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jamaiskookie · 4 years

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How To Ask Your Crush Out: A Guide For Dummies [knj x reader]

⚖ warnings: intense amount of crack and very very trashy writing

⚖ word count: 3.3k (very smol boi today, just wanted to get this little drabble out)

⚖ genre: crackity fluff; my specialty :-)

⚖ A/N: been preparing for halloween so forgive me for the short fic, i’ve been pUMPING out content for you guys recently.

masterlist asks

⚖ synopsis: Prof. Kim Namjoon is pleased and delighted to present his new class: How To Ask Your Crush Out For Dummies; A comprehensive, follow-along six step guide for the introverted and shy.

A triumphant Kim Namjoon jumps into frame in front of the huge chalkboard in a huge lecture hall, holding a piece of white chalk in one hand and a pointer in the other, with a slightly maniacal grin stretched on his face. His black thick rimmed glasses are crooked and skewed, sitting on the bridge of his nose, completely lopsided. He’s been awake for- oh he doesn’t keep count. Possibly 28 hours by now.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” (It’s 6 in the morning, and nobody is in the audience.) He stretches out the long, metal chalkboard pointer, who he has named Bertha, and smacks it against the chalkboard. It echoes through the empty hall. He secretly loves the sound the long pointer makes. It’s so satisfying, and the fact that he got it on Amazon Prime for only like 2 dollars makes the sound so much better.

“Welcome to today’s class!” He’s still talking to an empty room. It might be the desperation in him, or just his good ole’ friend sleep deprivation fueling his somewhat insane behaviour. “Today I am completely focused on solving the greatest mystery I have ever encountered in my lifetime. Arguably, this is the most scrutinised cold case ever seen in the world. Today we’ll be tackling: How To Ask Your Crush Out. Would anybody like to start off by introducing themselves, their crush, and how long you’ve been infatuated? Hm?” Crickets.

“Ah, there’s nobody here!” Namjoon exclaims cheerfully, as if he only just realised. He swings back, turning to the chalkboard and continues teaching. “My name is Kim Namjoon, or Professor Kim to you,” Again, completely empty room. “And I have had a crush on Y/N L/N for almost two years now.” His smile falters when he realises it really has been two whole years. Clearing his throat, he smacks an A3 sized picture of a pretty girl onto the chalkboard.

You are wearing a long cardigan sweater in the photo, candidly reading with headphones wrapped around your neck. Namjoon has written a barely visible small ‘Y/N, October 4th’ on the top corner of the picture. He’s always had a bit of a photography hobby, but his pictures always seem to turn out better when you are the subject.

It’s a bit odd how you look so much better when you don’t know he’s taking a photo. All the selfies and old pictures from university he has of you are just as beautiful, but there’s something ethereal about you in your natural state. Sitting down and reading a book in a library. That photo is miles better than any of the stupidly extensive photo-ops you plan out for your Instagram pictures. He stares at the photo before turning back to the (imaginary) class.

“Let me introduce the- as the kids say- lomél. I believe this is an abbreviation for Love Of My Life. L-O-M-L, if anybody wants to write the spelling down.” He swerves Bertha around to point at your picture. “This,” He says, seriously. “Is Y/N L/N, my… my friend since freshman year of university. I have never confessed my feelings to her, despite trying many, many times. Today, we’re going to trouble-shoot and hopefully solve this problem, while examining a shy person’s abilities to socialise and freely have a love life.” Namjoon ignores the small voice in his head that mentions how a successful Philosophy professor who speaks in front of hundreds of students every day such as himself should be able to say ‘I like you’ to the girl he’s had a painfully obvious crush on for the past two years.

“Step ONE:” Namjoon yells, writing a big ‘1’ on the chalkboard. “Do not start off a confession by mentioning a Confucius quote if your crush is not in the philosophy or ethics community! They will not understand no matter how obvious it is!” On the chalkboard, he draws an old man with droopy eyebrows and huge beard- Confucius. Then he draws a huge circle around it and crosses it out with a line using so much force he almost breaks the piece of chalk in his hand.

“In fact, just don’t mention anything about philosophers! And don’t try to confess to them through a math problem, they will not understand!” Namjoon winces. He learned that one the hard way. (He asked you to isolate ‘1’ in ⅓ < 3, which is a seventh-grade level inequality. You had pushed him away and yelled at him for making you do math. The answer to the inequality equation would have been 1 < 3u.) ((1 < 3u = I <3 you. He thought it was pretty obvious.))

He draws a subtraction and addition sign and draws another circle, crossing through it.

“Step TWO!” Namjoon shouts, cringing at the horrible scratchy noise the chalk makes against the board. “If you do get the chance to confess to them and manage to get through without substantially embarrassing yourself, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT laugh and agree if they ask if you are joking! They will! Laugh along with you! While you try! To hide your pain!”

“I cannot emphasise this enough!” Namjoon is basically screaming by now. He hopes nobody from campus comes in to complain. The picture of you on the board with the symbols that he’s drawn along with the big ‘FLIRTING AND DATING 101’ written on the top of the board could lead to some severe misunderstandings. “Do not laugh if that ever happens again- I mean, if it ever happens to you! It’s more likely than you would think if you are in love with a dumbass! It will happen! Misinterpretations and concerns will happen! Learn from them!” Namjoon writes a huge ‘laughing to hide the pain = bad ❌’ onto the board.

“Does anybody have any questions?” More crickets.

“Okay then, moving on!” Namjoon writes a ‘3’ below the notes for step 2. “Step THREE: Confessing via call, facetime, or handwritten letter would be optimal for the average introvert. I suggest a handwritten letter would be best for this kind of confession. Still not ideal, but it gets the job done. Can someone tell me why a handwritten letter would be better than a call, facetime, or anything on the internet?” Without waiting for his non-existent introvert class to respond, he snaps his fingers, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s right! Facetiming or hearing your crush’s voice would be too nerve wracking and inevitably, you’ll mess up and say something like ‘Did you know that Barbie’s real name is Barbara Millicent Roberts’ instead of ‘I’ve liked you for two years’... I do not speak from experience.”

Awkwardly, he clears his throat again, averting his eyes from literally nobody. “Texting would not be good! Texting is considered insensitive and is not a good way to confess your feelings. If the idea of a face to face confession is too intimidating or not ideal in your introverted situation, the aforementioned options would be your best choices. I strongly advise you to stick to those three. In order of a likelihood for a successful confession, it goes: Letter, facetime, then call.” He writes ‘letter > facetime > call > speaking in real life (?)’ on the board.

“hoWEVER,” He says, pointing at the large ‘3’ he wrote with Bertha. “If you do end up choosing to write a handwritten letter- write this down, this is an important note- do NOT forget to sign your name! Your crush will end up throwing it away thinking it’s a random admirer or a prank. MAKE SURE TO WRITE THIS DOWN!” On the board, he writes down ‘My name → Kim Namjoon.’ He nods thoughtfully. “Yes,” He says. “It’s important to write your name.” He mutters it over and over, staring glazed at the words written on the board.

Close to bursting into tears, he grabs a hold of his hair and cradles his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you write your fucking name, Namjoon?” He frustratingly mutters to himself. Sighing, he puts his hands on his waist, marvelling at what he’d written so far. The peaceful silence doesn’t last for very long.

“STEP NUMBER FOUR!” It’s not like him to be so loud. It’s probably a good, balanced combination of his lack of sleep and being alone with his inner thoughts. He’s pretty sure he has an alternate personality who thinks he’s Freud. Freud occasionally throws in some pretty deep psychoanalysis prompts for him to consider when he can’t sleep.

“If… And only if you build up the courage to ask her out in person-! Well, firstly, congratulations, we’re all very proud of you. Secondly, do it in public! You might be thinking, Professor Kim, why on earth would I want to do it in public? Getting rejected in public is so much more horrible!? Well, BELIEVE ME, UNBELIEVERS- Getting rejected in public is sO much better than getting rejected in private! Due to our tendency to not draw attention to ourselves and the way we like to shrink in public, it’s much more likely that we won’t break down in tears if we get rejected in public! Well, once you get back home, you might start breaking down, so maybe this is just a temporary solution, but it’s still better than sobbing in front of your crush when you devastatingly get rejected!”

Knitting his brows together, Namjoon corrects himself. “Not when you get devastatingly rejected, sorry. If. If. Yes, if. If you get devastatingly rejected. Come to think of it, in a purely logical way, you have a 50/50 chance of succeeding in your confession. ‘I like you, do you like me?’ That’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? A confession is exactly the same as flipping a coin! You have a 50% chance of getting heads, 50% chance of getting tails. Either way, you get on with your life despite getting heads or tails. So… the odds are kinda in your favour!”

“Except when you flip a coin, you wouldn’t get nervous to the point where you accidentally push the coin into a mud filled pond where the coin’s favourite shirt got ruined so then the coin proceeded to ignore you for the next two weeks, making it the most miserable two weeks of your entire life… But that probably won’t happen again.” Namjoon mutters underneath his breath. “Coins don’t wear shirts anyways.” Somehow, that seemed to comfort him. He writes down ‘coins can’t wear shirts’ on the chalkboard.

“Step number FIVE!” Namjoon shakes his head, taking a sip of the espresso that’s been sitting on his desk for hours. “What was step number five agai- oh right. Step number five: look your best!” Namjoon catches sight of his reflection and winces. “Okay, maybe I don’t have a great example right now.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, almost puking when he feels the amount of grease and gunk buried in his scalp. He should probably shower. And get some sleep. His eye bags do not look very attractive right now. Maybe he should get a haircut too, it’s kinda getting wild up there. In his own defence, he’s been standing in this exact pair of sweatpants and glasses for the past couple hours, so he smells a tiny bit. Don’t girls like it when guys wear grey sweatpants? Frowning, Namjoon makes a mental note to do some research later on.

“Shower, change, put in contacts, cologne, flowers…” Namjoon starts writing a to-do list onto his small notebook. “Would she like flowers, actually? Is it misogynistic of a guy to bring flowers or is it just a cute, nice gesture? Am I overthinking this?” His phone vibrates in the middle of his feminism breakdown, and he pats his back pockets before realising his phone was across the table. He grunts as he leans over to pick it up, and thoughtlessly, he accepts the call and brings it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Your voice is both a comfort and a shock to hear so early in the morning. He can already see you sighing aloud and scrunching up your nose cutely, a habit you picked up from him himself. He does it when he’s embarrassed, but you do it when you’re angry. It doesn’t really work because now whenever you get mad he just swoons and gushes over your cute nose and chubby cheeks.

“aH- Um… What time is it?” Namjoon fumbles around, jumping up.

“It’s like 7 in the morning? Hello, you promised to come workout with me today? Come open your door, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for forever, but I think it’s broken. I’ll call the repair guy for you later.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh, guiltily looking at his shoes even though he knows you can’t even see what he’s doing right now.

“It’s already seven? Wow, time flies really fast. I’m- ” He yawns, bringing the phone away from his ear for a moment. “- really tired.” A beat passes by. How is it possible that he can hear you get angry at him from here?

“Namjoon.” Another awkward laugh rings through the lecture hall.

“Ahahha. - Yes?”

“Are you at work right now?” You ask, voice suddenly turning stone cold.

“Um, well, that’s a debatable question. See, is it really, honestly my work if I love doing it? Sure, it makes me a living, but of course I don’t consider it to be my workplace, you know? Like, I get to come in and do what I love every single day, educating the next generation. It’s actually a really bad mindset because once you refer to your job as ‘work’ you don’t-”

“Namjoon.”

“Okay yes, I’m at work.” He relents, pushing his glasses up and sighing.

“Joon, it’s seven! Like, seven in the morning! Have you been in there since you clocked in yesterday morning?” You ask worriedly.

“Uhh, I think so?” To be honest, he’s been here for two nights already, crashing out on a beanbag and brushing his teeth in the staff bathroom when he needs to.

“Namjoon!” He mumbles out an apology. “What the hell could you have been doing in there? You don’t even have that many classes this week!” Namjoon lets his eyes trail over to the chalkboard, then back down to his notebook.

“Uh… it’s kinda complicated?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll come home now, don’t worry!” He says, even before you can demand he take care of himself. Sometimes, you’re just a teensy bit overbearing. It’s a messed up miracle he managed to fall in love with you in the first place.

“Be careful, okay? It’s flu season, too, so you really can’t be this reckless! You’re literally going to drive me into an early grave, for fuck’s sakes. You’re always fussing over how overworked I am, so how could you not take care of yourself? That’s so hippo- hypo- ugh, what’s the word?”

“Hypocritical.” Namjoon says into the phone while packing up his things.

“Hypocritical, yes. You better be here in ten minutes or less, Kim. Come home, take a shower and then sleep. I’m guessing you have done neither of those things since yesterday.” Namjoon doesn’t have the decency or humility to give you an honest answer, so he just stays silent. His eyes are still fixed on the chalkboard. Where was he at when your phone call interrupted? Ah, yes. Step number six: ‘I love you.’ Step number six was a piece of advice he had gotten from Min Yoongi, a music theory professor who taught just a couple minutes away from Namjoon’s office. He’s been dating Jung Hoseok, another mutual friend of Namjoon’s, for a few years now.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi just blinked when Namjoon asked him, stared blankly at him, lips threatening to pull up into a smirk.

“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’?” Namjoon said, huffing. “How did you confess to Hobi?”

“Bro,” Yoongi said, now freely laughing at Namjoon. “If you can’t confess to her, just wait until you get around to thinking about proposing. Never been more nervous in my life, swear to god.” Namjoon had never been a violent type. Up until he met Yoongi.

“Just- tell me how you did it, would you?” Yoongi gave a rare, small smile and beckoned him closer. He leaned in, about to tell Namjoon a big secret.

“Just say it.” He whispered into Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon rolled his eyes, pulled away and rested his head on the sofa.

“That’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No it’s not!” Yoongi also leaned back into his seat. “Just say it. ‘I love you.’ It’s nothing difficult. Just say it!” Namjoon scoffed and left, but Yoongi called something out while he was walking away. “Hey, you’re going to lose her if you don’t do anything.” Namjoon froze, but continued to walk. Yoongi watched, two seconds later, amused as Namjoon came rushing back in, sat himself down on the sofa and demanded Yoongi tell him everything he needed to know.

Thus, his six steps were born.

If Min Yoongi, a person who is possibly even more shy and even more introverted than Namjoon, (Which is a big feat) can ‘just say it’, he should be able to do it easily. Namjoon nods to himself, rolling his head back and cracking a neck bone.

Taking a deep breath, he speaks into the phone.

“Hey, I have something to tell you.”

“It can wait,” You say. It’s so like you to ruin a love confession, Namjoon thinks, laughing. “Come home, go sleep for a couple hours, then we can talk. It’s not important, is it?” He stares at the chalkboard, letting out a satisfied exhale.

“Nope.” He says. “Not that important. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” He hears you grunt from the other side of the phone, shuffling around. “Hey, I’m gonna hang up first, I’ll wait for you to get here. Where’s your spare key again?”

“Underneath the compartment in the hanging plant. Yeah- the one above the front door.” He hears the familiar jingle of his keys and your adorable ‘a-ha!’ from the phone, and his smile stretches wider.

“Ohh, okay, got it. Thanks! You don’t mind if I go in first, right?”

“Nah.”

“Okay, bye!” Before he says it back, you hang up, and he’s left with an annoying beeping sound that repeats in his ear. He misses you, Namjoon muses to himself. He hasn’t seen you for much too long. Happily, he skips to the back of the lecture hall. (which he then immediately regrets when he finds out his legs don’t work properly after staying in the exact same position for hours without end.) He doesn’t even mind that you’ll see him in this horrendous state if he gets to see you fuss over him again. Your soft side coming out is like spotting a rare bonsai tree on sale in a run-down store- extremely special and only happens once in a while.

Okay, that analogy was really bad, he just really wanted to mention his bonsai trees.

He spares one last glance to the filled chalkboard. With good luck, nobody will walk in and see that mess all over the board. He’d probably get fired.

“I love you.” He says to himself. Maybe Yoongi was right. It does sound pretty easy. Namjoon walks out of the lecture hall, switching off the lights and running off to see you.

Kim Namjoon’s Six Steps Towards Confessing Your Love: Introvert Edition

Do not refer to anything academic or clever in your confession.

Do not laugh when they ask if you are joking once you confess.

Letter > facetime > call

Confess in public.

Look your best!

Just say it.

⚖ wanna talk to professor!joon? or add yourself to the taglist?

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our-jensen-ackles-love · 4 years

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A Gentlemen’s Agreement // 1.

Henry Cavill x Reader

--- All work and no play finds you in dire need of a wedding date. Desperate you turn to a friend who directs you to a sort of ‘service’ she had used several months prior when she went to her high school reunion, swearing up and down it was the best two weeks of her life. They were discreet, they knew all the right tics for the occasions and they were good-looking. What could it hurt?

word count: 1576

warnings: the usual swearing.

author’s note: Henry Cavill rabbit hole is real. This is the first chapter. other’s will be posted to Patreon first before coming to Tumblr. Thanks to @itssmallerontheoutside-13 this amazingly fun idea. TAGS OPEN

FEEDBACK Masterlist Series Masterlist AO3 Patreon

Chapter One

Eighteen days until the wedding.

The lace bordered wedding invitation was mocking you with your all too confident choice to RVSP for two. No matter where you looked at your desk, your eyes drew back to the damned thing like it was a cursed object insulting your cockiness with glitter etched into the words.

You’re invited to the wedding of Javier De Leon and Marcy Wilson.

Even her name was glaring daggers into your soul with what could have been. “Ah, fuck it,” you stated to yourself, picking up the stupid thing and tossing it in the trash bin next to you.

“Fuck who?”

Swiveling around in your chair, you met Brie’s dark eyes, “No one apparently.”

Her eyebrow rose as she stood up from where she was sitting at her own little work area and strutted her way over to where you had angry tossed that sparkly piece of paper away. In her usual all too nosy manner, she reached down and picked the thing right up making you wish you had finished your yogurt sooner to cover the thing in.

“The wedding’s coming up?”

“Yep.”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, “And you still don’t have a date?”

“You’d be correct.”

Placing the invite right back where it had been gawking at you mere seconds ago. “Why don’t you have a date again?”

“You know,” you glared at her, really wishing that your eyes could shoot laser beams out of them. It’d be really useful in a moment like now. “I don’t have time.”

“But that pint of Ben and Jerry’s you keep having to replace in the back of your freezer could argue otherwise.”

With a groan, you leaned back, feeling the dip of your chair to the point it almost felt as if you were going to fall flat on your ass if you didn’t stop soon. “Why did I ever let you into my life?”

“I don’t think you really had a say in the matter,” she chuckled, leaning herself against the cubical wall that separated the two of you from the rest of the corporate office. “Plus, you know I would have elbowed my way in there somehow.”

She wasn’t wrong. The day you found yourself sitting in this exact spot five years ago, Brie made her presence known, walking over like she was the head honcho and introducing herself before promptly inviting you to after-work cocktails even though it was a Monday. The two of you liked to joke that she was your more adventurous half, doing crazy dance classes, bravely renting adult movies at hotels, and brazenly asking men for their numbers.

The craziest thing you had done since you started working at Saggino Law Firm was to break up with your boyfriend. The very boyfriend that wanted you to quit mere months after you got hired because he wanted you to stay home and practice being a Stepford wife.

Sitting back up, you looked at your friend. “My dumbass drank too much wine and totally thought I’d have a man in my life by now, so I RVSP’d for two. And that was well over a year ago.”

“I know. I was there.”

That glitter was glowing now. “I can’t show up without a date.”

She shifted a bit now, still leaving her arms crossed in that almost concerned motherly manner she always seemed to wear when it came to your dating life. “Who cares. Go stag. Sleep with one of the groomsmen.”

“My brother is one of them.”

“Then not him,” she shrugged like this was a basic math problem. “You’re hot as fuck, any one of them would be drooling to a get a night with you.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that she loved to hype you up in an effort, or more so a hope, that you’d break out of your shell. “That’s not what my mother will say. She’ll point out how everything there could have been mine.”

“Again, who gives a fuck.”

“Sadly,” you gave her a sad little smile, “I do.”

Brie didn’t hide her annoyance at your answer, eyes narrowing before she stood up and made her way back over to her desk. Eyes following her, you watched as she slid open one of the top drawers, she staring at the contents for a moment before peeking around the fairly empty office area and pulling out something that looked like a credit card. Her back remained facing you, “Remember when I went to my high school reunion last year?”

“Of course, you tried to get me to go, said we could totally pull off some sort of lesbian sister thing to fuck with Daryl,” you remembered that conversation perfectly, it sounded hilarious at the time. “But then I got roped into something here.

“And I got a date.”

“Shocking.”

Her lips pursed now as she turned back to face you. “Don’t you want to know how I got one so quickly?”

Feigning some serious thought, you turned your chair completely around to face her and this mysterious card in his hand. “Flash some boob? Promise an array of sexual favors?”

“Just make me sound like a hooker why don’t you,” when your mouth opened to reiterate, Brie held up a finger. “Don’t.”

Staying quiet you smirked at your best friend as she made her back over to where you had barely moved an inch. The card in her hand sounded heavy as she placed it down on your desk when you spun to see what it was, you were surprised to see the thing was completely blank. It didn’t have any numbers and when you flipped it over it was lacking the strip that all credits cards have.

“What’s this?”

“The answer to your problems.”

Your eyebrows had to have been lost in your hairline now. “I fail to see how a blank card will help me.”

Brie sighed slightly, leaning forward so that her head was perfectly covered by the felt wall in front of you. “When you bailed on me, I found this,” she picked the card up by a fingernail now, tilting it towards the two of you until the light reflected in just the right angle to reveal a trail of numbers. “They are called ‘A Gentleman’s Agreement.’ And trust me they live up to the name.”

“You used an escort service?” You squealed trying to keep your voice level, but the highs and cracks gave away. “Brie, what the hell?”

She shushed you quickly, poking her head up to steal a glance around before ducking back down to meet your criticizing glare. “Don’t give me that look, listen,” she flicked the card over once more, dropping it now, “these men are used for things like this. Weddings, reunions, bring home to mom to get her to stop asking questions, some are booked out for months. I’m told even some celebrities have been known to use this service.”

“They’re escorts,” you stated again slowly. “I have to pay someone to spend the night with me.”

“It’s not like you have to sleep with them.”

You stared at the card, sliding it away from you like it was growing some sort of fungus. “I still have to pay for them.”

“It’s your choice,” Brie continued as if your concerns weren’t clear to her. “Owen was amazing for the reunion. He kept his hands on me, was beyond respectful, and even got good old Lana to give me the side-eye.”

“Owen?”

“Yes, Y/N, they have names.”

You stared at the card now, still keeping it a safe distance from your fingertips now. “I don’t know… this sounds like too much work.”

“They have a refund policy.”

Something about the way she said that made you actually happy that you didn’t eat your yogurt from earlier. “Jesus woman, they are people.”

“Men,” she corrected. “They are men who know what they are doing. Owen was a well-deserved lay and I’d be lying to you if I didn’t admit that I haven’t been able to get some dick like that since then.”

Your mind was spinning. A male escort service, something your best friend took a chance with and was raving about like it was the best burger in the city. Once more Brie stressed that it was a no-pressure kind of agreement, apparently, on their website, they list their rules of what they can and won’t do per client; but stated that everyone was tested regularly and background checks were a must. They had pricings and profiles to flip through and a survey to fill out to gauge just what you needed and could make suggestions.

It was literally a meat market at your fingers tips.

“Just think about it,” your friend finally said, sliding the discreet business card closer to you. “You can either take me to this beach filled extravaganza and really fuel the route of your sexuality with your family or you take the risk and have a really good time with someone who’s going to be exactly what you need.”

Exactly what you need.

Goddammit.

#a gentleman's agreement #aga #henry cavill #henry cavill x #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x reader insert #henry cavill x you #reader insert #superman #august walker #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #the witcher #geralt of rivia

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