yep...

cg knows exactly how the accident must feel around their little one's bits (which makes *them* have to fidget a bit, although for different reasons), and is just hoping that the nappy won't leak before they manage to find a gas station with a toilet and a changing table...

Oh dear - it's always a bit of a risk when this happens on car trips! The position they're sitting in could cause a blowout, it could be a while until they can find a good place to change, CG can't do much about the way the sight makes them feel... But it's the risk that makes it so fun, isn't it?~

1. “Oh sweetpea… is that your I had a little accident face?”

2. “You didn’t even tell me, baby. Just sat there and let your diaper do all the work, huh?”

3. Pat pat “Uh-oh… someone’s squishier than they were five minutes ago.”

4. “You’re waddling like a ducky… do I need to do a diaper check right here?”

5. “You filled your diaper so much, baby, I’m gonna need two wipes and a prayer.”

6. “That’s your third soggy diaper today… do you just like the feeling now?”

7. “The way you blush when I say ‘stinky’ is so cute. My messy little one.”

8. “Did you seriously do that while I was talking? You couldn’t wait even one minute?”

9. “You know I heard the crinkle and the little grunt, right? Mommy notices everything.”

10. “You make such a cute face when you go… we really should record it next time.”

"Oh?" Your curiosity is piqued. You've learned that something could be anything from a treat from the bakery to a humiliating new punishment.

"Close your eyes, take my hand."

You obey and reach out. Their hand is soft and warm in yours, fitting together perfectly, just like puzzle pieces.

The front door clicks open and your socked toes hit the scratchy door mat. The spring air outside is warm, finally. A dog across the street barks and the rumble of a truck goes by.

"We're going outside?"

"Uh-huh, almost there!"

You can tell you're in the driveway, the way the textured cement grips your socks. Your partner drops your hand and you hear the chirping of the car keys and the door open. What could they possibly have to show you in the car?

"Ta-da! Open your eyes!"

You open, and it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright outside light. You gather your bearings and realize you are, in fact, in the driveway, facing the passenger side of the car. You gaze around, not quite sure what you're looking for. Squinting into the dim car you finally see it. The passenger seat has been fitted with two long straps coming from the top of the seat, just below the headrest. There's a set of conjoining plastic clips at shoulder height and a set of metal prongs further down. Another strap coming from the bottom rests on the seat, a receiving clip with two slots on the end. A bright red button sits in the middle.

A five point harness. Your partner installed a five point harness, just like the one on a toddler car seat, in the passenger seat of their car.

"F-for me?" you say, as if it could be for anyone else.

"Of course it's for you, silly! I want you to be as safe and comfy as possible in the car," they say with a grin. "Do you like it?"

You nod your head so fast you're almost dizzy. "Uh-huh!"

You like it. You really like it. In fact, you even feel a little excitement in your pants at the idea of being strapped in tight, lower clip up against your padded crotch, shoulders pressed back against the seat.

You duck your head and push forward to start to climb in. You want to try it now. Something stops you abruptly, though. Your partner has curled their fingers in one of your belt loops and is holding you back. The slight tug on your shorts reveals your diaper waist band, you can feel the breeze on your lower back. Normally you'd be scrambling to get your pants back up while outside, where anyone could drive or walk by. However, the allure of your new seat belt overpowers any embarrassment.

"Woah, woah!" they say.

"I wanna go somewhere!" You whine, instantly feeling a lot smaller than you did a few minutes ago.

“Ah-ah, don’t hide it now,” they tease. “You’re the one who waddled here in a soggy bottom.”

“I-I’m not that wet,” you mumble, cheeks going warm. You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the soft sag beneath your shorts.

“No? Let’s check.”

Before you can argue, their fingers slide down the back of your shorts, curling under the waistband of your diaper. A firm palm presses against the padded seat, giving you a confident little squeeze. You inhale sharply. The pressure makes the squish so much more real.

“Mmm,” they hum thoughtfully. “A little soggy, but not too bad.”

You swallow, face burning, but then they grin at you—mischievous, sweet, and just a little knowing.

“Still,” they add, “better to get you into a fresh one now, before we go for a ride. Wouldn’t want to have to do a change out in a parking lot again, would we?”

The memory of that very public parking-lot diaper change hits you like a jolt. Your whole face goes crimson. You cover it with both hands and groan.

“That was one time!”

“Uh-huh,” they smirk. “Come on, inside, baby. Let’s get you ready.”

Your diaper’s exposed now—faded stars and moons on the front, slightly swollen between your thighs. The press of it is so comforting, even if you’re blushing a thousand shades of pink.

You expect to be led to the changing mat on the floor, but instead they guide you straight to the couch, patting the cushions.

“Sit, baby.”

You do, and the squish beneath you is immediate—warm, mushy, and just barely damp enough to feel it. You shiver a little. Your partner leans in, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before slipping your shirt up and over your head.

“I’ll grab a fresh diapee and your shortalls,” they say, already halfway to the bedroom. “Be right back!”

You sit there obediently, in nothing but your used diaper, toes curling in the carpet. You can’t help but shift back and forth, the padding squishing noisily each time you move. By the time they come back with the fresh diaper and your clothes, you’re warm all over with anticipation.

“Let’s get this soggy one off ya,” they murmur, lowering you down. The tapes pop one by one. The cool air hits your skin and you let out a tiny breath, completely still as they wipe you clean with practiced care. The tapes peel off with four familiar pops—rip, rip, rip, rip—and your used diaper is folded neatly away, replaced with a thick, fresh one that smells faintly of baby lotion and chamomile. You squirm and shiver slightly as cool powder dusts over you, and the snug, crinkly pressure of the new diaper being taped up pulls a small, content sigh from your lips.

Next come the shortalls—light denim with little embroidered clouds near the hem—and your partner even braids your hair with gentle fingers, tying off the ends with soft pastel ribbons. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror: a blushing, babified version of yourself, standing in a fresh crinkly diaper under denim shortalls, hair braided neatly down either side of your head.

“I-I look like a toddler,” you murmur, heart pounding.

Your partner beams. “That’s ‘cause you are, silly goose.” They lean down and kiss your forehead. “My littlest passenger. Now go grab your car trip things while I pack your diaper bag.”

Your blush deepens. “I don’t need a diaper bag…”

But your partner is already rustling through the drawers—stuffing in a few extra diapers, a paci clipped to a string, wipes, powder, and—of course—a change of clothes “just in case.” You try to ignore the warm fizz in your tummy at the sound of the zipper being pulled shut.

Meanwhile, you toddle off to your room, picking out a soft, well-loved stuffy—your favorite one, with one floppy ear—and a picture book with thick pages and colorful farm animals. Perfect to keep you busy on the drive.

By the time you’re back, they’re already holding the diaper bag in one hand and jingling the car keys in the other. “Ready to go for a ride, little one?”

“Uh-huh!” you say, hugging your stuffy close.

Outside, the sun is warmer now, and the car glints softly in the light. Your partner opens the passenger door, and you stare at the seat again, heart racing with excitement. That harness. It looks even better up close. They guide you in gently, making sure your shortalls don’t bunch as you plop down into the seat. You squirm a little, your fresh diaper crinkling loudly as it meets the soft pressure of the cushion.

Then come the straps—first over your shoulders, pulled snug across your chest. Click. Then the lap straps, pulled from either side and joined together with a soft snap. And finally, the lower strap—pulled up between your legs and clipped in at the base, resting firmly against your thickly padded crotch.

You let out a tiny gasp at the feeling—the way it presses in gently, reminding you exactly how little you are, how protected.

Your partner crouches to check the straps, tightening them just a touch more.

“Snug?” they ask softly.

You nod, hugging your stuffy to your chest and flipping open the first page of your book.

They close the door with a soft thunk, and you’re alone for a moment—just you, your bunny, your book, and your new car seat. The straps hug you close, the sun warms your legs, and your diaper squishes ever so slightly as you shift.

And you smile.

Because you’ve never felt more babyish.

You've been at a theme park all day; going on rides, trying fun treats, you even caught the parade full of singing and dancing characters as it weaved through the park.

"Log ride! It's one of my favorites, and look, there's barely a line right now," you point to the sign above the queue: Wait time: 10 minutes.

It's not that you and your caregiver don't have the patience for long lines, it's just that, well, long lines mean you might not make it to the potty on time. You've been working really hard at potty-training and are nearly there! You even started wearing cloth training pants during the day. It's rare now that you have a full blown accident, but sometimes you leak a drop or two before realizing it's time to go. Today though, you're in a pull-up. You didn't want to, but after your caregiver described a scene wherein you wet yourself in front of everyone at the theme park and had to go home early you accepted it. The theme park has plenty of family restrooms, and you've been making periodic visits. You even asked to go last time, without being reminded!

You enter the log ride queue and zig-zag through the empty metal rails. You pick up speed, and are having so much fun you barely notice that there's about to be a person in front of you. You skid to a stop just before colliding into them and laugh. You hear the cheery theme song drift over from the loading area and hum along. The queue is built creatively under the ride and one of the waterfall features cascades next to you. It's hot out, and the mist emanating off it is a welcome refresher. Your caregiver catches up to you and you stand side by side.

A few minutes go by and you haven't moved. You stand on your tippy-toes to try and see over the heads of the people in front of you but you can't see anything. All of a sudden the theme song comes to a halt and a scratchy voice comes over the speakers.

"Greetings, guests! We're experiencing some technical difficulties and have stopped the attraction. We're sorry for the inconvenience, we hope to have it up and running again in no time!"

"Aw, man," you say, putting on a pout. You wriggle your body in protest.

"Shouldn't be too long," says your caregiver, giving your shoulder a pat.

The minutes tick on and you realize that you're still wriggling your hips. You've been bouncing from foot to foot too, not out of restlessness but some other feeling. You have to pee. Uh-oh. You lean in close to your caregiver so you can whisper in their ear.

"I, uhm, have to go potty."

Before they can reply the scratchy voice comes back.

"Greetings, guests! Thank you all for your patience! We will have the ride operating again in less than 10 minutes!"

"Think you can wait that long?" asks your caregiver.

"Mm, I can try..." you say. You really don't know if you can. You've been going to the potty so regularly you don't really have practice holding it for that long.

The waterfall next to you stops feeling refreshing, and starts to sound like it's mocking you, with the way the water splashes and trickles. The pressure in your bladder is growing and you begin to feel too hot, your feet are tired and the sound of the other people chatting in line is starting to sound like static. Your caregiver can tell you're getting overwhelmed and pulls you close. They press their hands firmly on your back and rub.

"Aww, honey," they say softly into your ear.

"I really gotta go. Can we get out of line?" You whimper.

They don't say anything from a moment, and you wonder if they heard you.

"Why don't you go in your pull up, baby?" they finally say.

You pull away from them, surprised. Potty-training was their idea in the first place! And you've been doing so well, you thought they were proud of you!

"I'm potty-trained!" you say, a bit too loud, and cross your arms across your chest.

"Nearly," they say with a smile, "but if we get out of line we won't have time to come back, and I know you really wanted to do this ride. This doesn’t make you any less of a big kid, I promise, baby. You'll still get a sunshine sticker on your chart for today. You wore protection in case of an emergency, and I'd call this an emergency."

You shrug, but then nod. They aren't wrong. You would be super disappointed if you didn't get on this ride. You're relieved they acknowledge that getting permission to go pee in your pants isn't the same as having an accident.

You take their hand and sigh, letting go. You can't remember the last time you intentionally wet yourself. It's embarrassing how good it feels, as your pee rushes out and is wicked away by the pull-up. All of your surroundings start to fade away as you revel in the sensation of relief and comfort that is wetting yourself.

"Going?" Murmurs your caregiver.

"Uh-huh."

Right as your stream turns to a few dribbles and then peters off, the ride music comes back and the overhead voice returns.

"Greetings, guests! Good news, the attraction is ready to operate again!"

A few people in the crowd cheer. The line begins moving again and you shuffle forward. Your pull-up is heavy between your legs and you hope you don't leak when you sit in the log.

After the ride your whole bottom half is soaked. You got splashed right at the end and let out a shriek of surprise and joy.

"That was awesome!" you say, exiting the log and trotting towards the screens to view your ride photo. You don't really mind the heavy, squishy sensation of your pull-up.

You tug on your caregiver's sleeve only 30 minutes into your department store trip. She's there for some new outfits for her new job, and you know how choosy she is.

When she put a diaper on you this morning, you had rolled your eyes. It didn't matter how indecisive she was, there was no way you couldn't make it to the bathroom on time when it was right there in the store. But you forgot that this was different, this store was huge, like a maze, and the bathrooms here were always hidden in some niche in the men's trousers section.

But the urge snuck up on you, and now your mind was so scrambled, you didn't know what direction to head in.

"Hey." You whispered, barely audible, your face burning. "I need to go."

Your caregiver is inbetween two blouses that look just about the same to you, one a dull cream, the other a light daisy color. "Don't you see I'm busy? Can't you find the bathroom yourself?"

You huffed. "You know I can't. Why did you bring us to this store, anyway? Everything here looks like it's for old ladies."

"I'm going to be working with women who are thirty years older than me, sweetie. Of course everything here looks like it's for old ladies."

You squirmed, feeling every drop of the caffeinated soda you had drank greedily on the car ride here.

"I'll take you after I pick between these two, okay? You can wait. That's why you complained so much this morning when I dressed you, right?" She smiles at you, gloating at the whine you involuntarily let out as a result.

Your bladder hurt, and it was hard not to stand weirdly as you waited, watching your caregiver mutter to herself and hold up the different blouses to herself torturously slowly. You started to slightly potty dance in place, trying to make your movement minute so that others around you wouldn't notice you doing something so humiliating.

Eventually, she threw up her hands and put both blouses into your cart, and you almost leaked in relief.

"Okay, let's go find that bathroom."

After several laps around the floor, you both had no luck in finding it. Too many racks were in the way of any type of signage or indication of where the bathroom was, and a sudden wave of need hit you, causing you to have to hold your thick diaper through your pants, as if the obvious bulge from the padding wasn't enough.

Just then, a worker comes up to your caregiver, seeing her concerned face. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I just need to find a bathroom for this one here." She gestures to you. "I don't think they can hold it much longer." She gives a doleful smile, obviously relishing in the public humiliation she was giving you. Your ears burned, but you didn't care, you needed to prevent an accident. You needed to prove to her that you could hold it.

The employee looked embarrassed, your hands clutching your padded crotch and your legs involuntarily wobbling. "Oh, I see, it's right there, behind the rack of discount shirts." They point to a large rack that perfectly hides an entryway labelled with small, aesthetically-pleasing letters: "bathrooms."

You start walking towards it without even thanking them, not seeing if your caregiver is behind you, breathing slightly heavy as you get to the entrance. But your bladder is giving up, spasming and letting out small jets of pee. It was no matter, you told yourself, your caregiver would barely notice that by the time you got changed. But then-

You gasped, a large torrent of piss jetting out of you and into your padding. You felt the material grow soft and wet all around you, inviting you to finish up inside of it. You squeezed your legs together with all your might but then it happens: your bladder spasms in such a way where you know it's over, you know you're going to wet yourself. There's nothing you can do about it. You let go of your padding and spread your legs apart a little, closing your eyes in defeat and hearing a little hissing noise as you have an accident, feeling the diaper grow wet and heavy inside your loose jeans, and spreading your legs apart a little more.

It feels good, almost, to finally let go, to finally find relief, but you know that it's obvious. You just weren't big enough to make it to the potty.

Distantly, as you finish up, you feel your caregiver's manicured hand on your shoulder. "Aww." She coos. "Somebody couldn't make it. Oh well, better luck next time. I guess you're gonna have to use a diaper for the rest of the trip." She said caringly, as if she didn't plan for this to happen.

You groan, feeling tears pinprick your eyes. But part of you felt a little relieved. After all, every time you had soda, you always needed to pee mere minutes after going the first time. You knew that you'd be feeling that desperation you had just felt again very soon, and the fact that your caregiver said it was okay to just let it come out fills you with a strange sense of calm and relaxation.

For as much as you might complain and fuss, you know that you need your diapers.