☆Damn dude that's cold blooded☆

Yo, street cred to TheRandoLady for the vast majority of these puns.

You were taking a shower, when you heard the doorbell ring.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, before shouting to whoever was on the other side. "Just a minute!" You hurriedly pat yourself down with a towel, and get dressed, ignoring how the fabric clings to your still damp body. Twisting your hair into your towel, you rush to answer the door.

"Wow talk about fast delivery, I just ordered five minutes ago!" you call out, swinging open the door.

...

That's not your pizza...

You look at the two people standing in your doorway. They looked young. One was probably in his late teens or early twenties. He was dressed in... a very interesting croptop sweater. Consisting of of mostly red, with blue stripes crisscrossing around it, and a matching hat.

The other looked no older then a high school sophomore. Golden locks curled into three distinct rings in the front. He was wearing a pink suit, adorned with ladybird pins.

"Um, hello." You say not wanting to be impolite. "Can I help you boys with anything?" They shuffled awkwardly in place, before the younger one stepped forward.

"Um," he clears his throat nervously before fixing his posture and taking on a more serious demeanor. "Is this the resistance of a Mrs. Polnareff?"

Jean Pierre Polnareff, your husband of sixteen years, had left for Italy five months ago. You insisted on coming with him due to his disability, but he in turn insisted you stay, saying it was to dangerous for you. After disscussing it however, you decided that to let him go alone. After all, despite his state, he could easily fend for himself using silver chariot. Or so you thought.

Whenever Polnarif would leave, be it for business, or otherwise, he always made it a point to call you every night, to tell you the sweetest things, and telling you how much he loves you. He was romantic like that.

But one night, when he didn't call you, you instantly knew something was wrong. After a week, of no contact you had filed a missing person's report. And after three, you feared he wasn't coming back.

And now, five months later, five long grueling months of searching, and pain....

Two teens who looked looked like they crawled out of a 90s themed costume party show up at your front door.

The older one, who you just realized was wearing tiger striped pants, cleared his throat, snaping you out of your thoughts. The sensation of tears pricked the corner of your eyes.

"Where is he?! Is he ok!?" "Mrs. Polnareff I need you to calm down, your husband is fine," he assured. You relax a little at his words. "well for the most part."

Immediately you tense up again.

"What-" you're cut off when the boy holds up turtle. A turtle. A FUCKING TURTLE.

"Wh-" "He's right here." he said, avoiding your gaze.

...

You glare at him. "Is this a fucking joke?" The one with the hat interjects, "NO NO! H-hes just n-nervous! Just, give him a moment to collect his thoughts!" There was a tone of urgency, and truth in their voice. And, well, you have seen some pretty crazy stuff, what with you and your husband being stand users and all.

Sighing, you turn your attention to the reptile in question. Fucking hell, I can't believe I'm about to do this. I feel absurd.

You look it in the eyes.

"Jean?"

The creature wiggles nervously in the boys hands, and tucks its head into its shell slightly.

"O-oui... "

The two young men, who you learn are called Mista, and Giorno, sit in your living room, waiting anxiously to get a slice of that sweet, sweet zah'. Which was late by the way.

You make your way to the two men sitting in the living room. They each take a slice and thank you. Taking a seat in the arm chair, you place Jean gently on your lap.

"Are you going to be ok with... him being here?" Giorno looks to Polnareff, with concern, and pity. "Well I should hope so. He IS my husband after all."

After a long discussion about housing arrangements (and the care and keeping of a reptile), the two young men finally leave. And you're left alone with each other, to mull the situation over in your heads. You absentmindedly stroke his shell, as an awkward silence fills the air.

Polnareff sighs. "Doudou, I-"

"Damn Pol, have you been working out?"

He stares up at you, confusion written on his face.

"Because you're body is rock hard."

...

"Quoi?"

You grin.

Oh no.

"I mean, I know you like you take things slow. But this is ridiculous." He gives you a look that you know all too well, and groans. You have to admit, it was cute before, but now that he's a turtle, it's even better. "I get that you're naturally cold blooded, but you can at least warm up to me a little bit. I am your wife after all." He scoffs and turns away. "Come on, relax, don't be afraid to come out of your shell."

"Can't you take this seriously mon chéri? I mean pour l'amour, I'm a turtle now! An old, wrinkly, ugly turtle!" You frown at this. "Come on babe, don't talk that way, I think you're adorable!" He looks back at you and smiles. Can turtles blush? Because you swear you can see one rising on his face.

"Besides," you wink. "You don't look a day over one hundred and thirty!" He frowns, but you keep going. "And if you ask me, on a scale of one to ten, you got it all! The scales I mean." He let's out an exaggerated groan and stifles a laugh.

"They're scutes, actually." He corrects.

You lean back in your chair and pick him up to place a kiss on his tiny turtle head, before gently holding him so that he rested on your chest.

"Well whatever they are, I know you'll be the talk of the town. The newest, top French shellebrity!"