Story and Art Forum

I live alone. So, aside from occasional visitors, I am fortunate to be able to pick and choose when and for how long I will wear à nice plastic-backed diaper… of course, it’s usually covered with an extra plastic pants or added protection, security and comfort. It’s much needed, especially at night when I often get super wet while asleep. There are pros and cons to every situation. My pros: freedom to do as I please. Cons: No one to share this “factory installed” need and desire. 

Chapter 1: The castle nursery is a haven of soft pastels: plush cream carpet, a rocking horse carved from pale wood, and a changing table piled high with folded squares of pink fabric, each embroidered with a tiny, gilded tiara. The air is warm, smelling faintly of lavender and fresh powder. Princess Peach sits on the floor, her satin dress pooled around her, her shoulders slumped. She traces a pattern on the floorboards with a single, polished fingernail, her brows knitted together. The weight of her crown, even when not on her head, feels immense today. The council meetings, the diplomatic letters, the endless, gentle guidance required for her people- it presses down on her, a heavy, invisible hand. Mario kneels in front of her, his expression soft and knowing. He wears his usual red shirt and blue overalls, but his posture is relaxed, his arms open. "Hey, Peachie," he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble. "Long day?" She looks up, her blue eyes wide and shimmering. A single tear wells at the corner, tracking a slow path down her cheek. She doesn't answer, just gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. He reaches out and brushes the tear away with his thumb. "It's okay, little sister. Your big brother's here now." He scoops her into his arms as if she weighs nothing, settling her on his lap. She immediately melts against him, burying her face in the familiar warmth of his overalls. The fabric smells of him, of sunshine and adventure and safety. "Do you need to be little for a while?" Her response is a muffled whimper against his chest, followed by a soft, "Mawio..." "That's my girl," he murmurs, rocking her gently. "That's my good girl. Let's get you out of these big girl clothes, huh?" He carries her to the changing table, laying her down on the padded mat. With practiced, gentle hands, he unzips her elaborate gown, carefully lifting her arms to slide it off. He folds it neatly and places it on a nearby chair, followed by her silky tights and royal slippers. Now she's just Peach, shivering slightly in her cotton slip, looking up at him with complete trust. Mario reaches for the stack of diapers. He pulls one free- a thick, soft puff of pink, the plastic shell smooth and cool. In the center, the embroidered tiara gleams a cheerful, bright gold. "Perfect for our little Princess," he says, holding it up for her to see. A small, genuine smile touches her lips. "Pwincess," she babbles, kicking her feet. "Exactly right," Mario agrees, unfolding the diaper with a soft crinkle. He lifts her legs by the ankles, sliding the thick padding under her bottom. The soft fluff encases her, a warm, secure cloud. He pulls the front panel up snugly between her legs, making sure the leak guards are positioned just right before fastening the tapes on either side. The diaper is on, a bulky, pink reminder that she has no responsibilities now. She is small and she is cared for. "There now," he says, patting the front of her diaper gently. "All cozy and safe in your special princess pants." The golden tiara on the front seems to wink in the soft light. "Doesn't that feel better?" Peach wriggles, a happy sigh escaping her. "Buhbuh," she says, her hands coming down to pat the thick padding around her hips. The bulk feels right, a comforting pressure against her skin. Mario laughs, a warm, genuine sound. "That's right. Buhbuh's here." He scoops her up again, the thick diaper rustling with the movement. "What should we play with today, little sis? Blocks? Or maybe read a story?" She points a small finger towards a colorful bin in the corner. "Bwocks!" "Blocks it is!" He carries her over to a large, circular play mat and sets her down in the center. The diaper provides a soft cushion for her bottom as she sits. He dumps the bin over, and a cascade of bright, oversized wooden blocks clatters onto the mat. Peach immediately grabs a blue one, holding it up for him to see. "Bwoo!" "Very blue!" Mario confirms, sitting cross legged opposite her. He picks up a red block. "Red!" They play for a while, a simple game of naming colors and stacking precarious towers. Peach's babble is a constant, happy stream of "buhbuh," "pwincess," and "up!" when she wants him to add another block to their creation. Her movements are clumsy, her focus entirely on the simple task in front of her. The crown, the kingdom, the worries- they're all gone. There is only Mario, the blocks, and the soft, secure feeling of her diaper. They play a few minutes more before Peach's attention wanders. She crawls away from the blocks on her hands and knees, her padded bottom wiggling in the air. She finds her favorite teddy bear, a plush brown one with a red bow tie, and hugs it tight, rocking back and forth on her bottom. Mario watches her, a fond smile on his face. "Having fun with Sir Teddington?" She looks up at him, her eyes shining. "Tedd-uh," she says, patting the bear's head. She then crawls back to him, climbing onto his lap and settling in, her head against his chest. The bulk of the diaper pushes her legs apart, making her sit securely against him. He wraps an arm around her, holding her close. "You're doing so good today, Peachie. So calm." He feels her relax completely in his arms, her breathing soft and even. He keeps rocking her, humming a simple tune. The nursery is peaceful, the only sounds the gentle hum of his voice, the rustle of plastic, and the soft babble of the little girl in his arms. This is their secret. This is their safe space. It's a little while later that Mario notices the small change. On the front of Peach's diaper, peeking out from where it presses against his overalls, the tiny golden tiara has begun to fade. It's no longer a brilliant, sparkling gold. It's slowly, surely, turning a soft, pale pink. He gently pats her back. "Hey, little one. Someone's getting a little pink down there, huh?" Peach wiggles, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She doesn't seem to mind, just snuggles deeper into the warmth of the wet padding. "Pee pee, buhbuh," she whispers, her speech slurry and sleepy. "I know, sis," Mario says softly. "It's okay. Big brother's got you." He continues to hold her and rock her for a few more minutes, letting her enjoy the warmth before the discomfort sets in. When her face starts to scrunch up just a little, he decides it's time. "Alright, little Princess. Let's get you changed into a fresh, dry diaper." He lifts her, carrying her back to the changing table. She lies placidly while he works, her eyes half closed. With gentle, efficient movements, he unfastens the tapes, the pink tiara now a vivid reminder of its use. He cleans her with warm, damp wipes, the scent of baby powder filling the air again. The wet diaper is bundled up and disposed of, and a fresh, dry, pink one is secured around her hips. The tiara on this one is a brilliant, shiny gold once more. "There we go," Mario says, patting the fresh diaper. "All clean and dry for my baby sister." He dresses her in a simple, soft pink onesie, the snaps at the crotch fastening easily over the bulk of her new diaper. Peach coos happily, kicking her feet. She looks completely content, her earlier stress a distant memory. After her diaper change, Mario's stomach rumbles. "Time for a snack, I think! What does my little Princess want to eat?" "Appy!" she says instantly, her face lighting up. "Appy sauce!" "Apple sauce it is," Mario chuckles. He gets her settled into a large, wooden high chair, strapping her in securely. The tray clicks into place in front of her. He returns a moment later with a small bowl of warm, smooth apple sauce and a soft tipped baby spoon. "Open wide for the airplane!" he says, scooting a spoonful towards her face. She opens her mouth obediently, her eyes focused on the spoon. The apple sauce is sweet and familiar. "Mmm," she hums, swallowing it down. "Mawio, more!" "You got it, Peachie." He feeds her another spoonful, and another, making airplane and train noises as he does. She giggles, her happy babbling mixing with the sounds of her eating. A little bit of sauce smears on her cheek, but Mario just wipes it away with a smile. By the end of the snack, her belly is full and she's starting to look sleepy again. He wipes her face and hands clean, then unstraps her from the high chair. He carries her over to the rocking chair by the window, sitting down with her cradled in his arms. He's not sure if she's fallen asleep or is just drowsy and content when he feels it. A sudden tension in her little body, her legs straightening out against him. Her head, which had been lolling sleepily against his shoulder, lifts. Her babbling, which had faded to happy murmurs, ceases entirely. He glances down. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, her bottom lip pushed out in a slight pout. Her hands, which had been clutching his overalls, are now fisted, pressing firmly against her own tummy. A soft, low whine escapes her, a sound of pure discomfort. "What is it, little one?" Mario asks softly, his rocking slowing to a gentle sway. He rubs a soothing circle on her back, right between her shoulder blades. She squirms in his arms, a restless, wriggling movement that is different from her earlier happy wiggles. Her heels dig into the soft cushion of the rocking chair. Her thighs are pressed as tightly together as she can manage with the thick padding of the diaper. Her feet are crossed at the ankles, her little toes curling inward. The subtle tell tale signs of a little one trying desperately to hold something in. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice a gentle balm. "I see what's happening, Peachie. Does my little sister need to go potty?" Her face scrunches up, and she gives a frantic, desperate nod. Her eyes are wide and pleading, fixed on his face. "Mawio," she whispers, the word catching in her throat. "Pee pee. Pee pee coming." "I know," he says, his hand moving from her back to her hair, stroking the soft, golden strands. "It's okay. You're okay. Just try to relax, sis. Let it happen. That's what your diaper is for." But she can't. The regression has taken away her control, her understanding. The sensation is overwhelming and frightening to her small mind. She only knows the desperate pressure and the instinct to hold it, to wait. She lets out a frustrated cry, a sharp, unhappy sound. "No, no, no," she sobs, her face turning against his chest. "No pee pee!" "Hey, shhh, shhh, it's alright," Mario soothes, shifting her in his arms so he can look at her better. "It's not your fault, little Princess. You don't have to hold it for your big brother. Let go, Peachie. Let it all go. I'll clean you up, I promise. It's okay." He continues to murmur reassurances, rocking her gently, one hand rubbing her back, the other stroking her hair. He can feel the fine trembling in her limbs. He waits patiently, a steady, solid presence against her distress. The fight is a small one, but it's all she can focus on. Then, with a final, shuddering sob, her body goes limp. She gives up the fight. Mario feels a sudden, blooming warmth spread against him. A soft, relieved sigh escapes Peach's lips. Her body uncoils completely, all the tension draining away. She looks up at him, her eyes heavy lidded, a little bit dazed. "There you go," Mario says, kissing her forehead. "That's my good girl. See? All better now." He pats the front of her onesie, feeling the distinct squish of a thoroughly soaked diaper beneath the fabric. "Wow, someone was holding a lot of pee pee for their brubber!" A small, sleepy giggle escapes her. "Bwubber," she whispers, snuggling back into him, completely unbothered by the warm, wet padding she now sits in. The crisis is over. She is safe, and she is wet, and she is deeply, profoundly sleepy in her big brother's arms. The rocking chair continues its slow, steady creak, a gentle rhythm in the quiet room. The warmth spreading through her diaper is a familiar comfort, a final surrender of control that allows sleep to finally claim her. Her head is a heavy, trusting weight on Mario's shoulder. Her breathing evens out into the deep, soft rhythm of a baby asleep. Mario holds her for a long while, just listening to her breathe. He can feel the damp warmth through her onesie against his arm, a tangible sign of the peace he's just helped her find. He knows he should change her soon, to prevent any rash, but he lets her sleep. This fragile peace is precious. He'll let her have it for just a few more minutes. The afternoon sun begins to dip lower, casting long, golden rectangles across the nursery floor. The dust motes dance in the slanted light like tiny fairies. After about ten minutes, Mario decides he can't put it off any longer. A sleeping baby in a wet diaper is a recipe for a grumpy baby later. "Alright, little Princess," he murmurs against her hair. "Time to get you into a cozy, dry diaper for your nap." He shifts her weight, standing up from the rocking chair with a soft grunt. She stirs, letting out a small, discontented murmur, but doesn't wake. He carries her to the changing table for the second time that afternoon, her sleeping form a dead weight in his arms. He lays her down gently, her body limp with sleep. The tiara on her diaper is now a deep, dark pink, the plastic shell stretched tight with the sheer volume it contains. He works quietly and efficiently, unsnapping the crotch of her onesie. The scent of urine becomes more pronounced as he frees the diaper. He unfastens the tapes, one by one, and pulls the front of the diaper down. The inner lining is heavy and swollen, glistening in the soft light. He uses more wipes this time, making sure she's completely clean and dry before patting her skin with a light dusting of powder. The cool powder against her skin causes her to stir, her legs kicking out in her sleep. He just smiles, working around her sleepy movements. A third clean, pink diaper is secured around her waist, its golden tiara bright and new. He leaves her in just the diaper, deciding the extra clothes are unnecessary for a nap, and lifts her from the changing table and carries her to the large crib in the corner. He lowers her gently into the soft, padded mattress, tucking a light pink blanket around her small form. "Sleep well, my Peachie," he whispers, leaning over the crib railing. "Sleep well, little sister. I'll be right here when you wake up." He stands there for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall, the rhythmic proof of her peaceful slumber. Then, he turns and quietly leaves the nursery, closing the door almost all the way, leaving just a sliver of light to fall across the sleeping baby princess in her crib. The door to the nursery clicks shut, leaving the room in a cocoon of soft silence. Mario stands in the hallway for a moment, the scent of baby powder still clinging to his clothes. He can hear the faint, even breathing from within the crib, a sound more calming than any lullaby. His job, for now, is done. He has guided his princess back to a place of peace. He pads down the grand, echoing corridors of the castle, his usual buoyant walk replaced by a quiet tread. The castle feels different when he's in this caretaker role. The grand halls aren't just a setting for adventure; they're the shell that protects the most precious thing in the kingdom, and right now, that precious thing is a little girl in a pink diaper, dreaming in a crib. He heads to the kitchen, a cheerful, bustling place even in the afternoon. A few Toads are busy polishing silverware and preparing the evening meal. They nod to him respectfully. "Mr. Mario," one chirps, "Princess Peach is in her council meeting, I presume?" Mario offers a small, private smile. "She's resting. A very long council meeting," he adds, using their well known code for one of Peach's regression sessions. The Toads, who are more astute than anyone gives them credit for, simply nod and go back to their work. The secret is safe with them all. Mario gets himself a glass of water and leans against a counter, sipping it slowly. He thinks about the afternoon: the initial tension in her shoulders, the slow bloom of trust as he changed her, the simple joy of playing with blocks, and finally, the sweet, sleepy surrender, and he feels a deep, profound warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with adventure or heroism. This is a different kind of saving. He finishes his water and decides to check on the laundry. He finds the two used diapers he'd disposed of, wrapped tightly in their own plastic bag, waiting to be taken to the special laundry chute. The tiaras on both are a distinct shade of dark pink. He ties the bag up and drops it down the chute, listening to it clatter and slide down to the laundry room below. A small, domestic task that feels immensely important. He's about to head to the library to read for a while when he hears a soft cry from down the hall. It's not distressed, not yet. It's the sound of someone waking up alone, a little confused. He abandons the library and heads straight back to the nursery, peeking through the crack in the door. Peach is sitting up in her crib, her blonde hair a fluffy halo around her head. She's rubbing her eyes with her fists, her blanket pooled around her waist. She's wearing nothing but her thick, clean diaper. Her bottom lip is trembling slightly. She lets out another soft, whimpering cry. "Mawio?" she calls out, her voice small and lost. "Buhbuh?" Mario pushes the door open. "I'm right here, little sis," he says softly, crossing the room to the crib. "Your big brother's right here." Her face, which had been scrunched in confusion, breaks into a wide, tearful smile. "Bwubber!" she exclaims, her arms reaching for him. He leans over the railing, scooping her up and hoisting her onto his hip. She immediately burrows into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He bounces her gently, patting her back. "Did you have a good nap, Peachie?" She nods against his shoulder. "Appy," she mumbles. "I'm glad." He carries her over to the rocking chair, sitting down with her in his lap. She's still a little sleepy, her body soft and pliant against him. He holds her for a few minutes, just letting her reorient herself. After a bit, she starts to stir, her head lifting. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on the colorful play mat. "Bwocks," she says, her voice a little more awake now. "You want to play with the blocks again?" Mario asks. "Yeah! Bwocks!" she says, her enthusiasm returning. She starts to wiggle, trying to slide off his lap. "Alright, alright," he chuckles, setting her down on the playmat. She immediately crawls over to the wooden blocks, her padded bottom crinkling softly as she moves. Mario sits on the floor with her, leaning back against the leg of the rocking chair. He watches as she starts to build a new tower, her concentration absolute. She carefully stacks the blocks, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. She's a meticulous little architect, and Mario is a captivated audience. Peach chatters away in her baby talk, narrating her building process with soft babbles and happy squeaks. Mario responds with encouraging words and gentle smiles. Then, her movements become a bit more frantic. She's trying to place a yellow block on top of a red one, but her hands are shaky. The tower wobbles precariously. She grunts with effort, her face turning red. But it's not just the tower that's making her strain. Mario notices it again. The subtle tensing of her body. The way her legs, which had been casually splayed, suddenly press together. Her babbling stops, replaced by a series of soft, grunting whimpers. She drops the yellow block, her hands flying to her tummy. "Uh oh," she whispers, her eyes wide with a familiar panic. "Uh oh, Mawio." "What is it, sweetie?" he asks, moving closer to her. "I... I..." she stammers, her face scrunching up. "Tummy owie." The words are small and scared. For a baby, this is a much bigger, more intimate thing. The feeling is different, more intense and demanding. She looks at him with utter terror, her body frozen in a sudden, rigid stillness. Mario's voice is a calm, steady anchor in the storm of her fear. "It's okay, Peachie. It's okay. Just like with the pee pee. You can let it go. Your big brother is right here. I'll take care of you." He reaches out and rubs her back in slow, soothing circles. "You don't have to be scared. It's a perfectly normal thing to do. You're just a baby. Babies make messes. It's what they do." His words seem to penetrate her panic. She looks at him, her bottom lip trembling. She's still holding on, her whole body rigid with the effort. "That's my girl," he says softly. "Just try to relax. Push a little bit if you have to. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He keeps rubbing her back, his touch a constant, reassuring presence. He can feel the fight in her, the struggle between her body's need and her mind's fear. He waits patiently, a silent, strong support system. Then, with a final, shuddering cry, her body pushes forward. Mario can feel the subtle shift in her padding, the way it swells and grows heavier. Her face, which had been scrunched in fear, relaxes into a look of pure relief. "There you go," he says, his voice filled with pride. "That's my brave little Princess. You did it. You were so brave." He scoops her up, the messy diaper warm and heavy against his arm. She's limp in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. She's not crying, just breathing heavily, her body exhausted from the effort. "Let's get you all cleaned up," he says, carrying her to the changing table. "And then we can play some more." Mario's hands are a blur of gentle efficiency. The messy diaper is whisked away, replaced by the warm, soft scent of wipes and powder. A few moments later, she's snug, clean, and sealed into a fresh, dry diaper, the golden tiara on its front gleaming like new. He pulls a soft, fuzzy sleeper over her, the pink fabric zipping up to her chin, the crotch snaps popping easily over the thick padding. "There we go," he whispers, kissing her nose. "All cozy for my best girl." He carries her not to the rocking chair, but to the large, open space on the carpet. He lies down on his back, propping his head up on a pillow. "I have a secret," he says in a conspiratorial whisper. Peach's eyes, which had been drooping, snap open. "Sekwet?" she asks, her curiosity piqued. "Yup. Your big brother is a..." He pauses for dramatic effect, then brings his hands up and wiggles his fingers. "...a tickle monster!" Her eyes go wide with a mixture of fear and delight. "No!" she shrieks, a grin already spreading across her face. "No monster!" "Raaargh!" Mario growls playfully, lunging for her. She squeals and tries to scramble away on her hands and knees, the thick diaper between her legs making her crawl wobbly and slow. He catches her easily, flipping her onto her back and gently attacking her tummy. His fingers dance over her fuzzy sleeper, finding the spots that make her giggle the most. She thrashes on the carpet, her laughter bubbling up like a fountain, uncontrollable and pure. "Stop! Stop, buhbuh!" she gasps, her words lost in peals of laughter. "The tickle monster never stops!" he declares, moving to her ribs, then to her feet, which he frees from the sleeper's booties. Her tiny toes curl as he tickles the sensitive arches of her feet. "Bwubber, pwease!" she begs, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with tears of joy. "Tummy owie!" "Alright, alright," he relents, collapsing back onto the pillow beside her. "The monster is tired. All out of tickles." She lies there panting for a moment, a huge, happy smile on her face. Then she rolls over, propping her chin on her hands and looking at him. "Mawio silly," she says, her voice soft and fond. "Only for you, Peachie," he says, reaching out to smooth her messy blonde hair. "Only for my little sister." She snuggles close, resting her head on his chest. The soft sleeper rustles. "Wuv you, brubber." Mario's heart swells. He wraps an arm around her, holding her tight. "I love you too, little Princess. More than all the stars in the sky." They lie there for a long while, just breathing together, the stress of the day a distant, forgotten thing. Chapter 2: The afternoon sun slants through the nursery window, painting stripes of warm gold across the plush carpet. Peach is fast asleep in her crib, a small, pink lump under a light blanket. She’s been down for her nap for over an hour, her breathing soft and even. Around her hips, the diaper is warm and heavy, the tiny golden tiara on its front having faded to a deep pink some time ago. She’s lost in dreamless baby sleep, a world away from crowns and treaties. A sudden, violent crash shatters the peace. The stained glass window of the nursery explodes inwards, a rain of colorful shards and stone dust. A spiky shelled figure lands with a heavy thud on the carpet, his impact making the floorboards groan. Bowser straightens up, a triumphant grin on his face. "Peach!" he bellows, his voice a deafening roar in the serene room. "You're coming with me!" Peach startles awake with a terrified shriek. Her eyes fly open, wide and confused. The world is loud, scary, and full of broken glass. She doesn't see the King of the Koopas; she just sees a big, loud monster. "AAAAH!" she wails, pulling the blanket up over her head. "Mawio! Mawio, monster!" Bowser blinks, nonplussed. This isn't the usual defiant speech he gets. He stomps closer to the crib, his brow furrowed. The wailing continues from under the blanket. He reaches down, hooks a massive claw under the covers, and pulls them back. He finds the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, but not as he's ever seen her. She's in a fuzzy pink sleeper, her face red and tear streaked, her bottom lip trembling. "Hey! Why are you crying? And why are you dressed like that?" he grumbles, reaching into the crib. He doesn't waste any more time. He simply scoops her up, sleeper and all, tucking her unceremoniously under one arm like a football. The sudden movement and the pressure on her full bladder make her cry even harder. "No! No! Pwease! Wet! All wet!" she sobs, her babbling lost to him. "Yeah, yeah, ," Bowser says dismissively, not understanding. "C'mon, we're going on a little trip." He turns and leaps back out the window, his Clown Car hovering just outside. The ascent is bumpy and terrifying, jostling Peach in his grip. She cries all the way back to his castle. He finally lands in the throne room of his fortress, a cavernous space of dark stone and burning lava pools. He drops Peach onto the hard, cold floor, and she lands with a soft poof, the padding of her diaper cushioning her fall. She immediately tries to scramble away on all fours, her movements clumsy and babyish. Bowser puts his hands on his hips, glaring down at her. "Alright, what is your deal, Peach? You're not screaming orders at me. You're not trying to escape. You're just...crawling around and crying. Are you sick?" Peach stops her crawling and looks up at him, her big blue eyes full of tears. She pushes herself into a sitting position, her legs splayed wide by the bulky diaper. "Up," she says, her voice a small, pathetic whimper. "Hold me. Pwease?" Bowser stares at her, utterly bewildered. "Hold you? What for? You're my prisoner!" Her face crumples, and a fresh wave of tears begins. "Wan' buhbuh," she sobs, hugging her knees to her chest. "Wan' Mawio." "Buhbuh? Mawio? What are you talking about?" Bowser grumbles, pacing back and forth. The constant sobbing is starting to grate on his nerves. "Oh, for crying out loud, fine!" He leans down and awkwardly picks her up, holding her out at arm's length as if she's something unpleasant. "There. You're 'up'. Now stop that racket!" Being held, even awkwardly, is a comfort. Peach immediately clings to him, her small hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She buries her face in the rough scales of his chest. "Tank, Bowsy," she mumbles into him. "Bowsy?!" Bowser recoils slightly. "Nobody calls me Bowsy!" He tries to set her down, but she just clings tighter, her body trembling. He sighs, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. This is not how kidnappings are supposed to go. He sits down heavily on his stone throne, the exhausted captive still clinging to him like a barnacle. "Okay, fine. But if you try any funny business..." She doesn't, she just snuggles closer, her crying finally subsiding into quiet hiccups. After a few minutes of tense silence, she starts to wiggle. Her brow furrows, and she lets out a soft, uncomfortable whimper. She shifts her weight, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the sodden, cold diaper squishes against her skin. It's no longer a comforting warmth, just a miserable, clammy bulk. "Ugh," she whines, patting the front of her sleeper. "Owie. Owie diapy." Bowser looks down. "What now? Did I sit on you?" He pokes her gently in the belly. She shakes her head, pushing at her padded bottom. "Wet," she says, her voice clear and insistent. "Bowsy, change pwease?" "Change? Change what? Your clothes?" Bowser is completely lost, until it occurs to him what looks so off about her sleeper, the way it sags right around…and then, there’s a certain smell to her that he’s been trying to ignore/ Along with her strange, infantile behaviors, Peach is wearing a diaper, and demanding he change it. Bowser can see no universe where trying that turns out well for him. "You're fine. Just...sit still." The discomfort grows. She tries to pull at the zipper of her sleeper. "Owie!" she says again, her frustration mounting. "All wet! Change!" He sets her down on the floor with a thump. "Go...play or something. Just leave me alone," he growls, turning away from her. Peach, undeterred, sees the vast throne room as a new playground. She crawls over to a pile of gold coins Mario had left behind during a previous visit. She picks one up, her eyes wide with delight. "Shiny!" she squeals, putting it in her mouth. "No!" Bowser roars, spinning around. He rushes over and snatches the coin from her. "Don't eat the money! That's the kingdom's budget!" Peach just giggles at the sudden attention, her earlier discomfort momentarily forgotten. She starts crawling again, this time towards a long, red banner hanging from the wall. She stands up, holding onto the fabric, and begins to bounce on her feet. "Boing, boing, boing!" she chants. Bowser watches, completely flummoxed. This is... exhausting. He just sits on his throne, rubbing his temples, as the baby princess explores his evil domain, a place of doom and lava, as if it's a soft playroom. Her attention is eventually caught by a pair of Chain Chomps sleeping in a corner. "Doggies!" she squeals, toddling towards them. "No, no, those are not doggies!" Bowser bellows, leaping from his throne and grabbing her just before she can pat one on the head. "Those bite!" He carries her back to the center of the room, his patience completely gone. "Alright, that's it. You stay here." But her discomfort returns with a vengeance. The soggy diaper is making her miserable, and her bladder is demanding her attention. She squirms, her hands pressed firmly against her crotch. "Bowsy," she whines, tugging on his leg. "Pee pee coming. Need potty." He just stares down at her. "So go! I'm not stopping you. I don't know why you're acting like this, I don't know why you're wearing a diaper, but just use it, I don't care." Her face crumples in confusion. She doesn't understand. She knows she's supposed to go in her diaper, but it's already so wet and uncomfortable. She starts to dance from foot to foot, her desperation growing. "No! Too wet! Too full!" "I am not touching that!" Bowser declares, taking a step back. "You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out!" She can't hold it anymore. The pressure is too much. With a sob of pure misery, her body gives in. A sudden warmth spreads into the already saturated diaper, but it's too much. The padding, long past its capacity, can't hold another drop. A dark patch begins to spread across the front of her fuzzy pink sleeper. A small trickle escapes from a leg cuff, dripping onto the stone floor and forming a tiny puddle, as her overfull diaper leaks. Peach looks down at the dark wetness on her clothes and the puddle at her feet, her face a mask of horror and shame. She bursts into tears, loud and heartbroken. "Mess! I made mess! Bowsy, I'm sowwy!" she wails, her small body shaking with sobs. Bowser just stares. At the crying baby, at the puddle on the floor, at the ridiculous pink sleeper now soaked all the way through. He looks at the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. This is a nightmare. "Oh, for the love of..." he grumbles, but something in her desperate, apologetic sobbing gets to him. With a frustrated sigh that sounds like a volcano about to erupt, he stomps over to her. He picks her up, holding her at arm's length to avoid the wet spots. "Stop crying! I'll...I'll do something!" He looks around desperately, then grabs a nearby banner. He lays it out on the floor and places her on it. "Okay, stay there." He then rummages through a chest, finally pulling out a rough, dry towel. There's absolutely no way he's taking her clothes off, so he does the next best thing. He wraps the towel around her waist, over the top of her soaked sleeper, like a makeshift skirt. "There! Now you're...less leaky." Peach looks down at the towel, then up at him. The crying stops, replaced by a hiccup. She reaches out a small hand and pats his massive arm. "Bowsy funny," she sniffles, a tiny giggle escaping her. Bowser just groans. But the crying has stopped. And now, she's looking at him with wide, curious eyes. She points a tiny finger at the spikes on his shell. "Shiny pokies." He sighs, sitting down on the floor, defeated. "Yeah, those are my spikes. Don't touch them." Peach doesn't listen. She crawls over and gently pokes one of the spikes on his back. "Boop," she says. He flinches, but doesn't pull away. "Hey!" She giggles and boops another one. "Boop, boop, boop!" It's a new game. He's a giant, spiky, boopable mountain, and she's a tiny explorer. Bowser finds himself letting it happen. He lets the little princess crawl all over him, booping his spikes, tugging on his hair, and giggling when he growls. He's exhausted, utterly confused, but a tiny part of him is...enjoying it? It's certainly less stressful than fighting Mario. He's actually sitting still, and she's not screaming anymore. It's a win, of a very, very weird kind. They're in the middle of a very serious game of "Boop the Spike" when a familiar heroic cry echoes through the throne room. Mario, having seen the shattered nursery window, burst in with fists raised and a furious scowl. But he stops dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping. The scene before him is not one of a damsel in distress. It's Bowser, the Koopa King, sitting on the floor of his own throne room looking utterly exhausted. And Princess Peach, in a soaking wet sleeper with a towel tied around her waist, is perched on Bowser's back, gleefully booping him on the head while babbling, "Bowsy sleepy! Bowsy pokie mountain!" Bowser looks up, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Mario! Thank the stars. Please, just take her. I don't know what's wrong with her, she's leaking, she won't stop calling me Bowsy, and she tried to pet a Chain Chomp!" The sight of her boyfriend, her hero, her big brother, is like a switch being flipped deep inside Peach's mind. The baby fog, the comforting regression, evaporates in an instant, replaced by the chilling, crystal clear horror of adulthood. The booping stops. Her eyes go wide. She looks at her hands, then at her own outfit- the pink sleeper, the dark wet patch, the ridiculous towel skirt. She looks at Bowser, who she was just playing with. She looks at Mario, who is staring at her with a mixture of concern and utter bewilderment. And then the embarrassment hits. A tidal wave of it, so powerful and absolute it makes her want to melt into the floor and become one with the lava pools. "M-Mario..." she stammers, her adult voice returning, though it's shaky and thin. She scrambles off Bowser's back, her movements clumsy with the bulky diaper. She's standing before her rescuer in the most humiliating state imaginable, a literal puddle of her own making still drying on the floor of her kidnapper's castle. Mario's expression softens instantly. He sees the panic and shame in her eyes, and all the confusion about the scene melts away, replaced by a fierce, protective instinct. He strides across the room, not even glancing at Bowser. He shrugs off his coat and gently wraps it around her, hiding the soaked sleeper and makeshift towel. "It's okay, Peachie," he says, his voice low and gentle, for her ears only. "I'm here now. It's okay." She bursts into tears again, but these are not the tears of a frustrated baby. They are the hot, mortified tears of a grown woman whose most secret, most vulnerable coping mechanism has just been exposed to her mortal enemy. Mario scoops her into his arms, holding her tight. He glares over her head at Bowser. "Bowser. You've got some nerve." Bowser throws his hands up in surrender, looking utterly drained. "I didn't do anything! I just wanted to kidnap her like normal! She's the one who's all... like that!" Mario just shakes his head, adjusting his hold on the trembling princess. "I'm taking her home. And you...you stay out of it." "Fine by me!" Bowser bellows, slumping back onto his throne. "But she needs a change! And a nap! She's been a menace!" ~X~ Back in the safety of her nursery, the chaos of Bowser's invasion already cleaned up by the Toads, Mario gently sets her down on the changing table. He removes the sodden sleeper and the towel, tossing them into a laundry basket. He works in silence, cleaning her up with gentle, efficient hands. The diaper change is a return to normalcy, a familiar ritual that slowly begins to soothe her frayed nerves. "It's all over now, Peachie," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "The mean, spiky monster is gone. You're safe with me. You're safe with your big brother." He applies a generous layer of soothing cream to her skin, which is red and irritated from being in a wet diaper for so long. He knows how uncomfortable it must be, and he takes extra care, making sure she's completely clean and dry. He then sprinkles on some powder, the soft scent filling the air, and secures a fresh, clean diaper around her waist. The new padding is soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the clammy, overused one she had been wearing. "There," he says, snapping the crotch of a clean, dry sleeper. "All cozy again. My poor little Princess. What a rough day you've had." He lifts her into his arms, and she immediately burrows into him, her body still trembling slightly. He carries her to the rocking chair, sitting down and holding her close. He begins to rock, the gentle motion a familiar comfort. He can feel the tension in her body, the lingering shame and embarrassment that is too big for her adult mind to process, let alone her little one. He knows he needs to help her find her way back to the safety of little space, where the world is simple and her worries are small. "It's okay, sweet girl," he says, his voice a low, steady hum against her ear. "All that scary stuff is over. You're home now. You're with me." He starts to sing, a soft, simple lullaby about stars and moonbeams. The melody is a familiar one, a tune he's sung to her a hundred times. He feels her body begin to relax, the tension slowly draining away. She snuggles closer, her breathing evening out. "That's my Peachie," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. "My sweet, brave little Princess. You were so, so brave. Your big brother is so proud of you." He continues to rock and sing, the words and the motion weaving a spell of calm around her. The memories of the day- the fear, the confusion, the embarrassment- begin to fade, replaced by the warm, secure feeling of being held and loved. She can feel the soft padding of her clean diaper, the gentle rocking of the chair, the steady beat of Mario's heart against her ear. All the right pieces are falling into place. After a few more minutes, he feels her stir. She lifts her head, her eyes no longer wide with panic, but soft and sleepy. "Bwubber?" she murmurs, her voice a small, sleepy whisper. "I'm right here, Peachie," he says, smiling down at her. "Hungy," she says, her little tummy rumbling. "Okay, let's get you a snack," he says, standing up and carrying her to the play mat. Mario sits her down, her padded bottom crinkling softly as she lands. He goes to the small fridge in the corner and pulls out a bottle of milk that he warms for her. He comes back and sits down on the floor with her, leaning against the leg of the rocking chair. He cradles her in his arms, holding the bottle to her lips. She drinks greedily, her eyes half closed in contentment. The warm milk fills her tummy, a soothing warmth that spreads through her body. She finishes the bottle quickly, her little body relaxing completely. He sets the empty bottle aside and just holds her for a moment, letting the food settle. "All full?" he asks. She nods, a milky burp escaping her lips. He pats her back gently, and she burps again, a big, satisfying one. She giggles, her whole body wiggling with delight. "Good girl," he says, smiling. "Now, what should we play with?" He gestures to the toys scattered around the play mat. "Blocks? Or maybe your dolls?" Peach's eyes scan the room, her gaze landing on the pile of wooden blocks. "Bwocks," she says, her voice a happy little chirp. "Blocks it is," he says, setting her down on the play mat. She immediately crawls over to the blocks, her movements still a little clumsy but full of purpose. She starts to build a tower, her concentration absolute. Mario sits with her, handing her blocks when she needs them, and offering words of encouragement. As they play, her mind drifts back to the day's events. But the fear and shame are gone, replaced by a strange, fuzzy memory of the big, spiky monster. She remembers being scared, but she also remembers being held. She remembers the funny, frustrated look on his face, the way he let her boop his spikes, the way he wrapped a towel around her when she leaked. A small smile plays on her lips. "Peachie thinking hard over there," Mario says, noticing her faraway look. "What's on your mind, sweetie?" She looks up at him, her blue eyes wide and clear. "Bowsy," she says, her voice a little dreamy."Big Buhbuh Bowsy." Mario's brow furrows slightly. "Big Brother Bowser?" She nods, her face serious. "Funny Bowsy. Pokie mountain." A slow smile spreads across Mario's face. He understands. In her own simple, baby way, she'd processed the confusing events of the day and found a way to make them okay. She'd turned her kidnapper into a playmate, a big, spiky, grumpy brother. It's a testament to her incredible resilience, her ability to find light in the darkest of places. "Yeah," he says, his voice soft. "He's a big, funny Buhbuh, isn't he? With all his shiny pokies." She giggles, the sound like tiny bells. "Like Bowsy," she says, her voice firm. "Okay," he says, ruffling her hair. "If you like him, then I guess he can't be all bad." He's relieved, honestly. He was worried the experience would traumatize her, but instead, she's found a way to make it a funny, weird memory. It makes him love her even more. They continue to play, the afternoon sun slowly dipping towards the horizon. They build a magnificent tower, a wobbly creation of wood and imagination that reaches all the way to Peach's waist when she stands. She claps her hands with delight, her face shining with pride. "Tall! Bwubber, tall!" "It's the tallest tower in the whole Mushroom Kingdom," Mario declares, playing along. "All thanks to my little architect." She beams at him, her love for him shining in her eyes. They play until the last rays of sun fade from the window, and the room is bathed in the soft, golden light of the lamp on the nightstand. He can see her eyelids starting to droop, her movements becoming slower and more deliberate. She's getting tired. "Alright, little one," he says, scooping her up. "Time for bed." She doesn't protest. She just snuggles into him, her head resting on his shoulder. He carries her to the crib, laying her down gently. He pulls the blanket up to her chin, tucking her in. He leans down and kisses her forehead. "Goodnight, my sweet Peachie," he whispers. "Sleep tight." "Nigh, nigh, Bwubber," she murmurs, her eyes already closed. "Love Bowsy." He smiles, a wave of warmth washing over him. "I know you do, sweetie. I know you do." He stays for a moment, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling with each even breath. She's safe, she's happy, and she's home. Everything is right in the world again. He quietly leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the little Princess to dream of pokie mountains and big, funny Buhbuhs. - If you're interested in my writing updates, please join my discord server! https://discord.gg/xUrPXDH (18+ ONLY) I stream here, and the chat is locked when there isn't a stream going on, so for the most part, it's only posts that are updates from me Or, follow me on twitter @ZappGuatiche/bsky @ZappOBrien!

I am currently in the final stages of assembling mine. Adding a haptic micro motor for vibrations for the rewards and tens pads for the reminders and punishments. 

Gaming

Don't think so.