Heyy, I have a sort of comfort/fluff req with Polnareff and a gn reader where they're sort of moody and aggressive in nature and feel really bad about it because Polnareff is so so sweet and they feel like it's a turn off for him so when they have a pretty bad crashout, Polnareff is just there to help them talk it out 🥹
YES YES OMG I love this idea!! I actually just finished rewatching Stardust Crusaders a few days ago, so he’s still fresh in my mind. Hope you enjoy and tysm for the request!! (might've gotten in the zone and wrote a bit more then I thought I would lol)
“Will you still love me tomorrow?”
word count : 2.3k
The Italian sun dipped low over the rolling hills of Tuscany, painting the olive groves in strokes of gold and rose. Your little stone villa sat nestled at the edge of a vineyard, far enough from the nearest village that the only sounds most evenings were cicadas and the distant hum of a tractor. It was peaceful. Too peaceful, at times.
You’d been living here with Polnareff for almost two years now—ever since he’d declared, with his usual theatrical flair, that France could keep its flair (he had more anyway) and how Italy had the better sunsets and the better company. He’d bought the place on a whim after that faithful adventure, where he now longed for quiet with a place to call home with you, his love. You’d followed because… well, because it was Polnareff. Because his smile made the knot in your chest loosen, even on the worst days.
But today had been one of the harder days.
It started off small. The ancient espresso machine had sputtered and died mid-brew, scalding coffee spraying across the tiled kitchen floor. You’d cursed under your breath, mopped it up, then tripped over the same loose tile you’d been meaning to fix for weeks. Which caused the bucket of soapy water to fly and make the kitchen a damn slip-and-slide. Your favorite mug—the one Polnareff had painted with little silver hearts on that fateful date he arranged when he could tell you were about to break yourself—shattered against the counter with a crash that reverberated through your ears while your heart was thudding against your chest as if it would break free.
And then something inside you just… snapped.
“God damn it!” The words tore out of you like a snarl. You grabbed the broken handle and hurled it across the room, where it bounced off the wall with a pathetic clink. “Why does everything in this stupid house have to fall apart? Why can’t I just have a relaxing day, dammit!"
Your voice echoed off the high ceilings as you sank to the ground in a mess of heavy breathing and sniffles. Eyes darting toward the bucket from before, kicked over and lying pathetic on its side. Tears burned hot behind your eyes, but you shoved them down with another string of curses under your breath as you buried your face in your hands from the sheer stress this day caused you. You were shaking at the thought that... the anger felt good for a second—sharp and unwinding—until reality hit you like a crashing wave.
He’s going to walk in any minute, you thought. And he’s going to see this. See me. The thought made your stomach twist. Polnareff was sunshine, chivalry, and ridiculousness rolled into one beautifully perfect man. He left little notes in the garden for you to see and sang off-key opera while he cooked just to hear you giggle under your breath. But you were… this. Moody. Aggressive. A storm cloud that seemed to ruin everything they touched. Simple as that.
You’d tried so hard to be softer for him. You really had. But some days the world just pressed too hard, and the only way you knew how to push back was with your sharp tongue.
The front door creaked open. Footsteps—light, familiar, the soft click of his boots on tile—paused in the doorway.
“Chérie?”
His voice was gentle, the way it always was when he sensed thunder. You didn’t look up. Couldn’t. The shame sat heavy in your throat.
Polnareff crossed the kitchen without a word about the mess. He lowered himself to the floor beside you, long legs crouching in front of you gracefully despite the cramped space between the cabinets. One warm hand settled between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles like he was coaxing a frightened cat out from under the bed.
You waited for the sigh. The careful distance. The moment he realized you were more trouble than you were worth. Ready for the moment he'd sigh deeply in disappointment like everyone else did.
Instead, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Bad day, hm?”
A broken sound escaped you—half laugh, half sob. He really was too sweet of a man for you. Hell, too good of a man for this world. “I broke the mug. The one you painted.”
“I see that...” His thumb traced the line of your spine with a quizzical face until he tilted his head lower just to see your face, smiling softly as he replied. “We can always make another. I still have the paints.”
You lifted your head just enough to glare at him through wet lashes. "I'm a mess. Like a child. And you’re just… sitting here like it’s nothing.”
Polnareff’s eyes softened at those words of self-deprecation. His sharp facial features in this moment made it impossible to believe there was a charming and caring man underneath it all. “It’s not nothing,” he said quietly. “It’s you. And I love every part of you, even the hard days. Really... I admire how strong you are. Despite everything life throws at you. Cause even after episodes, you stand up and continue.” You swore his smile brightened just admiring you.
You wiped your face with the heel of your hand, angry at the tears now. “You shouldn’t have to. I’m not… I’m not sweet like you, Jean. I get like this and I can’t stop it. I feel like I’m scaring you off every time. Like one day you’ll wake up and realize you could have someone who doesn’t turn into a hurricane over a stupid coffee machine.”
He was quiet for a long moment, just rubbing your back. Then he shifted, pulling you sideways into his lap with the same effortless strength he’d used to swing a sword through legions of enemies. You went without protest, curling into the solid warmth of his chest. He smelled like sun-warmed linen and the rosemary from the garden.
“Listen to me,” he murmured against your hair. “I have faced many dangerous Stand users time and time again. A little thunder does not frighten me.” His hand slid soothingly up and down your arm as he shifted to sit criss-cross in front of you. “You think your moods are too much? Mon ange, you have no idea how amazing you are when you’re fighting the world. Fierce. Alive. You burn so bright it makes my heart race!” He beamed a but but immediately returned his attention to you.
You huffed a pathetic laugh as you leaned forward, burying your face into his shirt. “You’re ridiculous.” You murmured into his chest as you relished the scent of comforting linens that seemed to radiate off of him.
“I'm usually always ridiculous. But right now...” He tilted your chin up with his knuckle, coaxing you to meet his eyes full of compassion. “I'm being as honest as the day is long to you, mon cherie. I do not want your version of some 'perfect, quiet partner who smiles through every inconvenience.' I want you. You are more than perfect for me." His smile softened slightly as he continued. "With all the emotion that you have? It makes you so much more compassionate and empathetic. You have the biggest heart under all that armor!” To add some playful emphasis, he poked your chest with his index finger, which made a slight chuckle come from you, which, in his eyes, was a success.
You then settled back with that weary look on your face, sighing softly. “I just… I hate that I make you deal with it. You’re so good to me. You deserve someone who—”
“Oh, hush.” His voice was playful yet sincere, with a velvet-soft tone. “If anything, I don't deserve you! Someone so kind as to deal with my jokes and silliness—I really applaud you." He noticed the slight glimmer in your eyes but decided to tone it down and be serious to make his point clear and reassure you.
"But, truly, I love you. Exactly as you are. And when the storm comes again, I will be right here with an umbrella and a broom and all the cuddles you can stand. We will talk it out, like this. Unless you want some alone time because some days you like that too.” You cleared your throat, the sound echoing softly in the stillness, and nodded, a delicate smile playing at the corners of your lips. In that moment, to him, you embodied perfection itself. It was a silent affirmation, a reassuring sign that he had succeeded in his mission and had not fallen short of helping you feel your best, despite how the day treated you.
He gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb and looked into your eyes. “Please...share what happened today. I want to know the truth.”
You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the heaviness of everything weighing on your mind, and then it all came pouring out in a sudden rush. You spoke about those long, sleepless nights that seemed to stretch endlessly, with each tick of the clock echoing the solitude of your room. What once felt like a serene escape in the countryside now felt almost stifling, amplifying the chaos in your mind. You opened up about how your emotions surged like fierce waves, pulling you under and making it difficult to find your balance.
Polnareff listened intently, his warm, supportive gaze encouraging you to share without fear of judgment. He nodded softly, his quiet affirmations surrounding you like a comforting blanket. As you poured out your heart, a deep sense of relief washed over you, and he leaned in closer, gently pressing his forehead against yours. This tender gesture forged a powerful connection between you, filling the space with a profound intimacy. In that moment, you felt reassured that you weren’t alone in your struggles. It was a beautiful reminder that sharing our burdens can lead to unexpected connections and pave the way for healing.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to know how proud I am of you. Truly... so incredibly proud.”
The knot in your chest finally unraveled. You melted against him, your arms looping around his neck. “I love you,” you mumbled. “I just.. can't believe you still love me even if I am a walking disaster.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Even more so then. And, for the record, I love you more than tiramisu, more than sunsets over the vineyards, more than my own fabulous hair.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Now. Shall we clean this up together? Or shall we leave it for tomorrow and go watch the stars from the balcony while I feed you gelato straight from the tub?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Gelato first, then cleaning, with music—my own personal opera singer,” you cooed playfully, giggling.
“Deal.” Polnareff stood, lifting you with him as if you weighed nothing. He carried you toward the door, stepping carefully over the shattered mug. “And tomorrow we fix that tile. Together. No more tripping over it and cursing the universe.”
Outside, the sky had deepened to indigo, fireflies sparkling above the lavender beds you planted together just to make this house feel like a home. Polnareff set you on the balcony railing, fetched the gelato and two spoons, and wrapped you in a blanket that smelled like him. He settled beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and let you lean your head against him while the first stars appeared.
“You know,” he said after a while, voice low and warm, “in France we have a saying: *Après la pluie, le beau temps.* After the rain, good weather.” He kissed your temple. “Your storms don’t scare me away, chérie. They only make the sunshine sweeter when it returns.”
You turned to him, feeling the warmth of the moment wrap around you like a soft blanket, and kissed him deeply—slow and tender, full of gratitude and the lingering sweetness of strawberry gelato. The flavors mingled between your lips, a delightful reminder of the joy that had led you to this moment. "You sap…" you teased softly, smiling as you pulled back. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of affection and relief, reflecting the same emotions that danced within you.
He chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement, as if her statement were delightfully naïve. With a relaxed posture, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in a casual yet confident manner. The warm light in the room danced in his eyes as he gazed at her, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know, we've been together for quite a while now,” he began, his voice steady and warm. “I really thought that by this point, you’d have figured out that this is just who I am—unapologetically me.” There was an undeniable warmth in his tone, a mixture of affection and a touch of teasing, as always.
"My bad, my bad. I should've known." You replied with a playful laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you joined in on the lighthearted banter. It felt good to share a moment of laughter, the friendly teasing adding to the warmth the beautiful, starry night had to offer you both.
As the gentle Italian night wrapped around you like a soft embrace, the stars twinkled high above in a velvet sky. With his arms securely holding you close, you could feel the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool evening air. The serene countryside lay beneath you, a patchwork of shadowy hills and whispering trees, breathing in a rhythmic, soothing way that echoed the calm of the moment. In that enchanting stillness, you felt a profound trust wash over you, and you believed him completely.
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