#daddy mickey

Dada Ian x Daddy Mickey x Little female reader

Warnings: age regression (sfw), a little bit of angst

Summary: you’re lonely on Valentine’s Day

A/N: in light of my girlfriend not being around for Valentine’s Day, her and I were both feeling a little sad and it gave me the idea to write this at 10pm (I know I’m posting this on the 15th/16th)

Valentine’s Day feels loud today.

Not loud like noises, but loud inside your chest.

You stand on the porch of the Milkovich house with your hands clenched into the sleeves of your jacket, rocking a little on your heels. The sky is grey and cold, and the air smells like winter, but your face is warm because you’ve been crying again. Your nose is sniffly. Your eyes hurt.

You didn’t mean to come here.

You told yourself not to.

Ian and Mickey are supposed to be having their day. Just them. You know that. You saw all the hearts online, all the couples holding hands and smiling and kissing, and it made your chest feel tight and twisty. You wanted to be brave. Big. You wanted to stay home and not bother them.

But the lonely feeling got too big.

Your fingers curl into fists as another sob sneaks out of you, small and broken. You lift one hand and knock on the door, not even very hard, like you’re hoping it won’t open.

But it does.

The door swings open, and there’s Mickey.

He’s wearing a soft hoodie, his hair messy like he’s been relaxing, and when he sees you standing there with red eyes and trembling lips, his whole face changes.

“Hey—” he starts, confused.

You don’t even give him time to say your name.

You make a tiny, broken sound and run straight into his chest.

Mickey barely has time to react before your arms are wrapped around his middle, your face pressed into his hoodie, crying hard now that you’re here. Your shoulders shake. Your breath hiccups. Everything spills out at once.

“Oh. Oh, shit,” Mickey murmurs, instantly wrapping his arms around you. One big hand presses between your shoulder blades, firm and grounding. “Hey. Hey, I got you.”

You cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world.

Your knees feel weak. Your head feels fuzzy. You can’t stop crying, even though you want to. Mickey bends down without thinking and scoops you up, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

“That’s it,” he says softly. “C’mon. I got you.”

He holds you against his chest, one arm under your legs, the other tight around your back, and rocks gently right there in the doorway. You curl into him instinctively, face tucked under his chin, fingers gripping his hoodie like it might disappear.

“Ian!” Mickey calls over his shoulder. “C’mere.”

Ian appears from the living room, smiling at first—until he sees you.

Your little body curled in Mickey’s arms. Your face red and wet. The way you’re shaking.

“Oh,” Ian breathes.

He steps closer, voice soft. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You don’t look up. You can’t. You hide your face harder, thumb sneaking up toward your mouth without you even noticing.

Mickey glances at Ian, understanding clicking into place. “She was right on the edge,” he murmurs. “Maybe already slipped a bit.”

Ian nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I see it.”

He reaches out carefully, brushing his fingers over your hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Mickey kicks the door shut and carries you inside, straight to the couch. He sits down with you still in his arms, settling you sideways across his lap. Ian sits close on your other side right away, like he knows you need to be surrounded.

Your crying starts to slow, turning into sniffles and hiccups. Mickey rubs your back in slow, steady circles. Ian presses gentle kisses to the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” Ian whispers. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You whimper softly, thumb fully in your mouth now. Your legs draw up awkwardly, knees bent, body folding in on itself as you get smaller and smaller.

Mickey notices and adjusts you without comment, tucking you in closer, rocking you just a little.

“There she is,” he murmurs fondly.

The room feels quieter. Warmer.

Your breathing evens out. Your thoughts get fuzzy around the edges. Big words feel far away, like they’re floating just out of reach. You don’t feel like you’re supposed to talk anymore.

You just need to be held.

Ian waits until you’re calmer before speaking again. “Hey, baby,” he says gently. “Can you tell us what happened?”

You try.

You pull your thumb out of your mouth, lips wobbling as you search for the right sounds. Your brows knit together in concentration.

“Was… was lonely,” you mumble. “Lots hearts. Peoples… kissin’.”

Your voice cracks again, and Mickey tightens his arms around you.

“You got sad,” Ian says softly.

You nod, small and jerky.

“Thought… yous was busy,” you whisper. “Didn’ wanna be bad.”

Ian’s chest aches.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek. “You are never bad for needing us.”

Mickey’s jaw tightens. “You shoulda come sooner,” he says quietly, but there’s no anger in it. Just care. “You don’t gotta stay away.”

You blink up at him, eyes big and shiny.

“Valen’ time,” you say.

Mickey exhales through his nose, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. Valentine’s.”

Ian smiles softly. “And we want you here. With us.”

“You’re our girl,” Mickey adds. “That means you’re our Valentine too.”

Something in you melts completely.

Your head tips forward until it bumps softly into Mickey’s chest. Your body goes heavy, like all the strength drains right out of you.

“‘Kay,” you breathe.

And then you’re really little.

Mickey feels it immediately. “She’s gone.”

Ian grins fondly. “Hey, little one.”

You make a quiet, content hum in response and curl in tighter, thumb back in your mouth, fingers clutching fabric.

Mickey scoops you fully into his arms again, standing up. “C’mon, baby.”

He carries you down the hallway, rocking gently with every step. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, everything soft and floaty.

Mickey lays on the bed with you on his chest, Ian grabs the fuzzy blanket and drapes it over you both, tucking it around your feet.

“There,” he whispers. “All cozy.”

You sigh happily.

The rest of the day moves slow and gentle, just for you.

Mickey brings you your sippy cup, holding it while you drink because your hands are busy holding onto him. You spill a little, and he wipes your chin with his thumb, smiling when you smack your lips.

Ian puts on cartoons, and you watch them without really understanding, colors and music washing over you while you’re rocked and cuddled. You nap curled between them, breathing slow and even.

When you wake up, it’s darker outside.

Ian has you in his lap, helping you stack big plastic blocks. They fall over a lot. You giggle every time.

“Uh-oh,” Ian says playfully. “Crash!”

You clap, delighted.

Later, they help you change into soft pajamas, Mickey lifting you while Ian snaps buttons and talks to you the whole time so you don’t feel alone.

By the time you’re back on the couch with your warm bottle, you’re barely awake.

Mickey presses a kiss to your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

Ian kisses your cheek. “We love you.”

You don’t have words anymore.

Just warmth.

Just safety.

Just love.