(Might do it from shigaraki pov since he the main villain and all)
Okay, here's a story based on your prompt, written from Shigaraki's POV:
The damn mission. It was supposed to be a milk run, a simple in-and-out. Dabi and I were a good team, our quirks complemented each other. He burned the exits, I decayed the threats. But some lowlife had to get a lucky shot in. A quirk, some kind of mutation bullshit, and now I'm stuck with... this.
"Another successful night, Tomura," Dabi drawled, leaning against the doorframe, cigarette dangling from his lips. His turquoise eyes, unnervingly similar to that icy bastard Todoroki, scanned me up and down. He always got a kick out of seeing me ruffled, out of control.
"Shut it, Dabi," I grumbled, rubbing my temples. The throbbing behind my eyes wouldn't quit since the party.
Back at the safe house, Kurogiri had already started prepping dinner, the clatter of pans somehow managing to be soothing. Twice and Toga were bickering over the merits of different blood types – their usual schtick. Oboro was animatedly chatting with Compress and Spinner, probably about some new hero tech or societal injustice. The familiar chaos, the twisted camaraderie, it was almost… comforting.
I downed a lukewarm beer and crashed on the couch, the image of that damn thief's smug face flashing in my mind. What the hell was that quirk? I felt... off.
The next morning, the 'off' transformed into a full-blown existential crisis.
I woke up sweating, a strange pressure between my shoulder blades. I lurched out of bed, a wave of dizziness washing over me. Stumbling to the mirror, I nearly choked.
Sticking out from my back, inky black against my pale skin, were wings. Leathery, veined, demonic wings. And sprouting from my forehead, two curved, ebony horns.
"What the hell?" I hissed, my reflection mocking me with its suddenly monstrous visage.
This had to be that guy's quirk. Great. Just freaking great. Now I had to deal with being a literal demon.
Swallowing my pride, I pulled out my phone. There was only one person I knew who had any experience with avian appendages.
Shigaraki: Oi bird brain, I need help
Hawks: Oh whats this hand job needing help?
Shigaraki: Don't call me that
Hawks: yea yea anyways whats up?
Shigaraki: How do you uh control and fly with your wings?
Hawks: ...what?
Shigaraki: I got hit by a quirk and I have wings and need help
Hawks: Oh ok got you, uh just take it slow and to fold your wings move them in and to let them out well move them out.
Shigaraki: alright thanks birdy
Hawks: anytime handy, oh and to fly just uh flap your wings!
Shigaraki: Don't call me that! and yea yea.
Wonderful. 'Just flap your wings!' Like it was that simple. Folding them was another story. It felt unnatural, like trying to cram a mountain range into a shoebox. But after a solid half-hour of contortions, I managed to compress them enough to pass under a loose shirt and jacket. The horns were easier, hidden under a beanie.
Heading into the common room, I found the usual morning scene. Kurogiri, apron on, was flipping pancakes. The aroma was almost enough to mask the perpetual scent of cigarette smoke clinging to Dabi. Twice was having an argument with himself, and Toga was sharpening her knives with an unsettlingly cheerful hum. Oboro was deep in discussion with Compress about some new escape route he'd discovered.
The League. Or, what was left of it. Reborn, fractured, and now, inexplicably, my family. A strange pang resonated in my chest as I watched them. A warmth I hadn't felt since... well, since Nana.
"Morning, crusty," Dabi greeted, his gaze lingering a little too long. "Sleep well?"
"Peachy," I snapped, grabbing a plate of pancakes. I needed to keep this under wraps. The less everyone knew about my demonic makeover, the better. It would fade eventually, right? Quirks didn't last forever.
Days bled into weeks, and the changes remained stubbornly persistent. The wings were heavy, a constant reminder. The horns, thankfully, were less of a nuisance. But the constant need to hide, the fear of being discovered, was grating on my nerves.
One afternoon, I was changing in my room, sweat beading on my forehead from a particularly grueling training session. Shirtless, in only my boxers, wings spread wide for a moment of relief, I heard a click.
Dabi stood in the doorway. He wasn't supposed to be here. He never came in here.
His eyes widened, taking in the full scope of my… transformation. A slow smirk spread across his scarred face.
"Well, well, Tomura," he purred, stepping closer. "What have we here?"
He reached out, his fingertips brushing against the base of one of my wings. A shock, like static electricity, jolted through me. I flinched.
"Don't," I growled, pushing past him. He was in my space, invading my privacy.
But he didn't move. He just stood there, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He reached out again, this time cupping the entire wing in his hand.
The sensation was… overwhelming. A strange mix of pleasure and pain, heat and vulnerability. My breath hitched. My skin burned.
"Soft," he murmured, tracing the delicate bones with his fingers. "Like feathers."
"Get out, Dabi!" I yelled, my voice cracking.
He hesitated, then, with a final, lingering touch, he turned and left. The air in the room seemed to thrum with unspoken tension. I slammed the door shut, my chest heaving.
What the hell was that?
In a panic, I dialed Hawks again.
"Bird brain, I need your help. Again."
"Wow, you really are in a bind, aren't you, Handy?" he chuckled. "What's got you flapping your wings now?"
I explained, stumbling over my words, about Dabi, the wings, the… sensations.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
"Huh," Hawks finally said. "Well, that's… interesting. Wings are sensitive, pal. They're covered in nerve endings. Touching them can be… well, it can trigger a whole lot of things. Relaxing, smoking something or even candy can repress the feeling for a while."
"Sensitive? I felt like I was on fire!"
"Yeah, well, some people like that kind of thing. Look, just try to avoid getting your wings manhandled, okay? It's not like anyone's gonna be walking around touching them, right?"
Right. Of course not. What were the odds?