Yama's 30-Minute Spiels
A collection of YamaYamaWrites' 30-minute ramblings!
25 Nov 2020
“Do you want a coffee, babe?” Izuku asks, presses a kiss to Shouto’s cheek as he rises to his feet. The comforter drags along the ground as he pads toward the kitchen.
“Hot cocoa?” Shouto bargains, and Izuku huffs a laugh, shakes his head.
“I’ll never understand how you can start your day off with something so sweet.” But still, Izuku puts a pot on the stove to heat some milk and chocolate while he starts the coffee pot.
“You put like, four tablespoons of creamer in your coffee,” Shouto replies, stands as well and makes his own way to the kitchen. “I see no difference.”
23 Nov 2020
“What did he have to say?” Izuku tries to sound nonchalant, but apprehension is heavy in his voice. He knows what Endeavor had to say, Shouto can tell by the way he fidgets with his fingertips.
“Oh, you know,” Shouto says, slams the balcony door shut. He reaches for a towel hanging from his closet doorknob to mop up the water rather than steaming it away. “The…thing.”
“Are we going to call it that?” Izuku asks, and he doesn’t sound angry, no – he sounds hurt, oh so hurt.
Shouto swallows. “The kiss,” he amends.
06 Nov 2020
It’s just past noon on a Saturday, the sun is high above, and still Eijirou can’t help but feel there’s so much to do. They’re nearly halfway done with their third year, now, and agencies have been sending mail left and right – though if Eijirou counts, he’s certain he’s trailing far behind the Big Three (Izuku, Katsuki, and Shouto of course; who else). But there’s still a hefty stack of mail he hasn’t opened yet on his desk back in his dorm room, and in his hands now, in his place on this bench, a single letter.
Addressed to him. From Katsuki.
05 Nov 2020
“You died, Ei, and I wasn’t there,” Katsuki whispers, his voice hoarse. Another sob claws its way from Katsuki’s lips.
“What am I supposed to say?” Eijirou whimpers, silent tears falling down his own cheeks. He barely manages to suppress the pained sobs threatening to break through his pounding head.
Katsuki wipes his palms haphazardly over his face, sniffles to free himself of any remnants of his tears. But the dried blood on his palms streaks his face now, messy and gory and oh so sad, oh so sad. “Just say ‘I love you’,” he chokes out, bites back another pained sob. “I love you, damnit, just say it.”
“Hinata,” Tobio interrupts, his eyes glazed over that way they get when he’s ultra-focused on the court, “are you going to help me or not?”
“Well the thing is,” Shouyo nervously prattles his fingertips together, “I’m ah, no good at cooking. Or baking. I lit a toaster on fire once.”
“You lit a—how did you light a toaster on fire?”
Tobio and Shouyo are put in charge of baking cookies and cupcakes for the Karasuno team bake sale.