Omg, can you write some thomas harley fluff? I got a crush on him after his 4 nations interview where he said sidney crosby is like a god, his voice was so nice and gravely. And he's so pretty when he smiles and runs his hands through his hair.
the afternoon sun spills through the living room window, golden and warm, dust particles drifting lazily like tiny stars. you're curled up on the softest corner of the couch, knees pulled up beneath a fluffy knit blanket. your eyes have barely left thomas all day—not that he notices. he's sprawled out across the floor, legs stretched long and crossed at the ankles, a mess of hockey cards and team photos spread out around him.
every few minutes he sits up straight, tugging thoughtfully at the sleeves of his oversized hoodie as he organizes his collection, making quiet little humming noises that melt you completely. you watch, utterly captivated, as he leans back against the coffee table, sunlight touching him just right—making the soft brown waves of his hair glow gently. it's too tempting; you want nothing more than to weave your fingers through it.
“baby,” you murmur softly, smiling as his head jerks up, eyes wide and blinking with surprise. his hazel eyes catch the light, all greens and golds and browns mixed together, shining like honey.
“mm?” his lips lift in that sweet, innocent smile you adore so much, dimpling slightly on one side, eyes crinkling. it's that smile—the one he saves just for you—that always has your heart tripping over itself.
“c’mere, you’ve been down there forever,” you say, voice gentle but needy. "miss you."
thomas laughs softly—soft and bashful and boyish—shaking his head fondly as he pushes himself to his feet. his socks glide over the polished wood as he shuffles toward you, cheeks pink with warmth and affection. he sinks down beside you, one arm immediately slipping behind your shoulders, tucking you neatly against him as if you're made to fit there. you nestle closer, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the slow, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.
“better?” he whispers, lips brushing lightly against your temple, fingers tracing gentle circles along your back.
“so much better.” you tilt your head up, capturing his chin between your fingers, pulling him down softly until your lips press tenderly to his. the kiss is easy and warm, slow like honey. when you break apart, his smile grows wider, shyer somehow.
"you're distracting me," he says, voice soft and teasing, thumb gently brushing your cheekbone.
“am i?” your smile grows mischievous, fingers wandering up to thread through his soft hair, tugging gently and reveling in the feel of the silky strands between your fingertips. god, he's pretty when he runs his hands through it—always absentmindedly, a soft sigh escaping his lips, eyes half-closed. like right now, as your fingers soothe through his hair, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, a faint blush coloring his skin.
"mmm, yeah. now i'll never finish organizing," he murmurs, halfheartedly pretending to complain, though the way he presses closer says otherwise. “it’s all your fault, eh.”
"good." you press another kiss to his jawline, giggling softly at the way he ducks his head bashfully, a warm breath escaping him, tickling your skin. "you've got plenty of time. i think this is much more important."
he chuckles again, gentle and deep, the sound vibrating pleasantly through your chest. “you’re right. you always are.”
you watch him quietly as he tilts his head back slightly, eyes softening under the golden afternoon glow, the flecks of amber in his irises sparkling faintly. your heart swells achingly in your chest—sometimes you can't believe how lucky you are. thomas is the softest, sweetest soul you've ever known, endlessly patient and unfailingly kind, even in moments like these, quiet afternoons tangled together without a care in the world.
“you know,” he whispers, almost shyly, lips brushing feather-soft against your forehead, “i really, really love you.”
your heart melts into a puddle in your chest, warmth spilling all over, making you feel liquid-soft. “i love you too, pretty boy.”
his cheeks flush a brighter pink at the nickname, but his grin widens, his fingers gently squeezing your shoulder. there's no place you'd rather be, nothing you'd rather do than sit here forever in his embrace, soaking in his sweetness and warmth and affection.
