wanting to please your big, but scared of it, and the hints of a deeper fear, that if you don’t wear the diaper, the dynamic might be toast. and just feeling pulled in so many directions at once, with so many big feelings. and i loved how you brought out the differences in how all of this manifested for two different people in two different dynamics! SO SO GOOD!

in any case, i’m definitely gonna be diving into the rest of your stories, can’t wait to read more! thanks for sharing with us, the world needs more excellent, well-written abdl fiction! 💚💚💚

Thanks for reading! It's kind of funny that your entrance into my catalog is Spellbound and Playdate, because I think they're two of my more different works. Hope of the rest of the stuff stands up! Spellbound: Nick fucks up pretty bad. I can see some people not believing that Lucy would ever give him the time of day. I endeavor to keep my stuff believable, so maybe I missed the mark a little bit there. In my mind, the mixture of time passing and cooling hot emotions + Nick demonstrating change + Lucy getting to exact a little vengeance by pretending to stand him up allowed her to feel like the balance sheet was clear. I still need to finish that one off, but maybe it needs a revision or two to what's out there first. Playdate: I write a lot about shame and acceptance in my stories. I think it's a pretty core experience to most people with this kink, but exploring wanting to please your big was something new to me and pretty alien to my lived experience. I'm glad it resonated.

[devipa-abdl]

Daycare, Goodnites [Part 7]

[ABDL. F/f. 'Big girl' goes back to daycare.] Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

The blinking cursor on the screen taunted her. Emma stabbed at her laptop keyboard with more force than necessary, this cover letter seeming tougher to write than the previous forty or fifty. She rolled the pacifier back and forth between her lips, the faint suckling noises filling the quiet bedroom. Olivia had left hours ago for her shift at the daycare downstairs, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts and the growing temptation to ditch the job search entirely for the afternoon.

The days since the sleepover had been... weird. Good weird. Olivia insisted on visiting her bright and early each morning before the kids started to arrive, plopping down on Emma's bed with a cheerful "Morning, padded princess!", which was absolutely not going to become a thing. She'd bring a mug of coffee and a sippy cup of apple juice -- on purpose, this time -- and offer both. The new attention felt an in-between kind of way, like everything was starting to: like she wasn't allowed to like it, didn't want to like it, but kind of liked it a lot. Having her secret shared between them, and Olivia playing along? Weird. Good weird.

Emma gnawed on the pacifier absently before taking a sip of sweet juice as she scrolled through yet another job listing, something about social media management for a pet grooming company. She stared at the requirements: five years experience, proficiency in Canva, and felt her shoulders sag. Loosening her hold on her bladder, she allowed a soft trickle of pee into her Goodnite, refreshing the cozy warmth in her jeans, before snapping her laptop shut, rubbing her temples. "Do they want a social media manager or do they want a graphic designer?" she asked nobody in particular.

Glancing around her childhood bedroom, now cluttered with sippy cups, baby lotion, pull up bedwetting diapers and wipes, she felt the familiar ache of frustration settle in her chest. The pacifier between her lips bobbed slightly before she plucked it out, tossed it on her unmade bed. She was being pulled in two directions, and one was starting to win.

Downstairs, the daycare buzzed with laughter and the occasional wail of a cranky toddler. Emma could hear Olivia’s voice rising above the noise, cheerful and patient. She hesitated, then padded to the door, cracking it open just enough to peek down the hallway. Seemed like fun... She could feel the little devil climbing up her shoulder, whispering in her ear. Except the little angel that was supposed to be on the other shoulder was also whispering the same thing.

Before she realized it, Emma was downstairs.

The daycare smelled like crayons and apple slices, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows as kids toddled between activity stations. Emma hovered near the kitchenette, watching Olivia kneel to tie a little boy’s shoelaces, her pink hair bouncing as she exaggeratedly gasped at his mismatched socks.

"Thought I heard you creeping around," Lys murmured, appearing beside Emma with a Tupperware container. She popped the lid open-- leftover mac and cheese with dino nuggets, still warm. "You skipped lunch again."

Emma accepted the food with a shrug. "It's not skipping if I have it now."

Lys smiled, leaned against the counter. Across the room, Olivia was now leading a circle of toddlers in a ridiculous dance, shaking her hips to the ABCs. "You've been spending a lot of time with Liv," Lys observed mildly, plucking a dino nugget for herself.

Emma shoved a forkful of macaroni into her mouth, chewing slowly. "She's... nice," she mumbled around the food, watching Olivia dramatically flop onto the carpet, sending the kids into shrieking giggles.

"So my sleepover was a good idea?" Lys asked, nudging Emma's shoulder. "Liv tells me you two are having another one this Friday, too?"

"It was, and we are," Emma admitted. "I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day."

Her mom scoffed, clutched her invisible pearls. "Punk," she whispered under her breath.

Emma smirked to herself, her attention already pulled back to Olivia, who was now dramatically pretending to faint into a beanbag chair, eliciting another round of delighted squeals from the kids. There was something magnetic about the way Olivia moved, the effortless way she commanded the room without even trying. And sometimes Emma got that all to herself. She felt lucky, grateful.

Olivia glanced up suddenly, as if sensing Emma’s gaze, and waved before flopping onto her stomach to blow raspberries into a toddler’s belly. Emma bit back a laugh.

"So how are things?" her mom asked. "It has been almost two weeks. Adjusting okay?"

Emma considered the pacifier upstairs, the wet diaper currently in her pants, and the stack of them that had replaced all her panties in the dresser. "Yeah," she lied. "Fine."

Lys sighed. "Please give your poor mother a little bit more than that."

"I'm coping," she replied. "Still no bites," she continued. "Every job is secretly three jobs in a trenchcoat and I'm not qualified for any of them... I'll admit I feel a little dark every now and then. But I have my distractions. And I have you. And Liv now, too." She shrugged, spearing a dinosaur nugget. "How's that?"

Lys sighed, wrapping an arm around Emma's shoulders. "That's good enough." She pressed a kiss to the top of Emma's head, squeezing gently before letting go. "You know, I'm proud of you."

Emma sighed around a mouthful of macaroni. "I told you it makes me feel worse when you say that and I haven't earned it."

"Too bad," Lys said simply, snatching another nugget. Across the room, Olivia had pulled out a storybook, her voice rising and falling dramatically as the kids clustered around her, wide-eyed. "You don't have to earn me being proud of you. That isn't how that works."

Emma rolled her eyes but leaned into her mother's shoulder anyway, watching Olivia over the rim of her container. Olivia caught her gaze mid-story, calling out dramatically, "And the monster said, 'Miss Lys, get out here and get back to work! Rawr!'" before dissolving into giggles with the kids. Lys chuckled, squeezing Emma's shoulder before heading back to her duties.

The afternoon stretched on, Emma lingering by the kitchenette longer than she meant to, absently picking at her food while Olivia herded toddlers through snack time. Eventually, Emma slipped back upstairs, her laptop still blinking accusingly at her from the bed, as she kicked off her jeans and changed into a dry Goodnite, tying the old one up in a grocery bag. The laptop continued to blink as she nudged it aside and crawled under the covers, fumbling around in them until she found her pacifier and slipped it into her mouth.

She didn't mean to nap, but the pull of the soft bed and the rhythmic sound of her own suckling lulled her into a drowsy haze. Emma curled onto her side, knees tucked slightly, pacifier bobbing gently as she sank deeper into the mattress. The faint scent of baby powder clung to her sheets, mingling with the familiar laundry detergent, and she exhaled slowly through her nose, letting her bladder relax completely for the first time all day. Warmth spread between her legs, pooling comfortably in the padding as her eyelids grew heavier.

The creak of her bedroom door startled her awake some time later. Olivia stood silhouetted in the doorway, her pink hair haloed by the hallway light. "There you are," she whispered, closing the door softly behind her. "Your mom said you disappeared after lunch." She crossed the room in socked feet, perching on the edge of Emma's bed with exaggerated care, like she was afraid of disturbing something precious.

Emma blinked sleepily, the pacifier slipping slightly in her mouth before she caught it with her tongue. Olivia's gaze flickered down, then back up with a knowing smile that made Emma's cheeks warm. "Bad day?" she asked softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Emma's forehead.

Emma shrugged, curling tighter around herself as she mumbled around the silicone teat, "Didn't get much done."

Olivia's fingers squeezed Emma's leg through the blanket. "That's okay," she murmured, sitting down at the foot of the bed. The little twin bed groaned a bit. "Some days are like that."

Emma curled her toes beneath the covers, becoming more acutely aware of the swollen padding between her legs. Olivia's gaze dropped down too, this time lingering, not on Emma's mouth, but lower, where the blanket bunched at her waist. A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but charged.

"Are you wet?" Olivia asked, voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers tapped once, twice against Emma's thigh, light, questioning.

Emma stiffened. The question, asked so casually, sent her pulse skittering. Was it... somehow obvious? She wanted to deny it, to roll away and pretend she hadn't heard, but the warmth between her legs was undeniable, the faint crinkling of the diaper beneath the blanket suddenly deafening.

Olivia didn't push, just waited, her fingers still tapping that same slow rhythm against Emma's thigh, poked her playfully in rhythm. "Earth. To. Em. Ma..."

Emma exhaled shakily around the pacifier, her fingers twisting the blanket. Olivia waited, patient, unbearably patient, until Emma gave the tiniest nod.

Olivia's face lit up, not with mockery, but with something painfully close to delight. "Can I see?" she asked.

Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs. She shook her head violently, the pacifier slipping free before she fumbled to catch it. Olivia corralled it, dangled it just out of reach of her lips.

"Why not?" she asked. "I see a dozen every day."

Emma twisted away, clutching the blanket to her waist. "It's different," she mumbled, her throat tight.

Olivia studied her for a beat before sighing dramatically. "Fine, fine." She flopped backward onto the bed, arms splayed. "But you're missing out on premium diaper service." She wiggled her fingers. "These hands have changed approximately seven billion toddlers. I could diaper you blindfolded."

Emma huffed around the pacifier, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her face into her pillow to hide the warmth spreading across her cheeks. The mattress dipped as Olivia shifted closer, her socked foot bumping against Emma's calf. "Seriously though," she murmured, propping herself up on one elbow.

"Why do you want to?" Emma asked, muffled by the pillow.

"Professional curiosity," she said simply, fingers toying with the edge of Emma's blanket.

Emma peeked over her shoulder. "Curiosity?"

Olivia grinned, her eyes bouncing between meeting Emma's gaze and her lower body beneath the blanket. "Big girl, big diaper... what does it look like? How's the fit? How wet is she? Just a few questions swirling around up there," she said, knocking on the side of her head.

"Weird," Emma stated, shoving her head back into her pillow.

"Not weird," Olivia replied. "Just... intimate. Like painting someone's nails or braiding their hair."

"Well I think it's weird!" Emma muttered, burrowing deeper into her blanket cocoon.

"So fussy..." Olivia murmured, poking Emma’s blanket-wrapped hip, her fingers snaking under the edges of the covers. "But I've learned one way of dealing with fussy kids."

"Setting a boundary is not being fussy!" Emma protested, but in the blink of an eye the covers were simply whisked off her body. Olivia had seized her chance, years of wrangling toddlers giving her an unfair advantage in blanket-tug-of-war. Emma gasped at the sudden exposure, instinctively but uselessly covering her Goodnite with her hands. "Hey! What the--"

Olivia froze mid-victory pose, her grin softening. Emma could only catastrophize what Olivia must be seeing right now: a grown woman, who admittedly needs to shave her pale legs, wearing nothing but a frumpy t-shirt and a swollen purple Goodnite. In Emma's nose the faint scent of baby powder mixed with something warmer, more intimate.

"Oh," Olivia breathed, her teasing posture melting into something gentler. "You're really wet. You leaked..."

"What?" she stammered, twisting herself up and off her bed to assess the damage. Looking at the two wet patches on her sheets, her cheeks burned. Emma could feel the heat radiating down her neck, pooling in her clavicle, her entire body vibrating with embarrassment and something else, something she couldn't name. Olivia softly shut the door.

"You're okay, you're okay," she whispered. Olivia's voice had dropped to something hushed, reverent almost, as she started to bend down, her fingers grasping the waistband of the Goodnite. "I'll help you clean up."

Emma scrambled backward until her shoulders hit the wall, her hands clawing at the hem of her shirt to tug it down over the wet diaper. "No, stop!" Her voice cracked on the word, throat tight with humiliation. The Goodnite sagged heavily between her thighs, colder now that it was exposed to the air. She could smell it, sweet and faintly ammonia-scented.

Olivia froze mid-step, hands still outstretched. Her smile faltered at Emma's panicked expression. "Em, I was just--"

"I said no!" Emma hissed, her fingers digging into the hem of her shirt like it was the only thing holding her together. She could feel the dampness in the leg gathers where she'd leaked, the shame crawling up her throat. "You just, you can't just do whatever you want!"

Olivia took a careful step back, hands raised. "Em, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Emma pressed herself harder against the wall, her breath coming too fast. The diaper crinkled with every slight movement, a cruel reminder of what Olivia could see. The wet patches on the sheets mocked her, proof that even this small comfort had betrayed her.

Olivia's hands hovered uselessly between them. "I just wanted to help," she said softly, but the words scraped against Emma's raw nerves.

"You weren't listening!" Emma snapped, voice thick. She hated the way Olivia's gaze kept flicking downward, composed, businesslike, hated the wetness cooling against her thighs, hated most of all the hot prickling behind her eyes. "I'm just another daycare kid to you, huh?"

Olivia recoiled like she'd been slapped. "Em."

"I'm just throwing a temper tantrum in my wet diaper, huh?"

Olivia's expression crumpled. "Emma, that's not..." She reached out, then let her hand drop when Emma flinched away. The silence between them grew thick enough to choke on, broken only by the faint crinkle of Emma shifting her weight. Olivia exhaled sharply through her nose, shoulders slumping. "Sorry. Sorry. I got... excited."

Emma blinked, her angry retort dying on her lips at Olivia's unexpected admission.

Olivia chewed her bottom lip. "I thought--" She cut herself off with a frustrated sigh, plopping back onto Emma's bed with her shoulders hunched. "I thought it would be fun to... play."

Emma stayed pressed against the wall, the damp diaper clinging uncomfortably now that the initial warmth had faded. Olivia's sudden vulnerability disarmed her anger like a popped balloon. "Play?" was all she could muster.

"I'm sorry," Olivia whispered again, staring at her socked feet. "I just... got excited about knowing your secret. I wanted to be... I dunno, let in. Be a part of it." She peeked up through her pink bangs.

Emma exhaled shakily, fingers still clutching her shirt hem. The diaper sagged between her thighs as she shifted awkwardly. "You can't just... grab the covers like that."

Olivia nodded vigorously, "No blanket-snatching." She held up three fingers in a mock scout salute.

Emma shook her head, sniffled, rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "That's not... ugh."

The pacifier lay abandoned on the floor where it had fallen during their scuffle, its silicone teat glistening faintly in the afternoon light. Olivia followed her gaze, slowly bent to retrieve it, popped it in her own mouth to clean it off, then held it out like a peace offering.

Emma snorted. "Gross," she muttered, taking it and popping it in her mouth.

Olivia grinned, fingers twisting a pink curl around her finger. "So... friends again?" She slid forward on the bed, stretched out her arms. "Can I hug you?"

Emma rolled the pacifier between her lips. "Fine," she mumbled around the silicone teat, finding herself emphatically wrapped up a hug that smelled a little bit like sweat and strawberry shampoo.

"I'll be better," Olivia whispered against Emma's shoulder.

In spite of herself, Emma couldn't help but melt into the hug, the pacifier bobbing slightly as she exhaled against Olivia's shoulder.

Olivia pulled back first, brushing Emma's hair from her damp cheeks with gentle fingers. "You're a mess," she murmured, but her eyes were soft. "How about I... go get your sheets in the wash? You get cleaned up in here?"

Some small, stupid part of her brain mourned the loss of that diaper change. It probably would have been really good. But it meant getting comfortable with... a lot of things she was not currently comfortable with. "Yeah, okay..." she finally said. "Thanks."

Olivia looked relieved. "Be right back," she said, slipping out the door with a bundle of sheets, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts and her cold, sagging diaper.

Peeling the damp padding away with a grimace and cleaning herself up with a wet wipe, Emma eyed her top drawer, which was stocked entirely with more Goodnites. For the first time since she'd done it, she regretted banishing her panties to the depths of the closet. Though, as the padding of a fresh diaper crinkled as she reluctantly pulled it up, and as she felt the comforting snugness around her hips, she realized she didn't regret it that much.

Emma was stepping into a pair of baggy sweats when her bedroom door swung open. For a moment, her life flashed before her eyes, but it was just Olivia, returning with a clean set of sheets and a new duvet cover. Emma didn't know what expression was on her face, but Olivia paused in the doorway, eyes flicking to Emma's face, then down her body.

"...I should start knocking again," she remarked, backing up into the hallway and closing the door.

Emma rolled her eyes, but waited until Olivia tapped twice before calling, "You're fine," she called out, opening the door. "My mom knocks. I kind of like that we're on no-knock basis. Just don't... I dunno, abuse your privileges."

Olivia grinned, arms loaded with sheets. "So I can come in whenever I want?" she teased, bumping Emma's hip with her own as she breezed past.

"What did I just say?" she replied with a grin of her own, helping to stretch the new sheets back over the mattress.

"You know, you're lucky you didn't leak much more than you did," Olivia remarked. "It's tougher when it gets on the mattress..."

"Yeah?" Emma offered.

Olivia smoothed the fitted sheet with practiced efficiency. "Oh yeah. Then it's a whole production, stripping the bed, baking soda, vinegar spray... Not to mention the stains. Lasting evidence, if you catch my drift."

Emma wrinkled her nose, picturing her mother discovering pee stains on the mattress. "Ah, noted..."

"The way I see it, you've got two options." Olivia fluffed a pillow before stuffing into a clean pillow case. "Well, three options. Option one is you stop peeing in bed."

Emma suddenly found herself unable to make eye contact. "Um... pass," she muttered, busying herself with a final few tucks of the top sheet.

She could hear the smile in Olivia's voice. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. Option two, you buy a plastic sheet." Olivia snapped the duvet into the air, letting it settle over the bed with a soft whump.

Emma plopped onto the freshly made bed. "That also feels like evidence, if my mom ever decides to change my sheets, thinking she's doing me a favor..."

Olivia flopped down beside her, her pink hair fanning out across Emma's pillow. "Which brings us to option three," she said, rolling onto her side to prop her head on her hand.

"Which is?" Emma asked, watching Olivia's smirk widen with growing suspicion.

"Diapers. Real diapers."

Emma stiffened.

Olivia's smirk softened into something gentler as she traced a finger along Emma's arm. "Not trying to freak you out. Just saying, Goodnites are cute, and they fit you, but they're for kids who have occasional accidents. I have a feeling you are using them... differently."

Once again, Emma pulled her pillow over her face. "Oh my god," she murmured. "I don't like how much you are thinking about my bathroom habits."

"Or lack thereof!" Olivia chimed in.

Emma groaned into the pillow, but Olivia tugged it away, revealing Emma's flushed face. Olivia's expression shifted to something softer, more thoughtful. "Hey," she murmured, fingers brushing Emma's wrist. "We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready. I just... want you to have all the discretion you need."

Emma exhaled, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling as she considered the idea hanging between them, real diapers. The idea sent a thrill down her spine, equal parts terrifying and tantalizing. "I just..." She hesitated, fingers plucking at the waistband of her fresh Goodnite. "It feels like... crossing a line I can't uncross."

Olivia hummed, shifting closer until their shoulders pressed together. "Lines are made-up," she murmured, nudging Emma gently. "You crossed one when you started wearing these, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "But this feels... bigger."

"Bigger, yeah," Olivia confirmed. "Thicker. More absorbent..."

Emma swatted her shoulder, but couldn't suppress her laugh.

"Seriously though," Olivia murmured "What scares you about it?"

Emma chewed her lip. "It's stupid."

Olivia let her head rest on Emma's shoulder. "Tell me anyway."

Emma sighed, fingers tracing the elastic waistband peeking above her sweats. "Today I sucked a pacifier, drank apple juice out of a sippy cup, ate dino nuggies, and peed in a diaper so much it leaked in my bed. And I didn't finish a single cover letter or apply to a single job. What does that mean?"

"It means you needed today," Olivia said. "Doesn't mean tomorrow has to be the same."

"But what if tomorrow I'm in diapers, then what? Where do I go from there?" Emma propped herself up on her elbows, looked around for the pillow, needed something to squeeze.

"I don't have the answers, Em," she replied, tugging her back down. "But I think you're asking the wrong question."

Emma turned her head just enough to peer at Olivia. "What's the right question then?"

Olivia exhaled through her nose, her eyes focused on the ceiling. "Instead of 'where does this end,' maybe ask 'how does this help?' Are you happier when you let yourself have this?"

It was Emma's turn to study the ceiling in thought. The faint water stain above them was shaped like a crooked heart. She'd stared at it countless times during childhood illnesses and teenage heartbreaks. Now, it bore witness to this, whatever this was. "I was already happy, Liv," she finally said. "I did it. I had a good job, a good boyfriend, a good apartment." She could feel the hot pricks of tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as she spoke. "Ugh, stop crying."

Ruminating for a long moment, Olivia draped her arm over Emma's stomach as she spoke softly. "You had all those things, but that wasn't your only chance. That wasn't your only job, your only boyfriend, and your only apartment. Between now and getting all that back you're gonna need to be happy."

Emma sniffled, pressing her hands into her wet eyes, trying to force the tears back in. "And that means I should wear diapers?"

Olivia chuckled, fingers climbing up to gently comb through Emma's hair. "It means you should do whatever makes the in-between suck less." She pulled back just enough to catch Emma's gaze. Slipping into the sing-song voice she uses with the kids, she said, "And if that's bigger, thicker diapers so your pee-pees don't leak..."

"Okay, wow, hate that," Emma exclaimed, pushing herself up off the bed as if she had to physically separate herself from the comment.

Olivia grinned, stretching herself out across Emma's bed like a starfish. "Too real?"

"If you ever talk to me like that again, I swear I'll--"

"Come?" Olivia interrupted, loudly, before dissolving into a puddle of giggles.

The joke landed awkwardly, like an ankle sprain. The taste of it was sour. She wanted to laugh, was supposed to laugh. She was upset. "Alright, alright. Get out of here," she finally said -- playfully, she hoped -- reaching for the closed door of her room.

Olivia hesitated a beat before rolling off the bed with exaggerated grace, pirouetting dramatically toward the doorway. She paused at the threshold, unsure, leaning back against the frame. "I'm looking forward to Friday," she offered.

"Don't get your hopes up too high, it's just me," Emma said.

Olivia grinned, seemed to get her answer, pushed off the doorframe. "That's exactly what I'm looking forward to," she said, disappearing down the hall.

Emma stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before shutting the door softly. She had been looking forward to Friday, too, and all the murky, good-weird feelings it would bring. But now it loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon. She didn't like being treated like a child. Being spoken to in that tone of voice. Being handled. Except, what exactly did she think all this was? Whatever it was, it was on her terms, and things were beginning to spiral out of control. She had found someone to confide in, opened herself up, but now all she wanted to do now was snap shut and lose the key.

[devipa-abdl]

don't panic but i have about 90% of Daycare, Goodnites Part 7 written

[devipa-abdl]

Spellbound [Part 2]

[M/f. Idiot guy fumbles a diapered baddie… or does he?] Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Lucy wasn't at the circulation desk. Nick hovered by the new releases display, pretending to examine some complicated-looking book while scanning the aisles. His pulse jumped when he spotted her near the microfiche readers, bent over a drawer of film canisters, a black cardigan covered in moon phases slouching off her shoulders.

"You stalking me now?" Her voice cut through his thoughts. Ah, shit. He'd been staring. She'd straightened up, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. A silver chain around her neck disappeared into her collar--he'd never noticed it before.

Nick jerked his gaze upward. "What? No. I--" He gestured vaguely at the shelf beside him. "Research."

Lucy's lips pursed. She snapped the microfiche drawer shut with her hip. "Business didn't work out, so now you're a Zoology major?"

Nick glanced down at the book in his hands: Fungal Networks of the Southern Ice Shelf. He tossed it onto a cart with a thud. "Look, I just wanted to--"

"There isn't a universe in which I forgive you, so shove it." She didn't bother lowering her voice--two students at a nearby table glanced up, then quickly pretended to read. "Thanks to your illiterate ass the whole school knows about my medical condition." Her fingers drummed against the microfiche reader, each tap sharper than the last. "Congrats, you've achieved peak frat boy. Let me crush a fuckin can of Natty Ice on my forehead to make you medal."

Nick's throat tightened. He hadn't expected groveling to work. Lucy didn't seem like the forgive-and-forget type, but the venom in her voice still caught him off guard. The worst part was how his pulse jumped when she stepped closer, her black boots squeaking against the linoleum. He could smell her shampoo, maybe perfume? --something herbal, with a faint smoky undertone.

"I'm not--" Nick swallowed, shifting his weight, considering his words. "I didn't tell anyone," he finally said. That much was true. He'd ignored every text, deleted new friend request on various social media apps. But the grad student's photos had circulated without him.

"I don't believe you. And this conversation is over. Unless you have a legitimate question involving my position as a research aide in the library, which I know can't be the case, because you don't know how to read." Lucy turned on her heel.

"Of course I can read," Nick muttered.

"Well you can't read the fucking room, Nick!" Lucy hissed, disappearing around a bookshelf.

Nick stood frozen, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to grab something--her wrist, another handful of fabric, anything to make her stay. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose and shoved his hands into his pockets. The library suddenly felt too warm, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust, and he left.

But Lucy didn't leave his thoughts.

That night, sprawled across his dorm bed with his laptop propped against his knees, Nick found himself staring blankly at his half-rewritten paper. The cursor blinked mockingly at him. He'd typed the same sentence three times. "The fiduciary responsibilities of--" before deleting it each time, his fingers hovering over the keys like they'd forgotten their purpose.

All he could think about was the way Lucy's waist had felt under his hands--not just the soft give of the diaper's padding, but the sharp jut of her hipbone beneath it. The contrast hooked into him like a barb. He groaned and dragged his hands down his face. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should've been repulsed. Or at least indifferent. Instead, he couldn't stop imagining peeling back those high-waisted trousers himself, inch by inch, to see--

He slammed his laptop shut and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the mattress. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Another group chat notification. Probably another stupid meme about library girl. He ignored it, squeezing his eyes shut.

Nick didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until his alarm blared at 6:30 AM for Saturday crew practice. He blinked at the ceiling, half-hoping he'd dreamt the entire past week--until he rolled over and saw the crumpled note on his nightstand: "Library hours 10-4 weekends. Lucy S." in his own handwriting.

Nick's oar sliced through the water with more force than necessary, sending a spray across his teammate's back. "The fuck, man?" Jason hissed, but Nick barely registered the complaint. His mind was still replaying yesterday's confrontation, the way Lucy's voice had cracked on medical condition, the fleeting glimpse of vulnerability beneath her armor of sarcasm.

Skipping the post-practice team breakfast, something he'd never done before, he headed straight for the library. The building loomed like a gothic cathedral, its arched windows glinting in the mid-morning sun. Lucy's fortress. His palms were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans before pushing through the heavy doors.

The library's air hit Nick like a crypt, cool and stale. He scanned the circulation desk, but Lucy wasn't there. A freshman with neon hair and a septum ring barely glanced up from her phone when he approached.

Nick leaned against the desk, his damp t-shirt sticking to the wood veneer. "Where's Lucy?"

The freshman popped her gum, scrolling lazily through her phone. "Who?"

"Lucy," Nick repeated, tapping the desk harder than necessary. "Black clothes, witchy vibe, looks like she wants to stab people?"

The freshman shrugged, popping her gum again. "Dunno."

Nick's jaw clenched. He stalked past the circulation desk toward the restricted archives section--the site of the disaster. His pulse thudded in his temples as he rounded the corner into the dimly lit aisle. Empty. Just dust motes swirling in the slanted sunlight from high windows.

It look a couple laps, a couple false positives, and couple dips into restricted areas with locked doors he couldn't open until Nick found Lucy in the farthest corner of the rare manuscripts room, her back to the door as she meticulously arranged yellowed parchment under glass. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows from her hunched shoulders. He hesitated at the threshold, watching her gloved hands smooth the edges of a delicate looking illustration of a plant--some spiky, inedible-looking thing that probably poisoned medieval peasants.

For a long moment he hovered in the doorway, watching Lucy’s gloved fingers trace the edge of the parchment with reverence. She hadn’t noticed him yet, too absorbed in her work, and he stared greedily, enjoying her quiet mannerisms, her pleasant shapes and forms, and the inch of her diaper permanently on display above the waist of her black jeans. Today she was dressed almost casual, maybe not expecting visitors, and had shed her cardigan, which left her in a cropped, sleeveless turtleneck that exposed her belly-- Nick's new favorite piece of her wardrobe.

At some point, his sense of shame got the better of him, and he knocked.

Lucy looked up, unimpressed with what she saw, tugged her jeans up higher on her waist, and then returned to her work without reacting. "Fuck off, fuckface," she said, not even bothering to raise her voice.

"I didn't mean to interrupt…" Nick whispered, holding out his hands like he was trying to calm an angry creature. "Can I just watch? A little bit?"

Lucy exhaled through her nose, slow, deliberate, before lifting her head again. The gloves made a crisp sound as she peeled them off finger by finger. "Are you serious right now?"

"Deathly serious." The words tasted absurd in Nick's mouth, but he didn't back down. Lucy's fingers froze mid-peel, one glove dangling from her pinky like a shed snakeskin. The rare manuscripts room hummed with the faint buzz of UV filters, making the silence between them electric.

Lucy’s glove hit the table with a sound like a slap. She tilted her head, studying Nick with the detached curiosity of an entomologist examining a pinned specimen. "You’re not here to apologize," she said finally. It wasn’t a question.

Nick's mouth opened, then closed. "You wouldn't accept it. You told me so."

"And yet you're still here." Her voice was quieter now, almost curious. The UV lights overhead flickered, casting jagged shadows across the botanical illustration--something thorned and poisonous. He could relate.

Nick realized he'd stepped closer without meaning to. "I don't want to interrupt what you're doing, but I was hoping we could finish what we-- I still haven't mastered Harvard-style citations."

"Harvard citations?" Her voice dripped with skepticism. "After everything, you suddenly care about academic integrity?"

"Yes. Truly. I want to get it right." Nick swallowed. The rare manuscripts room smelled like old leather and something faintly medicinal, like the inside of a hospital storage closet. He couldn't stop staring at Lucy's hands as she rolled the gloves back on, the latex snapping against her wrists.

Lucy's fingers paused mid-adjustment, the latex stretched taut over her knuckles. For the first time since the incident, her eyes flicked over Nick's face with something resembling assessment rather than disdain. "You may watch SILENTLY until I am finished, at which point I will help you with your citations, during which time you will remain SILENT unless otherwise instructed. Got it?"

The latex gloves made a soft, surgical sound as Lucy smoothed them over her fingers. Nick found himself transfixed by the motion, the way each digit disappeared into the sheath of material, one by one, like she was preparing for something sacred or dangerous. He nodded, dared not speak his reply in case the rules had already started.

Lucy turned back to the manuscript without another word, her gloved fingertips hovering millimeters above the parchment like she was afraid her touch might disintegrate centuries of history. Nick edged closer, careful not to block the light, and watched the tendons in her wrists flex as she adjusted a magnifying glass. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either-- just taut, like a wire waiting for a pluck.

There was no telling how much time had elapsed, the two of them occupying the same small, stifling room in completely comfortable silence, during which nobody was afraid of the other. Lucy’s gloved hands moved with surgical precision, one final adjustment to the manuscript’s protective cover, a tap to secure the display label. Then, without ceremony, she peeled off the gloves and lobbed them at Nick’s chest. They hit him with a soft thud, the latex still warm from her skin.

“Follow. Now,” she muttered, brushing past him before he could react and collecting her cardigan, donning it in one fluid motion.

Nick scrambled after her, the gloves clutched in his fist like some bizarre trophy. Lucy weaved through the stacks with the ease of someone who knew every creak in the floorboards, every shelf that groaned under too much weight. She stopped abruptly at a study carrel tucked between theology and medieval law. "Sit. Wait."

He obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair while Lucy vanished into the stacks. He uncurled his fingers, staring at the crumpled gloves. They smelled faintly of lavender hand sanitizer and something metallic-- ink, maybe? He pressed one to his nose without thinking, then jerked it away when Lucy reappeared with a few citation books and the clipboard, clipped to which was an annotated copy of Nick's paper.

Lucy dropped the books onto the carrel with a thud that made Nick flinch. "Page twelve," she said, flipping open the citation manual with practiced efficiency. "Read it. Memorize it."

Nick folded the gloves into his pocket before Lucy could see him clutching them like some kind of perverted keepsake. He leaned over and began to read the page she indicated: proper in-text citations. But, his eyes kept flicking back up to watch her fingers trace the lines in the manual. Her nails were bitten back down, the polish chipped at the edges.

"Your paper actually wasn't brain dead," she remarked, scanning the pages of her copy. "But you didn't cite your sources in-line as you used them. So your prof doesn't know where your ideas begin and end versus the scholarship you're citing. Or, rather, he's concerned that you don't know that difference. Thus the fail."

He nodded. Was he supposed to talk now, or--

"Although, here," Lucy's finger jabbed at a paragraph in his paper. "This whole section reads like you swallowed a business ethics textbook and regurgitated it half-digested," she said, tapping the offending passage. "Where's your original thought?"

Nick looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

Lucy exhaled sharply through her nose. "Yes, yes, you're being a very good boy and not talking like I asked, but you may talk in order to respond to my questions."

Nick wet his lips, pulse hammering at the unexpected permission. "I didn't--" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "This is regurgitation, yeah, but I was trying to establish a baseline understanding for the reader, so we're sharing the same language, and then here is my synthesis."

Lucy's fingertip hovered over the paragraph, her nail tapping the margin twice--hesitant, as she silently mouthed the words on the page. "Okay, I'm following," she murmured.

"So I guess that's why I need those in-text citations, huh?" he muttered, reading the words back to himself, before his chest lurched forward.

Lucy had demonstrably slapped him on the back. It stung a little. "Holy shit!" she whisper-shouted. "Progress! From my worst student. I amaze even myself."

Lucy's unexpected praise sent heat crawling up Nick's neck. He ducked his head, pretending to scrutinize the citation manual while his pulse thundered in his ears. Her hand lingered between his shoulder blades for a fraction too long, just enough to make him hyperaware of the warmth bleeding through his t-shirt. When she finally withdrew, the absence felt like a brand.

She circled three more sections with her pen. "Here-- you're paraphrasing without attribution. Here-- you've buried the lede on your own analysis. And here," the pen hovered over a particularly dense paragraph: "You've committed the cardinal sin of all writing: passive voice. Passive voice is for cowards, Nick."

Nick nodded, scribbling notes in the margins. Lucy’s corrections were brutal, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs, but for the first time, he could see the structure beneath the wreckage. She was really brilliant. Regret roiled in the pit of his stomach.

"Make these changes," Lucy said, snapping the citation manual shut with finality, "and your professor won’t just pass you, they might actually think you’re literate." A pause. "Don’t let it go to your head." But there was something new in her voice: not warmth, exactly, but the absence of venom.

Nick watched Lucy gather the citation books with precise movements. The silence between them stretched-- not quite comfortable, but no longer crackling with hostility. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then blurted: "Do you want to get coffee?"

Lucy’s hands froze mid-reach for the last citation manual. Her dark eyes flicked up to Nick’s face, searching for the punchline. When none came, she let out a slow breath through her nose, the kind someone might release before handling live explosives. “Coffee,” she repeated flatly. “With you.”

Nick swallowed, realizing too late how absurd it sounded. Coffee, after everything. "Yeah," he managed, rubbing the back of his neck where her touch still burned. "Like, as a thank you. For helping with the citations."

Lucy's fingers tightened around the stack of books. The tendons in her wrists stood out sharply under the library's fluorescent lights. For a long moment, Nick thought she might hurl the entire pile at his head. "Coffee," she repeated, slower this time, as if tasting the absurdity of the word. Her eyes flickered over his face with something dangerously close to curiosity.

"Nevermind, it's dumb," Nick muttered, already half-rising from the chair. He could see the conflict warring behind her dark eyes, the way her gaze flicked from his face to the library clock and back again, like she was calculating how much humiliation a free latte might be worth.

"Fine, free coffee is free coffee," Lucy muttered, tossing the citation manual into Nick's arms. "But we go to The Roasted Bean -- off campus -- and you put this back where it's supposed to go. Be there at 4."

"Deal," he said, too quickly, then winced at his own eagerness. Lucy's expression remained unreadable, but she didn't rescind the offer, just jerked her chin toward the shelves in silent dismissal.

The Roasted Bean smelled like caramel and chai and was choked with potted plants. Every shelf, table and walkway had a pot with a spindly pothos. Nick drummed his fingers against the thrifted table he seated himself at, checking his phone for the twelfth time. 4:17 PM. Lucy was late, or she’d stood him up. Both options twisted his gut in different ways.

Nick's knee bounced under the table, rattling the mismatched silverware against the chipped ceramic mug. He checked his phone again, 4:23 PM, then shoved it into his pocket before he could obsess over the unanswered text he'd sent fifteen minutes ago. The barista shot him a sympathetic glance as she wiped down the espresso machine. Fuck. He looked pathetic.

Nick tugged at the collar of his shirt -- too tight suddenly, despite the shop's drafty AC -- and glanced toward the door for what felt like the hundredth time. The bell above it jingled with each new customer, a cruel tease every time. He caught his own reflection in the fogged-up window: hair still damp from his post-library shower, mouth set in a grimace that looked more like constipation than anticipation. God, when had he become this guy?

The bell jingled again. Just another undergrad in an out-of-season crop top, not Lucy. Nick slumped back in his chair, the wicker creaking under his weight. He glanced around the café, suddenly hyperaware of how long he'd been camped at this table without ordering anything. The barista's earlier sympathy now felt like pity. His cheeks burned.

Click. A cell phone camera shutter.

Nick's head snapped toward the sound just in time to see Lucy lowering her phone, a wry smile curling across her lips, a mirth that didn't quite reach her eyes. She had emerged from behind the Staff Only door-- not in her usual witchy black drapery, but in a deep burgundy sweater dress that hugged her waist before flaring slightly over her hips. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the sharp lines of her collarbones, and her dark hair was pinned up in messy twist. She looked…softer. Approachable.

Lucy slid into the chair across from Nick with the precision of a knife finding its sheath. She placed her phone facedown on the table, elbows propped on the chipped wood. "You looked like a kicked puppy," she observed, tilting her head. "…We're even."

Nick frowned. His face felt hot. Something unpleasant feeling dumped itself into his bloodstream. "You watched me sit here for twenty minutes?"

Lucy lifted two fingers toward the barista, a gesture Nick recognized as some kind of insider code, before turning back to him with a faint smirk. The barista immediately began steaming milk without waiting for an order. "Twenty-three minutes," Lucy corrected, tapping her phone screen to display the time on the lock screen. "And worth every second."

"That’s messed up," he muttered, but his pulse jumped when Lucy’s smirk deepened, like she knew exactly how much her little power play affected him.

"It is," Lucy agreed, examining her nails with deliberate nonchalance before locking her eyes with his. "Oh relax, it's not like I'm going to, I don't know, for example, publicly humiliate you…"

"I apologized!" Nick blurted, louder than intended. Two girls at the neighboring table glanced over before pointedly returning to their laptops.

"You did," she agreed again. "And I think we're finally even. Apology accepted."

Nick watched warily as the barista delivered two drinks: chai lattes in chipped mugs that smelled like cinnamon and something earthier. Lucy wrapped both hands around one, her fingers pale against the burgundy ceramic. The sleeves of her sweater dress rode up slightly, revealing a thin silver bracelet that looked handmade.

"You dressed up," Nick ventured cautiously, gesturing vaguely at her outfit, the careful drape of the fabric, the more subtle eyeliner she never wore in the library.

Lucy sipped her chai before answering, leaving a faint smudge of lipstick on the rim. "Observant," she murmured, swirling the drink.

Nick's fingers tightened around his mug. Was this a test? Some elaborate trap? Lucy's expression gave nothing away-- just that same calculated neutrality she'd perfected in the rare manuscripts room. "So," he tried again, "why show up at all?"

The bracelet on Lucy's wrist clinked softly against ceramic as she set her drink down. "Curiosity," she admitted, eyes flicking over his tense shoulders. "You little freshmen grow up so fast."

A laugh burst out of Nick before he could stop it, sharp and startled. "I did mean it every time I apologized, for the record."

Lucy traced a finger around the rim of her mug, collecting stray foam. "I know," she said, surprising him. "But maybe the reason why you were apologizing evolved a little bit each time?"

She wasn't wrong--his first apology had been pure damage control, the second steeped in shame, and now… He fumbled for his drink just to avoid her gaze. The chai burned his tongue, but he welcomed the distraction.

"You're thinking: How does she know? She totally has me pegged!" Lucy leaned forward, her elbows pressing into the table with intent. "You should be so lucky."

Nick choked on his drink. "What, you're going to fuck me in my butt?" he asked, wiping chai from his chin.

"God, you're so… inelegant." Lucy wrinkled her nose as Nick wiped spilled chai off his chin with the back of his hand. The silver bracelet -- now that he looked closer, it was a snake swallowing its own tail -- clicked softly against the table as she reached across to push a napkin toward him. "But yes the implicit threat was that I am going to fuck your butt."

The absurdity of Lucy's threat landed differently this time, without the usual electric jolt of fear or arousal. Maybe he'd absorbed enough of her barbs to become immune, like some kind of emotional vaccine. His next choice was probably ill-advised, but it was already coming out of his mouth: "Big talk from a woman in pampers."

The chai latte hovered just below Lucy's lips. Her dark eyes locked onto Nick's face with terrifying precision, but for the first time since they'd met, Nick didn't flinch. He met her gaze evenly, defiantly, even as his pulse hammered against his ribs, fighting to stop his own smile from spreading.

"My brand," she declared, finishing her sip, "is Huggies." Under the table, the toe of her boot connected with Nick's shin-- hard enough to make him jerk but not hard enough to leave a bruise.

Nick winced as he rubbed his shin, but the pain was secondary to the realization that Lucy hadn’t stormed out. If anything, her expression held something dangerously close to amusement.

The café's ambient noise: steaming milk, murmured conversations, the occasional clink of silverware, filled the silence between them, no longer awkward. Nick watched Lucy take another deliberate sip of her chai, her dark eyes never leaving his face. He should have felt flayed open by that gaze, but instead, something unfamiliar settled in his chest. A challenge, maybe. Or the beginning of a truce.

[devipa-abdl]

Spellbound [Part 1]

[ABDL. M/f. Guy simultaneously fumbles a baddie and discovers his freaky side. Can he win her back?] The girl at the circulation desk had the kind of look that made Nick think she'd either just finished crying or was about to start at all times. Not in a messy, dramatic way--more like she'd perfected the art of quiet misery. Dark eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional, dark lips pressed together in a line that could've been disapproval or concentration. Her fingers moved mechanically across the keyboard, nails painted black but chipped at the edges from what looked like nervous picking. Of course she worked at the library.

A stack of books teetered next to her elbow, all spines cracked open with Post-it notes jutting out like tiny flags. The one on top had a title in German, something about medieval herbology, and the cover was worn but pristine-- ancient, but probably hadn't been checked out in years. She adjusted the thick-framed glasses sliding down her nose without breaking rhythm, still typing. They probably weren't even prescription.

Nick leaned against the circulation desk with practiced nonchalance, flashing what he thought was a winning grin at the gloomy girl behind the computer. "So, uh, you come here often?" he endeavored, immediately regretting it.

The girl didn't look up. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before she reached for a pencil tucked behind her ear, scribbling something in the margin of a yellowed manuscript. That probably wasn't allowed. Nick cleared his throat. "I mean, you look like you know your way around the stacks. Maybe you could show me--"

"How can I help you?" she interrupted, voice flat. Up close, her eyeliner had tiny silver flecks in it, like someone had crushed a star into the pigment.

Nick straightened. "I've got an appointment with some research aide. Lucy somebody?" He rolled his eyes, shooting for empathy. "Failed my first paper, so now I've gotta get 'guided' through the library like a kindergartener." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Between us? Total waste of time. But if you're free after..."

The girl's mouth twisted. She pulled a sticky note from under the desk and slapped it onto the wood between them. Nick recognized his own name scrawled there in jagged script. His stomach dropped.

"Wait--you're Lucy?"

She tapped her hard plastic name tag. It read "Lucy S." in blocky white letters against a burgundy background. Nick blinked at it, then back at her face, which had settled into something between exhaustion and amusement.

"Ah," he said. "So you're... huh." His fingers drummed against the desk. "Guess that makes this awkward."

The girl, Lucy, pushed the glasses up her nose again and swiveled her chair toward an old analog clock on top of a filing cabinet. "Five minutes late," she said, pulling out a prepared clipboard.

"Standard orientation takes forty-five. You've now wasted three of them flirting badly. Thirty-seven left, and I get paid whether or not you fail again." The corner of her mouth twitched, just once. "Shall we?"

Nick followed Lucy through the labyrinth of shelves. She moved like a shadow between the stacks--swift, silent, her oversized sweater whispering against book spines as she gestured to sections without looking back. "Econ. Management. Marketing," she recited, her voice flat. Nick barely listened, too busy watching the way her skirt swayed just above her knees-- black, like everything else she wore, with faint moth-bitten holes along the hem. She was kind of cute for a goth girl. He royally fucked up the whole vibe, though. May as well get the fuck out of here.

"I actually have all my books," he interjected as they passed the business section, jerking a thumb at the shelves. "I don't need the tour."

Lucy didn't slow down. "Mm. You failed. Did you try reading them?"

Nick barked out a laugh in surprise before he could clamp it down-- sharp, too loud in the quiet stacks. A grad student three aisles over shushed him violently. "That was funny," he shout-whispered. "You're funny."

Lucy paused by a display of new arrivals, plucking a stray thread from her sleeve. "It wasn't a joke." She turned a paperback over in her hands, something about Victorian funeral rites, before slotting it back in its spot.

He could feel himself getting defensive. "Look I'm not illiterate, or whatever. I just fucked up my citations." Nick's voice bounced off the shelves, louder than intended. A student two rows over shot him a glare. He lowered his voice again, stepping closer to Lucy. "Professor said I 'plagiarized' because I didn't quote right. Which is bullshit, because I wrote every last word myself."

Lucy exhaled through her nose, a slow, practiced sound that suggested she’d heard this exact rant before. "So you're just a bonehead, not a meat-head. Fine. What citation style does your professor want?"

Nick blinked at the unexpectedly schoolyard-level insults. "Harvard?"

"Luckily for you, Harvard style's really not that tough. There's actually websites that will build your citations for you." She studied Nick's face for his reaction. "But I think you should still learn how to do it yourself first."

Nick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they rounded a corner toward the study carrels. "Whatever. If there's a website that does it, why bother learning?" The words came out before he could stop them-- defensive, juvenile. He winced at his own tone.

"Listen," she commanded, blocking his path, staring him right in the eyes. "You tried it your way and failed. Now we do it my way." She herded him toward a secluded study nook tucked between towering shelves of reference materials. The carrel had all the charm of an interrogation room: stark overhead lighting, a single wooden chair, and a laminated cheat sheet of citation formats taped to the desk at eye level. Lucy pulled out the chair with a scrape that made Nick's teeth ache. "Sit."

"Come on now," Nick fired back, hovering near the chair but refusing to sit. He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest slightly. "I didn't come here to get bossed around by some..." His eyes darted to her name tag again, then to her black dress, dark lip, pale skin. "Some... library... witch."

Lucy didn’t flinch. If anything, her expression flattened further, like Nick’s words had further lowered her subterranean opinion of him. She leaned back against the edge of the carrel, fingers tapping silently against the wood. "Library witch," she repeated, deadpan. "Original."

Nick’s face burned. He hadn’t meant to say witch. It just slipped out, but now that it was hanging there between them, he couldn’t take it back. Lucy’s fingers stopped tapping. She tilted her head, studying him like he was a specimen under glass. Then, without warning, she pushed off the carrel and strode past him toward the back of the library.

Nick, annoyed, but curious, jogged after her. "Hey! Where are you--"

"You didn't come here to get bossed around, right?" Lucy's voice carried just enough for Nick to catch the edge in it. "Despite your best efforts, I gave you enough tools for you to solve your own fucking problem. So get out of here."

Nick could feel his pulse hammering in his throat-- anger, embarrassment, something else he couldn't name. Before he could stop himself, he lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. "Wait--"

Lucy froze mid-step, her wrist tense under Nick's grip. She turned her head just enough to give him a sidelong glance-- not frightened, not even annoyed. Just waiting.

Fuck. Too hard. Too quick. Creep alert. Nick loosened his grip immediately, his fingers hovering awkwardly in the air between them as Lucy slowly turned to face him. The overhead lights caught the silver flecks in her eyeliner again, making her glare sharper than he expected. The silence between them stretched taut, broken only by the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the rustle of pages from somewhere in the stacks. Lucy’s gaze didn't waver, her lips pressed into that same unreadable line.

"I... Sorry," Nick muttered, the word tasting like aluminum foil in his mouth.

Nick's apology dissolved into the stale library air as Lucy turned sharply on her heel, her skirt swirling like ink in water. He watched her retreating back for half a second before scrambling after her. "Wait-- I said I was sorry, okay?"

Lucy didn't slow down. She ducked into the narrow aisle marked Archival Materials: Restricted Access, her sweater snagging momentarily on a protruding shelf bracket. Nick followed too close, his elbow knocking against a precariously stacked pile of periodicals. The top three slid off with a slap against the linoleum.

Lucy whirled around, her face finally cracking with irritation. "Could you not--"

Nick held up his hands in surrender, stepping backward-- directly onto one of the fallen journals. His sneaker skidded across the glossy cover, sending him crashing into Lucy. She gasped as they collided, her back hitting the shelves hard enough to dislodge a hard plastic periodical case. Nick lunged, shielded her head with his arm, his other arm gripping Lucy's waist to steady them both.

Then he felt it-- the slight bulk under her skirt that didn't match the rest of her wiry frame. In the silence of the library, as he moved his hand along it, it made a slight, plasticky sound under her clothes. His grip tightened instinctively before he registered what he was feeling. Lucy went rigid. Nick's brain short-circuited.

The periodical case hit the floor with a slap and crack that echoed through the silent stacks, spilling a few months' worth of issues. "Oh shit," he breathed, staring at his hand still pressed against her hip. "Are you--" The words died in his throat as Lucy's expression shuttered closed.

She shoved him away with surprising strength, her sweater sleeve catching on his watch. The fabric ripped as she jerked back, exposing her wrist. "God! Fuck, you fucking elephant!" she said, her voice slowly rising above acceptable library levels.

Nick stumbled, catching himself on the shelf. "Wait, I didn't mean--" His laugh came out too loud, nervous. "That's fucking weird. Are you wearing a fucking diaper?" His voice climbed, carrying across the stacks.

Lucy moved faster than he expected. Her palm cracked against his mouth, cutting him off mid-word. The sting surprised him more than the act itself, pumped him full of adrenaline, made him stupid.

"No way," Nick crowed, grabbing the hem of her skirt before she could dart away. The fabric stretched taut between them-- Lucy frozen mid-step, Nick grinning like he'd scored points. "Let me see!"

The rip was obscenely loud in the quiet library. Nick hadn't meant to tear it! Just... tug it... but the fabric gave way with sickening ease. Lucy's gasp punched through the air as the skirt split up the side, exposing a flash of pale thigh and the unmistakable bright white flash of an adult diaper beneath black tights.

Nick's fingers spasmed open. The torn fabric fluttered to the floor like a dead leaf.

Four things happened at once:

1) A doctoral candidate in the hallway at the end of the aisle dropped their coffee. The cup hit the ground with a hollow clunk, lid popping off to spill dark liquid across the linoleum.

2) Lucy made a sound Nick had never heard from a human throat-- something between a choke and a snarl.

3) His own stupid mouth kept moving: "Holy shit, you actually--"

4) The grad student who'd shushed him earlier materialized from between the shelves, phone already raised to capture the scene.

Nick's brain finally caught up to his eyes. Lucy stood perfectly still, her tights torn at the hip where the diaper peeked through, one hand clutching the ruined fabric of her skirt. Her expression wasn't embarrassment-- it was cold, calculating fury. The doctoral candidate scrambled backward, coffee forgotten, as Lucy took one measured step toward Nick.

"Are you happy with yourself?" Her voice was so measured and so quiet it prickled the hairs on his neck.

Nick opened his mouth -- to apologize, to deflect, he wasn't sure -- but the grad student's phone camera clicked audibly. Lucy's head snapped toward the sound.

"Delete that!" she commanded, her voice shrill, the situation quickly slipping out of her control.

The grad student retreated, thumb hovering over their screen, an apologetic look on their face, before disappearing around a corner.

The library’s hum of hushed whispers and clicking keyboards had dissolved into something thicker, like the air before a lightning strike. Nick’s pulse hammered in his ears, louder than the grad student’s retreating footsteps. He couldn’t look away from the torn fabric still dangling from Lucy’s skirt, the way her fingers trembled just slightly where they clutched it closed.

Lucy exhaled -- slow, controlled -- through flared nostrils. The sound was deliberate, like she was counting seconds in her head. When she spoke, each word came out clipped and precisely enunciated: "You fucking chode."

Nick's grin faltered under Lucy's withering glare. Another phone flashed from behind a shelf-- another photo, another witness. His stomach twisted, not with guilt, but with the dizzying high of attention. "Hey, I didn't do--"

Lucy didn't wait for Nick to finish his sentence. "Fuck you," she hissed, voice low enough that only he could hear it. Then she turned and strode down the aisle, clutching the torn fabric of her skirt with one hand while the other fumbled in her sweater pocket.

Nick didn't sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the split-second flash of white plastic peek from her torn skirt, how her fingers had clawed at the torn fabric like she could stitch the moment back together. He rolled onto his stomach, pressed his face into his pillow and groaned. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should've been laughing about it with the guys, making diaper jokes until someone bought him a beer for the story. Instead, he kept imagining how Lucy's waist had felt under his hands-- narrow, petite, but with that unexpected padding just below the small of her back.

By his 8 a.m. finance lecture, Nick had concocted three separate excuses to go back to the library, find her, and apologize. Or something. He drummed his pen against his notebook, ignoring the professor's droning voice. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A group chat notification: Yo Nicky heard u made the goth library chick piss herself yesterday LMFAO

Nick's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could lean into it, crack a joke about adult baby shit, milk the attention. Instead, he shoved his phone back into his pocket without replying.

The library doors groaned when he pushed them open at noon. His stomach lurched when he spotted Lucy at the same circulation desk. She didn't look up as he approached, even when his shadow fell across her keyboard.

"Listen," Nick started, then swallowed. His throat felt lined with sandpaper. "About yesterday--"

Lucy's fingers didn't pause over the keys. "Do you have an appointment?" Her voice was glacial.

"No, but--"

"Then step aside." She gestured to the student waiting behind him without making eye contact. The silver rings on her fingers caught the light -- a skull, a crescent moon -- and Nick noticed the chipped black polish was gone, replaced by a fresh coat.

Nick hovered by the returns cart, pretending to examine a book on Byzantine tax law while watching Lucy work. She moved with mechanical precision, scanning each book with sharp wrist flicks. Today she was wearing a cool pair of high-waisted trousers, but Nick couldn't stop imagining what she might have on beneath. Knowing it was there, hidden under all that black fabric, made his pulse race in a way he didn't understand.

By Thursday, Nick had circled back to the library three times without successfully speaking to her. He lingered by the medieval history section, watching Lucy re-shelve art folios with gloved hands. When she stood on tiptoes to reach the top shelf, her shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of white. He caught himself holding his breath when Lucy bent to retrieve a dropped book, the back of her trousers pulling taut, or the hem of her dress creeping higher and higher, just barely, nearly there... he never ended up seeing it, but knowing it was there, that she was wearing one right now, under her clothes, while she glared at undergrads and sorted interlibrary loans, made his stomach flutter. Why?

The realization hit him in the shower on Friday morning: he wanted to see it again, properly. Not in some humiliating public way like before, but... on purpose. Slow and deliberate, Lucy peeling back her layers of black armor to show him. The fantasy unfolded behind his eyelids as hot water sluiced down his back: Lucy rolling down the waistband of those high-waisted trousers with trembling, nervous fingers, the crinkle of plastic loud in some imagined quiet room. His hand slid down his stomach. He was hard.

Nick slammed his palm against the shower wall. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd spent years mocking guys with weird kinks, jumped on every opportunity to laugh at foot guys and furries. And now this? He turned the water to cold, gasping as it shocked him back to reality.

By the afternoon, he'd convinced himself it was just curiosity. The same impulse that made him watch car crash compilations or click on gross medical videos. He'd go to the library one last time, prove to himself it wasn't a thing, and never think about Lucy's stupid diaper again. She was simply a hot girl and it was normal to want to see a hot girl's underwear.

Right?

[devipa-abdl]

The Playdate

[ABDL. M/f. Double-daddy-daughter-date.]

The dress was extremely pink. Not in a "subtle blush" way, but in a loud, obnoxious, "look at me, I'm a bottle of Pepto-Bismol" way. The perfect way. Ellie glared at it on the hanger from several feet away, trying to hide her interest, debating whether she could get away with buying something this aggressively juvenile without the cashier side-eyeing her. She was twenty-eight. It wouldn't quite look like she was buying for a tween daughter, and Halloween was 8 months away.

Fuck it. She took a few tentative steps toward the dress, then grabbed it with the hesitation of someone stealing a rare gem-- just as another hand did the same.

The stranger's fingers brushed hers. They were cold, with chipped black nail polish and a silver thumb ring shaped like a spider. Ellie recoiled first, blinking down at a woman who looked like she belonged in a graveyard-themed coffee shop, not the Juniors section of a department store. The girl looked up at Ellie through her dark, choppy bangs.

"I saw it first," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but dripping with quiet defiance.

Ellie's first reaction was to laugh. The woman had to be around her age. Why were two grown women fighting over a frilly pink dress clearly not designed for them? But this wasn't funny. It was deathly serious. "I was reaching for it from across the aisle," she said, pitching her voice just low enough that passing shoppers wouldn't overhear. "That counts as dibs," she hissed.

The goth girl didn't loosen her grip. Her darkly lined eyes narrowed. "Dibs aren't real," she shot back, before giving Ellie an up-down. "It probably won't even fit you."

Ellie's face burned. Oh it most certainly would! She'd measured herself obsessively against the online size chart last night, but that's extremely beside the point. "It's not for me, dummy!" she lied.

This girl's face drained of color, not that there was much color to begin with, and she recoiled like she'd been burned, her fingers loosening but not quite letting go of the garment. Ellie could see the exact moment it hit her: the realization that the woman had just confessed, indirectly but unmistakably, that the children's dress was for her. Rookie mistake. The goth girl's lip trembled, her spider-ringed thumb twitching nervously against the fabric.

An awkward silence bloomed between them, stretched painfully long. A toddler wailed somewhere in the shoe department. Ellie swallowed hard, her grip on the dress loosening too, until the stranger suddenly shoved it at her chest. "Fine," she muttered, voice cracking slightly. "Take it." She turned on her heel, platform flats squeaking against the polished floor, but not before Ellie caught the flash of humiliation in her eyes.

Ellie clutched the dress to her chest, watching the girl retreat. Her black fishnets had a run in them near the ankle. Something twisted in Ellie's stomach-- not victory, something uncomfortably close to shame. She'd won the dress, but… Just who was that girl?

Waiting for daddy to get home was excruciating, but Ellie had laid the dress out perfectly on their bed, neatly smoothed, tags still attached, the sleeves arranged just so, like it was a museum exhibit. She bounced on her toes when she heard his key in the lock, and practically dragged him by the sleeve into the bedroom before he could even set down his backpack. "Look, look, look!" she squealed, pointing at the pink monstrosity with both hands. "I fought a real life goth girl for this!"

Her daddy chuckled, ruffling her hair before examining the dress with an approving hum. "A goth, huh?" he mused, pinching the frilly hem between his fingers. "What did she look like?" Ellie launched into an exaggerated retelling, the chipped nails, the spider ring, the way the girl had squeaked when she'd been caught, but faltered halfway through at the realization her daddy was texting someone.

"Hey! Are you even listening?" she whined, stomping her foot.

"I am, and what I'm hearing," he began, pocketing his phone, "is that you weren't very nice to another little girl at the store. And you seem very proud of your choices."

Ellie's stomach dropped at the unexpected tone. This wasn't playful daddy teasing. This was serious. She bit her lip, twisting her fingers in her skirt. "She was rude first…" Ellie mumbled, suddenly feeling smaller than usual.

Her daddy crouched to her eye level, his expression softening but firm. "Little girls who bully others get consequences," he said, tapping her nose.

Ellie's breath hitched. She knew that tone. "But, Daddy…!"

"How do you think that little girl felt after you took that dress from her?" he asked, his fingers gently tilting Ellie's chin up. Ellie squirmed, her toes curling in her socks as the memory of the goth girl's trembling lip resurfaced.

"I don't know," she whispered, her cheeks flushing hot.

Daddy sighed and stood. "Think about it. Tell me how you would have felt if things went the other way."

Ellie slumped onto the bed, crumpling the dress slightly in her hands as she stared down at it. The pink fabric suddenly seemed garish, mocking, like she didn't deserve it anymore. She traced a finger along the ruffled hemline, swallowing thickly. "I'd have cried," she admitted quietly.

Daddy nodded, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Do you think she's at home crying right now to her daddy?"

The thought of the goth girl curled up in some dark apartment, sniffling into a stuffed animal while her daddy tried to soothe her, made Ellie's throat tighten. She buried her face in her daddy's shoulder. "I didn't mean tooooo!" she whined.

"And how can I be sure you'll be a good girl tomorrow at the playdate? Will you bully Marcus's little girl too? Big, mean Ellie?" Daddy murmured, lips pressed against her temple, delivering a couple of kisses.

Ellie went rigid. "You… you didn't tell him, did you?" she gasped, mortification crawling up her neck.

Nathan nodded. "I had to warn him I have a mean little girl with a bad attitude who might not be allowed to go to her playdate tomorrow."

Ellie scrambled onto her knees, clutching at his shirt, panic flaring. "Daddy, no, I'll be good! I'll be the nicest girl ever! I promise!"

Nathan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Promises from bratty littles are a dime a dozen." He tapped her nose again, harder this time.

Ellie's lip quivered. She could already feel the loss of tomorrow's playdate looming over her, worse than any punishment. "Pleeeeease," she whispered, wrapping him up in a tight hug, pressing her forehead against his chest.

"Tell me," he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair. "Tell daddy what your consequence should be."

Ellie pouted, looking around the room for ideas. "Umm… no dessert tonight," she proclaimed, already mourning the loss of her favorite pudding cup.

Daddy hummed thoughtfully, as if considering, then shook his head. "Not enough."

Ellie whimpered, her fingers twisting tighter in his shirt. "Early bedtime?" she offered weakly, knowing full well she'd already lost that privilege the second this conversation started.

Daddy's silence stretched painfully long. "Do you think that's enough?"

She knew that tone. The real consequence was coming, and her stomach dropped. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Daddy stood abruptly, his shadow looming over her. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice stern but not unkind, "well, you'll see."

That ominous phrasing was worse than any specific threat. Ellie clutched the pink dress to her chest, her fingers trembling against the fabric. "Daddy--"

"Nope," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "You'll find out tomorrow. Now go put on your jammies. It's gonna be an early night for you, ma'am." The finality in his voice left no room for negotiation. Ellie sniffled, dragging her feet toward the bathroom, the dress still clutched in her arms like a security blanket.

Morning sunlight filtered through the steamed-up shower glass, casting watery patterns across Ellie's skin as she scrubbed herself pink with her favorite strawberry-scented body wash. The hot water couldn't quite melt the nervous excitement knotting her stomach, though. She kept replaying yesterday's encounter in her head, twisting the memory like a Rubik's cube she couldn't solve.

The dress was once again laid out flat on the bed, waiting for her to finish. She'd spent half the night agonizing whether she should wear it today, torn between defiance and the creeping guilt that had settled in her ribs like a stone. It would be a waste not to… she'd already been punished for it.

Ellie shut off the water and stepped out onto the plush bath mat, wrapping herself in a towel that smelled faintly of lavender. The bathroom mirror was fogged-- she swiped at it with her palm, revealing her flushed face, her hair dripping. She caught sight of herself biting her lip, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and forced herself to take a deep breath.

Padding back into the bedroom, she froze mid-step. The pink dress was exactly where she'd left it, but now, laid neatly atop the ruffled fabric, was a thick white diaper. A pale blue post-it note was stuck to the front, her daddy's neat handwriting unmistakable: "Come get Daddy." Ellie's breath hitched, her hands balling up into tiny fists. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She peeled the note off, her fingers trembling, and turned it over: nothing else written. No explanation, no teasing hint. Just the command.

"No!" The word just burst out, though she knew her daddy wasn't even in the room to hear it. She stomped her foot uselessly into the carpet, her face burning. "No no no!" She couldn't meet these new people, not like this! She'd wanted to be cute, coquettish, maybe a little bratty. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Marcus and his little seeing her padded like a baby.

Her fingers crumpled the post-it note into a tiny ball, tossing it onto the floor before she could stop herself, only to gasp and scramble to pick it back up again, smoothing the wrinkles against her thigh. She was already in trouble, and now she'd ruined his note? Ellie's lower lip trembled. She hated feeling this small, this out of control, but the panic was rising like bile in her throat.

A soft knock at the door made her jump. "Ellie-bear?" Daddy's voice was calm, but firm. "You're taking too long." She swallowed hard, staring at the diaper like it was a ticking bomb. The silence stretched until the doorknob turned. Daddy stepped inside, his gaze flickering from her damp, towel-clad body to the crumpled note in her hand. His eyebrow arched.

Ellie's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "I-I don't want…!" she stammered, but Daddy was already reaching for the diaper, his movements methodical. She backed up until her thighs hit the bed, her breath coming too fast. "Please," she whispered, but he merely tugged her towel loose, letting it pool at her feet.

"Yesterday," Daddy murmured, patting the bed for her to lie down, "you made another little girl feel small and embarrassed. Today, you get to feel like that too."

The crinkle of the diaper was the death knell of her adulthood. She'd been diapered before, but never like this, never when meeting new people. Or any people!

"Lie down, Ell."

Ellie hesitated, but the warning glint in Daddy's eyes had her shuffling backward onto the bed with a tiny whimper. The moment her bare backside touched the soft, pillowy interior of the diaper, humiliation burned through her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut as Daddy sprinkled powder between her thighs, his fingers spreading it out and rubbing it in with gentle circles, like a powdery-white zen garden.

The snick of fastening tapes was deafening, or maybe it just felt that way, echoing the mortification pounding in her ears. Ellie peeked down at the thick white padding swallowing her hips, already imagining how ridiculous she'd look in the frilly pink dress over it. "Daddy," she whispered, her voice wobbling, "what if-- what if they laugh at me?"

Nathan cupped her flushed cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Nobody will laugh. They'll be so enchanted by my pretty pink princess. Arms up," he said simply, helping her sit up before holding out the dress. Ellie's fingers trembled as she pulled it over her head, felt it tugged down the length of her torso, the ruffled hem settling just at the top of her thighs, with stray bits and bobs of tulle trailing further down. It was a playful and flirty length when she had tried it on with panties, but…

She swallowed hard, catching her reflection in the mirror: this was a toddler, barely hiding the droopy diaper butt peeking out from under her dress.

The day was ruined. She turned back to Nathan, eyes brimming with tears, only to find him smiling softly. "You look perfect," he murmured. The warmth in his eyes wasn't teasing, wasn't mocking. It was soft, reverent, the way he looked at her when she was curled up asleep on the couch with a pacifier dangling from her lips, or when she was mid-tantrum, red-faced and kicking her feet. That look that made her feel seen, even when she felt ridiculous.

She sniffled, twisting the dress's tulle between her fingers. "Really?" Her voice was small.

Nathan cupped her chin, tilting her face up. "Every inch of you," he murmured, running his thumb over her flushed cheek. "Especially this." His fingers traced the edge of the diaper peeking out from beneath her dress, his touch feather-light but deliberate. Ellie shivered, not from humiliation now, but something warmer, deeper. The way he said it, the way his fingers lingered… this wasn't just punishment. This was worship.

Ellie sniffled again, tried to sniffle back in all the tears and… all the other stuff. "Ogey," she finally said, her voice stuffy, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, obeying when Nathan lifted one of her feet to tug on a pair of thick, white tights. They weren't sheer, nor delicate, nor sexy, but they did snuggle up her diaper tight against her bottom and quiet down its crinkles a little. Wearing clothes for function and not form was just another layer of humiliation. "Daddy," she whimpered, wriggling her toes as he guided her foot into her pink, chunky sneakers. The crinkling was quieter now, but the diaper shifted thickly between her thighs with every movement.

Nathan lifted her up to her feet, steadying her with hands on her waist, taking the opportunity to enjoy a greedy handful of her padded bottom. Ellie wobbled slightly as she was handled, a giggle escaping her lips, then smoothed her dress down over her padded hips. "You'll be a good girl today, won't you?" he murmured, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Ellie nodded frantically, her hands twisting in the ruffled skirt. Nathan's thumb brushed over her lower lip. "Or else," he added. The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts dread and anticipation.

The car ride was agony. Every bump in the road made Ellie acutely aware of the padding beneath her, the way it pressed snug against her skin. She squirmed in the backseat, fiddling with the zipper of her big poofy winter jacket, stealing glances at Nathan's profile. He was infuriatingly calm, humming along to the radio like this was any other day. Ellie huffed, crossing her arms. "You're mean," she muttered, kicking her feet petulantly.

Nathan winked in the rear-view mirror, reaching back to squeeze her knee. "That makes two of us."

The car slowed, turning into an unassuming strip mall. Ellie blinked. This definitely wasn't Marcus's house. Instead, golden arches loomed ahead, the parking lot dotted with families and teens loitering by the outdoor tables. "Daddy, no!" she hissed, panic pitching her voice higher. "We can't! Not here!" The diaper crinkled treacherously as she shifted to get a better view out her window.

Nathan pulled into a spot near the entrance. "Marcus suggested it," he said, shutting off the engine. "Thought you girls might like Happy Meals." He turned to her, the dare clear in his eyes.

Ellie's mouth fell open. Her diaper suddenly felt twice as thick, twice as loud. "Daddy," she whimpered, her voice cracking, "everyone will see." She held her breath as a group of teenagers sauntered past their car, one of them glancing curiously into the backseat. Ellie ducked her head, her cheeks burning.

Nathan unbuckled his seat belt with infuriating calm. "Yellow light?" he asked flatly, not making eye contact.

She opened her mouth, ready to protest… and froze. The truth slithered up her spine, hot and undeniable. It sent a pulse of slick heat between her thighs. She bit her lip, hesitating, before whispering, "Green, Daddy," in a voice so small it barely existed.

Nathan turned fully in his seat then, studying her with dark amusement. "Louder," he said. The casual command made her squirm.

Ellie squeezed her thighs together, feeling the diaper press snugly between them. "Green," she repeated, hated the way her voice wavered, how her pulse jumped when his eyes darkened approvingly. The shame curled hot in her belly, mixing with something slicker, darker.

"Well then!" Nathan clapped his hands together, his grin widening as he swung open his car door. "Let's get my baby girl her Happy Meal."

Ellie scrambled out after him, the diaper's bulk forcing her into an awkward waddle that made her face burn hotter. She clutched Nathan's sleeve like a lifeline as they approached the entrance, her pulse thudding in her ears louder than the crinkle of her padding. Just inside the glass doors, a familiar silhouette made her freeze: black fishnets, platform boots, a dark choker stark against pale skin. The goth girl from yesterday sat slumped in a booth, her eyes widening when she spotted Ellie.

Marcus -- tall, tattooed, smelling faintly of leather -- clapped Nathan on the back before crouching to Ellie's eye level with a conspiratorial wink. "So you're the infamous dress thief." Ellie squeaked and hid behind Nathan. His grin widened as he turned to the girl, who'd shrunk into her oversized hoodie like a turtle. "Jazzy, meet Ellie-- although it seems you two have met, apparently."

Nathan nudged Ellie forward gently but firmly, his voice low: "Go on, princess."

She shuffled forward on her thick-soled shoes, extended her hand. The girl's dark-lined eyes flicked down, shook it loosely. Her hands were cold.

"Jasmine," she stated.

"It's nice to meet you," Ellie said.

"And?" Nathan nudged Ellie's shoulder.

"…I'm sorry for being so mean yesterday." The words tumbled out in a rush, Ellie's cheeks flaming hotter than the fryers behind the counter.

Jasmine blinked owlishly, then her mouth curved into the tiniest smirk. "S'okay," she mumbled, scuffing her platform boots against the floor before retreating back into the booth.

Marcus slid into the booth beside Jasmine and tugged one of her pigtails. "Tell her what you were gonna say, bat." Jasmine elbowed him hard, but her smirk widened as she mumbled, "I was gonna say sorry too."

Ellie's grip loosened on Nathan's sleeve. Something in Jasmine's shy grin felt familiar, like they'd already shared secrets.

Nathan kissed the top of Ellie's head. "Okay girls, daddies are on Happy Meal duty. You two be good and wait here until we back. Don't go anywhere with anybody, got it?" Marcus swept Jasmine's choppy bangs to side, earning a half-hearted swat, before the two men disappeared into the lunchtime crowd.

Ellie hovered awkwardly, then scooched into the booth across from Jasmine. She tried to avoid eye contact as she slowly unzipped her winter coat to reveal the very same pink dress they had fought over yesterday. She could feel Jasmine's eyes on her.

"Stop staring," she muttered, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"You're pretty," Jasmine blurted out, immediately clamping a hand over her mouth as if shocked by her own honesty. Ellie blinked, her fingers freezing mid-fidget. The goth girl's cheeks flushed beneath her pale foundation, her black-lined eyes darting away. "I mean…not like… ugh." She slumped forward. "The dress. It's… it looks better on you, anyway."

The admission felt like a peace offering wrapped in barbed wire. Ellie watched Jasmine's fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the table. "Your boots are cool," she offered hesitantly.

A slow grin spread across Jasmine's face, revealing a crooked canine. "Thanks!"

"Pink… doesn't really seem like your color?" Ellie ventured cautiously, nodding toward Jasmine's all-black ensemble.

"It isn't, really. Well, it kind of is. Well--" Jasmine stumbled over her words, stoppy-startily, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. "Dad, um, Marcus likes to… when I'm bad, I have to wear pink stuff." She ducked her head, but Ellie caught the faint smile.

"And you were shopping for a pink dress to get punished in?" Ellie asked, her eyes widening as Jasmine's smirk turned downright devilish. The realization hit her like a sugar rush: this goth girl was a brat.

Jasmine shrugged, "They're… 'Fun'-ishments. Like, maybe I hate-hate wearing pink, but I kind of like-like-like it if I'm forced to wear it?"

Ellie wrinkled her nose. "That sounds terrible. I can't imagine wanting to be bad on purpose." She hated the hot rush of shame that came with Daddy's disappointed stare, the way her stomach dropped when he said 'consequences.' The pink dress had been a splurge, a treat, one for her and for daddy, not some twisted badge of honor. "I just wanna be good."

"Well you aren't very good at it," Jasmine teased.

Ellie gasped indignantly, her cheeks flushing. "Am too!" she protested. "Yesterday was… an accident!"

Jasmine arched a perfectly drawn-on eyebrow, the corner of her lip quirking up. "I bet you know all about accidents." Her gaze flicked pointedly down, suggesting something beneath the table.

"Shut up!" Ellie hissed, yanking her skirt down with trembling fingers, but Jasmine just leaned closer, her choker glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"You're blushing," she sing-songed, poking Ellie's flushed cheek. "Cute."

Ellie swatted her hand away, huffing. "You're mean," she muttered, but there was no real venom in it, just the petulant whine of an out-matched little.

"I told dad I wanted to meet a little around my age," Jasmine admitted, tracing patterns on the table with her chipped black nail polish. "I don't know if I want to play with a diaper baby."

Before Ellie could stammer a retort, Nathan and Marcus reappeared with two trays: one with two Happy Meals, and one with two boring adult meals. "Having fun, girls?" Marcus asked, sliding in beside Jasmine, who immediately shrunk against him like a sulky kitten.

Nathan set a Happy Meal in front of Ellie, and placed a single chocolate milkshake between the two of them. "Share with your new friend?" Ellie peeked at Jasmine, who was already tearing into her fries.

This was it. Ellie's time for revenge. It was time to tattle.

"She isn't my friend," Ellie announced primly, drawing three separate sets of curious eyes. "She said I'm a diaper baby." The cafeteria noise seemed to hush around them as Nathan and Marcus exchanged glances. Jasmine froze mid-bite, a fry dangling from her lips like a cigarette in an old noir film.

Nathan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Ellie saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Jasmine," Marcus said slowly, turning his girlfriend's chin toward him. "That's your one and only warning. Remember what we discussed." Jasmine's eyes darted to Ellie's, then back to Marcus with a betrayed glare.

Ellie stuck her tongue out, only to squeak when Nathan plucked the milkshake from her hands. "And you," he murmured, "just lost dessert privileges. Again." Ellie's jaw dropped, her triumphant grin crumbling. "Daddy!" she whined, stomping her feet under the table, but Nathan just slid her a bottle of apple juice with a pointed look.

Jasmine smirked, at least until Marcus snatched her fries away. "Apologize," he ordered, nodding toward Ellie.

Jasmine scowled, her black-lined eyes narrowing into slits. "But she--" Marcus cut her off with a single raised eyebrow. With a dramatic sigh, Jasmine mumbled, "Sorry for calling you a diaper baby," then added under her breath, "Even if it's true."

Ellie gasped, clutching her juice bottle like a lifeline. "Daddy!" she wailed, but Nathan merely shook his head, fighting a smile.

"Enough," Marcus said, tossing down his napkin and gathering up a small cross-shoulder bag. "Jazzy. Bathroom. Now."

Ellie watched Jasmine's smirk evaporate as Marcus gripped her wrist-- not roughly, but with that same unshakable firmness Nathan used when she'd pushed too far. Jasmine slid out of the booth with a defeated slump, her platform boots thudding against the tile as Marcus guided her toward the restrooms.

Nathan squeezed Ellie's thigh under the table, his fingers warm through her tights. "You're being very patient. I know it's tough getting to know new friends," he murmured. The praise sent a flutter through her belly, even as she pouted at her lost milkshake. The distant click of a bathroom lock echoed from down the hall, followed by a muffled yelp from Jasmine that made Ellie's toes curl in her sneakers.

After a few minutes,Marcus returned first, sliding back into the booth with the casual ease of a man who'd just taken out the trash. Ellie peeked around him-- no Jasmine. Her stomach roiled with guilty curiosity until the restroom door creaked open, revealing Jasmine, shuffling forward with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry for calling you a diaper baby," she said contritely, eyes averted.

Ellie watched Jasmine sink into the booth, her movements stiff. Jasmine caught her staring and flushed crimson, sinking lower into her hoodie before returning to her fries.

Marcus gave her a kiss on the crown of her pouty head. "Now you two play nice, or it's the time-out corner for both of you. In public." Jasmine rolled her eyes but didn't protest, nibbling a fry with exaggerated obedience.

Ellie's stomach fluttered as Nathan finally returned the milkshake. Taking a big, effortful sip, she finally opened up her Happy Meal, digging down to the toy. It was a little princess, the exact same one Jasmine was currently twisting between her spider-ringed fingers. Ellie's gasped. They'd gotten matching toys! Across the table, Jasmine's dark-lined eyes flicked up, her smirk returning as she dangled her princess between them like a peace offering. "Twinsies," she whispered.

Nathan and Marcus droned on, discussing work schedules and weekend plans-- adult chatter that faded into background noise as Ellie shyly tapped her princess against Jasmine's. The goth girl's chipped black nail polish gleamed under the fluorescent lights as she dramatically staged a sword and laser gun fight between their plastic royalty, complete with sound effects. Ellie giggled into her juice bottle, her earlier embarrassment melting away with each ridiculous pew-pew noise Jasmine made.

Jasmine's platform boot nudged Ellie's sneaker under the table again, a silent request. Ellie hesitated, watched closely as Jasmine stealthily swiped a chicken nugget from Marcus's tray. "Trade you," she whispered, sliding it toward Ellie, sliding away her untouched apple slices. Ellie's eyes darted to Nathan, who was too engrossed in conversation to notice. The thrill of their tiny rebellion sent heat prickling up her neck.

Their plastic princesses lay forgotten on the tray as Jasmine leaned in. "Wanna see something cool?" Before Ellie could answer, Jasmine's fingers dipped into her hoodie pocket, emerging with a crumpled sticker sheet covered in bats and cobwebs. "Got these from the arcade!" She peeled one off and pressed it onto Ellie's wrist. The adhesive clung to Ellie's skin like a secret promise, the glittering purple bat shimmering under the overhead lights.

"It's pretty," she whispered, then gasped when Jasmine suddenly stuck a matching one on her own nose. The absurdity of it, this scowling goth girl with a sparkly bat on her face, sent them both into a fit of giggles.

Nathan glanced over mid-conversation, raising an eyebrow at their sticker-covered hands. "Having fun?"

Ellie nodded eagerly, showing off her decorated wrist, only for Jasmine to slap another bat onto her forehead with a devious grin. Ellie squealed, swatting at her, but the damage was done.

Marcus burst out laughing at the sight of his little menace decorating Ellie like a scrapbook. "Alright, alright, now that we've fueled up two little girls with a bunch of starch and sugar, it's time to go work those ya-yas out," he announced, crumpling his burger wrapper with a flourish. Jasmine perked up instantly, practically bouncing in her seat. Ellie wanted to protest, but Nathan was already sliding her coat back over her shoulders.

Ellie wrinkled her nose at the thought of waddling through the park in her thick diaper, but the excited glint in Jasmine's eye was contagious. "Race you to the swings!" she blurted out.

Before Ellie could protest, Jasmine was already halfway out of the restaurant, her platform boots clomping toward the exit with Marcus jogging behind, pleading, "Sweetie, wait, we have to drive there…"

The park stretched before them, bathed in cool, early afternoon light-- completely deserted, just as Marcus had promised. It was February after all, but it wasn't that cold. Ellie borrowed one of Nathan's oversized sweatshirts, drowning in soft fabric that smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing her hands whole. The sweatshirt was long enough to brush the tops of her thighs, leaving her ruffled skirt peeking out underneath like a shy Spring flower.

Jasmine wasted no time sprinting toward the swings, her fishnet-clad legs pumping furiously as she launched herself onto the nearest one with a triumphant holler. "Push me!" she demanded, kicking her platform boots back and forth impatiently while Marcus strolled after her with exaggerated slowness.

"Go ahead, baby. I'll be right behind you." Nathan kissed Ellie's forehead before nudging her forward. She shuffled toward the swings, her thick-soled shoes dragging in the woodchips, and gingerly lowered herself onto the creaky seat-- her bottom lifted slightly off of it by her padded behind.

Jasmine was already swinging wildly beside her, her black pigtails whipping in the wind as Marcus pushed her with lazy, exaggerated strokes. "Higher!" Jasmine shouted, kicking her platform boots skyward.

Ellie clutched the cold chains, twisting in her seat to glare pointedly at Nathan until he chuckled and stepped behind her. His hands settled on her waist, just above the waistband of her diaper, and pushed gently. The breeze rushed past her ears, lifting her ruffled skirt just enough to flash her diaper to the world. Jasmine's laughter rang out beside her, wild and unapologetic, and suddenly Ellie's timid swinging turned competitive.

"Higher, Daddy!" she demanded, kicking her legs in time with Jasmine's.

Jasmine swung past her, grinning as she arched her back to soar even higher. "Bet you can't go as high as me!" she taunted. Ellie's competitive streak flared. She leaned back, gripping the chains until her knuckles whitened, urging Nathan with wide eyes. He obliged with a firm push that sent her flying forward, the rush of wind drowned out Jasmine's delighted shrieks beside her.

Their daddies exchanged amused glances as the girls demanded harder pushes, their voices blending into a chorus of "Again!" and "Faster!" Ellie's skirt fluttering with abandon, her diaper fully on display now, but she didn't care, not when Jasmine was sticking her tongue out mid-air from just a few inches higher up.

When their swings finally slowed, Ellie tumbled off first, landing in a heap of ruffled skirt and crinkling padding. Jasmine followed with a dramatic leap, her platforms sinking into the woodchips as she grabbed Ellie's hand. "C'mon!" she urged, dragging her toward the jungle gym with dizzying enthusiasm.

Ellie scrambled up the ladder after Jasmine, accidentally catching a glance of something that very much didn't look like underwear under her skirt. It was thicker, a little crinkly, and very clearly pink. On the top platform Ellie caught her wrist, still catching her breath. "You're wearing--!" was all she could get out.

Jasmine whirled around on the platform, her fishnet-covered thighs pressing together as her face burned beneath her pale foundation. "Shut up!" she hissed, but the damage was done. Ellie's earlier humiliation evaporated into giddy triumph as she danced on the platform. "Twinsies again!" she sing-songed, hiking up her own skirt to flash matching padding.

"We're not twinsies!" she hissed. "This is a pull-up, because I'm bigger than you. And I'm only wearing it because I made fun of your big poofy diapers. That you need!"

Ellie gasped indignantly, clapping both hands over her mouth. "I do not need diapers!" she protested, her voice muffled behind her fingers.

Jasmine's smirk curled across her lips as she leaned against the slide's railing. "You need a diaper for your mouth, tattle-tale!" she countered, lifting the hem of Ellie's skirt playfully. Ellie squeaked, batting her hand away, but before she could retort, Jasmine was already scrambling into the slide with surprising agility for someone in chunky platforms. "Last one down's a soggy baby!" she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the tube.

Ellie huffed, scrambling after her as she awkwardly maneuvered her padded bottom into the slide. "Catch me, daddy!" she called down before pushing off, scooting down the tight plastic spiral, and tumbling out in a whirl of crinkles and ruffles.

"Gotcha!" Nathan said, steadying her before setting her back on her feet.

Ellie giggled as she wobbled forward, the thick padding between her thighs making her steps unsteady, only for Jasmine to barrel into her from behind, nearly sending them both tumbling into the woodchips.

"Tag! You're it!" Jasmine shrieked, slapping Ellie square on the diapered behind before darting away with a wild cackle. Ellie gasped, momentarily frozen, then took off after her, her ruffled skirt fluttering around her diapered bottom as she chased Jasmine up and down the equipment.

"Psst!"

Ellie looked left, right.

"Psst! Hey!" Jasmine whispered from… somewhere.

Ellie peeked her head around a corner, and found Jasmine on her hands and knees in a tunnel tube that connected the jungle gym's two tall towers.

"Get in here!" she hissed, pointing down below at their daddies, hands in pockets, slowly walking and talking, clearly more interested in whatever it was they were talking about than actually watching the girls.

Ellie giggled and dove into the tube with Jasmine. It was cramped, but stealthy, and the perfect perch for spying.

"Better than we hoped?" Marcus asked Nathan, who nodded emphatically.

"After I learned about the dress debacle I was worried our plans were sunk," Nathan admitted. "Who would've thought they'd run into each other like that?"

Ellie softly jabbed Jasmine with her elbow.

Marcus chuckled. "I was surprised to hear that Jazzy even talked to a stranger, let alone got into an argument with one."

"Is she that shy? She's been a wild child since after lunch."

"You're as surprised as I am."

"Awww, shy baby," Ellie whispered, now on the receiving end of an elbow from Jasmine.

"So, does Ellie normally wear diapers?" Marcus asked casually. "Jazzy refuses. The furthest I've gotten is the occasional punishment pull-up."

Nathan shook his head. "Ell doesn't like them, so, yeah, really only for punishments. But I love the way she looks in them, so the brattier she is, the happier I am. And boy can she throw a tantrum."

Jasmine smirked at Ellie. "I'm bigger."

Marcus chuckled, nudging a woodchip with his boot. "I feel like we'll have two girls in diapers by the end of the day. Jazzy already earned herself some pull-ups."

Nathan smirked. "Think she's a little jealous?"

"Oh, absolutely. She's been eyeing Ellie's diaper since we got here." He crossed his arms. "Thing is, Jazzy hates admitting when she wants something. Acts like it's beneath her. When I told her Ellie was going to show up in diapers today, she turned up her nose, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes."

"Shut up, dad!" Jasmine hissed.

Nathan chuckled, shaking his head. "Ellie's the same way. She'll pitch a fit, but I swear she likes the punishment. The more humiliating, the more she secretly enjoys it. She just can't admit it."

"That's the thing. I saw that look in Jazzy's eyes, so I prodded just a little bit," Marcus admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Told her if she made fun of Ellie's diapers at all that she'd lose panties privileges."

Nathan snorted. "And she went for it."

"Like a shark to chum," Marcus agreed. "She thinks she's slick."

"Is that your long game, then? Diapers for Jazzy?" Nathan asked. Marcus exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, the kind of long, gathering breath you take before admitting to something.

The two girls looked at each other, exchanging wary glances in the stuffy silence of the playground tube.

"Look, I want what she wants, but…" He paused for a beat, collecting. "There's something about her sharpness, her abrasiveness, her cool edge, that gets rounded off when she's little. The yin and the yang. I think the dark black goth look, a little pouty face, and a big, pink diaper is the perfect clash. Like looking at the Sistine Chapel."

Nathan shook his head. "The Sistine Chapel, Marc?"

Ellie turned her head. "The Sistine Chapel, Jazzy?"

Jasmine just stared ahead, embarrassed.

"You asked," Marcus chuckled. "What about Ellie?"

Nathan didn't answer, just smiled wistfully. "Hmm," he finally said.

"Okay, I can't listen to any more of this!" she exclaimed pushing Jasmine out of the tube. "Tag, or something! God!"

The playground shadows stretched long by the time they corralled the girls-- Jasmine protesting dramatically when Marcus plucked her off the slide mid-descent, Ellie clinging to Nathan's back like a koala as he carried her toward the car. "Pizza at ours?" Nathan offered, shifting Ellie's weight as she nibbled his earlobe in retaliation for interrupting her game.

Marcus smirked, watching Jasmine freeze mid-tantrum: her black-lined eyes darting between them like she was calculating the risk-to-reward ratio of behaving. "Seems like a yes," he laughed.

Ellie and Nathan's apartment smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry, the living room strewn with pastel throw pillows that Jasmine immediately wrinkled her nose at-- until she spotted the gaming console tucked beneath the TV. "Dibs on player one!" she yelled, kicking off her platforms and belly-flopping onto the rug with zero grace, her black skirt riding up just enough to betray a peek of pink. Ellie wiggled out of Nathan's arms to scramble after her, but Nathan swooped in to snatch the controllers.

"We actually have something more suitable for little girls like yourselves," Nathan announced, pulling a pink-and-blue box from behind the couch.

Jasmine groaned loud enough to rattle the windows when she saw the Pretty Pretty Princess logo, but Ellie gasped, her fingers instinctively turning into excited grabby hands. "Ohmygosh I loved this when I was six!" she squealed, bouncing on her padded bottom as Nathan handed her the box.

Marcus smirked as Jasmine attempted to scoot backward in protest. "Nuh-uh," he said, grabbing her ankle and dragging her back into the circle. Jasmine's mortified squeak was drowned out by Ellie's delighted giggles as she popped open the box, revealing glittering plastic jewelry in rich gem tones.

"Here you go, Jazzy!" Ellie beamed, handing her the black ring. "They included a special ring for boring girls like you!"

Jasmine rolled her eyes, but her fingers lingered on the obsidian-colored plastic. "Fine," she muttered, slipping it on.

Nathan chuckled. "You can't win the game if you're wedding the black ring," he explained. "She's just teasing you."

Jasmine scowled at Ellie, who giggled behind her hands. "That's okay, I don't want to win this dumb game for babies."

Marcus held up one finger, then pointed it at Jasmine. "That's your one and only. You know what's next." Jasmine's face darkened, unreadable, but she kept quiet.

Ellie turned the game box upside-down, sending necklaces, rings, earrings, and a single plastic tiara clattering onto the rug. "Okay, so--" she began, but Jasmine snatched up the rules pamphlet before Ellie could explain, dramatically cleared her throat.

"Players must collect all five pieces of jewelry…and wear them to win." She squinted at the print before flipping the paper over. "That's it?"

Nathan plucked the spinner from the box. "Nice and simple instructions for tiny girls with growing minds. Do you two think you handle that?"

Ellie clapped her hands together. "Yes Daddy!" She turned to Jasmine, who was scowling at the plastic tiara. "You gotta spin, and then you get to take whatever piece it lands on. And whoever gets all five first is the prettiest princess! Even daddies!"

Nathan nudged the spinner toward Jasmine. Her nose wrinkled, but she grabbed it with a huff, spinning with so much force the plastic arrow spun for several seconds before landing on…3. Ellie gasped, scrambling to scoop up all the pink jewelry before Jasmine could react.

"Wait wait wait we gotta pick out our colors first I'm pink!" She blurted the whole sentence out in a single breath, snatching up the pink jewelry and plopping the pink pawn on the board.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Purple," she muttered, gathering her own pieces and placing her pawn. Nathan and Marcus took green and blue.

"It's like they knew two little girls would play with their daddies," Ellie mused, studying the four included colors.

"Amazing," Jasmine deadpanned.

"Someone is getting cranky," Marcus chided.

"Okay, spin, Jazzy, before you get in trouble again!" Ellie chirped, bouncing on her knees as Jasmine flicked the spinner with a grumble.

Spinning a 2, Jasmine slid her pawn onto the earrings space. She clipped on her purple earrings. "Woo, fun." Her monotone dripped with sarcasm, but her fingers lingered at her earlobes, fiddling with the plastic hoops. Nathan spun next, his piece landing on the necklace. He grinned as Ellie draped the plastic beads around his neck, the garish jewelry clashing wonderfully with his stubble and broad shoulders. Jasmine snorted behind her hand at the sight of him, her smirk widening when Marcus spun and got stuck with the blue ring, kissing it as Marcus slid it onto his pinky with exaggerated dignity.

Ellie spun next, biting her lip as the arrow came to a stop, whining when it landed on the black ring. "Nooooo!" she groaned, while Jasmine cackled and plucked the ring from the pile. "Here, princess," Jasmine croaked in a creaky witch voice, sliding the black ring onto her finger and cackling, "Mee hee hee!"

Ellie pouted at her newly ringed finger, until Nathan spun and landed on the tiara. "Princess Daddy!" she shrieked, recovering instantly, clapping as Nathan placed the plastic crown atop his head with exaggerated ceremony.

Jasmine collapsed into giggles when Marcus, spinning next, couldn't figure out how to clip on his blue earrings. "Dad, you are helpless!" she teased, crawling over to pinch his earlobe and snap them into place.

Ellie was practically wheezing when Nathan, already decked out in his tiara and necklace, spun again, landing on the ring, only for it to not fit on any of his sausage fingers. He worked it past the first knuckle of his pinky with an apologetic look on his face.

The gigglefest devolved into lunacy as the daddies continued to struggle getting their jewelry on -- Marcus pretending his necklace didn't fit over his big old head -- while the girls kept passing the black ring back and forth, huffing and puffing every time, never able to win when they had all four pieces and the tiara. At some point, there wasn't a game anymore, or, rather, a new one had taken its place, as Ellie had combined Pretty Pretty Princess with her wooden tea set while waiting her turn, pouring a cup of imaginary tea for her daddy, who stood up and did his best curtsy, tipping his tiara. "Milady," he intoned in a warbly falsetto. Jasmine, punch-drunk on her own cup of tea, lost it, laughing so hard she fell onto her side, kicking her feet, nearly knocking over the tea tower and its little wooden desserts. Marcus was the only one who could keep his composure, sipping from his tiny teacup with a straight face, pinky up.

Ellie, eventually, ended up on her back, lacking the energy to remain upright, legs kicking lazily in the air as she giggled at the ceiling. Jasmine sprawled beside her, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes, all five plastic rings collected on one hand, glinting under the lamplight. Their breathless laughter had dwindled into contented sighs, punctuated by the occasional crinkle when either girl shifted.

Nathan knelt beside them, brushing Ellie’s bangs from her forehead. "Someone’s eyelids are getting heavy," he murmured, chuckling when she swatted weakly at his hand. Marcus scooped Jasmine up like a ragdoll, her limbs flopping dramatically as he deposited her onto the couch. "Nap time, little bat," he announced, ignoring her theatrical groan.

"Nap time for little girlies!" Nathan announced.

Ellie groaned dramatically, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her feet. "Daddy, nooo--" she whined, her words muffled by the rug. But she didn't resist when Nathan scooped her up, her limbs going limp as she nuzzled against his chest.

"They can take our bed, Marcus." Nathan offered. "Sheets are clean enough. We'll wake them up when pizza's here."

Marcus nodded, scooping up Jasmine from the couch with a grunt-- she was limp, but still managed a dramatic sigh, her eyeliner smudged from wiping away tears of laughter. "Works for me. C'mon, Jazz."

Ellie yawned, blinking blearily as Nathan carried her toward the bedroom. Suddenly, she became very aware of an important urge. "Daddy, wait, daddy," she said in a hushed tone. "I… have to go potty. Can I take this off before nap time?"

Nathan frowned, watching Ellie's cheeks flush pink. He replied in a normal tone of voice, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Sorry, baby, this is your punishment, remember? You're wearing your potty today."

Ellie's eyes widened, mortification creeping up her neck as she cast harried glances at Marcus and then Jasmine. "Daddy! Not in front of anybody, right? You said!" Ellie kicked her legs weakly, but Nathan just kissed her forehead.

Jasmine perked up in Marcus's arms, suddenly alert despite her previous drowsiness. As he laid her down into bed, he began slowly peeling off her fishnets, but both of them had bent an ear to the very interesting conversation happening nearby.

"They're not just 'anybody,' right baby?" Nathan murmured, stroking Ellie's hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. "Jazzy's your friend now, and Marcus takes care of her." Ellie peeked one eye out, catching Jasmine's poorly-hidden stare while Marcus lifted her skirt.

"Dad, stop!" Jasmine hissed, clamping her legs shut as Marcus snuck into the front of her pull-up, his fingers lingering just long enough to confirm its dryness.

"Arms up, sweetie." Nathan commanded, bringing her a big sleep shirt.

Ellie whined, cheeks flushed pink. She shot another glance at Jasmine, who was watching with rapt attention. "Daddy, you said--"

"You can't sleep in your nice new dress, baby. That's not comfy." Nathan peeled Ellie's frilly dress up to her waist, but Emily pressed her arms flat down against her sides.

"Daddy!" she hissed one last time.

Nathan looked concerned. "…Yellow light?" he asked.

Ellie was silent, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Jasmine was staring! She was going to see… her… parts! Ellie felt her cheeks burn hotter. She should say yellow. She should insist on privacy. But her pulse thrummed somewhere lower, a warm ache between her thighs that filled up her head with unwise thoughts.

Nathan brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, waiting. Ellie swallowed hard, then whispered, "Green," so softly she barely heard it herself, but Nathan’s slow, knowing grin told her he’d caught it. Her stomach swooped when he peeled her dress off entirely, leaving her in nothing but her diaper and lacy socks for a few raw moments, her bare breasts pebbling in the cool air.

"Arms up!" he instructed, replacing the dress with a roomy sleep shirt.

Jasmine inhaled sharply, her eyes locked onto the crinkling padding wrapped around Ellie's bottom. Marcus smirked but said nothing, busying himself with unbuttoning his little's skirt. "Can I have this?" he whispered. "You'll be more comfy. And you'll match Ellie!"

Jasmine looked down, regarding her skirt, Marcus's fingers already hooked into the waistband. "Yeah," she muttered, looking up at Ellie and offering a half smile. She lifted her hips just enough for him to tug down her skirt.

And there they both were, two little girls, bottomless, padded, and ready for their nap.

Nathan kneeled beside Ellie, brushing her hair back as she curled into him, her flushed face still pressed against his chest. "You did so good today, baby girl," he murmured, lips brushing her ear as his fingers traced slow circles over her diaper's soft plastic shell. "Even when you were scared, you trusted Daddy. That makes me so proud." Ellie shivered at the praise, her earlier embarrassment melting into warmth as she clutched his shirt, until he pressed one last kiss to her forehead and whispered, "Sweet dreams, princess," leaving her clutching a stuffed bunny in his absence.

Marcus lingered longer with Jasmine, his fingers carding through her dark pigtails as she stubbornly avoided eye contact. "My brave little bat," he sighed, thumb brushing the stubborn pout off her lips. When she finally glanced up, he cupped her chin, voice dropping to a velvet growl. "You think I didn't notice how good you were with Ellie? How hard you tried to make friends?" Jasmine's breath hitched as he tapped her nose. "That's my good girl." She barely had time to process the words before he produced her favorite black cat plushie from his bag, pressing it into her chest and vanishing like smoke.

The door clicked shut, leaving only the hum of the air conditioner and Ellie's nervous crinkles as she opened and closed her thighs. Jasmine exhaled shakily, fingers tightening around her plushie's ears.

"So…" Her voice cracked.

"…Yeah," Ellie replied.

Jasmine chewed her lip, tracing the soft fabric of her pull-up. "You're… really okay with this? With us being like--" She gestured vaguely at Ellie's midsection.

"I like you a lot," Ellie blurted out. "And your dad."

Jasmine blinked, startled, as Ellie tucked her knees up under her sleep shirt, crinkling loudly.

"I'm so terrified of doing something wrong. That you won't like. And that I'll scare you away. But I wanna do little stuff. And get in trouble, and maybe even get a little nakey, and… wear diapers. …But I really, really don't want to pee in my diaper in front of you. Because that's like… different."

Jasmine hesitated. "I… don't hate it," she admitted quietly. "Like, I'm embarrassed too, but…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Dad says I'm bad at asking for things. That I act like I don't care, so I won't look needy." She exhaled shakily. "But I want to be friends. And I wanna… do things. I'm not gonna not be your friend because you peed yourself."

Ellie buried her face in her bunny's fur. "I think I'm a shy pee-er," she confessed, peeking over the stuffed animal's ears. "It's like… I feel like I'm gonna explode. Not my bladder, my… feelings." She wiggled under the blanket, her diaper rustling conspicuously.

"Same," Jasmine said. "I'm nervous. I feel like I can't unbend my legs." She stared up at the ceiling. "I can't stop thinking about how my dad wants to put me back in diapers."

Ellie's fingers crept under the blanket, pressing tentatively against her own padding. "You don't like them, right?"

"No. I mean. They're… fine, just not for me." Jasmine's whisper was barely audible. "But he looks at me different when I wear pull-ups. And I like that look. A lot."

"He's looking at the Sistine Chapel," she grinned. When Jasmine didn't react, she frowned, then… "Nathan gets this… voice when he diapers me. I can't explain it, but--"

"And you… look really cute. Like that. In your diaper." Jasmine spoke the words into her cat plushie, the words muffled but deliberate.

Ellie froze mid-fidget, her fingers clutching the bunny tighter as warmth bloomed across her cheeks. "Oh," she breathed.

"Do you think… I'd look cute?" Jasmine whispered suddenly, her voice muffled by her plushie as she pressed it tighter against her chest. "Like, if I… if we matched?" The unspoken word hung between them.

Ellie inhaled sharply. "Yeah," she breathed, shifting closer until their knees bumped beneath the blankets. "Especially with your fishnets over them." She giggled nervously. "Like, picture your edgy goth fishnets trying to fit over a big, bulky baby diaper."

Jasmine exhaled through her nose. "It's just… weird, right? How much I want… you know… all of the sudden."

Ellie nodded. "Maybe you just weren't ready until now."

Jasmine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like, I didn't want diapers, either… at first. But Nathan kept putting me in them until…" She hesitated, chewing her lip as she glanced down at her own padded hips. "I mean, not like he wasn't listening, but like… maybe your dad knows you better than you think?"

Jasmine made a noncommittal noise, plucking at her pull-up's waistband. "I… heard you and your daddy talking before. You didn't yellow light when he offered."

Ellie sucked in a breath. "I… I know. I was scared. I still am scared. But… I wanna do it anyway. Maybe he knows better than me? You know?" Her admission hung between them, thick and vulnerable. Jasmine's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"I'm gonna pee myself too. Right now. With you." Jasmine's declaration came out in a rush as she stared resolutely at the ceiling.

"You don't have to…" Ellie started, but Jasmine shook her head fiercely.

"No. I want to. I want dad to catch me in a wet pull-up and… put me back in diapers…" Her tone of voice was uncertain, like she was still convincing herself. "We can be real twinsies."

Ellie bit her lip, watching Jasmine's fingers tense against her pull-up waistband. "D-do you wanna hold hands?" she offered, her voice small as she extended her hand. Jasmine considered it for moment, turned away, then snatched Ellie's hand.. "Okay. Just… let me know when you're gonna…"

But minutes ticked by with only nervous shifting and the occasional crinkle. Jasmine groaned. "Why won't it work?" she hissed, pressing her free hand against her lower stomach. Ellie whimpered in agreement. "It's like my body won't do it if I'm not on a toilet," she whispered, squeezing Jasmine's hand harder. "My bladder really hurts. I have to go. I just… can't!"

"This is so dumb," Jasmine laughed.

Ellie snorted. "Tell me about it."

"Let's just… not think about it, try to get some sleep. If we go, we go." Jasmine suggested.

"Okay, alright… well… good night?"

"See you on the other side," Jasmine murmured, closing her eyes.

Ellie waited, counting Jasmine's breaths until they slowed, evened out. She just couldn't relax. Her bladder ached. The dry diaper's padding rustled under the blanket, taunting her. Staring at Jasmine's peaceful face in the dim glow of the afternoon light that leaked past the curtains, she screwed up her face and pushed, pushed, until a frantic, uneven heat bloomed between her thighs. As the first trickles escaped, the diaper swelled up, warm against her skin. Ellie gasped quietly, clutching the sheets as her bladder fully relented, relief washing over her whole body. "Oh my fucking godddd," she whispered to herself, the muffled hissing sound deafening in the quiet room.

Jasmine stirred beside her, blinking blearily, and Ellie froze, mortified, as her friend's nose wrinkled.

"Did you…" Jasmine mumbled, still half-asleep, her hand flopping lazily against Ellie's hip. Ellie whimpered, her entire face burning, but before she could answer, Jasmine squeezed her diaper's swollen padding with sleepy curiosity. "Oh. Nice," she mumbled approvingly, promptly rolling over and falling back to sleep.

Ellie's breath whooshed out in a relieved sigh that turned into a dopey giggle, her limbs going boneless against the mattress. The tension drained from her body, like someone had pulled a plug, her eyelids fluttering shut as the warm weight of her diaper pressed comfortably between her thighs. She barely registered Jasmine's soft snores, just floated somewhere warm and fuzzy, her last coherent thought drifting away like a balloon.

In what felt like an instant Ellie woke to the sound of rustling fabric and a sharp gasp. The room was darker, time had passed, maybe? Rubbing her eyes, the world came into sharper focus: Jasmine was sitting bolt upright in bed, her fingers tangled up in the sheets as her thighs pressed together.

"Oh, oh god, I really gotta…" she hissed through clenched teeth. Ellie blinked sleepily, watching as Jasmine shifted uncomfortably, her pull-up crinkling with every tiny movement.

Jasmine whimpered, her breath coming in short bursts as she rocked slightly-- then suddenly froze. Her eyes went wide and her mouth, hanging open, slowly slackened. "Ellie," she whispered, her voice strangled. "Ellie, I'm… oh my god." A soft hissing sound filled the quiet room. She squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling with the surrender. Then-- "No, no, noooo!" she whimpered with escalating urgency.

"What? What's wrong?" Ellie asked, still trying to shake off the sleep.

"It's coming out!" was all Jasmine could articulate before she scrambled off the bed, her legs splayed open wide.

Nathan burst in, flicking the overhead light on just as Jasmine clambered out of the bed. The scene before him: a golden stream trickled down Jasmine's thighs, pooled on the carpet beneath her bare feet. Ellie crawling across the bed in her saggy, soaked diaper. Jasmine trembled in front of him, fresh tears streaming down her face, her pull-up sagging pathetically between her legs while urine dripped onto the floor in slow, rhythmic splashes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, gathering her into a hug. Jasmine stiffened, expecting anger, but Nathan just rocked her gently, rubbing her back as she sniffled into his shoulder. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "I've got you…" Turning his head, "Marcus!" he beckoned.

Jasmine whimpered some kind of incoherent apology before finally being handed off to her dad, who swept her up from the wet patch beneath her feet. "Oh, baby bat," he murmured. "What happened?"

Jasmine shook her head frantically, her breath hitching, coughing and sniffling.

"Next time--" his voice dropped to a whisper, "you ask Daddy for help, yeah?"

Ellie watched from the bed, her own diaper squished beneath her, as Nathan rubbed her back. "Daddy," she whispered, "is Jazzy in trouble?" Nathan pressed a kiss to her temple. "No, princess, it's just a little extra laundry."

"Can we borrow your shower really quick?" Marcus asked Nathan.

Jasmine stiffened, shook her head, her cheeks flaming. "No… dad… let's go home."

"We just gotta get you cleaned up, sweetheart," Marcus cooed, giving her a squeeze. "There's no reason to stop playing."

"Noooo," she whined. Ellie clutched Nathan's sleeve as they disappeared down the hall.

Nathan ruffled Ellie's hair. "Marcus knows what he's doing," he murmured, though his gaze lingered on the damp patch of carpet where Jasmine had stood moments before. "Looks like we've got some cleanup duty of our own, huh princess?"

Ellie squirmed uncomfortably in her swollen diaper, pressing her thighs together as she watched Nathan spray something on the floor. She wiggled her toes, studying the way her daddy's broad shoulders flexed as he blotted the floor. "Jazzy was really embarrassed," she whispered.

Nathan glanced up, his expression softening. "It's really okay. I let two diapergirls sleep in our bed. I'm ready for an accident or two. What… happened, anyway?"

"She didn't want me to be alone in a wet diaper, so she… but she didn't know…" Ellie trailed off as Nathan knelt beside her, his fingers brushing the soaked padding between her legs before sneaking into a leg band and probing.

"My brave girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her flushed cheek. The praise twisted in her belly alongside the lingering embarrassment, his admiration hotter than any shame.

Ellie curled into Nathan's chest, inhaled his familiar scent. "Hey," she finally said.

Nathan tilted his head. "What's up, buttercup?"

"We heard you guys talking at the park."

Nathan's fingers stilled in Ellie's hair as she whispered the confession against his chest. "Did you now?" he murmured, his thumb tracing absent circles on her shoulder.

"Jazzy needs to be honest with her dad. But we need to be honest with each other too." Ellie traced circles on Nathan's chest, her voice small. "What would you do if I stopped wearing diapers for you tomorrow?"

Nathan exhaled slowly, then pressed his forehead to hers. "I'd be sad. But I love you."

"But would something be missing after that?" Ellie pressed, Nathan's shirt tight in her grasp. He hesitated-- too long. "So I'm doomed for diapers, then?"

"…I don't know what you want me to say," Nathan murmured, his fingers combing through Ellie's hair. "If this stopped tomorrow, yeah, I'd miss this version of us. I don't want to give it up. I like the you that's in front of me right now the most. But… I don't just want a big, drooling baby. The you that's in front of me is sharp and defiant and self-possessed, and I had to work my ass off to outplay you in our daily games of give and take to wrestle you into that wet diaper. That's the you that's in front of me: temporarily-disadvantaged Ellie, scheming her way out of this diaper, never sure when she's gonna end up in another one." His eyes finally met hers.

"I think I get it," Ellie murmured. "That's your Sistine Chapel of me."

"Oh my god." Nathan chuckled, pressed Ellie tighter against his chest as the muffled sounds of running water and Marcus' soft reassurances drifted down the hall. Nathan exhaled shakily. "Hey. I love you, Ell."

Ellie blinked rapidly, her chest tight. "I love you too… can I tell you a secret?"

Nathan grinned, pinching her chin. "Yeah?"

"I wanna wear diapers for you," she whispered. "Sometimes."

"I'd like that," Nathan murmured. The sound of the shower running down the hall mixed with Jasmine's muffled protests -- something about not needing help -- but Ellie barely registered it, too focused on the way Nathan's palm cupped her saggy, diapered bottom.

"And Jazzy wants to wear diapers for Marcus," she added.

"Tell you what," he said, thinking for moment. "I'm going to strip the bed and get laundry going. You put on some fresh sheets and pick out a special outfit for you and for Jasmine. And make sure to pick out two matching diapers, okay?"

Ellie's eyes lit up. Scrambling off the bed, her wet diaper sagging comically between her legs, she toddled toward the dresser, rummaging through the drawers with frantic excitement, tossing frilly bloomers and lace-trimmed socks onto the floor in her search for the perfect ensemble.

Her fingers finally closed around a black onesie patterned with tiny ghosts -- leftover from last Halloween -- and she squealed, holding it up triumphantly. "Perfect!" she whispered to herself, imagining how cute Jasmine would look with her fishnets layered underneath. She dug deeper, unearthing a pair of black satin bloomers edged with cobweb lace, her heart fluttering at the discovery.

And, from the top drawer, the real prize: two thick, crinkly pink diapers printed with cartoon unicorns, the plastic backing shimmering under the bedroom light. Ellie clutched them to her chest, grinning as she envisioned Jasmine's inevitable protests, and how quickly they'd dissolve. She paused, chewing her lip, before grabbing an extra pacifier from the nightstand -- black, of course -- and tucking it into the onesie's fabric.

With the bed freshly made, she arranged everything with painstaking precision: Jasmine's ghost-print onesie laid flat, the bloomers folded just so atop the diaper, the pacifier nestled in around the collar. Her own outfit, a frilly pink romper with matching ruffled socks, she positioned beside Jasmine's, the two ensembles mirroring each other perfectly. Ellie stepped back, admiring her handiwork with a critical eye before adjusting the pacifier's placement one final time. There. Perfect.

The bathroom door creaked open, revealing Jasmine wrapped in a towel, her damp pigtails drooping miserably. Marcus guided her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades. "Nathan," he murmured, nodding toward his wet little. "I can't convince her that everything is okay. Can you please tell her?"

Nathan knelt before Jasmine, tilting her chin up with one finger. "Sweetheart, accidents happen. When I let two diapergirls sleep in my bed, I'm prepared for a little moisture." Jasmine's eyes flicked toward Ellie, who gave an exaggerated shrug and crinkled her soggy diaper pointedly. "See?" Nathan continued, thumb brushing Jasmine's cheek. "And now you two get to be twinsies in fresh diapers. Ellie even picked out special outfits."

"D-diapers?" Jasmine stammered, her fingers tightening around the towel as she eyed the unicorn-printed padding with visible panic before looking up at Nathan and then back at Marcus. Marcus looked just as confused as she did, while Ellie bounced excitedly on the mattress.

"They’re super soft!" she chirped, patting the fresh one beside her. "And look--" She held up the ghost-print onesie, letting the sleeves sway enticingly. "It's your style!"

"Am I in trouble?" she asked.

"No… no, no, hey," Marcus reassured her, stroking her damp hair. His gaze darted between Nathan and Ellie. Nathan enthusiastically nodded and Ellie put two goofy thumbs up. "I just… would you like to wear a diaper with Ellie tonight?"

Ellie held her breath, trying to telepathically imprint the word "yes" into Jasmine's brain.

"Fine," Jasmine muttered, her voice barely audible as she glared at the floor. "But only because Ellie went through the trouble…"

The way her shoulders relaxed betrayed her relief, though, especially when Marcus kissed her forehead and murmured, "That's my good girl."

Jasmine's gaze flicked to Ellie. "Can we get changed… together?" she asked Marcus, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ellie blushed. "Oh, uh, wow…"

"Please!" Jasmine added with sudden urgency.

"Yeah," Ellie said. "Yeah, of course," she repeated, trying to convince herself.

Marcus nodded, a grateful look on his face, as he guided Jasmine to the bed.

Nathan laid a large towel on the edge of the bed and gave it a couple beckoning pats. "Two little baby bottoms, please!"

Both girls slowly laid themselves down on the bed, exchanging wry smiles. A little embarrassed, a little excited. "Here," Ellie said, offering her hand to hold.

Jasmine stared at Ellie's outstretched fingers before grabbing them with a soft, small smile. Both daddies worked in tandem, Nathan peeling Ellie's soaked diaper away while Marcus opened up Jasmine's towel. Nathan wiping his squirmy girl down while Marcus unfolded the thick, pink unicorn print diaper, sliding it beneath Jasmine's lifted hips before she sucked in a quick breath and her thighs clamped shut.

"Don't be so nervous," Ellie whispered, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "It's just a diaper."

Marcus chuckled as he gently pried her thighs apart. "You'd think we were torturing you!"

Jasmine let out a little inquisitive noise as the baby powder hit her skin, then froze completely when Marcus's fingers smoothed it over her most sensitive places with deliberate slowness. Ellie giggled at the way Jasmine's breath hitched, recognizing that exact overwhelmed stiffness from her own first time.

"You okay?" Ellie whispered.

Jasmine nodded jerkily, her cheeks burning darker than usual without her pale foundation, as Marcus taped the diaper snugly around her hips. She flexed her legs cautiously, the plastic crinkling with every shift.

Marcus smoothed his palm over the front of the diaper, pressing lightly, then pinched the leg gathers to ensure they were snug. "How's it feel?" he asked, softly, as if she was the only one in the room.

Jasmine bit her lip in thought, experimentally rocking her hips side to side.

"You look beautiful," he said, his fingers tracing the soft outer plastic where it hugged Jasmine's hipbones.

She covered her eyes with her free hand. "God, I guess I have to like it, huh?" she muttered.

Marcus pressed the back of his fingers against the front of the diaper, giving it a gentle pat-pat-pat that made Jasmine squirm. Her legs shifted, spread slightly to accommodate the bulk between her thighs, and the soft pats, then snapped shut again with a sharp crinkle.

"It's weird," she admitted, peeking through her fingers at Ellie. "But… soft."

Ellie grinned, nodding enthusiastically as Nathan lifted her hips to slide the fresh diaper beneath her. Jasmine watched, looking mesmerized. It was more embarrassing than Ellie thought it would be, feeling her friend's eyes crawling up and down her body as Nathan sealed her into her own thick, snug diaper, tape by tape.

All taped up tight, Ellie rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one hand while the other tugged Jasmine's wrist toward her own padded middle. "See?" she whispered, guiding Jasmine's fingers to press against the soft front of her diaper. "Twinsies."

Jasmine smiled. "Twinsies."

In the other room, the doorbell rang.

"And that would be the pizza!" Nathan announced. "How about you two little ladies finish getting dressed, and daddies will get dinner ready?"

"Got it!" Ellie said, popping up to her feet and waving their daddies off and out of the bedroom.

Jasmine lifted herself out of bed, self-consciously covering her breasts with her arms, regarded the onesie laid out for her with a frown. "Why'd you have to pick me out something so babyish?" she grumbled.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "We're alone now. You don't have to pretend you don't like it."

Jasmine scoffed. "I'm not… I'm just… trying it out."

"Hey, if the diaper fits, wear it!" Ellie chirped, picking up the black onesie and holding it up to Jasmine's torso with a squint.

Jasmine snatched the garment from Ellie's hands with a huff. "Okay. Fine. It is cute," she muttered. "I might… actually like this stuff if it looked like this."

Ellie grinned and turned away to wiggle into her own pink romper, fastening a button on either side of her hips to cinch the waist. When she glanced back, Jasmine was halfway through cautiously pulling the ghost-print onesie over her head, her movements stiff with self-consciousness. As she tugged the stretchy fabric down past her waist, Ellie snap-snap-snap-snapped the crotch around her diaper, and then helped her step into the black satin bloomers.

"Okay, spin!" Ellie commanded, grabbing Jasmine's hands and twirling her around before she could protest. Jasmine wobbled, her diaper crinkling loudly as she stumbled, but then she caught her balance and struck a pose, one hip cocked. "Damn, Jazzy. Goth baby princess."

Jasmine rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her pleased smirk as she smoothed the ghost-print fabric down and tugged the bloomers up. "Your turn," she said, grabbing Ellie's wrist and spinning her so fast the ruffles on her romper flared out. "You look--" She gestured vaguely at Ellie's entire ensemble: the frilly pink romper hugging her padded curves, the matching socks with lace trim. "…Like a fucking cupcake. But, like… a good one. The kind you feel bad eating because it's too pretty."

Ellie twirled again, her diaper peeking out from the romper's leg holes. "You're just jealous my outfit's cuter than yours," she teased, sticking out her tongue.

Jasmine scoffed, reached out to adjust Ellie's collar. "I could never pull off this much pink," she admitted quietly. "But… it suits you." Ellie beamed at the unexpected compliment.

The scent of garlic and melted cheese wafted into the bedroom. "Your dad isn't ready to see you like this," Ellie said. "He's gonna need a diaper because he is going to shit."

Jasmine snorted, then covered her mouth as Ellie dissolved into giggles. "What the fuck, Ellie?" she wheezed, but her mock-scolding dissolved when Marcus's voice called from the living room: "Girls? Pizza's getting cold!"

Ellie grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He's gonna love it," she whispered, nudging Jasmine toward the door. "Trust me."

"Wait--" Jasmine hesitated, tugging Ellie back. "Ellie," she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Thank you. For today. For… everything." Her dark eyes shimmered with sincerity, the usual sarcasm stripped away. "I didn't think I could feel like this with anyone else but dad… and honestly it's not even like this with him." She gestured vaguely at her diaper, the onesie, the whole absurdly vulnerable tableau. "It's been… kinda magical."

Ellie blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. "You're welcome," she whispered back, squeezing Jasmine's hand tighter. "I didn't think I could be this… me with anyone else either." She swallowed hard. "Nathan's my daddy. You're my…" She trailed off, cheeks flushing. "I don't know what you are yet. But I'm glad you're here."

Jasmine's smirk returned, softer now. "Your twin sister, duh."

Ellie's giggle was cut off by Nathan's exaggerated sigh from the hallway: "Girls, do I need to come in there?"

"No!" they squealed in unison, bursting into laughter as they stumbled toward the door, their diapers crinkling with every hurried step. Ellie reached for the doorknob first, but hesitated, just long enough for Jasmine to grab it too. "Ready?" Jasmine whispered.

"Ready," Ellie replied.

[devipa-abdl]

i wasted the entire work day writing diaper smut. i definitely have a bit of a problem right now. finding it so hard to concentrate on anything else when i have a story brewing. until it's out and on paper i am DISTRACTED, my brain begging me to stop whatever i'm doing and go back to writing.

i'm worried that it's going to take a real negative consequence to shake this out of me