𐔌 ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) ࣪ ˖ REAL MAN ⸝⸝ ✿ ( follo x fem!reader ) ◟ さん ━ ꒰ fluff, unlabeled relationship ꒱ 注記 : reader wears boots and a hair clip
You’re a strong girl.
That’s what Follo thinks.
You’ve always handled everything on your own. He’s seen it.
You fight like it’s second nature — trash beasts fall before you like it’s a hobby. You finish every stack of paperwork Semiu or the boss throws at you without a single complaint. You may be shy, but you never let anyone talk down to you. Even when fear creeps in about what the future might hold, you still keep moving forward with that brave little smile.
You’re so adorable.
That’s what he thinks.
The cute little pout he adores so much appears whenever you finish one mission only to be assigned with another — he had to bite back a smile for it. You squeal in delight every time the food you’re craving makes its way to your tastebuds. It’s adorable how you get so shy when someone compliments you for your hard work; he could watch it all day.
You don’t need anyone.
He knows that.
And yet — despite every thought reminding him how capable you are, his actions speak the opposite.
He opens doors before you can touch the handle.
He pulls out your chair at breakfast without even asking.
He hands you your favorite drink before you can reach for it, already chilled, already opened.
Once, you tried to carry a crate of supplies across HQ, insisting you had it handled. He silently lifted it from your arms with one hand and walked away like it weighed nothing.
You chased after him, flustered. “Follo, I can do it—”
“I know but..” he said, not looking back. “let me do it for you.”
You never know what to do with yourself when he says things like that.
The moment that really broke you, however, happened when you were assigned to assist his team on a task in another town. Hours of walking, scouting, navigating uneven roads — your feet were killing you. You tried not to show it, but the unevenness in your steps gave you away. A faint limp. A wince when you thought no one was looking.
Follo noticed.
Of course he did.
You were halfway through assuring yourself you could endure when a hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.
“Hey—”
He didn’t say a word. Just tugged you gently but undeniably toward a nearby bench. You frowned, confused, as he sat down and patted his thigh.
You blinked. “…What?”
“Sit,” he said flatly.
A moment of silence.
WHAT.
Stunned, you looked left and right to make sure the others weren’t nearby witnessing this. Thank goodness they were not on sight.
Your cheeks burned. “On you?”
He gave you a look that clearly said do I need to say it again?
Too shocked to process what was happening in front of you, you tried to distract yourself from reality for a short minute. Oh, look at that cloud! It’s shaped like a bunny!
You sputtered. “Follo, I’m fine—”
“No, you’re not,” he said, voice calm as ever. His eyes softened. “I can see you struggling to walk properly.”
Your heartbeat went ballistic.
Checking again if the others were nearby, you cautiously took a step forward.
Slowly and awkwardly, you sat sideways across his lap, stiff and unsure of where to put your hands. He adjusted his hold automatically — one arm around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world — the other reaching down to tug off your boot.
“H-Hey—!”
“Relax.”
He inspected your socked foot with silent precision before pressing his thumb into your arch. You nearly squeaked.
He paused, glancing up at you. “Too much?”
“N-No,” you squeaked.
He hummed, pleased and continued massaging, firm strokes that melted tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying.
Your face was on fire. Your hands curled into his broad shoulders.
“Follo…” you whispered, heart racing. “You don’t have to do all this.”
He didn’t stop.
“Yeah, I know, but…” A pause. His right hand kept massaging your foot, the other still holding your waist, his thumb drawing circles against the fabric of your uniform for comfort, making your heart run laps in your chest.
Then he looked straight into your eyes, voice unwavering. “I want to.”
It wasn’t long before the others took notice of his behavior toward you.
They took the opportunity to tease him about it at lunch.
“Real gentleman, huh?” Enjin mocked. “What are you, her bodyguard?”
“Bodyguard?” Gris snorted, nudging him. “More like househusband.”
Even Rudo chimed in from his chair across the table. “You gonna start wearing an apron too?”
Zanka threw his arms over his head dramatically. “Follo, blink twice if she’s got you in a spell.”
Follo just shrugged and drank from his cup, unfazed.
“Call it whatever you want.”
Because honestly? He likes it.
He likes being the one who carries your bags even when you insist you can handle them. He likes being the one who reaches the high shelves for you, even though he’s seen you jump five meters in the air before. He likes watching you pretend to be annoyed when he fixes your uniform or straightens your hair clip.
You let him take care of you.
Even though you don’t have to.
And that — that makes his chest warm in a way that fighting never has.
He’s not sure what this is between you two. Friends? Partners Something unnamed, something fragile but precious?
But he knows one thing for sure:
If being a “real man” means treating you like the princess you are..
— Then he’ll do it every damn day, without shame.
Without hesitation.
Without stopping until you finally look at him and realize.
He’s not doing it because you’re weak.
He’s doing it because he adores you.
著者 : Follo and the boys once he finally wins the fine shyt’s heart:
@ 2025 PETALPAYE ✿ ━ do not plagiarize, copy, modify, translate my works ! divider by : @h-aewo
