Damien Hass Age Regression One shots

Amanda Notices and Cares

This is not suitable to read while little. It contains bad talk about being an age regressor.

Caregiver Amanda

Damien's nicknames- Bud, Buddy, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Munchkin

Amanda's nicknames- 'manda

Regression Age- 3

Damien jolted awake to the rhythmic pounding on his bedroom door. The persistent thumping reverberated through the stillness, loud and demanding as thunder. Groggy and disoriented, he fumbled for his phone, realizing with a start that he had forgotten to set his alarm. Memories of the previous night's frantic preparation for the Sword-AF D&D session flooded back, a haze of scattered dice and scribbled notes. Despite the frustration bubbling inside him, he swung his legs out of bed and dressed quickly, anticipation nudging him forward.

Stumbling into the hallway, he was met with chaos. His laptop lay precariously on the edge of the table, his D&D notebooks were strewn across the floor, and the sharp scent of coffee filled the air. A dark, wet stain spread across the papers, the ink bleeding into amorphous shapes, rendering his careful plans into a muddled mess. Damien's fingers tingled with the cold, sticky sensation of soaked paper towels as he tried to clean up, the bitter smell of coffee stinging his nostrils and knotting his stomach with anxiety.

After hastily feeding his cats, Damien glanced at the clock. Time had slipped away from him, and the anxiety prickled his skin. He rushed out of the house, barely securing the front door, and jumped into his car. The street outside was a cacophony of blaring horns and shouting people, the morning traffic jam turning his frustration into a simmering anger. Each red light seemed to mock him, and by the time he reached work, his nerves were frayed.

Ian's eyes tracked him as he walked in, and he tilted his head slightly, concern etched on his face. "Is everything okay? You good?"

Damien forced a smile, though it barely touched his eyes. "I'm fine. It's just one of those days." He hurried past Ian, the words feeling hollow even to himself. Amanda, nearby, squinted as she tried to gauge his mood, but he brushed off their concern, focusing on his computer screen as he logged in. His schedule stared back at him—four shoots for the day, the last being the Sword-AF D&D session. The thought of improvising the story under the weight of the morning's chaos filled him with dread.

The first three shoots unraveled quickly. Damien's defeat during the first game for Smosh Games was manageable, but the second and third shoots were a different story. Criticism jabbed at him like sharp needles, and nothing went according to plan. By the time he reached the Sword-AF session, frustration clung to him like a heavy cloak, his attempts at storytelling falling flat. His disappointment was palpable, the footage unusable. Amanda noticed his distress as they wrapped up, her eyes softening with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, approaching him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, though his voice wavered. "Like I told Ian earlier, it's just an off day."

Amanda wasn't convinced. She leaned in closer, her voice tender. "Are you sure you're alright?"

His frustration flared, his voice rising to keep the tears at bay. "I'm fine!"

Amanda's gaze softened further. "Can I hug you?" she asked, her arms already opening. Damien hesitated, then nodded. As she embraced him, the tension in his body gave way, and he began to cry. Amanda's hand moved in soothing circles on his back, her whispers calming.

"How about we find somewhere with a bit more privacy?" she suggested. Damien nodded, his voice lost to the flood of emotions. They retreated to one of the offices, Amanda sitting close to him, her eyes full of empathy.