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Baby Talk
Let your baby side show.
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Started off sick, was just as hard/busy as I expected, and finally made it home. We'll see if I can recover enough to do anything this weekend. The middle of next week is crazy, but I get a bit of a breather at the end. Hopefully that will let me get back on task! Thanks for the cookies! (Scanner says they're clean... can never be too careful of poison nanners getting inside those things!) Thanks for only throwing small tantrums! Sofia hopes the wait won't be infinite here! It's been a hectic few weeks though. Thanks for checking on me 💜 -
By Videodrome5 · Posted
Probably all pull-ups, not diapers. -
By Videodrome5 · Posted
I'll bet any money that the only actors in diapers will be guys, not the lead female. This seems close to the plot of "Barbarian". -
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By Lilboydiaper · Posted
Chapter 23 : The sky deepened to violet as the last streaks of sunset slipped behind the palms. Lanterns glowed warmly along the terrace, and the air carried the mingled scents of cake, salt, and night-blooming flowers. Plates were mostly empty now, napkins crumpled, and laughter had softened into contented chatter. Ryder sat in his high chair, pleasantly full and very sticky, watching Skye, Zuma, and Rocky finish their treats. His eyelids felt heavier than before, the excitement of the day slowly draining into a warm, drowsy haze. Zuma stretched and yawned. “That was the best party ever,” she declared. “Definitely,” Skye agreed, smiling at Ryder. “Thanks for sharing your home with us.” Ryder’s chest warmed at the words. “I… I’m really glad you came,” he said, voice small but happy. Rocky gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “We’ll always come when you need us, buddy.” The reassurance settled deep inside him, steady and comforting. Soon the plates were cleared and the terrace quieted. Daddy lifted Ryder carefully from the high chair, cradling him against his chest. Ryder rested his messy cheek against Daddy’s shoulder without protest, too tired to feel embarrassed now. Papa wiped his hands and face with a warm cloth, gentle and unhurried. “All clean,” Papa murmured. Ryder gave a soft hum, eyes half-closed. The lantern light flickered across the sea beyond them, and the rhythmic hush of waves felt almost like breathing. “Want to say goodnight to your friends?” Daddy asked softly. Ryder stirred, reaching one arm out. Skye leaned in first, giving him a careful hug. “Night, Ryder. We love you.” “Night!” Zuma said, squeezing him gently. Rocky added, “Sleep good, okay? Tomorrow we can play more.” Ryder nodded sleepily. “Night… guys,” he murmured, already sinking back into Daddy’s shoulder. They watched as Skye, Zuma, and Rocky headed down the lantern-lit path toward the guest wing, their voices fading into the warm tropical night. Daddy carried Ryder inside the mansion, footsteps soft against marble floors. The vast house, so bright and overwhelming earlier, now felt hushed and protective. Papa walked beside them, one hand resting lightly on Ryder’s back. In the nursery, lamplight glowed golden over the soft rugs and gentle colors. The rocking chair waited near the window, curtains lifting in the night breeze. Daddy settled into it, Ryder curled against him, while Papa drew a light blanket over them both. For a moment, no one spoke. The chair creaked softly, back and forth, back and forth. Outside, the ocean breathed. Ryder’s fingers curled in Daddy’s shirt. “Daddy?” he whispered. “I’m here, kiddo,” Daddy answered, voice low and warm. Ryder hesitated, then murmured, “Today… was really good.” Daddy kissed his hair. “I’m so glad.” A small pause. Then, almost shyly: “I think… I like it here now.” Papa’s hand came to rest over Ryder’s back, steady and proud. “We hoped you would,” he said softly. “This is your home, sweetheart.” The word home settled around Ryder like the blanket—soft, safe, undeniable. He breathed in slowly, listening to the familiar rhythm of Daddy’s heartbeat beneath his ear, Papa’s hand warm on his back, the ocean whispering beyond the window. The fear that had filled him on arrival felt distant now, replaced by fullness and belonging. “Love you,” Ryder mumbled, voice slipping toward sleep. “Love you too,” Daddy and Papa answered together. The rocking slowed. Ryder’s breathing deepened. Lantern light flickered across the nursery walls, and the island night held them gently—family at last, the long day closing in quiet peace. Chapter 24 : It was 2:04 a.m., and Ryder was sick—really sick. He sat up in his crib crying and coughing, loud sobs filling the nursery. Hearing their baby cry, Daddy and Papa rushed in to see what was wrong. Daddy wore only boxer briefs, while Papa had on soft pajamas and cozy house slippers. “Ohhh, there there, baby,” Papa murmured, reaching in. “What’s the matter? Is it your head? Your tummy? Talk to us, sweetheart.” Ryder only whimpered and coughed harder, spitting up as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. He reached for them helplessly, crying for Daddy and Papa—for comfort, for relief, for the promise that everything would be okay again. Daddy lifted him gently from the crib. Almost immediately he noticed Ryder was soaked and on the verge of leaking—and messy too. Daddy shot Papa a brief, questioning look, but Papa shook his head quickly, already focused on soothing the trembling boy. “Ohhh, munchkin,” Papa cooed, stroking Ryder’s hair. “It’s all right. We’ll get you changed in no time. A fresh diaper, a cozy onesie… and perhaps I can sweet-talk Daddy into letting you snuggle in our bed. That would be fun, hmm?” Ryder gave a weak nod and clutched the nearby stuffed animal lying in the crib—a small dog plush. The stuffed dog had been waiting for him on the pillow from the very beginning, though Ryder hadn’t truly noticed it until the quiet after the party. Now, in the soft lamplight of the nursery, it seemed almost alive with gentle presence. It was medium-sized, just big enough to hold against his chest, its fur a warm golden brown that caught the light like sunlit sand. The fabric was velvety and intentionally worn in places, as though it had already known years of hugs. Its ears were long and floppy, lined with cream plush that felt cool and silky against skin. One ear tipped forward slightly, giving it a permanently attentive expression. Its face was simple and kind: round black eyes reflecting lamplight in tiny points, a stitched nose the color of cocoa, and a faint embroidered smile. Around its neck sat a soft blue ribbon, carefully tied, with a tiny embroidered pawprint near the knot. When Ryder pressed it close, it carried a faint scent of clean cotton and lavender—comforting, warm, safe. Daddy had placed it gently into Ryder’s arms earlier, almost without ceremony. “This is yours,” he’d said softly. “He’s here whenever you need him.” Ryder had explored it tentatively then—tracing the ear, the ribbon, the stitched smile. Something about it had felt immediately familiar, not in memory but in need. Now, sick and shivering, Ryder held the stuffed dog tightly against his chest while his pacifier rested between his lips. The two comforts balanced each other: the steady, soothing rhythm of sucking and the quiet solidity of something soft to cling to. He pressed his cheek into the plush fur, and even through feverish discomfort, some of the fear softened. The toy didn’t talk, didn’t change, didn’t leave. It simply existed—warm, patient, always there. Ryder’s fingers curled into the ribbon at its neck, gripping lightly the way he sometimes held Daddy’s shirt or Papa’s hand. His pacifier bobbed gently with each shaky breath. Between the two objects, he felt anchored—one giving rhythm, the other presence. Together they formed a small constellation of comfort: the pacifier—steady, familiar, grounding; the plush dog—constant, holding, safe. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” Daddy said softly. They moved quickly but gently. In the bathroom, warm light glowed over the marble and tile as Papa filled the small soaking tub with lukewarm water—just enough to rinse without chilling him. Steam curled faintly in the air. Daddy kept Ryder pressed against his shoulder while Papa wiped him clean, murmuring soothing nonsense words. The plush dog sat carefully on a folded towel nearby, within Ryder’s sight. Even in distress, his hand reached toward it. “It’s right there,” Papa reassured, touching the toy briefly so Ryder could see. Daddy eased Ryder into the shallow bath. The water lapped softly around his legs and tummy, washing away the mess. Ryder whimpered at first, then sagged against Daddy’s chest, exhausted. Papa used a warm cloth to gently rinse his back and hairline, movements slow and careful so nothing startled him. “All done… almost done,” Papa murmured. Within moments it was over. Daddy lifted him out, wrapping him in a thick towel that smelled faintly of soap and home. Ryder clung to him weakly while Papa retrieved the plush dog and pressed it back into Ryder’s arms. “There we are,” Papa whispered. “Everything better.” Ryder buried his face into the soft fur, pacifier bobbing, body finally relaxing now that he was clean, held, and safe again between Daddy, Papa, and the constant comfort of his little dog. By the time Ryder was diapered and dressed in a fresh, soft onesie, his eyelids were already drooping. Illness had drained him completely; every cough seemed to steal what little strength he had left. Daddy carried him down the dim hallway, one arm secure beneath him, the other steadying the plush dog Ryder refused to release. Papa walked beside them, rubbing small circles on Ryder’s back. Their bedroom felt different from the nursery—larger, darker, but deeply calm. Moonlight filtered through gauzy curtains, silvering the wide bed and polished wood floors. The distant hush of the ocean reached even here, steady and slow. Papa slipped back the covers while Daddy climbed in first, settling against the pillows. Then Ryder was placed carefully between them, still wrapped loosely in his towel for warmth. “There we go,” Daddy whispered. “Right here with us.” Ryder whimpered once, disoriented by the new space, but Papa’s arm came around him instantly, hand resting over his back. The familiar weight, the heat of both bodies on either side, steadied him. “You’re safe, sweetheart,” Papa murmured. “Daddy and Papa have you.” Ryder clutched the stuffed dog tighter and turned inward, pressing into Daddy’s chest. His pacifier slipped between his lips again, the quiet suckling rhythm returning like instinct. Daddy brushed damp hair from Ryder’s forehead. “Poor little guy,” he whispered. “Feeling yucky, huh?” Ryder gave the faintest nod, nose tucked into plush fur and cotton shirt. “Shhh,” Daddy soothed, rocking him slightly even while lying down. “We’ve got you. You can sleep right here.” Papa leaned close and kissed Ryder’s temple. “No worries tonight. Just rest.” The bed shifted softly as they adjusted around him—Papa’s arm curved along his back, Daddy’s hand resting over his hip. Ryder lay cocooned between them, plush dog wedged beneath his chin, pacifier moving in slow, sleepy pulls. The feverish tightness in his chest eased under the steady pressure of being held. Every time a small cough shook him, Daddy’s hand rubbed his back; every time he stirred, Papa murmured reassurance without fully waking. The plush dog remained tucked between his arms and chest, its ribbon caught lightly in his fingers. Even in sleep, he held it close, as if it were part of the embrace itself. Gradually, his breathing lengthened. In the quiet, Daddy whispered, “He’s settling.” Papa nodded against Ryder’s hair. “Poor baby had a long day.” They lay there without moving, careful not to disturb him. Outside, waves whispered along the shore. Inside, three bodies shared warmth and rhythm, the child held securely between the two people who loved him most. Ryder drifted deeper, comfort layered upon comfort: Daddy’s heartbeat under his ear, Papa’s hand warm on his back, the plush dog soft against his cheek, the pacifier steady in his mouth. Sick, exhausted, and finally soothed, he slept—safe in the center of his family, held through the night.
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