I mostly release my writing on Tumblr now, through the use of prompts mostly. So I decided to put a bunch of my favourite prompts involving my favourite pairing into like a small bunch of small ficlets. They will vary in lengths, and focus around different prompts. If you want to send in a prompt, please feel free to find me at shinsoushitoshi. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these just as much as I enjoyed writing them. Apologies if the updating is slow.
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade obviously, nor am I claiming to hold any rights to it's creation. I just really enjoy writing little things for my own pleasure, and for other peoples viewing pleasure.
Prompt: Don't touch me right now.
There's an edge to his words. There always is. A sharp edge. A razor sharp edge that threatens to shred all within its proximity. There is always a sharp depth to his words, and whenever he speaks he manages to reach new depths. Hilary sharply hums in response. It is all that she can provide without instigating an argument with him, and she doesn't want that, but she's respected his wishes for far too long, constantly putting himself before her, her own needs played for his own personal gain.
He never realises this. Or at least, if he does, he never seems to say so. She supposes that she doesn't mind, not when it comes to him. She can allow his moods to slide, and she can allow herself to take the brunt of his weight, if it means that others don't see him at his weakest, and God forbid should Kai allow anyone to see him so easily broken.
"Well, either you sort your hand yourself, or I do." Her voice is stern, and holds a pitch to it that she never realised that she had, whereas Kai thinks her voice serves as a song. A sweet Symphony. A harmony belonging to a well tuned orchestra. He won't say so, however. He never does. That's something reserved for a long song, and Kai is far from a love song. At her words, he didn't even flinch, but remains with the thumb of his right hand lodged over his palm, whilst his fingers curl upside the back of his hand, in the efforts of supporting it. His actions hold no gain, and he huffs impatiently.
"Huff and puff all you like Kai, but you're not getting out of this." At first the distance that had been spread between them felt like centuries, but Hilary was quick to cross that border. Digits are careful threads, a spider silk webbing that ghosts politely over Kai's hands, until she is threatening to hold them.
Don't touch me right now. Not right now. That is what he had said, and she had become exhausted with his dry efforts to keep her at bay. He returns daily with new wounds, some are minor scraps and scratches, some are ugly traces of persistence, as Kai attempts to push himself to newer limits. Some are so minor, they've barely penetrated one's epidermis, and others are piercing, meshed by dried blood, or strung by beads of fresh blood, attempting to form strings upon his skin.
"You never look after yourself." Never is an understatement, she knows all too well. She notes the burn of his eyes, the piercing grey that manages to scold her, but shall not fray her careful lines. Her mouth purses and she's drawn to squeeze ever so lightly. He never moves, never flinches, he wouldn't dream of doing so. Her touch is polite and never interfering. It is gentle and warming, it can be severe but it never inflicts.
"It's fine."
"It is fine now. Until you stop cleaning it, and then it isn't fine. It just needs cleaning. And a bandage. Looking after yourself is hardly going to put yourself out of commission. You can still train." He can still be a lot of things, and apparently, a pain in the arse is one of them. Regardless, her smile is neutral, and the corners of her lips manage to reach her cheeks. Let me look after you. Idiot.
