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Hell Hath No Fury

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“Where is he?” an enraged voice shouted, her red eyes the color of blood as she stormed down the halls. Heroes trailed her, futilely attempting to placate her. “Where is my son, you fucking bastards-“


She whirled at the sound of her godson’s voice, her eyes finding his bush of green hair against the tide of students,- Katsuki’s classmates, she realized belatedly- and zeroed in on his familiar eyes. 

“Where the hell is he, Izuku?” Mitsuki seethed, knowing that Izuku would know.

He always knew when it came to Katsuki.


A light hand landed on her shoulder and she twisted with the intent to give whoever thought touching her was a good fucking idea a nice punch to the jaw, but something wrapping around her wrist stopped her.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Izuku squeaked, drawing her attention away from the R-rated heroine she had been about to sock the face of.

“Where’s my son?” Snarling, she turned her attention to the man of the fucking hour. Her son’s teacher. “Do you know? Or are you too busy not giving a fuck?”

He stiffened at the scathing remark, his face remaining a tired, blank, infuriating mask. “Mrs. Bakugo-“

She scoffed at the well-hidden offense in the undercurrents of his tone. “You put him on a fucking podium,” she growled. Slowly. Menacingly. “Chained him up like a goddamn animal, and presented him to the whole fucking world while he thrashed against a fucking muzzle. So fucking help me, I will tear you to the ground if I don’t see my son right now.”

Heroes and students alike shifted uncomfortably at the outburst but Mitsuki could give a rat’s ass.

Her eyes flicked to Izuku, who met her lava-hot stare with his own glimmer of anger. And determination. 

Mitsuki remembered the day in college that Inko almost got herself expelled for cursing out a professor for being discriminatory towards mutation quirks in his classroom and turned her gaze back to the ragged man. Inko wouldn’t stand for this shit either, and with a lawyer as fucking determined as a Midoriya…

Oh, these poor fuckers we’re going to regret ever touching her son.