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**MASTERLIST found here**

How are you all? I hope everyone is having a good day/afternoon/night! Thank you all so so so much for your continuous love and support. It means the absolute world to me!

There are so many new faces here so I thought I’d make a little introduction for myself! I made a post similar to this a while but then I deleted it but here we go again 😀

Besides writing, I love to do makeup, cook, dance and listen to music. I love reggaetón and pop music. And if you couldn’t tell already I love Young Miko, Billie Eilish, Vi, and Paige Bueckers! ❤️🥰😘

Now tell me about yourself! If you want to, of course.

And as always, my DMs are open to anyone! My goal for this page is to be an escape from reality, and I hope that through this, we can all be good friends. Any hate or negativity on this page will be blocked.

Just as a friendly reminder, here are things that I will not be writing about. This counts to both recent or current works. Side note: REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN.

Things I will not write are:

• Romanticizing abuse of any kind

• Relationships regarding an adult and a minor (All Billie, Paige, Vi and Miko fanfics will be written as the reader being a consenting adult)

• Weird kinks (incest, stepcest, age play, etc)

• No rape

• Illegal activities

• Political/Religious beliefs

I love you all so much! Take care and drink lots of water. Les mando un abrazote y un besito 😘

Atentamente,

holisss ofccc hope you like it 💕

Y si la vida me da la espalda que sea la de Young Miko. He dicho. Caso cerrado 👩🏽‍⚖️

It’s quiet.

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.

Just… stillness.

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.

“Ay… mi amor.”

You blink.

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.

“I’m fine.”

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.

“Talk to me, mami.”

Your throat tightens a little.

“I don’t know how.”

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.

Until—

“Mami?”

You lift your head slightly from her chest. “Yeah?”

“Y si traigo tus pinturas?” she asks gently.

You blink. “My paints?”

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sí.”

“You always paint when your brain gets too loud.”

You stare at her.

Because of course she remembers that.

Of course she noticed.

Miko notices everything when it comes to you.

“Maybe it’ll help.”

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 closing.

Then opening again.

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 another.

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.”

And she isn’t.

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.

You start small.

Right on the dragon’s scale.

And Miko goes still. Not tense. Just attentive.

You draw another line.

Then another.

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.

Just… less loud.

Miko shifts slightly on the pillow.

“Good?” she asks softly.

You glance down at her.

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.”

A pause.

Then her voice drops even softer.

“Keep going then, mami.”

Bonus if you explain why in the comments 👀🙈

ofc mi amor!! Hope you like it 🥰❤️

It just happened.

You don’t know what brought it on. A lot has been happening these past couple of days. Packing to meet Vicky at tour, traveling and layovers, barely any real sleep between everything.

You were with the rest of the corrillo, laughing and chatting as you were standing next to your girlfriend with her arm around your waist. And then it hit— the all too familiar sharp heaviness behind your eyes, the light suddenly feeling too harsh, invading your space. You tried to fight it, but you eventually yourself from everyone.

Now are you lying on the couch in Vicky’s dressing room, holding your head, eyes shut as you try to breathe through it, the noise of everything outside softened but still too much for your senses to fully ignore. You hate that this happened, now of all times. You were looking forward to seeing Vicky perform, but your body had other plans.

You almost don’t hear the soft knock at the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” It’s your girlfriend.

You don’t answer right away.

Not because you don’t want to—but because even forming words feels like too much effort, like your thoughts have to push through something thick just to reach your mouth.

The door opens anyway, slowly, carefully.

Light spills in for a second before she adjusts her body, instinctively blocking most of it. Her voice softens immediately when she sees you.

“Oh… mi amor.”

No panic. Just understanding.

She crosses the room in a few quiet steps, heels or shoes barely registering against the floor, and sits at the edge of the couch like she’s afraid any sudden movement might make it worse.

“Hey,” she murmurs, gently brushing your hair back. “Migraine?”

You give the smallest nod you can manage.

“Necesitas algo? Agua? Un ibuprofeno?” Miko offers, her voice low and soothing, as her hand stays at your shoulder, steady and warm, grounding you without pressure.

“No, baby, it’s okay,” you manage to reassure her, though your voice comes out softer than you intend.

You feel the couch dip slightly, followed by the familiar warmth of Miko settling beside you.

“Mm-mm,” she murmurs, unconvinced.

One arm slips carefully around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head, guiding you toward her with practiced gentleness. Before you know it, you’re tucked against her chest, your cheek resting against her shoulder as she gathers you into her arms.

“Mi bebé,” Miko coos, pressing kisses to your hairline. “You’ll feel better soon, ya lo verás.”

Her hand threads through your hair, nails lightly scratching your scalp in slow, soothing motions as she holds you close. The steady rise and fall of her breathing beneath you is grounding, something familiar to focus on instead of the pounding behind your eyes.

It’s only then that you feel a bit of relief from the pain, the relentless pressure behind your eyes easing ever so slightly. Curled against Miko’s chest, with her arms around you and her fingers combing through your hair, the world feels a little less overwhelming. For the first time since it started, you feel like you can simply rest instead of fighting through it.

Another knock sounds at the door, gentle but this time more insistent than the tentative one your girlfriend had given earlier.

“Oye, Vicky. It’s time,” Mari calls softly from outside.

Miko groans, the sound muffled against the top of your head.

“No,” she complains immediately, tightening her arms around you. “Que se joda el concierto.”

Despite the migraine, you can’t help the faint smile that tugs at your lips.

A faint chuckle comes from the other side of the door.

“Vicky.”

“Cinco minutos más.”

“Vicky.”

“Dos minutos.”

“Maria Victoria.”

Miko sighs heavily, dropping her forehead onto the top of your head.

“Everyone is so demanding today,” she complains, earning another laugh from Mari. She presses another kiss into your hair, holding you even closer.

“You’ll be okay, mami?” Miko asks gently.

You give a small nod against her shoulder.

Miko doesn’t look convinced.

“Promise?”

Another nod.

Her lips brush your forehead.

“Okay.” She exhales softly. “But if it gets worse, you’re texting me. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a song.”

“Miko...”

“I’m serious.” She presses one last kiss to your temple. “I’ll come check on you the second I’m off stage.”

Miko is slow and gentle as she untangles herself from you, careful not to jostle your head more than necessary. Even so, you whimper at the sudden loss of her warmth, the absence of her arms around you felt almost immediately.

“Aww, baby,” she coos, pausing mid-movement.

You keep your eyes closed, but you feel her hesitate.

For a moment, it seems like she’s genuinely considering telling the entire tour to wait another ten minutes. Yet she leans down anyway, cupping your cheek in her hand.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she promises softly, brushing her thumb across your skin. “Sigue descansando, okay?”

Her voice is warm and gentle, the kind reserved only for you.

“Don’t worry about anything. Just rest.”

She leans down to press another kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back.

“I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.”

Her thumb strokes your cheek one last time.

“Te quiero, mi bebé.”