parkintochter

That reminds me, I still need to read a few dozens of chapters

Lovely story

Just open a topic in the story and art forum This is where are almost stories

You could copy paste it in the correct thread and delete it here or ask a moderator.

Why do you post this in completed stories?

There are a few things I do, when I can't sleep. There are breathing techniques, one is inhale for 4 seconds, keep the breath in for 7 seconds and then exhale for 8 seconds. Doing this for a while can help you relax more. Another technique is meditating, you inhale exhale slow and deep and imagine you are walking in an area you know, try to picture it in your head and think about the environment/how it looks. What also sometimes help me is just sleep somewhere else when you can't sleep like a couch or something.

She isn't really an abdl. She shows how to get along with her handicaps. Calling her an abdl doesn't do her right

I guess you can still find it on Google cache

I haven't read the story and I don't know how the shower scene is described, but there might be the problem. But I agree, why would you just delete the whole story and not just the scene or chapter? That's pretty harsh censorship

I decided to finish the story with part 100, so I can focus on a new one. I didn't want to wear it out too much. So her is the last part of this one Part 86: The quiet routine of the morning lulled me into a sense of normalcy. I’d woken in my usual zip-up sleeper—thickly padded underneath—eaten breakfast (once again kept locked in that soft fleece until the meal was over), then Violet had helped me change into a simple pull-up and comfortable shorts. Despite the mild embarrassment lingering from the forced wetting earlier, the day had started peacefully enough. Late in the morning, Violet slipped into the living room while I was tidying a bookshelf. She wore a knowing smile, hands clasped behind her back. I paused, curious. “Clara’s coming by in a bit,” she announced casually. “I need to head out for a meeting, so she’ll keep an eye on you while I’m gone.” Her eyes held a teasing glint—she knew this would make me blush. She leaned in, tapping my nose affectionately. “Remember how she offered to ‘babysit’? Well, we’re giving it a trial run.” My heart fluttered. A swirl of excitement, nerves, and humiliation mingled in my stomach. I recalled how Clara had teased me the last time we’d met—cooing over my pull-ups, giggling about accidents. Still, she’d been sweet. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. “When… when does she get here?” I asked softly. “In about twenty minutes,” Violet replied. “I’ve already briefed her on a few things.” She left it at that, turning back toward her office to gather papers for her meeting. I finished tidying the shelf mechanically, unable to focus on anything but the impending babysitting session. Sure enough, not long after, the doorbell rang. Violet reappeared, ushering me toward the foyer. There stood Clara, dressed casually in jeans and a pastel sweater, holding a small tote bag slung over one shoulder. She beamed when she saw me. “Hey, there,” she said, her tone playful and warm. “Ready for a fun day?” Heat crept into my cheeks. “H-hello,” I managed. Violet exchanged a quick set of instructions with Clara—quietly, so I only caught snippets of their conversation—and then she slipped out, promising to be back sometime in the late afternoon. The front door shut with a resounding click, leaving me alone with Clara in the silent hallway. She turned, giving me a gentle, almost mischievous look. “So,” she said, easing her tote bag to the floor, “what shall we do while your… caretaker is away?” I swallowed. “Um… we could watch TV or… hang out?” Clara chuckled, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “That sounds perfect. Don’t worry—I’m not here to boss you around too harshly,” she teased. “But I am in charge, so you’d better listen.” Her smile softened any bite in her words, but a quiet thrill of embarrassment ran down my spine regardless. Part 87: We settled in the living room, the midday sun streaming through the windows. Clara set her tote bag on the coffee table, then sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to her in an inviting gesture. I perched beside her, trying to relax. “How are you?” she asked, voice kind. “I haven’t really talked to you alone since that day at the restaurant.” I fiddled with a loose thread on my shorts, recalling how I’d broken down in tears during that lunch. “I’m better,” I said honestly. “Things have been calmer.” She nodded, glancing around the tidy living room. “That’s good. I’m glad. You looked pretty shaken back then, but I hope you know I’m not here to judge. I think… well, it’s different, but I like seeing you cared for.” My cheeks warmed. It was still surreal to have her speak so casually about this babyish arrangement. Yet, there was no denying her sincerity. “Thanks,” I murmured, forcing a small smile. Clara leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “So, how about we do something fun?” She gestured to the TV stand, where a few gaming consoles sat. “I remember you mentioning you like playing Mario Kart. Wanna have a few races?” A spark of excitement lit in my chest. I hadn’t played in a while. “Sure,” I said, feeling unexpectedly eager. “That could be fun.” She handed me one controller, taking the other for herself. Within minutes, the bright, playful music of Mario Kart filled the room, and we set up a simple Grand Prix. The atmosphere felt easy, no tension or complicated demands—just two people about to enjoy a game. What I didn’t realize was that Clara had a mischievous plan brewing behind that friendly smile. Part 88: The first race started, the cartoonish tracks and colorful karts zipping across the screen. I quickly got absorbed in selecting characters, focusing on drifting around corners and launching items at Clara’s racer. She, in turn, gave a running commentary—playfully trash-talking my attempts to overtake her. “Oh, nice try!” she laughed at one point, dodging a shell I threw. “But you’re dealing with a Mario Kart pro here, you know.” I smirked. “We’ll see about that,” I shot back, trying to gather my gamer confidence. But truth be told, she was good—really good. She took corners with ease, timed her boosts perfectly, and left me trailing more often than not. By the time we’d done a couple of races, I was losing pretty decisively, though having a blast. Yet, about halfway through the second cup, I felt a twinge in my bladder. Should’ve asked Clara if I could use the toilet earlier, I thought. But the game was in full swing, and I was determined not to back out just yet. When the race ended, I set my controller on my knee, clearing my throat. “Hey, Clara?” I ventured. She arched an eyebrow, glancing at me with a smile. “Yes?” I felt my face grow warm. “Um… I kinda need to use the bathroom. Is that all right?” To my surprise, she just grinned wider, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Hmm,” she mused, leaning back on the couch. “I could let you… but where’s the fun in that?” Before I could object, she tapped the screen, selecting the next track. “Let’s make this interesting. If you can beat me in the next cup, you can go. If not… well, you’ll have to hold it—or not.” My stomach flipped at the implication. “But… that’s not— you’re really going to make me race for it?” I sputtered. She giggled. “Why not? Seems like a good challenge.” She leaned in, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Besides, I’d love to see if you can keep from wetting your pull-up when you lose.” A jolt of embarrassment shot through me, but I also felt an odd spark of competitive adrenaline. “Fine,” I muttered, trying not to show how nervous I was. “You’re on.” Part 89: As the new set of races started, my mind was in turmoil. The urge to pee was growing, but I tried to push it aside, focusing on the screen. Clara was in top form, glancing sideways at me with a playful smirk every time she took a lead. “You’d better speed up,” she teased, nimbly hopping a chasm. “That bladder of yours might not last much longer.” I clenched my jaw, ignoring the flush spreading across my cheeks. My hands tightened on the controller. “I can do this,” I whispered under my breath, zooming around a tight curve. Just got to get first place in enough races to beat her total. But Clara was ruthless. She tossed red shells with uncanny precision, dropping banana peels in my path at the worst moments. Whenever I tried to pass her, she’d swerve or unleash an item that sent my kart spinning. All the while, she teased me mercilessly—lighthearted jabs, but oh-so-effective in rattling my focus. “Ooh, you almost had me there!” she cooed, drifting around me again. “Just imagine how nice it’d feel to go potty if you win.” My face was on fire. “You’re— you’re playing dirty,” I accused between races, my leg jiggling in an attempt to manage the growing pressure in my bladder. She shrugged theatrically, a grin plastered on her face. “I’m just better, that’s all. And I can’t wait to see what happens if you lose.” Her gaze dipped to my waist pointedly. My breath caught, but I refused to give up. Part 90: Despite my best efforts, despite grabbing a few first-place finishes on certain tracks, Clara still won the majority of the races. By the final course, I was trailing her overall points by a margin that was nearly impossible to close. I tried not to panic, but each passing lap reminded me of my desperation. Clara hammered the last race with confidence, finishing well ahead of me. By the time I crossed the finish line, she’d already set down her controller, turning to me with an expectant look. “Second place overall,” she teased. “Nice try, baby.” I grimaced, heart pounding. “So… that means… I can’t go?” She tapped her chin with feigned thoughtfulness, then shook her head. “Nope. I won, so I say you have to hold it.” A stab of frustration and humiliation hit me. “But— but I really need to—” She clucked her tongue, wagging a finger. “Should’ve played better, huh?” Then her expression softened just a bit. “Look, you can keep trying, or you can let go in your pull-up. It’s your call.” My cheeks flamed. She actually wants me to wet myself, I realized with equal parts shock and a strange, flustered excitement. The pressure in my bladder was borderline painful, but the idea of losing control in front of her was so embarrassing. I exhaled shakily, crossing my legs. “C-can we do another race?” I asked, voice quivering. “Please?” Her eyes danced with amusement. “All right,” she allowed. “But I’ll keep messing with you until you really can’t hold it. So let’s see if you can squeak out a win, hmm?” Part 91: We started another race, this time just a single track set to frantic mode. My bladder felt like it was on fire—I could barely concentrate on the screen. Clara, ever the shark, zipped around corners while hurling shells at me. She even leaned over now and then, whispering in a singsong tone. “Doesn’t that pull-up feel snug? Bet it’d be so warm and squishy if you just gave in.” I bit my lip hard, my kart spinning out after a red shell connected. My eyes watered from the intensity, and not just from the game. My focus shattered. Another minute or two of racing, and I felt the unstoppable wave approach. I clenched my thighs, letting out a small whimper of frustration. Clara glanced sidelong. “Oh? Is it happening?” She slowed her kart momentarily, giving me a smirk. I didn’t answer—I couldn’t. The tension in my body gave one last spasm, and I felt the warmth rush into my pull-up, flooding it. My face burned bright red, a mix of relief and mortification washing over me. She noticed instantly. The corners of her mouth twitched in triumph. “Aww,” she cooed, letting her kart crash as she turned to face me fully. “Did you just wet yourself, baby?” My vision blurred with embarrassment as I let out a shaky breath. “Y-yes,” I whispered, voice barely audible. Clara let out a delighted laugh—not cruel, but utterly amused. “That is so adorable. I knew I’d win eventually.” She paused, her expression shifting to one of genuine care. “You okay? I didn’t push too far?” Despite my burning cheeks, a strange sense of acceptance flooded me. “I… I’m okay,” I managed, blinking rapidly. The soaked pull-up clung to me, still warm. She gave me a moment, then set her controller aside. “Let’s get you changed,” she said, surprisingly gentle. “We don’t want you staying in that too long.” Part 92: Clara rose, offering a hand to help me up. I could barely meet her eyes, the pull-up heavy between my legs. She guided me down the hallway toward the bathroom—my steps hesitant. Upon reaching it, she paused, glancing at the doorknob. “Should I handle it in here?” she asked softly, searching my face. “Or do you want me to just wait outside?” Heat prickled my neck. She was asking if I was okay with her seeing me in that state. After the teasing and Mario Kart fiasco, it felt somewhat inevitable. Hesitantly, I mumbled, “I guess… it’s fine if you help.” She gave an understanding nod, pushing the door open. Inside, she calmly flipped on the light. The mirror reflected my flushed face, my short stature dwarfed by her presence. Clara gently shut the door behind us, then turned to me, lips curving in a reassuring smile. “All right, stand still,” she murmured, reaching for the waistband of my shorts. She tugged them down carefully, exposing the soggy pull-up. Her eyes flicked over it—there was no hiding how thoroughly I’d used it. “That’s pretty soaked,” she teased lightly, though her touch was gentle as she peeled the sides apart. My face burned, but I couldn’t deny a shy gratitude at her calm approach. She rolled the used pull-up, tossing it in the small trash bin, then grabbed a handful of wipes from a basket on the counter. Softly, she cleaned my skin, her expression somewhere between amused and nurturing. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said in a soft voice, glancing up at me now and then. “I did make you hold it.” I managed a shaky laugh, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “True,” I admitted. With the final wipe, she patted me dry. Then, rummaging in her tote bag—apparently prepared—she pulled out a fresh pull-up, guiding it up my legs. The moment the waistband snapped into place, I felt both comforted and humiliated, the memory of losing that Mario Kart bet still fresh. “Better?” she asked, smoothing the sides. I nodded, swallowing down the last of my embarrassment. “Yes. Thank you.” She leaned in, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re welcome, cutie. Now we can keep gaming without any… distractions.” Part 93: After that chaotic and humiliating moment, Clara guided me back to the living room. The adrenaline from the match had worn off, leaving me feeling oddly mellow. She offered me a glass of water and then flopped onto the couch, patting the cushion next to her. “Come sit,” she said softly. “We can watch something or just chill. No more forced challenges—promise,” she added with a playful wink. Relieved, I sank into the couch beside her, carefully sipping water. My mind replayed the spectacle of the past hour, how she’d teased and bested me in Mario Kart until I wet myself. Despite the flush of humiliation, part of me felt a lightness—like we’d just shared a bizarre but oddly bonding experience. Clara turned on the TV, flipping through channels until she found a silly sitcom. For a while, we just let the canned laughter fill the room, a comfortable lull settling over us. Occasionally, she gave me a kind look or a cheeky grin, but didn’t push further. Before long, the front door clicked open, and Violet’s voice drifted from the foyer. “I’m back!” Clara and I exchanged glances. She shot me an encouraging smile, then rose to greet Violet. I followed, feeling that familiar swirl of nerves. Violet eyed us both, brow lifting in curiosity. “Have a good time?” she asked, setting down her purse. Clara leaned against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms with a casual air. “We did,” she said lightly. “Had a little gaming session— I think I bested him.” Violet gave me a knowing look, catching the faint flush in my cheeks. “I’m sure you did,” she murmured, amused. Then she turned to Clara with a nod. “Thank you for taking care of him.” Clara smiled. “My pleasure. He was pretty well-behaved, actually,” she teased, her gaze flicking to me. “No major issues… aside from me beating him in every race.” Violet laughed softly, and I ducked my head. “Well, I appreciate it,” Violet said. “Maybe we’ll do this again sometime.” Clara’s eyes brightened. “I’d like that,” she answered warmly. She paused, then gave me a final pat on the shoulder. “See you soon, kiddo.” With that, she gathered her tote bag and headed out, leaving me and Violet in the hush of the living room. I exhaled, still reeling from the day’s unexpected twists. Violet glanced at me, arching an eyebrow. “Kiddo, huh?” I shrugged, cheeks glowing. “It’s… her thing,” I mumbled, half-smiling. She just shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Seems you two had fun,” she observed. “No meltdown?” “No meltdown,” I confirmed, heart fluttering at the memory of losing that humiliating bet. “It was… okay.” Violet’s expression softened, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Good,” she said. “Sounds like Clara is quite the babysitter.” I mustered a small laugh, leaning into her touch. Yes, I thought, recalling the flush of that final race. She definitely is. Part 94: In the days following Clara’s “babysitting” visit, life in Violet’s house settled into a peculiar but comfortable rhythm. Mornings continued in a manner I’d grown to expect—waking in my footed sleeper, thickly padded, and being required to wait through breakfast before a change. It was still embarrassing, but I’d become surprisingly adept at managing the routine, especially on quieter days when Violet didn’t push me too hard. Yet gradually, a shift began to take place. It started with small gestures: Violet letting me choose what T-shirt to wear on a random afternoon, or allowing me to help myself to a snack in the kitchen without explicit permission. She no longer insisted on dressing me every time, especially if she was busy with work. The fact that I had once been locked out of bathrooms now felt like a distant memory—she’d occasionally trust me to use it alone if she was in the middle of a call or stepping out for a quick errand. Our relationship, once defined by her strict caretaker role and my near-total dependency, began to soften around the edges. The day she casually handed me my clothes and said, “Here, put these on if you like,” I nearly dropped them in surprise. Her smirk told me she found my startled expression amusing. Slowly, but surely, we were easing into a looser, more flexible arrangement. One afternoon, while folding laundry (a chore that became second nature to me), Violet wandered over, her phone tucked under one arm. She looked thoughtful, almost pensive. “William,” she said quietly, setting her phone down. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we discuss how you feel about everything—these rules, the diapers, the caretaker dynamic. We never really sat down to talk about it, did we?” My stomach fluttered nervously, but I nodded. “No, not really. You just… set them.” She exhaled, as though steeling herself. “Exactly. You’ve been compliant, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page going forward.” I swallowed, folding a towel slowly. “You mean… do I want to stop? Or… keep going?” “Something like that.” Her gaze met mine, searching. “I need to know if you’re happy. Or if we should change things to suit us both better.” Part 95: We retreated to the living room, taking seats on the couch. The midday light shone through the curtains, illuminating the dust motes in the air. Violet leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her usual imposing aura tempered by genuine concern. “I do enjoy caring for you,” she began softly. “It’s… fulfilling, in its own way. But it was never my intention to push you into something that only made you embarrassed or uncomfortable.” I fiddled with my hands, recalling the many humiliating moments—wetting on command, wearing childish outfits, locked bathroom doors. And yet, there had also been warmth, security, and a strange sense of belonging. “It’s complicated,” I confessed. “I don’t hate it. Sometimes, the strictness and babying… I actually like it.” My cheeks colored as I admitted it aloud. Violet’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “Yes, I’ve noticed. But I also see the strain it sometimes causes.” I nodded. “Yeah. I guess… it’s been a lot, especially early on. The forced accidents, the constant monitoring… it wore me down.” I offered a small, hesitant smile. “But over time, I’ve appreciated how safe it feels, being looked after. I just… want some balance, you know? I want to feel like I can be an adult, too.” She reached over, taking my hand. “Then let’s find that balance,” she said. “We can keep certain aspects—like me helping you with outfits now and then, or having you wear protection when we’re out if it makes you feel cared for—but let go of the more extreme rules, like morning forced wettings or locked clothing. Would that help?” My heart skipped. “You’d really do that?” She nodded, squeezing my fingers. “Yes. I value us, not just the scenario I’ve created. If you want to tone it down, we will.” Her eyes flickered with relief, as if she’d been waiting for me to say the word. “But if a part of you still likes some caretaker elements, I’m happy to keep them in a gentler way.” “Gentler way,” I repeated, a soft laugh escaping. “I’d… like that.” Part 96: The days that followed saw a noticeable softening of Violet’s rules. I still had occasional morning diaper changes, but the forced wettings during breakfast gradually faded out. Instead, she’d often unzip me first thing, teasingly offering to “let me be a big boy” or to “stay padded a while”—giving me a choice. Sometimes I even kept the sleeper if I felt like it, though the humiliating requirement was no longer enforced. Bathroom privileges loosened significantly. Though she still liked me to ask if she was around—“It’s polite, baby,” she’d say with a playful wink—she didn’t get upset if I excused myself quietly. I no longer felt the dread of being told “no” every time. Outfits, too, became a middle ground. She let me dress in normal shorts and T-shirts most days, reserving childish garments for when we were home alone and feeling playful. The booster seat in the car remained, partly because she insisted it was “cute and safer,” but if I pushed back or we were going somewhere more public, she sometimes let me ride up front. Little by little, the rigid, controlling aura around her stance softened into something more akin to affectionate teasing. Our relationship felt… healthier. More balanced. I noticed that the sense of closeness we’d developed hadn’t vanished with the lighter rules. If anything, we talked more, confided in each other about daily stresses, hopes, and plans. She asked about my interests, encouraging me to sign up for an online class in a subject I liked—graphic design. She still took pride in “taking care” of me, but it was less about controlling every aspect of my life and more about supporting me. Even Clara’s occasional visits took on a different tone. She’d drop by, grin at me, and ask if I wanted a rematch in Mario Kart—“No weird bets this time,” she’d joke. I’d roll my eyes, but we’d end up racing anyway, the atmosphere lighter. She even babysat a couple more times, though that basically meant just hanging out while Violet ran errands, perhaps making sure I didn’t slack on chores. The humiliating accidents and forced competition disappeared. Once or twice, if I was in a playful mood, I’d let her help me into a pull-up, but more often than not, we just hung out like friends. Part 97: With each passing week, I found a new sense of autonomy within the house. Violet encouraged me to apply for a local part-time job, or to at least build my skill set so I could freelance if I wanted. I still wasn’t certain what I wanted career-wise, but the fact she no longer insisted I stay home all the time felt liberating. Occasionally, I’d reflect on how drastically things had changed since I first stepped off that plane. Back then, the shock of being diapered against my will, locked into childish clothes, and forced to wet myself at her command seemed all-consuming. Now, we’d developed a dynamic that, while still peppered with caretaker elements, gave me room to breathe. I still wore pull-ups at night more often than not—partly because she insisted it made her feel “at ease” in case I dozed off and couldn’t make it. But if I woke with an urge, she no longer required me to wait for her. In the mornings, sometimes I’d choose a playful footed sleeper, allowing her to help me zip up, enjoying that sense of closeness. Other times, I opted for normal pajamas. She teased me gently but never forced the issue. The gentle caretaker role remained in small ways: she liked brushing my hair after a shower, or picking out a favorite T-shirt for me. But the controlling edge was gone. She no longer kept me from the bathroom or locked my clothes. We found a new normal—cozy, affectionate, slightly babyish in private, but respectful of my budding independence. Part 98: One evening, about six months after everything had started, we found ourselves curled up on the living-room couch, a soft blanket over our laps. The TV played some random show, but we paid it little attention. Instead, we were talking—light, easy conversation drifting from topic to topic. I commented on how different things felt from the early days. Violet sighed softly, her hand resting on my thigh. “I know. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you at first,” she said, voice tinged with sincerity. “I guess I got carried away with the idea of caring for you completely, not realizing how intense it could be.” I pressed my hand atop hers. “It’s okay,” I replied. “I mean, it was a lot, but I wouldn’t trade the closeness we’ve built. And… I do still like some of it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Me too,” she whispered. “I love tucking you in, helping you pick clothes, teasing you sometimes. But I don’t want to stifle you.” She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “You know, if you want to go to school, or get a job, or see friends, you can. I’d never stop you.” My chest warmed with gratitude. “I want that too,” I said, “but… I also like how we are at home sometimes. Just, less controlling, more… sweet.” She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Deal.” We settled deeper under the blanket, letting the background TV sounds lull us. The hush of the house felt safe, comforting, and for once, I wasn’t worried about wearing a diaper or my next bathroom break. I was simply content. Part 99: As time rolled on, our dynamic solidified into a blend of affectionate caretaking and ordinary partnership. I took an online class in graphic design, spending a few hours each day practicing new techniques. Occasionally, I’d wear a pull-up in the day if we both felt playful, or if I wanted that extra sense of being “cared for,” but it was no longer mandatory. Violet would still sometimes insist on “helping” me with personal tasks—like brushing my hair at night or guiding me to bed in a soft sleeper—but the difference was that I chose to accept it. If I politely said, “I’d like to do it myself,” she relented without fuss. Clara remained a close friend to us both—popping by on weekends for coffee, or inviting us out. She never forgot the earlier babysitting escapades, occasionally cracking jokes about Mario Kart or “don’t wet your pants, William!” if I looked particularly anxious. But her tone was always lighthearted, no longer pushing me toward actual accidents. If anything, we’d become real friends, sharing gaming tips and laughing at each other’s trash talk. We even visited my parents a few months later, explaining that Violet and I were living together. The babyish aspect, of course, stayed hidden from them, but they saw how supportive and caring Violet was. They commented on how well I seemed to be doing, how mature the relationship looked. I smiled privately at the irony: it was mature in many ways—communication, trust, and respect—despite our earlier, more unusual dynamic. Eventually, talk of the future arose. Would I move out eventually, get my own place? We both concluded that, at least for the near future, living together was what we wanted. Violet liked having me around, and I enjoyed the closeness we shared. We recognized we were forging a relationship that balanced adult independence with a playful caretaker vibe—less intense, more consensual and comforting. One night, as I settled into bed (wearing a simple pair of boxer briefs instead of a diaper for the first time in ages), Violet slipped in beside me, draping an arm across my torso. “Thank you,” she whispered against my ear, her breath warm. “For trusting me. For letting me care for you, and for reminding me to be gentle when it was too much.” My throat tightened with emotion. I turned onto my side, facing her in the faint glow of the nightlight. “Thank you,” I whispered back. “For easing up when I needed it… for still loving me even when it got weird.” Her soft laugh resonated against my chest. “Love doesn’t stop being love,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “We adapt, we compromise, we grow. And we’re still growing.” I shut my eyes, letting that sink in. In that moment, I saw our future not as a rigid caretaker-little dynamic, but as a fluid relationship where we supported each other, teased each other, and occasionally indulged in those babyish habits—only when we both wanted. The rules had softened, but our bond had deepened. A new normal, indeed. I drifted off, my last conscious thought a wave of gentle happiness. We’ve come a long way, I mused. And in the hush of that cozy bedroom, I couldn’t wait to see where our evolving partnership would lead next. Part 100: Epilogue Six months later, our life had settled into a comfortable routine that no longer revolved around strict babying rules. I had my own part-time gig doing freelance design, a small desk set up in the study. Violet continued working her job mostly from home, but occasionally commuting to the office. Some days, we’d wake up, share breakfast like any normal couple— no forced accidents, no locked pajamas. Other days, if the mood struck, I might lounge in a childish onesie, or she might feed me bites of food for fun. We laughed more, teased each other lightly, but always with the awareness that we controlled the dynamic, not the other way around. Clara became a regular friend, dropping in for game nights or coffee hangouts. She teased me about my improved Mario Kart skills— “At least now you don’t have to race for bathroom privileges,” she’d quip, sparking easy laughter. And so, the relationship that began with intense, domineering rules evolved into a balanced, loving partnership. We found a middle ground, a gentle caretaker vibe woven into everyday life, but never overshadowing my autonomy. The “little boy” aspects existed when we both felt comfortable—less forced, more playful. I still liked feeling safe and coddled sometimes, but I also thrived on growing my independence: my design projects, my chores done on my own terms, my ability to slip out for a walk or a coffee run without elaborate permission. Late one afternoon, Violet and I curled up on the couch, sharing the day’s highlights. She teased me about getting a haircut, ruffling my hair. I teased her back about her love for matching outfits. We watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the living room in warm, orange light. In that comfortable quiet, I realized how deeply we’d come to trust and care for each other. We’d forged a path from extreme dominance to a calmer, more mutual devotion. The caretaker aspect remained, but only as a tender undercurrent, something we both enjoyed together. Life was good. We were happy. And as the sky darkened and we turned on a low lamp, I felt certain that wherever our relationship went next, we’d navigate it side by side—equal partners in our own, uniquely gentle, and ever-evolving love story.

More chapters please.

What kills a story for me is, when things get interesting and then suddenly a time skip of a few weeks happens. I like the getting used to the diapers phase at most and long time skips totally takes this away for me

the author said it is in an alternative timeline. So it doesn't really matter where it exactly takes place. All I was saying is, it is thinkable that people reacted like this in the pandemic

And if you think about it. During covid we just accepted pretty weird rules. I remember in Germany you went to the restaurant with a mask, sit and take off the mask and if you stand up you had to wear the mask again. Didn't make really sense

To be fair, maybe most parents are upset about this rules, just not this family