JotaroxReader: I Just Don't Feel The Same

His Cigarettes and Her Tea

The bell for second lesson rang, you and bf/n stood in the same alleyway you talked with Jotaro a few days ago. In your pocket was a new pack of cigarettes, a gift from Jotaro yesterday evening. It was brand-new, there weren't any missing cigarettes and the linger of Jotaros cologne and sweat didn't hinder. Satisfied with the hole in your sweater pocket being filled, you gingerly opened the pack and took out a cigarette. It wasn't your brand, neither the old one nor the new one, but Jotaros, nothing you couldn't handle.

As you took out your new cigarette and lit it delicately, placing it upon your lips, you felt its warmth in contrast to the brisk wind around you. The sun was yet to show itself, as the clouds obstructed it from view. You puffed a small ribbon of smoke as you fiddled with the new box in your pocket.

"That's not your brand," Bf/n said, scrunching his nose as he stood straight, no longer leaning against the wall across from you.

"It isn't," you replied carefully. You could feel the eggshells burgeon around your feet, afraid to break any. Bf/n knew who all your friends were, and that was him and Jotaro. Withholding the information that these were a gift from Jotaro would only make things worse, there wasn't a viable lie in sight. You knew when to pick your battles, and this wasn't one of them.

"This is Jotaros brand, actually. It was a gift, I ran out of mine." You looked up anxiously only to see Bf/n grimacing at your conclusion. You shifted restlessly, bringing the cigarette to your mouth once again.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" You asked, pausing, as the cigarette stood only a couple inches from your lips.

"Stop smoking that damn cigarette! It's Jotaros brand! Not yours! Not the one I bought for you either! You even skipped a whole block of classes! He's a bad influence on you y/n, you need to stop being whatever you are with him!" Bf/n demanded loudly, he shifted forward with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. There was anger in his eyes, and it only made you feel colder. The cigarette didn't feel warm anymore. You could feel a lump in your throat, no matter how much you swallowed, it stood there. If you were to put the cigarette to your lips you'd be stepping on too many eggshells. But instinct isn't something you could repress.

You put the cigarette to your lips as you looked him in his angry eyes, frightened to look away. If you were to look away the wind would only get harsher and the clouds would only get darker.

Bf/n scowled, his fury burning like a forest fire.

"Damn it! Get rid of that damn thing! Get rid of the whole damn pack!" He yelled, swatting the cigarette onto the cold pavement. He stepped on it once, then twice, and then three times. You were scared. The eggshells continued to stack up and no matter what you did you were bound to step on a few. Your eyes broke contact when he stepped on the cigarette, and you were right. It had gotten colder and the clouds grew darker. When you looked at him again, you didn't see why you endured the arduous eye contact.

"Shit...I-I'll buy you new ones okay. The new brand, okay? Throw the ones he gave you away, I don't want to see them and I don't want you smoking them." Bf/n stated as he rustled for his wallet. He took out an old leather wallet where he possessed enough money for the new cigarettes and several snacks. Inside that very wallet were tickets for an amusement park you were supposed to go to that weekend, you weren't convinced if you desired to go anymore. As he fretted through his cash, you looked at him with repugnance, you didn't know if that was him anymore. All you did was stand there, and here he yelled and screamed. The eggshells only grew and soon you would be the owner of an eggshell cocoon. You were going to step on them no matter what you did.

"These were a gift from a friend, bf/n, I'm smoking them. If you have a problem that has to do with you." You said coldly. You gripped your new cigarettes tightly as the bell rang. He peered up at you, askance as he stopped ruffling through his cash. You didn't want to look at his eyes, you didn't want to see what they held. You wanted to get to class. As students clambered out of their classrooms and rushed to class you fell into line, following suit to your third period.