Hello! Hope this message finds you well, as well I’m not quite sure if you are still doing requests but, I’m not sure if anyone has done this yet but possibly reader needing to take her mind off of something and coloring in Miko’s tattoos. Miko thinking it’s rlly cute. Watched Miko’s recent interview with Zane Lowe and she says like knowing when to like ground yourself, and reader is grounding herself with coloring on Miko’s tats.
holisss ofccc hope you like it 💕
Y si la vida me da la espalda que sea la de Young Miko. He dicho. Caso cerrado 👩🏽⚖️
You know that it is. More than usual. No music blasting from the speakers. No random beats bumping through the walls while Miko hums something she half remembers and half makes up on the spot.
And it sits heavy in a way that makes your thoughts louder than everything else.
You’re curled up on the couch, knees pulled in tight, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. You don’t even notice how long you’ve been like that until the soft shuffle of footsteps pulls you back.
Miko’s voice comes gentle first, like she’s testing the air.
She’s standing there now, leaning against the wall with her arms loosely crossed, watching you like she already knows the answer but wants you to say it anyway.
“You’ve been super quiet,” she adds, softer. “Eso no eres tú.”
A small shrug. That’s all you manage.
She tilts her head instantly. Not convinced. Not even close.
Miko crosses over to you, sitting down right beside you like she belongs there—which, honestly, she does. No hesitation, no space left between you two unless you physically make it. She wraps her arm around you, studying your face with loving concern.
Your throat tightens a little.
The answer comes out smaller than you intended.
Miko’s expression softens even more.
“Ay, bebé…” She presses a kiss against your temple, letting her lips linger there for a moment. “No te pongas así, por favor.”
The arm around your shoulders tightens gently, pulling you closer until your head is resting against her chest. You don’t fight it. You don’t have the energy to.
As the silence settles between you two, you find yourself listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your ear. The warmth of her skin, the faint scent of her shampoo, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing—it all makes the noise in your head seem a little farther away. Miko simply holds you, one hand rubbing slow circles across your arm while the other rests securely around your shoulders.
For a while neither of you says anything.
You lift your head slightly from her chest. “Yeah?”
“Y si traigo tus pinturas?” she asks gently.
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sí.”
“You always paint when your brain gets too loud.”
Because of course she remembers that.
Miko notices everything when it comes to you.
The suggestion is gentle. Inviting. Like she’s placing it in front of you and letting you decide whether to take it.
Her hand stays in your hair, slow and absentminded, fingers lightly scratching your scalp in a way she knows usually grounds you.
“You always get quiet when you’re stuck in your head,” she adds softly. “So… we do something with your hands instead.”
“Okay,” you say after a moment.
Miko is already carefully untangling herself from you. She presses a quick kiss to your forehead before she disappears into the hall. A moment later you hear drawers opening.
Then her footsteps returning to the living room. In her hands are your markers, watercolor paints, and brushes. She sets them down carefully on the coffee table. You watch quietly as she kneels beside the couch and grabs a pillow, and without saying a word, she places it on the floor right next to the coffee table.
Then she adjusts them until they form a soft little space—improvised, imperfect, but clearly intentional.
A small setup just for you.
Then she guides you down onto the pillows.
They’re soft. A little uneven. But warm from her arranging them.
She nudges your shoulder lightly with hers, capturing your attention.
Carefully, Miko lifts the back of her tank top. The dragon tattoo stretching across her back comes into view immediately. Dark scales winding across strong shoulders. Sharp claws. Intricate details. Hours and hours of work from the tattoo artist.
She grabs your wrist and gently places a purple marker into your hand. Then she settles onto the floor, lying across the pillow she set up and presenting the dragon like a coloring book.
“Haz lo que quieras.” She then adds, softer, “Or don’t. I’m not going anywhere, mami.”
She just stays there beside you in the soft mess of pillows and paint and quiet intention, making sure the world feels a little less sharp while you figure out how to exist in it again.
The dragon across her back shifts slightly as she breathes, its wings stretched wide over her shoulders, waiting. Waiting for color. Waiting for you.
Right on the dragon’s scale.
And Miko goes still. Not tense. Just attentive.
The sound of marker against skin is quiet, almost meditative. And slowly—without you really noticing when it happens—the heaviness in your chest starts to loosen its grip. Not gone.
Miko shifts slightly on the pillow.
She’s not looking at you.
She’s just lying there, trusting you with something permanent she’s turned temporary, like it was never a question.
“Yeah,” you answer quietly. “Good.”
Then her voice drops even softer.
