inkjunn

[inkjunn]

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

love me not ♫ back to friends

prisoner ♪ loser

lie with you ♫ let down

run away ♪ noid

beautiful life ♫ teddy picker

white ferrari ♪ nuts

moonstruck ♫ kingslayer

119 ♪ love on the floor

python ♫ i'mma be

a/n: junnie's favorite songs

[inkjunn]

⭐ - THE FAULT IN OUR STARS

𐔌 demon!jeno x angel!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: angst, no comfort, heart break, slight religious symbolisim (angel/demon dinamics),

೯ ⠀ ⁺ word count: est. 400 ~ genre: fantasy, angst, forbidden love ໋　

They always said angels and demons weren’t meant to fall in love.

But somehow, between stolen glances across battlefields and whispered confessions in the hidden corners of the world, you and Jeno did.

It was reckless. It was dangerous. But it was beautiful.

And now this was all ending.

The stars above burned cold and distant, mocking the two of you as you stood at the border between Heaven and Hell—the place where the sky fractured into an endless twilight.

You held his hand, your golden light tangled in the shadows that clung to him. It hurt to touch him now, a searing reminder that your worlds were tearing you apart.

“They found out, didn’t they?” you asked, voice shaking.

Jeno nodded, his eyes dim. “They gave me a choice,” he said quietly. “Leave you... or be killed.”

Your chest tightened, wings trembling at your back. “And you're choosing to leave,” you said, hating how small you sounded.

Pain flickered across his face. “I’m choosing to survive. For you. Maybe... maybe someday, if the stars allow it...” His voice cracked, and he didn’t finish the sentence.

You knew the truth. There was no someday for you and Jeno. Angels belonged in the light. Demons belonged in the dark. And love could not exist between the two.

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, memorizing the warmth, the sharp edges of his jaw, the way he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

"If we are the fault in our stars," you whispered, "then let them blame us forever."

His hands shook as he pulled you into one last kiss—desperate, broken, infinite. It tasted like salt and sorrow, like dreams too fragile for the world you were trapped in.

When you pulled away, the stars blurred behind your tears.

"I'll find you," he promised, voice barely above a breath. "Even if I have to tear the sky apart."

You smiled, even as your heart shattered, even as the light began to call you back and the darkness pulled him away.

"You already did."

And with that, Jeno turned, wings of black smoke unfurling, and disappeared into the night—while you stood alone, bathed in a starlight that suddenly felt unbearably cold.

back to masterlist

a/n: late jeno birthday post guys... </3

[inkjunn]

🪡 - what the hell are we?

n a v e g a t i o n

m.list information music

[inkjunn]

🎈 - "ALMOST"

𐔌 nonidol!sion x fem!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: terminal illness, death, "unrequited" love, emotional conflict, "cheating" implications, guilt/grief, Jisung is reader's boyfriend ..

೯ ⠀ ⁺ word count: est. 1k ~ genre: angst, no comfort .

The monitors keep beeping steadily. A cruel, rhythmic reminder that Sion is still here — but barely.

You sit beside him, hands twisting helplessly in your lap. The room smells like antiseptic and slow death.

You shouldn’t be here.

Not like this.

Not when your boyfriend is waiting outside, pacing the halls, thinking you're only saying goodbye to an old friend.

You tell yourself it’s true.

You almost believe it.

Sion's breathing is shallow, ragged. The skin under his eyes is bruised purple from exhaustion.

But when he turns his head and sees you, he still tries to smile.

God. That smile.

You feel it like a knife under your ribs.

“Hey…” he rasps out, voice barely audible.

You reach for his hand before you can think better of it. His fingers are cold, trembling in yours.

“I’m here,” you whisper, forcing a smile you don't feel. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You wonder if he knows how much of a lie that is.

For a moment, it’s quiet—just the soft hum of machines and the sound of your heart breaking.

Then he speaks again, slow and careful, like every word costs him.

“I need to tell you… something,” he breathes.

You shake your head quickly. "You should rest, Sion. We can talk later—"

“There’s no later.”

The words hit you harder than you expect.

You bite your lip, hard enough to draw blood, to keep yourself from sobbing.

He squeezes your hand weakly.

"I just..." He closes his eyes, gathering strength he doesn't have. "I didn’t want to leave without saying it."

You feel your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Sion—"

“I love you.”

The words fall into the room, soft and devastating.

You freeze.

Your stomach twists into sick, guilty knots.

You glance instinctively at the door—as if Jisung might have heard, as if you could hide from this moment.

But it's too late.

Sion's looking at you like you're the only thing he’s ever needed. Like he could die happy now, just for saying it out loud.

And maybe he could.

You blink hard, tears burning your eyes.

"Sion," you whisper, broken. "I—I'm with someone."

You say it like an apology. You say it like a confession.

His smile doesn’t falter. It doesn’t even dim.

"I know," he says quietly. "I always knew."

You can't breathe.

He knew. All this time, he knew.

And he loved you anyway.

You want to tell him you loved him, too. Maybe not in the right way, or at the right time—but there was love there, hidden between all the laughter, all the years of pretending it was just friendship.

But it’s too late to say it now.

You would only be trying to make yourself feel better.

Sion deserved more than that.

He deserved a lifetime you couldn't give him.

He deserved everything.

You squeeze his hand harder, like you can hold him here a little longer.

"I’m sorry," you choke out.

He shakes his head slowly, painfully.

"Don’t be. I... I just wanted you to know."

His breathing hitches. The monitors stutter.

"No, no, no, please," you beg, leaning over him. "Stay with me. Stay, please, I—"

He smiles one last time—soft, tired, free.

His hand slips from yours.

Then the flatline scream fills the room.

You don't hear the nurses rushing in. You don't feel your boyfriend grabbing your shoulders, pulling you back.

All you can feel is the emptiness where Sion used to be. All you can hear is his voice,

"I love you."

You almost said it back. You almost loved him out loud.

Almost.

But almost doesn’t matter.

Not anymore.

back to masterlist

a/n: hey guys... how are we feeling today....

[inkjunn]

🍁 - FALLING OUT OF LOVE WITH SION

. 𐔌 nonidol!sion x fem!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: none i believe

೯ ⠀ ⁺ genre: angst .

a/n: this is me trying to work with smaus 💔 bare with me guys im learning MIGHT do another part later but im busy rn..ignore the time im lazy to fix that.. also about that jeno thing..might publish it tonight if i got the energy..

[inkjunn]

🐻 - RANDOM BF!HAECHAN TEXTS pt 1.

𐔌 nonidol!haechan x fem!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: in one of them haechan mentions readers badussy, mentions of breeding ..

೯ ⠀ ⁺ genre: fluff, suggestive, crack .

a/n: guys im trying to be as active as i can but work is killing me bare with me......

[inkjunn]

posting drafts for now, im sorry i havent posted much im so busy

[inkjunn]

🩰 - PIROUETTES

𐔌 singledad!jaemin x afab!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: none ~ genre: fluff, single dad au

೯ ⠀ ⁺ word count: est. 1.8k ໋ 　

Jaemin had never imagined himself as a ballet dad.

He'd been a performer, sure. Idols understood stages, movement, the electric buzz of an audience. But tutus and tiaras? Those were things he'd only seen in cartoons until his daughter, Harin, had fallen in love with ballet.

It had started with a video. A sparkly YouTube clip of The Nutcracker had entranced her four-year-old soul. The beautiful dancers, the soft, graceful movements, the magical setting—it all made sense to Harin in a way it never had for Jaemin. From that moment, Harin was hooked. There wasn’t a day she didn’t twirl around their apartment, pretending to be one of those fairy-like creatures.

And Jaemin? Well, he became her reluctant audience. The kitchen table became her barre. The coffee table became her stage. And Jaemin, despite his best efforts, became an expert in holding his position as both her dance partner and sometimes, an unwilling cushion.

When Harin turned five, she made it official: she was going to be a ballerina. “dad, I want to be like the girls in the video,” she'd declared one day, bouncing on her little feet. Jaemin had smiled, ruffling her hair, unsure of what to do next.

The solution came in the form of a local ballet academy. Neo Street Ballet Academy. Harin was excited, Jaemin was skeptical. Ballet? Wasn't that for rich, delicate people? But Harin had looked at him with those wide, hopeful eyes, and somehow, he found himself signing her up for Saturday morning classes.

Ever since, every Saturday became sacred.

Each Saturday at 10 am, Jaemin found himself sitting on the slightly uncomfortable bench outside Studio 7A, his fingers nervously gripping the edges of his coffee cup. Harin’s pink glittery backpack always sat at his feet. And there, he sat with a slight knot in his chest, watching the door as parents came and went, always feeling out of place.

But it wasn’t just the kids or the dance class that made him anxious.

It was you.

You, who made everything seem effortless. You, who glided into the studio like you were born for this. You, who greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat every time. You weren’t flashy. In fact, you were usually dressed down in sweaters, leggings, and sneakers. Your hair was in a simple ponytail, and your makeup was soft. Yet you had this radiance about you—like sunlight followed in your wake. And the way you spoke to the kids... it wasn’t just about teaching them steps. No, it was about giving them your full attention, making them feel seen, like they were the most important thing in the world.

And somehow, Jaemin couldn’t get you out of his head.

“Good morning, Mr. Na.”

He snapped back to attention. His coffee, still in his hands, was perilously close to spilling.

“Guh—Good! I mean, good morning! Hi. Hello.”

Your lips twitched, the corners curving in amusement, and Jaemin’s heart jumped into his throat. He wanted to hide, to melt into the ground. Every Saturday, it was the same thing: his clumsy, stammering response whenever you greeted him. How could you make him so nervous? Why did he forget how to speak when you were around?

Harin peeked around Jaemin’s legs, and in her usual no-filter way, giggled. “Dad’s being weird again.”

“Again?” you asked playfully, crouching down to Harin’s level. Your voice was soft, warm, and without even realizing it, you’d already won Jaemin’s heart.

“She says I get nervous when you talk to me,” Jaemin explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You grinned. “She’s very observant. But you don’t have to be nervous, Jaemin. I don’t bite.”

Jaemin’s face was so red, he could feel it burning. How does she do that? he thought.

“I—I’m not nervous,” he stammered. “Just... regular... parent tension.”

“Right,” you said, raising an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

Jaemin felt like he was melting into the floor. He had to change the subject. “Harin’s really excited. She’s been doing spins in the kitchen. Nearly knocking over a plant.”

“She’s improving so much! Her balance is really impressive.”

“She gets that from me,” Jaemin said confidently, then paused. “Wait, no, that’s a lie. I can’t stand on one foot without looking like a flamingo in distress.”

You laughed. It wasn’t a chuckle. It was a genuine laugh, and Jaemin felt a rush of warmth spread through him.

“Alright,” you said, eyes twinkling. “Let me get them started. You can hang around, if you’d like. We don’t mind the company.”

“Me?” Jaemin blinked, startled. “In the studio?”

You shrugged casually. “Sure. If you're up for the flamingo challenge.”

Just like that, Jaemin’s weekend went from routine to completely unexpected.

Inside the studio, everything was different. The warm, comforting scent of fresh air mingled with the faint smell of wood polish and leather. Soft piano music played in the background as tiny feet tapped in rhythm, their movements full of innocence and energy. The sound of children's laughter echoed around the studio, and Jaemin stood there, feeling like an intruder in a world he barely understood.

You were the opposite of everything Jaemin had expected. You weren’t cold, calculating, or distant like some teachers he’d met in the past. You were warm and approachable, moving effortlessly between each student with gentle encouragement.

Harin caught him watching from the corner of her eye. “Dad! Come here!” she shouted, waving dramatically, her tiny arms flailing in every direction. You turned toward him with a smile. “Wanna help us with pliés?”

Jaemin froze. “I don’t want to cause a scene,” he muttered, but your gentle expression seemed to pull him forward, like you were asking him to just... be himself.

“You’ll be fine,” you assured him, your voice soft and encouraging.

He stepped hesitantly onto the floor, feeling awkward. He stood among a group of five-year-olds, all in matching leotards and skirts. His tall frame towering over the tiny dancers made him feel out of place.

You demonstrated a plié, your movements smooth and graceful. “Like this, everyone,” you said. “Bend, heels stay down. Nice and slow.”

The kids followed your movement, perfectly. Jaemin? Well, he tried. He bent, his legs wobbling beneath him. The kids didn’t seem to notice, but one of the little girls whispered loudly, “He’s not very good at this.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, but his heart raced. “Hey,” he said, “I’m trying.”

You smiled and moved closer. “You’re doing great, Jaemin. Don’t worry, ballet is about progress, not perfection.”

“Isn’t everything?” he murmured, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror.

For a moment, something passed between you—something gentle, tender, yet undeniable. Jaemin’s heart skipped.

After class, the connection deepened.

As the kids finished up their routines, you handed out stickers, your voice full of encouragement. Harin was the last to receive hers, skipping happily over to Jaemin with a huge grin on her face.

“I got a star sticker!” she said proudly.

“Because you’re a star,” Jaemin replied, brushing her bangs out of her face, his smile softening as he admired his daughter.

You walked over, your hand brushing against Jaemin’s arm as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “She’s a natural,” you said, watching Harin twirl in the studio.

Jaemin’s smile faded slightly. “She gets that from her mom,” he said softly, voice tinged with something unspoken. “Harin’s mom was... she danced too. Not ballet, but she had the same fire.”

You paused, sensing the sadness in his words. “I didn’t know,” you said gently.

“It’s been just us for a while now,” Jaemin continued, his voice low, almost distant. “She’s a good kid. And I try my best.”

“She’s a great kid,” you corrected him. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

A silence fell over the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a space where understanding quietly lingered, both of you soaking in the weight of the moment.

Jaemin shifted slightly. “You’re really good with her,” he said. “With all of them. You make them feel seen.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Thank you, Jaemin,” you whispered.

Weeks passed, and things slowly changed.

Every Saturday, Jaemin and you exchanged smiles, waves, and small conversations. Harin flourished under your teaching, and Jaemin found himself becoming more involved in the world of ballet—practicing pliés at home, helping Harin with her turns, laughing at how clumsy he was.

But more than that, Jaemin found himself drawn to you. He didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you had become a constant in his life.

One rainy afternoon, as the class practice ends, you handed Jaemin an umbrella from the staff closet. “Didn’t bring one?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“No,” Jaemin admitted, chuckling. “Harin begged me to let her wear her ballerina cape, and I forgot to pack one for myself.”

You laughed softly, your eyes sparkling. “You always let her wear the weirdest things. I love that about you.”

Jaemin blinked, surprised by your words. “You do?”

“I love that you let her be herself. Not all parents do that,” you said, voice quiet but full of sincerity.

Jaemin’s heart ached at the warmth in your tone. “I just want her to feel safe. Happy.”

“She does,” you said softly. “Both. Because of you.”

Jaemin swallowed, suddenly aware of how close the two of you had become. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded, grateful for your kindness. The rain pattered softly against the windows. Harin was twirling in her ballerina cape, laughing as she imitated one of the older dancers. Jaemin smiled, watching his daughter.

Then, you spoke again, your voice quieter now. “Jaemin, if you ever want to hang out... outside of class... just the three of us... I’d love that.”

Jaemin’s breath hitched. “Are you asking me on a date?” he blurted out, a bit too loudly.

You flushed, your cheeks turning pink. “Only if you want it to be one.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, feeling like the world had slowed down. He didn’t know what to say. His heart was racing, his mind running through a thousand thoughts. But in the end, there was only one answer.

“Okay,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

And just like that, everything changed.

back to masterlist !

[inkjunn]

hey guys... remaking renjun smau because i hate everything and i dont know how to continue (i keep rewritting it over and over and i hate it) so expect it to be a bit different

[inkjunn]

guys i lied i dont have time for shit today omg

save me.

[inkjunn]

i've been super busy but tomorrow im posting a late jeno birthday post bc im swamped with work and i quite literally am so tired i cant think or even finish writing.

i PROMISE i will post chap 2 for renjun smau im just stuck because i re did it....

[inkjunn]

sorry i lied guys... ive been busy af. biology major and they got me making 3d shit im SICKK

[inkjunn]

250415 JOHNNY Update

[inkjunn]

Kun and Yuta are the most mistreated members in NCT. They are not “treated” at ALL

Many conversations already were held on how other NCT members are treated by SM. How Ten is mistreated, how Taeyong is mistreated, how Mark, how Haechan, how Jaehyun etc. etc. And all of those takes are correct, cause no member in NCT is treated fairly by that label. But if we compare how people mentioned above were/are treated and how those two… it makes you terrified how you suddenly think that the others are treated “well”, because those two get absolutely NOTHING!

The others were given some NCT stations, mini albums (maybe beside Haechan for now), main NCT U units and some minimal promo… Meanwhile Yuta had to record his own album by his own hands under different label and Kun still has no album in sight, not even 1 mini album (even if he is most prepared for it / i mean his skills) - and when Yuta finally released his first solo album they didn’t even change the layout as they usually do for other artists…

But this is not even conversation about the solo work! It’s about how throughout the years they’ve been treated! How they’ve been ignored. How Yuta had almost 0 lines and screen time. How they would remove his clips that he recorded in MVs. How they made Kun stand next to that goddamn wall during nct 2018, because he was only featured on black on black back then. Watching everyone dancing to their songs with a smile… How they never gave Kun a chance to shine on the main (title tracks) NCT U subunits, how they always only shuffle him for backtracks or less promoted ones.

It really got to a point, where you look at how Kun and Yuta are “treated” and think: “The others actually receive some promo” - much to think about!

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[inkjunn]

189 till my birthday...

my bad guys ive been super busy and i got stuck writing lonely lullaby 🙁

[inkjunn]

౿  ׂ   ִ  “ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ⁱˢ ˡᵒᵘᵈ"

╭ 🐻‍❄️ 𓂃 "ᴵ’ˡˡ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ qᵘⁱᵉᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ"

"ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵃˡⁱᵛᵉ”  ๋࣭ ⭑

[inkjunn]