I'd Spike That~ {Haikyuu!! x Male!Reader}

Nishinoya Yuu

"(L/n)-senpai! There you are!"

You'd been in the middle of slinging your bag haphazardly over your shoulder when the sudden call of your name caught your attention; recognizing the girl charging towards you as a fellow member of the cooking club you were a part of, you'd entertained the thought of escaping out the window to avoid her for about 2.5 seconds before she'd already managed to come to a stop right in front of you, determined gleam in her eyes and a container clasped tightly in her hands. Well, guess escaping was out of the question then. Refraining from unleashing a sigh that would fully express how much you weren't looking forward to this conversation, side-eyeing the door longingly. "Yamada."

She giggles and pops off the lid, releasing a scent that could only mean your doom if her intentions were indeed what you were dreading, "Senpai, we've been in club together for a while now, I told you its Yukiko! Anyways, I made some cookies..." She ducks her head and offers the aforementioned "treats". "I was hoping you'd try some and give me your opinion!"

You're a stone-faced bastard with a seemingly permanent expression of perpetual monotony. Its times like this when you wished you could convey emotions better so you could successfully show how much you really didn't want to try any noxious concoction your underclassman somehow managed to create. "Yamada. This is something you should ask the club leader instead." Better that pretentious chef-wannabe than you, because from the look of the oddly purple fume-exuding lumps Yamada called cookies, they would only bring death should they get anywhere near you. "So since there's nothing else, I'm gonna go-mmmpf!" Or she could stuff a chunk of poison into your mouth without any regards to your personal space or life. That's cool too.

"So?" She practically vibrates in her spot, looking far too excited than someone trying to commit culinary murder has any right to be. "How is it?!"

Shitty, gritty and vomit inducing to put it mildly.

You reluctantly swallow, if only to get it off your taste buds, and try to formulate the words that could properly convey how they were the worst things you'd ever had the misfortune of trying and she should just quit trying before she really does kill someone.

"By now you should realize you're a lost cau-" "Ah, Yamada-san there you are!"

The interruption comes in the form of Nishinoya Yuu, your miniscule classmate and childhood friend since your elementary days; he slides to your side with a look of panic and makes sure to speak over you, completely drowning out any kind of critique you'd attempted to crush her pride with. 

"Nishinoya-senpai?" Yamada's eyes widen the slightest bit, which isn't surprising; while you may have a reason to approach her considering you attended the same club (though there's no instance where that would ever happen, you weren't there to make friends, much less with hopeless cases such as her) Yuu had no link to her. Unless, you supposed, he was looking to confess to her though your heart gave a small pang at the thought. That was highly unlikely however, considering the amounts of times he's whined how he'd never get a girlfriend having to babysit you-you'd be offended if it weren't true, often it seems he's more your keeper than anything and you had a habit of abusing that role to monopolize his time when he wasn't busy with volleyball.

"Someone from your club was asking for you," he sends her a blinding grin that could oppose the sun, "I figured I could relay the message since I was headed here anyways!" He then fakes a double take, looking between you and Yamada as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, you withstand rolling your eyes at his theatrics though she seems to eat it up with amazing naivety, "Oh. I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

Finally, an escape route.

You eagerly take advantage of it, hand gripping your bag as you turn your head away from the girl with a bored air about you. "No. She was just leaving." Tone bland, you leave Yamada no room for argument. She flinches minutely and secures the lid to her box of death, clutching it to her chest as her eyes drop to the ground, seemingly more interested in inspecting her shoes now.