hiii gorg i would love to hear some of ur dex hcs!! not a minute has gone by where i havent been thinking of him as of late…
a/n: me too, honey. me too. that man is so fine, he has occupied my mind 24/7 :<< thank you so much for asking!! I have both soft and nsfw hcs but let’s start small for this one first, i’ve been waiting to post this one (specifically relationship hcs) so I think it’s time to clear out some of my drafts too ;> 💋💋
Dex is quite the most observant man you could ever meet in your life, you would think that’s just a requirement in his job but no. He feasts his eyes on you like a devotee gifted the rarest chance to remember your likeness and he takes every opportunity, every moment, his turbulent mind soaking up all the details. At first, it overwhelmed you, being the muse receiving his heavy gaze but it is not scrutiny, no. He observes you, not to critique but to intake and ingrain you in his head over and over and over again. He memorizes each expression and catalogs them in his brain, the way you scrunch your brows in confusion, how you sigh when you receive more work and how your smile forms when you see your favorite dessert. Even the smallest quirks you try to cover up and pretend like nobody caught, he retains in his mind. The more he learns of you, the closer he feels, (whether that is from remembering the smallest details you mention or from discreetly following you).
If you once mention that you find a certain scent addicting while trying out the samples at the make-up store, don’t be surprised when you find the same scent lingering on his clothes the next day. His system refuses to calm down as he awaits your reaction. The scenario already ran through in his mind two or three times. He acts like his heart didn’t skip a beat as he observes the way you pause and your shy realization. “You’re wearing the new release, aren’t you?” He leans closer a bit, elated that he caused the faint blush that tinted your cheeks. “Yes, do you like it?” He asks. After obtaining his confirmation, he purchases two more bottles of the same perfume.
If he sees the slightest winces of pain and annoyance as you roughly attempt to tame your hair, he will grab the brush from your hand and gently position you to sit in front of him, taking the duty of untangling the wet knots in your hair with such gentleness and reverence. You nearly laugh at how serious his expression looks, like a soldier given a significant mission of dismantling an explosive. He wishes to serve you, without voicing his longing, he wants to be of use to you, to prove that you need him and only him. Even the smallest domestic acts, he’ll insist on doing everything for you, it’s his mind screaming I can do this for you, don’t leave me, I’ll be really good please.
You would think that his vigilant behavior is simply a habit from his experiences, after all he is a former veteran and an fbi agent. Dex is rightfully over-protective of what’s his. You’re not a property to him, you’re the receiver of his veneration. You’re that burning desire he has to tame, the only good thing that makes his chest ache with want. Whether you’re choosing at the vegetable section of the grocery store, or crouching down to pet a stray cat at the park, he would glare at any man who dares to even direct their glance at you. Even the harmless smile from the barista at your regular cafe would make him alert. He is the dark shadow that trails after your light, yearning to be graced by you while simultaneously frightening others from getting close to you.
Dex is the kind of man who doesn’t want to appear needy or weak from every moment spent without your touch, as if his skin doesn’t itch from wanting to feel your warmth. He will wait until you’re sound asleep in his arms before he peppers your face with kisses. Dex inhales your scent like it is the oxygen sustaining him, it makes his body feel electric, like a drug that makes his mind clearer. When the buzzing in his head won’t stop, he’ll press his nose to the crown of your head and like a silent prayer, the storm in his mind calms. His senses recognizes you, your voice, your touch, and your scent as safety. You are his haven, he’s the only one who gets to have you like this and he’ll make sure of that. While you dream in his embrace, he presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, your palm and the tips of your delicate fingers. It’s his ritual, enjoying the softness of you from his lips like he’s reminding himself you’re real, you’re here, you’re his.
a/n: the concept that perfume is for women while cologne is for men is a common misconception. the difference is that perfume has the highest concentration of aromatic oils, is meant to last all-day, hence why it’s often more expensive. cologne, on the other hand, has a low oil concentration, it often fades after 2-3 hours, so it requires frequent reapplication. it was nice to search this up ^^
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"so, when are you going to tell your parents about us?"
clark prods, halfway through tugging his shirt off. he has you exactly where he wants you, straddling his lap, your hands on his chiseled abdomen.
"what?" you ask, tilting your head to the side with a confused smile. he's asking about that now? he tosses his t-shirt across the room before letting his hands find their home on your waist, just under the shirt you're wearing.
"well, we've been seeing each other for a while now, it's just on my mind," he shrugs. there's light pink dusted across his cheeks, and if you weren't too busy noticing how his eyes kept dropping to your lips, that would've made you smile. clark's question is something you'd been asking yourself for weeks now—and him actually verbalizing it only adds to the guilt. has he been waiting on you to tell your parents all this time?
"i'm not, like, hiding it, if that's what you think." his fingers drag along your skin, careful not to catch the spot where you're ticklish. and then they're trailing a bit higher, hiking your shirt up as you go.
"that's not what i think," clark says, but it lacks the conviction he means for it to. you've never known clark to be a good liar. "but," he starts gently, letting his hands drop back down to your waist. "your parents haven't gotten at least a little suspicious? i mean, they're seeing a lot of me, lately." he can't even meet your eyes while he says that. he knows you well, and he knows you're not the happiest about his point, however right he may be.
"they haven't asked about you. not since the first time you came over."
"and what did you say then?"
"i said that you were a guy in my english class, and that we were going to work on our project." it's clark's turn to tilt his head, now. "which is not incorrect!" you're quick to add.
"we did a lot more than work on our project, sweetheart," he smirks, meeting your gaze with a glint in his eyes.
"they don't need to know that!" you exclaim, and even with the humorous tone behind it, you can tell it doesn't land well with clark. he swallows, looking to the side. "i'll tell them soon, okay?"
that seems to ease him for the moment. soon is vague, he thinks, but he trusts you. and if there's one thing clark knows about you, it's that you're a people pleaser. "okay."
"yeah? we're okay?"
"of course, we're okay. you think this was a fight, or something?" clark jokes, his signature smile coming back. "i could never fight with you." he shifts underneath you, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. "now, let me get this shirt off of you."
is what draws you out of your daydream, clark’s voice meeting your ears with a mix of genuine confusion and ‘i told you so’. you stand, rushing towards the oven, looking in the barely open door to see a muddy brown cake—something far different than the pink you were aiming for.
“pink,” you conceded. it was only another second before you begrudgingly took the pan out, nearly forgoing the oven mitts entirely.
“didn’t i say—“
“don’t start," you cut him off, a silent plea hidden behind your demand. staring at the dessert, you can't help but sigh. you should've listened to clark.
“come on, lovey. we can just make the icing pink," he suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. instinctually, you lean into him.
“no, i know, it’s just… i had a vision.”
“it’s just a cake.”
“yeah, well, i’m trying to get in the valentine’s day spirit. it’s not exactly my favorite holiday.” maybe that's why the cake didn't turn out—it just wasn't in the cards for you.
“really? it seems right up your alley.”
“not when you never get to have a good one.”
“oh, so you’ll like it again after this year, then?” you can hear the smile on his face as he says that, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head.
“very smooth, kent.”
“i’m serious.” clark lets his hands find your hips, spinning you around gently. “hey. i’d hate for you to have disdain towards something you should love.”
"disdain? that's a good word. spending a lot of time with lex?"
"you're changing the subject."
"i just don't think it's a big deal."
"you're lying. i can see it in your eyes," clark points out before turning and grabbing pink food dye out of his kitchen cabinet. he glances back at you, smiling to himself as he sees you seated on the counter, your legs hanging. "you've never had a valentine's day with me, just saying." even just his words are enough to make your stomach flutter. maybe he's right—as he seems to be all the time. "and yes. i have been spending time with lex."
a/n: thank you for all the love on my last post! i love clark so much (and have started to dislike valentines day, if that wasn't apparent). i need a clark kent to come save me <3
