#apologies for the rohan slander in the a/n

[inkpot909]

Rohan Kishibe Falling for an Assistant!Reader

↳ Reader’s gender is not defined/is gender neutral. Reader is in college and not a stand user.

A/n: ‘roHan KisHibE wOuLd nEveR hiRe an asSissTant-‘ Rohan Kishibe loses in fights against teenagers. He’s been famous since the age of sixteen; there’s no way he can even do the dishes properly.

Warning(s): Swearing.

Rohan Kishibe began the process of finding a personal assistant not a year after Yoshikage Kira’s death.

Not too long before, the idea of hiring an assistant was one the mangaka would openly mock. Him? Needing assistance? Not a chance. His work ethic is unreal; able to disregard what other artists would consider as valuable help. The Great Rohan Kishibe works solo at every opportunity and everyone ought to know it.

Although his reputation to many of the people around him can be rocky, one would be hard pressed to find anyone with the opinion that he needed an assistant at all.

However, the kind of aid he sought was, for lack of a better term, a glorified maid.

The Kishibe resident itself is big enough to comfortably home a family of five, and Rohan famously lives by himself. And completing tasks associated with home ownership had always been a big pain in the ass to the artist. Too much of his time was wasted on ‘unnecessary’ trivials (things others would describe as regular adult responsibilities).

Not only does he lose precious work time to maintaining a house, but also to grocery shopping, sending messages to his editors, and even cooking.

In short, he independently searched for someone to take care of his home and busybody tasks on the regular. Releasing an ad, he felt confident that he’d find someone. Even if the job itself turns a handful away, a generous payload would be sure to entice a fair amount of people.

Trudging through resume after resume, interview after interview, Rohan eventually came across you.

A young college student, taking a small yet steady stream of classes. Your resume was average to many your age, but stood out to him for other reasons. Namely, your application was well-written and to the point (something he had increased appreciation for at that stage in the interviewing process). Not only that, but the specific experiences you have had in the workforce was good insensitive as well. The final nail in the coffin was a general feeling of honesty pooling from your written words. Judging by how it was written, he could sense genuine realness. In short, you didn’t bullshit.

Amidst your educational endeavors, you searched tirelessly for a stable income. Spotting Kishibe’s ad, you resolved it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. And as fate would have it, you were contacted in order to set up an interview.

Unsure of what to expect, you dressed yourself up and swallowed your nerves. The interview itself was to take place at a tiny coffee shop in Morioh Cho and you were thankful for the short trip.

Meeting one another at the agreed time, Rohan’s character quickly confused the hell out of you (as much as it was intriguing). He’s certainly the type to leave a lasting first impression, while seeming careless to your own thoughts on him.

It was intimidating, overwhelming, and admirable all at once.

Also, he made it clear his work’s extremely important to him, the sole reason behind why he searched for help in the first place. More time to work; more time to dig for inspiration.

His dedication is what truly sold you, finding it weirdly motivating. Within just fifteen minutes of speaking to him, you’d forgotten that he’s only a year or two older than yourself.

That was, until the interview went on longer and he let it slip that certain worries plague him. Especially between chapter releases. The prospect almost made you sad; both his ego and anxiety possibly due to being a well-renown artist from a relatively young age.

Your personal response to the questions plaguing your brain was to disregard them, and instead focus on an expectant Kishibe. His eyes were sharp, looking down at you and impatiently awaiting a response to a question you completely missed.

You didn’t need to hear the exact words, though. Smiling sheepishly, you reached out your hand and shook his own. In the back of your mind, it was assumed any answers to your questions would eventually arrive one way or another.

They were bound to, considering Rohan Kishibe was- from that moment onward -officially your boss.

And to say it was a rough start for the both of you would’ve been an understatement.

Initially, you were a little shy about making any more assumptions or even observations. Hell, you were shy in general. Adjusting to the new job became a top priority over any curiosity about your peculiar boss. But when working with a man like Rohan Kishibe, it’s difficult not to hang over his every last word despite yourself.

However, time brings with it familiarity. Not only with a usual work routine, but with Rohan himself. His initial sternness made meeting his expectations all the more satisfying. Without a doubt, you were proud of how quick you got into the swing of things.

He prioritized quietness and swiftness, but was also surprisingly fair. Even after accustoming to the work environment, he always comments on a job well done.

Except for when he’s deeply invested in his work. To you, it’s difficult to tell if he even notices your presence upon entering the art room. However, it’s not as if you slipped into the background, but he simply grew used to you being there on occasion.

Months passed. You grew to have less and less questions about a man you no longer called Mr. Kishibe, but instead by his first name.

The two of you don’t necessarily need to speak in order to be communicative. You’re at a point in your relationship now where you found reading into his actions to be surprisingly easy.

That’s an aspect he certainly wasn’t expecting either, not used to such things.

Just the smallest shift of his facial expression- just a lift of a brow -and your eyes light up with understanding. Sure, he can ‘read others like a book,’ but you’ve seemingly mastered the language of Rohan Kishibe’s demeanor without any stand power.

Then he notices that you’ve started doting on him. An extra selection of sugar with his morning tea. Always taking an enthusiastic intrest whenever he shares his art. And a specific kind of contentment or pride you put into your work that he honestly would have never foreseen.

For the longest time, he was adamant that he wouldn’t use his stand to peak at your past and present. His power had grown considerably, and became more selective of who he investigates. However, his curiosity overcomes a sense of restraint on his own abilities.

He couldn’t help but take a peak. Besides, he could find something usual for his writing. Regardless of whether or not he did, he found something else as well. Written in on your second page, his name was the most recent in a list of people you harbor (or have harbored) feelings for.

Rohan can move on after that. No problem. It wasn’t the first time he’s found his own name written down in someone’s book as a crush. It’s nothing to pester you about; nothing to even ponder. Nope. Just go back to work. Not a hint of romance is going to suddenly appear in his manga (it’s psychological horror, why would it be?) out of thin air.

A week passes. Two weeks pass. He’s become a little more silent as of late, but it’s nothing you care to mention at all. Rohan gets absorbed in his work often, and you figure you’ll get the chance to ask him about his work a later time.

Your patience is respectable; it’s downright endearing. But the lack of investigation on your part made his teeth grind together in frustration.

He doesn’t think of you that much. Not really; don’t flatter yourself. His mind just lingers on your memory when you leave. Rohan’s thoughts merely turn to you when introducing a noticeably beautiful character in Pink Dark Boy. And it’s nothing special that he gets agitated when he doesn’t see you for a few days.

While you put him out of your mind (the thought of him is far too flustering), Rohan’s lingers on your more and more. The glances he throws at you dwadle, observant in the way you’ve been for months.

Standing in the front hall of Rohan’s home, your body is leaning against the wall while you pull your shoes on. The sun hangs low in the sky, kissing the horizon line. A pinkish blush spreads across Morioh Cho, dusk signaling the end of your work day. While making your effort, footsteps travel from the top floor and down the stairs.

Lifting your head, a smile spreads across your face when meeting your boss’s gaze. He’s made his way to the bottom of the stairs, stopping a comfortable distance in front of you. “Taking a break?” you ask gently.

“For a short while,” he confirms, before adding in a mumble, “Although I know you’d lecture me about working late.”

“You said it, not me,” you jest, straightening your back upright after slipping on your shoes. You fold your hands behind you, long coat softly swaying as you momentarily rock back and forth on your feet.

“Only so you don’t say it yourself.” Rohan crosses his arms, shifting his weight onto his right foot.

“Because you prefer the sound of your own voice?”

Rohan opens his mouth, only to close it anticlimactically a moment later. His brows furrow, and eyes dart away from your person. Biting the inside of his cheek puffs out his lips subtly.

It’s times like this that you wished you were the artist. He’s so insistent on capturing reality, in all it’s forms. But he’d be your muse of choice. Yet he neglects that he’s a work of art himself, you mentally note with an audible giggle.

Rohan’s demeanor changes, his pondering expression morphing into a curious one. It merely strengthens your smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rohan,” you finally speak.

“Yes, of course,” he replies dismissively, as if it was redundant of you to mention.

Chuckling once more, you move forward. The mangaka’s breathing catches in his throat when you wrap your arms around him, and forehead collides with his chest. The hug is short, but noticeably warm.

You pull away far too quickly, waving him ‘goodbye’ and going on about buying him a St. Gentleman’s sandwich for lunch the following day while walking out the door. Rohan merely nods, watching the front door delicately shut behind you.

He’s stunned. Unmoving in his spot, only his eyes blink dumbfoundedly. Is he really going to head upstairs like nothing happened? Even now? Just continue working a few more hours of the night away? Maybe he should mull you over in his mind for a moment or two. Maybe for a couple of minutes. The way he’s starting to feel around you may not be a problem, but it certainly is something isn’t it?

He bites his lower lip, silently cursing your name. He attempts to ward away the rising heat on his cheeks with a shake of his head. For once, he’s glad he cannot use his stand to read his own mind. Because even without such ability, he has no doubt it would clearly state that The Great Rohan Kishibe has grown much to close to his assistant.

[sohin-ace]

Rohan - A Day In Paris

Happy birthday to my lovely Giovanna @gio-is-writing . I love you with all my heart. Thank you for barging into my life and stealing my gangster's heart. This one's for you.

You huffed and dropped your heavy luggage in the hotel room you were staying at for your short vacation. You briefly glanced out your window, The Iron Lady greeting you from afar.

No time to spare, you had a busy day ahead of you, and your friend would not let you off the hook if you spent your short rare days in Paris lounging around doing nothing.

You took out your phone and called her, struggling to change from your heels to more comfortable shoes.

"Y/N, hello! How was your trip?" Your friend picked up, instantly greeting you with her unmistakable accent and you swore you could hear her sadism.

"Please let me rest, I beg of yo-"

"Nuh huh, sweetie. I have a big program for you and you will make the most out of your trip. You'll thank me later, trust me." She cut you off and you groaned, sleepy and jet-lagged.

Yes. You had to travel to the marvelous city of Paris for a conference meeting, but of course, you could only expect your best and only local friend to make you tour the entire city in a record-breaking time.

She had planned out for you a extended list of activities, museums, restaurants and places to visit during your voyage. Knowing her, you were impressed and almost suspicious that she didn't try to drag you out with her and forced you to meet 'your future husband' through many blind dates.

Losing yourself through confusing subway stations and vintage architectured streets, you eventually found yourself in your most desired destination.

Obviously, whoever thought of Paris thought about the iconic Pyramid of glass. That was the one place you always dreamt of seeing.

"So... That's the Louvre, huh?" You breathed out, almost in disbelief.

You couldn't possibly pass the occasion of visiting one of the most reknown art gallery in the world.

Looking around the vast plaza, you had expected much more people to crowd the area, but you were pleasantly surprised to only see a few strangers here and there. Good, that was much less anxiety inducing.

Not wanting to wait any longer and too eager to finally discover this magical place, you guided yourself in. The contrast between the loud sunny exterior and the dull and quiet ambiance inside forced you to relax.

Hours had passed by without you even feeling them. You were having much more fun that you'd have ever anticipated, even though visiting a museum all alone was a thought repulsive to most people. You loved every bit of it, walking through the  finely decorated corridors, immersing yourself in the eery yet pleasant quietness of the place, learning through the masterpiece's description, imagining the sculptures come to life.

You smiled. You were happy from this simple yet incredible experience. It was crazy how a change of scenery and how art could so easily move you, transporting you into new worlds, new horizons, and make you travel through times and spaces.

"It's like magic, isn't it?"

You gasped and instantly jumped at the sudden deep voice right next to your ear. You looked behind you to glare and maybe insult who ever had just almost given you the biggest heart attack you'd ever have.

"O-Oh my god!" You yelped, already too loud for the place you were in, prompting a few heads to turn your direction. You shamefully toned down, "Y-you scared the shit out of me-..."

"...I apologize, miss," The male's daggered expression looking down at your small frame did not match his polite words and soft tone. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you looked so deep in thoughts and you were blocking the view."

He pointed at the painting behind you and you decided to ignore his left-handed comment, moving a bit to the side and away from the painting. When your breathing finally slowed down to a healthier pace, you took the time to observe his features a little more.

He stood tall in front of you, his frame slim yet sturdy. You were striked by his eyes of emerald and his androgynous facial traits that seemed to soothe you even without contact. His dark green hair was meticulously styled to the side with an intriguing headband adorning his forehead.

You decided to not stare down his body in fear that his expensive-looking clothes revealing his toned abs and lean waist were actually not an illusion from your peripheral vision but his actual look.

Dang it, you thought, he was too hot for you to stay mad at him.

You looked to the side, and mumbled "... Apologies accepted."

"Wow. Took you a long while of staring at me to accept my apologies. Like what you see, maybe?" He quirked an eyebrow, his tone now condescending, which completely contrasted with his earlier princely behavior.

You gasped and clicked your tongue at him, "You-... Are you famous or something? Why are you acting so bratty all of a sudden?" You knew it, your friend had warned you about this type of guy. The type to act all high and stuck up, roaming art galleries and belittling others. More often than not, handsome and wearing sketchbook-filled satchels. "French artists, I swear..."

You saw him lick his lip before scoffing, as if you had offended him. Unbeknownst to you, the man was actually quite amused by you and did not expect this comeback. He had already long forgotten about the painting behind you.

"Oh you're funny. How did you know?" He smirked obnoxiously, stepping up slowly and looming even taller over you. "You should consider yourself privileged to even be looked at by the Great Rohan Kishibe."

You squinted your eyes at his bold ego, but also at the sound of his name. "Rohan Kishibe...? That sounds like a Japanese name. So you're not a snobby French city boy? Disappointing."

He let out a 'tch' of annoyance. How dared you slander his persona? 'Snobby city boy'? 'Disappointing'?

...'French'?!

Rohan huffed and closed his eyes. Oh no, he couldn't let you get to him so easily and give you the satisfaction.

"That's correct, you dense child." He buried his hands in his pants pockets, dismissing the look you gave to his shamelessly visible underwear waistband.

"Oh shut up, you can't be barely older than me." You huffed and blushed, avoiding eye contact with this man getting so deliciously on your nerves.

You wouldn't admit it, but you were quite enjoying this excentric man's company. His manneurisms and the small smirks he showed at your defiance stirred a little something inside you that just made you want to keep him here a little longer and waste his time. He did look like the busy type, after all. Perfect for bothering and messing with.

Oh but you certainly did not expect him to be thinking just the same as you. In any other circumstances, Rohan would have probably lost patience long ago and snapped, not wanting to spend another minute with the likes of you. But for some obscure reason, he wanted to get to you just as much as you did him. Push all your buttons and drive you absolutely wild.

Maybe it was the little grimaces you made at him that he hated to find cute, maybe it was how your small hands mindlessly held the velvet railings protecting the artworks. Perhaps it was your overall form so gracefully holding yourself up, a delicate sight for such a fierce lady. Or maybe it was that little lipsticked wide smile that he wanted to wipe off your face and kiss absolutely senseless.

"Whatever you say... Uh... 'Your Name'."

You swore you felt a vein pop on your flushed forehead. "It's Y/N. Y/N L/N. Get it right next time."

You rolled your eyes at him and whipped your hair out of your face with exaggerated and unnecessary sass. You wanted to giggle but held it back as he stepped forward and uncomfortably close to you.

You thought he wanted to strike you for a moment and froze as he leaned down and poked his index finger to your chest accusatively.

"Listen here, L/N, "He spat your name through gritted teeth and your mind was hazy with the heady scent of his cologne. "Keep that little attitude of yours and I'll pin you to one of these fucking walls next to these paintings. That'll teach you a lesson."

Your face warmed up and your breath hitched shakily at his bold 'threats'.

"Ooh~ woah there, partner. At least take me to dinner first..." You chuckled and pushed gently on his toned chest, trying to conceal how insanely flustered he had made you feel.

"... Fine then. Tonight 8 P.M. Right here, at the entrance of the pyramid."

Rohan straightened up and stepped away from you. The sudden cool air hit your red face and you widened your eyes, only then registering the fact that he had just flirted back.

"Wait... What?!"

"Don't be late."

"Hold on-"

And just like that, the 'Great Rohan Kishibe', as he had comically introduced himself, disappeared from your sight, continuing on his visit as if he hadn't just shamelessly stolen your heart, leaving you both a blushing and a confused mess.

What a smooth bastard. He was actually taking you to dinner.

It would be a fun trip to Paris.

Bonus:

"Girl I can't come with you tonight, I'm sorry." You told your friend on the phone. "I just met a super cute asian boy at the Louvre!"

She gasped and wanted to whine at you. You were leaving her for a cute asian boy? But soon her tone changed to a more suspicious one.

"Wait... A cute asian boy...? At the Louvre...? Does he, perhaps, by all means, coincidentally, maybe, look like a thot, with green eyes and stupid hair?"

"Yeah? How did you know?" You replied without hesitation.

"Oh that's Rohan! Can't believe you found him haha!" She chuckled, barely caring about trashing the poor man left and right, "Tell him I said Hi. Also, have fun, and use protection cause his dumbass won't-"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!"