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Relaxing evenings are a rare occurrence in the Kujo household.
The house is silent and dark for the most part, the only source of commotion being a small heap of blankets and pillows scattered on the living room floor in front of the small fireplace. Soft music plays through a vintage record player, the sound of jazzy notes blending in with the ambience of the crackling fire.
And in the middle of it all there’s you and jojo.
Your nine year old daughter is sitting between your crossed legs, while you’re dyeing her bangs bright green with cheap craft store hair chalk—a task that has now become a weekly activity ever since she started reading the sailor moon manga volumes Holy keeps sending her from japan, feeding into her growing obsession with sailor Neptune.
Jolyne is uncharacteristically calm (well, calm by Jolyne Kujo standards) as she takes turns eating from the bowl of strawberry yogurt parfait on her lap and dramatically describing a recurring dream she had during her afternoon nap:
“And then, It was like—like I wasn’t me, y’know? Like, it was me but not really because the Jolyne in my dream had silly string coming out of her fingers. Like—like Spiderman! But if instead of shooting web out of his hands, he turned into it and ughhhh...This is so weird.“
Frustration is apparent in her voice as she wildly flings her arms around in animated gestures, her little show adding to the dramatics of her narration.
"Is that so, Jojo?" you hum, fingers threading through her dark locs, carefully parting them to evenly spread out the dye.
Jolyne breathes out a sigh of defeat, stuffing the last spoonful of the sweet treat into her mouth and sprawling out like a starfish over your lap.
Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she looks up at your upside-down face and you take a moment to marvel at your daughter.
Sometimes you wonder if your pregnancy was a fever dream, because there’s no reasonable explanation as to why your kid resembles her father this much, in spite of you putting in half the work, on top of carrying her for nine full months.
During your last trimester Holy used to joke all the time about how Jolyne is probably going to come out looking like a carbon copy of Jotaro—something about the Joestar genes being too strong—and you should’ve known she truly meant it, after going through several decades worth of pictures in their family photo albums.
(They do in fact all look alike.)
(Not that you really care per se. Your daughter’s face is shaped like love, she looks like the man you share your life with and all the good and bad it entails.)
Speaking of Holy, maybe you should call her one of these days. It’s been a while since Jojo spoke with her grandma and despite the fact that he would never admit to it out loud, hearing her voice would certainly make Jotaro’s day a little better, too. Maybe tomorrow—
“—Hey mom. Moooom.” Jolyne whines, cradling the sides of your head between her clammy palms.
“What is it Jojo?” You re-center your gaze on her face, still beneath your own.
“I said, how much longer until dad comes home? It’s almost seven already, plus it’s raining like crazy outside, but of course you heard nothing because you were spacing out again.”
“You’re one to talk about spacing out.” With a laugh, you press your index finger between her eyebrows, smoothing out the scrunched up muscles. “Forgive me. I was flabbergasted, rendered completely and utterly speechless by your beauty.”
“Mom, you’re being weird again...And I don’t understand you…”
You shush her and try to keep her from flailing around long enough to finish your little project; "Stay still for a couple more minutes, I’m almost done baby.”
“Okay…. I'm starving. When’s dad coming home, again? And when’s dinner?”
“Jojo! you just finished an entire bowl of yogurt.”
“But that doesn’t count, that’s like, dessert—“
The sound of keys jiggling snaps you both out of your mock fight. Turning your head towards the front door, you hear the lock snap and turn, the entrance to your home opening to reveal your husband in all his tired glory.
Speak of the devil.
Jolyne’s eyes instantly widen, her little body buzzing with excitement. Though endearing as it is, you can tell Jojo is reluctant to greet him with all of her usual enthusiasm. Things have been kind of rough lately, with the constant clash of your's and Jotaro's hectic schedules not leaving either of you any room to breathe and relax as a family.
That’s why you decided to take your annual leaves on coinciding dates this time. It was hard and you had to pull some strings and take a few days worth of overtime to finish your tasks, since you don't have the flexible hours Jotaro is granted in his field of work, but in the end it all worked out.
And now you’re here with your two favorite people in the world and twenty more days of rest and relaxation ahead of you.
(Hopefully. You never really know with this family.)
Jotaro makes a sound that you, with a decade-long experience of deciphering his mannerisms, translate as a short yelp, his first reaction when he sees the state of disarray your living room is in. It all makes sense when he notices that tangled among the sea of comforters and pillows are his wife and kid. And said kid has slime green highlights in her hair. Because again, of course she does.
Good grief.
“There! All done.” You pat Jolyne’s head and she turns around to hug you with way more strength than a nine year old should have.
After a couple kisses on each cheek, she lifts herself off your lap and runs towards Jotaro, opting to sit next to him on the doorstep while he’s taking off his boots.
“You’re home.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your daughter sounds timid.
Ruffling her bangs, he then gently lifts Jolyne up, tucking her smaller body against his chest for one of his rare initiated hugs.
Jotaro mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch and your daughter replies back Japanese, mimicking his tone of voice.
Her second language makes expression easier during times like this, you know that; she slips into it when she's tired, when she's angry, when she tells you she loves you—or when she hasn't seen her father in a while.
It's her own way of showing that she cares, that she's bearing her little heart to you and you wouldn't have it any other way.
Jojo rubs her face on the crook of his neck and pats the top of Jotaro's hat, like he did to her earlier, eliciting another huff from her father.
“Hey, kid.” Again, in his mother tongue.
“Hey, dad.” She replies, followed by a smaller but still audible “Missed you”.
In all her boldness and confidence, Jolyne is in situations like this, a mirror image of her father. Jotaro is probably the only person who still maintains that Jojo takes after you the most, in spirit if not in looks.
Yes...and no, not when affection is involved; no, you beg to differ.
After they have their moment, Jotaro carries her back into your lap and then settles for the couch directly behind you.
Have you mentioned that he looks tired? Because he does. Really tired. Handsome as ever, though.
God, you want to kiss him. All these years of knowing each other, on top of the ones you've spent married and you still swoon when you look at him.
“You’re still in your office clothes.”
You snap out of your little contemplation bubble and look up at him, meeting his fixed gaze—and is that a smirk?
“Well, yeah. I got off work late and I was too tired to go upstairs and change. Aaaand—” you sing, grabbing Jolyne by the tummy and dragging her back into your lap when she tries to escape for the second time, “Someone had already set up camp down here. She looked too cute, couldn’t resist joining her.” You punctuate your words with a kiss on the top of her neon green head, then her nose.
“By the way, I didn’t cook anything for dinner and I’m going to be completely honest with you, you look like death right now and I doubt you have the energy to do it—so! Take out it is. Starting our away-from-work vacation with a bang, right Jojo?” You say, turning to your little girl who has now reclaimed her favorite spread out position.
Giving you another one of his signature hums, Jotaro closes his eyes and rests his head back against the cushion. Arms folded in front of him the way Joseph's did, back when he was about to fall asleep during one of your car trips in Egypt. Jotaro used to make fun of him for it, calling him a “senile old man” or something along these lines.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Kujo.” you say and laugh when he gently nudges you with his foot in reply.
“What do you want from me, woman.” So dramatic.
“The take out. Food. Jolyne’s going to chew my ear off if we don't feed her something within the next hour, at most. So, Chinese or-“
“Italian!” Jolyne shouts and rises with a burst of energy, dashing to the other side of the living room. She busies herself with looking through your shared record collection, until she finds something that satisfies her tastes.
You pretend to think for a moment, playing hard to get before ultimately giving in. Nobody gets between your daughter and her food. Except Sailor Neptune, maybe.
“Italian it is, Jojo.”
Doing her little victory dance, Jolyne picks out an old Tatsuro Yamashita EP to replace the delicate tune of the piano and in typical Jolyne fashion, she gets up and leaves the room immediately after.
“Ah, ah! Hold on. You’ve already finished tomorrow’s homework right, Jolyne?” You give her a pointed look; eyes playfully narrowed, not really having it in you to punish your child or put up an overly strict parent persona.
Jolyne was smart enough to figure out you love her too much to truly be mad at her ages ago, much to your dismay.
“Obviously, mama!" She yells back, running up the carpeted stairs and bolting into her bedroom to do god knows what.
“Be sure to come downstairs when it’s time to eat, alright? Jesus, the audacity of this kid.” Now it's your turn to mumble, turning to a still seated Jotaro, who you find out watched the entire exchange go down without moving an inch from the couch, amusement swirling in his eyes.
Sighing for the umpteenth time, you move off the floor to lie next to him, spread out rather ungracefully with your head on his thigh.
This is….very domestic. You think you like it. You think he does too, judging by how he immediately tangles his hand into your hair. A rare moment of tenderness amidst your chaotic lives.
How did it come down to this? You are both in your early thirties, your respectful studies had been fulfilled years ago and life has been relatively normal ever since the Morioh incident. Sure, Polnareff went missing and almost kicked the bucket in Italy, but you managed to reach him on time and all is good. Mostly.
It's been many years since a stand user with malicious intentions came knocking at your door and now that you have Jolyne, the absolute light of your lives, both you and Jotaro have taken extended measures to ensure that not only will she not be in harm’s way, but that she also remains oblivious to this…aspect of your lives.
For as long as you can keep her out of it, at least. Both you and Jotaro are well aware that when the time comes, (and It will eventually come whether you like it or not) she'll have to learn about the meaning of being born into her family. The generational baggage that comes along with being a Joestar—and by extension the daughter of two stand users.
But for now, you’re content with your baby only having to worry about getting her favorite Sailor Senshi figure for her birthday and that “stupid pink haired boy from school” that keeps picking on her.
For now.
It took some time to balance your lives around her but she’s your top priority now. Even if you had to knock some sense into Jotaro in the beginning, over his rather unorthodox and distant approach for dealing with his daughter—
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
You lift your head and move around to sit properly on his lap, your legs bracketing his.
“Perceptive as always Dr. Kujo.” there's more you want to say but he's too tired for banter.
You love to tease him. You know he likes it too, loves the challenge of it.
Grinning, you slowly, gently pull off his white cap and run your fingers through his hair, careful not to mess it up too much.
He keeps it short and sleek these days, as opposed to the more unkempt waves he sported when you first met him.
Humming along to the funky beat of the song, you graze your nails against his temples, smoothing the tension between his brows.
Like father like daughter.
Instead of putting the hat back on his head, you put it on yours, fixing it in place. Jotaro shoots you a look as if to say "are you serious" and in return you lean in to peck him on the side of his lips; a kiss but not quite.
Breathing out in frustration, Jotaro grabs the edge of his hat and lowers it over your eyes, low enough that you can't see his face.
Before you can complain he leans in and captures your lips in a proper kiss, slow and tender and very Jotaro in the sense that it's unexpected.
You pull away with a sigh;
“I...I missed you. A lot. I know you have your own stuff and I have mine and sometimes we struggle to meet each other halfway but…I want you to know that i'm always here for you. I love you.”
The sudden confession makes you feel small in his lap and you curl in on yourself, forehead resting on his shoulder.
Jotaro wraps his arms around you and burries his nose into your hair to get your attention. You don't miss the whisper of "love you too" next to your ear.
He says it twice, different languages but only one meaning—just like Jolyne.
“Come on. Let’s get changed and order some damn food already. We have three full weeks in front of us, we don’t have to do anything today.”
“Alright..." He squeezes your hand three times before he lets it slip out of his own, "...Was it her idea to dye her hair green or yours?"
Your chest rumbles with laughter as you start collecting the scattered pillows off the floor. "It was Jolyne's—I would never give her such an idea, you know that."
Jotaro's lips break into a small smirk and he doesn't have to say it out loud for you to understand that he's not entirely convinced.
After all your love is a man of few words.
You wouldn’t trade him for the world.