Summary: Cale doesn't know how to handle you interrupting his morning routine.
[word count: 1k]
Warnings: mature - reference to explicit content | fluff
Author's note: there's a sincere lack of 🥬 x reader so I guess I'm writing what I want to see lol
It was his fault. He kept you up late last night. He couldn't blame you for the way you clung to the pillow, drool pooling on the soft cotton, blanket haphazardly flung across your bare skin, and hair forming a knotty halo around your head. Much like he was last night, this morning he was struck by your beauty, no matter how much of a drooling mess you were.
Cale sighed to himself, gnawing on his lip as he made himself turn away from you, wondering if he should wait for you to wake up, or simply just make you a warm tea to entice you out of bed. As much as he loves you, it felt like an itch on the inside of his skull as he realised the only way he could make his bed to finalise his morning routine was if you were out of the bed in question.
Every morning, Cale followed a simple yet non-negotiable routine - wake up, eat, wash his dishes, and make his bed. It was not up for debate, or at least, it never had been before.
Rationally, he knew it would be fine if he didn't make the bed, that your sleep would always be more important, especially if he was the cause of your lack of sleep. And yet, it felt like an effort to get himself out of his bedroom and to his kitchen.
Sipping from his smoothie, Cale breathed deeply and attempted to distract himself by tidying his kitchen bench. There was nothing to clean. Furrowing his brows, he swept his eyes over the living room, free of clutter.
He was home late after his game last night, but you were still there from before he left, from when you and he wrestled, played, and made a mess of the house. When he arrived home, he hadn't noticed that you had tidied everything up in his haste to ravish you in celebration of his win.
Cale felt his heart swell. He knew that even though you weren't a particularly messy person, you definitely didn't enjoy cleaning in the same way he did. You were comfortable with clutter in a way that he has never been before.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, turning to see you shuffling out from the hallway, wrapped in the comfort of his bedshirt that he didn't actually sleep in last night, with comically fuzzy socks that he was sure would make you slip on the hardwood floors at one point or another.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he cooed affectionately, watching you as you grabbed the blanket from the couch, pulling it over you with a small grumble. You shuffled towards him in the kitchen, bumping your forehead against the hard plains of his chest, sighing contentedly and snuggling a little closer into his warmth.
“G’ mornin’,” you yawned out. He carded his fingers through your messy hair, catching at your chin and lifting so he could meet your gaze. You smiled warmly as he leaned down to kiss you deeply, hungrily, swallowing your little moans that pulsed through his system. He pulled away, knowing that he didn't have time to delve into your flesh this morning and risk being late.
“Did I wake you?” You shook your head.
“No, my alarm went off. I wanted to make sure I saw you before you left for practice today.” He smiled, and just like it always did when he looked at you like that, your heart skipped a beat. “Have to give you a good luck kiss, don't I?”
“It’s just practice,” his cheeks reddened. For the life of you, you couldn't understand how he could be so shy when you complimented him when he could unravel you shamelessly and without restraint in the container of the bedroom.
“Well, you need practice luck, too.” You kissed him again, shorter this time, before shuffling over to make yourself a tea. “I was thinking I could whip something up for us to eat tonight? Make a little date of it?”
“Sounds amazing, I'll pick up some wine on the way home,” he nodded, heat blooming in his chest at the ways in which you looked after him. Checking his watch, Cale quickly made his way to the bedroom to make the bed.
“Could you pick up a white wine? I think that'll pair really nicely with what I have in mind.” You called out to him, pretending that you weren't overtly checking out his ass.
“Anything for you, beautiful,” he called back. “Can I grab you anythi-”
He stopped short, looking at the bed. The already made bed, sheets and blankets folded exactly the way he liked it, the corners tucked in all the right ways, the pillows fluffed and placed to perfection, and without a wrinkle in sight.
“Sorry, what was that?” He distantly heard you respond. Cale was too stunned that you remembered every detail, that you even bothered to do this for him, especially when he knew for a fact you didn't really care to make your own bed back at your apartment.
You were sipping from your mug when he walked back in the kitchen, removing the mug from your hands and placing it on the counter before he grabbed your face with both hands and pulled your lips in to meet his in the middle. You didn't hesitate to answer him in kind, working your mouth against his with muffled moans of pleasure, gripping his shirt to keep from toppling over from the force of his kiss. Cale's large hands still framed your face as the two of you separated, breathless yet wanting more.
“What was that for?” You puffed out, wishing he never stopped.
“You made the bed.” Cale answered firmly. You cocked an eyebrow in turn.
“Is that all it takes? If I had known sooner, I'd do it every time I sleep over.” He grinned, pressing his lips to your forehead. You shrugged, “I figured it's important to you since it's the first thing you do in the morning.”
“I love you.” Cale's soothing voice whispered over you, lighting you up from the inside out.
Summary: You just moved to Denver from overseas and decided to go for an impromptu run - even though you actually think running is the most boring form of cardio - so you can get to know your new city. You’re eyeing a cute dog when you collide with a gorgeous man with too pink cheeks and a warm gaze. But he seems to be waiting for something and you’re not quite sure what it is...
[word count: 2.1k]
Warnings: mature - mildly explicit references | swearing | reader is from Australia | some physical descriptions of reader | geography
Author's note: may do a part 2?
---
Moving here was a stupid idea - it’s fucking cold and you’ve never even seen snow, let alone lived in it before. Well, it’s not snowing or even raining too hard yet, but it will be and you have no clue how you’ll manage it. The weather report said 28 degrees but they don’t mean 28 degrees because it’s fucking fahrenheit and who the fuck uses fahrenheit? You don’t even know how to spell fahrenheit. If you wanted snow so bad, you could’ve gone somewhere Canadian. Apparently Canada and Australia are exactly the same in vibes, just one is exceptionally colder than the other; some Canadian dude on Instagram said Australians are honorary Canadians and the internet is never wrong.
So why are you running? It’s fucking freezing and you’re running. What’s wrong with you? You don’t even like running! It’s straight up boring and you don’t even have proper running gear! You have no water on you, you’re clutching your phone in your gloved hands, and you’re pretty sure that your leggings aren’t thick enough for this weather. And yet, you just have to learn your surroundings like some kind of navigationally-mindful, active individual.
Breathing heavily, your eyes are drawn to the dog across the way and it’s cute little peppy steps and floppy ears and NOT THE MOST ADORABLE LITTLE POLKA DOT RAINCOAT WITH LITTLE MATCHING SHOES-
“Oof!” The side of your face suddenly collides with the hardened curve of a broad yet padded shoulder, instantly snapping your attention away from the cute dog as you scramble to regain your footing, losing your grip on your phone and unable to attempt to catch it as firm, warm hands keep you upright.
“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” A soft yet deep voice rings through your ears. You look up to see stunning blue orbs looking at you with genuine concern.
“Don’t be sorry, I’m sorry, it was a hundred percent my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you respond, trying to not get too lost in his eyes. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” The warmth of his hands leave you once he’s certain you’re not about to fall over.
“Me? Your face just collided with my shoulder, I’m more worried about you.” He quickly leans over to pick your phone up from the ground, giving it a quick once over and grimacing when he sees the now-cracked screen before handing it back to you. “And your phone…”
“Oh, that’s alright, it’s kinda old anyway,” you shrug, making sure it still turned on before returning your gaze to the man before you. The extremely attractive man before you. “And I’m good, well, I’m kinda embarrassed because what idiot doesn’t look where they’re going when they’re running, but in my defence, there was a really cute dog.”
He smiles, his eyes brightening some. He’s pale with bright pink cheeks, blond hair clinging to his forehead underneath a burgundy beanie. Unlike you, he seems appropriately dressed for the cold with a black weatherproof jacket and what looks like thick grey trackies - sorry, “sweatpants” - and pockets for his phone. His smile is soft and warm, making your heart rate pick up a little more as if you’re still running.
“Cute dogs are a great defence.” You grin, releasing an involuntary chuckle, your warm breath visible in the chill. “But I also wasn’t looking where I was going and I don’t have the excuse of a cute dog, so, you know, my bad. I, um, I can buy you a new phone? Or pay to fix the screen?” He stumbles over his words, seeming a little nervous or unsteady, looking at you with an intensity you’re not sure anyone ever has before.
“Oh, woah, absolutely not,” you shake your head, “it really doesn’t bother me, and seriously, it’s like, super old. If it works, I don’t really care.” You shrug again, smiling reassuringly.
“Then…can I offer you advice?” He pulls his lips inwards, making a face that reminds you of a muppet. A very endearing muppet, but a muppet nonetheless. You nod, biting your lip sheepishly. “Wear something with pockets next time you go for a run.” You laugh again, harder this time while shaking your head, mild embarrassment washing over you for a second time in this interaction.
“Now that’s some sound advice,” you agree, his eyes and smile brightening even more in response. “I normally don’t run so it didn’t even occur to me. Honestly, I just need a whole new wardrobe, my clothes are not Denver-appropriate.”
“Are you new to Denver?” He asks quickly, seemingly very interested in your answer. You get the feeling that he’s waiting for something in particular, but you don’t know what it is.
“Yeah, just moved from Australia, specifically Melbourne.” His eyebrows jump up in surprise. “It can get pretty cold there, too, but I guess it just hits different here. Are you from around here?”
“I live here now, but I’m from Calgary,” he seems to note something in your expression because he continues, “uh, that’s in Canada.”
“Good thing you told me it’s in Canada, I have no geographical awareness and would’ve assumed it’s somewhere in the U.S.” That draws another chuckle from him. “We don’t really learn much about North American cities except for what’s on TV and even then, it took me a shameful amount of time to work out where Colorado is. I’m still not sure I know, to be honest.” There’s that laugh again. You could get addicted to his laugh. Maybe you can work out how to bottle it and inject it into your veins?
“Well, I’m not sure I know where Mel-born is, so, I guess we’re even.” He grins, ducking his head.
“‘Mel-bin.’”
“Sorry?”
“It’s pronounced ‘mel-bin’ not ‘mel-born’ with an emphasis on the ‘mel’, you’ll get torn apart for saying it wrong, but if you say it right, the people of Melbourne will love you and keep you safe.”
“What do I need to be kept safe from?”
“Spiders.”
“Ah. Good call then.” You feel your body warming in his presence. Maybe you can bottle his smile, too? “So, why Denver? I mean, over any other random city.”
“You know, I was just wondering about that myself.” His brows rise in question, tickling the bits of blond hair sticking out from under his beanie. “I just had a feeling, I guess.”
“A feeling?”
“Yeah, a feeling.”
“You uprooted your entire life to a random city on the other side of the world for a feeling?”
“Okay, don’t say it like that! I sound crazy!”
“That’s because it sounds crazy.” Despite his disbelief, you both continue smiling like idiots at one another. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s pretty cool, but I guess I just can’t understand doing something like that.”
“Not an impulsive kind of guy?” He shakes his head. “Honestly, I’m not usually this impulsive, like, I make some rash decisions here and there, but nothing like this, and I won’t lie, I liked my old life for a long time, but I just kept getting this feeling that that wasn’t where I was meant to be. I ignored it for a few months and then one day, I came across this ad for a job here in Denver, so I applied, smashed the interview and the second interview, and got the job, so the next thing I know, I’m here with nothing but a job I have yet to actually start and some curiously avoidant neighbours.”
He’s silent for a beat, eyes wide, and you think you’ve just convinced the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen that you’re actually certifiably insane and he’s about to go running for the hills. And then, “fuck, that’s actually kinda incredible.”
“Seriously? Because I think I might need to be committed.”
“No, it’s really brave.” His expression and tone make you think he might actually be genuine. Maybe he needs to be committed.
“Thanks…” you blush, dipping your chin to break the intensity of his stare and his sincerity.
“So, you know nothing about Colorado? Or Denver?” You shake your head. “Well, maybe I can help you learn, you know, if you’re interested…” Returning your gaze to his, you note the way his cheeks darken even more, the blush spreading to his neck and what you could see of his ears underneath his beanie. Is he asking you out?
“I usually like to know a guy’s name before I hang out with him.” You eye him playfully. “Especially after I’ve all but admitted that I don’t know anyone here in this new and strange city.” He returns your playful expression, rolling his eyes as if you were considerably inconveniencing him.
“It’s Cale.” He sticks out his hand. You shake it and offer your name in turn. “Nice to meet you.”
“Enchantée,” you flash a toothy grin, receiving one in return. “Well, Cale, to answer your question, I’d really love it if you could help me learn about the city. Seriously, I kinda have no idea where I am right now. If it wasn’t for Maps, I’d be wandering until the night claims me.”
“Are you doing anything this afternoon?”
“Probably staring at my boxes that I have yet to unpack.”
“Maybe we can catch up for lunch or coffee or something and I can start showing you around? I don’t know about you, but I kinda need a shower before I do anything else.” Ignoring the mental image of Cale in the shower, you gnaw at your lip to keep from blurting anything inappropriate that will have him changing his mind about helping you out.
“That sounds amazing!” Cale seemed to sag in relief slightly, as if afraid you’d say no. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all, I’d even like the excuse to get out a bit more before the season hits.” You tilt your head at his phrasing.
“Is that something people here say about winter? Or is it a Canadian thing?” Cale pauses, his eyes caressing your face as if the answer for his silent question lies there between the faint smattering of freckles, the red of your nose, and the lines of your smile.
“So, I guess it’s safe to say that you don’t recognise me?” He says slowly. Your brows pinch and your lips pout thoughtfully before you respond with a simple shake of the head. “It’s a hockey thing, so you could call it a Canadian thing I guess. I’m a professional hockey player. I meant before the hockey season starts.” You blink owlishly.
“A professional hockey player? Like with a league and stuff?” He nods simply, eying you warily. “So, is hockey pretty big here?” He nods again, a little more tense than earlier. “And people recognise you a lot?” Again, he nods stiffly. “Would you be upset if I told you I don’t know any hockey players or teams and I’ve never seen a game of hockey and to be honest, I don’t really know much about any sport and not because I don’t like them as such, but because I get bored watching sports, and all I really know about hockey is that you get into fights and lose teeth and it’s probably played on ice?”
Cale remains silent a touch longer than you like before a wide grin spreads across his cheeks, once again warming you from the inside out. Your heart skips a beat with the realisation that you haven’t felt the chill of the air since the moment your cheek met his shoulder, that your body has warmed each time his eyes have landed on you as if draping you with the heat of a flame. “It’s played on ice, and I have all my teeth at this stage in my career. And no, I’m not upset at all, I actually kinda really like that you don’t know about it. Means that there’s more to teach you once you get the lay of the land.”
“So you’re already planning our next few dates then? Someone’s confident.” He stutters, face immediately flaming as his eyes dart everywhere but at you in his haste to backtrack. Taking pity on him, you add, “I’m confident about that, too.”
Cale short-circuits at that, managing a weak, “r-really?”
“Absolutely,” you track the way his tongue wets his lips for a split second, trying to stay focused on the shape of the words coming from your mouth, “in fact, I have a really good feeling about you.”
