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📂 ‧ ₊ ˚ — Everything You

ren kaji x idol!reader

✰ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 1.8k

✰ ݁ ˖┊: content: obsessed!kaji, soft yandere!kaji, idol!reader, parasocial relationship, obsession, male masturbation, hand-job, dom!kaji, facial, cum eating, toxic behaviour, violence (not against reader), creepy behaviour, kaji scares you a little at the end :// but he means so well, he just wants to protect you <33 all chars are aged up

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Kaji who’s just so so so obsessed with his favourite pretty little idol.

He didn’t mean for it to happen, no. But they never really do, do they? Just get caught up so caught up that they don’t even know the path their heart has led them down. Don’t know what to do when they’ve fallen so deep into the trap of dazzling cameras and flashing lights.

For Kaji, it all starts out rather simple– too simple, almost. A friend leaning over his shoulder, phone screen propped up in his hand. A picture of your face, your blinding smile on full display as his friend prattles on about you. Everything you, really.

In the moment, he has no amount of care for you in his bones. Right then he simply rolls his eyes at the other man, pulls his headphones back in place. Effectively shuts out the rest of the world just as he always does. He’s never cared about idols before– especially not popular ones like yourself. So why should he this time? Just ‘cause his friend finds you cute?

Whatever.

Yeah, in that moment he pretends to forget all about you. Cussing at his friend, effectively telling him to ‘fuck off with his useless shit’-- his words, of course. Yet, your name. That pretty little smile, the one that makes him feel almost electric continues to run through his brain.

Continues to rattle around behind his eyes, continues to force its way inside of his conscious with no remorse. No matter how loud he turns up his headphones, how hard he swings his fists, your name continues to irk him like a stupid fucking shadow.

For a week it goes on. For a whole week it feels like you’re haunting him like a shadow.

Never before had he noticed all of your posters. The ones in convenience stores advertising drinks, the motivational ones in cafe’s telling him to cheer up with that little pout on your lips. Your arm held up in a gentle flex. Never before had he noticed your advertisements on tv. Staff making you all dolled up to promote something stupid like a fried chicken chain.

Turns out the entire world is utterly engulfed by everything you.

He finally gives in after seeing one of your CDs at a record store. Finally gives in after a week of hell– your presence leaking into his soul to the point he simply could no longer avoid it. Could no longer hold back from googling your name, listening to your music, watching your performances, watching your interviews, reading your articles, following your accounts, finding out who your staff are–

He doesn’t sleep that night. Doesn't think he can with how his heart is racing, his head is pounding. He feels like he’s dying. Is this a heart attack? Is he going to pass on? What the fuck is he feeling? What is making him feel like he’s falling into insanity?

And thus is the birth of your biggest fan, Ren Kaji. <3

Not that he tells anyone, anyway. Why the fuck should he tell anyone? It’s not light they have the right to know. They don’t have the right to know anything about him– much less what his headphones are playing.

It’s always you, of course. All of your albums play on loop through his headphones. Over and over again. Never stopping for even a second. The classic rock he used to listen to all but forgotten in the face of everything you.

Your voice just as sweet as the candy he eats religiously, your face just as pretty as the sunset over the horizon. Your very existence comes as close to the importance of the very oxygen he breathes.

No one can really blame him for falling so easily, honestly. No one can blame him for falling for a piece of safety, a piece of calmness in the world he normally enjoys being so rough. For so easily siding with your charms. Especially whenever he attends your concerts. When it feels like you’re singing just to him.

When your face lights up whenever it crosses his in the audience, when you shoot him a wink that almost caused him to die from the all-consuming heat that surrounded his very being. His face is hot, red. The lollipop in his mouth breaking as he clenches his jaw, hard shards of glittery candy falling uselessly against his tongue.

You noticed him. You know him. Maybe you could come to like him too?

The moment was perfect. Maybe a start to some sort of cheesy romantic-comedy in his head. The start to getting to know you, being your friend. Protecting you.

But of course the fucking guy standing next to him had to ruin it all. Whining so excitedly that the wink was sent at him instead. That you, a practical goddess, would ever give attention to some fucking low life like him? Some fucking perverse creep who didn’t truly understand your beauty. Understand you.

Fucking disgusting.

Unfortunately, the night didn’t end like a romantic movie would. You did not invite him backstage, nor did he leave with your number scribbled across his palm. It left with him being escorted off the premises. The pervert’s blood on his fist.

He doesn’t regret taking the swing. What? Was he just supposed to let that shit slide? Of fucking course not. He’s not about to let anyone else get delusional about you. No, and that wink was definitely meant for him. Not that creep.

He’s sure of it.

He’s sure of a lot of things he probably shouldn’t be, to be honest.

Especially when he wraps his hand around his cock at night. When he imagines it’s your cute little hand wrapped around him instead of his own. When he buries his face into a towel he caught at one of your shows– the gentle scent of your perfume still lingering across the surface. The same towel he sleeps with under his pillow every night.

Someday it’ll be you laying next to him. At least that’s what he hopes. His dreams during the day spilling into something else during the night. Hopes that one day his admiration for you can turn into something more. Hopes that one day he’ll get to have you on his bed, your cute little frame kneeling between his legs as he rests against the headboard.

Hopes to see your flushed little face, eyes half-lidded, already fucked out and submissive just for him. Hopes to coach you through touching his cock with his own hands. Showing you how to wrap your fingers around the base– how your hand wouldn’t even be able to make it all the way around his girth.

Imagines the way you would whine quickly, his hand guiding you up and down his length. Squeezing it just the way he likes you to. Watches the way your thumb would flick cutely over the tip, rubbing his precum around the head. Teasing him just like a brat would.

Seeing your cute little expression as you move your head close to his cock, following his directions so well as you open your mouth, tongue falling out as you prepare to taste his cum. White hot streams of it shooting from his cock, coating your face. Your tongue, lips, cheeks– hell maybe even a glob of it could land on your eye. Shit. That would be a sight.

The cute little giggle that would leave your lips as your messy hand would come up, the little “Oopsies~” That would leave your lips as you wipe it off, bringing it to your lips. Licking your hand clean as he comes down from his high. How you’d smile to yourself, proud little waves of excitement radiating from your form.

The way he’d give sugar-coated insults, pulling you back up his body for a rough kiss. One that told you that you can’t get too big a head or else he might have to do something about it. The way the fresh smell of your shampoo would run through the very air he breathes. That same gentle smell that reminds him of forest flowers in a delicate bloom.

It’s only then that reality returns to him. A mess in his hands, your towel pressed against his nose as he remembers that he still has to make all of that a reality. So he can protect you from those guys like at the concert. Hell, so he can protect you from the rest of the world.

It’s those feelings that drive him to do something rash. Something just a tad bit extreme. Well, it really is too bad that the sane part of him is long gone. The need to protect you driving him to buy more copies of your newest album than he can count. The part of him that scowers each copy for a ticket to your handshake event. The part of him that buys up any extra tickets that he can online.

The part of him that makes him stand back until the rest of your fans finish their turns. Holding place at the back of the line– kind enough to still let everyone else have their turns. Let the rest of your fans greet you, say their thanks. They are important to your career, afterall, and he isn’t dumb enough to keep the normal ones away from you. Even if just a little part of him wants to.

But as the clock ticks on and the line wains down, he can’t help but feel restless. Can’t stop his heels from rocking to his toes, his fingers fiddling with loose threads inside of his hoodie pockets. Can’t help but feel annoyed as he is kept from you longer and longer.

Ah, you have no clue the relief he feels when it’s finally his turn. When he takes all of the handshake tickets out of his pocket, places them on the table in front of you with force before reaching his hand out to hold yours.

The shock evident on your face is something he’s never seen before. The way your eyes slowly lift to him, take in his full face for the first time. He’ll never forget it. He could never forget anything to do with you.

Hundreds of handshake tickets sit between your bodies. Each one lasting for a duration of 10 seconds.

You gulp quietly, a shaky smile spreading to your lips as you slowly clasp his hand into your own, shaking it slowly. Eyes darting to your manager and your security for only a second before returning back to him. Silence hanging heavy, your voice bleeding ever-so-softly through the headphones around his neck.

The lollipop rolling in his mouth, waiting for you. Surrounded by everything you.

“Th-Thank you for your support!”

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