#rohan x y/n

[thepenguinweeb]

rewatching part four, you say…

*slams metaphorical credit card on table* rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan please i am normal and sane about the manga artist

anyways perchance maybe reader is an assorted background stand user in morioh™️, and Jotaro or Joskue or whomever pair them up to look for things/people that stick out around the town (post shigechi death). Rohan is all like “that’s stupid, I can’t use my stand on every single citizen of morioh” only to be told “that’s fine, y/n can help narrow down the search”

maybe reader with a stand that lets them see auras or something similar. Neither knows what the others stand is or does and they kinda make idle banter about it as they go about the streets searching.

Stuff like “how are you supposed to help narrow this down” “stfu i’ll just tell you who looks suspicious, what are you even gonna do when I do though?” “i don’t want to tell you wtf” and “they wouldn’t have put us together if our stands weren’t benificial” and “you know, if i really wanted, I could just get the information myself (heavens door go brrr) but Im being kind and trying this new thing called ‘consent’”

Chance for comedy bc obviously they’re not gonna find bbg yoshikage, definitely could read one person with a negative vibe and be so shocked/discouraged by what they find after hours of walking that they turn in for the night. Rohan walks reader home, could be flirty as they actually talk about how terrifying heavens door could be (ie: koichi kidnapping)

if you go with the aura thing, maybe also a conversation about what his looks like and what readers first reaction to it was. talking about how well they compliment each other and that it’s no shock they were paired up for the search

idk, idc, go nuts man. the manga artist is hot and i’m not ashamed to admit that. need him. sorry this is so long and informal 😭

[ ♡ Kishibe Rohan x reader ]

[ ♡ When Jotaro pairs you up with an unfamiliar man as your partner to search for clues about a killer living in Morioh, you find an unlikely connection despite his.. less than friendly demeanor. ]

[ ♡ Requested by: anon !! <3 ]

[ ♡ A/N: YES YES I LOVE ROHAN THANK YOU !! DW about the long ask, I cannot emphasize how much I love when people rant in my inbox about their sillies. Anyway I loved this concept smm I hope I did your idea justice !! I kinda might have gone a bit overboard lol I usually don't write this much ]

[ ♡ Word count: 2k ! ]

Divider by @/cafekitsune !!

You've lived in the quiet town that is Morioh since your childhood. Your life, up to this point had been quite average, to say the least...

Until now, that is.

A few months ago, you'd been shot with a mysterious arrow, which seemed to awaken some kind of strange power within you.

You'd always been good at judging people's characters. It's what being a chronic people-watcher does to a person. Perhaps that's why you could see people's "auras" since the arrow incident.

To be quite honest with yourself, you didn't think much of it. It came in handy a few times, but life went on as normal.

But it seemed life had other plans for you, as not long after your discovery of these powers, you met a man, Kujo Jotaro.

Well.. not so much as met. More like, watched for a few days by him because he caught you using your Stand in public and thought you were an enemy.

But, you've cleared your name since then and became loosely accquainted with a group of people who were all Stand users, much like yourself.

All was well in Morioh.. you thought so, anyway.

Oh, but poor Shigechi.

It was Josuke who informed you of his death. You were just as struck as everyone else, despite not knowing the boy personally.

He didn't deserve to die.

And so, an investigation began. Clearly, there was something going on in Morioh, way bigger scale than what the group initially expected.

But nothing came back. You asked about it every day, to see if anyone had any news, but nothing. All you could be sure about was the fact that a killer was lurking in Morioh.. who was, also, most definitely a Stand user.

Just then, you got a call from Jotaro. He told you to meet him at a certain address. And don't be late.

You honestly didn't know what to expect. Despite its unlikeliness, deep down you hoped it was only good news - that they somehow found the killer and had him arrested, so Morioh would return to normal.

That, of course, wasn't the case.

You arrived at the location quite soon, as it was not too far from your own home. The address took you to a nice-looking house, though you weren't exactly sure why Jotaro wanted to meet you at a random house.

You spotted Jotaro immediately. Not a hard task, considering the man was 190 cm and wore a huge white coat at all times.

But then, next to him was another man, unknown to you. You know you've seen his face before.. more than once, too. Yet you still couldn't put it together..

"Y/N. Good. You're here." Jotaro nodded once you approached.

"Right. So, uh.." you made a point to glance at the other man, who you noticed was staring at you trough a sharp gaze.

"Kishibe Rohan." He extended his hand toward you, his eyes almost piercing trough your soul with the intensity. You had to wonder if he was always like that, or if he just didn't trust you.. perhaps both.

"Y/N L/N.." you took his hand for an awkward handshake. Then, something seemed to click in your mind. "Wait- Kishibe Rohan. Like, the mangaka?"

"That would be me, yes."

In hindsight.. Koichi did mention something in passing about knowing Kishibe Rohan, 'the greatest mangaka alive' personally..

You smiled, hoping some banter would eventually ease him up. But just as you were about to reply, Jotaro cut you off.

"The reason you're here," he began, "is because I have a job for you both."

Both you and Rohan raised an eyebrow at that.

"You have been informed of all that has happened recently, correct?"

You nodded in confirmation.

"I want you to work together to find anyone or anything suspicious. Whatever you can find. At this point, anything could be a clue."

A small silence filled the air as you stared at the tall man. You weren't against the idea of working together with Rohan, even if you didn't know him too well. The mangaka, however..

"You must be joking, Jotaro." He crossed his arms as he turned his head to look at the other man. "Surely you don't expect me to use my Stand on everyone in Morioh?"

"Of course not," Jotaro replied in his usual tone. "That's what Y/N is here for."

You could almost feel yourself wanting to sink into the ground at the harsh glance Rohan gave you.

But, after a few minutes of convincing, he eventually was dragged out by Jotaro agreed.

An extremely awkward silence hung about as the two of you trekked trough the streets. You kept your Stand activated at all times, but so far nobody had caught your attention. Though.. you had to admit, Rohan's aura was quite unique. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he was a Stand user, but his aura was more.. powerful, more confident, more defining than the average person.

"So." It was him who broke the silence first. "How, exactly, are you supposed to be of any help?"

You glanced at him, not appreciating his condescending tone. "It's simple. I'll tell you who's suspicious and who's not." You raised an eyebrow. "And what are you supposed to be doing?"

The man scoffed in response. "As if I would tell you about my Stand."

You rolled your eyes at his attitude. "Jotaro paired us up for a reason." Your lips curved into a small grin. "What, are you this insecure about your abilities?"

Rohan glared at you, even more intensely than before. He gave you the kind of look that told you if consequences weren't a thing, he'd have strangled you by now.

"Shut your mouth," he replied. "I don't need you for this job, you know. I could always do it on my own. You should be grateful you even have this opportunity."

You let out a long sigh and clutched your temple. It would be a long day if it kept on going like this..

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky above you. You'd been wandering the streets of Morioh since the morning, and so far, nothing.

"Ughh.." you heard Rohan quietly groan beside you. "Are you sure your Stand works perfectly? You seriously haven't seen anything at all yet?"

You gave the man a pointed glare upon hearing his doubts. "Of course it works," you snapped back.

"Then how come we haven't found a single suspicious person yet? Morioh isn't such a big town." He sighed. "Maybe you should get better at judging people."

"Ah, yes, I should be more like you, huh? Be judgemental to everyone who I think is below me."

You could tell Rohan was about to clap back with some witty comment, but you suddenly stopped in your tracks, so he did the same.

You focused on a certain person whose aura was different from the rest.

"That one." You pointed a finger at them.

Thankfully, for once Rohan decided not to be a pain in the ass and actually cooperate. As soon as you pointed the person out, he summoned his own Stand.. it was smaller than you expected from someone with an aura like his, but alas.

"Heaven's door!"

Rohan, with a simple drawing, somehow knocked the person out.. and turned their body into a book?

Definitely looked weird and gross.

"..that's your Stand?"

"Shut it."

Rohan began to flip trough the pages, his expression less and less positive with each passing paragraph.

After a couple minutes, he let out a long, defeated sigh. "Definitely not who we're looking for."

"Are you gonna let me read it too, or..."

The man rolled his eyes and let you have a look. But, to your disappointment, he was right. There was nothing noteworthy about them, there was no chance they were the killer.

You let out a sigh aswell and stepped back. You saw Rohan briefly scribble something into the book, then close it up.

"Let's go," he muttered. "We've been wandering for long enough. We can just tell Jotaro we haven't found anything."

You nodded in defeat and followed behind him as the two of you walked back toward his house.

"Well.. now that you know what my Stand does, it's only fair you tell me about yours too." Rohan spoke on your way back. "Isn't that right?"

"I suppose.." you replied. Even though you were reluctant to share at first, in a strange way, the two of you seemed to bond trough the day, even if you kept insulting and hating on each other.

"My Stand is called [Stand name]. It basically allows me to see people's auras, and get a feeling of their character," you explained.

"Hm.. I see." He was quiet for a while, most likely deep in thought. "So, what about mine?"

You tilted your head to the side. "You want to know what your aura is like?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's.. bold, powerful. Definitely stands out. It's proud and shameless. Like you."

You didn't even notice the small smile that grew on your face while you spoke. But Rohan definitely did, which only gave him an ego boost, it seemed.

"Is that so?" He questioned.

You nodded in response. "It was a little intimidating at first, to be honest," you muttered. "But you're not so scary. Just.. annoying."

He huffed at your answer and rolled his eyes in a dramatic motion, not missing the way you giggled at it.

"Heaven's Door can be frightening, I'll have you know," he replied, almost sounding defensive.

"Hm, well.. I guess it is pretty horrible to have your memories read, or taken out, or altered.." you pondered on that for a moment. "Your Stand is too powerful."

Rohan just grinned, not at all insulted. "Only the best for the best."

You stifled another sigh at his arrogant behaviour. You've gotten used to it by the course of that day.

"But.." he continued, his tone changing to a more serious one again. "I do see why Jotaro paired us up now." He looked at you. "Our Stands do work nicely with each other. Wouldn't you agree?"

You gave him a smile and nodded. "Yeah. In an investigation like this, especially."

Soon, the two of you arrived back to his home. It was dark by then, but you didn't mind.

"Well, today was.." you began,

"Exhausting," Rohan finished the sentence for you. "Horrible and exhausting."

"Yeah.. that." You chuckled. "But.. honestly, it was better than I expected." You tapped your chin. "Could've been worse.. especially since you were involved."

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Hey. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Pfft.." you stifled another chuckle. "I'll let you figure it out by yourself. Since you're so smart."

Rohan just glared at you in silence for a moment before shaking his head and giving up. "You're hopeless."

Your grin widened in amusement. Oh, was it easy to rile the poor man up.. you didn't feel too bad about it though.

Suddenly, he took out his notebook and wrote down something. He tore the page out and handed it to you without a word. Taking one look at it, you could tell clearly it was a phone number.

"We should keep in touch during the investigation," he said. "I don't believe you have my phone number yet."

"Now I do," you said with a smile. "Thank you."

He simply hummed in reply and muttered a barely audible 'no problem'.

"You better head home now," he told you. "I've seen too much of your face for today."

You wanted to take the insult to heart, but all you could do was giggle at it. "As if that was a problem."

"Get out."

"You're no fun.." you complained, but you did as he wished and turned around. "I'll call you if I find out anything, yeah?"

"Right," Rohan agreed. "Same goes for me."

You waved at each other and parted ways. The night suddenly felt a lot colder and more quiet without Rohan's annoying, yet admittedly somehow endearing presence.

The day might've been way too long, and not even successful. But hey. At least you made a connection with someone.

[byakuyacoochie]

Smash - Part 4 x Reader

[uwurakax]

˖ ˳·˖ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏, 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐈'𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄! ᥫ᭡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 finding an obscure otome game on the internet wasn't on your 2024 bingo card, but with only the cover art and no blurb, you decided to give it a shot. it looked promising enough at the start, and nothing could go wrong, right? ✩

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 various jojo's characters x f!reader

𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 otome || university/college!au || isekai || alt!universe ||

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 cursing (duh) || me thinking im funny asf || dio

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.8k

masterlist || next

-> 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You liked to think that you were an otome game expert. Even if it sounded… strange to the everyday person, it was your niche and who didn't have an out there hobby anyway? Supply and demand, right?

So you’d pride yourself on your extensive, and completely useless, knowledge regarding fictional pixel romance.

That was how you found yourself here, at two in the morning researching a really obscure listing of a dating game that you had never heard of before. There was no description, release date or year, and no mention of a publisher found anywhere.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure.

That was all you had to work with, the title of this so called game. There wasn't even an item picture uploaded. Spending a whopping thirty minutes gave way to absolutely nothing and you weren't going to lie, you were pretty miffed about it. A piece of so-called lost media just happened to be put on sale on a totally legitimate looking website at the grand old price of.. wait, $10?

Now you were intrigued. An otome game for that price? There was no way this was authentic when games of this nature cost upwards of $50 to $80.

With a few more clicks on your laptop, you came to find out there was free shipping included as well.

That was surely safe, you thought to yourself in your sleep deprived mind.

You faltered for a moment before closing the tab, shutting off your device and promptly collapsing onto your bed for the sleep your body craved hours ago.

Damn, you’ll feel that tomorrow.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The following days were mundane at best, your mind drifting to the odd listing of the game. The circumstances alluded you, and during your free time, you found yourself naturally going back to it. Exploring any and every corner you could, even going on the occasional forum. You didn't get much information however, and it seemed the more you looked, the more elusive it seemed.

How was it that no one else seemed to know of this game? Surely that wasn't possible.

It became more and more tempting to just shot the odds and buy it outright and trying it yourself, but you were still apprehensive.

The website didn't do any favours for itself, looking like it hadn't been updated since 2009, and there didn't seem to be any reviews on the authentication of the site either.

You groaned, sinking back into your chair and staring at your ceiling. Closing your eyes, you cautiously rubbed at them, deep in thought as the listing displayed at attention on your screen.

With a deep inhale you leaned forward again, focused as your hand hovered over the trackpad. The inner debate followed; curiosity killed the cat…

but satisfaction brought it back.

Super sketchy website, but if you played it smart, you wouldn't need to give out too much of your personal information. Plus it was dirt cheap for what it claimed it was.

‘Fuck it’, with a click and a few taps of your keyboard filling the otherwise silent bedroom, you received a congratulatory email and in red capital letters were the words ‘SOLD’ on the now ended post.

And so, you were now the future owner of the enigmatic video game, and if you so happened to be scammed… rest in peace that ten bucks.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were honestly pleasantly, and weirdly, surprised at how quickly your package arrived. Didn't you just order this thing yesterday? The no bigger than A4 sized parcel sat at your doorstep in a white bubble mailer, perched upright. The keys jingled in your hand as you bent down to pick it up, purse falling forward slightly in an uncomfortable manner. Your mood was already soured from the days events, and any little inconvenience had grated you. You were about to roughly shove your bag back and open your door when you realised there was no label stuck to your package. You flipped it over, only to find the same blank space.

That's definitely not worrying at all.

You jammed the key inside your door and forced your way inside with an all too loud slam. You knew you shouldn't have trusted that damn website. Now some axe murdering lunatic knows where you live! You could feel the nerves wash over you, and your heart began to palpitate. Twisting the deadbolt lock on your door gave you some sense of security, but it did little to appease you.

Tossing your keys and bag on your coffee table, you sat into your much too old and worn out lounge as you ripped the parcel open.

Discarding the plastic wrapping, you’d clean it up later, you found that inside was a small case with what you suspected was the game. There was nothing of note on the back, no text, rating, or any other information found. Turning it over, you saw the images of various male characters decorating the cover.

These must be the leads.

You glanced over each of the men as your fingers traced their features.

Four blondes, one brunette, one with dark blue hair, another with dark purple, one with a green undercut, a redhead and at the center was a brooding character with black hair and a tipped down cap.

What an interesting cast.

You couldn't help but wonder what made the creator go for ten different routes. It wasn't like that was unheard of, but it was quite a larger cast of romantic interests. In the midst of your thoughts, you felt a chill.

Like you were being watched.

Walking over to your kitchen window you looked outside, hand still holding onto the keep case. You stayed there for a few seconds, looking at the now setting sun against the trees. The orange glow offers little warmth within your small apartment. You gaze back down at the cover art, focusing on the dark, capped character. You didn't know why, but there was something unsettling about them. The longer you looked, the more the feeling began to fester. Gently facing it down on the marble counter, you headed into your bedroom to shower and change; hopeful that a new set of clothes and washing the day's grime away would lighten your mood.

Spoiler alert, it didn't.

Clad in only a towel, you went back into the kitchen to get a drink, throat parched and getting dry. You drank the cool beverage as your eyes began to wander back to the faced down disc. You still felt unexplainably wary, but it didn't feel so bad in that moment.

Gosh, you were such an idiot, who gets freaked over plastic?

You took the few steps towards it and turned it back over again. Tapping your fingers against the countertop in thought you wondered if you should actually play the game. It's highly possible it was just some kind if virus ready to wipe your entire harddrive, but your curiosity was getting the better of you.

You really needed to see what this was, consequences be damned!

Deciding that you’ll use your old high school laptop, you headed back to the bedroom to change into comfortable clothing. You found a pair of old white, cotton shorts and your well loved gray t-shirt that was much too big for you, left behind by a long forgotten ex. You couldn't even remember his name, or maybe you didn't want to remember. He was an ex for a reason, but the shirt sure was comfortable and his loss for leaving it with you. The only scent lingering on it was your own, so by definition and for all intents and purposes, it was yours.

Placing the game on your desk, you went rummaging around your room for the laptop.

Searching high and low; under your bed and in the wardrobes, resulted in nothing. You spend a good twenty minutes before checking the drawers of your desk and finding it hidden under stacks of scrap bits of paper in the bottom drawer. How cliché, and of course it was there.

Agitated, you moved your current laptop away and plugged in the old tried and true. It got you through high school, so hopefully it’ll make it through this.

Though you had hoped inside it wasn't a dud, as you began to feel sentimental about the outdated electronic.

If it did, you'd think about setting aside the money to have it fixed, even if it wasn't worth it - and it most definitely wouldn't be worth it.

You waited a couple of minutes for the thing to boot up, dusting off the slight dirt that accumulated from its lack of use. The age of the laptop was clear as you heard the fan blare to life.

Would it even be able to run the thing? There's no way you'd risk your actual computer on this…

Once deemed ready enough, you pressed down on the disc drive a couple of times, using much more than necessary force on the last push when the reader wouldn't open.

You waited impatiently as it closed with a quiet click, tracing your finger over the trackpad as the cursor moved violently across the screen.

You kept waiting… and waiting… and waiting… until….

Black.

The screen had shut off, and no amount of pressing the power button, force restarting the laptop or even hitting it did anything.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” the disbelief and anger present in your tone as you plugged the charger cable in and out of the port.

You weren't entirely surprised it was a scam, a virus now killing your laptop, but that didn't mean you weren't any less pissed.

Yeah you were lucky it was an old laptop, anything on it long since gone when the thing was reset before you graduated, but still…

What a waste of a laptop and the ten dollars spent on a useless thing. On the off chance that the laptop's hardware was too old to run it, you couldn't even get the disc back unless you wanted to pry the drive reader open and damage it further.

With a huff you slammed the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and laying down in your bed. You’d figure out what to do when you had time, but you were too upset to deal with your broken device now.

At least you had the sense to use an old laptop with no data. Gotta take those silver linings.

To lift your spirits, you ordered some takeaway, eagerly awaiting to stuff your face full of the greasy food. After the later half of the day, you felt like you deserved it, and the knock on your door couldn't come soon enough.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Switching off your television, you reached beside you and tapped on your phone screen to check the time.

10:34pm.

You debated whether you did want to sleep now, but your body decided to answer for you as you let out a loud yawn.

Your lounge was pretty comfortable right now, but after previous experiences, you'd definitely be feeling it in the morning.

The longer you stayed, the more difficult it would be to leave so you quickly got up, threw away the rubbish from your order and went on to do your nightly routine.

After the final step of brushing your teeth, you went to bed, flicking off the bedroom light before you looked towards your desk. Your laptop illuminating a glow along the edge.

Well that's suspicious… that's weird…

You shook your head off the image and voice of Cardi B and slowly sat down at your desk. Tentatively reaching out and opening the laptop you were met with a title screen.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure.

A deep blue background with the words in a hot pink gradient that faded to white. Deep violet coloured roses garnished the sides as different hues of purple petals fell from the top of your screen.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure, that was the name of the game from the listing, wasn't it?

Absentmindedly, your middle finger moved across the trackpad, white sparkles glittering off the cursor with every motion.

Surely a few minutes wouldn't hurt right? Just to get a feel and understanding of the game.

Small, white text slowly flashed underneath the title text reading ‘PRESS SPACE TO START.’

“Here goes nothing.” you murmured, as the screen faded to black, shrouding your entire room in darkness as well.

After a few seconds of nothing, you became apprehensive. You silently prayed that it didn't conk out on you again. There was no way you’d be teased like this.

It felt like a minute before the black screen started to light up again imperceptibly, a slight purple tinge colouring against the blackness. More white text appeared.

>> ‘HELLO’

You awaited the continuation, but nothing else had occurred, the bold letters staring at you. You clicked all over the screen and tapped enter, but there was still nothing. On a whim, you ran your hand over your keyboard to see it typed into the screen, right underneath the greeting.

How peculiar.

You held backspace to remove what was a mess of letters and numbers before typing back a ‘HI’ and hitting enter.

>> ‘ARE YOU THE NEW STUDENT?’

New student? Was this game set in a school?

> NEW STUDENT?

>> ‘AT SWF UNIVERSITY’

At least it wasn't in high school, thank goodness. You’d be damned to face another high school otome game. Figuring this was how the game went, but deciding to see what would happen you typed,

> NO

You tried to hit enter, but nothing happened. I guess it wouldn't accept that answer. You deleted the text before following what you assumed to be the correct response,

> YES

>> WELL, AREN’T YOU A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

The text response was different now, a yellow instead of the earlier white. You felt a shiver run up you, looking behind at your empty room. You sensed that something was wrong, yet you didn't know why.

>> WHAT’S WRONG? SCARED?

Okay this wasn't funny, and this disc was obviously some kind of troll or some deep web, tracking crap. At minimum it was designed to scare you and at most… well you didn't want to think about that.

> A LITTLE

You don't know why you decided to be somewhat honest, but something was telling you that it would be better than lying. Not like it mattered much.

>> HMM, YOU SHOULD BE

You kept rereading the text before the screen flashed with your name, repeating over and over and over again.

Fuck that!

You unplugged the charger, covering your room, once again in darkness. Your breathing became laboured, as your heart beat thundered furiously in your chest, threatening to explode. That most definitely was some type of tracking, data hacking bullshit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What were you supposed to do now?! Call the police? Move? You were only kind of kidding about being sent the disc by an axe murderer, but it was now a very real possibility.

You tried in vain to calm down, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. This was so stupid! So completely, utterly and devastatingly s, t, u, p, i, d! You closed the lid and shoved it back into the drawer. It gave you some semblance of safety. Tomorrow you’d go far away and toss it in a random dumpster. To hell with sentimentality, that laptop was now dead to you.

You wished it would've worked earlier, at least then you would've been able to dispose of it. There's no way you were leaving your unit now at this hour.

Maybe you shouldn't throw it away and instead give it to the proper authorities? But if it was just some troll, you'd either be laughed at out of the station, or berated for wasting their time with nonsense.

You triple checked your deadbolt and closing every curtain, also ensuring that every window was sealed shut and locked.

Retreating back to your room you hid under the covers, the fluffy security net doing little to curb the anxiety that was manifesting inside.

You were surprised to feel yourself growing drowsier, the cute cat compilation video that you put on was only 6 minutes in.

You fell asleep shortly after that, your phone showing a ginger cat jumping off a shed roof and face planting into the concrete.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up with a start, sitting up as you gasped for breath. You could feel the slight sweat covering your body, a stuffiness surrounding you as you attempted to slow down your breathing. You looked around the room, a new panic forming as you saw the furniture and belongings of someone who was definitely not you.

Your room didn't look like this! Neither was that desk, or that chair! These sheets weren't yours either.

You closed your eyes as your breathing picked up again, thinking of what to do next before your phone went off with a ding.

Reaching down, you unlocked your phone screen as the words ‘A BIZARRE DATING GAME’ faded into view.

Uhm…

WHAT THE FU-

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

Did Something Slip Your Mind?

Chapter 2/? <- previous ⋆ next -> [masterlist]

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

[SUMMARY] Read previous chapter first! After finding out you might be a key witness to a murder investigation, you suck up your nerves to preform your civic duty... but something seems off about the whole thing, and its not just the fact that the sketch artist is absolutely insufferable.

[WC] 4.5k

[!!!] Sfw for now, but will not be in the future. Heaven’s Door is a warning in itself. Memory erasing moments will be entirely excluded from readers perspective so you experience the confusion genuinely, but it will be obvious for the most part WHEN the stand has been used. Same warnings as previous chapter Tiniest bit of Jotaro x reader if you squint.

[A/N] hey everyone, schools coming into swing so uhhhhhhh taglist information on my blogs nav if you enjoy and want more :)

The hotel was unassuming, tucked away in one of Morioh’s quieter corners, clean in a way that let it blend into the surroundings perfectly. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have given the building a second thought without the explicit directions Jotaro had left the night prior. The events of the previous day were still playing through your head, the entire encounter having been such a deviation from your routine that it still felt fresh. First, there was the detective's intimidating presence; then, the unsettling realization that you’d briefly worked with a suspected murderer; and now this, some formal witness interview miles out of your way.

Your intuition was telling you this whole thing was something you weren't supposed to be a part of, that you were in over your head, but curiosity (and a small sense of duty) pushed you forward. You couldn’t just ignore what you’d learned. Someone in Morioh was killing people, and if you had information that could help, you had to try at the very least. Even if you weren't exactly sure how much help you could be…

You took a deep breath after navigating the liminal halls, trying to shake off the nerves as you knocked on the door he had described.

Almost immediately, it swung open, revealing the man you’d met the day before; as imposing as ever, his hat-shadowed eyes meeting yours with intensity. For a moment, you actually felt like you were being sized up by the man in front of you.

But his demeanor softened as soon as recognition fell on his face. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you pass.

The suite was clean and sparsely decorated, about as impersonal as you'd expect of a hotel room, regardless of its size. Jotaro gestured for you to sit at a small table by the window, but your attention was quickly drawn to the other figure in the room.

Your stomach dropped the second you realized who it was.

He was seated casually enough, legs crossed, one elbow propped on the table as he leaned forward, paying little attention to anyone but himself. His hair was unmistakable, though—vivid green and styled in that sharp, angular fashion that somehow suited him perfectly. His clothing was equally flashy, though you expected nothing less from the man, but those bold colors and cutouts were the least of your worries now.

The tension in the room felt suffocating, though likely only for you. Between the stoic wall that was Kujo and the insufferable ego Kishibe wore like a suit, you felt like you were walking to a witness stand instead of an interview. But, Rohan hadn’t recognized you… at least, he didn't act like he did.

Jotaro’s gravelly voice had been calmly explaining the process for nearly five minutes now, but you felt like you were missing most of it. It was straightforward enough though, right? Regardless of the importance of his speech, your attention kept unintentionally drifting to Rohan, who now lounged on the couch as if he owned the room. His posture was relaxed, leaning back, legs apart as he absently flipped through a notebook with one hand, spinning a pen in the other.

You hated how casual he looked... as if this was just another Tuesday for him. But hey, maybe it was. You hadn’t known until today that he worked as a police sketch artist, but the notion made sense, at the very least. Though you’d only seen a handful of examples, you knew the man’s realism was as flawless as the stylized drafts in your inbox; he might be your least favorite person on this planet, but you couldn’t deny that he had an almost unparalleled talent… not that you spent that much time dwelling on it.

Jotaro’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “Are you ready?”

Shit, maybe you should have been listening closer. Still, you nodded while asking for clarification, eyes darting nervously between the two men. “For what?”

“For me to do my job,” The artist said smoothly, finally looking up from his notebook. His green eyes locked onto yours, sharp and glinting with something that made you uneasy. You were allowed to relax for a moment, however. Intense as they might be, there was not an ounce of recognition in those eyes.

“Just try to stay focused,” he said, standing. “This will only take a moment.” 

You thought you saw him draw something—which was odd considering the fact you hadn’t described the suspect yet—but that was before the heavy sensation of nausea overtook you. It was difficult to explain, due primarily to the brevity of the feeling. It felt as if you’d sneezed somehow, but your brain completely ignored your action in the moment; it felt as if you’d knocked your head back without even realizing it. Even the ceiling above you felt unfamiliar for a second, but the nerves washed away as you realized that you must have spaced out. Nothing struck you as out of place.

You turned your head to Jotaro, who had moved across the room without you noticing, looming by the window like a marble statue. 

“What will only take a moment?” You asked for clarification.

Rohan smirked, causing your heart to falter. What was that look in his eyes?

“Just a few descriptions of the man as far as you can recall. You weren't daydreaming, were you?” Oh, this was just his ego on full display, he was just a man pretending to be an entitled god.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” you said defensively, forcing yourself to sit up straighter in the chair. “I’m fine.”

“Of course,” Rohan said smoothly, snapping his notebook into a comfortable position. “You seem very… composed.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist, as if he were daring you to prove otherwise.

“Can we just get started?” you scoffed, turning your attention back to Jotaro. He cleared his throat with a small nod, something about his demeanor feeling much smaller than it had moments ago.

You sat in the uncomfortable spotlight, trying your best to recall the details lost to time. In between the generic questions—prompting things like the man's eye spacing, nose angle, and ear size—the artist continued to ramble.

“I want- no. I need context.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Remind me, how did you meet the suspect?”

You furrowed your brows. “I designed a business card for him, I don’t see how that impacts the drawing, though.”

“Just for the sake of my mental process, helps immersion…authenticity… whatnot.” He spoke as if his explanation made perfect sense, waving his hand absentmindedly.

Who were you to judge his creative process, though? If the rest of the man had to be maddeningly frustrating, why shouldn't his artistic preferences be the same? You were willing to sit here and stonewall until he had what he needed for the sketch, surely he couldn't get that much worse. It was a good plan.

Well, it was a good plan until Rohan broke the uncomfortable silence once more, speaking in a tone you had no possible way of deciphering. “So, you’re a graphic designer? Tell me, what have you worked on recently?” 

The question caught you off guard, and your brain stuttered over how to respond. You blinked, unsure if he was genuinely curious or baiting you.

“I—uh…” You scrambled for something neutral. “Mostly cover designs. I’ve worked with a few smaller mangaka.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short, I'm sure your clients would be insulted to hear you think so little of them.” He quipped back almost instantly, still focused on the page.

You didn't know what to say, but thankfully, Rohan and his big mouth continued to do the talking for you.

“I'm intrigued, I must admit. Anyone I might know?” He mused, finally looking up from his sketchbook and straight into your eyes, expression unreadable, tone short.

Your stomach twisted again, but you somehow maintained composure. You were starting to second guess your judgment, however… unless this was how Rohan usually treated strangers.

“Probably not,” you said bluntly, keeping your voice polite but unattached as you held intense eye contact. You didn’t want to face the possibility that something was off, that you didn’t have control of the situation. There was no way he could have recognized you... right? 

Jotaro cleared his throat again, clearly uninterested in whatever game Rohan was initiating. “We’re not here to talk about her career,” he said, his tone firm enough to steal Rohan's gaze.

The artist simply waved his hand dismissively. “It’s relevant, isn't it? Context is everything, Kujo. Besides, I’m just trying to understand her perspective...You can't rush art.”

You gritted your teeth, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted by the attention. Something was unnerving about the way Rohan spoke, as if he already knew the answers to his questions but enjoyed watching you squirm anyway. He had to know, right? No, if he had recognized you, why wouldn’t he bring it up?

If it were anyone but Rohan Kishibe, you might have had more lenience, but you weren't willing to put anything past the man you’d grown to despise.

“You said you worked with smaller mangaka,” he continued, his tone light but probing. “You must have an eye for detail. It’s no wonder Kujo hand-selected you, must have thought you’d be useful for this case.”

The casual banter made Jotaro’s brow twitch, though he said nothing. You felt trapped between them, caught in this strange and unspoken crossfire of disdain.

“I just do my job,” you said curtly, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

Rohan chuckled softly. “Humble. I like that. Though, you must find it strange- working with someone like me.”

Your stomach flipped. The way he spoke felt pointed, as if he were daring you to acknowledge the unspoken.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the panic creeping up your spine. Fine then. If he was going to dance around it, why shouldn’t you? At absolute best, he truly hadn’t recognized you, and he was still treating you like some puny little plaything, just here to amuse him with your reactions.

“No?” Rohan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “How fascinating. You don’t seem the type to overlook details.” 

Jotaro let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kishibe,” he said, his voice coiled with irritation. “Stop wasting time.”

“I’m not wasting time,” Rohan said innocently, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. He turned back to you, his smirk softening. “I’m just trying to make her feel comfortable. Isn’t that what good artists do?”

Your jaw clenched for what felt like the hundredth time, and you forced yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the table in front of you.

“You've got enough detail to wrap up the damn sketch. Let’s move on,” Jotaro said sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin as he came to your rescue.

“Fine,” Rohan said with a theatrical sigh, leaning back in his seat while flashing the detective a pouting frown. “But don’t say I didn’t try to make this more enjoyable.”

The rest of the so-called interview was a blur. Jotaro asked a series of questions about Kira—about his clothing, the way he shook your hand, his mannerisms—anything that might be useful for their investigation. You answered as best you could, though your mind was still reeling from Rohan’s earlier comments.

That being said, something still felt… off, like the fact you hadn’t actually given them anything of value. Or the fact that Jotaro's questions seemed to take just a few minutes. Or the fact that Rohan hadn’t even asked you to verify the accuracy of the sketch.

Before you could dwell on it further, Jotaro stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the room. “Thank you for your time,” he said, his voice brisk.

You nodded, relieved to be leaving. Before you could make your way to the door, however, Rohan stood with his usual 'look at me' attitude.

“I’ll walk her out,” he said casually, in a tone you wouldn't have second-guessed from anyone else.

You hesitated, glancing at Jotaro, who frowned slightly upon noticing your expression. “Rohan, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Relax Kujo. I’m not an idiot. Besides, it’s the least I can do,” He added, his tone light but insistent.

There was no question in his voice, no space for refusal. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, brushing past with an air of indifference that only made you more uneasy. With no polite way to refuse, you nodded, heart sinking as he gestured for you to follow him. 

You swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to argue. Instead, you gave a polite nod, keeping your expression neutral as you fell into step beside him. His presence was commanding, the kind of energy that seemed to shrink the hallway around him, even if he wasn’t saying a word.

As you continued further into the hall, Rohan fell into step beside you, his presence unnervingly close.

When he chose to speak again, his tone of voice surprised you, now absurdly casual instead of biting. “Hope you don’t mind, I just wanted an excuse to get away from that dreadful room.”

You didn't reply. He worked here; you didn't give a shit how comfortable it was for him. 

“But alas,” he persisted with a sigh. “Duty calls. Just need a change of scenery to keep me sane, you know?” 

“Sure.” You nodded, coming to a stop at the elevator doors as you extended your hand to press the button. Thankfully, he got the hint this time.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting in silence—juxtaposed by Rohan leaning against the wall dramatically—the faint ring of a bell snapped your attention.

The elevator doors slid open, and you wasted no time stepping inside, choosing to stand near the back corner. Annoyingly, Rohan followed, choosing again to lean lazily against the wall opposite you, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed relaxed, almost bored, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something calculating.

The doors closed with a soft chime before you could voice any objections, and the elevator hummed to life, beginning its slow descent as your stomach dropped with it.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Rohan finally snapped.

“So,” he began, his tone light, conversational, the floors ticking by painfully slow. “You never really answered my question. What other kinds of work do you do? Or is designing boring business cards and derivative manga covers your specialty?”

The jab landed squarely, and you stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He was watching you, his expression unreadable but distinctly amused.

“I freelance,” you replied dryly, you just had to make it through this decent, and then you were free to go. Perhaps you could bore him into silence. “Covers, layouts, branding—whatever pays the bills.”

He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Freelance can be brutal. It must be hard to find consistent work. Or do you mostly cater to small-time authors?”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain neutral, it wasn’t like he knew that he knew you. “It depends on the project. I’ve worked with a variety of clients.”

Rohan’s lips quirked upward. “A variety, you say? And yet, you don’t seem to recognize me.”

You felt like you’d been shot.

He was testing you. You could feel it in the way his words hung in the air, in the way his eyes gleamed with power.

“I’m sorry,” you said, feigning ignorance. “Should I?”

Rohan chuckled, the sound low and far too amused for your liking. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, straightening from his slouched position. “You’ve worked with smaller mangaka, but you have no clue who I am?”

So he just wanted recognition then? From someone who should have known him???

Before you could respond, however, he reached forward and smacked the red stop button on the panel. The car jolted to a halt, the hum of motion replaced by silence as you stumbled to find your footing.

Your breath hitched. “What are you doing?”

He turned to face you fully, arms still crossed, his expression smug. “I just thought we could take a moment to clear the air.”

“Clear the air about what?” you practically shouted, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re playing coy. I don’t dislike that, but let’s not pretend.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughed, the sound rich with mockery. “Oh, come on. You send me emails—lengthy, passionate emails—full of thinly veiled contempt. You’ve practically made a second career out of critiquing my artistic choices. And now you want me to believe you don’t know who I am?”

Your mouth went dry.

“I… I work with a lot of people,” you stammered, the words hollow even to your own ears.

His grin turned predatory. “Of course you do. But tell me, how many of them have the name Rohan Kishibe written at the top of their contracts?”

You flinched, your composure beginning to crack under his scrutiny. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Every time you hit send on one of those delightful little emails, you see my name. I know you know exactly who I am.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you admitted, the words clipped, escaping your mouth faster than intended.

“Oh, how noble of you,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was here, hm? Surely you had to have known we shared a town, or are you so wrapped up in your work that you don’t spend any time in Morioh?”

“I didn’t want to make things awkward,” you shot back, your frustration finally breaking through.

Rohan’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with something that made your skin crawl. “Awkward? Or were you afraid of what I might say?”

The elevator suddenly felt far too small, the air too thick. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as every instinct screamed at you to look away.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to bother you,” you spat. “You seem like a busy man. Hm? Balancing your job as an artist with what- police volunteer work?”

He laughed again, the sound sharp and biting. “Oh, I’m always busy. But for someone as outspoken against me as you are in writing, you were surprisingly quiet in person.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to stay calm. “Is there a point to this?”

His grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, his expression flickering with something almost imperceptible. Annoyance? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual practiced indifference.

“The point,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “is that I don’t like being underestimated. And I certainly don’t like being ignored.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.

“You weren’t ignored,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I just… didn’t think it mattered.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “It mattered,” he said simply.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with unspoken tension. You wanted to say something, anything, to break it, but you had nothing left to say to the man. He could talk himself to hell, for all you cared.

After a long moment, Rohan sighed dramatically, reaching out to press the button to restart the elevator. The car jolted back to life, resuming its descent.

“Well,” he said, his tone light again. “This has been enlightening.”

You didn’t respond, your mind racing once the elevator doors finally opened to the lobby.

“After you,” Rohan said, gesturing for you to exit.

You stepped out, your legs feeling unsteady as you took a second to compose yourself. After a moment, you glanced back to see him watching with that same infuriating grin.

“Good luck with this week's drafts,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, arms crossed once again. “I look forward to your feedback.”

And with that, the doors closed slowly as he held his gaze; out of sheer stubbornness, you stared him down in return.

Was that supposed to be some form of intimidation? Or had Rohan found some form of sadistic satisfaction in leaving you in the lobby like this, equal parts confused, annoyed, and unnerved?

Whatever his reasoning might have been, it confirmed every single negative thought you'd ever had towards the man. Fuck him, you thought, baffled by the encounter all together. Honestly, the walk home felt like a daze itself, leaving you more confused than you had been on the trip over.

One thing was certain, however: if this was a game to Rohan, you sure as hell weren't about to let him win that easy. Besides, your contract clearly outlined another six months of payroll benefits. If he terminated it, you'd be rolling in money with no worries or complaints. But if you chose to end the agreement...

Fine, it was mostly because you depended on him. There was something nice about not living paycheck to paycheck, even if it meant putting up with the occasional jab or insult.

But was it really worth whatever that was?

[optional read: rohan pov]

Rohan Kishibe prided himself on being a man of precision and discipline; his craft demanded it, after all. He could spend hours—days, even—perfecting a single panel of his manga without once questioning his own judgment. Not that he needed to, of course. He also found satisfaction in the consistency of his work; that is to say, he could churn out projects like it was nothing… Yet now, as he sat at his desk, pen hovering over a blank page, his mind refused to focus. Instead, it spiraled relentlessly, replaying the events of the day and the memories he’d sifted through with Heaven’s Door.

Guilt wasn’t an emotion Rohan often entertained. It served no purpose, a distraction at best and a hindrance at worst. But as he thought about what he’d done—about how much he had seen—a strange tightness settled in his chest. It wasn’t that he regretted using Heaven’s Door; it had been necessary for the Kira investigation. No, what gnawed at him was the sheer depth of what he’d uncovered.

He had been efficient at first, methodical, filtering through her memories for anything useful about Kira. But then, inevitably, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had ventured deeper, into places he had no right to go, uncovering thoughts and feelings that were as private as they were unexpected.

Her thoughts about Jotaro, for instance.

Rohan scowled, his grip on the pen tightening. He hadn’t meant to linger there, but the way she thought about the man had been so vivid, so annoyingly warm. Admiration was one thing, but the subtle attraction she felt for a stranger had grated on him in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

Why did it bother him so much?

Jotaro Kujo was… Jotaro Kujo. Intimidating, stoic, perpetually grim. Hardly the kind of person who inspired affection. And yet, she had looked at him with admiration, even a hint of longing. Rohan had practically heard the unspoken 'what ifs' in her mind, and they’d clung to him like burrs ever since.

It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. Rohan Kishibe was above such petty emotions.

And yet…

He stood abruptly, pushing away from his desk. Crossing the room, he stared out the window at Morioh’s quiet streets, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. He didn’t like being ignored. That much he knew about himself. Whether it was his work, his reputation, or his presence in someone’s life, Rohan demanded acknowledgment. He thrived on it.

But she had ignored him.

Well, not entirely. She had recognized him, yes, but she hadn’t approached him. She hadn’t fawned over him, hadn’t stammered or blushed or tried to impress him like so many others did. Instead, she had decided he wasn’t worth her time.

Rohan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t shake the irritation—and the hurt—that came with that realization. She didn’t like him. It wasn’t just indifference; it was outright disdain. He had seen it in her thoughts, in the biting way she described him in her head. Arrogant. Pretentious. Difficult to work with.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard similar criticisms before. But hearing them from her—seeing them spelled out so clearly in her mind—felt different.

And then there was the other part. The part that made his stomach twist uncomfortably whenever he thought about it. The part he didn't even want to name.

It had been a passing thought, buried under layers of annoyance and frustration, but it had been there. He’d seen it, clear as day, and it had ignited something within him that he was now struggling to suppress.

Why did he care so much about what she thought of him? 

Rohan dragged a hand through his hair, letting out an irritated sigh. 

It wasn’t intentional, of course. He hadn’t planned to let her torment him in this way. But there was something about her that intrigued him, perhaps the way she stayed unflinchingly professional, even when she had every reason not to be. And she hated him.

Fuck.

He needed her to like him. Needed her to fawn over him like everyone else did. 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. Rohan Kishibe, a man who had always valued his independence, now found himself caring far too much about the opinion of someone who thought he was an insufferable jerk.

The guilt returned, heavier this time. She didn’t know how much he had seen. She didn’t know the full extent of how he had violated her thoughts.

Should he tell her?

The idea made his stomach churn. It wasn't something he could even consider. What would he say? Hello, I just wanted you to know that I read your mind and discovered all your innermost thoughts. Also, I’m sorry for being a bit of an ass about it.

No. That wouldn’t work. She’d never forgive him.

But could he really move forward without saying anything?

Rohan sighed again, pacing back to his desk. He needed her to keep working with him. More than that, he needed her to see him as more than just the arrogant artist she so clearly despised.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to bridge that gap. His usual charm—if it could even be called that—had little effect on her. If anything, his teasing seemed to irritate her. He hadn't cared at all a mere twelve hours ago, so why was it so important now?

He had to do something, though.

Sitting down, he grabbed his keyboard and opened his email. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he began typing, the words coming slowly at first, then faster as he found a satisfactory rhythm.

Subject: Upcoming Cover Design Rohan Kishibe: 10:26 AM I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to touch base regarding the progress on the cover for the upcoming volume. While your initial concepts are strong, I’d like to see a version that incorporates more dynamic elements—perhaps something that better captures the intensity of the narrative. Additionally, your attention to detail is always appreciated. I trust you’ll bring your usual level of creativity to this project. Let me know if you have any questions. Rohan Kishibe

He stared at the email for far too long before hitting send. It was professional, as always, but he’d chosen his words carefully this time, softening his tone just enough to leave room for interpretation.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

continue to next part ->

a/n: if you’re reading this, i have already written the scene where heavens door is used… teeheehee. i definitely want to keep it vague for now but 😃 holy moly it’s very fun. if only you had those memories mwahahaha

[masterlist]

[spicyicetea]

Side note from the current Yandere JJBAx reader I’m working on but still JJBA related. I’m currently watching part 4 and I just love everyone.

So here are my opinions on them and some relationship headcannons

Not all characters have relationship stuff-

Jotaro

I love how Jotaro is still himself but just… feels slightly baby girled. I also love how the first thing we properly see of him in part 4 is him 1- pitying a turtle 2-sucker punching Josuke moments later. With that being said, he’d totally be smitten for you. I may joke on how others are simps, this is my number one simp choice.

You probably didn’t obsess over him like the girls when he was younger but actually talk to him like a person, not just a set of hot muscles. He does like it when you talk about his hot muscles though ok… play your cards right and he might let you touch, but don’t tease him or he’ll back away. But, once you’re official, I feel like he’d quite like witty banter and teasing from his partner, as long as it’s clear you’re joking. No joke, probably fell for you after you mentioned a random fish/ocean creature fact.

“Huh? Oh you’re reading about starfish? I like starfish, even though they’re not actually a fish.”

“Marry me-“ “huh, what did you-“ “good grief, I said nothing…” 10/10 on my way to marry him as we speak.

Josuke

Josuke, I wasn’t sure if I’d like him at first but he is my baby no.2. He’s such a sweetheart, so dependable. Just his reaction any time his friends are in danger is just perfect. Plus I love his mom. The way he’d defend your honour like he defends his hair. Anyone say anything out of pocket about you and they’re dealing with your very powerful boy. Totally brags to you about how he’s Jotaro’s uncle and that Jotaro asks for his help on missions soooo often. But then later asks Jotaro for date ideas and advice because he’s older. My man is a romantic at heart you can’t lie to me. 10/10 would make dinner for him and baby him.

Koichi

Although Koichi isn’t my type personally, he’s such a cutie patootie. He’s so sweet and genuine that I imagine he’d just be a darling to eat lunch with and talk about your favourite shows or manga. 10/10, would walk with you too and from school.

Okuyasu

Okuyasu… he is my baby. He’s stupid, strong and has a heart of gold despite looking like a delinquent… you guys can’t lie to me that is definition of a Himbo. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t drag you out on every little adventure he could with him and the others. He’d have you wearing his jacket when it’s cold and if you already have one he’d insist his is warmer and then wear yours so you can have his. Dinner dates at Tonio’s. Yeah 10/10 he might be a menace sometimes but he’d fight for you. Use your scary dog privilege wisely.

Speaking of Tonio… only slutty men know how to cook. (/J) 10/10 I love him, underrated husband.

Rohan is a self centred jerk… I’m going to aggressively make out with him and you can’t stop me. 10/10 (sorry I’ve only seen like 2 episodes with him so I don’t have much commentary)

I’ve only just gotten to the episode where we see him pulling up to his house after nearly hitting Koichi so I can’t really report on Kira yet… but a man who carries an arm around… yeah smash- 10/10 psychotic asshole.

[neeuqiakeht]

Josuke, about Rohan: He's a walking red flag!

Y/N: Good thing red is my favorite color.

[howling-medic]

Medic's Rambles (aka Masterlist)

Headcanons and chaos:

The infamous chaos demon post: Every character JRRT has ever written is a chaos gremlin of some variety, and here is my evidence (pure crack, but I stand by the assertion)

Aragorn and Phantom Hobbit Footsteps: A quick little thought and tale of how Aragorn expects to find hobbits everywhere he goes, even when there are none left to hear, TW: mentions of death

Oneshots and Short Fics:

Impertinence: 5 times Pippin called Aragorn "Strider!" when he shouldn't, and the one time he didn't (or a 5+1 Aragorn & Pippin gen fic plus a bonus and an epilogue) TW: angst, major character death(s)

Alive Then: As the dust settles after a battle, Éomer takes stock of himself and his wounds. TW: Blood and injuries

No Battle, No Bloodshed: Eleven years of peace in Ithilien comes to end. Éowyn finds herself in the middle of her worst nightmare. A nightmare she thought she no longer had to fear.days. That she would know rest. That her skills for healing would be needed for farming injuries and winter illness. This was not she expected. TW: blood, injuries, angst

Snow Day: A soft moment under a blanket of snow for the King and his Steward; no TW (Aragorn x Faramir)

Conduct Unbecoming: In which the High King of the Reunited Realm cannot be bothered to care about what is deemed proper because being King does not make him less of a soldier

Level the Playing Field: How to fluster Aragorn, Son of Arathorn - this work is based on a chapter of the scenarios series by @rivendell-poet that everyone should read. This has been written and posted with their permission (Aragorn x GN!Reader)

King's Facade: A look at the beginning of Aragorn's rule as King Elessar that the public never sees; TW: angst, anxiety attack (Aragorn x Arwen)

[jjkamochoso]

Hello could I request a jjba headcanons it's about Reader teaching Rohan how to sew clothes and make his own clothes, this is just an idea for fun :3

Uh YES I loved this idea omg??? It’s so creative, thank you for sending it!!! Rohan is such a fashion icon and having him tap into his crafty side to make even more lil crop tops is truly a beautiful thing✨

Teaching Rohan to Sew Clothes Headcanons

Fluff

Rohan Kishibe x gn!reader

Warnings: none; can be read platonic or romantic!

• It all started one fateful day when Rohan slammed his closet door closed, no piece of clothing sparking his interest; he truly had nothing to wear

• You liked working on your various sewing projects at his house, finding peace in the silence of the large rooms, the only sound hitting your ears being the scratch of his pens on paper

• You had knocked on his door that morning and earned no acknowledgment in the numerous minutes you stood there, using your spare key (yeah, he really tolerated you!) to let yourself in

• As you stepped inside, you saw him angrily stomp down the stairs, obviously frustrated by something

• Considering he was still in his pajamas past 10am, you knew it was something serious

• When he begrudgingly told you of his predicament, you couldn’t contain your giddiness as you suggested he made his own clothes for once

• Of course, Rohan being Rohan, he scoffed and turned his nose up at the idea, stating he didn’t want to “waste his creativity” on making clothes instead of working on his manga

• “You’re right,” you had said, “because everyone wants to hire a 20 year old manga artist who only wears pajamas.”

• Next thing you knew he was sat next to you at your sewing machine in one of his many extra bedrooms, eager to learn

• You first explained all of the working parts of the machine, showing him where the needle goes, how to create different stitching patterns, the whole nine yards

• You then had him choose fabric he wanted his first shirt to be made from. It worked out well since you had mostly scraps from your personal projects and he mostly wore crop tops

• Trying to take his measurements was harder than getting a dog to take their medicine—he does NOT like people in his personal space (but again, he tolerates you very much so at least he didn’t bite lmao)

• He caught on quickly with how to use the machine, the wheels in his head spinning with ideas about a new manga with a mechanical main character

• When he accidentally poked himself with the needle, you learned a whole dictionary’s worth of new cuss words

• To your surprise, he loved hand sewing even more

• Adding the small details, like buttons and embellishments, made Rohan feel like the project had a more personal touch. He is a very detail oriented and hands on kind of guy when it comes to creative projects

• Speaking of hands on…

• You showed him the motion he should use when hand sewing by guiding his hand up and down before he pierced the fabric with the needle he was gripping in his fingertips

• Your closeness was causing his heart to beat rapidly in his chest

• He convinced himself it was from you manhandling him, thinking you were about to poke his eye out with the way you were flailing his hand around, needle glinting under the light

• His slight blush said otherwise👀

• When the shirt was done, you had him put it on and model it for you

• Of course he looked amazing !!

• He thanked you and showed a genuine interest in sewing, asking to see what other things you had been working on while he was hunched over at his desk all those months you had spent there

• Rohan looked forward to making more clothes with you since you were so knowledgeable and understood his vision!

• He never yelled at you about your sewing machine being too loud while he was working again <3

[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.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 1 - Panic Attack

Eowyn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Eowyn's worries about the future send her into a panic attack in the middle of a celebration.

Warnings/Notes: General descriptions of a panic attack/struggling to breathe, that's it really. Wanted to give whumptober a try with my beloveds so keep an eye out.

Word Count: 1689

 The Green Dragon. The hobbits had been singing some tavern song about… a dragon? No, no… it was a bar in the Shire, at least that’s what Eowyn thought. The wooden table shook beneath their stomping hairy feet in time with the claps of amused viewers. The hall was full of soldiers and their wives, celebrating their victory over the Battle of Helm's Deep—a battle Eowyn was forced to hide from, rather than fight—and remembering those that had died. 

 Eowyn wasn’t sure which group held more of her envy; those that had given their life for their country whilst fighting, who’s names would be forever remembered… or those that had fought and survived who now got to feel the truth of glory and strength.

 All things aside, she envied both parties for they got to do the one thing she had always dreamed of. They received their chances of valor alongside a bloodstained sword. They weren’t tied down by gender and expectations, they weren’t left behind to be pitied and defended like children. They weren’t useless. Not like she had been doomed to be since birth. 

  Doomed to never catch respect or honor between her fingers, never feel the same excitement the soldiers felt at the end of war. Doomed to forever sit behind the bars of womanhood until she grew old and useless, body worn from years of sorrow and fingers still itching for–though now too weak to lift–the hilt of a sword.

  The idea of forever being trapped beneath the soft blanket of femininity that had smothered her since birth was a terrifying one, one that kept Eowyn up at the latest nights, longing to prove herself, to be a name spoken with pride rather than dismissal.

 Eowyn hadn’t even realized her hands were shaking until she nearly dropped the flagon in her hands. Not wanting to spill the liquid, she abandoned it on a table. She wasn’t drinking, she’d found the container on the floor and meant to move it out of a drunkard's potential path. Gimli had offered her some of the mead earlier but the thought of losing even more control of herself made her feel sick. 

  Now she was wondering if Gimli had the right idea. Alcohol would certainly help ease her sorrows, but she was still uncertain on if it would calm the galloping horse within her chest.

  From over towards the Hobbits, a loud cheer erupted. Eowyn turned her head to look but bumped into a rather drunken man who nearly fell on top of her. Was there no room to breathe in here? It felt as if someone began to suck the oxygen from her lungs.

 It was crowded. Incredibly crowded, and noisy, and warm, and loud, and hot—Eowyn was then very aware of the sweat dripping down her back, the way the thick fabric of her dress clung to her skin. The collar dug into her neck, constricting her breathing even further. Somebody had plucked her by the head and set her on a wheel, then began to spin her around as fast as they could. She needed fresh air, she needed space, but she was too terrified to move in fear of falling over.

The panic was starting to wrap its arms around her, squeezing her tightly and dragging her away from the light. The crowded hall was practically steaming and void of air. Something hot began to dribble down her face at the same time her vision began to blur, but with a foggy mind, Eowyn could not put two and two together and made the panicked conclusion she was going to pass out.

  The exit was nowhere to be found in this gaping hall of colors and heat. The people around her were now just shapes and noises, noises that made her head feel like it was going to splinter. Her heart was racing so fast it felt as if it had sprouted wings and was going to fly up her throat, her lungs simply giving up on air and falling… falling.

  Before Eowyn could realize what was going on, she sank down to the floor into a crumpled heap, the last of her breath leaving her body in a hoarse gasp. This was it. She was going to lay here, lukewarm stone against her fiery cheek, and either be trampled to death or suffocate on her own lungs. 

  Her ringing ears could distantly make out some commotion and loud sounds but it registered as nothing but perhaps her imagination. Her eyes were clenched shut so tightly she feared the tears on her face would be stained red.

  A warm touch on Eowyn’s back yanked her back to reality by the hair, a loud cry escaping her quivering lips. Suddenly she was awake and so very alive again. The world was far too bright for her teary eyes and everything was too much. 

  “Eowyn!”

  Someone had been calling her name. The sound that had once been a muffled call now pierced through the ringing, the word clear, and worried.

  Through teary eyes, Eowyn could just barely see the details of your face, though anything below your eyes was blurred. Maybe she had died. Maybe that glow behind you was not from the fires of the Golden Hall, but from the sun on a golden shore. Somebody had trampled her, that heel finally digging into her lungs until they were beyond repair and–

  “Eowyn.” You said, hands grasping hers. Her eyes stared at you but they were almost blank, as if she recognized you but had no idea what to do with that information. Her body was trembling violently, chest heaving for withheld air.

  “It’s me. It’s y/n.” 

  Your voice seemed to poke a little further through the fog. Eowyn tried and failed to form a response, her only noise a soft whimper, but you took it as a sign she was snapping out of it.

  The blonde woman didn’t try to fight as you pulled her to her feet, but her legs didn’t exactly agree either. She would have collapsed once more if it wasn’t for your arm snaked around her waist.

  Now teetering on the edge of panic and lucidity, Eowyn gasped as the cold night air drenched her body. Her body was lowered to lay on the floor, back pressed against cold, soothing stone. Her eyes had grown clearer and she could see the stars, but her lungs still felt crumpled.

  Your hand slipped beneath her back and turned her onto her side, one hand splaying on her chest, the other on her back. “Breathe.”

  Breathe.

  Eowyn’s lips opened in a silent cry for air, but what little morsels she inhaled were only enough to make her cough. Your hand rubbed in soft circles over her chest and your command was repeated, so she tried again.

  The air came a little easier this time, and the next. She tried to sit up to regain the weak remains of her dignity but her body sunk back down onto the ground in protest. Whatever pride Eowyn had once held in herself was gone but for the moment she could not care.

  Eventually she was able to regulate her breathing and found her head on your leg. Your fingers were gingerly raking through the golden locks of her hair, starting at the scalp and trailing to the last strands. The tears on her face had dried to soft glitter beneath the moonlight, and the panicking pony in her chest relaxed.

  “I am sorry.”

  Eowyn’s first words after her breakdown were, as expected, rough and hoarse. She cleared her throat and slowly turned to look up at you. 

  “I… I don’t know what happened to me. One moment I was fine, and the next…”

  “I found you curled up on the floor… I thought maybe you had too much to drink, but then I realized you were shaking.” You whispered softly. In your lap, Eowyn tried to turn her head away in shame but you stopped her with a palm to her cheek. “You had a panic attack.”

  “A… panic attack.” Eowyn repeated the words as if they were foreign, though the look in her eyes told you this had not been her first time drowning in fear. Her drawn eyebrows loosened and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. “I suppose… I let my mind wander too freely.”

  “What worries burden you so?”

  “That I will amount to nothing. I will forever be trapped behind these bars, watching those around me taste sweet valor while I am parched and starving.” The bitterness fled from Eowyn’s thoughts into her voice and she turned her face to look out over the quiet village of Edoras. “I will grow old and useless and be forgotten… I will drown in my cage of bars set by my people.”

  It had always been clear to you that deep down, Eowyn was not happy. Smiles felt good on her lips but they meant nothing as they were not true. The fear of control was slowly killing her.

  “Your bars will rust, and you will break free with the valor of a thousand men.” You whispered softly, slipping a hand beneath her head, lifting it. “Your destiny is far grander than rotting away. I promise.” Your other hand rested on the back of her neck.

  Even if your words had no true guarantee, they brought Eowyn a comfort she had been searching for. Her eyes lightened and the corners of her lips ever so slightly twitched. It had been years since she had felt any hope.

  “You’re certain?”

  “I am.”

  You raised her head a little further before planting your lips in a gentle kiss on her hairline, eliciting a quiet sigh of content from her lungs. Eowyn nodded in response to your words and let her eyes flutter shut as you laid her back in your lap. 

  She would be okay. 

  If she could just hang on a little longer to moments like these, draped over the moonkissed stairs of Meduseld, bathing in the cold night at your side, she would be okay.

[starry-snippets]

jjba (jotaro, kakyoin, avdol, josuke, rohan, giorno, bruno, abbacchio, trish, mista, narancia) + aesthetics you suggest/dress them in

images are from pinterest! 

jotaro - techwear

✩ if you BEG you could get him to wear a techwear outfit that still maintains his love of gold brooches and chains. it’s not even that he doesn’t like the aesthetic it’s just kind of silly to him at first. sure he wears two belts, but two belts and a backpack on his chest and a smaller one on a thigh garter? um no. eventually caves when you show him something he finds really cool and man he has money. bad choice (or is it a great one?) he is fully committing elements of techwear into his every day outfits now. he’s dangerously hotter now too um

kakyoin - goblin/cryptid core (with punk influence!) 

✩ is a very creative guy who has a unique style and he’ll use that to his advantage! this would begin with a date idea of designing shirts or jeans and he has so much fun. now he has several pairs of fun jeans and a patch jacket he’s working on. when he’s dressed up like he’s ready to explore the forest he’s in such a mood to! get ready to spend time in the woods watching hierophant poking bugs with sticks and kakyoin showing you different types of beetles while you look for cryptids with a nearly empty flashlight 

avdol - bohemian/hippie 

✩ kind of related to his current style and that’s what he’s very willing to give it a try. loves the dramatic sleeves and ruffles, truly enjoying how snazzy they make him feel. also appreciates the jewelry! especially if you make it for him or buy it for him because it’ll remind him of you. loves fun patterns so he’ll enjoy combining them in unique ways, also appreciates the whimsical element of the layered fabric and prints 

rohan - avant garde 

✩ craziest dude in the world I swear. will wear anything just about if you make it sound revolutionary. tell him a trash bag is the next-in fashion trend and he’ll disbelief you to no end but will secretly be curious and try it out. helps he has the confidence to rock anything he tries. to be fair, when you dress him up you’re doing it mainly to see if he looks good in everything and you’re sad to see he does, indeed, look good in absolutely anything 

josuke - scene/punk

✩ loves the abrasive elements in punk! loves the colors and being able to make bracelets with you aspect of scenecore. in general he enjoys how he can look tough and intimidating but feels like the colorful accents really soften that depending on how much he accessorizes. doesn’t wear it too often though, really depends on where you two are heading. does let you dress him up fairly often though! 

giorno - cottagecore

✩ isn’t entirely against or for trying it out. is kinda confused as to why you want him to. he’ll eventually say to go for it. depending on what you put him in he will really like the aesthetic and wear it on your dates around town. isn’t a big fan when you ask if he’ll wear a skirt, but when you actually order one he really enjoys the length and the twirl. when you go on a picnic and he wears it, he just feels like he’s safe with you and away from the trivial stresses of his outre life 

bruno - coquette/angelcore

✩ like giorno, he isn’t for or against. leans to okay almost immediately however. he’s curious and very fluid with how he presents, so he’ll agree to just about anything within reason. when you dress him up he feels so ethereal. absolutely loves it? he likes how he’s wearing traditionally feminine garments but doesn’t feel effeminate. he enjoys the outfit and would likely wear it again, especially on a date with you 

abbacchio - goth 

✩ doesn’t want you to for a while despite sharing things with the style already. just feeling a bit prideful. does cave and let you do him up completely, probably because he had a drink. ABSOLUTELY loves the result however. the drama of the sleeves and the flair of his pant’s make him look so long and slender, like a real life dracula. finds the chains excessive but misses the significant effect they had when he was wearing them. definitely enjoyed trad goth makeup more than he’s willing to admit 

narancia - bubblegum b✩tch 

✩ likes it because he feels tall and assertive with the big boots on. will not wear it out of the house unless you’re really good at convincing him. doesn’t have the toughest skin so this does help him build his confidence and self-esteem even outside of his appearance. just feels so adorable, especially with you hyping him out. if he does agree to going out you’ll wear a super feminine outfit too or a suit, confusing traditional mindsets while having a super fun date 

mista - rockstar 

✩ really gets into his role when those skin tight pants are on. if you go out for dinner he’ll act like he’s the most important man ever and it surprisingly works. he will make use of the leather jacket you got him and would ask you to decorate it if that’s something you’re interested in. will wear elements of the outfit separately somewhat often but the entire outfit probably just on certain dates 

trish - indie

✩ loves lots of patterns so she appreciates the wiggle room of indie! she already has an impeccable sense of style but this is her go to when she’s heading out to museums, picnics, etc. trish always adds her unique flair to her outfits, often making edits to her shirts and skirts 

[thepenguinweeb]

Currently rewatching part 4

So you know

If anyone wants to request.. 👀

[liliesinrequiem]

Do you love me?

A/N: I’ve returned. Out of all the P4 characters, Rohan actually became one of my absolute favs very quickly. I hope that y’all enjoy.

Pairing: Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Summary: Reader finally asks Rohan the single question they'd been avoiding.

CW: Angst/Not a happy story, brief mentions/descriptions of sex as manipulation tactic, unhealthy relationship.

I. You shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew through the porch. It wasn’t the best place for confrontation but you refused to take a step indoors. You looked up at your boyfriend. His face held the same expression: boredom. You were going to finally ask him the question that had hung over the two of you since the beginning.

One that you already knew the answer to.

“Rohan, do you love me?”

II. You loved Rohan.

You really did. You loved him so much that it actually hurt sometimes. If he ever needed anything from you, you’d drop everything to give it to him. You made sure to take care of him while he worked. No meals were forgotten and you took care of the house in general. If he wished for you to be his model on occasion, you’d do it and not once utter a complaint, even if you were in an awkward position. You just wanted to please him.

You were a constant in his life. He could rely on you with no doubts as to whether or not you’ll accomplish what he asks of you. He wanted his furniture moved around for some artistic inspiration? You’d move it for him. He wanted a complicated meal? Sure. You did it because you genuinely loved him. You had loved him for so long that the sheer joy when he finally agreed to go on a date with you was inexplicable.

You were happy with him.

Rather, you were happy about it at the time.

In truth, the doubt crept around into you early on. It sunk its claws into your heart and refused to let go. Rohan’s feelings for you weren’t obvious. At all. It hurt to love him because everything you did was expected. It was a sign of absolute obedience to him. It was expected that you’d be there for him whenever. You’d canceled going out with friends, missed out on things you wanted to do, and received next to nothing. Questions about going on dates or doing something, anything, slowly died out of your thoughts. He didn’t want to do anything with you. The expectations that you had for him slowly wilted away as you realized that you seemingly came last in the list of importance for him. If you were in trouble, he wouldn’t drop everything to save you in the same way that you would for him. He’d even told you that bluntly when you’d only jokingly asked him. You went the extra mile and he refused to even take a step.

Perhaps one of the more painful parts was realizing that everyone saw how he treated you. Your shared friends had seen how cold he acted with you. There was no public or private affection. You two were just together. That was it. The words of concern from others flitted into one ear and went out the other. You forced them out of your head. But they were right.

Even with the lack of appreciation, you couldn’t bring yourself to separate from him. Something about him kept you around. It was like he was a magnet that you couldn’t detach yourself from. Every time that you convinced yourself to leave or someone finally got through to you, you were pulled back in by him.

He’d pull you into him and it would be the absolutely rare times that he did pretend to feel something for you. You say pretend because it’s only the moments where you’ve argued with him because you wanted him to do more or you’d leave. Those moments where he would play along in the fantasy that you sometimes made up. A fantasy where he did love you and that you actually meant something to him. A fantasy where you told yourself that the kisses trailing up and along your body were not just an attempt on his part to satiate your concerns. As if he truly wanted to demonstrate that you meant something to him. Where you could tell yourself that his saccharine words were honest and not just trying to sweeten up your mood to agree with him.

Not too long after those moments, he’d return to his usual self because you’d fall back into his desires. You’d drop the matter until you’d circle back to it. The fantasy would always end as quickly as it began. Something that made you emotional on so many occasions because sometimes, you had believed that the two of you were making some form of progress. Where he promised to improve and you had believed him only to go back to square one and the two of you moved backwards once again.

“I love you,” you’d say. He’d merely hum in response if he even felt like acknowledging you. The words had been spoken by you so many times that you doubted that it held any meaning to him. You figured that it just reconfirmed your obedience to him whenever you said it. He’d never once uttered the phrase back to you. You’d held out so long and expected him to say it at some point. But nothing. Ever. All the hints that you dropped on the matter were ignored entirely by him. Ignored purposefully because he was far smarter than he frequently let on.

It drove a deeper wedge into your relationship. The doubt was suffocating you more and more.

“You’re valuable enough,” he once said. That was the closest you’d ever gotten to any form of appreciation. But the sweetness was tainted with the bitterness of being entangled with him in bed as he said it. How could you know if it was honest? He was never honest during these moments. It wasn’t anything truly meaningful in the grand scheme of things.

Recently, though, the doubt was becoming insufferable. You couldn’t keep going on. No amount of lies could keep you satiated anymore.

Perhaps, it was about time that you got tired of his actions. You just didn’t know how to leave him. What could truly drive you away?

You knew the answer to that.

It was a simple question. It was just one that you’d been avoiding the entirety of your relationship.

You knew what he would likely answer too. He’d probably evade the question or he’d probably be blunt about it. Out of the two, you desired for him to be blunt.

The two of you knew what he felt deep down. You just wanted to hear him admit it. You needed to hear him admit it. You just needed it. You needed him to say it out loud. You wanted him to slice through your heart one last time so that you could tear yourself off.

III. You stared at him blankly. Any sign of expectation could lead to a lie. You needed Rohan’s honesty. His face had set into one of discontent. But you didn’t care anymore. Maybe he had realized that you were asking for honesty for once. Whatever the truth may be.

“No, I don’t.”

The curtness of it stung. But you took a deep breath. Just what you needed to hear him say. You smiled for the first time in a long while and he seemed surprised.

“Thank you,” you said.

[uwurakax]

˖ ˳·˖ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏, 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐈'𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄! ᥫ᭡

-> 𝒷𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈, 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒 <-

✩ "these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath" ✩

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 finding an obscure otome game on the internet wasn't on your 2024 bingo card, but with only the cover art and no blurb, you decided to give it a shot. it looked promising enough at the start, and nothing could go wrong, right? ✩

★ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 various jojo's characters x f!reader (( jonathan x reader || dio x reader || joseph x reader || caesar x reader || jotaro x reader || kakyoin x reader || josuke x reader || rohan x reader || kira x reader || giorno x reader ))

★ 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 otome || university/college!au || isekai || alt!universe ||

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 prologue || one || tba

★ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ongoing!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 the manhwa title please. i'm so normal about these dudes it's not even funnyyy. new fandom unlocked? idk i've been wanting to post jojos for ages - also not limited to just the pairings, depending on how i feel, i might add more, but im feeling the challenge ~

-> will eventually be cross posting on ao3 here ✩

𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝓎 ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

[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 ->

[masterlist]

[howling-medic]

No Battle, No Bloodshed

A/N: eleven years of peace in Ithilien comes to end. Éowyn finds herself in the middle of her worst nightmare. A nightmare she thought she no longer had to fear.

Pairing: Éowyn x you

TW: angst, gore, blood, mentions of violence, death, hurt/no comfort, ambiguous ending

A short trip with a surveying party to the Southeastern most edge of Ithilien was what you had told her. “No battle, no bloodshed, nothing like the old days. Just establishing where else we may graze our livestock,” was your promise. That promise had sounded reasonable. Few battles, if any, took place anymore. Eleven years of peace made the years of constant war feel like a nightmare that existed only at the very edges of one’s memory once they woke. The memories of you riding out with Éomer faded from Éowyn’s mind more with each day, and with them so did the fear.

For the children of Ithilien, those years existed only in tales and legends. They were stories of heroes and valor - most often told to memorialize the fallen members of their family. Battle and its carnage was not a sight with which the young had any familiarity these days. Those who had lived through it were too young at the time to remember it now.

A cool spring breeze carried shouts and commotion through the open window in Éowyn’s store room, which stood atop a hill that overlooked the city's main entrance. A loud shout went up - that of a panicked teenager - followed by “Healer! Grab a healer!” screamed by a young boy. There was a panic in the voices that set her nerves on edge. Calls for a healer were common enough, but even the most squeamish young lads didn’t scream like that for even the worst farming injuries, which could be exceptionally gruesome. There was fear in that shrill scream, fear of something worse than blood, guts, and bone. That scream sounded like boys facing a threat that only existed in fireside tales. Threats that were not supposed to exist anymore. The glass bottle Éowyn had been labeling clattered to the counter, rolled off the edge, and shattered on the stone floor. By the time it hit the floor, Éowyn was already through the door. She never heard the crash. 

The sight of your horse, struggling and faltering on the gravel path under the weight of your slumped form, brought Éowyn up short. She stood atop a hill watching the slow procession of bloodied forms march into the city. The very same gravel making your horse’s progress treacherous shifted beneath her and nearly sent her sprawling. Rivulets of dark red blood ran down your arms, bare where your sleeves should be. A rip down the side of your shirt showed hastily made, saturated bandages wrapped around your midsection. The scream that ripped from her lungs unbidden failed to rouse you, failed to make you look in her direction, and Éowyn felt bile rise in her throat. Your promise played on repeat in her mind, yet the evidence of its falsehood lay before her. 

Her legs carried her to your side without any conscious thought. She knelt beside you as you were placed on the ground. Your blood already began to soak the earth beneath you. Éowyn had long since become used to the sight of blood. None were spared such sights during her youth - be it because of tending livestock or from returning warriors. Then, as Durnhelm, she saw the brutality of war firsthand. Serving as the head healer of Ithilien had quickly disabused her of any lingering discomfort at the sight of red blossoming across clothing. However, battle was no longer meant to be a part of her life. Venturing to the outer bounds of Gondor’s territories should not result in bloodshed, yet your surveying party returned several members short. In theory, you - and thereby she - were one of the lucky ones. You were alive. The thought was cold comfort to Éowyn, as cold as your fingers in her hand, as she took in the state of you up close.

You looked no better when Éowyn crouched by your side than from afar. If anything, you looked worse. From here she could see the ashen gray hue of your skin. From afar you had only looked pale. From here she could see how your breaths came in shallow puffs. From afar she could only tell you were breathing quickly. Each item of her assessment made the blood run colder in her veins. “To the infirmary. Now.” The words sounded distant. As though they were spoken by another, yet they could only have been spoken by her. Éowyn moved mechanically towards her supply room to gather all that she would need to heal the kinds of wounds she intended, and failed, to sustain eleven years ago on the one person she prayed never would have to do so. 

How cruel the fates were to always inflict such wounds on those she intended to protect. She only hoped she could do more as a healer than a soldier to save the one who mattered most. With trembling hands, she laid out her instruments and poultices. Her bandages and ointments. And then you were placed before her. Covered in blood and staring blankly ahead, unseeing and unknowing. Blessedly, still breathing. 

Her commands came sharp and clear. As unthinking and automatic as a soldier’s swordstrokes. Each was carried out with the obedience of infantrymen heeding the word of a General. Éowyn did not know who did her bidding. She did not know if they were her assistants or the nameless and faceless citizens who bore you to her. It mattered little. There would be time for thanks and recognition when all else was done. When she had succeeded or failed. Failure felt most likely. 

The wounds slashed down your sides and ran deep. You wore little armor - nothing more than a leather jerkin over your cotton shirt and leather gauntlets on your arms - for none wore mail in these days of peace. Whatever blade pierced you did so with deadly accuracy. The blood soaked earth caked onto your breeches bordering the red stains upon them, coupled with the sticky, deep red bandages wrapped around your abdomen told the tale of great blood loss before the bindings were applied. Many things Éowyn could do, but putting blood back in a body was not one of them. 

What felt like hours, but what was in truth no more than thirty minutes later, Éowyn stepped back from your side with a world weary sigh. Unthinkingly, she pushed loose hairs from her face and smeared your blood across her cheek; the stripes painted the strands of her golden hair she had moved aside. None said anything, and she did not notice. “That is all that can be done. Now, all we can do is wait. Only time will tell - ” Éowyn fell silent. Her hands began to tremble, and for the first time since she screamed on the hill, her composure broke. “- if my love shall live. Leave me now,” she continued in a whisper that hung in the air.