Hiccstrid Redraw :)

Unmasking the Heart

Y/N and Shoji share a quiet romance, built on trust and unspoken affection. After witnessing a passionate kiss between two students, Y/N realizes how much she craves the intimacy she's never had with Shoji.

Tags: First kiss, Insecurity, Private Relationship, Affection, Mild Suggestive Themes (18+), GN! Reader, Light Angst

W/C: 1.8k

~Hey everyone! I've been writing for a while, but this is the first story l'm posting here. I actually wrote it months ago on a different platform and just now decided to share it. If y'all like this one, I have tons of other stories sitting in my drafts that l'd love to post-let me know what you think!~

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The polished floors of UA High echoed with the soft murmur of students transitioning between lunches. You and Shoji were walking outside the corridor during lunch, opting to enjoy the nice day. There was a spot you two enjoyed occupying on days like this—a shaded area behind a tree that provided some privacy from other students.

A comfortable silence hung between you two, your steps in sync as you walked side by side. You’d been dating for a couple of months now, but neither of you made a big show of affection in public. Only those who paid close attention could see the depth of your connection—something more than just friendship.

As you turned toward your usual spot, your peaceful moment was shattered by an unexpected scene. Just ahead, two students stood locked in a kiss, completely lost in each other. Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks. Despite them being the ones engaging in PDA, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed witnessing it—almost as if you were the one who had been caught.

A gentle tug on the sleeve of your sweater pulled you from your daze. Shoji was quietly signaling for you to leave. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, you were surprised to see a blush creeping up from beneath his mask, the pink hue deepening across his cheeks. Shoji, who was usually calm and collected, rarely letting others affect him, was blushing? It was a small detail considering his mask was hiding his cheeks, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Without a word, you both walked away. Yet, the image lingered in your mind, making it difficult to pretend you hadn’t seen the kiss. An awkward silence settled between you as you hurried to find another spot.

That night, as you sat at your vanity, brushing your freshly washed hair, the thought of the kiss haunted you. The carefree way they were able to show affection, so natural and unguarded, replayed over and over in your mind.

Something stirred deep within you—an ache you hadn’t realized was there. You and Shoji hadn’t had your first kiss yet. And for that to happen, he would have to take off his mask.

You knew about Shoji’s insecurities—he had confided in you about his scars, the ones he kept hidden beneath the fabric. He had told you how he felt his face made others uncomfortable, how he wore the mask more for their sake than his own. The thought of him feeling the need to hide himself from the world hurt more than you could put into words. You boyfriend was too selfless.

But you never pushed him. You understood his hesitation and respected his boundaries. Still, you wished he could see himself the way you saw him—strong, kind, and so much more than just his appearance.

Days passed in a blur of classes and training, but the quiet ache remained. The deeper your bond with Shoji grew, the more you yearned to be closer to him—not just emotionally, but physically. You wanted to erase the lingering doubts you knew still resided in his heart.

One evening, as you sat together in your dorm with textbooks and notebooks scattered around, Shoji noticed the distant look in your eyes. He was always observant, attuned to even the smallest changes in the people around him. You weren’t acting withdrawn, but your mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice soft with concern, "Is something bothering you?"

His question caught you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat. The words you had been struggling to say for days were suddenly on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find the right way to express what you felt, so you averted your gaze, twisting the fabric of your sweater.

"It’s nothing," you mumbled, forcing a smile, but your eyes didn’t meet it.

Your boyfriend didn’t buy it. He stayed quiet for a moment, giving you space to speak if you chose to. When you didn’t, he tried again, his voice steady and full of reassurance.

"Y/N, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I want to understand."

His words settled over you like a comforting weight, grounding you. You swallowed hard, breath catching in your throat.

""It’s just been on my mind lately," you admitted, voice faltering. "Ever since we saw that couple, I…" You hesitated, unsure how to put it into words.

You took a shaky breath. "I’ve been thinking about kissing you," you finally murmured, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment.

You could feel the flush creeping up your neck. "I don’t want you to feel pressured," you added quickly. "I know it probably sounds stupid, and I…" You trailed off, watching his expression.

Shoji went still, caught off-guard by your confession. He had always admired your straightforwardness, but now it was his turn to be at a loss for words. His hands tightened on the table before him, his face flushing a soft pink before he took in what you had said. He knew you meant no harm, but a part of him felt scared. He wanted to say something, to reassure you, but he couldn't get the words out, the insecurity drowning him.

The silence stretched on, and you could see him battling within himself. You watched him closely, your heart sinking as hesitation flickered in his eyes. That look—the way he seemed to shrink into himself—made your chest ache.

"I don’t want you to hide from me," you said, your voice now firm. "Not from me, Mezo."

Gently, you reached out, resting your hands on either side of his face. "I need you to hear me," you whispered. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I care about you—all of you. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

Your thumbs brushed over the fabric of his mask. "You’re the most selfless, strongest person I know. And I swear, nothing could ever change the way I feel about you."

He was still, so still, but you felt his breath tremble, his resolve wavering beneath the weight of your words.

"Y/N, I… I don't want to lose you," he murmured, his voice thick with fear. "I’m used to this happening, but it’s different with you. What if you don’t feel the same way anymore?"

Your heart clenched at his words. You gently brushed your thumb across his masked jawline. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I love you with the mask, and I’ll love you without the mask, with scars, without scars. I love all of you. You are beautiful to me, inside and out."

Shoji’s eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his fears—of the rejection he had braced for—slowly began to lift. Your love, patient and unwavering, reached the wounds he had kept hidden for so long, healing him in ways he never thought possible.

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t the first kiss you had imagined, but in this moment, it meant something deeper. It was a quiet vow, a promise that nothing about him could ever push you away.

He exhaled shakily, his hand trembling as it covered yours, the warmth of his touch an unspoken acknowledgment. Then, with careful movements, he removed your hands from his face and sat up straighter, tension coiling in his posture.

"Close your eyes," he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, squeezing them shut. You listened as he undid the clasps of his mask, the soft rustling of fabric as it fell away.

His hands reached for yours, guiding your fingers to his face. As your touch met his skin, you felt the contours of his scars—the raised ridges, the uneven texture—each mark a roadmap of his past, now yours to explore.

Your fingertips traced along the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his cheek, the depth of each scar. You could feel his tears, warm and unguarded, slipping down his face.

Your hands moved to cup his cheeks with a tenderness meant to soothe. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering love, "You are so beautiful."

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, then deepened with the weight of months of unspoken emotions finally breaking free. It was raw, full of quiet devotion, a silent reassurance that nothing had changed—only strengthened.

When you finally parted, you opened your eyes, drinking in the sight of him. His expression held a vulnerability you had never seen before, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. You took in every curve, every mark, every beautiful imperfection—memorizing him, loving him, just as he was.

Damn. Your boyfriend is hot.

The thought hit you so suddenly that you barely had time to process it before you were leaning in again, drawn to him like gravity. This kiss was different— more desperate. You just wanted to feel him, to drown in the warmth of his touch. Your fingers tangled in his white locks, giving a gentle pull that sent a shiver through him.

Two of Shoji’s hands gripped your waist, hesitant yet firm, while the others hovered uncertainly, as if unsure where they belonged. Slowly, you shifted closer, straddling him, feeling the sharp hitch in his breath against your lips.

The kiss grew more fervent, months of unspoken feelings, stolen glances, and quiet longing spilling into each movement. You gasped softly as his hands tightened around you, grounding himself in the moment. When you accidentally bit his lip, a low, unexpected moan escaped him, sending heat coursing through your veins.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths and quiet moans as your hands explored every contour of each other’s bodies, committing them to memory. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a silent vow—one of trust, of love, of something deeper than words could ever convey.

When you finally parted, foreheads pressed together, your chests rose and fell in sync. Shoji swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you, Y/N."

Your heart soared, and a soft smile curled at your lips. "I love you too, Mezo."

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

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"hiccup and astrid dating" this "hiccup and astrid dating" that, but lets talk about BEFORE they were together

im currently rewatching rtte and im noticing a bunch of details people DONT TALK ABOUT!!! hiccup and astrid always standing or sitting next to each other, hiccup being the only one to comfort astrid when heather leaves, hiccup and astrid just being the bestest of buds and always hanging out, astrid talking about hiccup when he's not there, even just the smallest of details like just glancing at each other. the twins are doing something stupid? astrid turns to give hiccup a raise of the brow, and hiccup just shrugs.

AND LETS NOT FORGET IN LIKE THE FIRST EPISODE, HICCUP AND ASTRID SIT NEXT TO EACHOTHER ON THE BEACH WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS ASLEEP, JUST TALKING WHILE GAZING AT THE MOON!!!! these are the purest details never mentioned and it makes me sad :(

edit: "i can't imagine a world without you in it" BEING SAID BETWEEN THEM, WITH NO ROMANTIC FEELINGS BEING SAID YET? I ACTUALLY CAN'T THEY'RE EVERYTHING😭❤️

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING!!

Hear me out; a Renegades tv show animated in the style of Arcane/Spider-verse

that feeling when you have a fire idea for a fanfiction but don't have enough motivation or writing skill to make it more than just your imaginary story you think about at night

hi so i never saw anyone correcting Viggo's age so im sorry if im wrong on him being 30, i was making a guess and also some other people that i saw on reddit and fandom were saying he's around that age (since im pretty sure they never actually mention his age in the show but i could be wrong)

also yes me saying they need therapy was a joke, and it was intended to be, so i apologize if you take that the wrong way. I was never trying to be rude, or ableist, that is legitimately just my humor, and i joke about needing therapy with my friends and some of which actually go to therapy and have never been offended.

my original post was just me stating my opinion while trying to be a little funny, i again, never intended for anyone to take my jokes so seriously and be offended by my opinion on a ship from a kid's show.

my whole reblog saying it was a joke was because i saw your reblog and thought it was really funny, and seeing other people saying the same things as you, so I decided to reblog it stating my whole therapy thing was a joke (even though I thought it was kind of obvious)

i was not and AM not trying to harrass people who ship viggo and hiccup, and don't want to cause problems. again im sorry if that's how you took it, but that was not my intention. i didn't even think anyone would really see the post so i apologize.

have a blessed day.❤️

i actually refuse to believe vigcup shippers are real like wdym you ship the enemies that have nothing in common and are 11 years apart together like that's a fresh adult with a 30 year old how do you find this okay im genuinely concerned

So the other day my friend was spending the night and I was trying to suggest things to do, so I went on Disney+ so if she wanted to watch anything and I started suggesting things as jokes like Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and then I clicked on Miraculous and started playing Derision (she doesn't like Miraculous) but I had already started watching it and I was about to click off and she was like "HOLD UP, WHY SHE PANICKING??" cuz like Mari was freaking out and we ended up watching the whole episode and then I showed her the whole dream in Perfection and she hated every moment of it😍😍

An accurate depiction of the labyrinth that is Adrien's mind

Inside Out but its all the multiple variations of Adrichat

Bonus:

What a weird guy, huh!

Unfinished. Won't finish.

pov when ace took novas bracelet