If Someone Has A Voodoo Doll Of Me And Keeps Forcing It To Make Poor Life Decisions, Please Stop

If someone has a voodoo doll of me and keeps forcing it to make poor life decisions, please stop

Care (Jungkook x Reader)

Drunk truth or dare is hardly ever a good idea.

Request: Jungkook: “Well shit, i didn’t think he’d actually DO it”

fluff + comedy, 1.9k words, jungkook/reader, normalverse

You decide that maybe, just maybe, letting your dumb friends (and boyfriend) start the game of drunk truth-or-dare before you got there was not a very good idea. But it’s too late now—you can only look on helplessly in horror as Hoseok rolls down the driveway in a sleeping bag, yelling “I’M A BURRITO, THE KIND THAT YOU EAT-O” at the top of his lungs whilst Jimin and Jungkook laugh themselves into tears from the sidelines.

“Hoseok, no—” you shout. Being the only sober person within three hundred feet, you’re the only one who sees where Hoseok is, inevitably, going to end up.

“I’M A BURRITO, THE KIND THAT YOU EAT-O, WHOOOOOO—“

Even with the benefit of foresight, you cringe when he rolls off the driveway and into the nearby ditch. The sleeping-bag-burrito lets out a shriek of surprise as it disappears down the slope.

There’s a moment of silence as Jungkook and Jimin’s drunken brains take a couple seconds to process what just happened, and then they just laugh harder. You rush down to help Hoseok. He’s valiantly struggling to untangle himself from the sleeping bag and mostly, kind of pitifully, failing. You tug at the bag, then at Hoseok, then on the bag again, but it’s incredibly hard because Hoseok is kind of heavy and also he won’t stop flailing around.

Frustrated, you turn to the two boys still doubled over on the driveway. “Guys, help,” you say, sharply. Jungkook and Jimin stop laughing, for the most part. And then Jungkook screams, rather ecstatically, and hurtles towards you.

“OH MY GOD, ________,” he cries, wrapping himself around you like a really devoted octopus. “YOU’RE FINALLY HERE.”

“Jungkook, I’ve been here for the last five minutes,” you growl, trying to get your boyfriend off of you; it’s difficult trying to maneuver around and save a dying burrito/Hoseok with something latching onto you like an octopus.

“Hey, _________,” Jimin says from up the slope, dragging out the “y” in “hey.” His face is red and he’s swaying in place.

“Hi, hello,” you say, dismissively, too busy pulling at both Jungkook and Hoseok at the same time.

“Oh man so you saw Hoseo—I mean the burrito rolling down?” Jungkook asks, excitedly, hooking his chin on your shoulder. You can smell the alcohol on his breath as Hoseok grunts indignantly by your feet.

“Yes, I did, what the fuck,” you say incredulously. “Whose idea was that, anyway?”

“Jungkook’s,” Jimin answers without hesitation, like a tattling five year old.

You give Jungkook a judgmental side eye.

“Well shit, okay, I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” he whines defensively.

“Of course he would, he’s fucking drunk off his ass. Like the rest of you,” you say, finally wrestling Jungkook off of you. He pouts. “And Jimin, down, now.”

When Jimin finally stumbles down into the ditch to join you, and Jungkook is convinced to stop pouting and actually help, you finally understand just how wasted they are. They can’t seem to control their fingers; they keep fumbling with the bag and Hoseok keeps giggling, which doesn’t help at all. After a good ten minutes of trying to drag Hoseok up the slope, they just lie down on the ground. “No,” Hoseok eventually slurs dramatically, his arm nearly whacking you across the face. “Leave me here, I’m a dying man. You can still save yourself, _________.” He continues to flop around.

“Hoseok, how much did you even drink in a half an hour,” you groan, still futilely tugging at him. He’s managed to knot the bag around himself in four different places.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says cheerfully. He’s on his stomach now. With what you consider infinite patience, you finally manage to free a corner of the sleeping bag from where it’s wedged under his arm.

Jungkook giggles loudly from where he’s lying down, completely useless. “If we leave the burrito in the ditch, then we’d be…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “ditch-ing him!”

A moment of silence—and then hysterical, drunken laughter from all three of the boys.

“Oh my God,” you say, and then with one forceful heave you finally liberate Hoseok from the damp, frankly disgusting sleeping bag. You start to drag him towards the house, with him giggling to himself all the while. “Jimin, can you get the sleeping bag?” you call over your shoulder, and then you actually look to see what he’s doing and—

“No, no, don’t—oh my god,” you say, for the second time, and you drop Hoseok—he grunts in pain—on the ground to rush over to Jimin, who is ignoring you and wraps himself in the sleeping bag exactly like Hoseok did.

“Jimin, no, put the bag down and take it inside,” you order.

“Nope,” he says, a childish glint in his eye. “I’m not Jimin anymore, I’m a burrito.”

“Jimin, what the fu—”

“And he’s about to get JALAPEÑO BUSINESS!” Jungkook shouts from the distance, much too enthusiastically. He still hasn’t gotten up.

“Jungkook, I love you and all,” you say, running a hand through your hair, “but get inside the damn house now, okay, both of you, before I kill you all.”

Amazingly, they listen. Jimin hops back inside with the sleeping bag tightly wrapped around him, humming what sounds suspiciously like the Burrito song from Good Mythical Morning. Jungkook stops and stares at Hoseok lying flat on the ground—you hold your breath, because you really don’t want to drag Hoseok back into the house—and then, because karma is finally smiling upon you or some shit, Jungkook shrugs, picks up Hoseok’s feet, and starts pulling him across the grass.

You finally let out a breath. No more alcohol for them, you decide. Or at least for now.

As soon as everyone is inside, you immediately turn your attention to Hoseok. The boy sustained a minor injury but luckily remained intact—for the most part.

“I’m going to die,” Hoseok moans, clutching his arm dramatically. “My arm feels like it’s been slashed off.”

“Hoseok, chill,” you say, grabbing the first aid kit. “It’s a tiny scrape. It’s literally smaller than a paper cut.”

“________,” Jungkook whines, attaching himself to you from behind. “Why aren’t you paying any attention to me?”

“Because, as the only sober and sane person in this house, it is my duty to take care of you idiots,” you reply, rubbing an alcohol wipe over Hoseok’s cut.

He shrieks in pain. “YOU’RE PUTTING ACID ON IT,” he accuses, but you pin him down and forcefully re-apply the wipe.

“No, I’m putting alcohol on it to clean out the bacteria and dirt,” you say, firmly. Hoseok relaxes a little under you, but still continues to squirm. Quickly, you throw the alcohol wipe to the side, slapping a band aid over the cut before he can try to do anything else.

“I’m your boyfriend, though,” Jungkook says, kissing your neck but mostly missing. He gets a mouthful of your hair instead and starts spluttering.

“Yes, but also I need to tend to my injured friend,” you reply, checking Hoseok for any more cuts. Incredibly, the boy has calmed down and—oh, wow, he’s out cold.

“Where’s Jimin?” you ask, turning around in Jungkook’s arms.

He frowns. “Why are you asking about Jimin now?”

“Because I need to make sure he’s not dead or doing something crazy, both of which are completely plausible right now,” you reply, poking at his chest. “Now, tell me, where is Jimin?”

Jungkook keeps pouting, shakes his head. “I’m not telling you until you kiss me.”

Groaning, because you are not up for this shit, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, fine,” you say, leaning up to plant a firm kiss on his mouth. Jungkook kisses you back, eager, but before he has the chance to deepen it Hoseok snores, loudly. Both of you jump. For a second you wonder if an elephant wandered into the room.

Jungkook turns back to you and leans in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a hand to the face.

“Now, tell me, where’s Jimin?”

“I’m not telling you yet,” he says, childishly, his words muffled against the hand you’ve got splayed across his face.

“Bu—”

“I want another one.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Jeon Jungkook, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me where Park Jimin is I will go and find him myself.” You wrestle out of his grasp to prove your point.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sudden realization that wow, you’re capable of moving on your own. Drunk Jungkook is not necessarily smart Jungkook, you conclude.

“Okay okay fine,” he says, managing to get a hold of your sleeve. He tugs at it insistently, as if begging you to return to his arms. “He’s passed out in the bathroom, I think.”

“Oh thank God,” you mutter. Then you reconsider. “Oh, shit, wait—“

Before you can move away, Jungkook reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Stay? Please?” He looks at you, pleading. It’s already hard enough to refuse Jungkook as is—he’s your goddamn boyfriend, after all—and the fact that he’s deliberately trying to guilt you into staying with him with those puppy eyes and everything is making it all too difficult. When his eyes start welling up—the boy can cry on cue and he uses it to great effect—you sigh. “Okay, okay, fine—” you start.

“Yay,” Jungkook says, instantly cheered. He pulls you into his arms, nuzzling into you as he collapses backwards onto the sofa.

“After I check on Jimin so he doesn’t choke on his vomit,” you finish. He snuggles you closer, apparently ignoring your struggling. “Jungkook, I can’t fucking breathe,” you say, muffled, slapping at his arm; it’s pressing your face into his chest. “Let me up, I gotta check on Jimin.”

“Oh, fine,” he says, and lets go.

It’s a short trek down the hall. You head to the bathroom and do, actually, find Jimin passed out on the floor, with vomit sloppily cleaned up in at least three different places; you do your best not to gag, wipe Jimin’s mouth, and drag him to his room. It’s not easy, but you manage to pull him onto his bed—kind of—where he turns over and sighs and settles back in to sleep.

The living room is dark when you get back—Jungkook must have turned out the lights—and you make your way to the couch and collapse against Jungkook. He hums happily. “________?”

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you right? Lots and lots,” he says.

You twist around in his arms so you can look into his eyes directly; Jungkook stares back at you, a stupid grin on his face, but his eyes are full of love and affection, apparently magnified by his drunken haze. Satisfied, you smile back at him.

“Yeah.” You sigh, wriggle into a comfortable position against his chest. “I love you too, Jungkook.”

He makes a noise of agreement as he launches into an onslaught of kisses, most aimed at your neck and your cheeks. Or at least you think he’s aiming for them. You have to close an eye before he kisses your damn eyeball by accident. “But you’re still an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” he replies, cheekily. You can only roll your eyes and give him a playful slap because wow, leave it up to Jeon Jungkook and his drunk self to come up with the cheesiest, most overused line out there.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate it, though.

“Unfortunately, you are.”

a/n: wooo i dont know what to name this fic ahhah! @clairemurdcks and i decided on the burrito thing from this reddit thread. also, here’s the link to the burrito song jimin was humming if anyone wanted to actually listen to it.

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anika-bl

9 years ago