I Am Not Latino But Can I Get A Cute Spanish Nickname Too?

I am not Latino but can I get a cute spanish nickname too?

gringo

@mooninjstin pointed out the similarities between these two and im still sh👀k

tao and kris hugging at dongfang new year concert

@kaiholic

kbs song festival: sign ♡ 181228

Addiction

TRIGGER WARNING: This one deals with addiction. It might be a good one to skip if this triggers you any. I don’t want anyone upset because of this, so please read at your own discretion. 

- Admin A 

P.S. – This one is also sorta NSFW, though it’s not direct smut. So, yeah. 

Addiction: the repeated involvement with a substance or activity, despite the substantial harm it causes, because that involvement is pleasurable or valuable.

Addiction can be lots of things. Someone might be addicted to sex, or drugs, or gambling. For her, it started out like any other addiction someone might have – just a taste, and then she was hooked. It wasn’t on something, though.

It was on someone.

Kim Minseok belonged to the Family. He wasn’t just some lowly grunt, though – he was the person that headed up the entire drug operation that the Family ran. He made designer drugs for the high-rolling clubs of the city, and produced knockoff prescription drugs to sell on the street, and made sure everyone always paid one way or another for the product he provided. He was smart and handsome, too, and altogether someone that anyone would feel comfortable with, if it suited him.

That was part of his charm. He could say all the right things when someone needed to hear them, and his sweet, almost boyish face could easily make someone throw away their remaining doubts. It was his honeyed words that first drew her in, made her take that first hit, but the man behind the charming mask was what kept her coming back.

She still wasn’t completely sure how she ended up in that club talking to Minseok that night. She partially blamed her friend for dragging her there in the first place and then immediately ditching her for the dancefloor, but she was also perversely grateful. If she’d never gone, she wouldn’t have met him that night, and she wouldn’t have had her first taste. Not of the drugs he made and oversaw the sale of, but of him.

She remembered how easy he’d been to talk to, and he’d laughed and smiled and played the perfect gentleman while they sat and talked in one of the small booths just off the bar. She remembered how intoxicating his smile was, how heady his attention made her feel. Something about him made her bold, and she remembered inviting him home with her that night. It still surprised her that someone like him accepted.

That first taste was all it took. The boyish charm fell away behind closed doors, and she felt what it was like to fly, the euphoria he gave her so intense that she almost felt unraveled. She was convinced that sex with Minseok was better than any high a drug could give her, and it only took that first hit to become addicted to him.

That was only the first night, though. They kept meeting up at that same club after that and going back to her apartment. It took months of them seeing each other before he invited her back to his place, and she remembered the first night she walked through his doors into the luxurious home. It had amazed her for a few brief seconds before all she could think of was the taste of his lips on hers and the tightness of his arms around her, and how easily he could make her feel like she was floating.

She knew by then that she was playing with fire, but she didn’t care. He didn’t hide what he did from her and she knew from the start that he was dangerous. Minseok was the perfect gentleman in public, though, and he made her feel such incredible things behind closed doors. She knew she was falling deeper and deeper into an addiction that she’d never be able to break and yet she couldn’t stop herself, too hooked on the feelings he could bring out in her.

She would always come back for more.

Minseok was not a gentle man when it came to sex, she found. He liked it rough, to say the least, and the adrenaline rush she felt every time quickly spiraled into unparalleled bliss. She might walk away with little bruises from how tight his hands would hold onto her thighs or dark marks along her throat or chest from his teeth, but each mark felt like a prize to her, and she would smile each time she saw them in the mirror, craving his touch even more just at the sight of them.

She traced over some of those marks from her last encounter with him in her bathroom one morning, her smile falling a little when she realized they were nearly completely faded. He hadn’t sent her a text in over a week, but she knew he’d contact her when he was ready to. The insufferable itch to feel him against her again had already started to come back, though, and she hated having that craving and being unable to really satisfy it.

These thoughts kept circling in her head all that day as she went about her life, distracting her and making her concentration scatter every time she tried to think of something else. By the time she got home that night, she was nearly ready to give in and try texting him, but when she walked through her front door, her heart leapt.

He was there, waiting for her, a glass of red wine in his hand as he casually read from one of the books on her coffee table.

He turned when he heard her come in, a cat-like smile on his face. “I’ve missed you this week. I thought I might surprise you tonight.” His smile widened, his sharp eyes tracing along her body; she almost thought she saw a hint of approval in their dark depths. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She dropped her bag unceremoniously on the ground next to the door as she shook her head. “No, not at all,” she said, her voice already a little breathless from the surprise and immediate anticipation his sudden appearance caused. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Good,” he said, finally setting his wine down and casually tossing the book back onto the coffee table. He gestured for her to come closer, and that was all the invitation she needed before she was in his lap, kissing him with the all the need that had been building in her for days. She could feel the dark smirk on his lips at her desperation, but she didn’t care as soon as he took over, kissing her back just as intensely. His hands fell heavily to her thighs, fingertips already pushing her skirt up just enough to brush against bare skin, the teasing sensation causing electrical currents to flash all the way up her spine.

This was it. The high she chased with him, the destructive force of her own addiction barely a passing thought anymore. He was as dangerous and addicting as any drug he made, but she didn’t care. She needed him, craved his touch, would do anything for him.

This was her addiction, and she loved it.