Hii!! I would like to request something if it isn't much of a bother. 💗 So I wanted to request the Reader as an older sibling to Team Child (Guita, Dear Santa!!) and Team Akuta, ( Rudo, Zanka, Riyo!!) And how Readers smother them with so much love, which makes them find their inner comfort!
Gachiakuta × GN Reader (Platonic)
— Older Sibling Comfort
Type: Oneshot
Characters: Guita, Dear Santa, Rudo, Zanka, Riyo
Soft, platonic headcanons about the reader acting as an older sibling to Team Child and Team Akuta—smothering them with steady affection, patience, and protection, helping them find comfort, safety, and a place to rest in a world that rarely gives them one.
━━━━━━ ☁︎ ♡ ☁︎ ━━━━━━
[ beginning of oneshot ]
━━━━━━ ♡ written with care ♡ ━━━━━━
✎ StrawberyLover 🍓
☁︎ ♡ Dear Santa ♡ ☁︎
Dear Santa doesn’t warm up easily. Having you as an older sibling doesn’t magically soften him—it just gives him someone he tolerates without question.
He communicates with looks first. Sharp glares, narrowed eyes, slow blinks that say more than words ever could. At the beginning, he watches you closely, measuring your tone and your intentions. He doesn’t trust easily, and affection—especially unsolicited affection—irritates him.
You never force it.
You don’t talk at him. You don’t baby him. You don’t try to “fix” his silence. You speak clearly, simply, and you always give him space to respond in his own way—through gestures, sounds, or expressions. When he communicates, you listen like it matters.
That’s what changes everything.
He’s irritable by nature, easily annoyed by noise, chaos, or people who don’t respect boundaries. When things get overwhelming, he clamps down emotionally, pacifier firmly in place, posture rigid. You notice the signs immediately. You adjust without being asked—lower your voice, slow your movements, subtly position yourself between him and whatever’s setting him off.
You’re careful around Centralian. You never touch it without permission. You never joke about it. You understand—intuitively—that it’s not just a weapon, but a source of grounding, comfort, and control. When someone threatens it, his reaction is immediate and violent. When you’re around, he doesn’t need to be told you’re safe near it.
Despite his cold demeanor, Dear Santa!! is painfully responsible. He watches the battlefield even when others relax. He positions himself instinctively in front of you during danger, jaw set, eyes dark. He doesn’t announce his protectiveness—he just acts.
If someone raises their voice at you, his stare alone is enough to shut them down.
He doesn’t express care verbally, but it shows in small, deliberate actions. He hands you things without looking at you. He lingers nearby instead of wandering off. When you’re hurt or tired, he stays closer, posture tense, alert for threats that might not even be there.
When he’s frustrated or overwhelmed, he doesn’t lash out at you. He pulls away instead—sits apart, back against a wall, quietly fuming. You don’t chase him. You sit nearby. Not touching. Not talking. Just present.
Eventually, he relaxes.
That quiet companionship means more to him than words ever could. You become his anchor—someone who doesn’t demand explanation, doesn’t misinterpret his silence, and doesn’t see his irritability as cruelty.
To Dear, you’re not loud comfort or overt affection.
You’re steadiness. Predictability. Safety.
The world feels less hostile when you’re nearby, and that’s the closest thing to trust he knows how to give.
And for him?
That trust is everything.
☁︎ ♡ Guita ♡ ☁︎
Having you as an older sibling just gives Guita permission to be even more herself.
She’s loud about it. Obvious about it. Completely unashamed.
Guita has zero concept of personal space to begin with, so she’s constantly draped over you—leaning her full weight against your side, looping an arm around your shoulders, climbing halfway onto your back just because she feels like it. She’ll grab your hands to drag you somewhere exciting, tug on your clothes when she wants attention, and shout your name across the area even if you’re only a few steps away.
You never scold her for it. You don’t flinch. You just accept her affection like it’s normal—which, to her, it is.
She talks at you nonstop, words slurring together in that familiar way, excitedly rambling about kaiju's, trash beasts, weird things she saw, or something that just popped into her head.
Half of it doesn’t make sense. Sometimes it’s wildly inappropriate. Sometimes it’s just bizarre. You listen anyway. You laugh with her instead of at her, and when something crosses a line, you gently explain it instead of snapping at her.
That’s huge for her.
Guita doesn’t always understand social cues or emotional weight. She asks blunt questions, says things without realizing how they might land, and gets confused when people react negatively. When that happens, she looks to you first—wide-eyed, unsure, suddenly much quieter.
You never make her feel stupid for not knowing.
You explain things simply. Patiently. Sometimes more than once. You don’t get annoyed when she asks again later. You make it clear that curiosity isn’t something she needs to apologize for.
When she gets too excited or overstimulated, you’re the one who grounds her. A hand on her shoulder. A calm voice cutting through her noise. You remind her to breathe, to slow down, to focus. She listens to you more than anyone else, even if she still bounces on her heels while doing it.
And when she messes up—really messes up—you don’t withdraw your affection. You correct her, sure, but you stay close. That consistency teaches her something important: that mistakes don’t mean abandonment.
Guita thrives under your attention. Not because you restrain her chaos, but because you make room for it. You let her be loud, weird, affectionate, excitable—while quietly teaching her how to navigate a world that isn’t always kind to people like her.
To Guita, you’re not just an older sibling.
You’re the person who makes her feel like her energy isn’t “too much.” Like her excitement isn’t annoying. Like her heart, loud and clumsy as it is, belongs somewhere safe.
And she shows that love the only way she knows how—by sticking to you like glue and never letting you forget that you’re hers.
☁︎ ♡ Rudo ♡ ☁︎
Rudo doesn’t know what to do with an older sibling at first.
He’s lived his whole life braced for rejection—by people, by systems, by the world itself. Kindness feels suspicious to him, especially when it’s consistent. So when you show up with patience instead of pity, he pushes back. Hard. He snaps, scoffs, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t care.
But he listens.
Rudo is observant to a fault. He notices the way you never flinch when he raises his voice. The way you don’t correct him publicly or shame him for his anger. When he says something sharp, you don’t retaliate—you wait until he’s calmer, then talk to him like he’s worth being reasoned with.
That alone disarms him.
As the younger sibling, Rudo hates feeling weak. He hates being protected. But you don’t protect him by hovering—you do it by standing beside him. When others look down on him, you don’t jump in immediately. You let him speak for himself. Only when someone crosses a line do you step in, voice firm, unyielding.
Rudo never forgets that.
Your praise hits him harder than criticism ever could. When you acknowledge his ingenuity, his persistence, his refusal to give up—even when everything’s stacked against him—it settles somewhere deep. Those words replay in his head during the worst moments, becoming a counterweight to the voices telling him he’s broken or disposable.
He doesn’t say thank you.
Instead, he shows up.
Rudo sticks close to you without realizing it. He positions himself between you and danger instinctively, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. If you’re hurt—physically or emotionally—his anger spikes fast and violent. Not reckless, but focused. Protective in a way that borders on feral.
You’re one of the few people who can tell him to slow down and actually be heard.
When he spirals—when the world feels unjust, when the weight of everything threatens to crush him—he argues. He rants. He paces. You let him. You don’t shut him up or try to logic his pain away. You acknowledge it. Validate it. Then, when he’s exhausted, you remind him that his anger comes from caring—and that caring isn’t a flaw.
That reframes everything.
With you, Rudo doesn’t have to be perfect. He doesn’t have to prove his worth through suffering or violence. He’s allowed to rest. To be unsure. To be young.
He’ll never cling or openly seek comfort—but when he chooses to sit near you, when he hands you something he fixed without comment, when he silently waits for you before moving on—
That’s Rudo saying you matter to me in the only way he knows how.
To him, you’re not just an older sibling.
You’re proof that the world isn’t entirely cruel. That some things don’t get thrown away. That he doesn’t have to face everything alone.
And Rudo? He would tear the world apart to protect that.
☁︎ ♡ Zanka ♡ ☁︎
Zanka never asks for an older sibling.
He’s spent most of his life convincing himself he doesn’t need one.
Outwardly, he’s composed—measured movements, controlled posture, a blunt tongue sharpened with dry sarcasm. He looks reliable. Capable. Like someone who has already decided where he stands in the world and refuses to waver. That image is deliberate. It’s armor, polished through habit and necessity.
You don’t dismantle it.
You simply notice the seams.
You catch how he stays awake long after everyone else has turned in, running drills alone until his form falters. How he repeats exercises not because he’s told to, but because stopping feels like admitting inadequacy.
You see the way praise makes him hesitate—just a fraction too long—while criticism lands instantly, sharp and familiar. When someone with obvious talent outpaces him, he congratulates them without resentment, but his jaw tightens like he’s bracing for a verdict he’s already passed on himself.
You never confront him about it in front of others.
You never joke about it.
You never compare him to anyone else.
That restraint matters more than he’d ever say.
As his older sibling, you don’t smother Zanka with reassurance or try to dismantle his doubts in one conversation. You respect him too much for that. You treat him like someone who is already capable—someone whose effort has weight, whose discipline isn’t invisible just because it isn’t effortless.
When you comment on his work, it’s Quiet. Honest.
You acknowledge improvement without exaggeration. You recognize persistence without turning it into pity. You don’t say you’re just as good as them—you say you earned this, and you mean it.
It doesn’t fix everything. His inferiority complex doesn’t vanish, and the shadow of his siblings’ expectations still lingers in the back of his mind. But with you, the pressure eases. Just slightly. Enough for him to breathe. Enough for him to believe that being “average” doesn’t mean being disposable.
Zanka may never say it outright, but your presence gives him something he’s been missing for a long time:
a standard that isn’t impossible to reach,
and a sibling who sees him not as a disappointment—but as someone worth standing beside.
☁︎ ♡ Riyo ♡ ☁︎
Riyo is loud, playful, and a little chaotic, but she’s also sharp, precise, and unafraid to get her hands dirty—qualities that make her such a strong Cleaner.
On the surface, she teases constantly: ruffles hair, pokes at shoulders, cracks jokes at the worst possible moment. But as her older sibling, you see past the antics immediately. You know exactly when her grin is real and when it’s masking stress or worry.
Being with you, Riyo doesn’t have to keep the act up. She relaxes in small ways she would never show anyone else. When you smother her in affection—soft praise, gentle touches, checking in quietly—she leans into it. At first, it’s awkward.
She fidgets, nudges you away jokingly, or makes a sarcastic remark to hide her blush. But she stays close, letting herself feel safe in your presence, because you never push, never shame, and never expect her to be anything other than she is.
Your care for her is constant, subtle, and unwavering. You notice the moments she tenses—the tight jaw, the restless hands, the sharp edge in her voice—and you respond in kind: offering a hand on her shoulder, an arm around her, soft words that calm rather than command.
When she vents or complains, you let her speak, never interrupting, never judging. She can be messy, chaotic, and high-energy, but you accept it fully, and that acceptance becomes a soft anchor for her.
Riyo’s protective instincts are fierce, especially toward her team, but around you, she learns she can lower her guard. You don’t try to control her, don’t smother her playfulness—you just provide a steady presence, a safe spot she can retreat to. She trusts that you will always catch her when she stumbles, calm her when she gets too worked up, and celebrate her when she succeeds.
Over time, she begins to mirror your care in subtle ways: leaning on you when exhausted, following your guidance in tense situations, or seeking your opinion quietly before charging ahead.
Your love doesn’t change her core—she’s still playful, bold, and a little wild—but it gives her the comfort and stability she rarely allows herself to feel.
With you, Riyo discovers a rare kind of peace. Someone who understands both her chaos and her quiet strength, someone who offers reassurance without judgment, someone who is always on her side.
━━━━━━ ☁︎ ♡ ☁︎ ━━━━━━
[ end of oneshot ]
━━━━━━ ♡ written with care ♡ ━━━━━━
✎ StrawberyLover 🍓