tp: crushes

having a crush on someone is not weird.
if you find someone that makes your thoughts race and your palms sweaty,
that does not make you obsessive.
Just because you think about them a lot, just because you ask all your friends what they're’ like, just because you make little plans in your mind of ways you can casually bump into them
YOURE NOT A STALKER.
the youth have somehow planted this seed in the minds of OURSELVES that crushing over someone is “creepy” or “weird” or “obsessive”
We’ve created the slang word ‘thirsty’ which means, a person who really wants someone else.
It is used in a derogatory way.
It is not strange to really like someone and just because you talk about them a lot or maybe you’ve planned out your entire future with them in your head
You’re fuckin normal
Cause we ALL do it.
And if you don’t, well maybe you’re the weirdo!
You don’t have to feel creepy for having a crush on someone.
As long as you don’t sit outside of their house in the bushes every night I think you are fine.
You’re never wrong for thinking highly of someone, and if they call you weird for that: They’re an asshole.
xo
—  someone needed to address this issue
Campfire Serenade

“Hey can you do one where he’s like a singer or something and you’re spying on him and he catches you spying and like serenades you or something omg please” - Anonymous

Imagine: “…Be my girl,” he finished with a lazy grin. You, [y/c], and a group of your close friends were sitting around the bonfire, and a few of them had just performed a breathtakingly beautiful song. [y/c] was the lead singer of course, and guitarist. He was so talented, you thought, and you were so not.  You had never had the nerve to talk to him one-on-one, but after a few drinks around the fire you felt hopeful and charged with a newfound confidence. He was sitting facing you, and once or twice throughout the evening you were sure he caught you staring at him. How could you not stare? He was gorgeous. A couple of members of your group got up to go for a night swim in the lake, but you opted out. One by one, people left until the numbers dwindled down to two. You and [y/c]. You were too scared that if you spoke to him he’d leave too, so you stayed silent. After a few minutes of listening to the peaceful crackle of the fire, he spoke up. “Its [y/n], right?” he asked.

>”Huh?” you jumped. [y/c] chuckled at your shock.

>”I asked if your name was [y/n], but I think I already have my answer,” he smirked. “I’m [y/c],” he told you, standing up and stretching out his muscular arms.

>”I know,” you responded a little too fast. He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, we’re in a couple of the same classes back at school, so I uh know who you are.”

>[y/c] seemed satisfied with that answer and started to walk in your direction. He sat down inches away. Even without touching, his proximity sent sparks shooting down your spine. “So I noticed you watching me sing earlier,” he winked.

>”You have serious talent,” you told him honestly.

>”What you heard earlier isn’t my usual style,” sighing he stroked his guitar.

>”I’d love to hear something you wrote yourself,” you smiled. His eyes lit up.

>”You would?”

>”Of course.” He pulled the guitar onto his lap and turned to face you directly. He started strumming some chords and began to sing, all the while his eyes never left yours. His voice melded with the guitar magically and you were in awe. He was right, the song from earlier was not his usual style. After hearing this piece, it wasn’t your style either. After hearing this, nothing else could be. [y/c] poured his heart out in this song, it was about his love for this girl. What a lucky girl she is, you thought. By the end of the song, [y/c] was panting and his face had somehow moved only inches away from yours. There were flickers of the campfire dancing in his dark eyes and you couldn’t look away.

>”So, what did you think,” his voice seemed deeper. You swallowed.

>”It was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.” And it was. Something twinkled in [y/c]’s eyes.

>”You think that?”

>”I know that.”

>”Good. Because I want the girl that I wrote it for to know that I meant every word I sang.”

>”She must be something special.” A strange emotion flashed in his eyes; humor?

>”Oh, she is,” he smiled. And suddenly those inches from before had turned into nothing. And suddenly his lips were on yours and you were kissing him back. And suddenly his special girl didn’t matter- nothing did except [y/c]. Things got heated, and he pulled you onto his lap, your legs around his waist. He bit your bottom lip playfully, begging for entrance, but all at once that special girl did matter. And you weren’t ready to live with the guilt of ruining whatever [y/c] and her had together. He pouted, “What’s wrong?” You glared at him.

>”What about your ‘special girl’- the one you wrote that song for?” [y/c] grinned and wrapped you into a tight hug. He leaned into your ear.

>”Oh [y/n], you loser, my special girl is you of course!”

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