Anime Oneshots

Ink and Inspiration (Rohan Kishibe x Reader)

The hum of the electric fan did little to break the stifling silence of Rohan Kishibe's studio. It was one of those summer days where the heat pressed in on the town like a heavy, suffocating blanket, and yet, inside the studio, time seemed to move at a different pace, suspended in the cool shadows that crept along the walls.

Rohan, sitting at his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration, didn't seem to notice the heat or the way the sun dipped lower in the sky. His fingers moved deftly, guided by a practiced rhythm that was both effortless and precise. Ink flowed across the page, conjuring scenes from his imagination, shaping characters and worlds that existed only in the ethereal realm of his manga.

But despite his focus, there was something... off.

The pen slipped slightly, a thin line marring what was supposed to be a pristine panel. A small, barely perceptible scowl tugged at the corner of his mouth. He set the pen down, his sharp eyes scanning over the page, searching for the source of his irritation. It wasn't the line that had ruined the panel; it was something more abstract. Something he couldn't quite define.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to ease the tension building behind his eyes.

That's when he noticed you.

You were sitting by the window, sketchbook balanced on your lap, a gentle smile on your lips as you absentmindedly twirled a pencil between your fingers. The soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm halo around you, turning you into an ethereal figure bathed in gold and shadow.

He hadn't even heard you come in. When had you arrived? How long had you been sitting there?

"When did you get here?" he asked brusquely, though there was no real bite to his words. More than annoyance, his voice held a hint of curiosity.

You blinked, looking up from your sketchbook, your gaze meeting his in an unspoken challenge. "I was waiting for you to notice," you replied, tone light and teasing. "You've been lost in your own world for hours now."

"Of course I have," he muttered, though a faint pink dusted his cheeks. "I'm working."

"And yet, you don't look satisfied," you observed, closing your sketchbook gently, careful not to smudge the charcoal drawing you'd been working on. "What's wrong, Rohan?"

Rohan stiffened slightly at the question. He wasn't used to people probing into his creative process, but you... you were different. You weren't like the sycophants who praised his work without understanding it, nor were you like those who dared critique it without recognizing the skill and effort behind each panel.

You understood him. Understood the intricacies and complexities of his art.

"It's nothing," he replied curtly, glancing away, but the stiffness in his shoulders told a different story.

You stood up, your movements graceful, and crossed the small distance between you, resting a gentle hand on the edge of his desk. "Rohan," you murmured softly, your voice like a cool breeze breaking through the heavy heat. "You can tell me."

His eyes flicked back to you, narrowing slightly, as if trying to decide whether to let you in on this moment of vulnerability. After a pause that stretched on for what felt like an eternity, he sighed.

"It's just—this," he gestured to the page in front of him, frustration lacing his voice. "It's not coming out the way I want. The characters, the emotions... they're all wrong."

You glanced down at the unfinished panel, taking in the intricate details of his work. It was beautiful, as always, but you could see what he meant. There was a disconnect, a stiffness to the figures that seemed out of place compared to Rohan's usual dynamic, fluid style.