#a graphic design degree isn’t happening rn

[cockamamieschemes]

when you’re barely making ends meet but know that God’s gotchu

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

Did Something Slip Your Mind?

Chapter 1/? next -> [masterlist]

[PAIRING] Rohan Kishibe x Reader (she/her)

[SUMMARY] It wasn’t the worst job you’d ever taken… Besides, working for one of the most popular artists in the country was sure to boost your resume, even if it was at the expense of your sanity. (Fic takes place mid part 4)

[WC] 3k

[!!!] Sfw for now… Heaven’s Door is a warning in itself, though. Memory erasing moments WILL be entirely excluded from the fic so you experience the confusion genuinely, but it will be obvious for the most part WHEN the stand has been used. Language, eventual drinking, eventual smut, probably improper use of stands knowing me. This is Rohan we're talking about so I feel like I need to mention that noncon will not be happening, but dubcon isn’t entirely off the table I suppose. Tiniest bit of Jotaro x reader if you squint.

[CONTINUITY NOTE] According to his first meeting with Reimi, Rohan can’t read details about himself with Heaven's Door, but we’re gonna go ahead and use ‘Araki forgot’ as an excuse for the fic concept. During Bites the Dust, Rohan DOES contradict this when he reads his future in Hayato. However, this results in literally killing him, so maybe there’s a reason it’s the exception. Regardless, this rule doesn’t exist in this fic for one reason, and it’s because I'm writing it and I said so.

[A/N] I'm an American so please, uh, thoughts and prayers, shits crazy here rn :/

The town was quiet enough, but then again, the grating routine of daily life had never really been a dealbreaker for you. You had lived in Morioh long enough to get used to its quirks—its people, its lack of excitement, the occasional strange occurrence that always seemed just on the edge of your peripheral vision. You had even grown fond of the smallness of it; in a way, you knew you could hole yourself up in your apartment and dive into the job that supported this lifestyle.

The work itself, though? That was a different story.

You had always taken a liking to art. Something about the ability to express yourself without trying to string together the words of a poet had given you refuge growing up, but you spent a long time worrying over the skill set needed to pursue it as you entered ‘the real world.’ A few years ago, however, you made the jump to working full-time as a graphic designer, putting your ‘impractical’ degree to some use. It hadn't been easy. The initial months of scraping together freelance work had been grueling, but slowly, you found yourself carving out a niche in the industry. What had started with local business cards and promo fliers for the most boring men and businesses had turned into something you could now be more passionate about: Manga covers.

With the rise in popularity across the country, you’d found a pretty consistent stream of clients looking for fresh, eye-catching designs. Even better, however, was the fact that you could complete the job entirely remote for this style of work. Every aspect of the upkeep was fulfilling, and you enjoyed being able to interact with your employers behind the privacy of a screen.

You enjoyed most of them, that was.

Where did you even begin with Rohan Kishibe? His name was a constant in your inbox, and no matter how many different ways you presented his work, it never seemed to satisfy him. You couldn’t even say that he was a bad client. No, that wasn’t it. He was just… difficult.

Emails between the two of you were often terse and passive-aggressive. He would frequently send over sets of revisions, complaining that a design was “too conventional,” or “too safe.” He would demand adjustments at the last minute, throwing off your already chaotic deadline structure. And when it came to his feedback? Maddeningly vague. He would leave you scrambling to figure out what he wanted, only to backtrack and tell you it wasn’t what he asked for in the first place. It felt like no matter how many times you changed a design, you’d never be able to get it just right for the man.

But you dealt with it. What choice did you have? It wasn’t the worst job you’d ever taken… Besides, Rohan was one of your biggest employers—no, the biggest—and as much as you wanted to roll your eyes at every email he sent, you knew you had to deliver. He wasn’t the kind of person you could afford to offend, even if he was an insufferable pain in the ass. He opened doors for you in a way no one else could, to put it simply.

The success of Pink Dark Boy was exactly the kind of thing you needed to line your resume, even if the popularity of the franchise was the root cause of your turmoil. Rohan was your age, you’d discovered one night, and you were positive that the amount of traction the story had gained was responsible for the man's unchallenged ego. So what? He managed to break out as an acclaimed artist early enough to make a name for himself. It’s not like you were jealous.

Maybe you would have been if he weren't such a dick; you’d hate to see his personality on you, even if for a second.

Besides, you couldn’t tell much about him from just his emails. Brief, formal, to the point, with a few jabs sprinkled in here and there, his tone always carrying an air of superiority. Rohan Kishibe. Famous manga artist. Brilliant and arrogant in equal measure. You hated that you found him compelling, too. It was something you’d never admit to anyone, least of all yourself. But there was something about his presentation—the aura of confidence, the sharpness in his writing, the causal arrogance that dripped from every sentence—that got under your skin.

But that was as far as it went. A few passing thoughts on the quality of his manga as you stared at your inbox. You didn't give him any thought outside of your work, and you certainly did not think about him during your infrequent visits to town.

At least, not until today.

You were walking through the streets to your apartment, holding a grocery bag in one hand, mind preoccupied with the drafts of the latest cover you were working on for another client, when you saw him.

God damn it.

It took a moment to recognize him, but when you did, it felt like the world came to a screeching halt. He was standing outside a small cafe, arms crossed and eyes scanning the street, completely unaware of the effect his presence had on you. It wasn’t just seeing his face that did it. No, you had seen his face too many times, his headshot lined each inside cover of his work. Every week, you were tasked with formatting that face. Even from a distance, it was unmistakable, but to you, it was the most unremarkable aspect of the man.

What shocked you most was how… real he looked in person. Like a character going from page to screen, he just stood there—every aspect of his body language dripping confidence, commanding attention. He was even standing in a way that said he was used to people looking at him.

And then there was the fact that he was showing a little more skin than you expected. The short, cropped jacket he wore was unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of his midriff. It was a strange choice, considering it was a cooler day, but somehow, it worked. You couldn’t help but notice the way his abs looked under his clothing, you couldn’t help but notice the fact he had them in the first place. That was shock enough, let alone how toned they appeared. For a brief fleeting moment, your mind—and eyes—wandered. But who could blame you when he looked like that?

You shook yourself mentally, immediately regretting the thoughts that had popped up unbidden. Honestly, the rational part of your brain almost caused you to gag at the notion.

After all, this was the same man who sent you cryptic, if not rude, emails about the most trivial design choices. The same man who seemed more interested in nitpicking your work than actually appreciating it. The same man who seemed incapable of offering clear, constructive feedback without a fistful of condescension.

Too bad he’s an asshole, you mentally shrugged, realizing that you were now thankful he hadn’t recognized you. Why would he? It’s not like you worked face to face. And you certainly had zero intentions of fawning over him, even if introducing yourself was the ‘polite’ thing to do as a business associate. It was for the best, you told yourself. If anything, it only solidified your feelings about the man. He was a cocky, self-assured, midriff-flashing diva who probably had no idea how much he pissed you off with every email. He didn't need to know that you had seen him in person.

He didn't need to know you were living in the same town as him.

Sunlight filtered through the inexpensive blinds, waking you from your peaceful slumber, growing brighter as you enjoyed the routine you’d grown accustomed to: the scent of coffee brewing in your kitchen, the faint hum of small town life outside the window, and the smell of your breakfast cooking on the stove.

After taking a moment to stretch and wake up, you found your way to your work desk, leaving you now half-focused on a cover draft you’d been tinkering on for days. Of course, the email exchange with him had been as headache inducing as ever. Rohan’s last complaint was about the texture—that's right, texture—of the chapter title, which he claimed clashed with the “authenticity” of his work. Whatever the fuck that meant.

It had taken everything in you not to type back your resignation then and there. Instead, you’d sighed, saved the draft, and went back to fiddling with the opacity of the grain overlay. The grain overlay he specifically asked for, by the way. The one it seemed was causing the inauthentic texture? Yeah, that grain overlay.

You were frustrated beyond reason with Rohan Kishibe, so by all accounts, it was a normal day… at least until the knock at your door.

You frowned, pushing your chair back from the desk. You weren't expecting anyone… Your landlord wasn’t the type to drop by unannounced, and the delivery of pen tips you’d been waiting for wasn’t due until tomorrow.

The knock came again, louder this time.

You haphazardly set aside the project in front of you, crossing the small space of your apartment to glance through the peephole. What you saw made you pause.

The man standing outside your door was… intimidating, to say the least. Broad shoulders, tall frame, a long white coat draped over his figure. His face was sharp, angular, almost too perfect, and his expression completely unreadable.

For a moment, you hesitated. Opening the door to strangers wasn’t exactly a habit of yours, especially ones who looked like they could crush you with a flick of their wrist. And yet, something about him piqued your curiosity.

You nudged the door open just enough to see him clearly, your hand tightening on the edge of the frame as the secondary chain locked the door into place, keeping it open just a crack.

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral, even if he did look odd for a telemarketer.

The man’s gaze flicked down to meet yours, and you were struck by how intense his eyes were, as if he’d never heard a joke a day in his life.

“Are you (y/n) (y/l/n)?” His voice was low, calm, but with an edge of authority that made it clear he wasn’t asking for small talk.

Your initial response was to lie, to deny any connection to the name, but his presence made you falter. He didn’t look like someone you could easily brush off.

“I am,” you said cautiously. “Why are you asking?”

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a badge, holding it up for you to see. “Jotaro Kujo. I’m with the Speedwagon Foundation. I need to ask you a few questions about a recent case we’re investigating.”

Speedwagon? You thought the name rang a faint bell. If they did exist, though, you’d never had any direct dealings with them, and you couldn’t fathom why any foundation would be interested in you.

Still, you weren’t about to let some stranger into your home without more information, badge or not.

“Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?” you asked, eyeing him warily, but politely.

Jotaro seemed to expect the question, as his expression remained unchanged. Silently, he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his coat and slid it through the doors opening; it was an official document, stamped and signed, detailing his investigation into a series of murders in Morioh.

“Murder?” You asked, pushing the door in slightly to unlatch the chain, opening it to speak with him further. He didn't seem interested in coming inside, thankfully, so you just stood in the entryway as he nodded.

“We’re looking into a man named Yoshikage Kira. You may not know him personally, but we’ve found evidence suggesting you worked with him in the past.”

You frowned, your mind racing to recall the name. “Kira…?”

Jotaro continued, expressionless. “He approached you for a business card design some time ago, a rather bland one. This would have been before you transitioned to digital work, according to our information.”

If this Kira wasn’t connected to you through your professional life, you might have been a bit more sceptical of the man at your door, but your website was nothing if not thorough about your work journey. That bio was how you got clients, after all; it was practically your resume—including details like when you’d obtained your degree, the time you spent working in various physical locations, and the date you’d taken the leap to digital freelance. You were probably a murder investigator's dream witness, all that information laid with little effort required.

And, on top of that, you didn't explicitly share the names of your clients. Jotaro had to have obtained that information through some sort of legitimate channel, even if you didn't know what this Speedwagon thing was.

To hammer the point home, there was also the fact you had definitely designed that business card. The memory clicked into place as soon as he said the word ‘bland.’ Kira had been a client of yours, though you wouldn’t have remembered if the man hadn’t brought it up. He’d been quiet, unassuming, and incredibly dull. You’d even joked to yourself at the time that designing for him had been worse than watching paint dry—it was that lifeless, devoid of any need for creativity, lacking any real challenge.

“I remember him,” you admitted, folding your arms. “But I didn’t know anything about him beyond what he told me about the design. He seemed… normal.”

Jotaro’s jaw tightened slightly, as if he’d heard that word too many times. “We believe he’s connected to the murders. Your interaction with him may provide us with valuable insight. Would you be willing to meet with another member of our team to discuss this further?”

You hesitated. The idea of being involved in a murder investigation was unsettling, to say the least. And yet, Jotaro’s demeanor made it hard to refuse. There was something about him that demanded attention, that made you feel like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Besides, this was your town he was talking about. Any second thoughts you might have had were overshadowed by a sense of obligation, if you could help, you should.

“Where?” you asked, your voice less cautious now.

“I’m staying at a hotel in town,” he replied. “We’ll meet there. There’s another individual working on the case—a sketch artist—who might be able to help jog your memory.”

The mention of another person made you feel slightly less apprehensive, but still, you weren’t entirely convinced.

“I’ll need a bit more proof before I agree to anything else,” you said, crossing your arms politely. “But I would be more than happy to help.”

“What proof would you request?” He asked bluntly, but with no judgement in his voice. Maybe he was used to people being apprehensive around him, he had to be if this was how he acted at all times.

You thought for a second, if this was a private investigation, he likely had no interactions with official law enforcement. As upfront as he had been about whatever foundation sent him here, he had never said the word ‘police.’ Honestly, this was probably the biggest cause for your hesitation, but that didn't necessarily mean he was lying to you.

“Something that proves I’m not a sole witness, maybe details of why Kira is a suspect, anything that validates what you’ve told me.” You replied.

Jotaro’s eyes rolled up as he contemplated for a moment, the tension broken once he reached into his coat again, this time pulling out a small stack of papers.

“Will these work?” He asked as he handed them to you, hands brushing yours slightly. Large hands… large, attractive hands, you noticed.

Not the time. Besides, you were skimming through the pages as soon as the thought arose. The documents detailed Kira’s known movements, his interactions with various people in Morioh—including your own name listed among them.

It was enough to convince you that Jotaro wasn’t just some lunatic with a badge.

“Yes they will,” you said finally, though your tone was reluctant. “When should I come by? And, uh, where?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Jotaro said, taking out a small notepad and pen. “I’ll leave you the details.”

You nodded, still feeling a hint of unease surrounding the whole situation. As Jotaro turned to leave, you couldn’t help but watch him walk to his vehicle, your thoughts straying inappropriately once again. He had been intimidating, yes, but also undeniably attractive and authoritative in a way that made you hate yourself just a little. For a fleeting moment, you even caught yourself thinking about hooking up with the man, but of course you disregarded the thought as soon as it arose.

Figures, you thought to yourself. The hottest man you’d seen in months shows up at your door, and it’s because of a murder investigation. If all detectives looked like him, though, you’d probably commit a few more crimes just to be interrogated.

After clearing the thought entirely, you finally shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. Tomorrow was going to be… interesting.

But you still had work to do today.

continue to next part ->

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-> read other works and progress announcements on my masterlist !!

[luvdsc]

rn, i’m pretty set with a communications major but i’m just having second thoughts like if it’s gonna be hard to find a job with that major or if it’s gonna one that interests me,, i’m lowkey tempted to go into STEM bc it’s more stable and i’ll fs get a good job with that but i rlly want smth that deals with writing and creativity sighhh

- 🫀

wanna know a secret, lovebug? 💓 a lot of companies won’t care about what major you have, as long as you have a degree. obviously, you can’t suddenly become a plastic surgeon with a graphic design degree, but oftentimes, as long as you have some sort of experience and you’re good at talking (which I assume you would be since you want to do comm! 💘), the company interviewing will like you and they’ll give you a job, and they will teach you how to do your job afterwards. Understandably, someone who does have a degree in that job’s field will have an easier time of getting a job, but it is very possible to get a job in a field you didn’t major in! 💕

I also really struggled with that dilemma though, honey bee, so I totally get it 🤧 I wanted creativity too, but I knew it wouldn’t be the most stable field, and I ultimately went with financial stability. It really comes down to happiness versus finances. There’s no right or wrong answer, you just have to think about what you’re more willing to sacrifice - like maybe you won’t enjoy your job as much, but you’ll have a more lucrative lifestyle, or you will love your job, but will have to cut down on spending and live modestly.

While I went with the financial stability path, I also minored in studio art so that I had something I loved and looked forward to during my time at uni :’) and during my free time now after work, I do art! 💓 so I still spend some time doing what I love, but it’s not the majority of my time 🌼 work isn’t my favorite and is stressful, but I’m getting paid quite well so that helps LOL hopefully that gives you a glimpse of what happens when you choose the “stable” route :’) regarding the other route of doing what you love, i know that Steph chose that route and she adores going to her workplace everyday and doesn’t regret it at all, and tbh I’m lowkey jealous that she has so much fun (and so many dogs djdjdjdkck) at her job 🤧💗