falseprophet:

partsinwrongplaces:

Tiny!Shigaraki and Caregiver!Kurogiri are my aesthetic. 

Three things to note: 

Kurogiri does not really understand video games, but he tries for Shigaraki’s sake.

Poor Shigaraki, traumatized child that he was, has always had a bit of a weak bladder. He probably wet the bed well into his pre-teens. Kurogiri, knowing what he’d been through, was always understanding.

Young Shigaraki cried a lot: when he made things disintegrate by accident, when he felt afraid or frustrated, and sometimes even he wasn’t sure why.

Kurogiri stood in the doorway, body pulsing and heaving beneath his clothes as he ‘caught his breath’ so to speak. He’d not run so fast in a long time but the sound of Shigaraki’s crying was enough to get the man’s heart racing. The last time the boy had such a fit it was because All For One was being too harsh. Kurogiri had little to no contact with his master and employer–among other things–for weeks and the thought that he might run into him as well as a growing need to see that Shigaraki’s emotional needs were met, had sent the Villain running.

He had not expected to see the boy alone, seated on the side of his bed, sobbing. As Kurogiri stepped into the room he gave one last final–almost hopeful–look around but All For One was nowhere to be seen. The void man turned his attention to his charge and felt frustration ebb into compassion. There was a large stain upon Shigaraki’s bed and as the boy rubbed his thighs together uncomfortably a wet stain came into and out of view.

“Ahh, I see,” Kurogiri said calmly, moving to kneel at the boy’s bedside, “did the accident wake you? Or did you have a nightmare, Tenko?”

The white haired boy rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes and swallowed hard. He sniffled and tried to put on a brave, angry face. 

“Don’t call me that,” the boy whipped, “that’s not my name!” The boy’s voice quickly hit a fever pitch before he fell back into the kind of panic sobs which had first alerted his caregiver. He dropped his hands to his sides and let his head fall back, tears running steadily down his face as he gave in to the act of crying.

Kurogiri’s peak dwindled softly as it often did when he felt compassionate–an unconscious effort to look ‘more human’ he assumed–and he reached out to put a hand on the boy’s knee.

“It’s all right, Tomura,” he acquiesced though he much preferred the boy’s given name, “accidents happen.” Kurogiri watched as his words not only failed to calm the boy but failed to entice any kind of reaction. “I’ll clean this up tomorrow–it’s late. Why don’t you come sleep with me, hmm?”

“On the-the-the waterbed?” Shigaraki hiccupped, rubbing at his eyes once more.

“Yes, the waterbed,” Kurogiri would have smirked at the irony had he the ability. This however seemed to placate the boy. Kurogiri stood and held out his hand. The white haired boy slowly slipped to the floor and very carefully took the offered black palm into four of his own fingers, keeping his thumb awkwardly away.