#breaking the internet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aquamarixx · 2 months ago

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breaking the internet

chapter nine sparks fly as Hiori finds himself with unexpected realizations and plenty of "oh" moments, proving that love and self-discovery often come hand in hand. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, hurt/comfort masterlist

You find yourself defending Hiori from haters on the internet, like the petty girlfriend you are. It’s become a borderline hobby at this point, arguing in comment sections and subreddits whenever someone talks trash about Bastard München or Hiori himself.

Of course, as the adult you claim to be, you avoid insults and low blows. Instead, you opt for scathing yet professional comebacks, channeling your skills as a journalist.

And of course, like the smart adult that you are, you use a dummy account to do so.

It’s a bizarre pastime, born from the hours you spend researching for feature stories, editorials, and video content at work. Your roommate, Miko, doesn’t think it’s that weird, but she does call you “the crazy girlfriend.” You disagree, though you can’t entirely blame her.

After all, there’s nothing particularly normal about the sight of you furiously typing away at your laptop, decked out in worn-out college shirt and comfy pajamas, your hair an unkempt bun, crumbs of your favorite salted chips littering the couch. It’s a Thursday afternoon, and there you are, locked in a battle with sweaty fanboys whose egos are probably bigger than their actual football knowledge.

One night, while you’re deep in your moonlighting gig as Hiori’s internet knight, a message pops up on your phone. It’s from Hiori, probably fresh off training.

hiori_yo23: this you? 'Anonymous_screen322'?

Attached is a screenshot of one of your comments on a major JFA subreddit, your username staring back at you like a bright neon sign.

The comment?

A bold defense of Hiori as a better midfielder than Reäl’s Itoshi Sae. In it, you didn’t hold back, calling someone “a pathetic, stuck-up jerkface who clearly knows nothing about football stats because he’s too busy living in his mom’s basement, thinking the sport is all about goals and vibes.”

Panic rises in your chest. You stare at his message, fingers frozen above your phone screen. Before you can think of a response, your phone buzzes loudly, making you jump.

Hiori’s calling.

You take a deep breath and swipe to answer.

“Hello?” you say cautiously.

“Is it you?” he asks, his voice light, amused. You can almost see the grin on his face, imagine him lounging in his gaming chair, leaning back with his phone in hand.

You groan, burying your face in your free hand. “Yeah, it’s me. How did you even figure that out? I’ve been so careful!”

“That’s a pretty popular subreddit,” he says, a soft laugh escaping him. “Of course, I check it out sometimes. It’s fun reading people rant about everyone and everything. Plus, no one talks passionately about me like ya do.”

“Ugh, sorry. I know it’s weird,” you admit, laughing nervously. “I just… I like defending you. Gotta spread the Hiori Yo propaganda, you know”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “Don’t apologize. It’s kinda funny, actually. You’re like… the most respectful keyboard warrior I’ve ever seen.”

You grin. You’re just relieved that he doesn’t think you’re a total weirdo.

But you slip up.

It happens during a night out with your coworkers. You guys are talking shop when you stumble across a post from a rival media outlet, written by the same guy you’ve been butting heads with since you entered sports journalism.

The article is a hot take about how midfielders and defenders are “insignificant” compared to forwards and strikers. It’s basically him mansplaining the sport as if rating the players through style points matter. It’s obviously a bait post, made to rile up people and drive engagement.

In a perfect world, you’d scroll past it. Even with two mojitos in your system, you’d roll your eyes and move on. But then he name-drops Hiori, among other players.

So like the petty girlfriend that you are, it meant war for you.

Game on.

You crack your knuckles, take a sip of your third mojito, and start typing.

Anyone with half a brain would see this post for what it is: rage bait. As a journalist, you’d think you’d understand the sport you’re writing about. But clearly, you don’t.

You could’ve hit send. That could’ve been the end of it. But no, you’re just getting started.

The worst part isn’t your ignorance. It’s how you put down players who are doing their best under public scrutiny. Maybe you think no one will call you out, but think again. You’re just another toxic fanboy who pretends to know about the sport and brag about it around everyone you meet. But hey, at least you’re doing everyone a favor for being a pretentious walking red flag yourself that even men and women who have terrible eyesight can see you from miles away. I would rather be called biased for critically analyzing plays than be someone who’s just spouting jargon and putting down players as if he can play any better. Go read a book about football. Google’s free too. It wouldn’t hurt you to use your brain right.

By the time you’re done, you’ve unleashed a paragraph-long tirade. It feels amazing—better than the mojito, even. You put your phone down, smug, and rejoin the table.

The next morning, you wake up to a pounding headache and the sound of Miko banging on your door.

“Get up!” she yells. “Oh, you crazy, crazy girl. I didn’t know you had the guts to say this! Check your phone. Now.”

Groaning, you stumble out of bed and grab your phone. Notifications flood your screen. Tags, mentions, replies, likes. Confused, you tap one of the alerts.

And there it is.

The bait post from last night. The one where you defended Hiori.

You forgot to switch to your dummy account.

Panic washes over you as you realize you’d commented using your personal, professional account—the one tied to your job.

You open your work group chat, which is also blowing up.

your deskmate: ur insane. another coworker: brave but insane. your editor: Atta girl. 👍 Feisty’s good PR. Keep it up!

Relief trickles in when you read your boss’s message. Apparently, your little stunt worked in your outlet’s favor. People are flocking to your platform, calling it the one with “better takes.”

Miko walks in, handing you a glass of water and paracetamol. “You’re welcome,” she says with a smirk.

You scroll through the comments. A few criticize you for being “biased,” but it’s not like you’re reporting hard news. You write features and editorials, and in this day and age, people appreciate subjective, well-reasoned content over rage baiting.

Most of the comments are positive, commending you for calling out the post. It helps settle your nerves—until a new notification pops up.

A mention. From Hiori himself.

hiori_yo23: Always coming to our rescue. Thanks for taking care of us, /yn_offthepage.

Your jaw drops. The replies to your comment skyrocket. Everyone’s losing their minds over the fact that Hiori Yo noticed you. Again.

You roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. He’s teasing you.

You fire off a message to him.

yn_offthepage: Good morning to you too. Thanks for stirring the pot even more. hiori_yo23: Not my fault someone forgot to switch accounts during her white knight duties. yn_offthepage: I’m sorry, okay? I had drinks, and I got triggered when he mentioned you. hiori_yo23: yer good. It’s funny, honestly. but you don’t have to defend me. don’t want ya stressing over this stuff yn_offthepage: I want to, though. so don’t worry about it. thanks for having my back. hiori_yo23: anytime, princess. i gotcha.

Hiori is unusually excited today. It isn’t a high-stakes game, just an exhibition match between Bastard München and a visiting foreign team. A chance to relax, strategize, and test out new tactics alongside Ness, Coach Noa, and Grim.

The stadium is still packed, though. Even an exhibition match meant money for the JFA, and the crowd turnout reflected that.

Hiori played the first half, but midway through, he swapped out with Kiyora. The team is experimenting with different combinations, testing player synergies, and fine-tuning strategies. Even so, they secured a win, and Hiori felt good about the results, already anticipating the debrief with Coach Noa.

It’s nice that he’s getting pulled into these things for the team. It really shows the value he brings to the table and how he’s grown as a player with them.

After the game, he’s all smiles, he knows he’ll see you for sure. Until he saw them.

His parents. Both of them. Together.

They’re approaching him from the VIP section, their faces a picture of calm neutrality, though the sight of them side by side sent a jolt through Hiori’s chest. He has given them VIP tickets as a gesture, assuming only one might show up. They’ve vaguely mentioned attending, but he’d never expected them to come together.

Especially since they got divorced a year ago.

Breaking away from the team, Hiori approached them. He greeted his mom first, who pulled him into a warm, tight hug.

“Yo-kun, are you eating well? Have you been sick? Is that why you didn’t play the whole match?” Her voice was tinged with worry as she fussed over him, pinching his arms to check his muscle tone.

Hiori let out a soft laugh, trying to ease her concern. “M’fine, Mom. Just working on strategy with the coach and the seniors. It’s better to watch from the bench sometimes. Helps us figure out what needs improving. And it’s just an exhibition match.”

“Just an exhibition match? Are you hearing yourself, Yo-kun?” His dad’s sharp voice cut through the moment like a blade, his tone already brimming with frustration.

Hiori stiffened, his stomach knotting.

“You’re probably slacking off, that’s why you got benched,” his dad continued, crossing his arms. “I told you before, midfielders are easily replaceable. You should take notes from Isagi. Look at him—a go-getter. A real player. I thought Blue Lock and playing for the German club were supposed to make you better, but it’s like you’ve been regressing ever since.”

“Dad, that’s not—”

His father snaps, his voice rising. “What’s the point of being a player if you’re not the star? Are you really satisfied being second-rate?”

His mom tries to interject, placing a hand on her ex-husband’s arm. “Stop it, it’s—”

“I’m just telling him the truth.”

And just like that, It was like high school all over again. The criticisms. The pressure. The suffocating weight of expectations his parents had piled on him since he was a child. Memories flooded his mind. Nights spent training past exhaustion, lectures about how being the best was the only option, the constant feeling that nothing he did was enough.

His dad’s voice continued to ring in his ears.

“What’s the point of playing football if you’re not leading the team? If you’re not scoring goals, you’re just another cog in the machine. Football is a star’s game, Yo-kun.”

As if his dad could ever understand the intricacies of football. The roles. The teamwork. The balance. It wasn’t judo, where individual prowess reigned supreme, or high jump, where you competed against yourself. Football was about synergy, trust, and playing for the team, aside from being an excellent individual player yourself. But explaining that to his parents felt as futile as screaming into the void.

His gaze drops to the ground, shame burning in his chest. His dad’s voice droned on, but Hiori stops listening.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you.

You’re standing just a few feet behind his parents. The smile on your face dissolves, replaced by something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Sadness? Disbelief?

Hiori freezes. His chest tightens as if the air had been sucked out of the stadium. He wishes the earth would swallow him whole.

You aren’t supposed to hear this. Not the ugly criticisms, not the suffocating expectations, and certainly not the pathetic version of himself standing there, crestfallen and powerless.

He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He doesn’t know what hurts more. His dad’s words or the thought of you seeing him like this.

“Excuse me?” you say, your voice dripping with theatrical offense. Hiori has never heard you sound so offended.

“Are you talking about Hiori Yo? The Hiori Yo? The genius midfielder of Bastard München? Rated as one of the best midfielders in the league—on par with Alexis Ness and Itoshi Sae? Hell, maybe even better than Itoshi Sae himself? The best midfielder to come out of Blue Lock?” You look in absolute disbelief with what you’ve heard, it was written all over your face.

“You’re calling him a second-rate football player? Are you kidding me? Do you hear yourself, sir?” Your voice cuts through the air like a whip, halting Hiori’s dad mid-rant. Both of Hiori’s parents turn to look at you, bewildered by the sudden intrusion.

You place yourself firmly between them, just slightly closer to Hiori’s side, as though shielding him from further harm.

Hiori blinks, stunned. You don’t stop talking, but for him, it’s as if his entire world stopped and all he could see was you.

“That’s an utterly ridiculous take,” you continue. “Midfielders are the heart of the team. It’s a massive disservice and frankly, a huge disrespect to label them as second-rate players just because they’re not as flashy as forwards. Just because they don’t score often doesn’t make them any less important. And respectfully, let me correct you—this man,” you point directly at Hiori, your eyes blazing with conviction, “isn’t just any midfielder.”

Hiori can only stare, his mouth slightly open, as you keep going.

“This man is an ultrasadist of a midfielder. He controls the game. He calls the plays, manipulates his teammates and his opponents, and makes split-second decisions like a freaking mastermind. And that, sir”—your tone softens just slightly, your lips in a tight fine line—“is hot as hell, if you ask me.”

A poorly stifled snicker comes from somewhere behind you. Hiori recognizes it immediately. Isagi. When he glances around, he notices several of his teammates watching from a respectful distance, their expressions ranging from amused to genuinely impressed.

You’re not done yet.

“So please,” you say, your voice calm and deliberate now, though still brimming with authority. “I say this with the utmost respect to my elders…”

Hiori’s dad flinches, his earlier bravado faltering under your gaze.

“…show some damn respect to midfielders. Especially to Hiori Yo. He’s a damn good player, and any team would be lucky to have him.”

You step back, catching your breath, your glare never wavering. Hiori’s dad looks thoroughly flustered.

He clears his throat awkwardly, mumbling, “I—I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, Yo-kun.”

Yo-kun?

The shift in tone surprises you, but what catches you off guard more is his next question.

“Sorry, who are you again, miss?” His gaze shifts back to Hiori. “Who is she, son?”

Son? Oh no.

Your head snaps toward Hiori. He looks flustered, his face a mix of shock and panic as he tries to come up with a response.

“Uh… she’s… a friend,” he finally stammers.

Before you can process the tightening in your chest, his mom squeals in recognition.

“Oh! You’re the journalist who wrote about Yo-kun!” She beams at you, reaching for your hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Thank you so much! I loved your article—it was so thoughtful!”

You’re too stunned to react. “Uh—thank you, ma’am…”

Before the situation can spiral further, Hiori gently pulls his mom away. “Let’s catch up later, Miss Journalist, okay?” His voice is cold, detached, and entirely different from the Hiori you know.

Your heart sinks.

“R-right. Sorry,” you mumble, bowing slightly before walking away as quickly as you can without outright running.

Embarrassment churns in your stomach. You just humiliated him. You overstepped. You messed up.

Back at home, you send him a text.

yn_offthepage: I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I crossed a line, and I hope we can talk about it.

You stare at your phone, waiting anxiously for a reply. Minutes feel like hours, and when he finally reads your message, the notification of him typing disappears. He leaves you on read.

Three hours later, a reply comes through.

hiori_yo23: s’fine. I’ll see ya tomorrow, ‘kay? have a good night.

You stare at the message.

Everything is definitely not fine.

The weather is perfect. Almost annoyingly so—like it’s mocking the nerves still clinging to you after yesterday’s altercation.

You’re supposed to meet Hiori at the station before taking him to your secret date destination. You’d planned it all out, but the anxiety from the day before had left you tossing and turning all night. Unable to sleep, you arrived early, only to find him already there.

Standing near the station entrance, Hiori sticks out like a giant amidst the crowd. He’s wearing a navy blue bucket hat, a windbreaker in a matching shade layered over a plain black shirt, straight-cut pants, and white sneakers. He looks good. Really good.

You glance down at your outfit—a frilly black skirt paired with a fitted white crop top that shows just a sliver of midriff. You hope it looks okay.

Walking up behind him, you tug lightly on his windbreaker. “You’re early. Did I make you wait?”

“Yer good,” he says, turning to you with a small smile. “I just got here.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, catching you off guard as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Hey!” you gasp, swatting his arm. Heat rises to your face as you glance around nervously, scanning for familiar faces. “Hiori, we’re in public!” you whisper. “What if someone recognizes you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “What? Can’t kiss my girl now?” His voice is teasing, but the warmth in his tone makes your heart skip a beat. “And s’fine. Look around. We’re just a normal-looking couple on a date. Lighten up, princess.”

Before you can argue, he slips his fingers through yours, holding your hand firmly.

The train is crowded, as expected on a weekend. As you board, Hiori pulls you close to shield you from the jostling passengers. With your back against the train wall, he stands in front of you, one arm braced against the wall beside your head while the other keeps a firm hold of your hand.

He’s close. So close you can feel his heartbeat faintly through his shirt. The citrusy, woodsy scent of his cologne surrounds you, grounding you in the moment.

You stay like that for five stops, your body tucked securely in his protective space. Finally, you whisper, “Let’s get off here.”

Hiori glances down at you, nodding as he guides you through the bustling crowd and out of the station, his hand never leaving yours.

Once outside, he looks around curiously. “Where to now?”

“You’ll see.” This time, you take the lead, practically bouncing with excitement as Hiori trails behind, basking in your energy and the warm sun.

The two of you chat as you walk, catching up on small things. You pointedly avoid bringing up the incident at the exhibition match. Fear and embarrassment gnaws at your insides just thinking about it.

Eventually, you stop. Letting go of his hand, you jog a few steps ahead, spinning around to face him with your arms spread wide. “Tada!”

You beam at him, gesturing toward the colorful entrance to the amusement park.

For a moment, Hiori’s expression is unreadable. Then, a soft chuckle escapes him as his face lights up.

“An amusement park?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

You jog back to his side, clasping your hands behind your back as you walk beside him. “Amusement park dates are a classic. Thought we’d try it.”

You reach for his hand again, lacing your fingers together. “Plus, you told me how you spent most of your childhood practicing or training for football. I figured you might’ve missed out on this kind of thing.”

A small smile plays at the corners of his lips.

“And for the record,” you add with a grin, “you’re never too old for an amusement park.”

Hiori stops walking, his eyes studying you as if seeing you in a new light. You’re pretty much accurate, if you ask him.

“Thanks,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “I’m looking forward to enjoying my first amusement park trip with you.”

And Hiori does. Both of you do.

Even though you’re not a fan of thrill rides, you indulge Hiori, letting him drag you onto roller coasters that he clearly loves. The first drop has you screaming at the top of your lungs, while Hiori sits beside you laughing, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. By the second ride, he’s still laughing, though now it’s at your expense.

You play carnival games together, trying to one-up each other to win a plushie prize. The competition is fierce, filled with playful teasing, but in the end, you both win something—two small plushies that you exchange with one another.

There’s a cafe stop for a light lunch, and throughout the day, you try as many snacks as you can get your grubby hands on—cotton candy, churros, and even some fried delicacies that make you laugh at how messy they are to eat.

It’s so much fun.

Hiori hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to experience an amusement park until now. Growing up, he’d always thought he was better off training for football, trying to live up to his parents’ expectations. In high school, he’d closed himself off, preferring the solitary escape of video games. And by the time he hit his twenties, he felt too old for amusement parks, too self-conscious to admit he’d never been to one, or too shy to ask his friends to go with him.

But now, with you beside him, wearing ridiculous animal headbands and pinning cute ear clips onto his bucket hat, everything feels different. He finds himself laughing. A little louder and more free than usual.

You make him happy.

It dawns on him slowly, as the afternoon sun dips lower in the sky. You understand him. Not just surface-level things, but the deeper parts of him. The ones he doesn’t even talk about. You’ve barely been together, yet you see through his walls and make him feel safe to open up, even if it’s just a little at a time.

There’s no pressure. No crushing expectations. You don’t demand greatness from him or put him on a pedestal. You let him be himself. Just Hiori Yo. And for once, it feels enough. He feels enough.

He watches you from a short distance as you buy drinks for the two of you, his chest tightening with gratitude.

By dusk, you both arrive at the ferris wheel.

It’s the last stop on your itinerary, and as you wait in line, the twinkling lights of the park glow softly against the night sky. When it’s your turn, you step into the carriage and settle into the seats across from each other.

The ride starts, the gentle motion lifting you higher. Hiori admires you in the dim, golden light, the way it softens your features, your hair catching faint glimmers of color from the park below.

The silence is comfortable.

Until you break it.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out suddenly.

Hiori tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting in confusion. “For what?”

“For… yesterday,” you admit, your voice quieter now. The carriage continues its ascent, and as the lights dim outside, Hiori’s face grows harder to read. You swallow nervously, wondering if you just ruined the moment.

“I didn’t know they were your parents,” you say quickly. “I just… spoke out of instinct. I didn’t mean to offend them.”

Hiori’s lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I know you said I didn’t have to defend you, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t just stand there and let them talk to you like that.” You glance down, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

“You’re… you’re so amazing, Hiori. And I want everyone to know that. Even if people call me a groupie or a biased journalist, I don’t care. What I care about is telling the story of the incredible midfielder I know.”

You’re rambling, but the words won’t stop spilling out of your mouth it's like word vomit.

“You’re a great player and a great person. I know I probably say that a lot, and maybe it doesn’t mean much anymore, but I mean it every time. And I’ll keep saying it because it’s true. I think you’re amazing, Hiori—not as a fan, not as your girlfriend, but as someone who knows you.”

Your voice falters as the words leave your lips, and the carriage comes to a gentle stop at the very top of the ferris wheel. The view is breathtaking, but you can’t focus on anything except Hiori’s stunned expression.

His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open as though he wants to say something, but the words don’t come. He closes his mouth, then opens it again, but nothing escapes.

You look away, embarrassed, and the rest of the ride descends in silence.

By the time the carriage reaches the ground, you’re staring out at the park lights, your chest heavy with regret.

Hiori takes your hand as you both step out of the ferris wheel carriage. Despite the late hour, the amusement park is still alive with soft, buzzing energy. The lively chaos of the day has given way to a calmer, more magical ambiance under the glow of twinkling lights.

He leads you to the boardwalk, stopping at a clearing that offers a breathtaking view of the entire park, its vibrant lights stretching out into the night.

Oh god, he’s going to break up with me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Your stomach churns as you stare down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” Hiori says gently, his fingers guiding your chin upward until your eyes meet his.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He scratches the back of his neck, a faint laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry, uh… I’ve been processing everything you said earlier. Ya kinda caught me off guard. Had me tongue-tied there.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling over each other. “If you want to break up, it’s okay. I understand. I—it was stupid of me to say all that—”

“Hey, hey, who said anything about breaking up?” he interrupts, his voice laced with concern.

“But you were so quiet,” you say, your chest tightening. “I thought you were mad.”

“I’m not mad. Not at ya,” he reassures, his tone soft yet firm. “I’m mad at myself for not saying those things sooner.”

You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Sure, I was shocked when ya stood up to my parents. But… it made me happy. I didn’t realize how much ya admired me or how ya saw me. It was brave of ya.”

He pauses, fiddling with the zipper of his windbreaker, his eyes darting downward.

“My parents… they’ve always been like that. My mom’s gotten better lately—she’s trying, y’know? But my dad… it’s been harder with him. After what happened yesterday, though, we talked. The three of us. It was short, but they actually listened. They even apologized.” He hesitates, glancing at you. “Ya helped, a lot. It’s progress, if you ask me.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. Without thinking, you take his hand, tracing soft circles on his palm, hoping to soothe his nerves.

“And earlier,” he continues, his voice quieter, “I didn’t realize how much it bothered ya that I didn’t bring it up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make ya worry.” He leans forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Ya just flustered me, is all,” he admits, a small smile tugging at his lips. “The way ya see me… it’s different. Not like the way other people do. With all the pressure and expectations. And I like the version of me that ya see. Ya make it feel like everything I’ve done to get here was worth it. Because I met you. And I’m here with you.”

“Really?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Really.” He grins, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And by the way, the amusement park? Amazing idea. I had so much fun. Thanks for taking my amusement park experience virginity.”

“Oh my god, please don’t call it that,” you groan, bursting into laughter.

“But you called me an ‘ultrasadist’ and, I quote, ‘hot as hell.’” His grin widens, his breath warm against your skin as he teases you.

“You and your big ego,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“Hey, ya did this,” he says with a chuckle. “Ya make me feel like the best player in the world.” His lips hover dangerously close to yours.

“You are,” you murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Better than Noel Noa?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh.” You kiss him again.

“Better than Itoshi Sae?”

“Yup.” This time, the kiss lingers a little longer.

“Better than Gagamaru?” he jokes.

“Don’t push your luck, ultrasadist. Gagamaru’s the GOAT,” you quip, playfully swatting his chest.

Hiori laughs, pulling you closer. “Yeah, I’ll take my chances. As long as I have ya.”

This time, the kiss is deep, his hands resting on your hips as yours cradle the back of his neck. It’s slow and tender, yet filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.

And then, fireworks.

Literal fireworks burst behind you, painting the night sky in dazzling colors like the world itself was celebrating this moment.

Hiori doesn’t pull away, the explosions reflecting in his eyes as he looks at you mid-kiss. He wishes time could stop, because that’s how it feels kissing you right now—like fireworks. Stunning, explosive, and beautiful.

He just can’t get enough of you.

amari's notes: i literally wrote this just last night. the coffee i got from the cafe yesterday was so good i can barely sleep. definitely the longest one i've wrote. i had to write this by hand, which helped for some reason before i typed it out and it came out pretty good. it's been a busy month for me, with my vacation coming up and my birthday too. but i plan to update one more time this month! anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya @chokifandom @momoriii-i

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #hiori yo #hiori yo x reader #bllk hiori yo #bllk x reader #breaking the internet

115 notes · View notes

aquamarixx · 27 days ago

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breaking the internet

chapter ten Hiori finally finds the courage to meet his mom and her new family, with Miss Journalist, his self proclaimed emotional support girlfriend, by his side as he faces the inescapable reality he’s been running away from blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, very hiori centric piece masterlist

Hiori has been staring at his phone for almost ten minutes now. His grip tightens around the device, as if the pressure alone could somehow alter the words on the screen.

"Are you free for dinner this weekend, Yo-kun?"

A simple invitation. A casual question. A few harmless words.

But to Hiori, they might as well be a ticking time bomb.

Dinner with his mother. To catch up. To talk about life. To finally meet her new family. To face the reality he's been avoiding for months.

Just dinner.

Ever since she remarried, she has been persistent about him meeting them.

Every few weeks, another invitation. Lunch, dinner, brunch. Whatever excuse she could find to get him to sit at the same table as her new husband and the kid who aren’t his family.

She even hinted once about bringing them over to his apartment. That was when he started dodging her calls more often.

I’m busy.

I have training.

I’m too tired.

Some of those excuses were true. Most of them weren’t.

And his mother, perceptive as ever, never called him out on it. She knew. Of course she knew. But she let him have his distance, never pushing too hard.

Because in the end, they both understood the truth—this wasn’t just about a meal.

This was about moving forward.

And that terrified him.

He knows it’s selfish, but the thought of seeing her with a new family, a new life—one where he isn’t the center of her world anymore—feels like a rejection.

A confirmation that while she has turned the page, he is still stuck in a chapter that no longer exists.

The only thing tying his parents together anymore… is him.

Just a lingering reminder of a failed marriage and a legacy that was never fulfilled.

How ironic.

Because when he was younger, he hated being their world. He resented the weight of their expectations, the suffocating pressure of their broken dreams forced onto his shoulders.

But now, standing on the outside looking in, he realizes that he wasn’t trying to escape them.

He was trying to matter to them in a way that didn’t feel conditional.

And now that they’ve let go… he isn’t sure where he belongs anymore.

The warmth of your touch jolts Hiori from his thoughts. Your hands rest gently over his, pulling him back from whatever storm had been brewing inside his mind.

“You okay? You’ve been spacing out for a while.”

Your voice is soft, gentle but laced with concern. Your brows knit together slightly as you search his face, eyes filled with warmth.

Hiori glances at his phone, then back at you. He wants to say something—anything—but the words feel like they’re caught in his throat, stuck somewhere between hesitation and the overwhelming urge to let it all spill out.

“You know you can talk to me,” you murmur, squeezing his hands ever so slightly. “But only if you’re ready, okay? No pressure.”

A small, reassuring smile tugs at your lips, offering him an out if he needs it.

You know Hiori. He isn’t the type to just talk about things—not the heavy stuff, not the things that weigh on him in the quiet hours of the night. He keeps them locked away, buried under layers of restraint.

And yet, even without words, you can see the unspoken pain lingering in his eyes, in the way his shoulders tense, in the way his fingers twitch against his phone.

If he wants to talk, you’ll listen. If he doesn’t, you’ll sit here beside him, offering comfort in whatever way he needs.

That’s who you are in his life. His girlfriend.

It still feels a little surreal, calling yourself that. But more than anything, you want to be his safe place, his steady ground when everything else feels uncertain.

And as if he hears your unspoken promise, Hiori finally exhales.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “My mom just texted me.”

You wait, watching as he stares at his phone again, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air.

“She’s inviting me to dinner.” A pause. “With her new family.”

There’s a bitterness laced in his tone. Not outright anger, but something more fragile, more resigned.

And when he says new family, there’s an ache behind those words, as if saying them out loud makes it all the more real.

He wonders if they look like a picture-perfect family. Laughing around the dinner table, filling a space he once occupied. A space he wasn’t sure he could ever truly belong to.

Hiori leans back against the couch, his head falling back, an audible sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ve been avoiding it for so long.”

You shift closer, closing the small space between you. “Do you mind me asking why?”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“It scares me, y’know?”

His voice cracks, just for a second.

And in that moment, you see it—the weight of everything he’s been holding back, pressing down on him all at once.

"It scares me… because if I go to that dinner and see her new life, it’ll be like accepting that things will never be the same again.”

His voice is raw, trembling at the edges. He puts down his phone, his gaze fixed on his fingers curling into a fist on his lap.

“It hasn’t been the same… not since Blue Lock ended.” His voice wavers, barely above a whisper.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before they divorced. But now… it’s different. They’ve moved on, and I’m the one left behind. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I hated being their entire world when I was a kid. I resented the pressure, the expectations, the way they suffocated me. But now… now I’m the one clinging to a family that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His words hang heavy in the air, an open-ended question more for himself than for you. He’s questioning the cruel irony of it all, the way life keeps twisting the knife even when you think you’ve grown numb.

Your fingers find his, gently wrapping around his trembling hand. You give a reassuring squeeze, grounding him in the present, reminding him that he’s not alone. It’s the only thing you could do for him.

Hiori’s shoulders sag, his weight leaning into you as if he’s finally allowing himself to break. You let him, holding him steady as the six-foot man folds into you, his head resting against your shoulder.

There’s a vulnerability in his touch, his fingers clutching yours as if letting go would mean being swallowed by the sea of emotions threatening to drown him.

“I hate this feeling,” he admits, his voice cracking. “It’s like this heavy weight just sits here, crushing me… and I don’t know what to do with it. And I know… I know wallowin’ in self-pity won’t change anything, but… why does it feel so damn hard to let go? Why can’t I just… accept it?”

His words shake and you feel your own heart breaking. You want to take his pain away, to carry even just a fraction of that weight.

But you know better than to promise things you can’t fix. Instead, you offer him the one thing he needs most—understanding.

You run your thumb gently over his knuckles, giving him an anchor to hold on to. Your voice is soft, steady. “Because it’s never easy to take the first step… not when moving forward means leaving behind everything you once knew.”

Your words are gentle, echoing the very fear that’s kept him rooted in place. “And that fear? It’s valid. It might feel ironic, but it actually makes perfect sense.”

Hiori’s fingers tighten around yours, his jaw clenching as he listens.

“It’s okay for you to feel this way,” you say.

“You were forced to grow up under impossible expectations. They put their broken dreams on you, made you carry burdens that were never yours to bear. And now, seeing them move on, seeing them do better with someone else… it hurts."

"It makes you wonder, ‘Why wasn’t it like that for me? Why did I have to suffer alone?’” Your voice is tinged with pain, echoing the unspoken thoughts he’s been too scared to voice.

“It feels unfair. Because you went through so much. And now it seems like they’ve moved on like nothing ever happened. Like you were just a chapter they’ve already closed.”

Hiori stiffens under the weight of your words. He feels seen and understood in a way he never thought possible. He releases a trembling breath, his head leaning further into you.

“If you’re not ready, you don’t have to go,” you whisper.

“We can stay here. We can watch cheesy romcoms, marathon anime or I’ll play Hades 2 while you backseat and critique my every move. Whatever you need, I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

Hiori stays still, his breathing uneven. He’s so quiet that it makes you nervous, a lump forming in your throat. Just as you’re about to speak again, his voice breaks the silence.

“No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, “Let’s go.” His voice wavers, but there’s a quiet determination behind his words. “I—I’ll to go to that dinner. But only if you’re with me.”

Pride swells in your chest. You see the fear in his eyes, but you also see his courage—the bravery it took for him to reach out, to ask for help, to take that first step. You nod, your voice unwavering.

“Of course. I’ll be right there with you. Every step of the way.”

Hiori doesn’t see the smile on your face, but he hears it in your voice. He feels it in the way your fingers tighten around his, steady and unwavering.

And in that moment, he realizes that maybe he’s not as alone as he thought.

Hiori checks his phone for the third time in five minutes.

30 minutes early.

He sighs, glancing at the screen to re-read your text from last night, just to be absolutely sure he’s at the right place. The last thing he needs is to embarrass himself by knocking on the wrong door and looking like a complete idiot.

You haven’t replied to his last text. You’re probably still getting ready.

Hiori shifts on his feet, feeling the awkwardness settle in his bones. If he stands out here for the next half an hour, he’ll definitely look like a creep to any nosy neighbors who pass by.

His fingers tap against his leg, nervous energy bubbling up inside him. Before he can overthink it, he lifts his hand and knocks—three quick taps against the door.

No answer.

The silence stretches. His heart starts to pound a little faster. He’s about to knock again when he hears muffled shuffling from the other side.

The door creaks open just a sliver, revealing a dark-haired girl peeking through the narrow gap. Her eyes narrow, scanning him up and down with suspicion.

Hiori instantly recognizes her from your descriptions—Miko, your roommate. The same loudmouthed girl who’s apparently a serial yapper and the world’s worst movie critic.

But right now, she’s nothing like you described. She’s quiet, guarded, eyeing him like he’s a stalker.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice low and cautious.

Hiori’s heart stutters, but he quickly recovers, offering her his most harmless, polite smile. “Good morning. I’m looking for Y/N.”

Miko’s eyes narrow further. “And you are?”

The words roll off his tongue easily, almost too easily. “I’m her boyfriend.”

He feels a flicker of warmth at the admission. It still feels surreal, saying it out loud. But each time he does, it becomes a little more real, a little more his.

Her expression flickers, her eyes widening with recognition. The door opens wider, revealing more of the apartment behind her. Hiori catches a glimpse of your shared living room—messy, cozy, filled with a chaotic warmth that already feels like you.

Miko shouts over her shoulder, her voice louder now, “Babe! There’s a pretty boy at the door! Says he’s your boyfriend!”

Hiori’s cheeks flush at the description. Miko turns back to him, her face breaking into an unnervingly wide smile.

She doesn’t move. She just stands there, her gaze fixed on him, silently appraising him like he’s some sort of artifact.

The longer she stares, the more awkward he feels. His confident smile wavers under her scrutiny. He shuffles on his feet, pretending to dust off an invisible speck from his bomber jacket before clasping his hands in front of him to stop his fidgeting.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoes from inside the apartment, followed by a loud, frantic voice.

“I’m coming! I’m almost ready!”

You burst into view, hair slightly tousled and face flushed. You’re wearing a black skirt that sways around your knees, moving fluidly with your every step.

You practically trip over your sneakers as you shove your feet into them, mumbling under your breath about how you’re never letting Miko wake you up late again. When you look up and see Hiori standing there, a warm smile instantly lights up your face.

“You’re early!”

A chuckle escapes him, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

He extends his hand towards you, and you immediately slip yours into his, letting him pull you closer.

Miko’s grin widens, and she leans against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with unabashed curiosity. Her eyes flicker between the two of you, her head tilting in amusement.

You shoot her a warning look, but it only makes her snicker.

“We’re off,” you announce, deliberately ignoring the mischievous look in her eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

You lead Hiori away, your fingers intertwined with his, warm and steady. You’re almost at the elevator when Miko’s voice rings out behind you, echoing through the hallway.

“Have fun, kids! And use protection!”

The drive to the house is nothing but quiet and tense.

Hiori’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than usual, his posture tense and awfully upright. There’s an unnerving feeling lingering in the back of Hiori’s mind, lurking. As if anytime, it would pounce right at him—this irrational fear of his—and would make him crawl back at home and just chicken out.

He’s played against world class players under the eyes of the world, with his team’s victory hanging in balance where tension is at an all time high. But nothing has prepared him for the crushing pressure of meeting his mom’s new family and accepting the inevitable.

Nothing.

And when Hiori pauses in front of the house, you can feel his nervousness. His breath is shaky as he exhales, as if he was holding his breath for such a long time during the drive.

Without thinking to much, you reach over and slip your fingers through his. Your presence, your support, is the only reassurance you can give him.

“You ready?” You look at Hiori. He gives you a strained smile as he nods and presses the doorbell.

The doorbell rings from the inside of the house, the faint sound of it muffled by the closed doors and windows.

For a brief second, nothing happens. The house remains silent, unmoving. A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. Maybe they’re not home. Maybe he doesn’t have to do this today. Maybe—

A young boy stands there, barely reaching Hiori’s waist, his wide eyes curious and innocent. He looks up at Hiori with curiosity, his head tilting to the side.

Hiori’s heart stutters. The boy’s eyes are so familiar—large and expressive, a shade of brown that reminds him of his mother’s.

Before he can process it, Junko appears behind the boy, her face lighting up in recognition. She’s wearing a pink apron, her hair tied back in a messy bun, a warm, welcoming smile stretching across her lips.

“Yo-kun!” Her voice is bright, affectionate, and she pulls the gate open wider, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m so glad you made it!”

You feel Hiori’s fingers twitch, his shoulders going rigid for a moment before steps forward.

You gently release his hand, giving him space as Junko steps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He hesitates but then he melts into her embrace, his shoulders sagging, his face burying in her shoulder just for a moment before he pulls away.

Junko’s gaze shifts to you, her eyes widening as she takes you in. She steps closer, her hands reaching out to grasp yours. Her hands are warm, slightly calloused—the hands of someone who’s worked hard her whole life.

Just like Hiori’s.

“And you must be—”

Her words die off as her eyes widen in realization. Recognition flickers in her gaze, and her mouth falls open in a soft gasp. Her head whips towards Hiori, her expression a mixture of shock and delight.

“Oh my! You’re the—” Her eyes dart between you and her son. “And you two are dating?!”

A crimson flush spreads across Hiori’s cheeks, his eyes flicking to the ground as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, we are. So can we go inside before the neighbors hear all about my love life?”

The boy, no older than ten, scurries after Hiori, his small legs working double time to keep up with Hiori’s long strides. You follow closely behind, watching as his tiny steps try to match Hiori’s big steps.

Inside, the house is warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating the framed photos on the wall.

Your eyes catch on one with a younger Hiori in a Bastard München jersey, standing next to his mom who looks impossibly proud.

You even spot a framed article about him from years ago, back when he first officially joined Bastard Munchen’s starting lineup as a rookie.

Junko’s voice calls from the kitchen, “Make yourselves at home! Lunch will be ready soon!” The rich and savory scent of curry wafts through the air.

Hiori sinks into the couch, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back.

You carry the cake you bought to the kitchen, hesitating for a moment before approaching Junko.

“Um… Mrs. Hio—” You catch yourself, realizing the name might be a sensitive topic.

Junko turns to you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just Junko, dear.” She reaches out, taking the cake from your hands with a warm smile.

“And thank you for bringing this. You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. Also, it’s nice to finally formally meet you. I’m Y/N, Hi—You-kun’s girlfriend.” Your voice gets a little bit higher, a shy smile breaking across your face.

It’s your first time addressing Hiori by his first name. It does make his ears perk up hearing you say it from the couch.

“Thank you for taking care of Yo-kun, dear. And it’s really nice to meet you under better circumstances.” Both of you laugh at the inside joke that is the exhibition match fiasco.

It somehow thaws the awkwardness you’re feeling.

“I’m sorry, dear. The curry’s still cooking. I was helping little Ryuu with his homework earlier and completely lost track of time.” Junko apologizes, mid stir of the curry.

“Also, my husband’s running a bit late from a client appointment, but he’ll be joining us for dinner. So please relax and make yourselves at home.”

The words echo in Hiori’s head, bouncing around before finally sinking in.

Her husband.

It feels weird for Hiori to hear his mom call another guy her husband. And it’s definitely weird to be in a house with her other than the house he grew up in with her and his dad.

It smells like curry and laughter and a life that doesn’t include him. A life his mom built without him.

His fingers tap against his leg, restless and jittery. His knee bounces rapidly, his body wound so tight it feels like he might snap.

A gentle poke to his side breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks over to see you watching him, concern etched into your features.

Your eyes are soft, wide with worry, and your lips are pressed into a thin line.

“You good?” Your voice is low, meant only for him.

He forces himself to nod, his head moving stiffly. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you shift closer, your shoulder pressing against his, your warmth seeping into him. The tension in his chest loosens just a little, his knee slowing to a stop. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent thank you.

Every so often, little Ryuu's eyes flicker up to Hiori, wide and curious, while he draws on the paper in front of him absentmindedly.

It’s funny to him, seeing how looking at the kid reminds him of his younger self, with the same curious big eyes.

There’s something hauntingly familiar about those eyes—big and innocent, filled with questions he’s too shy to ask. He sees himself in that curious gaze, a younger version of himself who was just as small and wide-eyed once upon a time.

The realization hits him hard. That’s his brother.

Or step brother, right? Since they're not blood related.

The words feel foreign to him. He’s never been a brother before. He doesn’t know how to be one. Should he introduce himself? Would that be too weird? What would he even say?

His heart hammers in his chest, his fingers twitching at his sides, but before he can fully process his thoughts, you’re already moving.

You slide off the couch and plop down beside Ryuu on the floor, cross-legged and casual.

“Hi, Ryuu!” you greet, your voice warm and friendly. “Whatcha doin’?”

The boy’s head shoots up, his big eyes widening even more. He looks at you, then at Hiori, then back at you, his mouth falling open slightly. You wait patiently, giving him time to process before he mumbles, “Just drawing.”

Your eyes light up with genuine curiosity. You lean closer, watching his tiny hands fumble with the crayons, drawing a person kicking a ball.

“You’re really good at this. I can’t draw well but I can draw pretty flowers.”Ryuu’s lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile forming. He shyly pushes a piece of paper and a crayon towards you.

“You can help if you want.”

Your face lights up. “Really? Thanks, Ryuu!” You take the crayon, carefully drawing sunflowers on the paper. You glance down at your drawing, cringing. You’re pretty sure Ryuu’s stick people look better than yours.

From the couch, Hiori watches the scene unfold, his chest tightening at the sight. You’re so natural with the kid.

Junko’s voice rings out from the kitchen, breaking his thoughts.

“So, how long have you two been dating?”

“Four months,” Hiori blurts out before you can answer. His face immediately flushes, his eyes darting to the floor.

A soft chuckle drifts from the kitchen. “Four months? And you didn’t tell me, Yo-kun?” There’s a hint of hurt behind her words, masked by a strained laugh.

An awkward silence follows.

You sense the tension and decide to break it the only way you know how—by being your usual, chaotic self. You turn to Ryuu, a mischievous grin forming on your lips.

“Hey, Ryuu. Wanna see something cool?”

The boy’s eyes sparkle with interest, his head bobbing eagerly. “Yeah!”

You wiggle your eyebrows dramatically. “Wanna see how cool your big brother is?”

The words tumble out naturally, and Hiori’s chest tightens.

Big brother.

The title is heavy, unfamiliar… but somehow, it feels right. It leaves a warmth lingering in his chest for some reason.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes widening in awe. “Big brother?” His voice is soft, reverent, almost as if he’s been waiting to hear those words.

Hiori’s heart stutters, his breath catching in his throat. He can’t speak, his voice stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Meanwhile, you’ve already grabbed the remote, switching on the TV with practiced ease. You navigate to YouTube, typing in the search bar with a speed that makes Hiori’s head spin.

He squints at the screen, his eyes widening when he sees the search result:

Hiori Yo nasty highlight clips

His face flushes red. “Ehem.” He clears his throat, his eyes flicking from the TV to you. “Seriously?”

You look at him, confused. “What? That’s the title. I’ve watched it before.”

He stares at you, his mouth agape. “That… sounds so wrong.”

He imagines you in your pajamas at home, lounging in front of your pc, your glasses reflecting the videos of him you watch.

The idea makes him chuckle because he’s damn sure you’ve done it a couple of times. Now he wonders which clips of him you’ve watched countless of times and which ones are your particular favorites.

The video starts with a close-up of Hiori, sweat dripping down his face as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression intense and focused. Then, the scene cuts to a montage of his best plays.

Perfect passes, impossible assists, and jaw-dropping goals that make even the commentators lose their minds.

The scene cuts to a series of b-rolls—Hiori walking to his position, his body language exuding quiet confidence. Then another shot of him standing on the field, his gaze unwavering, scanning the pitch with laser-sharp focus.

A third clip shows him conversing with his teammates, his expression serious, his words inaudible but his leadership evident. All the shots are from official match broadcasts, crisp and clear, showcasing Bastard München.

Then the music picks up, an upbeat, electrifying tune that sets the perfect stage for action. The atmosphere shifts, the anticipation building as the video plunges into a sequence of breathtaking highlights.

The first clip is a wide shot of Hiori facing off in a 1v1 with Bachira who makes the first move, his feet a blur of motion as he pulls off a series of feints. But Hiori doesn’t bite. He tracks Bachira’s movements and then, in a flash, Hiori lunges.

His foot intercepts the ball, flicking it away as he pivots, the ball glued to his feet.

Effortless dribbling, perfect ball control. Hiori’s genius as an offensive midfielder on full display.

You let out a low whistle, fanning yourself dramatically. You look back at him, your eyes wide with exaggerated admiration, mouthing the words, “So hot,” with an over-the-top expression that makes him chuckle.

Ryuu’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. “Wow… that’s you?”

Pride blooms in Hiori’s chest, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… that’s me.”

You turn to Ryuu, your eyes shining. “Pretty cool, huh? Your big brother’s a superstar.”

Ryuu nods eagerly, his admiration evident from his sparkling eyes. He looks at Hiori like he’s the coolest person in the world.

The video keeps going, the music intensifying as the plays get even more spectacular.

Hiori pulls off a Rabona against PXG’s Charles Chevalier, his body twisting gracefully as his foot wraps around the ball, curving it perfectly past Charles. The stadium erupts, the camera zooming in on Hiori’s calm, unbothered face as if the impossible play was just another day at the office.

You dramatically fan yourself again, your head shaking in disbelief. “Okay, now that’s just unfair,” you whisper, clearly mesmerized by his speed and agility.

But the video isn’t done yet. The final highlight is a masterpiece of playmaking—a two-stage fake pass followed by a no-look alley cross.

Hiori sprints down the sideline, his eyes locking with Isagi’s for a split second. His body shifts as if preparing to pass, his entire stance selling the fake perfectly. The defenders bite, their bodies moving to intercept—only to realize too late that the ball never left his foot.

With a quick turn, Hiori spins around his marker, his eyes still on Isagi as his leg swings back. But instead of kicking towards Isagi, the ball flies to the opposite side, curving beautifully towards Yukimiya, who’s unmarked on the far post. Yukimiya heads it in effortlessly, the net bulging as the crowd goes wild.

You whistle lowly, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re so good it’s actually scary.”

Hiori laughs, his cheeks flushing under your praise. But his eyes soften when he notices Ryuu’s reaction.

The boy is motionless, his face a mask of pure awe. His big brown eyes are locked on the screen, his mouth hanging open as he watches Hiori work his magic.

When the video ends, Ryuu doesn’t move. His eyes stay glued to the screen, his little body leaning forward as if waiting for more.

Then, his head whips around, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Can—can we watch it again?”

You grin. You hit replay, and the video starts all over again.

This time, you provide a colorful play-by-play, adding dramatic sound effects every time Hiori pulls off a crazy move. Ryuu giggles, his body swaying with excitement as he watches the highlights with newfound fascination.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes locking with Hiori’s. You tilt your head towards Ryuu, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, Yo-kun. Don’t just sit there. Get down here and watch with us.”

Hiori blinks, a little startled by the invitation. But when you pat the spot next to you, he feels his body moving before his mind catches up.

He slides off the couch, his long legs folding as he sits cross-legged beside Ryuu. The boy’s eyes widen in delight as his face breaking into a huge grin.

“Football looks so cool,” Ryuu breathes, his voice tinged with awe.

It catches Hiori off guard, his mind flashing back to his younger self—wide-eyed and hopeful, mesmerized by the magic of the game. It’s the same look he had when he first fell in love with football.

Then you lean in, your voice playful. “Bet if you ask nicely, your big brother will teach you how to play.” You loudly whisper to Ryuu, making sure Hiori can hear every word loud and clear.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes wide and pleading. “Really? Will you teach me?”

His voice cracks for a bit. “Ask mom if she’s okay with it.” Who can say no to a kid who gives the most adorable face, right?

Without missing a beat, Ryuu scrambles to his feet, his little legs propelling him towards the kitchen as he shouts, “Mom! Big brother’s gonna teach me how to play football! Can I? Can I?”

There’s a brief pause, followed by Junko’s voice, shaky and emotional. “Y-yeah, of course, sweetie. If your big brother is fine with it… then I’m fine with it.”

Ryuu trudges back to Hiori, his small feet pattering against the floor, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He skids to a stop beside Hiori, his chest puffed out with pride as he beams up at him.

His entire body vibrates with excitement, his smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his big, bright eyes.

There’s a strange tug inside him, a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar. But there’s also an uneasy twist, a hollow ache as he looks down at the boy—at those eyes, so full of wonder.

Was I like this before?

He remembers himself as a child, smaller and wide-eyed, standing on a football field for the first time. He remembers the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of kicking the ball, the way his heart soared when he scored his first goal.

His heart throbs, his chest aching as he remembers how fast it all changed.

How the light in his eyes dimmed as football became less about fun and more about perfection. How the joy was replaced with pressure, the excitement overshadowed by expectations. How he became an extension of his parents’ legacy, a vessel for their broken dreams.

How he sacrificed everything—time, friends, childhood—just to be the best. Just to make them proud.

And how, one day, he looked in the mirror and realized the love for football was gone.

Nothing was left but emptiness.

His eyes flicker to Ryuu, to the boy’s wide, innocent gaze, so full of hope. The wonder is alive in his eyes, glowing brightly, untouched and pure.

An unfamiliar protectiveness washes over him, strong and overwhelming.

Ryuu isn’t even related to him by blood, but that doesn’t matter. Hiori’s chest burns with the desire to protect that light in his eyes.

To keep that wonder safe. To make sure Ryuu never loses that joy. To never lose himself to expectations and pressure and heartbreak.

By the time dinner rolls around, the warm atmosphere is momentarily interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, each step growing louder, closer, until a man appears in the doorway.

Junko’s face lights up, her posture relaxing as she walks towards the man, her smile bright and genuine.

She wraps her arms around his waist, his hand resting on her back as he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He smiles into her hair, his eyes soft, his expression tender and affectionate.

A strange, hollow ache twists in Hiori’s chest.

He watches as his mom giggles, playfully swatting the man’s arm as she glances back at them, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. There’s a lightness to her that he hasn’t seen in years.

She never smiled like that at his dad.

The man pulls away, his eyes flicking to Hiori, his expression warm and welcoming. He steps forward, his movements unhurried, his demeanor gentle. He’s not intimidating, not imposing in any way.

Just… normal.

“I’m Kobayashi Yohei,” he says, his voice steady and kind. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yo-kun.” He extends his hand towards Hiori, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a genuine smile.

For a split second, Hiori freezes, his body going rigid. His mind races, his heart thudding in his chest.

Yo-kun.

The nickname feels foreign and strange when spoken by someone who isn’t his dad.

Hiori stands up and reaches out, his grip firm as his hand meets Yohei’s. “Likewise. And… thank you for taking care of my mom.”

His words come out even and controlled. Not bitter, not overly enthusiastic. Just an honest acknowledgment of the truth.

They break apart, and Hiori quickly steps back, his eyes flicking to the floor. You sense the tension and immediately step in, introducing yourself with a bright smile, your voice warm and friendly.

Yohei’s eyes soften, his shoulders visibly relaxing as you greet him. He thanks you for coming, his voice gentle and sincere, and you can feel the atmosphere slowly thawing.

Dinner is surprisingly lively, mostly thanks to Ryuu’s animated storytelling. He recounts the videos he watched earlier with you and Hiori, his eyes wide with excitement as he describes each move with exaggerated hand gestures.

“And then Big Brother—” Ryuu’s voice falters, his eyes darting to Hiori as if seeking permission.

He meets Ryuu’s gaze, and after a moment, he gives a small but gentle smile.

Ryuu beams, his face lighting up as he continues, “Big brother did this crazy move where he passed the ball behind his back without even looking!” He leans closer to his dad, his eyes sparkling.

“It was so cool! I wanna learn how to do that someday.”

Yohei’s eyes widen, his brows arching in surprise. His gaze shifts to Hiori, his expression softening. “Is that so?” He ruffles Ryuu’s hair affectionately.

“Well, if your big brother is willing to teach you, then I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He looks at Ryuu, the boy’s face glowing with excitement, and for a brief moment, he feels something unfamiliar… something like belonging.

When dinner finally ends, you offer Junko help to wash the dishes while the men move to the living room.

Ryuu slumps back in front of the TV, watching more Bastard Munchen clips.

Yohei looks over at Hiori, his expression thoughtful. “I heard from your mom that you were sick and got benched during a match.” His voice is soft, laced with genuine concern.

Hiori blinks, surprised. “Mom’s just exaggerating. It was an exhibition match, and we were trying new things on the field.” He shrugs, trying to play it off.

Yohei nods, his face relaxing. “That’s good to hear. Your mom worries a lot.” His lips curve into a gentle smile. “She always talks about you… how proud she is of you.”

A lump forms in Hiori’s throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Yeah… I know.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

To break the tension, Hiori clears his throat. “Mom mentioned you’re a physical therapist?”

Yohei’s face brightens. “Yeah. I’ve been working with athletes for years, along with the usual cases that come my way. It’s rewarding, helping people get back on their feet.”

Hiori’s interest is piqued. “Do you work with football players, too?”

“Occasionally. Mostly with runners and swimmers, but I’ve had a few football clients. It’s fascinating… the way the body moves during a match, the strain on the muscles.” Yohei’s eyes light up as he speaks, his passion evident.

They fall into an easy conversation about training, stretching, and how to properly take care of his body as an athlete. Yohei even points out Hiori’s posture, teasing him about how Junko mentioned he hunches over while playing video games.

Hiori laughs, his shoulders relaxing, the awkwardness fading just a little.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Junko hands you a plate to dry.

“Thank you… for being here with him. I don’t think he could have done this alone.” Her voice is thick with emotion.

You smile gently. “He’s stronger than he thinks. But I wanted to be here. For him.”

Junko’s eyes glisten, her lips trembling. “He’s changed so much. And it gives me hope. Maybe we can find our way back to each other.” Her voice cracks just a little and you feel like the damn might break any moment now.

Before you can respond, Hiori appears in the doorway, his face serious. “Mom… can we talk?”

Your heart tightens, knowing he needs this moment. You give him a reassuring nod before slipping out to the living room, joining Ryuu as he replays Hiori’s highlight videos.

Junko gestures to the dinner table, her hands trembling as she pulls out a chair. Hiori follows suit, sitting down across from her, his body rigid, his fingers twisting together in his lap. He can’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the table.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, Hiori lets out a shaky breath, his voice breaking the quiet. “Thanks for dinner. And for inviting me.”

Junko’s lips tremble, her eyes glistening. “I—I wanted to see you. It’s been so long. And… I missed you, Yo-kun.” Her voice wavers, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

Hiori’s chest tightens, his heart aching at the pain in her voice. He swallows thickly, his fingers gripping his knees under the table. “I missed you too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it was easier to stay away.”

Junko’s face crumbles, her shoulders shaking. She drops her head, her hands clenching the dish towel as she fights back tears. “I know. I deserve that. I deserve every bit of that.”

Hiori’s fingers twitch, his throat tightening. “I was so angry. For so long.” His voice wavers, his eyes stinging. “I hated you. And Dad. Even football. I hated everything.”

“I thought—I thought it was my fault. That if I was better, you and Dad would’ve been happier.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

“I was the reason everything fell apart.”

Junko’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and horrified. “No… no, Yo-kun. No.” She moves without thinking, reaching across the table, her hands trembling as she takes his.

“It was never your fault. Not even for a second.” Her grip tightens, her voice desperate.

“You dad and I were wrong. For pushing our dreams to you. You were just a child back then and our motivations were in the wrong.”

Junko lets out silent sob, her face buried in her hands. “I failed you as a mother. I was selfish and weak.”

"I wish I could go back and do it all over. I wish I had been a better mother to you.” Junko’s words felt heavy, filled with pain and regret. His chest heaves, his shoulders shaking.

But amidst the pain, he feels something shift, easing the tightness in his heart.

“I’m not mad. Not anymore.” Hiori’s voice is quiet, steady.

“I—I was. For a long time. But I’m not anymore.” He looks up, his eyes meeting hers.

“You… you’re good to him. To Ryuu. And you look happy.” He pauses, his voice cracking. “I want you to be happy, Mom.”

Junko gives him a small smile. “I want that for you too. More than anything.”

Hiori takes a shaky breath, his fingers squeezing hers. “I’m 26 now. I’m an adult. And things are different. You have a new family. New priorities.” He pauses, his voice wavering.

“We’ll just do better and figure things out. But this is a good start, right?”

Tears well up in Junko’s eyes as she tries to hold herself back from crying. Hearing those words from her son felt like a huge weight from her shoulders were lifted.

“Thank you, Yo-kun. And for what it’s worth, no matter how different things are now, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be in your corner.”

She stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she rounds the table, her arms wrapping around him. Hiori’s body stiffens, his breath hitching. But then, his arms move, wrapping around her, holding her close.

They stand there, their shoulders shaking as they softly cry in each other's arm. The years of pain, anger, and loneliness still there but slowly melting away, replaced by a fragile hope.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a fairytale ending. The scars will always be there, reminders of what was lost. But it’s a start.

Things can’t be fixed. Not completely.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t get better.

And maybe this is how things get better.

amari's notes: this is the longest chapter by far, thank you for the wait! jan and feb have been so busy for me so i didn't really have much energy to write but now, i'm planning to get back into it! also this chapter is really close to my heart, being a child of divorce who is also an only child and an eldest siblings to my half-siblings an all, i feel like hiori would be the type to be protective of his step brother. a lot to unpack in this chapter but i didn't want to make it longer huhu. anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya @chokifandom @momoriii-i

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #hiori yo #hiori yo x reader #bllk x reader #bllk hiori yo #breaking the internet #hiori yo breaking the internet

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