#literally i hope you step in cat puke in socks

[fiftymilehighclub]

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[kpopfanfictrash]

Christmas Socks (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You/Jongin (Kai)

Rating: 18+ (smut)

Word Count: 3,575

Summary:  You and Jongin are both stuck in the dorms for the holidays. [ THIS IS A REPOST ]

“You’re really going to stay in the dorms over Christmas?” My sister tuts into her  phone, clearly displeased.

I don’t respond, tucking my face into my scarf as I run across the quad. The wind is far too loud for her to hear me anyways and once I’m under the philosophy overhang, I sigh, placing the phone back at my ear.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I explain. “Mom and Dad are in the Caribbean. You’re visiting your boyfriend. What am I going to do – sit alone in the dark?”

“You could go to Aunt Mary’s and Steve’s,” Katie offers. “At least they’re family.”

“They don’t even celebrate Christmas. They do that European thing where they exchange presents on Three Wise Men’s day or something.”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” My sister’s pause gives me time to run to the next building. “You could always come to Josh’s?”

“To your boyfriend’s parents’ house?” I laugh. “That’s sweet, but no. I think meeting the son’s girlfriend is stressful enough without adding her spinster sister.”

Katie groans at my hyperbole. “You’re a senior in college, Y/N.”

“True,” I agree. “But with my love of cats and permanent lack of romance, that’s the direction in which I’m heading.” Unhooking the keys from my backpack, I rush the final few steps to my dorm. It is freezing.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Katie sighs, but already I can tell that I’ve won.

“Obviously,” I grin, struggling to pull off my glove. “But that’s why you love me, eh?”

“That, and blood relation. But really,” Katie asks, turning serious. “Why can’t somebody else stay?”

“Because I’m the RA,” I explain, swiping my ID at the door. “And because I have nowhere else to go for Christmas and volunteered. That’s why.”

“This makes me sad.”

“Yeah, well, same.” I enter the dorm, kicking the door shut behind me.

“Are you completely alone, though?” Katie persists. “Isn’t there at least someone else to keep you company?”

Stomping the snow from my boots, I shiver. The dorm’s heating is heavenly after the sub-zero temperatures outside. “I think there’s one of two freshmen who decided to stay over. Also whichever male RA they shanghaied too.”

“A boy?” Katie perks up considerably. “Is he cute?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t know which one is staying. Probably not cute, though. Most RA’s aren’t.”

“You’re cute,” Katie points out.

“Mom taught us not to lie, Katie.” I laugh, despite myself. At least I can always count on my sister to cheer me up.

I wasn’t lying about the others, though. Most of my fellow RA’s are recluses, not exactly looking for romance. There’s only a few of us scholarship students who were forced into being RA’s to keep the tuition funds going. Just me and Jongin, really.

Jongin.

Just his name makes my eyes roll. He’s cute. Oh, Jongin is cute, alright. Jongin is also a giant pain in my ass. He got on my bad side earlier this year when he threatened to report me to campus residence life – and this was just the start of our animosity.

The date was sometime late September; cold enough where the mornings were just starting to freeze over. Now, if we’re speaking technically, RAs are allowed to have guests of the opposite gender stay overnight, just not on Parents weekend. Which it was.

Anyways, I had a guy over and was trying to sneak him out when we ran into Jongin, coming in from his morning jog.

I suppose I should preface this fact with another. At the beginning of the year, Jongin and I hung out. We bonded quickly over both being scholarship students and even – maybe? – had a moment or two. Ish.

The which immediately comes to mind was in early September. It was way past curfew at that point and I was sprawled out on Jongin’s bed, an almost-empty bottle of wine between us. I remember laughing at something he said, probably a terrible pun – Jongin loved unnecessary puns.

At some point I moved closer and when I did, my head fell on Jongin’s shoulder. His arm was pressed tightly to mine in a slightly uncomfortable, but nice way. Eventually I pulled back to look at him. Jongin smiled down at me, light brown hair falling messily into his eyes.

As I stared back, the room spun. Maybe from the wine, maybe not. Either way, Jongin’s face softened the longer he looked at me, eyes questioning as I tilted my head upwards. Then his eyes lost that look and he bent forward, gaze determined… until someone knocked on his door.

A freshman, warning that another freshman was puking in the hall and Jongin needed to help clean up. I left after that – and Jongin never mentioned it to me again.

For a full week I wondered if it had been just my imagination, since he didn’t call. Didn’t text. Not even a vague hello to make me puzzle over the second meaning. Hence the one night stand.

Anyways, that morning I was escorting my guest out when we ran into Jongin. He stared at us, slowly pulling ear buds from his ears. “You’re not supposed to have guys over,” he muttered, glancing at me.

Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, one-night-stand guy decided to leave. He muttered something about calling that neither he, nor I actually believed that he’d do. Once he was gone, I crossed my arms. “What are you going to do,” I demanded. “Tell on me?”

The tips of Jongin’s ears turned red. “It’s parents weekend.”

“Yeah, so?” I laughed, which maybe was the wrong thing to do. He bristled, at that. “What, are you jealous or something? Are you really that petty?”

“Please,” Jongin rolled his eyes. “Like I’d be jealous of him.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled, stomping past him inside. “Do whatever you want, Jongin. I don’t care.”

I don’t think Jongin ended up doing anything, after that. At least, I never got into trouble but after that morning, things between us were decidedly frosty.

Now, I stomp my boots on the mat, unwinding my scarf. “Yeah, it’s just me and the dorms tonight,” I complain to my sister.

As though reading my mind, Katie asks, “What about Jongin? You know, that hot RA you – ”

“Goodbye, Katie!” I wince, entering my lobby. “Lovely talking to you. Say hi to Josh for me!”

Katie cracks up. “Okay,” she chuckles. “But Y/N. Call tomorrow so I can wish you a Merry Christmas, okay?”

“Okay,” I smile. “Merry Christmas Eve.”

As I hang up, I grimace at the decked-out archway. The dorm really went all out for the holidays, a fact which only furthers my sense of embitterment. There’s mistletoe hanging over every door, garland twined round every banister and bowls of candy on all the landings.

Glancing at the empty stairwell, I reach out to grab the whole bowl. Who cares, anyways? Tomorrow is Christmas.

“Going somewhere?”

The voice is male; equal parts amused and annoyed and when I turn, I see Jongin. I freeze, almost dropping the bowl. He leans against the door frame, watching me steal.

Fuck.

“I - uh.” Slowly, I set the bowl back down. “Just checking the candy count,” I explain. “Don’t want to run low for Santa.”

Jongin pushes himself off the wall, a brief smile crossing his face before disappearing. “Considering we’re the only ones here, I don’t think we’re in danger of running out. Go on,” he nods towards the bowl. “What’s the harm?”

I shrug, picking it back up again. There’s no point in pretending.

Jongin turns, is halfway to the door, when something makes me open my mouth. “Lousy Christmas, huh?” I call after him.

Jongin pauses before turning back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “And a Crappy New Year.”

For a few seconds I hover, unsure of what to say. This is the most civil we’ve been in months and a part of me wants it to continue talking. I just keep remembering his face that morning though, the face he’s had most mornings with me – and I find myself retreating. “I should go,” I say, twisting my scarf around my wrist. “Wouldn’t want the candy to get cold.”

Jongin nods slowly. “Right. Well, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I echo, disappearing down the hall.

The door to my room is unlocked – purposeful, since there’s no one around to steal anything. I set down my bowl of candy, turning on the TV and flopping across my bed. The Grinch. Excellent.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to my very Merry Christmas.

The plan is to watch the Grinch, eat an entire bowl of candy and hopefully fall into a sugar coma before I remember the fact that my entire family abandoned me on the most wonderful night of the year. I’m almost to the middle of the movie when a knock sounds at my door. Swinging my legs from beneath a giant pile of blankets, I answer.

“Yeah?” I call, despite there really only being one person it could be.

When I open the door, Jongin raises an eyebrow. “I hope you have more wine than that,” is all he says.

I don’t open the door further, staring up at him. “What are you doing here?”

The second my words leave, I wish I could take them back. What I meant was – nope, I meant that. Jongin’s presence feels surreal. Like I’ve somehow traveled back in time.

His eyes narrow. “Just making sure you haven’t overdosed on Christmas candy.”

“Oh.” I blink up at him. “Well, if that’s all – I’m fine.”

Jongin exhales, looking past me into my room. “Are you going to make me beg to come in?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine,” he mutters. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to be alone on Christmas. My mistake.” He turns to leave.

It’s as I watch him walk away that it occurs to me maybe Jongin doesn’t want to be alone on Christmas.

“Wait,” I sigh, taking a step forward.

Jongin looks back at me, waiting.

“Why do you want to spend Christmas with me, anyways?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “You hate me.”

“I don’t … hate you,” Jongin says, though his words sound doubtful.

A snort escapes my lips. “Right.”

“Believe what you want to believe.” Jongin shrugs. “But it’s Christmas Eve and Christmas is a time for forgiveness.”

“Literally no one says that.”

Jongin squints. “Are you trying to make me leave?”

“Ugh,” I exhale, considering for a moment. “Fine. Come on in. Since it’s Christmas.”

Jongin grins like he’s won the lottery. He walks inside, kicking off his shoes to plop down onto my bed. He’s dressed in a dark green sweater and jeans – which are black and faded. The combination makes his eyes darker brown than usual. “You were watching the Grinch, too?” he asks, noticing my TV.

“Of course.” I shut my door. “Although if you want to continue, I must warn: I know every line and am not shy about quoting.”

Jongin looks like he’s struggling not to laugh. “Right,” he says, pulling his legs up under him. “I also was serious about what I said – is that all the wine you have?”

My gaze moves to his feet. He’s wearing bright red Christmas socks. Tiny white presents dot the material and for some reason, it makes my heart ache. I shake my head. “I have more,” I say, crossing the room.

Jongin nods. “Cool. Glasses?”

Tossing him one, I clamber next to him with a new bottle. “Cheers,” I say, pouring my glass.

Jongin watches. “Cheers,” he echoes.

The silence widens, a tense awkwardness melting between us. I pull my blanket onto my lap. Next to Jongin, in his perfect sweater and red socks, I feel underdressed. Before he came I changed into leggings and a sweatshirt. My feet are bare and hair is up – at least I didn’t wash my makeup off yet. What am I even saying? It doesn’t matter if I have on makeup or not. This is Jongin we’re talking about.

Speaking of. Jongin laughs at the TV. “I love this part,” he grins. “Slunk.”

“What a god-awful impression,” I grin, falling back on my pillows. I’m careful to keep my distance from him, taking a slow sip of my wine as the movie continues to play.

One hour later, I’m not so concerned about space anymore.

If you were looking at my room now versus then, you’d be stunned by the juxtaposition. Maybe even question whether or not you were looking at the same place. When The Grinch ends, we end up watching Christmas Vacation – yet another movie I can quote, much to Jongin’s amusement.

I’m almost to the bottom of my second glass of wine when I realize our limbs are touching. I’m on top of the covers, blanket long discarded on the floor. It was too hot anyways, what with Jongin on my bed. The room is dark, lit only by the glow of the television and my Christmas tree. It casts a warm light over the space, illuminating Jongin’s profile.

I can’t help but notice that when he laughs, he opens his entire mouth. Eyes crinkling to slivers, looking like he enjoys laughing. Not everybody does. On some people laughter looks like work, as though they’re forcing their diaphragms to expand and contract with each noise.

Not Jongin.

Realizing that I’m staring, I look down. As I refocus on the screen, I set my wine glass to the side. A yawn escapes as I draw my legs up onto the bed.

Jongin glances over, expression unreadable as he asks, “Do you want me to go?”

My gaze flickers to his, then to the screen. “The movie’s not over yet,” I say.

He nods.

It might be minutes, hours later when I wake up. My eyes open, struggling to make sense of my surroundings. The side of my face is pressed to something soft – soft but hard, smooth against my cheek. When comprehension finally dawns, my eyes fly open.

Jongin. I’m curled against Jongin, nestled into his side with his arm draped over my shoulder. He smells wonderful. Like laundry detergent, cinnamon and… something else.

His breathing is calm but shallow. When I look up, I see this is because he’s still awake. What’s more, his gaze drifts to meet mine. I should say something, I reason. Should push him away, mutter an excuse, get up to leave.

But I don’t.

Instead I tilt my head upwards.  

Jongin’s breath catches, a tiny sound in the otherwise silent room. Sometime while I slept, he turned off my TV. His fingers brush the side of my face, his touch sending a shiver through me.

Still without a word, Jongin bends his head. His kiss is soft, lips just barely touching and he hovers until I reach up to twine my fingers through his hair. He falls onto his elbow, wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me against him. I press my body to his, heart fluttering as my eyes close.

Jongin slides fingers through my hair, deepening the kiss to nudge my leg aside. His fingers drift over my sides, tugging my shirt up as his thumbs brush hipbones. Jongin stiffens at my moan, pulling back just to look at me. His cheeks are flushed, eyes dark. “I lied earlier,” he breathes.

“What?” I ask, blinking. “About what?”

“You said that I hated you,” Jongin explains. “And I didn’t say no.”

I wait for him to say more, distracted by the way his thumbs trace circles over my skin.

“I like you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. “A lot.”

“Can I confess something?”

“Mm.”

“Me too.”

“You like you, too?”

I swat at his arm, grin fading when Jongin gently nips at my throat. He pulls back and laughs, gently pressing his lips to that same spot.

“I like you too,” I whisper, not sure if he’ll hear.

He does. When Jongin kisses me again, it’s with none of his previous hesitancy. He props himself over me, just far enough so I feel his every movement. His lips harden, our mouths opening as his hands tug my sweatshirt farther up my body.

I whimper, pressing close as his lips trail my jaw. “Jongin,” I groan, hands slipping under his sweater.

“Yes?”

Sitting up, I maintain eye contact and lift my sweatshirt over my head. Jongin’s eyes follow my, swallowing as I drop it to the floor. I’m left in just my bra, a plain black that shouldn’t be as sexy as Jongin seems to find it.

His eyes flicker and he pulls me forward. Lifting me bodily to settle on his lap. My legs wrap around his waist and I’m very aware of the growing hardness between his legs. Jongin tilts my head to the side, kissing a path down my neck that has me clenching around him.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Take this off,” I mutter, pulling at his sweater with none of his earlier grace.

Jongin obliges, sliding the garment over his head. And then it’s just his skin on mine, his warmth sending shivers down my spine. His hands slide around my torso, gently removing my bra. Jongin lowers me against the sheets, hovering over me.

When I nod he presses his lips to my neck, kissing down my chest. He pauses at my breasts, hands and lips urging moans from my body before continuing his path downwards. Slowly he unbuttons my jeans, lips skimming the top of my pants. Tracing the sensitive skin of my hipbones. His hands push my jeans off, dropping them and my panties to the floor beside us.

When his lips find my sex, I stiffen. Jongin smiles, moving his hands beneath my thighs to ease them apart. His lips coast over me again, tongue applying pressure in a way that makes me squirm.

And then he seems to forget about being gentle, sucking harshly as I clench my legs around him. He strokes a finger across my opening, groaning something about how wet I am. As his finger slides into me, he flicks his tongue. His other hand pressing my hips down, keeping me from moving. Not allowing me to shift, no matter how much I try.

“Jongin,” I breathe. My fingers wrap around his hair. “Please.”

He looks up, pausing in his movements.  “Yes?”

“I want you,” I whisper, pulling him up over me.

His eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Jongin moves, skin sliding over mine as I push impatiently at his jeans, almost falling off the bed to yank him forward. Jongin starts to laugh, pulling my hands above my head and stilling my movements. He shifts from his jeans, kicking them and his underwear to the floor. He hovers there for a second, pushing my hair behind my ear with his free hand.

His next kiss is soft and languid, member hard between my legs. I press closer, breathing suddenly unsteady. Jongin rolls on his condom and pauses, fingers tracing over my center. He rubs a circle around my clit as I arch upwards. “Jongin,” I whine.

He smiles and aligns our hips. His smile is wiped completely when he enters. “Ah,” he groans, closing his eyes. “Fuck.”

He sinks deeper, opening his eyes to look at me. Jongin’s gaze is dark; intense with desire and something else – something subtler. I can feel it in his touch, in the slow speed he moves. Entering slowly, allowing me to feel every inch of him.

I wrap my legs around him when he stops, silently urging him on. Jongin obeys, pulling back almost to the point of exit before sliding back in. It feels even better this way and I groan. “Faster, Jongin.”

Jongin gathers my thigh, wrapping it around his waist, rolling his hips as his pace roughens. His lips move to my neck, ghosting along my jaw and ending at my lips. His kiss matches his thrusts, tongue sliding against mine in a rough approximation of below.

“You don’t know how long,” he moans, shifting to hit a deeper angle, “I have wanted to do this.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you to do this,” I gasp, tightening as he increases tempo. His hips press me to the bed, sliding over my body at a new angle. The feeling is overwhelming, almost too intense when combined with his hand between my legs. He circles my sex, forcing my legs to tremble.

“Oh,” I sigh. “Jongin, please. Jongin!”

Jongin moves faster, thrusts harder. A steady wave builds until I fall, wrapped around him as I come. I breathe heavily, coming down from my high as Jongin pushes his last final inches. When he stills, I slide my hands to his neck and move my thumb along his jaw.

“Merry Christmas,” Jongin smiles. He pulls from my body, falling next to me.

I giggle and scoot closer, allowing him capture my hand with his. His other hand strokes my face, gently pressing my bottom lip. I fake bite him. “Merry Christmas Eve,” I correct.

“Nope.  You slept through that,” Jongin grins. “I was going to tell you when you woke up but then you seduced me and, well…”

His laughter shakes my chest against his. “Mm.” I move closer. “I can’t argue with that. I must have been very, very good this year,” I muse. “That was some gift.”

“Glad you think so.” Jongin nudges your neck with his nose, kissing gently. “Because I was just thinking of other things for me to unwrap.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I want you to put on my Christmas socks.”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2016. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[builder051]

Could you do something where Bucky is miserably sick and the only person around to help him is Nat?

Here it is!

We’re back in powers/no powers choose your own adventure (sorry for the whiplash).

________________________________

“I’ll just be gone a couple days,” Steve had said as he threw socks and underwear into a duffle bag.  “And in Pittsburgh, so not too far away.”

Bucky’d nodded and reassured Steve he’d be fine.

“Sam’s going with me, and so is Clint.” Steve’d explained.  “But Nat’ll be here.  You can call her if you need anything.”

“Ok.  I’ll be ok by myself, though,” Bucky’d said.

Now, he’s lying spread-eagle on the living room floor trying to breathe through nauseous prickles that are inching up his neck and making sweat break through the stubble on his upper lip.  Almost immediately he starts to feel cold again, but the chill is welcome after the oppressive heat of the blankets strewn over the edge of the couch.

Leave it to Bucky to catch some death-bearing virus the moment Steve leaves town.  He shakes his head, feeling his hair flop against the carpet.  Then he has to press his hand over his face to stop the reverberation in his sinuses.

Bucky glances up at the clock above the TV.  It’s 11:30 at night.  He should try to go to bed.  But he’s been on the couch, napping on and off for the last 5 or 6 hours while he waited for the headache and sniffle to either go away or get worse.  He’s exhausted, but not sleepy.  And with the fevered ache in his lower back, Bucky is actually slightly more comfortable on the floor’s hard surface than he was on the couch.  He doubts bed will feel much better.

Back around 4:00 in the afternoon when the body aches were first starting to appear, Bucky’d pulled a bottle of ibuprofen from the kitchen drawer only to find that he couldn’t get the safety cap off.  He’d tried holding it between the wall and his stump shoulder while he worked the lid with his right hand, but there’d been no success.  Squeezing it between his knees and twisting with his down-pressed palm had given the same result.  The whole thing would just spin and resolutely refuse to open.

The smart thing to do would’ve been to call Nat during daylight hours and solicit her for some innocent help.  But he hadn’t been feeling that bad then.  Just a little aura of malaise, nothing worth bothering anyone with.  He’d just lie down and sleep it off.  But the nap had done the opposite of helping.  Now every inch of Bucky’s body throbs and he feels close to vomiting.  Painkillers probably won’t even help at this point.

Bucky’s brain seems to bounce against the inside of his skull as he rolls onto his side and sits up. Orientation is slow to catch up, and the vertigo that’d been swiveling around the edges of his vision while lying down is now engulfing him in dizziness.  His stomach splashes with a threat of what’s to come, and he gets to his feet but stays hunched over as he makes for the bathroom.

Bucky drops clumsily to his knees and lifts the toilet lid.  His mouth fills with coppery tasting spit, and he lets it run down his lip and into the slightly bleachy-smelling water.  A heave wracks his shoulders, but nothing comes up yet.  Bucky breathes against a quivering clod of mucous in his throat and waits for the next assault on his stomach.  He retches up a splash of something sour, then presses his sternum into the edge of the porcelain toilet as his spine arches in a dry heave.

Bucky hasn’t eaten dinner, so there isn’t a lot to bring up.  It doesn’t keep his body from forcibly expelling what’s in it, though, and Bucky loses count of the retches that force his entire frame into sweaty shakiness and bring up almost nothing for the effort.

Finally he gets a chance to pause and breathe.  Disorientation is coming on quickly, and Bucky feels unsteady on his knees.  He’s not sure if he’s about to contract forward again or fall backward into convulsions, but he’s positive his sense of equilibrium isn’t going to last.

He ends up collapsing sideways into the wall.  Bucky paws at the toilet paper roll, but it does nothing to keep him upright.  Stars blink into his vision and he lets his ear rest on the smooth, hard surface.  He hears his phone ringing from the living room, and the fleeting wonder of who the fuck is calling him at nearly midnight flashes for a moment.  Then blur spreads through his head and Bucky can’t muster the energy to wonder at all.

He comes to, and panic floods Bucky’s veins as he hears the sound of a key scraping in the lock on the front door.  Steve’s out of town.  Sam’s out of town.  Who else has a key to the house?  Bucky uses the wall to haul himself to his feet, then launches for the bathroom door frame.  He’s still unsteady enough to fall, but instinct tells him to prepare to fight.

Bucky makes it into the hallway as the front door swings open.  He should launch himself at the intruder, assume a fighting stance.  But the nausea’s back with a vengeance, and he’s doubled up to dry heave over the carpet when Nat steps through the door.

“Oh my god,” she says, rushing to his side.

“No,” Bucky, grunts.  His voice is shot.  “I’m ok.  Leave me…alone.”

“Yeah, I’m totally going to do that,” Nat says sarcastically, inserting her shoulder under Bucky’s stump and getting a slender arm around him.  “Do you want to get to the bathroom?”

Bucky breathes through the contraction.  His stomach’s in his chest, but he’s beyond empty.  “No, I’ve just been…I’m fine.”

He watches Nat turn her head down the hall to see the bathroom light blazing in the dark of the downstairs.  “Oh,” She says.  Then, “You’re not fine.  You’re about to pass out.”

She walks Bucky to the couch and practically throws him down on top of the nest of blankets, then heads off to retrieve the bathroom trash can and flush the toilet.

“Ok,” Nat says, perching on the edge of the coffee table and dropping the trash can between Bucky’s feet. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.  Just got sick, I guess,” Bucky mutters, passing his hand over his forehead and down across his eyes.  “What’re you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer when I called,” Nat says simply.

“Why’d you call?  It was like…midnight.”

“To remind you to go to bed,” Nat says with a dry laugh.  “Steve said you’d been staying up all night watching old movies lately.”

“Huh,” Bucky says.  Nice of Steve to care about him enough to set up a bedtime call.  But Bucky doesn’t need to be babysat.  Then he runs through the events of the past few hours and reluctantly concedes that maybe he does, though he’ll still never admit it.

“I called you four times,” Nat says.

“I, uh, only heard the first one,” Bucky admits.  “I was…I couldn’t get up to answer it.”

“So you’ve already passed out once tonight.  Spectacular,” Nat sighs.  She reaches across to palm Bucky’s forehead.  “What kind of fever are you running there?”

“Fucking disgusting one,” Bucky mumbles.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Nat agrees, removing her hand.  “I’m gonna go pillage the supplies in the master bathroom.  I hope you guys hid all your sex toys.”

“We don’t…” Bucky loses the energy to retort.

“Taking your word for it,” Nat says, standing up and heading for the stairs.  “And speaking of taking stuff, what meds have you had?”

“None.”

“God, I didn’t think you’d fried your brains that much.”

“I couldn’t get the bottle open,” Bucky murmurs, deciding he’d rather feel embarrassed than idiotic at the moment.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Nat says, a trace of soft sympathy invading her tone.

“Thought it was too late.  Didn’t know I’d get a midnight message.”

“Hey, there’s no chivalry around me, ok?” Nat says, hardening again.  “You don’t have to be nice because I’m a girl.  I mean, yeah, don’t call Laura at 11:00 on a school night when her husband’s out of town, that makes sense, but I was literally playing darts with the wall right before I came over here.  Nothing to interrupt.”

“Yeah.  Sure,” Bucky agrees weakly.  Sweat breaks out on his forehead, and the sick feeling in his abdomen is rising.

“Trash is on the floor,” Nat reminds him, then she sprints up the stairs.

She’s back quickly, and Bucky glares at her over the old-fashioned thermometer she’s shoved into his mouth.  The presence of it under his tongue is making him want to gag.

“101.5,” Nat reports when Bucky’s finished cooking the glass rod.  “Definitely a fever.  But nothing dangerous.”  She offers a couple bottles of pills next.  A different container of ibuprofen, plus Excedrin and Nyquil.

Bucky goes with the plain painkiller.

“Really?” Nat asks.  “Don’t wanna be knocked out?”

Last time he took Nyquil, Bucky’d been assaulted with the most bizarre nightmares of his existence.  He just shakes his head weakly.

“Ok.”  Nat gives him a generous dose of the small orange tablets and a glass of ginger ale.

Bucky stifles a sickly belch after downing the meds with a swallow of the carbonated beverage, but Nat pays it no mind.  She flips on the TV and gives Bucky the choice of Nat Geo or classic movies.

Halfway through Creature from the Black Lagoon, Bucky starts to feel revolting again.  Sweet ginger ale and the chemical-tasting coating on the pills is so present in his throat he can almost smell it.  He decides he’d rather puke in a toilet than in the garbage can, so Bucky slowly rises to his feet.

Nat doesn’t say anything, so Bucky turns to glance at her before he shuffles into the bathroom.  She’s curled like a cat on the seat of the La-Z-Boy, fast asleep.  Bucky does his best to lift the toilet lid and retch quietly.

[butterflyinthewell]

Most disgusting life experience ever.

The post is under a cut because this is disgusting and I don’t want anyone to see so much as a sentence during casual scrolling. Especially if you’re surfing Tumblr while eating or drinking something. 

In fact, I recommend you finish what you’re eating or drinking before you read this if you decide to click, because it will make you not want to put anything in your mouth for a long time. 

It’s that gross!

* * * TRIGGER WARNINGS:

-Vomit  -Feces -Unsanitary -Food mention -Emotional abuse

* * *

Cats are just as capable of grossness as small children, I swear. This morning was my worst nightmare.

I exited my room and two steps later stepped squarely in fresh cat puke. It was still warm, and my full weight came down on it. I felt it squish between my toes and I slipped just enough that the entire mess transferred onto the sole of my foot. I stepped backwards involuntarily while keeping the puke foot on the floor, and my other foot landed on a fresh, mushy still-warm turd. It was one of those turds that are barely solid enough to have a shape, and now that mush squished between my toes. 

Both my feet were contaminated now. My whole body felt these sensations being transmitted to my brain from my feet. So I felt it on my tongue even though my feet are quite far from my mouth. I smelled it too, the disgusting mixture of puke and shit. I might as well have put it all in my mouth because my body made it feel that way.

So there I was, frozen in place with my bedroom trash can in my hands. I was doing my Tuesday routine of collecting the trash from the bathroom bins to take it all out into the big bins out back. Then those bins are rolled out front for trash/recycling pickup.

But I was frozen in place with one foot in puke and the other in shit.

I started bawling. The explosive kind of meltdown I have when my brain says “I-have-competing-prompts-and-don’t-know-what-to-do”. Because I wanted to jump out of the mess I was standing in to get away from the disgusting squishy warm sensations, but if I did it would make more of a mess. Plus I was in the middle of a routine-oriented task that had to be done.

My brain decided a meltdown was the only course of action because any choice I made besides standing still would spread the mess everywhere else.

Dad, of course, woke up because he was asleep and I was right outside his door. He yelled at me to shut up without checking to see the reason behind my freakout. That’s what he always does. I can understand him being mad at me for waking him up, but it’s what he said when he saw why I was in distress that hurt.

“This is why you’re embarrassing to live with! You let the stupidest shit make you mad. You’re being a r*tarded baby! Grow up and act like an adult!”

I started screaming for my mom. It was the only word I could force out.

My poor mom-- she rushed in from out back and yelled at my dad to shut up. She told me to stay where I was and got out the stuff to clean up the cat messes. She brought paper towels for me to step onto and washed my feet off before anything else because she knows I can’t handle being in contact with bodily waste material. 

That’s when my gag reflex went critical and I threw up in the trash bin I was holding. Mom took that and handled the trash stuff herself. She cleaned out my trash can and brought it back to me, told me to go sit down in my room and then took care of the cat messes. She gave my dad some hell for yelling at me and went back to the back yard to finish her gardening.

I sat in my room crying and melting down for a long time after. It’s taken me several hours to calm down.

I’ve been holed up in my room and only leaving it to go to the bathroom. I haven’t eaten since breakfast because everything is making me gag until I can’t breathe. Spit, my own tongue, even pills and water set off horrid retching. I’m so hungry and I can’t get food down because I still feel that warm wet squish sensation on my feet.

At least the bullshit my dad said didn’t really get to me, but it still feels like being kicked while I was down.

What he said was almost funny because HE has just as much of a gag reflex response to puke and shit that I do, but his Parkinson’s always gives him that convenient “out” for any manual labor since he can’t easily get up if he gets down on the floor. I don’t care about that; he’s disabled and can’t help it. But he thinks that’s a reason he can belittle me for a major gross-out response I had zero control of. 

Right, okay, no. A part of me nearly wiped my shit and puke smeared feet on his leg to send him gagging as much as I was, but that would have been childish and disgusting.

The mess was Dickens’ doing. She’s an old cat(18 years old) and shits where she stands whenever she throws up unless she literally just used the litter box. Her poops are always right next to the primary puke pile, and the smaller aftershock pukes are usually peppered all over the house. You think you’re done cleaning up and that’s when you find another puke pile. You’re left begging for mercy by the time you’ve found and cleaned it all up. This cat is an impressive barfer.

We’ve been to the vet about this. Hairball medicine helps, but doesn’t entirely stop it. We’ve tried different diets and medicines. She’s a vomit comet no matter what we do. One thing that helps avoid nasty morning surprises is picking up the bowl of dry kibble at night and putting it down after breakfast. 

Dickens tends to have puke/shit fests in the morning for reasons we’ve never figured out. I suspect she drinks water and wolfs down dry kibble faster than her stomach can warn her that it’s full. Kibble swells up in liquid. In essence, she overeats. You wouldn’t know by looking because she’s always been skinny due to being spayed at a very young age. She can and does keep food down most of the time, so it’s not like she’s malnourished. She can puke, go eat more food and be fine for the rest of the day.

But mom forgot to pick up the kibble last night and, well...I can tell that’s what Dickens ate to turn the hallway into a warzone.

Dickens always pukes and shits right where people walk or where my dad’s rollator walker wheels will go. It’s like she knows right where to make her grossness a centerpiece for all to admire. She’ll be fine, then she’ll yowl a bit, puke and then go back to being fine afterward like it never happened. She’s also remarkably quiet; she did that within a few feet of my bedroom door without me hearing a thing. Sometimes she makes that “blerk-blerk” noise, but you almost don’t hear it unless you’re right next to her.

My cat is a vomit ninja and I think today was the grossest experience of my life. I’ll be impressed if I’m able to eat dinner later because the gagging starts every time I move my tongue inside my mouth. Sometimes I dry heave.

All I can say is at least I didn’t step in that mess with slippers or socks on. That would’ve been worse because I would’ve had to throw them away. 

I had to pause typing this to go scrub my feet with rubbing alcohol, then soap and water. I still feel filthy and I still feel the barf and shit on my skin even though I can’t get it any cleaner.

For the record: I don’t have OCD, I just get very squicked when touching any sort of body fluid or waste material from another living creature. I’ll even gag if somebody drips tears on my skin while they’re crying. 

I can handle being kissed if the other person doesn’t give me a sloppy one with a lot of spit, and if I let my cats lick my hands(their tongues are stimmy), I make sure to wash my hands afterward.

I hope I never experience something more gross than today. My brain wouldn’t be able to handle it.