I Have A Type And His Name Is Adam Carlsen

i have a type and his name is Adam Carlsen

Read the entirety of The Love Hypothesis in one sitting and I am happy to announce that I am in love with Adam Carlsen

"Take care of those flowers wrong number"

"He called today but you didn't answer"

"My heart can't be in 2020 when it belongs in 1970"

"Dream you were my flower"

"You said it yourself. Flowers from 1970 couldn't survive that long"

"We'll meet again"

hi peach! i was wondering if i can request a fluff cc!awesamdude x f!reader drabble or headcanon (whatever you prefer / are more comfortable with) with reader having a bad day or being sad and sam taking care of her?

thank you so much :D

hands that heal

·˚ * summary: after an awful day, there's nothing you want more than to have Sam take care of you

·˚ * pairing: cc!awesamdude x f!reader

·˚ * warnings: negative thoughts, reader uses she/her pronouns, crying, self doubt

·˚ * word count: 634

·˚ * genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

·˚ * note: I can't express how much I loved writing this, Sam just seems like the perfect boyfriend and I hope you like it :)

Bad days were inevitable. There would always be a day where things didn’t go the way they were supposed to and you struggled with your usual tasks. But today wasn’t just a bad day, it was a downright terrible one.

Nothing was going your way and it took everything in you to not break down. All you wanted to do was lie down on your bed and try not to think about just how awful you were feeling.

You try not to make too much noise when you enter the house, slipping off your shoes by the door and tiptoeing around the living room.

Sam’s voice sounds muffled from your place on the couch. He’s probably streaming, having fun with chat and his friends.

Maybe you should tell him. Knock on the door, interrupt, take up space. You weren’t selfish enough to stop him from enjoying his day. To make him take care of you when you should be able to do it yourself.

Your body curls up into itself before you can stop. Turning your face into the pillow, you can only hope to keep the meltdown away.

“Baby.” You bury your face further into the pillow, too embarrassed to face him.

“Baby, look at me.” His voice is steady, gentle, hoping not to scare you away.

You hardly realize you’ve been crying until you turn to face him and find your vision blurred. When the tears do fall, his fingers sweep at the corners of your eyes, stopping them before they cascade down.

His face finally becomes clear and suddenly you want to cry all over again. You can’t find a speck of anger in his stare. Only a warm smile and a little bit of concern.

Your body dips as he sits down next to you and before you know it, he’s dragging you across the couch and onto his lap.

He cradles your face in his wide hands, fingertips skimming your skin. His hold is firm, but when you move to lie against him, he lets you.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” His chest vibrates against your cheek when he speaks.

You shake your head and he hums in understanding.

This time, his hands move up and down your back. His movements are light but still fill you with a sense of contentment.

“Why didn’t you tell me, baby?” Your eyes open, not that you realize they’d ever closed, too caught up in relaxing for the first time today.

You push further into the hoodie he’s wearing, mumbling out an answer.

“You gotta speak up, pretty thing.” You know if you stayed quiet, he’d let you. Sam never pushed you to talk, always one to be respectful of your boundaries.

But that was the thing about Sam. You never wanted to keep things from him anyway.

“I just didn’t wanna bother you, Sammy.” It feels childish to admit. Makes you feel small and too needy.

Once again, his hands are lifting your face to his. You right yourself on his lap, busying yourself with evening out the strings of his hoodie, instead of meeting his gaze.

“Hey.” He doesn’t continue until you look at him, “You’re my girl. Ok? That means I love all of you, not just the happy parts.”

“Sammyyyy, stop being so cute, you’re gonna make me cry again.” You whine, feeling tears well up in response to his little speech.

With a chuckle he smooths the furrow in your brow with his thumb and kisses the pout from your lips. When he pulls back he’s beaming and the stretch of your own smile is hard to ignore.

It’s hard to feel worthy of someone like Sam, but every time you doubt yourself, he’s there to remind you why you deserve all the love he has to offer.

BRO.

CW - flowers from 1970: chapter 18

I’m literally shaking and crying 

the image of dream slowly putting down the old telephone and collapsing on his bed after holding the phone in his hands for 5 minutes straight. Knowing the cord had been cut, he starts to cry while trying to redial George’s number with no response. He wants to hear his voice one last time. He wants to kiss him. He wants to see him. 

SOBBING.