#breaking the internet

[aquamarixx]

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

[satoshy12]

Major Danny

Danny was already a pretty famous internet streamer. With around 18 million followers.

He was talking about building a rocket and explaining the science behind how to make it work. While at first only a few viewers watched it, it blew up as they learned from a scientist James Possible that the 10-year-old boy really knew what he was talking about and that it truly was a way to build a space rocket.

So now that he had built it over the years, his rocket was finally finished. So he put the camera on the rocket and got ready to launch. Which the followers weren't ready for!

They didn't think he really had rocket fuel! So while many people typed in the chat, he did not do it! Danny didn't really listen. He would finally be able to realize his dream of seeing space.

Danny got the song "major Tom Peter Schilling" ready as he started to launch. Well, he is as ready as he can be!

To visit the "International Space Station (ISS)"! Well, as the connection was lost, this live stream became the video that broke the internet.

[pakgirls530916]

Nailed it!

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

They also gave the professional photographer a hard time over their "Christmas" photo.

Although this is still NOT a deep fake photo, Catherine took the blame for the blurring.

[vanessalanyl]

Brie Larson.

@monarchrising

[dudedidujust]

The daily planet runs a front page article calling superman the light of mankind

Cue the batfam launching a counter campaign in support of Signal,  the real Light of Mankind.

It starts as a joke but quickly derails into an all out war.

[corseque]

The final song in the Solavellan ending, when Lost Elf reappears, that is not on the soundtrack

[scurviesdisneyblog]

Character designs for the Disney Princesses as seen in Ralph Breaks the Internet by Brittney Lee and Ami Thompson

[buggachat]

deserved

[everchanging-cryptid]

Malevolent is crazy because I’ll be listening to some guy slit his own throat while two different Lego Batmans argue next to him (above him? Probably another direction entirely) and somehow its incredibly heartwrenching and serious

[blackthewolf17]

Look Who's Back

<<< part 1 / part 2 / part 3 >>> --------------------- Coman hijos, coman 🕴 Finally what I promised, a more decent comic, Still I hope I can do something better for the next part.

[inchidentalmeowmeow]

Pookies 🫶🏻

Just some lestappen popping on ur feed to get you through the drought

[red-velvet-void]

Some cassie doodles

[dreamclod]

If he was somehow alive during the second movie he would be PISSED. "Oh! so SHE can jump programs?? SHE can go to an unrelated game and break stuff??? WOOW. just wow"

[thatbuddie]

this is your “i was here before buddie canon” certificate. reblog to let people know you were here before buddie canon hence being better and superior to other people who were not here before buddie canon.

[wordfather]

i miss the internet we had before ai started appearing in every corner