Hello! I saw that requests are open and I wanted to take the opportunity to ask can you do headcanons of Gris, Bro Santa, August Stilza, Enjin, Arkha Corvus and Follo where gender neutral!cleaner!reader would accidentally call them dad please?
PAIRING(S): Gris Rubion & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader, Bro Santa & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader, August Stilza & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader, Enjin & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader, Arkha Corvus & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader, Follo Tunito & GN!Teen!Cleaner!Reader
SYNPOSIS: After struggling with small tasks around the Cleaners, you receive help from some of the older members around headquarters. It should have been simple: they help you, you thank them, and everyone moves on with their day.
Expect your mouth moves faster than your brain.
GENRE(S): Platonic Fluff • Found Family • Mild comfort
WARNING(S): Accidental use of “dad,” • Second-Hand Embarrassment • Mild Teasing
A/N: Here's your request anon! This is completely platonic, Readers about 13-14 and this is focused on found-family dynamics with said characters ^^
With Gris, it would happen in the most natural way possible. You’re trying to help move some heavy equipment after a mission. Probably crates, spare mask parts, or something the Supporters need put away before the next group comes through. You’re determined, insisting you can handle it because you’re a Cleaner and you don’t want to be treated like a little kid.
Gris does not immediately take the task from you. That’s important. He is kind, but he would not belittle your effort. He would watch for a moment, see that you’re struggling, then step in calmly before you strain yourself.
He would probably say something simple like, “Careful. If you lift it like that, you’ll hurt your back.” Then he’d crouch beside you, show you where to grip it, and move the heavier side himself like it weighs nothing.
You’re so relieved and happy that your mouth moves faster than your brain. “Oh! Thanks, Dad!”
You start to walk off, fully ready to continue your day. Then it hits you. You freeze mid-step.
Gris freezes too, but not in a shocking, dramatic way. More like his eyes soften and his hand pauses on the crate.
You slowly turn back around. “I— I mean Gris! I meant Gris! Not dad! I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. That was weird.”
Gris would not tease you hard for it. He’s too considerate for that, especially when you’re clearly embarrassed. He pats your head and tells you, “It’s alright. I’ve been called worse.”
That makes you even more embarrassed because he’s being too nice about it.
He’d return to the task like nothing awkward happened, but the warmth in his tone is definitely there. He would not make a spectacle out of it. He understands that words slip out when someone feels safe, and he'd recognise that without forcing you to explain yourself.
If other Supporters overheard and tried to tease you, Gris would shut it down calmly. Not aggressively. Just a firm, “Leave them alone. They’re helping.”
Afterwards, he would be slightly more attentive with you. Not smothering, not clingy, but if you’re carrying too much, skipping breaks, or acting too eager to prove yourself, he notices.
He would not claim the title out loud, but he would quietly accept the responsibility behind it. Later, if you apologise again, he’d probably tell you, “You don’t have to keep apologising. I know what you meant.”
And that would somehow make you want to combust from embarrassment all over again.
Bro would have the most emotionally fitting reaction because he already has a caretaker role. Since he watches over Team Child and cares deeply for Dear, he would understand younger people blurting out family-like words by accident.
You’re probably struggling during a joint training session with Team Child. Maybe Guita got too excited, Dear is being Dear, and you’re trying very hard to keep your positive attitude alive while also fixing some tangled equipment.
Bro notices you getting overwhelmed before you admit it. He decided to walk over and help you out.
You immediately shake your head. “Nope! I can do it! I’m completely fine!”
You are not completely fine. The knot gets worse.
Bro crouches beside you, patient and easygoing. “You’re pulling it tighter. Loosen this part first.”
When the equipment finally comes loose, you beam at him. “Oh my gosh, thank you, dad!”
Bro blinks. You freeze. Dear, somewhere nearby, gives the most judgmental stare imaginable.
“Sorry, that came out wrong! I wasn’t trying to— I mean, not that being called dad is bad, but I—”
Bro would probably raise both hands slightly, trying to calm you before you spiral. “Hey, hey. It’s alright. No harm done.”
He would not mock you. At all. Bro is already emotionally used to younger people saying awkward things, doing awkward things, and then realizing two seconds later. He wouldn’t treat it like some huge scandal.
If anything, he might look a little touched, but he would try not to show too much because he can tell you’re embarrassed.
He would probably scratch the side of his face and say something awkwardly kind like, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
That destroys you. You cover your face and mumble, “Please don’t.”
Bro would not force the moment to be deeper than it needs to be. He’d let you recover your dignity. Dear might still glare, though.
Bro would notice and sigh. “Dear. Be nice.”
You laugh nervously. “I think he hates me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Bro says, even though Dear’s face says otherwise. “He’s just expressive.”
But from then on, he’d keep a slightly closer eye on you. Not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he knows young Cleaners can push themselves too hard when they want to be useful.
August is the loudest possible person this could happen with, which means your embarrassment level would be catastrophic.
You’re struggling with part of your Cleaner uniform. Maybe a strap keeps twisting, your full-face mask feels wrong, or something August personally designed is not sitting the way it should.
You try to fix it yourself because you do not want to summon the hurricane known as August Stilza.
Unfortunately, he sees you.
You nearly jump out of your skin.
August storms over. He grabs the strap, adjusts the angle, mutters about balance, then starts loudly explaining how equipment is supposed to support the body instead of fighting against it. You stand there, half-grateful and half-overwhelmed.
“You Cleaners never respect the silhouette,” he complains, fixing the last piece with dramatic precision. “There! Now you can move without looking like your outfit is trying to escape you.”
You test it. It feels perfect.
Your eyes sparkle. “Whoa! That’s so much better! Thanks, dad!”
For one beautiful second, August does not speak. Then his entire face changes. “DAD?!”
You clap both hands over your mouth. “NO.”
He is absolutely making it worse. Not maliciously, but because August has no volume control and is incredibly dramatic by nature.
“NO, COME BACK, MY DESIGN OFFSPRING!”
If Eishia is nearby, she probably looks like she wants to disappear on your behalf.
But here’s the thing: once August realizes you are genuinely embarrassed and not just playfully flustered, he would soften. Not completely. He’s still August. But enough.
He’d lower his voice a fraction and wave a gloved hand. “Fine, fine. I won’t shout it across headquarters.”
“I won’t shout it again.”
That is the best deal you are getting.
He would absolutely remember it, though.
After that, he fusses over your gear even more. If your sleeves are uneven, he notices. If your mask fit is slightly off, he fixes it. If your uniform gets ripped, he acts personally betrayed and repairs it with intense passion.
He might call you “my little apprentice” or “my problem child” once or twice, but if you genuinely hate it, he’ll stop after enough complaining.
Still, he is secretly thrilled.
Enjin would be one of the most casual about it, which somehow makes it worse.
You’re having trouble after training. Maybe you can’t get a movement right, maybe you keep misjudging your timing, or maybe you’re frustrated because everyone else seems to understand something faster than you.
You try to stay cheerful. That’s what you do. You smile, you laugh it off, you say, “I’ll get it next time!”
Enjin sees through that. He doesn’t call you out harshly. He just wanders over with that relaxed, unreadable confidence and says, “You’re thinking too hard.”
You huff. “That is not helpful.”
Then he shows you. Not in a strict lecture way. Enjin teaches like someone who understands people. He gives you one adjustment, lets you try, then gives you another. He doesn’t overload you.
When it finally clicks, your optimism comes rushing back full force. “I did it!”
“See?” Enjin says. “You were thinking too hard.”
You’re too happy to argue.
You take about three steps away. Then stop.
You turn around slowly. “Don’t.”
He tilts his head. “Don’t what?”
You are horrified. “I’m sorry. That was an accident. I don’t know why I said that.”
Enjin would tease you, but lightly. He’s mischievous enough that he cannot let it pass untouched.
“Didn’t know I had that kind of authority.”
“You sure? It sounded pretty natural.”
“I’m going to walk into a polluted zone.”
“Don’t. Then I’d have to explain that one.”
He laughs, but he doesn’t push too far.
If he notices you’re genuinely upset, he cuts the teasing immediately. He can be playful, rude, and unserious on the surface, but he reads people well.
He’d probably tap your forehead lightly with two fingers or nudge you with the handle of his umbrella.
“Relax. It was one word.”
That would make you pause.
Enjin wouldn’t expand unless you wanted him to. He’d leave the emotional door open without dragging you through it.
Later, he might use it once as a joke when you’re being reckless.
Corvus is the scariest one to accidentally call “dad” because he is the boss.
Not because he would yell.
Honestly, the opposite is worse.
You’re in his office struggling to explain what happened during a mission. You were still learning how to give proper reports, and this kind of official responsibility makes you nervous. You keep stumbling over your words.
“And then I thought maybe the route was clear, but it wasn’t, but I didn’t want to abandon the formation, but then the Trash Beast moved, and I—”
Corvus lets you talk. He doesn’t interrupt nor does he rush you.
When you finally run out of breath, he calmly slides the report back toward you and points to one section. “Start here.”
“You’re trying to explain everything at once. Start with what changed.”
You take the advice, rewrite the section, and suddenly the report makes way more sense.
“Oh. That’s much better.” You smile brightly. “Thanks, dad!”
The room becomes painfully quiet.
“Boss,” you correct quickly. “I meant boss. Not dad. Definitely boss. I am so sorry.”
He does not even look especially surprised.
That somehow makes you want to crawl under the desk.
He looks back at the report and says, “Continue.”
You stare at him. “You’re just going to ignore that?”
He smiled kindly. “Then continue.”
You would notice small changes. If you’re overwhelmed, he gives you clearer instructions. If you’re trying too hard to prove yourself, he assigns someone reliable to check on you without making it obvious. If you need correction, he gives it plainly, not cruelly.
Follo’s reaction would be the most awkward because he is younger than the others and has his own insecurities. He is not really a dad figure. He is more like an older brother figure who is trying very hard to be useful.
So the “dad” slip would completely scramble him.
It happens on a busy day at the Cleaners’ headquarters.
You had volunteered to help prepare small recovery baskets for injured Cleaners and Supporters coming back from rough jobs.
Nothing huge. Just bandages, clean cloths, water, small snacks, replacement gloves, notes from other members, little practical things that might make someone’s day easier.
You were excited about it at first because it felt like something kind. It felt like something you could do properly. You wanted to be useful outside of fighting too. You wanted people to look at you and think, “Yeah, they’re reliable.”
Except the longer you worked, the more everything started going wrong. You mixed up two names. One basket was missing half its supplies. Another had the wrong note tucked inside. You accidentally spilled water over part of your list, making the writing bleed until several names became unreadable.
By the time Follo finds you, you’re crouched on the floor surrounded by supplies, trying very hard not to look as stressed as you actually are. Your expression looks very strained, because if you stop smiling, you might cry out of pure frustration.
Follo notices. He hesitates for a second before approaching, because he doesn’t want to make you feel like he’s watching you fail. Then he crouches nearby and asks carefully, “Do you need help?”
You immediately shake your head. “Nope! I’m good! Everything is completely under control!”
A roll of bandages slips out of one of the baskets and bumps against his shoe. Then you quietly say, “...Mostly under control.”
Follo doesn’t laugh at you. He just picks up the bandages, sets them back down, and glances over the messy list. “You were sorting them by team?”
You nod, embarrassed. “I was trying to. But then I messed up the names, and now I don’t know which basket goes where, and I think I put someone’s note in the wrong one, and if they get the wrong note, that’ll be awkward, and if they get the wrong supplies, that’s worse, and—”
“Slow down,” Follo says gently.
“Let’s do one at a time.”
That sentence alone makes your shoulders drop a little. Follo sits beside you on the floor instead of standing over you, which makes the whole thing feel less humiliating. He takes the ruined list, studies what parts are still readable, then starts sorting everything into small piles.
“These are medical supplies. These are food items. These are personal notes. We can match the notes first. Names are usually easier to check than supplies.”
He glances at you. “What?”
“That actually makes sense.”
Follo looks slightly flustered, but also pleased. “It’s not anything special.”
“No, it is,” you insist. “My brain was fully melting.”
He gives a small, awkward smile. “Then we’ll unmelt it.”
The two of you spend the next several minutes fixing everything together. He doesn’t take over completely. That’s important. Follo helps you slow down and think clearly, but he still lets you make decisions “Do you remember who this one was for?”
“Good. Then put that one there.”
It’s simple, but it gives you your confidence back piece by piece. Eventually, all the baskets are fixed. The notes are matched correctly. The supplies are sorted. The ruined list has been rewritten. What had looked like a complete disaster now looks neat, thoughtful, and ready to be delivered.
You stare at the finished baskets like Follo just helped you perform a miracle. “Wait,” you say, eyes brightening. “We actually fixed it.”
Follo nods. “You fixed most of it. I just helped organize it.”
You grin at him, warm and genuine. “Seriously, thanks, dad!” The second the words leave your mouth, you’re already reaching for one of the baskets, ready to go deliver it. Then your hand stops mid-air. He is staring at you.
"I meant Follo. Sorry about that..."
Follo is now embarrassed and slightly offended in a very quiet way. “Do I seem that old?”
“No! No! You seem responsible!”
“Responsible like a dad?”
This is where Follo’s insecurity would peek through. He might try to laugh it off, but part of him would genuinely not know how to take it. He wants to be respected. He wants to be useful. But being called “dad” by another teen Cleaner would make him feel awkwardly placed in a role he does not think he has earned.
Still, once he realises you’re more flushed than he is, he would soften. “It’s fine. I get it. You were just saying thanks.”
You nod too quickly. “Exactly. Just thanks. Normal thanks. Not parent-child thanks.”
Follo would probably cough into his hand and look away. “Right.”
But afterwards? It would secretly stick with him. Not in a weird way. More like… you saw him as dependable. You trusted him enough that the word slipped out. For someone like Follo, who struggles with wanting to be valuable, that would hit him harder than he admits.
He might start helping you more often, but very casually. “You packed that wrong again.”
The second you say it on purpose, he nearly drops whatever he’s holding. “Don’t start.”
You grin. He looks away, red-faced.
Secretly, he does not hate it as much as he says. But he would absolutely prefer big brother over dad. Follo’s version is less “father figure” and more accidental dependable older sibling who got promoted against his will.
