𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 彡 [jjk oneshots]

ミ✮ 雨降って地固まる┆[y. okkotsu]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yuta okkotsu x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3531

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which an inexperienced adolescent obediently performs the duties stipulated by his country all while fighting to return home to his beloved

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 1940s wartime!au, couple of historical inaccuracies, bare minimum dialogue, told from yuta's pov (third person), angst, major sadness (i'm apologizing in advance), attempted suicide, death, partly inspired by a visual novel i recently completed + i'm very much a history nerd

𝐕. 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 — i'm seeing babymetal again in november. i will be crying over moa's beauty per usual ╥﹏╥

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

𝐀 𝐉𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 of eighteen stood among the rows of fresh recruits in the early morning mist, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. The training camp was a far cry from his quiet village, nestled among rice paddies and cherry blossom trees. He had always preferred the solitude of nature and the calm rhythm of farm life over the clamor of city streets or, now, the military drills.

The drastic change was hellish. Pure psychological torture.

Yuta Okkotsu was now a draftee in the Imperial Japanese Army for the past two months, despite his pacifist leanings and quiet protests. The dreaded letter had arrived on a humid afternoon, and he remembered his mother's tear-streaked face as she handed it to him. His father had said little, only clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder in a gesture meant to be comforting but laden with unspoken fears.

His otherworldly wife on the other hand was stone-faced. She truly tried to remain calm for his sake. Though when Yuta witnessed her lips form into a pout, he felt his heart shatter. That night he fell asleep in [Y/N]'s arms after she hummed him a lullaby and in the early morning, they memorized each other's bodies to the best of their abilities. That was their last passionate moment and it still seemed unfair. The disruption of an average yet blissful life all for the purpose of several nations settling a conflict with weapons was simply absurd.

Now, as he watched the sergeant bark orders and the other soldiers respond with robotic precision, Yuta's heart pounded with a mix of anxiety and dread. The idea of violence repelled him; he had never even been in a fistfight, let alone imagined himself holding a rifle, much less using it against another human being. The weight of the gun felt foreign and wrong in his hands during drills—a constant reminder of the path he was being forced down.

The training was grueling. Each day seemed an endless cycle of physical exertion and mental strain. Yuta found himself struggling to keep up, not just with the physical demands, but with the moral conflict that gnawed at his soul. The thought of the battlefield, with its chaos and carnage, filled him with a fear that he struggled to contain. At night, he lay awake on his cot, staring at the wooden ceiling of the barracks, his mind swirling with images of bloodshed and death.

Yuta clung to the memories of home, of his mother's gentle voice, his father's steady presence, and more importantly his beloved's selflessness. He found solace in the rare moments of solitude when he could escape to the edge of the camp and lose himself in thoughts of the past. But those moments were fleeting, and the reality of his situation always crashed back in with the next drill or shouted command.