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This story follows a 13 year old boy from England, who’s life is about to head in a totally unexpected direction. Tommy’s Trials Chapter One - Calm before the Storm Tommy was like any other 13 year old boy in England. He went to school, played video games, loved football, and had few cares in life. The boy lived a very normal life, but all that was about to change. “Wake up Tommy, it’s time for school!” shouted Mum Groggily, the lad rubbed his eyes and threw off his covers. He pulled off his grey Pokémon pajamas, allowing them to pool on the floor, with Pikachu’s yellow figure smiling back at him. Tommy loved Pokémon, even if the other kids thought it was too babyish now. He grabbed his grey school shorts, white shirt, clip on tie, black blazer, and prepared to put on his regular ensemble. It was the first day back at Riverside High School, and the summer break was over. The boy had so much fun, and now was the return the monotony of secondary school. “I made you boys some toast” said mum, as Tommy walked into the kitchen. “Thanks mummy!” squealed Tommy’s little brother Riley. The 7 year old boy was always full of energy, despite the fact it was 8am. The boys ate breakfast and prepared to leave, their emotions greatly contrasting each other. “Let’s go Riley, we’re gonna be late” exclaimed Tommy, grabbing his little brother’s hand. So they set off, with their first stop being Riverside Primary for Riley. Tommy was a good big brother & walked his annoying sibling to school every day. They arrived at Riley’s school, just a five minute walk away from Tommy’s. The boys hugged and said goodbye, but not before the supervising teacher stumbled upon them. She was new, the boys had never seen her before. “Okay boys, come on, school starts soon, get yourselves inside” said Miss Lisa, ushering them inside the great gates. Tommy instantly realised what was happening. The uniforms were similar and his secondary school blazer was in his bag, the teacher had mistaken him for a primary school kid. Tommy was small for his age, often mistaken for much younger than he was. The two brothers were similar in size, and many adults believed them to be twins at first glance. “I don’t go to this school” Tommy glumly replied, “I’m in high school”. “Oh I’m so sorry, I thought you were another one of our boys” apologised Miss Lisa. “Apology not accepted” thought Tommy, he was sick of being mistaken for a little kid, wondering when he would finally have a growth spurt. So Riley marched in excitedly, and Tommy left for Riverside High. His eyes set on the familiar ancient blue gates, a lighthouse guiding the way for ships of tired sailors in the dark morning. He mentally prepared himself for the first day of school, unknowing of the crashing waves which were about to sink his life into a totally different direction.

I’m not sure if I should be more excited or nervous! I’ve kept my Abdl feelings pushed down for a long time. It feels nice to see there are indeed others like me out there! Can’t wait to make my first padded friend!!

Hi, Just in Case is a slow-burn ABDL story. Thomas, a young student, travels to France for a 3-week-long exchange program. He expects language challenges, but not bedtime accidents or a host family with their own way of handling things “just in case”. Guided by a warm but firm caregiver, and surrounded by teasing, tender dynamics, Thomas finds himself caught between growing up… and letting go. It is my very first story. I developed the plot and used ChatGPT assist in making it a readable story, written in decent English (I hope) with French dialogues. I not a native English or French speaker, but I understand both languages quite well. Don't hesitate to give comments and feedback. I have ideas for more stories, and I welcome all feedback that could help me get better at it. I'll try to post updates frequently. The story is finished already, and it has 25 chapters that I would like to post before the end of the month. That would be about 1 chapter every day. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Prologue Six months before the trip, no one could talk about anything else. The language hallway buzzed with excitement. Posters went up. A huge whiteboard appeared outside the French classroom, covered in countdowns, doodles of baguettes and the Eiffel Tower, and the names of every student in Mr. Donovan’s second-year French class — including Thomas. It had started with a surprise announcement: the school had partnered with a French lycée for an international exchange program. One class would be chosen to spend three weeks in France — and not just as tourists. A full cultural immersion. One week of regular French classes, one week of excursions (including two whole days in Paris), and a final week doing volunteer work in a community setting: businesses, schools, clinics. Students would stay with local families, speak only French, and live like locals. The entire room had gasped when they heard. Even Thomas, who had mostly taken French as a way to avoid Spanish grammar, found himself caught in the rush of possibility. But there was a catch. Only one class could go. And it would be whichever French class earned the highest average on a written language test, scheduled two months from the announcement. Suddenly, flashcards and practice quizzes replaced gossip and idle scrolling. Even the usual slackers got serious. Lena — Lena with the dimples and the effortless accent — became an unofficial team captain, helping others study and organizing review sessions during lunch. Thomas didn’t say much during those, mostly watching her from the edges of the group, wondering if she even knew he existed. He studied too. He tried. He really did. But when the test finally came, he bombed it. Despite weeks of effort, the questions twisted themselves into gibberish the moment he sat down. He mixed up verb tenses, blanked on vocabulary, and felt panic set in so strongly that he barely remembered writing his name at the top. When he left the classroom, he kept his head down. Everyone else was buzzing about how well they did. Lena smiled when someone asked her how it went, and Thomas’s stomach sank. He spent the next few weeks praying the scores wouldn’t be made public. If he had ruined this for everyone… But then, a miracle. Three months before departure, the French teacher stood at the front of the classroom with a folder in her hands. She waited for silence, then announced: “Congratulations. Our class had the highest average. We’re going to France.” The room exploded into cheers. People leapt from their seats, hugged, high-fived. Thomas blinked in disbelief. He half-expected her to pull him aside and announce there had been a mistake. Instead, she called out the names of the top scorers: Lena, of course. A few others. Their perfect results had balanced out the weaker ones. The excitement washed over Thomas like warm water. For the first time, he let himself believe he might actually see the Eiffel Tower with his own eyes. That night, he told his mom over dinner. She hugged him tightly and promised they’d get him a suitcase of his own. But the next day, Mr. Donovan asked to speak with him privately. His tone was kind, but direct. “Your test score was... concerning, Thomas. You’re a smart student, but your French needs a lot of work if this trip is going to be a positive experience.” Thomas nodded, ashamed. “You’ll be surrounded by French speakers — in class, at home, during service. You should really try to improve before you go. Watch French films. Read children’s books, maybe. Just… try.” Thomas nodded again. But his chest felt heavy. Two months before the trip, a thick envelope from the school arrived at home. Thomas’s mom opened it during dinner, flipping through forms about packing lists, emergency contacts, and travel insurance. She filled them in while Thomas washed dishes, occasionally calling out questions. At the very end, there was a confidential section labeled medical history. Distracted by a beeping timer and a grocery reminder on her phone, she skimmed the line. “Any important medical issues the host family should be aware of?” She tapped the pen against her lip, then quickly scribbled: “Occasional bedwetting. Not recent.” She didn’t tell Thomas. She didn’t think she needed to. He hadn’t had an accident in years. One month before departure, in a quiet school in southern France, Madame Renard was finalizing the list of host families. Most pairings were easy. But one student — anonymous for privacy — had a flagged form: occasional bedwetting. It could be nothing. But it could also be a disaster for the wrong host family. Madame Renard approached Claire Lefevre, a kind woman known for being calm, capable, and understanding. Her daughter, Chloé, was in the receiving class. “Claire… this is delicate. There’s a student with a possible issue. Not confirmed, and I can’t tell you who it is. But you’ve taken care of your mother these last years, haven’t you?” Claire understood immediately. She smiled gently. “It’s not a problem. I still have the plastic sheets. And I don’t mind laundry.” She accepted the student. No questions asked. That evening, she aired out the guest room, made up the bed with fresh sheets, and added a waterproof layer beneath them — just in case. She tucked a folded onesie into the drawer. A soft sleeper on the pillow. A teddy bear beside it. It made her smile. The night before the flight, Thomas’s mom helped him zip up his suitcase. “Got your socks? Phone charger? Passport?” He nodded. She paused, then slipped something into the top pocket. “Just in case, if you get homesick,” she said. It was his old stuffed animal. A little worn, a little out of place. He opened his mouth to object — but didn’t. Across the ocean, Claire stood in the doorway of the tidy guest room. She surveyed the bed. The nightlight. The folded pajamas. The teddy bear. Then she closed the door softly behind her. “Just in case,” she murmured. And smiled. He didn’t know it yet, but France wouldn’t just change his French — it would change everything. Day 1: Friday - Arrival A Rough Landing The seatbelt sign chimed on with a soft ding, and Thomas let out a quiet groan of frustration. He’d been waiting in line for the bathroom for at least ten minutes, slowly shuffling forward with each passenger who squeezed in a final trip before landing. He was just one person away from the toilet door when the flight attendant gave him a gentle but firm look. “Please return to your seat, sir,” she said with a polite smile. “We’ll be landing shortly.” Thomas sighed and turned back. “Yeah… okay.” He eased himself into his seat, legs tense. The pressure in his bladder had been steadily growing since halfway through the flight, and the sudden jolt of the plane lowering its altitude didn’t help. It’s fine, he told himself. I’ll go as soon as we land. The plane bounced once, then again, and then taxied for what felt like forever. The moment the seatbelt light flicked off, he was halfway up — but now blocked again by the slow-moving crowd disembarking. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to show how urgently he needed to go. Down at baggage claim, he hovered near the belt, bouncing slightly on his heels. Other students from his group were collecting their luggage, one after the other, until only a few stragglers remained. Thomas’s bag, naturally, was one of the last to appear. He snatched it up the moment it thudded onto the conveyor, then checked his phone. A WhatsApp message had come in: Mr. Bellamy [Trip Leader]: Bus is here. Final boarding now. Hurry! He glanced toward the restrooms. His bladder throbbed, but there was no time. I’ll go when I get to the house. He wheeled his suitcase in the direction of the signs — but either took a wrong turn or misunderstood something, because within minutes, he found himself at a nearly empty exit lane with no sign of the school group, no teachers, and no buses. Panic tightened his chest. Another message popped up. Mr. Bellamy: Bus has been waiting 30 minutes. Where are you? Thomas: I think I’m at the wrong exit? Mr. Bellamy: Stay put. Someone is coming for you. Sure enough, a few minutes later, an airport staff member approached him. “Thomas Wright?” she asked. He nodded. “Come. Your group waits. They call security to find you.” Red-faced, Thomas followed her through a service corridor and out another set of doors, where the familiar school bus sat idling. Most of the other students were already on board, heads visible through the windows. He climbed on quickly, dragging his suitcase behind him, and found a seat near the back. The air on the bus was warm, and the movement of the vehicle over uneven streets made the pressure in his bladder spike again. He shifted in his seat and clenched. The fabric of his briefs stretched tightly across his hips, but no wetness — yet. Just pressure. Constant, terrible pressure. Welcome Home The bus stopped twice before his turn, letting off other students in front of different homes. Finally, as the bus turned down a quiet, leafy street, the teacher called out from the front: “Thomas Wright! And Lena Walker, too. Same street.” Thomas blinked, glancing to his left where Lena was gathering her bag. She gave him a quick smile. “See you around,” she said, hoisting her duffel over her shoulder as she stepped into the aisle. “Yeah. You too,” he replied, flustered. Two host families waited on opposite sides of the street. On the right stood his: a dark-haired woman in her forties with a bold red scarf, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, and a teenage girl — around his age, holding her phone in both hands, thumbs flying. “Bonjour, Thomas ?” (Hello, Thomas?) the woman called warmly. “Oui, bonjour. Je suis Thomas.” (Yes, hello. I’m Thomas.) But even as he spoke, he scanned the house behind them, trying not to squirm. “Please—uh… bathroom?” Chloé blinked, then pointed quickly toward the house. “Toilettes ? Par ici. Vite.” (Bathroom? This way. Hurry.) He rushed toward the side door she indicated. Once inside, he barely had time to shut the bathroom door before fumbling open his pants and sitting down heavily. Relief flooded him. And then… confusion. As he reached for the toilet paper and began to pull up his briefs, he felt something cold and clammy press against his skin. His breath caught. There it was — a faint, damp patch at the front. Not soaked, not visible on his pants, but unmistakably there. He hadn’t even noticed. His face turned crimson as he pulled everything back into place, hoping desperately that it didn’t smell. Back outside, his host family greeted him again warmly. “Ça va mieux ?” (Feeling better?) the woman asked with a smile. “Oui, merci.” (Yes, thank you.) “Bon.” (Good.) She patted his arm. “Viens. Maman va te montrer ta chambre.” (Come. Maman will show you your room.) “Maman ?” he echoed. She beamed. “Oui, bien sûr. Pendant ton séjour ici, nous sommes ta famille. Je suis Maman, et voici Papa.” (Yes, of course. While you're staying here, we are your family. I’m Maman, and this is Papa.) The man nodded warmly. Thomas hesitated, then said softly, “D’accord. Merci, Maman.” (Okay. Thank you, Maman.) Chloé, standing nearby, smirked behind her phone. Her fingers never stopped moving. Upstairs, Thomas’s suitcase thudded softly onto the floor of a pastel-colored bedroom. The walls were soft yellow with pink butterflies. A unicorn lamp sat on the desk. The bed was neatly made with lavender ruffled sheets. “C’était la chambre de Chloé,” Maman explained cheerfully. “Elle a changé l’an dernier, mais celle-ci est très mignonne, non ?” (This used to be Chloé’s room. She moved last year, but this one is very cute, no?) Chloé leaned against the doorway, watching with crossed arms. Thomas sat on the bed — and froze. Crinkle. He shifted slightly. There it was again. Maman noticed his hesitation and smiled gently. “J’ai mis une protection. Une alèse… en plastique ? Le matelas est un peu taché.” (I put a protector. A plastic sheet? The mattress has some stains.) Chloé’s eyes widened. She took a step into the room. Maman added, speaking more quickly in French now: “C’est encore taché depuis deux ans. Tu faisais pipi au lit tous les quelques mois, tu te souviens ?” (It’s still stained from two years ago. You used to wet the bed every few months, remember?) Chloé’s expression snapped to horror. “Maman !” (Mom!) Maman laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Tu es grande maintenant, ne t’inquiète pas.” (You’re a big girl now, don’t worry.) Thomas didn’t understand every word, but pipi au lit was clear enough. Bedwetting. And Chloé’s mortified face said the rest. He gave her an awkward smile. She gave him none in return. Only a quiet, slow stare that narrowed ever so slightly. Later that night Thomas stirred under the covers, not quite asleep, not quite awake. The plush bear was tucked close to his chest, the unicorn sheets smooth and cool against his skin. The room still smelled faintly like someone else's perfume — floral, sweet — and there was a soft creak from the hallway floorboards beyond the half-closed door. Then came the voice. “Mon petit, tu dors déjà ?” Maman’s gentle tone floated in from the hallway. Thomas blinked his eyes open. “Uh… what?” The door opened wider. Madame Lefevre stood there in a soft robe, a small nightlight glowing behind her. “Je voulais juste vérifier que tout allait bien. Tu es bien installé ?” I just wanted to check that everything is okay. Are you settled in? Thomas hesitated. He caught vérifier, bien, and maybe installé? He nodded slowly. “Oui. C’est bon.” She smiled and stepped a little further in. Her eyes flicked to the plush bear in his arms, and her expression softened even more. “Oh, tu as ton doudou. C’est mignon, ça.” Oh, you have your cuddly toy. That’s very sweet. Thomas felt his cheeks flush. “Uh… yeah. My mum packed it. I didn’t know.” Maman didn’t reply in English, just walked quietly to the window and pulled the curtain closed a little tighter. “Il va faire plus froid cette nuit. Et si tu as besoin de quoi que ce soit, tu n’as qu’à appeler ‘Maman’, d’accord ?” It will be colder tonight. And if you need anything, just call out ‘Maman,’ okay? He caught the word froid. Cold. He nodded again, unsure of what else she’d said. She gave him a smile, then gestured to the lamp. “Je peux éteindre ?” Can I turn it off? “Oui.” With a quiet click, the light disappeared. The room fell into soft shadow, with only a strip of hallway light glowing beneath the door. Thomas rolled over, hugging the bear closer. His thoughts drifted in slow circles — the airport confusion, the embarrassing bathroom dash, Chloé’s smug little smirk when he came down the stairs after dinner. He was tired. The kind of tired that reaches into your bones. A Little Check-In Thomas lay on his side in the quiet dark, the soft unicorn-patterned blanket pulled up to his chest. The stuffed bear rested under his arm, fur threadbare but familiar. His phone screen glowed gently against the pillow as he opened WhatsApp. 📱 WhatsApp – Thomas & Mum Mum: All settled in? How’s the host family? Thomas: Yeah, it’s nice. They’re really welcoming. Tired though. Long day. Mum: Did you remember to say thank you? 😛 Thomas: Every five seconds. I think “merci” is my most-used word now lol. Also… they want me to call them “Maman” and “Papa” 😅 Mum: Aww, that’s cute. Just be polite and go with the flow ❤️ Love you, baby. Sleep well. xx Thomas hesitated, thumb hovering. Then he typed: Thomas: Night, Mum ❤️ He locked the screen and let the phone slide onto the nightstand. Message to a Mother That same evening, far away in another time zone, a new email landed in Mrs. Wright’s inbox. 📧 Email — From: Claire Lefevre / To: Helen Wright Subject: Thomas is here safe and sound 😊 Bonsoir, Madame Wright, Just writing to say that your son Thomas has arrived safely. He had a little delay at the airport but everything is fine now. He was a bit flustered — long flight, small confusion — but very sweet and polite. He is already settling in well. We had a nice dinner together and he is now resting in the bedroom we prepared for him. (Chloé’s old room — cozy and quiet.) I added a mattress protector, just in case. Some students are nervous travelers, and I thought it better to prepare discreetly. Please don’t worry. We will take good care of him. He is in good hands here. Kind regards, Claire (Maman) Across the hall, Chloé lay in her own bed, arms folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Her mom had meant well. She understood that. But now some American exchange boy thought she wet the bed. She rolled onto her side, grabbed her phone, and smiled faintly. Let’s see how you like feeling embarrassed, Thomas.

Tobi’s little life Chapter One - Back to Diapers Tobi was a late bloomer, he had heard all of his friends talking about “porn” & “masturbating” for years before he was interested in any of that stuff. “How often do you wank” asked Tommy “A couple times a week” replied Tobi, acting as if he had ever done it before He went to an all boys school from the ages of 11-16, an interesting way for a boy to go through his formative years. Being surrounded by boys during puberty certainly had an impact on the lad. Talking to girls was nerve wracking, and it was difficult to even meet one! Tobi had never tried this “masturbating” thing that all the boys in school had been talking about, but one night decided to. He watched as two women doing all sorts of things he had only heard about, but never witnessed. He tried it, and he didn’t like it. Whether it was the gender, or a lack of maturity, he was not sure. It was simply of no interest. However, Tobi did have a fascination. As a young boy he watched a cartoon in which a character was turned into back into a baby, diapers and all. This made him feel funny, and his penis was erect. Little did he know, this was the beginning something very unique to him. Tobi liked diapers. He didn’t know why, but he did. He remembered seeing a green packet under the bath, picking them up to see a brand name written on them, “Drynites”. The package stated that they were for ages 7-10, he was 14 but little for his age. Tobi stood at about 5”0 tall, and had a baby face, he was often mistaken for younger than he was, which caused lots of embarrassment throughout the years. Adults would think he was the little brother, when in reality he was the second oldest of three. Tobi remembered these diapers, and searched for them. They were not longer under the bath, but after a little while he found them in the bathroom cupboard. “Yay” thought Tobi, happy his mum hadn’t got rid of them yet. He assumed they were his older brothers old diapers for wetting the bed, as he had no memories of doing so as a child, or wearing any sort of protection. He definitely didn’t beyond the age of seven! During his life, Tobi had a few accidents in childhood. His only memories at bedtime were from when he was very little, remembering how he had pooped his bed whilst sleeping (probably around age 4), and his mum had helped him clean up. Also, at around 12 years old he had a dream of using the toilet. Tobi began to pee in the dream toilet, only to suddenly realise things weren’t actually real! There was a small wet patch on the bed & his pajama bottoms too, this had never happened to him before. Sleeping on the other side of the bed was Tobi’s solution to the issue, and the wetness had dried by morning. In terms of daytime, he did recall a number of occasions where he had stuffed wet undies down the side of his old dresser, after coming home from school. As a child he would leak a little bit of pee in his pants after holding it for a while, nothing noticeable but enough to make his underwear wet. He had a little bit of trouble holding it during primary school. Around Christmas time, when Tobi was seven years old, he was in maths class. The urge to pee had built up, and being a little boy (with a small bladder), he couldn’t wait. His hand shot up, attempting to get the attention of the teacher, however the effort was futile. “Miss, can i g-“ “Not now Tobi, I’m busy sorting out the Christmas cards” replied Miss April Tobi was a good boy and he never disobeyed his teachers, he had never even got a detention! So he sat there, the pressure building until he had a brilliant idea. “If i just let a little bit out then I won’t need to go as bad” thought Tobi, who was now bursting to use the toilet. The naive boy put his plan into action, attempting to pee his underwear just a little bit. As he let go for a momentary release, he was shocked to realise his little bladder could not stop the flow! The little release turned into a flood, the boy was peeing his pants completely, the plan had failed. Warm pee pooled in his pants, leaving a puddle on his chair. The black school trousers were now soaked, he had never been so humiliated in his life. Tobi got up and ran to the boys toilets, hiding in a stall. The tears began, this was all too much for a seven year old boy to handle. He was much too big to be wetting himself, and doing it during class made the event all the more humiliating. Eventually a teacher came in and gave him a new pair of pants, as well as undies. He got changed, with mum picking the distraught boy up. The following day Miss April announced to the class that if you need to go to the toilet badly, then you can just go. “Would’ve been nice to know that earlier” he said in his mind. Fast forwarding, Tobi decided he wanted to try one of the old drynites he had found years previously. It was the night before his 15th birthday when the boy dreamed up another one of his schemes. Quietly, he snuck to the bathroom after everybody in the house was asleep, ready to try diapers for the first time in at least 11 years. Cautiously, he swung open the cupboard and found what he had been so fascinated by. A small green packet, with pictures of kids smiling in their pajamas, and a count of 9 diapers on the side. Some were missing already, but this was like an unfinished melody to the boy. He opened the package, taking one of the plain white pull-ups out, just staring at it. They were soft as snow, and white to pair, crinkling in his hands. Tobi stripped his pajamas, and pulled on the drynite. For the first time in 11 years, the adolescent boy was once again had a snug diaper around his waist…

Positive Reinforcement (CH 1) A/N: Just a cute and short little thing I wrote this morning before getting out of bed. "Shit!" Ronan found himself startled awake by the loud exclamation beside him. His body moved on instinct as he kicked away the sheets and shot out of bed. His eyes darted over to the source of the cry, his boyfriend Austin. "What's wrong?!" He demanded, looking around for some unknown assailant. But they were alone. "What happened?!" Austin's head was bent forward, staring down at himself in disbelief. Ronan's eyes followed his gaze only to see a large dark patch covering the front of his grey sweatpants. "Austin? What happened? Are you okay?" He asked, voice full of concern. "I think..." Austin trailed off. "I think I just pissed the bed?" He said confused beyond measure. Ronan watched him run a hand over the wet patch and sniff his fingers before flinching. "Fuck. Yeah...Why the hell did that happen?" He asked rhetorically, more in disbelief than anything else. "Hmph," Ronan huffed. "I have no clue. But-" He cut himself off with a yawn. "Go rinse off while I change the sheets. It's like 3am." It didn't take long for Ronan to change the sheets as, luckily, the wetness hasn't had time to soak into the mattress yet. The sheets were due for a wash anyway, he told himself after starting the washer. The second set came down from the closet in time for Austin to help him remake the bed. And soon enough they were both back to sleep. Ronan pulled Austin close to him as they both drifted off, peppering kisses along his shoulder and the back of his neck. If their roles were reversed, he'd feel pretty embarrassed. But from his position, it was just one accident. Austin was probably beating himself up for it already. No need to make it worse. Ronan didn't even bring it up the next day. --- Until it happened again that night. Austin had tears in his eyes as he shook Ronan awake. Ronan, of course, grumbled the entire time. "What?" He asked, brow furrowing as he saw Austin's distress again. "We- we gotta change the sheets," Austin's voice cracked. "Again." Ronan gave a heavy sigh but hopped out of bed and shooed Austin off to shower while he changed the sheets again. Like before, he made sure to pull Austin in for a cuddle as they both climbed back into bed. "I'm so sorry, Row," Austin whispered, as if talking normally would break whatever spell Ronan was under to make him so calm. "I don't know why this is happening." "We'll figure something out, Sweetheart. Don't worry," Ronan kissed his blushing skin. --- It happened again the next night. Only, Ronan was late to the game as Austin had made a pallet on the floor "just in case". It was only after hearing Austin's sniffling cries as he dug out more sleep clothes from their dresser that he work up. "Ausie?" Ronan called out. "Did it happen again?" "Y-yeah," Austin's sad voice came. "Let me get the washer going-" "I did already." Ronan paused, "And you showered?" "Yeah..." Ronan nodded. "Then come here, Sweetheart." He said and opened his arms. "Are you sure you want me in the bed? What if...?" Austin trailed off with a wobbling voice. "None of that," Ronan tried to be reassuring. "The odds of a other accident are slim. And even if you did have another accident, I don't care. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor with no blankets." "...Okay," Austin hesitantly climbed up on the bed and laid rigidly beside Ronan. It took more cuddles and kisses before he relaxed, but soon enough they were both asleep. --- It didn't have to happen again before Ronan found a solution the next day. He was out doing their usual grocery shopping and just had the idea to check near the baby aisle to see if there was anything to lessen bedwetting. There were large pads that wouldn't help the laundry problem, there were adult briefs that emphasized "leak protection", and there were teen pull-ups. Granted, Austin was a little smaller of a guy. His weight was just slightly off the range the pull-ups advertised, but Ronan grabbed a pack anyway. Of course, there was a pack that looked like "regular" undies, but Ronan couldn't help but grab the super hero themed ones instead. It's not as if Austin would know of his choice. Ronan told himself the entire way home that it wasn't making fun of Austin's accidents. It was making fun OUT OF Austin's accidents. Making lemonade out of lemons. Seeing the bright side of a shady situation. That was all. Of course, he had to backpedal quite a bit when he asked Austin if they could talk when they got home. Austin looked seconds away from crying as his face paled. "Y-you...you want to leave me...don't you?" "Oh! Nononono!" Ronan quickly responded, dropping the shopping bag to the floor and rushing over to give Austin a hug. "Not at all, Darling! I swear!" Austin gave into his tears and Ronan soothed him through them. Only when he was sure Austin was okay did he finally pull away and bring a damp cloth from the kitchen to wipe his tear-stained face. "I didn't mean to scare you, baby," Ronan soothed. "I wouldn't leave you just because of some accidents." "I thought...you got sick of me..." Austin admitted softly. "Never," Ronan pushed as much truth as he could into the words. "I just wanted to say I might have found a possible solution..." "Oh?" --- Austin gave a hesitant look as he was holding the pull-ups, but agreed to try them for a few night in case the problem persisted. That night, Ronan sat on the edge of the bed as Austin got changed. He watched him pull the pull-up up his legs and slide it into place. All in all, they fit pretty well. A little tugging and adjusting, but in the end they looked fine. Cute even, Ronan thought to himself. "How does it feel?" Ronan asked, watching as Austin stood in front of the mirror to inspect himself. "A little tight, but not bad," He answered honestly. "How does it look?" "Actually kind of cute," Ronan chuckled, watching Austin's eyes widen in surprise. "Really?" Ronan nodded, reaching out for Austin to come closer. When he did, Ronan patted him on his padded behind. It wasn't much padding at all, he noticed. "Hopefully they won't leak." "Um...we could...uh," Austin stumbled over his own words, face heating up in a blush. "We could..." Ronan encouraged with another playful pat. "We could poke a hole and... put another on top?" It was a smart idea. And when they did so the padding looked more suitable for a grown man's wetting. Ronan held hope they wouldn't have to change the sheets tonight. --- The pull-ups worked well. Neither one was woken up by the bed getting wet, and were able to sleep through the whole night. Ronan stretched and let out a pleasant groan before watching Austin do the same. "How'd your pull-up work out?" He asked as if he didn't already know. But it was cute, he realized, to watch Austin pull down the front of his pajama pants to expose his well used and swelled up pull-up. "Oh, man," He said in calm disbelief. "I'm soaked." "Yeah?" Ronan's hand was reaching over to cup the still-warm padding. He could feel both layers were full to capacity and felt grateful they'd decided to put Austin in two. "Yeah, buddy, I'd say you are pretty soaked." At those words, Ronan could feel Austin's penis twitch under his hand. Of course, it was the morning and Austin was always a victim of morning wood... that could mean anything... and Ronan felt he could use a little...positive reinforcement. Rubbing his hand gently over the swollen padding, as if he was testing for leaks, Ronan spoke, "You did a good job using your pull-ups instead of wetting the bed." Austin's body shivered. His hands fisted in the sheets as if trying to control himself. "Yeah?" He hummed inquisitive. "Such a good boy for me, Aussie," Ronan continued, leaning into the praise kink he knew Austin already possessed. When Austin came, it was into the soaked layers of padding, his hips twitching and lips parting in a gasp. It was the quickest orgasm Ronan had ever seen from him. They didn't talk about it, but later, as Austin was showering, Ronan put out his clothes for the day and added one of the pull-ups. Already deciding to pick up a large pack that afternoon. And if Austin did nothing but smile shyly as he slipped the pull-up on under his clothes...well... that was their business.