nhmkhnh

[nhmkhnh]

umm just popping in real quick to say i won’t be writing for kpop demon hunters anymore 🥲 if you’re wondering why, you can look up the meaning of the word “napalm.” not gonna lie, i was pretty disappointed when i found out too, especially ‘cause i really liked the movie.

it’s not me being dramatic or anything. i just wanna do what feels right for myself 💗 (i’m vietnamese!)

at first i thought maybe i misheard and i was just overthinking it 😭 like, sure, supporting artists as people? totally great. but i absolutely don’t support normalizing violent phrases (like literally glamorizing war) like that :))

there’s actually a really famous photo taken in my country called “napalm baby” — you can google it. it’s horrifying. so if someone wants to support that kind of word usage, that’s on them. as for me, nope.

you can say i’m being dramatic or overreacting or whatever, but no means no. 💔

so yeahhh byeee for now ~ i’m not planning to post much either since i’m still kinda busy 💤 love yaaa 💕

[nhmkhnh]

hello my lovely gang 🩷 so here’s the thing i just took on a new project at work and it’s HUGE 😭 that’s why i’ve been MIA until now. it’s been so hectic i literally didn’t even have time to wash my hair the whole time 💀 but im back anyway lol

[nhmkhnh]

sorry baby but those pica looks like ai 💔the plastic tint, the absolutely flawless no pore skin… are you sure that’s a pic taken on a phone? like it looks like a real pic enhanced with ai

💔 uhhhh idk what to say but i can make a short video abt myself, just that i'm not free rn so maybe in the day!

[nhmkhnh]

I have such a crush on you and that face reveal made it worse 😭 why are you the woman of my dreams and so far away?

omg bby you’re making me so curious about who you are ahahaaaa. gimme a hint maybe? i’m too nosyyy xD (jk jk… kinda hehe) but anywayyy thank u sm sweetheart~ sending a kiss to your cheek muah.

[nhmkhnh]

your rich older vi is my dream womannn 😩 let’s hope i get her one day (manifesting)

manifesting that every lesbian gets herself an older rich gf like vi hahaaa!

[nhmkhnh]

girl i’m in love with you i’m so in awe omg your aesthetic is so well curated, you’re pretty, you’re creative, you write so wellll, did i mention you’re gorgeous, you’re so sweet toooo

hehee thank u sm bby omg you’re honestly so sweet i might actually fall in love if you keep this up hahaaaaa. love u tonsss xx.

[nhmkhnh]

yuhh we are all love rich!older!vi.

dom!vi x sub!fem!reader || partly nsfw ;; age gap ;; possessive!vi ;; petnames ;; mommy kink ;; praise and degradation ;; orgasm control ;; overstimulation ;; power play ;; oral sex ;; strap-on sex ;; office sex ;; marking ;; dirty talk.

she picks you up in a custom hextech car that purrs louder than most beasts in zaun.

you were late. you always are. but vi waits. leaning against the side of her glistening vehicle, pinstripe slacks tailored to perfection, a gold cufflink catching the piltover sun. when you rush out in your little dress, flustered and breathless, she smirks and opens the door for you. "about time, sweetheart. i was starting to think you'd stand up your sugar mama."

vi pays in full, every time.

whether it’s dinner at a council-owned skydeck restaurant or a stupidly overpriced bottle of perfume you offhandedly mentioned once, vi handles it. no questions. no limits. “you like it? then it’s yours,” she says, voice low, like it’s nothing. it always makes your chest warm. and your thighs press together.

she calls you her “pretty little thing” when you act out.

especially when you’re bratty. when you pout and challenge her authority, she just tilts her head, amusement glinting in those sharp, older eyes. "careful," she purrs, fingers curling under your chin. "you’re cute when you’re mouthy. but cuter when you’re begging."

she’s always got a hand on you.

possessive in the quiet ways — a palm on your lower back when she guides you through high society events. fingers brushing your bare thigh under the table at boring galas. gripping the back of your neck when you talk too sweetly to someone else. she doesn’t need to say a word. you know who you belong to.

vi spoils you, but she also puts you in your place.

soft velvet and hard hands — she’ll buy you diamond-studded lingerie and make you wear it to a dinner where you have to pretend nothing’s going on. afterwards? you’re bent over her penthouse window, seeing stars as she says, “next time you tease me in public, i won’t be this nice.”

she knows how to handle your youth.

she doesn't mock you when you're emotional, or insecure, or messy. she just sighs and pulls you into her lap, lets you rant and cry and spill. “life’s a mess, baby,” she murmurs into your hair. “lucky for you, you’ve got me.”

she doesn’t do dates — she does experiences.

vi flies you across the sea in a private airship just to show you a sunrise from the noxian cliffs. buys out an entire opera house for a “private show.” you once told her you liked stargazing, so she built a rooftop observatory for you. you told her she was being “insane.” she just said, “you’re worth it.”

vi is protective to a violent degree.

some creep at the bar touches you once and suddenly they’re being dragged outside by vi, sleeves rolled up, knuckles cracking. you cling to her arm while she lights a cigar, blood still fresh on her ring. “no one gets to touch what’s mine,” she growls. you don’t even try to argue.

she calls you "kid" sometimes. just to piss you off.

“you’re cute when you’re mad,” she’ll say with a lazy smirk when you scowl and stomp your foot. “such a baby. should i get you a pacifier next?” you hate her. you love her. you want to strangle her. you want her to ruin you.

she makes you call her “miss” sometimes.

especially when you’ve been bad. especially when she’s got you all dressed up and trembling under her gaze. “what’s my name, baby?” she purrs, hand sliding between your legs. and you whimper, flushed and breathless: “miss vi…”

she has the most god-tier post-sex aftercare ever.

she runs your bath. oils your skin. brushes your hair back. kisses every inch of you while whispering, “you did so well, baby. my good girl.” the soft glow of her penthouse lights turns everything gold. you fall asleep in silk sheets, tucked into her arms.

vi’s jealousy is terrifyingly hot.

if anyone dares flirt with you? she goes quiet. deadly. you know what’s coming. later, she pins you to the wall with one hand and murmurs, “you like making me jealous, huh?” you try to sass back — but she shuts you up with her mouth and her hands and the sound of your own moaning.

she funds your dreams without a second thought.

vi doesn’t just spoil you with gifts — she invests in you. you wanna open a café? she buys you the space. you’re passionate about art? she gets you a studio. she brags about you to everyone: “that’s my girl. look at her go.” it makes you feel unstoppable.

vi’s tattoos peek out of expensive suits and it drives you insane.

the way her shirt slips just enough to show a sliver of ink on her collarbone… or the stretch of her back when she rolls her sleeves up to reveal a glimpse of that full arm piece… you’re obsessed. you’ve begged to trace every line with your tongue. she lets you. slowly.

no matter how filthy she fucks you — she always kisses your forehead after.

she can have you crying, shaking, marked up and blissed out… and she’ll still wipe your tears gently and kiss your forehead like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “you alright, baby?” she asks. “need anything? water? chocolate? another round?” you laugh. you melt. you’d die for her.

smut

she lives to overstimulate you.

one orgasm? cute. two? still warming up. three? now we’re talking. she’s got you spread out on silk sheets, wrists bound with her tie, whimpering her name again and again, voice cracked and high. “you can give me one more, baby,” she coos, lips brushing your ear. “be good for miss.”

she fucks you like she owns you — slow, deliberate, mean.

the kind of strokes that leave you crying from how deep they go. she doesn’t even rush — she likes watching you squirm. “what’s the matter, baby?” she murmurs, rolling her hips into yours with lazy, punishing control. “can’t take it? thought you wanted to act grown.”

she makes you earn your orgasms.

oh, you want to cum? you better say please. better say thank you. better call her miss vi with tears in your eyes and her name falling off your tongue like a prayer. "you're so cute when you're desperate,” she laughs. “but i want to hear it sweeter, sugar. beg me like you mean it.”

she makes you ride her thigh in her office.

expensive tailored slacks? ruined. she keeps working — reading reports, flipping through files — while you grind against her muscled thigh, moaning softly and clutching at her arm. “don’t stop moving, sweetheart,” she says, not even looking at you. “i’ll finish this page, then i’ll ruin you.”

she has a drawer full of custom toys she only uses on you.

heat-sensitive, pressure-reactive hextech toys. remote-controlled. custom built with you in mind. she’ll slip one inside you before a gala and whisper, “be a good girl, or i’ll turn it up in front of the council.” you don’t last ten minutes.

she eats you out like it’s her fucking job.

face buried between your thighs, hair messy, eyes dark. hands locking your legs in place while her tongue works slow and deep. she moans against you, addicted to how you taste. “that’s it, baby,” she murmurs, lips slick. “give it to me. be good for mama.”

she’s a mean tease when she’s in the mood. you’ll be naked, panting, begging, and she’ll just smirk and whisper, “not yet.” she’ll kiss down your stomach… stop right before your clit. blow cool air over it. laugh when your hips buck. "so greedy. haven’t even said thank you for the last one."

she marks you. everywhere. hickeys under your collarbones. finger-shaped bruises on your thighs. lipstick smudged between your legs. she wants people to see. she wants them to know who fucks you this good. who you belong to. “smile pretty at dinner tonight,” she whispers while zipping up your dress. “let 'em wonder why your legs are shaking.”

she loves when you cry. not sad tears — the pretty, overwhelmed ones. the “i can’t take it but i don’t want you to stop” kind. that’s when she kisses your wet cheeks, fucks you even deeper, murmurs filth right into your ear. “crying already, sweetheart? we’re just getting started.”

her favorite position? you on your knees — wearing diamonds and nothing else. you look up at her with wide, glossy eyes, mouth open, waiting. and she just grins. “look at you. my good little thing,” she murmurs, voice husky. “so fucking pretty like this.” and when she’s done? she scoops you up like nothing, carries you to bed, and kisses you softly. “you did so good for me, baby.”

[nhmkhnh]

i was about to post a thirst about my wives but then i remembered i already posted my face on here 💔 (i wanna be deepthroated by lara, vi, and jill’s strap pls)

god i hate digital footprints.

[nhmkhnh]

i swear to the skies i'm never doing an escape room again. i'm already scared of ghosts but my friends kept begging non-stop, so i just went to get it over with, ended up getting chased three times and jump scared more times than i can count 💔💔💔 even if someone paid for me, i'd still say no. bye for real.

[nhmkhnh]

and she is listening to...

a new series is coming please stay tuned!

my favorite pair of glasses for taking pics broke 💔, but i still stubbornly used them for a few more shots before throwing it away hahaa.

testing the new makeup (and i edited my eyes a lil bit big for the style lol)

[nhmkhnh]

help me chattt i got too confident and didn’t order my usual matcha and now the one i like is discontinued TvT it had this tiny hint of jasmine and i loved drinking it but now it’s goneeee sobs. does anyone know a matcha that’s light and not too strong?? if u do pls rcm me some!! i’ll handle the ordering part myself hehe thank uuu love u all lots xx.

[nhmkhnh]

achievement unlocked: let mama vi rizz you up!

milf!vi x fem!reader || age gap (however u think but vi is def older) ;; implying dom!vi ;; suggestive somehow ;; listening to big dick while writing this because i just played escape room with my friend and because of that i got another trauma to deal with.

"you keep looking at my arms like they owe you something."

vi leans back against the doorframe, one hand lazily resting on her hip, the other cradling a mug she hasn't touched in ten minutes. her voice is husky—weathered by time, fights, and too many cigarettes. her daughter’s asleep in the other room, a soft hum of lullaby still lingering in the air, but you’re not paying attention to that. you're paying attention to her.

her biceps flex subtly as she lifts the mug again, and it’s impossible not to stare. her arms aren’t just strong—they’re lived in. tanned and peppered with faint scars, veins prominent along her forearms like a map of everything she's endured. the curve of her deltoids under the old tank top she’s wearing is sharp, distinct, intimidating.

she chuckles lowly, watching you from under her lashes.

“what?” you blink, startled.

vi shrugs, casual but confident. “didn’t say stop lookin’. just makin’ sure you know i notice.”

and then she turns, just a bit, like she knows what she’s doing—like she wants you to see.

that’s when the tattoos catch the light.

on the back of her shoulder: an old zaunite emblem, faded but fierce, dark ink against sun-kissed skin. on the right: the outline of a gauntlet, bones and gears intricately wound into a mechanical motif. down her triceps, the lines stretch—like the tattoos were made to follow the slope of muscle as she moves. there's a massive, sweeping piece that spans her upper back, just barely peeking above the low neckline: something tribal and bold, like a broken piltover gear.

you step closer without realizing.

she definitely notices.

"you wanna touch?" she teases, voice lowered. there's heat behind her smirk, but it’s not just flirtation—it’s patience. challenge. she's been around long enough to know what she does to people, and she’s not afraid to enjoy it.

you hesitate. “i wasn’t—”

vi steps into your space, mug now discarded on a side table. her calloused fingers brush your wrist—just a graze, but enough to leave you breathless.

“you were,” she murmurs. “and i’m not complainin’. just don’t make me chase you around the house, sweetheart. my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

you laugh, but it’s shaky, flushed. her body radiates heat—muscle under skin, steel beneath softness. up close, her scent is warm: cedar soap, smoke, and something faintly metallic. she tilts her head, watching you like you're a puzzle she already knows how to solve.

“i know i’m older,” she says softly, almost amused. “but don’t let the mom thing fool you. i still break ribs for a living.”

she grins, all teeth and dimples, but there's something dangerous underneath it. something addictive. you feel her thumb trace a circle over your pulse.

“you gonna let me take you out sometime?” she asks, voice a low rumble. “or you just gonna keep dreamin’ about my arms from across the room?���

vi grins, then suddenly grabs your thighs.

you gasp—a breathless sound caught halfway between surprise and heat—as she lifts you like it’s nothing, fingers gripping you firm and solid. your legs wrap around her waist on instinct, and her arms tighten beneath you, strong and steady. she’s warm, the kind of warm that feels like danger and safety at the same time.

“you fit real nice up here,” she murmurs, teasing, her face inches from yours.

you don’t even know what to say. the only thing you’re aware of is how solid her shoulders are under your hands, how the tattoos shift slightly with the stretch of muscle as she holds you with zero strain.

then—

a soft patter of tiny feet down the hallway.

both of you freeze.

��…mommy?”

vi stiffens just slightly, eyes darting toward the source of the voice.

and then a tiny figure appears by the doorway, rubbing her eyes with a plush bunny tucked under one arm. messy curls, oversized sleep shirt, bare feet on cold floor. her voice is soft and drowsy but clear as day:

“mommy… who’s that?”

you almost jump out of vi’s arms on instinct, but she just laughs, a low amused breath against your collarbone.

“oh, damn—” she mutters, adjusting her hold on you so she can turn to face her daughter without dropping you. her voice switches instantly, gentle. “hey, monkey. thought you were asleep.”

the little girl blinks at you, then at her mother, then back at you—still perched up in vi’s arms like this is normal. her brows furrow with tiny suspicion.

“are they your friend?” she asks slowly, pointing.

vi glances at you with a crooked grin. “somethin’ like that.”

you manage a small, awkward wave. “hi.”

the girl stares. then, very matter-of-factly:

“you’re pretty.”

you blink. “oh—uh, thank you.”

vi snorts, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head as she walks closer, still carrying you like a backpack.

“kid’s got good taste,” she murmurs into your ear.

her daughter peers up again, curious. “are they staying for pancakes tomorrow?”

“only if they’re lucky,” vi says with a wink.

[nhmkhnh]

got a thing for milf!vi again... sheeshhhh.

[nhmkhnh]

baby momma. (ii)

amab!vi x fem!reader || just pure fluff about moments with their daughter (5 y.o) || part i here! (nsfw)

the morning sun spills through the curtains, catching on the shimmer of dust in the air and the tangle of pink ribbons in vi’s lap.

"she moved again," vi mutters with a crooked grin, carefully threading a tie through your daughter’s wild curls. "hey, c'mon, sweetheart. if you keep wigglin’, you’re gonna make me mess up again."

“but it tickles!” your daughter squeals, kicking her socked feet on the edge of the couch. “mama, it tickles when you pull!”

vi chuckles, low and easy. she’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, wearing a pair of grey sweats and your oversized "property of vi" tank top—one she stole, altered to fit her broader chest and shoulders, and now wears with shameless pride. her arms flex with the gentleness of someone who could break necks but chooses to braid ribbon instead.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching vi fumble with the final loop of the second pigtail. her tongue peeks out in concentration. there’s a smear of toothpaste on her jaw from when your daughter ambushed her earlier, and her knuckles are still bandaged from last week’s sparring match, but the way she’s kneeling here now, patient and proud, feels like everything.

"okay. done." she grins and lifts the little girl into her arms. “whaddya think, huh? cute enough to take over piltover?”

"only if she learns how to punch like you," you say, walking over, ruffling your daughter’s hair (despite the pigtails). “you gonna teach her that next?”

vi smirks and taps your daughter’s nose. “what’d i say about using your fists, baby?”

your daughter parrots: “only if someone deserves it!”

vi beams. “that’s my girl.”

you arch a brow. “remind me again which parent was supposed to be the responsible one?”

she shrugs, one arm still full of giggling child. “you. i’m the cool one. i do pigtails and justice.”

you kiss her anyway. her mouth is toothpaste-minty, warm, familiar. her free hand catches the back of your head like she’s afraid you might float away if she doesn’t anchor you.

when you pull back, she whispers, “you gave me everything. i mean it.”

her eyes flick to the girl in her arms, then back to you.

"i didn’t know i could be this kind of happy, y’know?"

you rest your forehead against hers. “yeah,” you whisper. “me neither.”

it starts the same way it always does.

the bell rings. kids pour out like a flood — sneakers slapping the pavement, backpacks bouncing. parents wait in tidy little groups, chatting politely under sunshades, sipping iced coffee from compostable cups.

and then there's vi.

leaning against the hood of your beat-up car, arms crossed, biker jacket unzipped just enough to show a sliver of ink on her chest. aviator sunglasses. combat boots. one foot resting on the bumper like she owns the whole damn parking lot.

she doesn’t even try to blend in.

some of the other moms whisper. that’s her? one of the dads nods toward her like she’s an urban legend. the one with the tattoos?

vi doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care. she’s too busy scanning the crowd of kids for one tiny, familiar face. and when she spots her, all that tough-guy posturing melts like sugar in coffee.

“there’s my girl,” she murmurs.

your daughter sees her at the same time — and breaks into a sprint.

“mamaaa!”

vi crouches instinctively, arms open wide. she catches her mid-run, lifts her clean off the ground, spins her once.

“heyyy, there she is! you run faster every day, i swear.” she presses a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, still smelling faintly of strawberry shampoo. “good day?”

“i got a gold star on my picture!” your daughter beams, digging into her backpack. “it was us in the park. with the ducks. i made your hair pink, like you used to have!”

vi laughs, genuinely. “gorgeous taste, clearly.”

she holds the crayon drawing like it’s a priceless artifact. her fingers — bruised from last night’s training — handle it with ridiculous care.

as they head toward the car, vi lifts her daughter onto her hip, one hand casually carrying the tiny purple backpack that definitely has sparkles on it. she doesn’t even flinch when glitter transfers onto her jacket.

from the sidewalk, another parent stares.

“is that your… uh… partner?” they ask you, hesitantly.

you follow their gaze to vi, who is now crouching beside your kid, fixing the velcro on her shoes like it’s an olympic sport.

you grin. “yeah. that’s my partner.”

they nod slowly, clearly stunned. “she looks… intense.”

you shrug. “she does. until you see her braid a unicorn into our daughter’s hair and cry at bedtime stories.”

the rain starts around noon.

not the loud kind — just a lazy, steady patter against the windows. the kind that makes the world feel smaller, cozier. like the apartment is its own little island and everything beyond the glass can wait.

vi had been up early. real early. something about a supply run for you, or fixing the busted heater in the hallway, or “beating claggor’s pull-up record, for pride, babe.” you’d rolled your eyes, but she kissed your shoulder and went anyway.

by the time lunch rolls around, she’s back. hoodie on. hair damp. and somehow still full of energy — until she isn’t.

you come out of the kitchen with a warm cup of tea and stop cold in the doorway.

vi’s passed out on the couch. arms spread. head tilted slightly back. one leg kicked halfway off the cushions like she lost a wrestling match with a pillow.

your daughter’s curled up right on top of her. tucked perfectly in the space between vi’s chest and shoulder, little face smooshed into the soft curve of vi’s tank top. her hand — tiny, chubby-fingered — is clutching vi’s hoodie string like it’s a lifeline. she’s drooling. just a little.

vi hasn’t moved.

except—now she does. in her sleep, her arm shifts protectively over the girl on her chest. just enough to pull her in. her brow furrows like even unconscious, she knows who she’s holding.

you smile. quiet. warm.

you set the tea down. pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over both of them. vi doesn’t wake. her breathing is slow, steady. her kid’s even slower.

you sit beside them — careful not to shift the weight — and just… watch.

vi, with her scarred knuckles, her fighter’s arms, her tough shell… soft as melted chocolate now. snoring faintly. totally unaware that her daughter’s drool is soaking into her shirt.

and still, you’ve never loved her more than in this moment.

later, when she wakes up…

vi (groggy): “hey. did we—ugh, is she drooling again?”

you (grinning): “yup. all over you.”

vi (sleepy laugh): “good. means she’s comfy.”

[nhmkhnh]

your skin is so insanely clear and pretty is it okay to ask what you use

hello darlinggg and first of all thank u sm baby!! also it’s totally okay, you were just asking hehe no worries at all~

i use products from clé de peau, bbyyy. they’re kinda pricey compared to most brands but the serum is so good!! if u want more details just dm me and i’ll give u a little rundown (but keep in mind it’s all based on my personal experience heheh)

the cleanser from clé de peau feels amazing, like, deeply cleansed and a lot more effective than dior prestige imo. dior’s more for gentle, soft cleansing and it has quite a bit of fragrance so might not be great for super sensitive skin?

as for serum, i highly recommend the one from clé de peau. after around 2 weeks my skin got noticeably brighter and softer. it’s seriously sooo good i rcm 10/10 hihi!

toner? still clé de peau all the way!! super moisturizing and makes my skin feel smooth and glowy like pudding not even kidding hahaaa. but if u like rose scents, dior’s toner is also pretty nice~

here’s what i use:

serum: clé de peau brightening serum supreme

toner: clé de peau hydro-softening lotion

cleanser: clé de peau clarifying cleansing foam

[nhmkhnh]

Will you do a face reveal??

i already did babe, that side blog shows my face already!

[nhmkhnh]

i actually used to have a girlfriend before, but i probs look way too straight lol… and on top of that i’m so bad at making the first move 😭 oh well...