**Title: The Perfect Son**

Ivan Volkov was the perfect son—at least, that was what everyone thought. Adopted by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, I was their pride and joy. Eighteen, blonde, soft-spoken, with eyes that could melt hearts. I played the violin, painted, and never raised my voice. But beneath the surface, there was a secret I kept close, one that I fought against every day and yet couldn’t escape.

The bedwetting started a few weeks after moving in. At first, it was only at night, and I was mortified. But soon, it didn’t matter if it was morning or afternoon—my body betrayed me without warning. I woke up soaked, trembling with shame, barely able to meet my fathers’ concerned gazes. Steve was gentle, always gentle, running a hand through my hair and promising it was just stress. Bucky was quieter, more pragmatic, but no less kind.

Then came the diapers.

One night, as I stood in the bathroom, fresh from yet another accident, Steve knocked softly on the door. “Ivan?” His voice was careful, the way it got when he was trying not to upset me. “Buck and I… we think maybe it’s time to try something else.” He held up a thick, crinkling white diaper, and my stomach twisted with humiliation—and something else, something dark and needy I refused to name.

“I’m not a baby,” I whispered, my cheeks burning.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “No one’s saying you are, kid. But this is happening often enough that it’s a problem. We’re not mad. Just want to help.”

They had no idea how much the thought of being put in diapers like some helpless child made my cock twitch.

That first time was torture. Steve spread a towel on the bed, guiding me down onto it with a firm but gentle hand. His fingers worked the waistband of my pajama pants, tugging them down, exposing me—my bare thighs, my half-hard cock, the slight dampness between my legs from the latest accident. I squeezed my eyes shut as Bucky unfolded the thick diaper, the scent of baby powder filling the air.

“Legs up,” Bucky murmured, and I obeyed, trembling as he slid the padding beneath me. Steve’s hands smoothed the front up, adjusting me, his fingers brushing far too close to where I was already stiffening. My breath hitched, and he paused, glancing down.

I expected shock. Disgust. Instead, Steve just let out a quiet sigh. “It’s normal, Ivan. Your body’s confused.” He tapped the tap of the diaper, sealing me in with a soft, crinkling sound that echoed in my ears. “There. Safe now.”

I hated how good it felt. The thickness between my legs, the way the padding cradled me, the quiet rustle every time I shifted. But worst of all was the way my cock throbbed, trapped against the soft fabric, leaking pre-cum against the inside of the diaper.

That night, I lay in bed, listening to the quiet hum of the tower, my fingers drifting under the waistband of the diaper. I was already wet—another accident, one I hadn’t even noticed happening until it was too late. The warm dampness clung to my skin, and I bit my lip, pressing my palm down against my trapped cock.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t stop. My hips rocked up into my own touch, the diaper rubbing against my sensitive skin, making me whimper. The more I moved, the more the thick padding shifted, the wetness spreading, the pressure building until—

The door creaked open.

I froze.

Steve stood there, silhouetted in the dim light, his gaze locked on where my hand was still pressed between my legs. His expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Ivan.” His voice was rough.

I yanked my hand away, shame burning through me. “I—I didn’t—”

Steve crossed the room in two strides, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand settled on the bulge of the diaper, and I whimpered.

“You’re wet,” he murmured.

I nodded, unable to speak.

His fingers traced the soaked padding, pressing down just enough to make me gasp. “And hard.”

I shuddered, my cock twitching helplessly.

Steve’s fingers slipped under the waistband, peeling the damp diaper down just enough to expose me. His grip was firm as he wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking me slowly, watching my face.

“Daddy—!” I choked out, my hips jerking.

“Shh,” he soothed, his other hand brushing my hair back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I came with a broken moan, my release spilling over his fingers, over the soaked diaper, my body limp with pleasure and shame. Steve didn’t let go, working me through it until I was whimpering from oversensitivity.

When he finally pulled his hand away, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Sleep, Ivan.”

He left me there, wet and trembling, the diaper still half undone.

And I knew—this was only the beginning.