#got 7

Summary: Jackson takes you on a family trip to his cousin’s wedding to meet his parents. After you overhear a dudes being dudes conversation, you decide to put the good girl act to bed. Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, while there is no actual smut in this chapter this is a lot of teasing, hand stuff, and language. Also a lot of frustrated Jackson. Author’s Note: I hope you guys stick around for all four parts of this. I can promise you Jackson is going to get more and more frustrated as we go along. I can’t promise a happy ending (no pun intended) so you’ll just have to stick around and see what these crazy kids get into.

Jackson was smitten, moreso, he was in love and he had been for a while. That was why this trip with his family was so important to him. He couldn’t wait for his parents to finally meet the woman he kept talking about. The woman he wanted to marry. He had it all planned out, a few days with his parents to Hainan for his cousin's wedding, then back home to Seoul where the proposal would take place. It was perfect, he just hoped his family loved you as much as he did. 

He was currently in the studio with Jaebeom working on some songs for an upcoming surprise album. They hadn’t told anyone outside of the GOT7 family that this was happening, and the fact that either of them even had time despite their busy solo tour schedules was impressive. You, being the proud girlfriend that you were, had decided to surprise Jackson and Jaeybeom with lunch. As you entered the studio you could hear the two of them taking a break, and typically you weren’t the one to eavesdrop on Jackson’s conversation but what he was saying stopped you in your tracks.

“Yeah, bad girls are where it’s at.” Jackson was lying through his teeth, of course. But he wasn’t in the mood to get into it with Jae, not today. So he took an easy route - agreeing with everything his friend had to say.

Pairing: Jackson x GN!Reader x BamBam

Genre: FWB! Sick Comfort

Synopsis: The reader has been avoiding Jackson and BamBam, trying to hide how sick they are. But the boys find them anyway—and they’re not happy about it. Cue clingy, domestic fluff as they take care of their stubborn FWB.

Requested: Yes

Word count: 2.0k

You should have known they’d come looking for you.

Jackson and BamBam weren’t exactly the type to respect boundaries—not with you, at least. Being their friends-with-benefits (emphasis on the friends part) meant they were all up in your business, whether you liked it or not.

So the fact that you had been ignoring their texts and calls for the past few days? Yeah. That wasn’t going to fly.

Still, you tried.

You locked your doors, silenced your phone, and buried yourself under layers of blankets in your dimly lit apartment, fighting off the fever that had settled deep in your bones. Every movement felt sluggish, your head pounding with the force of a thousand drumbeats. But no way in hell were you going to call them.

You didn’t need them to worry.

You didn’t need them to see you like this.

Unfortunately for you, Jackson and BamBam didn’t need an invitation to break into your life—literally.

The knock at your front door was loud and insistent.

"Honey! Open up!" BamBam’s voice rang through the silence of your apartment.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them away.

Another knock. Harder this time.

Jackson’s voice, firmer, laced with suspicion: "We know you’re in there. Stop ignoring us."

You groaned, curling deeper into your blanket cocoon. Maybe if you stayed silent, they’d just—

Click.

Your front door swung open, the cons of giving them your apartment keys.

Shit.

You peeked out from under your blanket just as the two men stepped inside, their expressions shifting from annoyed to concerned the moment they saw you.

"Oh, hell no," BamBam muttered, his usual teasing lilt replaced with something softer.

Jackson crossed the room in three long strides, his eyes narrowing as he took in your pale skin, glassy eyes, and the way you shivered despite the warmth of your apartment.

Without a word, he crouched down beside you, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. His lips immediately pressed into a tight line.

"You’re burning up," he said, voice dangerously low.

You tried to shrug weakly, but BamBam was already climbing onto the couch beside you, poking at your cheek. "How could you hide this from us?!"

"I—" Your throat burned as you tried to speak, and you coughed into your sleeve instead.

"No. Nope. Shut up." Jackson stood, hands on his hips like an angry mother. "We’re not doing this. You’re sick, and you thought it was a good idea to suffer alone?"

You opened your mouth—to lie, to downplay it, to make an excuse—but BamBam wasn’t having it.

With zero hesitation, he wrapped himself around you, effectively trapping you under his weight. "Guess what? You’re stuck with us now."

"Get off me, you menace," you croaked, but your voice was too weak to sound threatening.

Jackson, unimpressed, simply bent down and—without warning—scooped you up into his arms.

"Jackson—!" you wheezed, but he was already carrying you to your bedroom.

BamBam followed, dramatically clutching his chest. "You should’ve told us, babe. We would've come over days ago."

Jackson set you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin before sitting on the edge of your bed, arms crossed. "From now on, if you’re sick, you call us. Got it?"

BamBam leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours with an exaggerated pout. "Got it, baby?"

You scowled, but the warmth of their presence—their concern, their ridiculous yet oddly comforting energy—was already breaking through the feverish haze in your mind.

"Fine," you muttered.

BamBam grinned.

Jackson sighed in relief.

And just like that, you lost your right to be left alone.

Jackson took the kitchen.

You heard him rummaging through your cabinets, muttering about "Where the hell is their ginger?" and "I swear, if they don’t have soup ingredients, I’m buying groceries and force-feeding them."

BamBam took the job of “emotional support.”

Which really meant he was laying next to you, playing with your hair, and dramatically sighing every few minutes.

"You really thought you could avoid us?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his teasing tone softer than usual. "You think we wouldn’t notice?"

Your throat was too sore to argue, so you just nudged him weakly with your elbow.

He gasped, clutching his chest. "They still have the energy to bully me. They must be getting better."

You would’ve rolled your eyes if they weren’t so heavy.

Twenty minutes later, Jackson returned with a bowl of homemade soup.

You stared at it. "That looks… suspicious."

BamBam, peering over your shoulder, snorted. "Did you poison them?"

Jackson shot him a deadpan look before turning back to you. "Shut up and eat."

You took a tentative sip. It was… actually decent? Maybe a little strong on the ginger, but warm and comforting nonetheless.

"Okay, it’s not bad," you admitted.

Jackson smirked, smug as ever. "Told you."

BamBam, meanwhile, tried a spoonful and fake gagged. "Ugh, what is this? Medicine?"

Jackson shoved him. "It’s soup, dumbass. Go eat instant ramen if you don’t appreciate my cooking."

Despite the teasing, the room felt soft—warmer than it had been all day.

Hours later, when your fever had lowered slightly, you found yourself half-asleep between them.

Jackson was seated against the headboard, his fingers lazily running up and down your arm. BamBam was curled into your side, one hand still tangled in your hair.

It was… comfortable. Too comfortable.

Maybe that’s why the words slipped out before you could stop them.

"Didn’t want to bother you guys."

Jackson stilled, his fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their slow, soothing motion. "You’re not a bother."

BamBam shifted, his face now dangerously close to yours, voice soft in a way you weren’t used to. "You know that, right?"

Your chest tightened—but this time, it wasn’t because of the fever.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, Jackson sighed, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

BamBam nuzzled closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

And just like that, your defenses crumbled completely.

Maybe you were too tired to keep pretending. Maybe you didn’t want to anymore.

Either way, you let your eyes flutter shut, breathing in the scent of them—cologne, warmth, something unmistakably Jackson and BamBam.

And as sleep finally pulled you under, you missed the way they glanced at each other over your head.

Missed the way BamBam murmured, "Dude, we’re screwed."

And Jackson, running a hand through his hair, exhaling softly: "Yeah… we like them too much, don’t we?"

A/N: It was so hectic last week (my birthday and everything) but here is some Mark fic. I got caught up in work so the ideas were not running the past few days.

Pairing/s: Mark Tuan x reader

Warnings: none

You were downing shots like it was the last alcohol on Earth.

"Calm down, Y/N… What’s got you so worked up?" Your friend plucked the glass from your hand.

"Nothing." You shrugged, dodging the follow-up questions.

You didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Not when you and your boyfriend hadn’t even addressed it yourselves.

Your friend didn’t press further, only sighing. "At least slow down."

You nodded, but the lump in your throat was growing. You felt like crying at any moment. Mark didn’t feel like your boyfriend anymore. Hell, he barely even felt present in your life. Did he even care that you were here? Did he even remember he had a girlfriend?

Mark Tuan, your boyfriend of seven years—had been practically MIA for three weeks. Not literally, of course. He was just… caught up in his own world, forgetting that you existed in it.

You understood his life was hectic. Celebrity things. That’s how it had always been, and for seven years, you’d accepted it because you knew what you signed up for. He always made time for you. Never once had he made you feel neglected. Until now.

So what changed?

Would it kill him to send a simple update? A check-in? The bare minimum?

You were tired. And you were starting to wonder if this was even worth it anymore.

"How are you and Mark? I heard his group is going on tour," another friend asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You weren’t sure what made you wince—the sharp burn of vodka or the fact that this was the first time you were hearing about it.

"We’re good. Yeah, probably. We haven’t talked about it yet," you replied flatly, making it clear you didn’t want to discuss it. But apparently, some people didn’t know how to read the room.

"Oh, he hasn’t told you yet?"

Your other friend elbowed the one who spoke, sensing the tension.

"He mentioned it once," you muttered, brushing it off. But your fingers twitched as you checked your phone again. No messages. Of course.

"Let’s go dance, guys!"

Thank God. A distraction.

You let the music consume you, moving like you were in a Charli XCX music video wild, carefree, reckless. If Mark was too busy to care, why should you?

"Holy shit. Look who just walked in."

The four of you stopped dancing, following the direction your friend pointed.

And there he was. Mark. Along with Bambam, Jackson, and Yugyeom.

They were trying to be discreet, caps pulled low, hoodies up but you knew him anywhere. He wore a white cap and a black shirt, looking like they had come straight from the studio.

Your stomach twisted. He had time for this? He couldn’t send a single text, but he could show up here?

Then, as if the past three weeks hadn’t happened, Mark met your gaze and… waved.

He waved.

Like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t the reason you were drowning in vodka.

He motioned toward their booth, expecting you to follow, but you were too pissed to even acknowledge him. So instead, you turned away and kept dancing, letting the music swallow your frustration.

Your friends exchanged looks but went along with it.

---

Later, as you settled back into your couch, tipsy and giggling, the mood shifted when they showed up at your table.

Mark. Bambam. Jackson. Yugyeom.

Mark’s eyes were locked on you. And he seems to be patiently waiting for you to go back on your table.

"Hi, ladies. Hope you don’t mind us crashing your night out," Jackson said smoothly, ever the social butterfly.

"We really don’t. Sup, Jack?"

Pleasantries were exchanged, and you nodded towards the guys in greeting. But Mark… Mark didn’t look away. He seemed to be waiting for a chance to talk to you alone.

Too bad you weren’t in the mood for that.

"Why don’t we all dance?" Bambam suggested, but his lingering glance between you and Mark didn’t go unnoticed.

"Sure. But won’t people recognize you guys?"

"Nah. Most of them are drunk anyway."

"If you say so. Y/N?"

All eyes turned to you.

"I’ll be right behind you," you said, staying planted in your seat.

They headed to the dance floor, leaving you and Mark alone.

You poured another shot, staring at the glass as if it held answers.

"Baby…"

You didn’t look up.

"You’re drunk," he murmured.

"Obviously."

"Let’s go home?"

"Good. So you still remember where that is? Thought you went astray."

Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’m sorry."

"Yeah."

"I mean it. There’s been a lot going on—"

"Oh, I know. So much that you forgot to come home? Or even text your girlfriend?"

His jaw tightened. "Let’s talk properly when we get home."

You exhaled sharply, downing the vodka.

Maybe. Maybe not.

"I need a break, Mark."

Your voice was flat, emotionless. But the weight of those words made Mark’s eyes widen in panic.

"What—no. Let’s talk properly first," he rushed out, desperation creeping into his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh. "Don’t you get it? You were gone for three fucking weeks. Barely a reply, barely a call. But you had time to be here?" You gestured around the club, anger bubbling over. "Seriously? I’m starting to wonder if I’m your girlfriend or just some dog waiting for scraps of attention."

His jaw clenched.

"Baby… I’m really sorry. We—"

He bit his lip, stopping himself. Holding something back.

And that only pissed you off more.

You huffed, standing up, crossing your arms. "We need a break, Mark."

His entire body tensed.

"So we can figure out if this is even worth continuing," you added. "That way, you can think and move freely—without having to remember that you have someone waiting for you."

"I'm sorry…" Mark exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Me and the boys… we’re working on something so we can finally be free."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

He hesitated, then cursed under his breath. "Damn, I wasn’t supposed to say anything while the case is ongoing, but… it’s you, baby. This is for you."

Your head spun—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from his words. Either way, nothing was making sense.

"I don’t understand what you mean," you mumbled.

Mark sighed, his grip tightening on your wrist as if grounding you. "We’re leaving the company. And JayB is fighting to make sure we keep our rights."

Your jaw dropped.

"W-what?! Are you guys insane?" Your voice rose, disbelief cutting through the haze. "You worked for this your whole lives and now you’re just—"

Mark’s hands found your arms, rubbing soothing circles.

"Baby…" His voice softened. "If this job means I can’t spend time with you, then I don’t want it."

Your heart skipped.

"But don’t worry," he added quickly. "We’re not disbanding. Think of it as… leaving the nest. We’ll still come back as a group. But we need this to pursue what we love, on our terms."

Your chest tightened. This was huge. Bigger than your relationship issues, bigger than the past three weeks.

And he had been carrying it all alone.

""Oh my God, Mark! I’m so sorry! You could’ve at least said something!"

Mark chuckled, but you didn’t find it funny. Guilt gnawed at you for assuming the worst, for thinking he had simply stopped caring—when, in reality, he and the boys had been fighting for something that could cost them everything they had worked for since they were teenagers.

"I knew you’d be here," he admitted. "That’s why we came."

Your stomach flipped. A mix of emotions swirled inside you. He cared. He cared so much that he was doing all of this for himself, for the group, for you.

"I’m sorry for being MIA," he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. "And I promise, I’ll make it up to you. Big time."

Your head dipped slightly, overwhelmed, but Mark gently lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

"I’m sorry for making you feel that way," he whispered against your hair. "It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure to update you, always."

You let out a shaky breath before burying your face into his chest, arms tightening around him.

"I think we need to go home," you mumbled.

Mark chuckled, the sound vibrating through you.

"I figured." He pulled back slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Let’s grab something to eat first, okay?"

You nodded, and after saying goodbye to your friends who exchanged knowing glances but didn’t protest.

You and Mark found yourselves at a gas station at 3 AM, sharing greasy fast food.

Talking. Catching up. Planning the days ahead.

For the first time in weeks, everything felt right again. You let out a soft sigh, the weight that had been lingering on your chest beginning to lift. You missed him—his laugh, the way his jokes always managed to make you smile, and most of all, just having him around. You could almost hear his voice in your head, teasing you with one of his playful remarks.

"I swear, I have the best jokes in the world. You just wait."

You smiled at the thought, imagining how he'd grin that goofy, endearing grin of his.

Soon, you told yourself. Soon, he'd be by your side again, and this distance between you two would finally fade. You couldn’t wait to have him all to yourself, to wrap up the lingering tension in your relationship and just be together, uninterrupted.