#aomaris

If you were to ask Sam about who he sees as the strongest brother of them all, you might be surprised to hear that he wouldn't choose himself. He struggles to pick between his youngest two brothers. Normally, Damien would seem like the no brainer but Matthew has his own strength.

After all, Sam wouldn't be here if he didn't.

Looking back at it all, maybe he shouldn't have been so mouthy with his father. Maybe if Sam held his tongue more when he was an adolescent, he wouldn't have angered his father so. Maybe he wouldn't have been launched out of the window pane.

Back then, he thought that was it. He was doomed to fall into the Decaying Sea below. His life flashed before his eyes as time seemingly slowed down around him with nothing he could possibly do to stop his descent.

Then someone caught him.

Barely hanging off the lower balcony, gripping the pillar beside him until he cracked the stone, the brother Sam least expected caught him and managed to barely hold onto his arm until the eldest could be brought in.

Damien and Sam, in my eyes, have very potent foils towards each other. Damien is naive and harbors very strong affection towards humans based off flawed ideals and self-hatred of his kind. Sam is realistic, a man who can't help but appreciate his demon roots and views most of humanity as cruel and ignorant.

However, while some older siblings seem to have resentment towards their younger siblings nativity and flawed optimism, this doesn't hinder Sam and his protective love over Damien.

I like that Sam's respect towards people is actually based off how they treat others. His obvious hate for his father, his dislike towards James ideology in Prince vs the Brute "Id rather see them as an equal than shove them on a pedestal" or how people think they are better based off faulty reasoning or their lifestyle/status/class.

Seduce Me the Otome ❤︎⁠ Fandom Archive

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Hi hello!! :>

From having seen many People being beautifully Creative from writing their own Story takes and Analysis stuff, drawing Art and! even their own Oc's or Self-Inserts: I got the sudden surge to create this "Archive".

The "Archive" ?

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Those of us, who wish to Dance alone:

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James

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Erik

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Sam

Lin Schreiber

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Matthew

Maeva Anderson

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Damien

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AU Fanworks and ideas:

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Story Analytics:

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Character Analytics:

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More to be added soon...❤︎

Any Questions, inputs, Suggestions etc are supersuper welcome!!!!

Credit:

simple star divider

love bites

basic pearls

Lipstick stain dividers + other colour variant

decorative dividers

beautiful black roses

He initially doesn't want to participate. He doesn't intend to stop others from making a prank war happen, unless the pranks are actively harmful.

However, he gets drawn in when someone undoes he seams on some of his wardrobe and it starts falling apart on him as he's leaving the house. He doesn't know who did it, but this means war.

He utilizes his tentacles to pull off some really intricate pranks. They're so strong and move smoothly so he can pull off some feats.

The simplest prank is moving everything in the house to the left one inch. He can do it in an afternoon. Just as his brothers get used to it, he moves everything two inches to the right.

If Matthew is the target, Erik helps Simon Tabby move to higher ground he can't normally get to. First he lifts the little demon up to a ledge, then makes a makeshift ladder or step stool that reasonably looks like something Simon could make and use and leaves it laying to the side where Matthew would obviously see it. Simon Tabby then does the jump and stabby (with a plush knife).

Depending on the range, Erik can swipe things off his brothers' plates. Like taking the steak off Sam's plate and moving it to James or Matthew. He moves fast enough that he doesn't get caught by anyone other than Damien. Damien doesn't rat him out, surprisingly.

Erik decides to move everyone's beds to the roof one day. His own included to make it look like he is also a victim. Acting chops come in handy here. James and Sam are at each other's throats for a good hour until they both agree to set aside their argument to bring everything inside before it rains.

Lastly, he swaps around everyone's wardrobe. He puts his in Sam's closet, Sam's in Matthew's, Matthew's in Damien's, Damien's in James', and James' in his own. He pretends to be shocked at the ill fit until he hears yelling from down the hall. Then he sees Sam wearing one of his silk shirts while yelling at Matthew for taking and his favorite vest.

Erik then quietly withdraws from the prank war as either James or Mika puts an end to it, but not before giving Damien a pat on the back for the first prank that drew him in. Turns out it was his youngest brother who undid the seams on his outfit, and Erik figured it out while watching the other pranks unfold.

Erik is then brought back into the fold when someone puts purple temporary hair dye in his shampoo.

Your personal knight, who some consider to be a tad too rugged for his rank, accompanies you to a ball your noble father insisted you attend. But as the drama of the festivities becomes too great, you steal away and make it a (k)night to remember.

----

The night was lavish, as well could be expected. Your cousins, the Lord and Lady of Winthrop Hall, were well-renowned of their hosting abilities, and tonight was no exception to that tradition which had so defined them. 

After an arduous three-day journey – most of which you were forced to spend in that damned stuffy carriage – you were at last at Winthrop Hall; and though beautiful were the festivities that evening, your eyes could not help themselves from the feast that was one man among the many. 

Naturally, this man was your closest of men, your sworn knight as far back as you could remember. 

It was always a rare event that Ser Sam would shed his armour. Your serious and stony guard always insisted on being prepared for a fight should it come to him. When you would bug him about it – which was very often, as you found no greater joy than to bother him – he would always gruffly repeat the vow he had sworn to your family those many years ago: “To serve and protect my Lady like I swore to.” There, he would leave it at that. 

But little did Ser Sam know how well you enjoyed his form when it was shown. During the summer months, you would often delight yourself by sitting on the veranda and watching as your knight would chop firewood – with his chest bare. 

Like a child, you would giggle to yourself at that. It was like your little secret. 

And so on that night, it was the first in a long while you’d gotten to see your handsome protector in his regular garments, and you were positively riveted. 

You could gauge his form very well; his broad shoulders standing tall in the plain tunic, the bulge of his muscled arms under the cloth sleeves. Once or twice, you wondered at perhaps holding onto your guard’s arm as he escorted you into the Hall, if only to finally indulge yourself in the feeling of touching his muscles, chiselled from years of hard labour in service to your family. 

But for some reason or another, you had an ill way of showing your feelings. 

“My Lady?” came your knight’s voice, interrupting your thoughts. 

Turning to him, you gave him a look of consideration. “Yes, Ser Sam?”

He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’d let me go and place myself among the other… servants of the families.” 

You furrowed your brow at his incredulous notion. Then came your disapproval. 

“Why, you’d rather spend your time in the basements with the rest of the nameless grunts than at my side?” Your words came out harsher than you intended, and it seemed your guard caught onto it more than you’d wished. 

“Sorry, my Lady,” he said plainly. 

You waved a hand at him. “No matter,” you said, and you were about to go on, perhaps to ask him to walk you around the room, when you were rudely interrupted by a polite greeting at much the wrong time. 

“Lady Y/N!” greeted a familiar voice. 

Turning, you recognized it as your aunt, the former Lady of Winthrop. But since her husband had passed, and her son, the new Lord of Winthrop, had gotten married, your mother’s dear sister was demoted back to the simple name of Mrs. Pennings. 

Privately, to Ser Sam, you liked to call her ‘Old Dowager Pennings’, for she looked well into her grave already, and acted much like a dowager. At those little japes, your knight would always show his disapproval in the shake of his head, and a stern word or two.  He rarely seemed to approve of anything that amused you. 

You drew a forced smile. “Aunt Pennings,” you greeted her with a polite curtsy. “How are you on this fine evening?”

“Ah, my dear niece, I am quite well,” she responded, then turned to face the rest of the room. “As you can see, my dear son has been so kind as to offer another grand event in my honour, and to such great extent!” She turned again to you. “My Edmund is really the spitting image of his father, Lord rest his soul.” 

“Oh, yes,” you replied. “Edmund is quite the host.” 

Your aunt then grasped one of your hands in her own. “Oh, truly, my dear,” she said proudly, rubbing her leathery hand over yours. “So I cannot say I envy my sister one bit, for she was never given the pleasure of having a son.” 

Such was another truth of your life: you were the only child of the Lord and Lady Anderson, and being that you were indeed a girl, the horror of such a truth meant that your parents were indeed lacking of a son, a prize your aunt never ceased bragging of. 

But you were not formed for ill humour. You eyed your knight and drew a wry smile, jape already forming on your lips. 

You gave a gentle squeeze to your aunt’s hand. “Alas, my dear Aunt, you are too right,” you said in a tone of faux-sadness, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head for dramatic effect. “Indeed, Mother has suffered the want of a son dreadfully. Terribly, even.”

Your aunt nodded. “Yes, precisely– “

You lifted your head. “But perhaps she may borrow yours.” 

At that, your droll aunt blinked. From your side, you could see your guard scowl, to which you smiled inwardly. 

You pressed on innocently. “You recite often all those admirable qualities of your Edmund; I think half the country may already lay claim to him, so surely one more mother could make little difference,” you laughed. “Though I warn you, Aunt, if Mother takes him, she must have him entire, and then you may find yourself quite bereft of conversation.” 

You then turned to Ser Sam. “And that is something we could never live without, isn’t it, my good knight? One might say, a travesty to rival the ages?” 

His look of disapproval could not have shone worse. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, my Lady.” 

“Of course, you don’t,” you snapped, then turned back to your aunt. 

Mrs. Pennings gave a light laugh at that, though it came a moment late. “Oh, a jape,” she said in her typical stupid tone, patting your hand. It always did take her longer to recognize your little jokes, no matter how simple. “Well, you were always merry.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, another jape already in mind, but your knight had other plans. With a serious expression, he drew closer. 

“I think, Mrs. Pennings,” he interjected, “that my liege Lady needs a drink.” 

“Ugh,” you thought, rolling your eyes. Ser Sam could be so droll sometimes. 

Quickly enough, your aunt excused herself and made on her way to bore some other helpless victim in attendance, no doubt to be pitied. Ser Sam, meanwhile, dragged you to the drinks table. To the credit of your cousins’, it was a beautiful selection. Now old enough for alcohol, the drinks table was becoming your closest friend at assemblies like these; and though your Lady Mother would abhor the habit, your knight, however, was more lenient.  He made no comment as you chose among the water ices, all of which were flavoured in a great variety.

Gingerly, you then set on a slow pace, sipping eagerly at your drink; your knight followed silently, only a pace behind you. 

Once, then twice, you tried to turn around and make conversation with him, pointing out this or that about the room or party or attendants, but you were only rewarded with a firm nod; if you were lucky, maybe a soft, “Mmhmm.” 

How very droll Ser Sam could be! You heaved a sigh and, fed up, turned to face your knight. 

“Really, I cannot be blamed for all that,” you began casually. “If Edmund possesses even one admirable quality, my aunt will be sure to recite it a hundred times over. You know it yourself, she’s relentless! Really, I am sick of Edmund and his many virtues; oh, and his greatest: that of having a co— !” 

“Lower your voice, my Lady,” he shushed you, eyes darting about the room to see if anyone was to be offended by your vulgarisms. 

You gave him a playful look, smiling as you placed a hand upon your knight’s shoulder. In truth, you had no reason for it, but to feel the muscle lying there. “Oh, Ser, do not venture to tell me you’re worried for my reputation.” You giggled. “Just like Mother, a worried hen.”

He shot you a disapproving look. “You were entrusted to my care,” he said firmly. “I’m not looking to lose my job.” 

“I’m not looking to lose my job, my Lady,” you corrected him with a wry smile. 

Your knight’s jaw clenched as he looked at you squarely. “My Lady,” he forced out. 

You so loved to tease Ser Sam that way. If there was one way to delight yourself, it was always in teasing him about, for he could not hector you. Many a time you wished yourself a royal, that way no one might dare hector you. Proud of yourself, you took the last sips of your drink before setting it down. 

“Now,” you said, wiping the drink off your mouth, “I’d like to take a walk in this fine air while it still lasts. The summer will soon be gone and I don’t intend to miss the best of it.” 

You had already begun walking towards the garden doors when your guard’s voice stopped you.

“My Lady,” he protested. Turning, you saw he had a serious look upon his face, and was he… blushing?

“This is an important opportunity to look for… “ He cleared his throat, looking away from your face. “For suitors, my Lady. People will notice your absence.”

“Well, let them notice!” you exclaimed. “Ser Sam, you of all people should know I’ve no interest in prancing around looking for suitors.” You crossed your arms stubbornly about yourself. “If there was any a man in this land for me, it’d be the man I can just happen upon, and know that minute, even that very second, that he was the one for me.” 

Your knight gave a small scoff, smiling to himself. “If only.” 

You shot Ser Sam a warning glance, to which he could not help but chuckle. But the sight of his happy smile did not work on you its usual shared joy; rather, it pulled at you, and you knew precisely why. You frowned, a slight feeling of dejection growing in your chest. 

For months now, you had known you would soon be parted from your beloved, trusted knight. Ser Sam knew it, too. Your father had made it the talk of every discussion, his hopes — his demands — of you marrying. You knew well that once the match was made, you would be parted from your knight forever, moved into your husband’s house and guarded under whatever protection he decided to give you, if any at all. You were no longer a girl anymore, but a woman-grown; it was now the expectation of all the society you had known your whole life, for you to be married soon. “By the year’s end,” your mother had said. “And no later.” 

For some reason, you were drawn back to a time years ago, when things appeared much, much simpler. 

——

For your fourteenth birthday, Mother had bought you your first stays; and you hated them. They were much too tight, and in them, you could not climb or run as well as you could without. 

“If only I could be a knight,” you lamented to Ser Sam, kicking a pebble in the garden. “Then I might have adventured the world with you; how I’d have liked that instead of —“ You pulled at the stays, twisting them uncomfortably. “— this!” 

Your knight huffed some air at that, grinning widely. “Heh,” Ser Sam laughed. “Doofus.” 

You turned. “Hey!” you cried. “A knight should never be so coarse as to call his liege Lady a doofus! What shall be made of you if I tell my father of these slights?” 

“But you wouldn’t,” said your knight squarely as he stepped up to you. “Because you know I’m the only one who can put up with you.” 

“That’s not true! Take it back now or I’ll flog you!” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would!” 

“Wouldn’t.” 

“Certainly I would!” you exclaimed. “And then I would tell Miss Thompson how you fancy her!” 

At that, your knight reddened and quieted. You drew a victorious smirk. You had always felt you knew everything, and on this, you were most certain; Ser Sam was always on his best behaviour when Miss Thompson, your lady’s maid, was near. You took this as undeniable proof of his love, for your mother had always told you that men behaved best in front of women they loved. 

But then Ser Sam seemed to be cross with you. 

“I do not,” he muttered out, not meeting your eye. “Don’t say silly things like that anymore.”

You smirked again. 

Though Ser Sam was your sworn guard, he was, in fact, not much older than you; and not much more mature, though he liked to pretend to be. You had just turned fourteen, and he had but a month to turn seventeen. 

“It’s not silly, if it’s the truth,” you teased. “Please admit it, I beg of you! I’ll not judge you, Miss Thompson is very sweet and fair — and a good match for a lowborn knight as you!” 

At that, his head snapped to face you, and you saw in his eyes a look of upset. Normally, he might have quipped back at you, but he remained quiet. His gaze lingered on you longer than it would usually; and then he turned back. 

“Hm,” he said, kicking his own pebble. 

——

The remnants of those old days pricked at you. 

It would never be like that again, you thought, basking in those happy times. Soon, you would live for your husband, whoever that man might be; your life, your ambitions, forfeit to wifely duty. 

It was a strange feeling, like standing on a precipice. It was not a feeling you could rely on your trusted knight to understand; as a lowborn guard, it was not likely Ser Sam would ever marry. After all, your mother had said, the feminine sex required delicacies that only a man of wealth could fully provide; what woman would throw away her claim to delight, for someone so low? 

But even now, when you thought of that principal man of your life, you had always pictured someone like your faithful, strong, ever-devoted knight. Since even your early youth, from when Ser Sam was first assigned to your protection, you had taken such a liking to him; over the years, it had grown from childish admiration to a heart-tugging, womanly ache.

So why, then, could you not cease in bossing him about? 

You sighed. 

“I’m not certain I’ll find my husband in such a… polite assembly as this,” you said, gesturing to the dancers in the middle of the room. 

The men were like poppycocks, hopping around in time to the music. You knew they had no true manly skills at all; not a bit of that rugged talent you admired in the common men like your knight. 

“It is all rules and fancies here,” you complained. “You cannot dance more than twice with the same gentleman, or someone takes note. You cannot accept too many or too few drinks. You cannot even speak as you find, for someone will think it offensive!” 

Your knight let out an exhale, his brow furrowed. “My Lady,” he mumbled. “Gentlemen like these are the only that…” Ser Sam cleared his throat. “The only that fit your station, that are… worthy of your… good breeding and noble stock.”

“Ugh!” you exclaimed in disgust, turning to face him. “Stop quoting my father!” 

At your disapproval, your guard frowned, bending his head low. “M’sorry, my Lady.”

“Ugh, rise,” you bid him, and he did so. 

Now feeling a certain emptiness in your stomach, you decided to make your way towards the desserts table. To Edmund’s credit, he seemed to know a good baker when he saw one; the sweets table was practically calling your name, and now seemed as good a time as any to delight yourself in it. Savoy cakes and all sorts of confectionery were delicately arranged about the table in elaborate display; among them, your favourite: the shrewsbury biscuit! 

But as you picked up your plate, you turned, finding your knight had not followed you, but rather, had stayed planted by the pillar near the corner of the room. Pointedly, Ser Sam did not make eye contact with you as you looked back to him. 

You bristled at that. 

Now annoyed, you stomped your way back to him.

“Ser Sam, what is this?” you pestered. “Will you not walk with me so that I might find a bite to eat?” You gestured to the dessert table. 

He swallowed. “I’m sticking to my post, my Lady,” he said. “I can defend you from here.”

“From here?” you repeated. Your hands balled into fists at your side. “From here? And what if some villain would happen upon me, ready to stake my heart out with his dagger? Or better yet, a kidnapper looking for ransom? What would you do from here, Ser? I do not believe you would dash in time, and so you would end up failing at your post, and disappointing my Lord Father who holds you in higher esteem than even myself.” 

Your knight gave an odd expression, then, and it stopped you from going on any further. 

“My Lady, your father wants you to meet with these noblemen,” he said, then looked down in what appeared to be shame. “My presence would…” 

“Your presence would what?” you badgered him. He did not respond, and so you went on, “I demand you tell me at once, Ser. Your presence would what?” 

“My presence,” he said with a fixed frown, still looking at the floor rather than at you, “would only deter any possible suitors looking for your hand.” 

They came from Ser Sam’s mouth, but they were your father’s words, surely. You knew him well enough. Father could never cease in raving of the superiority the nobility enjoyed, and the superiority he felt they must retain. Therein lay your reason for needing to marry well, he would say.

But now, to dismiss your guard from you at a public assembly? It was not to be allowed! 

“And my father told you to say that?” you asked. “To caution me away from my own sworn guard, so that I might flounce myself in front of noblemen whose estates pale in comparison to my own anyway?” He opened his mouth, but you went on. “And besides, what if it was your acquaintance I wished to entertain tonight? You are dear to me as any other good friend, you know it well. What then, Ser?” 

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, as a group of guests passed by, and you both were forced to pause your little rapport. As they left, your knight turned to you with a stern look. 

“But I’m not your friend, my Lady,” he said, straightening. “I’m no nobleman to be an equal at your side.” 

You scoffed, not daring to think of how much his response hurt you. 

Furrowing your brow, you refused to back down. “It matters little!” you exclaimed. But even you could tell that you were beginning to act more like a petulant child, than a lady of seventeen years. 

“My Lady– “

But your knight would not finish his sentence, as another gentleman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“My Lady Y/N,” he greeted you. 

Turning to him, you recognized him immediately as the older son of a certain Duke of Matlock, a good friend of your father’s. You sighed, of course there had to be some interminable interruption to your talk with Ser Sam. You were never afforded a moment’s peace, it seemed. 

“I was not certain it was indeed you,” he said with a smile. “I’m surprised to find you in such an assembly as this, so far from home without even your Lady Mother. But the sight of you pleases me all the same.” 

You strained to give a smile. “Thank you, Lord Matlock,” you said, though you truly were not happy to see him. 

Long ago, your fathers had attempted to incite a union between the two of you. The Duke of Matlock had sent his son, then barely twelve-years-old, to live with his uncle for a time, and that uncle was a close neighbour of your family’s. Many times, your mother had invited the intruder into your home and made you go on ridiculous promenades with him in your family gardens. 

But you had found no liking to him; nor did he, you.

When you had tried to show him how quickly you could climb the looming oak in your gardens, the young Lord Matlock had snorted. “My Lady Mother says girls shouldn’t climb trees,” he had called up to you. “She would crucify Georgiana if she acted like such a ruffian.”

That evening, you had told your father you would see no more of the Duke’s son. Your father had sighed out his acceptance, but your mother had raged at you like a storm. It was only Ser Sam that had lifted your chin and wiped away your tears, though he said nothing. 

“If I may be so bold,” said Lord Matlock, snapping you back to the present, “I’d like to ask whether we might share the first dance together.” He gave a cheeky smile. “I’m eager to see whether you are as good a dancer as you are a climber.” His grin widened. “Or were a climber.” 

You frowned at his comment and glanced at your knight only to find that he, too, did not seem pleased by the comment. You imagined for a moment that he would step in to your defence, perhaps scare off this dimwitted, rude interrupter; but your anger only grew as you saw your knight bow his head and excuse himself from the conversation. 

At that, you bristled. 

How dare he leave when you had not excused him? You still had yet more to say! 

But as he was already far enough away, you could scarcely yell out like a madwoman, and so you grit your teeth and turned back to Lord Matlock. 

Angrily, you declared, “Then we shall have the first two dances together, and you’ll see what talents I have.”

You placed your hand decidedly in his, and allowed Lord Matlock to lead you away as he gave a charming laugh; rather too charming, you thought. 

But you were beyond your own reason now. If Ser Sam wanted you to concentrate on finding suitors, then he could feast his eyes on this one! You darted a glance back to the far wall and saw as he stood obstinate, watching. 

“Good,” you thought petulantly. “As you ought.” 

You recognized the first notes of the Quadrille, a favourite of yours as it involved two couples merging into a four-person group, and therefore, left you no private chance for Lord Matlock to speak to you intimately. It was also – to your enjoyment – a foreign dance, and you so delighted in learning of the French, the Germanic, even the Spanish if it would fright your mother! 

Your partner himself was no enjoyment, but the dance, you found, was as joyful and lively as it always was. You liked to imagine yourself as a French courtier, dancing before the court and flaunting the latest Paris fashions; still, before any man may dare ask your hand, you imagined yourself disappearing into the night like a dark bat, and fluttering high away into the moonshine! 

Alas, as the last notes of the fourth segment came to an end, you looked not to your dance partner to congratulate his skills or enjoy his compliments, but back to the far wall of the room, hoping to meet Ser Sam’s watchful gaze. 

But there, you saw as a figure stood next to your knight; a feminine figure, at that. Your heart beat angrily in your chest as you squinted to find her identity. Whoever dared to harass your knight would surely regret it – ! 

“My Lady Y/N,” came Lord Matlock’s voice, placing a daft hand on your arm. “It is the waltz next.”

You turned to him, shaking his hand off you. You groaned as you heard the opening notes. It was the waltz. 

But as you assumed the position, with your hand upon Lord Matlock’s shoulder, your head turned again to the far wall, spying as the mysterious harlot – whoever she was – talking at liberty with your knight! Why, she was speaking eagerly to him, as if he were her sworn guard  and not your own! You could truly turn red at the sight; never had you been more aggravated! 

But the demands of politeness forced you to look back towards your dance partner, who was all too eager to enjoy the private conversation.

“Your virtue does you credit, my Lady,” he said. “But you need not shy away from me.” He leaned down to speak quieter. “You’ll find that in assemblies like these, there is much less to worry about. There are no mothering hens here to scold you.”

You scowled. He thought you brushed his arm off for modesty’s sake? But surely, a heightened poppycock like himself could never imagine that you might not particularly enjoy his affections; no, it must be for modesty.

“Thank you, you are too kind,” you said absentmindedly, peering behind his arm to look again at your knight. 

Why wasn’t he watching you dance anymore? Why was he speaking so heartily with whatever-her-name-was, and not focusing on you, his liege Lady? He was your sworn guard after all! Not hers! 

Again and again, you and Lord Matlock waltzed around the dance floor, spinning in time with the rest of the couples, who appeared much more eager for each other’s company than you did with your own dance partner. Many a time he would lean down and begin again some irritating conversation which you would quickly shut down, and return to silence. 

Finally, the waltz ended, and you were at last free to excuse yourself. 

“My Lady, you are indeed a better dancer than a climber,” exclaimed Lord Matlock. He gave a laugh. “I’m sorry that I should have doubted you.” 

But you spared little attention to the compliment. 

Sure can!

This is the first time I've wrote something that was non-academic since my first day of college lol, read this with that in mind!

I kicked off my shoes in the direction of the shoe rack, I couldn’t be bothered to actually put them where they belonged right this second. I heard Sam shut the front doors of the mansion with a soft click followed by the sound of the various locks of the door sliding into place. I could feel it without looking that his eyes were on me, studying me, trying to figure out what to say or do. 

Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy these headcanons:))

Definitely something Sam has to get used to

He’s not used to physical affection at all

Because of this, when cuddling, he’s pretty tense originally

Is easily flustered at first, especially with simple displays of affection such as back hugs, linking arms, etc. He’ll blush, freeze up, and not know how to react

But once he’s comfortable, he loves all the physical affection (even if he feigns annoyance)

It makes him feel wanted and like someone worth loving knowing someone wants to be physically close to him

Will never reject an opportunity to cuddle, no matter how often it is, he’s always down