all-american :: jotaro x reader

chapter 6 :: all-american neighbors

I'm trying my hardest to enjoy my weekend before my return to school the right way - by that, I mean lazing around and doing absolutely nothing, but my mom wants me to "get dressed" because "the neighbors invited us over".

I mean, we're gonna talk to them once and then never speak to them again except for the time or two my mom sees them at the supermarket or something.

So I let out a loud groan, flop off my bed and pick out something decent. I'm tempted to pick out something really out there just to stunt on 'em just this once, but it would probably make it awkward later if I did, so I settle on the usual skinny jeans and sweater from...I forgot what year, but it's faded and has a cool design on it so why not, hey? I tuck it in on the front side like everybody used to do in California just to make it seem like this is lazy chic or something.

I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it as I come out of my room to face my mother, and she looks at my outfit disapprovingly but doesn't tell me to go change, which is a blessing. "Do you want to go and put on some makeup or something before I go do my hair?"  She asks, abiding the fact I look like I came straight out of the skate park, and I point at her. "Good Idea."

A few swipes of mascara and we're all done. My mom, on the other hand, takes about a half hour making sure she looks presentable, so I turned the TV back on to kill time. I stuff a pillow under my head and begin to close my eyes when-

"Y/N!"

I let out a very audible groan and get up off the couch. "What now?"

My mom smiles as I walk in her direction. She looks back at me, smiles, and begins to unlock the door. "You look very nice."

"Thanks?" I question as I walk out.
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We walk down the street together, my mom not forgetting to pester me about "manners" and "not hunching over".

I start to realize that our neighbors aren't so much next door, they're more down the street neighbors. "Mom," I mention, "If people down the street want us over, I don't think they're neighbors. They're more like...um...down-the-streetmates--"

"We're here!"

I look up. The inn. There are cigarette butts by the mailbox.

I gulp and pull my sweater out from my pants.

The backyard already sets the traditional Japanese mood with those bamboo wind chimes, a sand garden, and one of those water things that tips when it fills up.

My mom brought a bag with her, presumably for the host as a thanks gift. We walk the gravel path to the front in silence, neither of us not knowing what to expect. I wouldn't even think this is the right building-

Before we even step on the porch (I suppose you could call it), my mom turns to me. "Manners. Stand up straight." I roll my eyes and adjust my posture. Mom then exhales like she's not sure what to expect, reaches for the handle on the traditional wooden door engraved with scenery and cranes, but someone else beats us to it.

An American woman, surprisingly, opens the door and exclaims in sheer delight in such a way that it pushes me to think that the poor woman doesn't often get visitors. Her golden brown hair, soft eyes, and apron really come together to create a very motherly aesthetic. "You made it!"  she cheers, as if we walked across the world to get here.

Well, I suppose we did.

She envelops my mother in a tight hug before she ensnares me in one as well. She smells like my American grandmother - tea, sweet incense and cleaning liquid, but I don't have any objections against that. She steps back. "I'm Holly Kujo! I take care of this inn," She says, gesturing in a general motion. her Japanese isn't that bad either.