I got another prompt from a lovely little anon (and if you're wanting to send a prompt or a fic idea, my Tumblr is Falbcrg!) through Tumblr that was asking for something based around the potential romantic relationships between Hilary and the boys - including Robert and Tala - and hot diggidy damn, I am more than excited to write this people. Overall, there is going to be seven chapters, one chapter for each pairing, and they'll be updated as the inspiration comes; although I personally am excited for Kai/Hilary chapter, because their my ultimate babies.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade, nor am I claiming to hold any rights to it's screenplay and it's creation. All rights are owed to the creator, whose done an absolutely fantastic job in pulling back into this fandom. ;) What I do claim as mine however, is the writing, and a lot of the ideas that are being provided into each pairing, I didn't study English Literature And Language for nothing. xD The prompt idea is not mine however, and belongs to the lovely anon who sent me it.

Another really important point that I want to make is: if you don't like Hilary - then don't read it. I won't tolerate people flaming her character within the reviews. If you ship Hilary with someone else then fine, skip to that chapter, but please don't flame the other chapters, or flame people that do ship Hilary with other people - we'll stay in our lane, if you stay in yours. Anyway, as I say all the time and will continue to say, your views and reviews mean the entire world to me, and if you could leave a review once you have read this - then it would be much appreciated. However, if you cannot think of anything to write, or simply do not want to leave a comment - that is fine, and I love you regardless. You've viewed it, hopefully enjoyed it, and that means more to me. Thank you so much guys. - Ellis.

She's come to know him better than he thinks. She knows all of his quirks - the eating and sleeping habits, alongside the tendency to forget that other people have feelings; it comes as part of the package... And she might have claimed so along time ago, but now? She wouldn't change him. He thinks that he can still pretend to be some sort of closed book to her, that she's merely observing the blurb, but she knows him. To be honest, Hilary has probably always known him. Tyson Granger. That kid with the obnoxious laugh, and the stormy hues, but there's something strangely dazzling about them, they hold a sincerity and warmth that Hilary never knew that Tyson was capable of - she'd always put him down to being loud and inconsiderate. But the way in which his smile reaches his eyes, the way in which his cheeks hollow and dimples form within the corners - there's something else about him. Something that might just set him apart from the others. She isn't fond of him because he holds the current World Championship status, she'd been fond of him before all of it. She'd been fond of him when he'd acted like the brainless so and so within their second World Champion, and that notion had only furthered when she saw the more humane side of him. The side of him that braved Kai's harsh glares and reminded him that they'd get Dranzer back for him - if it was the last thing Tyson ever did.

How it had come to this? She can't recall, but he's occupying the sofa, and she's sat between his legs, her own legs folded beneath her, with a hazel crown presenting itself against his knee, supported by her own arm, of course. She likes the moments like this, the sort where his fingers with graze with such an absent mind amongst locks of her hair, or when he leans forwards occasionally to see if she's okay, and later claims that he needed to adjust his position. It's those moments, those little moments in which Tyson won't say it in words, but it's there any way: she's my girl. It's those little things that he does in front of his friends, without even realising that he's doing them, but he does them anyway - it's those moments. They're her moments.

Her head rises from it's position when she notes that Tyson is heavily exhaling, and seems to be muttering something underneath his breath. No wonder. Tyson had wandered onto the Sports channel, where it was finely safe enough to question the possibility of another World Championship after the events of BEGA and would the two most favoured compete against each other again. No doubt who the crowds favourites were. Kai and Tyson had promised each other another fight after both had healed after the stress of BEGA, and Kai had also beaten Tyson, but his win wasn't official to the world.

"Do you think he'll enter?" Hilary questioned. It was a ridiculous question really. Of course Kai would. Wouldn't he? Tyson had commented that he'd rather have the original team back, rather than facing off against his friends, but the inevitable would happen. She assumed that the last World Championships had placed a physical strain upon his relationships with the boys, and that he feared that due to the fact they were growing older, another World Championship would force them apart.

Later on she'd watched him, watched how the tan tinge of his features had contorted as if within thought, or maybe even doubt - doubt wasn't the greatest of looks on him, and truth is, she didn't like it. He'd sat like this within the garden for long enough, legs stretched out before him, navy blue hair strung in loose vines before him, idly obstructed by the shape of his cap. Regardless however, he's got his fingers locked around hers, tan meets porcelain, and carefully, does he allow his own digits to explore the softness of her hands. He hasn't looked at her once however, almost in fear that she'll manage to crack him - she's already cracked him, and leans that bit closer to bury one's cheek against his shoulder.

"You're thinking too much about it, Tyson." She turns her face ever so slightly, to bury her face - with polite intention - into his material clad shoulder. He smells of annoyance, if that even has a scent. She notes the magnolia that infiltrates her nostrils, a fresh scent that reminds her of the clean clothes she'd placed out for him this morning, he'd been hellbent on wearing the same shirt, because it was his favourite. His hand closes more so around hers, in the efforts of maintaining her closeness, almost in fear that she'll get up and leave him. He can be difficult when he gets like this, he knows that; they both can be difficult.

How did they ever come to this? If you were to ask him, he'd deny it and claim it mere fantasy, but only she knows that he takes her by the hands and whispers thank you, for everything she's ever done for him. If you were to ask her? Hilary would blush and tell you that she can't remember how it happened - it just did. She'd mentally explain how she got lost within the alluring tinge of his eyes, and the way his childish smirk wishes to reach for the stars - that's what she would have said, if she physically had the words to describe it. So the question is - how did they come to this? Simple. Tyson drew with Brooklyn after a destructive and almost endless battle, and she'd found herself incapable of containing the pride that bubbled through her - her hero, and her champion. She'd sunken her fingers into his, and he'd reciprocated, pulling her closer to a haven, than she's ever been before. That's how it had started, followed by the occasional hand holding, and burying of one's face into the others chest or neck; she was no longer deemed a cheerleader, but the stimulus that grounded Tyson.

He isn't like the common boyfriend. Who honestly wants the common boyfriend? He doesn't bring her flowers, or serenade her with rose petals or song - he orders from her favourite take away instead, or he goes to the local bakery and picks the last of her favourite sweet cake and brings it back for her. He doesn't walks within the hot weather, attempting to dip his toes within the local lake, Gods, she used to hate the rain before he existed in her life - now they take a run and a tumble down the wettest and largest grassy hill they can find, and they bet on chocolate sweets on who can get to the bottom first. The first time they'd done it, Hilary had sat back up, complaining that her world was spinning and she couldn't see straight, and Tyson was certain that he'd snorted far too loud, but had leaned into her anyway.

"Tyson! What are you doing?" She'd leaned back a little, hands raises and fingers attempting to untie the grassy knots that had formed within hazelnut bunches, and he's only leaned that little bit further, squinting at her face.

"You've got something on your face, Hil. Stay still. You've got something... Right... There." Odd, how one's voice could serve as a hymn when he usually serves as a cold chill, but he'd been gentle and genuine and sweet when he'd pressed the faint kiss to her cheek. It had been his excuse to get that little bit closer to her. Now they weren't worlds apart. She'd laughed after that, and had forced Tyson away with her foot, claiming he was soppy and such a sap, which he had denied, of course, still claiming that she had a piece of grass on her face.

He isn't sort of boy that does romantic meals - whatever this whole candlelight and rose centre piece thing is about - no, he's all about cooking her favourite meal, and then cuddling up on the couch, meshed between a fort of pillows and sheets as they slurp at noodles, and Hilary abruptly laughs about Tyson missing his mouth. How he missed - she'll never know. He's the sort of boy, that actually stops eating just to watch her, he watches all the little things that her face does, the way in which the glimmer of the television dances within her eyes, and how she smiles every now and again, sometimes she even catches him, and claims him as a creeper, and he has to reject that comment and claim he can't believe how close she is sat next to him - "he's claustrophobic," remember? He's the sort of boyfriend that prefers sloppy nights that are thrown together, and honestly? That's beyond perfect to her. He's a boy of those nights where they leave their bowls and utensils to one side, and have some sort of tickle war, and ends with Hilary usually besting Tyson, or they fall off of the sofa before one can even be crowned a winner.

"You're a pain, Tyson."

"Yeah, but I'm your pain." True, but she'll roll her eyes and she certainly doesn't give him the satisfaction, simply claims him a clod and hits his chest.

He's the sort of boyfriend who doesn't form perfect sentences, nor can he describe her as affluently as a poet could do, he probably uses puns instead, or spent the best part of the night previous looking up the cheesiest of lines to rehearse between himself and then say them to her - and she's actually a lot cleverer than Tyson thinks she is, but him doing that, means just as much, and she finds her blush is incapable of hiding. He also definitely claims that he didn't look up cheesy lines from the internet, and they were totally from the heart, and Hilary knows that whilst they were from the internet - they were from his heart. He also isn't the sort of boyfriend that enjoys stargazing, and pointing out constellations, or comparing her to beauty of the galaxies beyond. Actually, he prefers to compare her to his Grandpa's garden collection of rare flowers and she finds it entirely pleasing. He hasn't got the best knowledge of the flowers, and calls them 'thingies' from time to time, but all faith is restored when her face is buried into her hands, and honestly, she shines brighter than any star, in fact she shines brighter than the sun.

Rei bought Mariah a glass figurine of a lynx once, apparently it reminded him of her, and apparently she had a thing for collecting all the figurines, and you know, getting all this little antiques for people is great and everything, but Tyson isn't that sort of guy, and doesn't think that figurines say what he wants to say. Or for that matter, prove anything that he means. He's more for simply serenading her within the daylight, and watching how it dances across her face, and how at some angles, she has to block the view of the sun, because it's obstructing her eyesight. Sometimes he simply likes to watch the little things that she does, for example when she pulls at the stems of grass beneath, and almost gives nature an apologetic look, as if she meant no harm. Or what about the way, she picks at the daisies and dares to fight anyone who claims they are nothing more than weeds - they make great daisy chains apparently. They also look really nice in her hair. He likes those little moments. Or the sorts where Tyson and co., are at the local park, buried deep with the shards of grass that dance wildly around them. He likes the moments where Hilary is sat between his legs, and so absently does he draw spirals and little shapes along the span of her spine, dotting notions of affections within each turn and slope. Yeah, you could say that Tyson is a completer sucker for those moments.

But he's also a complete sucker for the moments when they're alone together, and even then, they still have their disagreements, and even then, Hilary is still threatening to knock that lop-sided grin of his into next week! She still does it when the boys are having breakfast, and he supposes that is a great part of what makes up their relationship. She still has to tell him to man up every now and again, and she definitely has to chase him around the kitchen with the first utensil - usually a spatula - that comes to hand when he attempts to dip his finger into the bowl, but she also definitely knows how to kiss all the right places, to seal the notion of affection that dances between them. For example, when she kisses his shoulder as a reminder that he isn't out of touch and he'll never be out of reach, it's the petal plucked sort of kisses that leave him grounded. Or what about the ways in which he kisses her check, and traces along her nose? Those are the little things. The little moments that Hilary and Tyson live for.