Work Header

Being A Dad

Work Text:

“What the FUCK! What the absolute literal /fuck/!”

“Oooooh, Shigaraki, you shouldn’t shout like that in front of a child.” Toga smirked, her eyes glittering. She leaned against the bar, holding her head in one propped up hand as she gave the kid beside her a pat on the head. He gave her a small, wavering smile full of sharp blue teeth.

“Who fucking cares, he’s five! He doesn’t understand!”

Letting out a frustrated roar Shigaraki slammed his hands against the bar. The misty child at their side jumped and covered his face with his hands, practically leaning into Toga for some sort of comfort. Grinning, Toga wrapped her arms tightly around him, her chin resting on his head.

“Tomuuuraa, you’re scaring him! Kids understand tones perfectly well, thank you.”

“Kurogiri doesn’t get scared, though.”

“/He’s five Shigaraki, you just said this!/”

The young man clasped his hands together, one finger on each hand pointing up. He inhaled sharply, leaning back, and closed closed his eyes, then let it out in another frustrated, though quieter, grunt. He stared at the child with cold red eyes, feelings of /anger/ and /frustration/ and /uncertainty/ causing his hands to shake and he had to sit down before his knees gave out.

He didn’t know what to do. When he’d pressed to Sensei about the situation, the man only gave a soft chuckle and told Shigaraki that it would be a good lesson to take care of something on his own. To teach initiative and responsibility, as if this was some sort of /pet/ or something. But Kurogiri wasn’t a pet, and though his quirk was very much a tool that he willingly let the League use, Kurogiri himself was a /person/. And Shigaraki didn’t think it very fun to take care of a person; he didn’t know what to do. What did 5 year olds like? When he was 5 years old he was alone on the streets, begging anyone he could for help, and receiving none.

So Shigaraki wasn’t going to just leave Kurogiri alone. He had hoped that maybe he could pass the kid off to Giran, or have Dabi take care of him, but Sensei shut that down before he could even ask about it. And to be quite fair, Dabi wasn’t that great of a choice of caretaker. He was just as bad, if not worse, than Shigaraki, if he had anything to say about it.

“I don’t know if I can just leave a cute little kid with you,” Toga whined, ruffling the fog on Kurogiri’s head. “You’ll probably desintigrate him on accident or something. And then you’d be all alone.”

“I’m not letting you take him,” Shigaraki hissed. “You’re a high school drop out, fuck off.”

Toga scowled and stuck her tongue out at him. She pushed herself off the counter, and when the warmth of her arms left Kurogiri he frowned and looked up at her. “Do you think he remembers anything about being”

“I asked him, and no. From what I’ve managed to gather, he was age regressed back to when he just turned five years old. Possibly very shortly after his quirk manifested.” Shigaraki scratched his chin with a knuckle, glancing from Toga to Dabi. “Memories and all were erased, or at least locked away. Which is fucking stupid. Now who’s going to cook us dinner.”

“You could always learn to do it yourself,” Dabi pointed out dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. Shigaraki let out a disgusted whine, his fingers twisting into a half-fist. “Come on, even Toga knows how to cook.”

“I can make microwave meals, excuse you.”

“Hell of a lot more than Shigaraki can do. And you know, you can’t just stay in the bar with a five year old, right?”

Fuck, shit. “Shit. You’re right.”

Shigaraki stood up and started to pace, weaving between tables and chairs. He took a moment to glance at his reflection in the window, watching people pass by outside. They talked animatedly about this and that, or walked peaceful alone to their destinations, or maybe even they were going home--


“I still have a key to Kurogiri’s apartment.”

“...Kurogiri doesn’t live at the bar?” Toga asked.

“No I do.”

“Your Sensei lets you live at the bar?”

“Oh fuck off Toga! Watch him! Don’t let him fall.”

Shigaraki stomped behind the counter, ducking through a doorway that led to a rather small hallway before turning to the right. Two rooms were attached on the left- a store room, and a second store room. Except the second store room he used as his own personal storage, with a cot, a fridge, and a bookshelf that Kurogiri had provided him years ago before he moved into the room on the right. A cluster of hands sat in a pile on the cot, with only one remaining on Shigaraki’s person; Father. It gripped his face almost comfortingly as he dug around in boxes upon boxes, finding a silver key at the bottom of an ancient, crumpled box in the corner. He held it up to the dim light, nodding in satisfaction that it definitely was one of Kurogiri’s keys, and finally after ten minutes of shouting and cursing under his breath looking for it, he came back out into the bar.

And then he stopped.

Toga sat on the ground with the little kid Kurogiri, urging him, with a smirk on her face, to make his warp gates. He seemed confused, choosing instead to pick at his overall straps and stare at the ground.

“What are you doing,” Shigaraki snapped.

“He’s a kid with a cool quirk! I’m TRYING to teach him how to use it. But I don’t know how it works! And neither does he.” Toga pouted, tipping her head to the side and poking her finger into her cheek. “What’s funny is he’s kinda shy! I didn’t think Kurogiri was /shy/.”

He rolled his eyes, hopping up onto the counter to sit and watch them. In the ten minutes he had been gone, Dabi disappeared, and Shigaraki could only assume it was because he wanted no part in this. Fine. Shigaraki didn’t want him anyway.

“That’s why he uses the mist like that to begin with,” Shigaraki grumbled. “Gets nervous when unfamiliar people see his face. Thinks the mist makes his eyes look cool or some shit too, probably.”

Toga snorted, giving Kurogiri another pat on his head. “Is that true?” she asked. “Are you shy?”

Huge yellow eyes looked up at her. He nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

Oh, his voice was so /soft/. Toga let out a soft squeal and grabbed the kid in a big hug, nuzzling his head with her cheek. “Who would have thought the big bad distant mist man was such a cute kid!”

“Miss Toga! You’re crushing me.”

“Aw I can’t help it, you’re just so cute!” Toga gave him another squeeze and then set him back down on the ground, holding out her hand for a high five. He gave her a gentle one, the mist surrounding him only growing denser with the attention he was receiving. “You and Shigaraki really know a lot about each other, don’t you?”

Kurogiri stared at her. “Shigaraki?”

Toga pointed to the man on the counter, who was giving her a sharp look and shaking his head. “Yeah! Shigaraki Tomura! He’s like...he’s like your /dad/.”


“And I’m Kurogiri Wataru!” He pointed to himself.

“Toga I am literally going to fucking kill you.”

“No don’t kill her!” Kurogiri cried, practically leaping into Toga’s arms and wrapping his arms around her neck. “She’s nice and funny!”

Disgusting laughter filled the air as Toga grabbed him and stood up, giving him another one of her rib crushing hugs. “He likes me Shigaraki! Do you like me more than him, Kurogiri?”

He shrugged, resting his head on her shoulder. “I dunno know. I dunno you guys.”

Shigaraki jumped down from the counter. “I need a drink.”

“You can’t drink when you’re taking care of a kid!” Toga gasped. “You need to be making dinner, and playing with him, makin him laugh, you know--taking care of him!”

“Okay you know what give me the kid.” Shigaraki approached Toga, holding his arms out. “Give him to me and get out, I will deal with this on my own. Come back again tomorrow.”

She huffed, giving Kurogiri one last squeeze before she handed him over and started to leave the bar. She said some sort of insult that Shigaraki didn’t regsister, because he was holding Kurogiri oddly, sort of draped across both arms, his right one locked around only one of his legs, and he was /squirming/ and /whining/ and to get him to stop Shigaraki simply set the kid back on the bar. Kurogiri pulled his legs to his chest and leaned his chin against his knees, watching Shigaraki pace back and forth, talking to himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, both Toga and Dabi had been right. He pulled Father off his face, setting it gently in his hoodie’s pocket, then swiped the key off the counter and shoved it in his pants pocket. He scooped up Kurogiri one more time; one arm under his back, the other under his knees. Kurogiri went limp, a dissatisfied scowl on his face, and Shigaraki thought ‘ah, yes, this is definitely Kurogiri.’

Shigaraki had to maneuver Kurogiri around a bit in order to shut off the bar lights and lock the door. For whatever fucking god forsaken reason ran through this kid’s mind, he /bit/ Shigaraki’s arm, and with a startled scream Shigaraki nearly threw him.

“You fuckin’ brat!”

People were starting to look toward the two, and in a panic Shigaraki threw his hood over his head and started off down the street.

Even though the man--kid?--could damn near show up in any place he wanted to, his apartment was only a few blocks away. Shigaraki used to walk from it to much, much farther when he was a kid, in order to hang around at the malls or sit at one of the parks for a few hours. It would only take maybe twenty minutes from where they were now, and thankfully on the way no one gave them weird glances.

“Can I have rice for dinner?” Kurogiri asked, breaking the silence that Shigaraki found so comforting. “With stew! Lots and lots of stew!”

“I--uh. Yeah. Sure, I guess.” Shigaraki wasn’t entirely paying attention. He shifted Kurogiri so he was holding him in one arm, honestly surprised at how /heavy/ five year olds were. They didn’t look like all that much, but his arms were already straining just walking half a block down the street. “Can you walk?”



He set Kurogiri down and stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping an eye on their surroundings. They were in a fairly busy district now, full of movie theaters, small shops, and lots of fountains and statues. It was pretty, really, with flower beds wherever he looked and a gradually fading blue sky that glazed the city in a brilliant orange hue.

But this wasn’t their destination, and Shigaraki hated standing in the middle of so many people he didn’t know or care about.

When he squinted, blocking the sun with one hand, he could see the very top floor of Kurogiri’s apartment building. With it now in sight, he began weaving his way around people, keeping his head low and eyes on the ground.

“Wataru! Are you coming or not?”

“I’m here.”

Shigaraki jumped, glancing left. The small misty child was holding out a hand, as if he expected Shigaraki to take it.

“Absolutely not.”

Tears welled up in Kurogiri’s eyes faster than Shigaraki could say anything. Except they weren’t like real tears, and more like soft bubbly clusters of mist that floated up and up and dissipated right above his head.

Shigaraki rolled his eyes, pressing onwards. “Just walk.”

“Don’t leave me behind!”

“Then walk, damn it!”

Kurogiri whined softly, rubbing his eyes. He followed Shigaraki through the crowd, sniffing, trying to stay as close to him as he could without losing him. Shigaraki was walking fast, making a beeline for the next street, and when he stopped at a crosswalk Kurogiri ran right into his legs. The man growled, obviously annoyed, and turned to scoop Kurogiri back into his arms.


“That was your one chance, now you gotta be carried.”

“Not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Kurogiri.”

“You’re being mean!” Kurogiri squirmed, sinking his teeth into Shigaraki’s arm again. His grip on the child only tightened, smashing Kurogiri against his chest until he stopped whining and flailing.

“Bite me again you fuckin’ brat and you won’t get your dinner,” Shigaraki snarled.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri began to cry. No, he sobbed, covering his face with his hands, and for someone with such a soft spoken voice, his cry was /deafening/. It grated Shigaraki’s ears.

As soon as the light changed to walk Shigaraki booked it. He ran, sprinting past people at a speed almost invisible to the naked eye. It took mere seconds to reach the apartment, and his stop was so sudden he would have lost Kurogiri if he wasn’t holding on so hard. It seemed the kid didn’t enjoy that one bit, as his crying only got louder, his words jumbled and incomprehensible. Whatever. They were home now, or almost home, and on his way up the stairs he accidentally disintegrated multiple parts of the railing while trying to keep his balance.

This building was was so old and badly run. The heat and AC didn’t work well (Kurogiri didn’t mind, he said it messed with his fog), the railing was rickety, and the stairs creaked with every step he took. It was worse than when he was a kid. He wondered, briefly, if maybe the landlords weren’t taking care of it as much as they could have, but he wasn’t one to speak, living in the back of a bar and...everything.

Shigaraki shook his head, setting Kurogiri on the ground in front of a door on the third floor. It was probably the one door in best condition, because even though it was an old place, Kurogiri wasn’t one to have a messy or run down lifestyle.

“Give me just a sec,” Shigaraki grumbled, fishing the key out of his pocket. He opened the door to an almost unbearably hot apartment, the entirety of it nearly spotless, cleaned, and tidy. It was a modest and surprisingly modern apartment, really, with a small living room containing a loveseat couch, a coffee table, and a rug; a kitchen with a handful of small appliances; and a few cacti here and there, sitting on the balcony and in window sills.

He ushered Kurogiri into the apartment, locking it behind him. Taking his own shoes off was easy enough, but when he reached out for Kurogiri, the boy jerked away, sat down, and tried to pry his shoes off himself. His eyes were set into a slanted, determined scowl.

Shigaraki waited until he was ready, and gestured for him to go sit at the table as he pulled out his phone, holding it in a way that only three of his fingers were ever touching it. God, he just needed to get some gloves and cut off the thumbs or something. But he was too stubborn for that.

“You wanted rice and stew. Do you even fuckin own any stew?”

“I dunno!”

“I wasn’t talking to you!”

“Yes you were!”

“Keep going Kurogiri and I swear to god…”

How long was this going to last? Shigaraki glanced at Kurogiri from behind his phone, hoping it wasn’t going to be more than a few hours. They had encountered odd situations before while fighting heroes, as quirks really were quite wild and growing more wild with each passing generation, though they had never really come across anyone with an age regression quirk before. He absentmindedly scratched at his neck, looking around the kitchen for any bags of rice.

He found a ton in the back of the pantry, and a few cans of the stew Kurogiri had demanded.

Right, Kurogiri loved stew. Made it all the time when Shigaraki was a child, just because it was easy to make when one had the cans and rice. Sometimes he’d make /real/ stew, warm and savory, but Shigaraki had barely used a microwave in his life, so there was no way in hell he was going to be doing that.

“Are you behaving, Wataru?” Shigaraki called over the counter when he heard it go silent. He heard a thump and quiet footsteps come around the counter, and big yellow eyes stared up at him.

“There’s nothin’ to play with here.”

“Because you got rid of all the toys when I was like thirteen, dumbass. I haven’t touched toys since I was ten.” Shigaraki pulled the rice cooker toward him and got it set up. Next he pulled out a pot, following instructions he found online and on the back of the can: dump it in, bring it to a boil, take it off the burner, and serve. Easy enough.

“I wanna play! ...can I watch TV instead?”

Shigaraki nodded. “Uh...yeah, I guess. Whatever.”

As Kurogiri ran into the living room, Shigaraki went through the pantry again. It was fairly well stocked but had more ingredients and things that couldn’t be eaten alone than snacks of any kind--if he remembered right, Kurogiri had minored in culinary or something? So that was great. The one man who knew how to cook and he was a five year old sitting on the couch, fumbling around with the TV remote.

YouTube could help him figure out how to make things, but Shigaraki could only get so far right now. It wasn’t something he payed attention to when Kurogiri had tried to urge him to learn; all Shigaraki had wanted to do was play games, and go to meet up with Sensei on the outskirts of town, and study the heroes that showed up on TV. Maybe he could just order some pizzas and call it good, though he recalled that Kurogiri didn’t eat pizza very often. Or fast food in general. Did he develop his eating habits by this point? How did /five year olds work?/

Shigaraki ran his fingers through his hair, pulling his bangs out of his eyes. He opened half a dozen drawers to find a plastic spoon, and stirred the gradually warming canned stew while keeping an eye on Kurogiri. He’d figured out how to turn the TV on, the remote comically big for his hands, and had some sort of news channel playing.

What he heard was nothing new. He grabbed the pot, now bubbling gently, off the stove and turned around, continuing to stir it gently as he walked into the living room.

“Today, at about 5:20 PM, the ‘League of Villains’ were spotted again in Hosu, Tokyo, presumably targeting a truck of hero support equipment…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Shigaraki swiped the remote from Kurogiri, ignoring his loud whining as he flicked through various other channels. News, news, more news--cartoons. “Look at that! Pokemon. Do you like Pokemon?”


“I’m disowning you.”

“No! Don’t! I dunno what it is!”

“You don’t even know what it fucking means!” Shigaraki huffed, returning to the kitchen and setting the pan on a different burner. Kurogiri jumped off the couch and followed him, standing right next to him in front of the stove. He even grabbed Shigaraki’s pant leg, holding onto it.

In that moment, Shigaraki thought he might actually punt Kurogiri halfway across the city.

“Don’t touch me.”

Kurogiri let go. He looked up, watching Shigaraki move across the kitchen to find the plates. Like they always had been, they were to the right of the microwave, and he put two plates of rice and stew over it on the table.

Seemingly pleased, the child ran over to the table and hauled himself onto the chair. He immediately stuck his finger into the food, yanking it out suddenly. “Hot!”

“No shit. Hurry up and go back to normal, I can’t take how stupid you are.”

“‘M not…” Kurogiri grabbed his spoon and took the biggest bite of stew and rice Shigaraki had ever seen anyone take. He could open his mouth /surprisingly/ wide, his mouth a deep but vibrant blue, both rows of teeth obnoxiously sharp and...he chomped through the spoon.

Shigaraki flopped down in the chair across from Kurogiri, holding his head in his hands. “You fucking idiot.”

“What!” Kurogiri crunched through the spoon, likely intending to eat the damn thing. “It’s good.” He pouted.

“Metal’s not good for you, dumbass. If you weren’t important to the League I’d leave you at the orphanage.”

“Mama and papa will come get me then! They ALWAYS do!” Kurogiri smacked his hands against the table, his mist surprisingly animate. It became jagged, flowing off his body in clumpy chunks. A moment to process what Kurogiri just said and a cold spike felt like it had lodged itself in Shigaraki’s chest.



Oh no.

Think fast, think fast.

“Sure they will, kid,” Shigaraki sneered. It was forced, halfhearted. He stared at his food, fingers twitching with the urge to grab Father and hide away. “You want the HEROES to come find you too, huh? Cause they probably won’t.”

He hadn’t known Kurogiri’s parents. The man barely spoke about them. Of the few times Shigaraki had actually heard of them, one was of their first days together, the second was Shigaraki just being curious, and the third was the announcement that both had passed away a few years ago in an incident across seas.

Age regression wouldn’t bring them back. Kurogiri hadn’t appeared very bothered at the time--if it had bothered him, he hid it very well. He’d become more or less a master at being emotionless, hiding behind the fog, and even Shigaraki, who knew him best, often had a hard time determining what he was thinking or feeling. A five year old who had no idea who he was, what had happened, who had been /forty years old/ before the regression, would have no understanding of death.

“For god’s sake Wataru don’t eat the metal!” Shigaraki had spaced out, and in that time, Kurogiri, despite the mist remaining as choppy as it had, settled down and started eating again. He stuck his blue tongue out, shoving the rest of the spoon in his mouth.

“I wanna go home! I don’t wanna be here. You’re /mean/.”

“This is your home!”

Shigaraki inhaled sharply, reaching for his phone. He dropped it once, then again, then scooped it and set it on the table. He dialed a number that he had, but had never used before.

“No, Kurogiri, /sit down/.”

The boy was getting up, sliding off the chair with a determined scowl on his face. He walked to the door, his tiny fists balled up, but before he could get to the door Shigaraki jumped in front of him.

He leaned down, staring into Kurogiri’s eyes. “This. Is. Your. Home.”

“I want mama and papa!”

“They’re DEAD, Kurogiri! Dead! They’ve been dead for years, now sit the fuck down!”

“What the fuck do you want hands man.”

“Oh! Toga. Good.”

“I said what the fuck do you want hands man.”

A loud sob had Shigaraki twitching. Surely kids didn’t understand death yet, but his tone had surely set the kid off. He was sitting on the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs with his head shoved into his knees. The mist was completely gone--in its place, a small child, with soft pale skin and soft violet hair that looked more like a baby duck’s fluff than any hair Shigaraki had ever seen.

Shigaraki’s breath caught in his throat. Toga was badgering him again, demanding to know what he’d done to that ‘sweet precious child’.

“Get the fuck over here right now, Toga,” Shigaraki hissed. “I’ll send you the location. Just fuckin’ hurry up.”

“I have things I’m doing!”

“Then bring it over?”

He glanced down at Kurogiri, nudging him with his foot, earning him another sob.

He hated to admit it, but… He understood this, in a way. Being stuck in an unfamiliar place without his parents, guided around by some unfamiliar guy who claimed to be his caretaker. Sensei, by all means, was definitely not his father so much as he was a teacher. But Kurogiri was more or less his father, though Shigaraki tried as hard as he could to view him simply as a mentor.

A mentor who had been with him since he was seven years old. Who hadn’t turned him away every time he cried that his family was gone and no one helped him. Who made him food and gave him blankets and let him watch as much TV as he wanted. A mentor who found him tutors for school rather than send him to a public school when he wasn’t ready, who always took him to meet with Sensei right on time, and was never late picking him up from anywhere.

Shigaraki gripped the phone so hard as he was sending the location to Toga that he almost shattered the glass. When he had confirmed the location sent, he threw the phone as hard as he could against the opposite wall. It dented the drywall and fell to the ground, but Shigaraki had no desire to go and pick it up.

“Come finish your dinner, Kurogiri.” He tried to keep his voice as even as he could.

“No! I want mama and papa!”


Little by little, the boy looked up at him. His face was red, but his cat-like eyes were are bright and stunning as Shigaraki had remembered them. In his mist form, they were simply blocks of yellow, but without the mist they were strikingly gold, with flecks of orange and red.

He rubbed at the tears on his face. “I don’t wanna.”

“Listen to me, please,” Shigaraki pleaded. He ripped off his glove, scratching violently at his jawline. “Your /family/ isn’t here. There’s no other way around that, Kurogiri. They won’t be coming. Ever. They’re gone. It’s just--it’s just me now. You need to eat.”

Kurogiri sniffed. He stood up, wiping fresh tears off his face with the back of his long sleeve, and meandered quietly to the table. Shigaraki didn’t move an inch, watching him take Shigaraki’s unused spoon from his plate and use it to scoop stew into his mouth. He didn’t chew it up.

Shigaraki exhaled, flopping on the couch. He leaned against his knee, urging Toga to get here faster, faster, because as it was, Kurogiri wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

They sat in silence for longer than he thought, having muted the TV long ago. Toga wasn’t able to drive, so she likely had to take the train. Whenever Shigaraki spoke, Kurogiri ignored him, focusing on eating as much stew as he could. Which was a surprising amount.

It was nearly an hour later when the door suddenly burst open. Toga swooped into the room like some sort of fucking angel, a toothy grin on her cat-like face as she ignored Shigaraki and went straight for Kurogiri.

“Miss Toga!” he cried after recovering from the shock of her sudden appearance. “Miss Toga’s here!!”

Toga picked him up in a hug, smooshing both of their faces together. “I’ve never seen you without your mist, Kurogiri!”

“I got tired!” He giggled, wrapping his arms around Toga’s neck. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, cause Shigaraki’s being a huge meanie isn’t he. So I came to rescue you!”

Kurogiri grinned, patting Toga’s face. “Can we play! I wanna play!”

“You bet we can! I got some of my little sister’s toys to play with.” Toga set him on the ground and he immediately sat, staring up at her as she swung the backpack off of her back and dumped out wooden bricks and toy cars and lots of little dolls. He reached out for the dolls, holding on out to Toga, who took it with a smile. “You’re really good at sharing, aren’t ya?”

“Mama said it’s good to share.” Kurogiri made a tower out of the blocks and sat one of the dolls on the top.

Toga shot Shigaraki a look, and all he could give her was a panicked shrug. She kept her grin up and flopped onto the ground beside the child, setting her doll on the blocks beside his. “Sharing’s a good thing if you’re sharing the /right/ thing.” Winking at him, Toga got back up and twirled over toward Shigaraki, sitting down beside him on the couch. “Does the rest of the league know yet? Have you told them?”


“Oh you probably should.”

“Heh. I told them we’re meeting at the bar tomorrow morning if Dabi hasn’t spilled.”

“Dabi doesn’t /care/.”

“Of course.” Shigaraki flopped back against the couch, ramming the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Mr. Compress is going to be pissed.”

She snorted, balling up her fist and resting her head against it. She grinned softly and a mischievous glint glimmered in her eye. “Oh, he’s gonna be SO pissed his boyfriend is now five years old. AND he’s been gone for a week at this point. Can’t we just pass Kurogiri off to him?”

“Sensei doesn’t want me to.”

“Miss Toga!! Do you have any clicky blocks?”

Immediately her attention was turned to the boy. “Clicky blocks?” she asked. “What kinda blocks are those, sweet child?”

“They’re like-!” Kurogiri huffed and stuck two blocks on top of each other. “Like this! But they don’t fall apart!”

“Legos,” Shigaraki growled. “He wants Legos.”

“Well, better go get him some!”

“Hell no!”

Toga punched Shigaraki in the shoulder. “You told me he got you anything you wanted, didn’t you? Stop being an ass to him. Little kids don’t deserve that.”

“Ugh! Fine!” Shigaraki got to his feet, throwing his arms in the air. “Toga, you’re the babysitter. Don’t fuck up.”