Chase Atlantic agere oneshots

Shows

Little
Mitchel - Mitty, baby, little one, bubby

Caregiver
Christian - Daddy, Kras

Christian Pov

I didn't know how this happened. One minute Mitty was ready for the show and the next he was crying. We were on in 15, and he was slipping. I picked him up and placed him on my hip. "Mitty, baby, Daddy's here. Tell me what happened. I won't be mad. You can tell me anything," I told him. "Little," he told me. "How little, bubby?" He held up two fingers, then put one down. He switched between one and two fingers multiple times before he got frustrated with the fact he didn't know. He let out a whimper and started sobbing again. I could tell he was really young, even without the fact he wasn't holding up very many fingers. "Mitty, it's okay. Daddy's got you. It's okay to not know. You don't know everything, and that's okay. I promise, it's okay," I told him. He hid his face in my neck. "Baby, I know it's very difficult, and the stage can be scary. But we're on in 10 and we can't cancel. We've gotta get you big enough that you can sing, okay? Can you help me get you big?" I asked. He sniffled and nodded. I set him down and held his hands. Normally if I talked about the rent or show funds, he'd be big. But I had a feeling that would just bore him further into headspace. "Mitchel, what's your favorite big boy food?" I asked. He thought about it for a minute and spoke. "I like the Chinese takeout we get lots," he said. Okay, he's at least three or four now, cuz those were bigger words. "What's big Mitchel's favorite game to play?" I asked. Talking about big things he liked to do seemed to work, so I continued with that. "Uhm, don't have one. Lotta good games," he told me. "Okay. Last question. When was the rent due, and do you remember how much it was?" I asked. "Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. We got it extended, but we have to pay literally as soon as we get back to LA," he said. "Okay. We have 5 more minutes, so stay big for me, okay?" I asked. He nodded. "I love you Kras," Mitty said. "I love you too, Mitchel," I told him. We went on stage and did our set of songs. A couple of times, Mitchel almost slipped again, but he stayed big. We weren't doing anything special tonight, it was just the show. When it was over, we got an Uber and went to the hotel we were staying at. Mitchel didn't let go of my sleeve the whole time. When he's little, he holds my sleeve, because it's not as obvious as holding my hand or my arm. As soon as we were in our hotel room, however, he wanted me to hold him. He put his arms up and made grabby hands. "Baby, we need to get a bath before I go holding you. You're sweaty," I told him. He let out a whine and kept his arms in the air, still waiting for me to pick him up.  I picked him up and carried him to the bathroom. We got in the tub together, Mitchel deciding to play with a couple bath toys. I got him washed off. When I went to take his braids out, he swatted my hand away and whined. "Mitchel, you don't hit Daddy. You know that. We have to take your braids out to wash your hair. You didn't wash it yesterday or the day before. It has to be done, Mitty," I told him. He let out a huff and let me take the rest of his braids out and wash his hair. He got made fun of a lot for his long hair when it was down. He got called a girl a lot. Sometimes, if I was there, we'd both get called slurs. People don't make fun of him as much with the braids in. "Daddy put them back up?" He asked quietly. "Of course I'll put it back up. I'll do that after it dries, so that means probably in the morning. But I will make sure we get your braids back in, bubby. Maybe Clinton will help, does that sound good?" I asked. Mitchel nodded. I helped him rinse his hair. Then, I motioned for him to stand up. He did. I pointed at a big towel I'd had made just for his height. It covered him fully so that while I got washed off, he wasn't cold. He waited patiently for me to be washed off. When I was done, he turned around. He hated seeing people without clothes in headspace. The first time he saw me shirtless in headspace, he screamed and covered his eyes. I dried myself off and got dressed. "Okay, Mitty, you can turn around now," I told him. He barely peeked at me. When he realized I wasn't lying, he came over. I finished up the job of drying him off. Wrapping himself up, he could do. But that wouldn't dry him off fully. When he was dry, I helped him into one of my shirts, a pull up, and a pair of basketball shorts. Sometimes he had accidents at night so, when we weren't at home, he wore pull ups just in case. When he was dressed, he put his arms up, giving me puppy eyes. I picked him up, smiling at him. "You're just the cutest, aren't you, little one," I cooed. "Daaaddyyyy," he whined. I chuckled. "Okay, Mitty. It is way past bedtime, so do you want a story before I lay you down," I asked him. He shook his head. "Daddy tells bad stories," he said. I gasped. "How dare you," I said dramatically. Mitchel giggled at my reaction. I laid him in bed and got in next to him, pulling the blankets over the both of us. Mitchel looked at me and laid his head on my chest, kissing my cheek.

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