cupcake ۶ৎ

It started with the wildflowers. You’d been warned about the strange patch blooming near the fence line, how they weren’t natural to Smallville soil. But Clark had brushed it off with a smile, saying he’d be careful.

When you spot him later that evening, your husband’s usually steady composure is nowhere to be found. He’s pacing in the barn, shirt hanging open, skin flushed, his Stetson abandoned on a hay bale. “Clark?” you call gently, stepping inside.

His head snaps up, and Lord, his blue eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. Desperate. “Darlin’,” he breathes, voice cracked low, his country drawl even rougher than usual. “Somethin’s wrong. I-I touched those flowers, and now I can’t… can’t think straight.”

Your heart clenches. He looks like a storm bottled up in a man, your man, tall and strong, but trembling like the whole world’s slipped out of his control. “Does it hurt?” you ask, hurrying closer.

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Not pain. Just need.” His hands ball into fists, like he’s holding himself back. “Need you, sweetheart. Feels like I’ll come apart if I don’t have ya close.”

The words tumble out of him, raw and honest, and you’ve never seen Clark so undone. This is the man who could carry tractors like they were nothing, who’d sooner die than let you see him falter, begging now, just for you.

You step into his arms, resting your hands on his bare chest, warm and slick with sweat. “I’m right here,” you whisper. “You don’t have to hold back with me.”

His breath shudders against your hair. “Please, honey. Just… let me worship ya. Let me taste ya, need you sittin’ pretty on my face. I swear, I won’t stop till you can’t even remember your own name.”

Your cheeks heat, your pulse thrumming in your throat, but the way he says it, needy and reverent, has you weak in the knees. You tilt his chin down, brushing your lips over his. “Whatever you need, cowboy.”

And the relief that breaks over him like a man saved from drowning, makes you realize: the pollen might have sparked it, but this hunger? This devotion? That’s all Clark.

His hands find your waist, fingers digging in with a desperation that sends a shiver down your spine. Clark pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours, hungry and unyielding, tasting of heat.

The barn smells of earth and leather, but all you can focus on is him, his ragged breaths, the way his broad shoulders tense under your touch, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with that Kansas drawl, “I ain’t gonna make it if I don’t get you outta these clothes.”

His hands are already tugging at your shirt, fumbling with the buttons in a way that’s so unlike his usual steady precision. You help him, peeling the fabric away, and when your skin meets the warm air, his groan is guttural, like he’s been starving for you.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, setting you on a stack of hay bales, the rough texture biting into your thighs. His shirt’s long gone, and the sight of his chest, muscled, glistening, dusted with dark hair, makes your mouth water.

He kneels between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. “Goddamn, darlin’,” he rasps, eyes locked on you like you’re a miracle. “You’re too perfect for me.”

You thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging lightly, and he moans, head tipping back like he’s already lost. “Clark,” you whisper, voice firm despite the heat pooling in your core. “You said you needed me. Show me.”

His eyes flash, and he yanks your panties down in one swift motion, the fabric tearing slightly under his strength. You gasp, but he’s already kissing up your inner thigh, lips soft but insistent, his breath hot against your skin.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, and then his mouth is on you, tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe that has you arching off the hay.

“Fuck, Clark,” you hiss, gripping his hair tighter. He growls against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body. He’s relentless, licking and sucking like a man possessed, his hands pinning your hips to keep you from squirming too far. Every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, feels like it’s unraveling you, piece by piece.

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you, lips slick, eyes wild. “Taste so fuckin’ good, honey,” he says, voice low and filthy. “Could stay here all night, but I need more. Need you ridin’ my face, takin’ what’s yours.”

Your breath catches, but you nod, too far gone to be shy. He lies back on the hay-strewn floor, pulling you with him, and you straddle his chest, heart pounding. His hands guide you up, strong and sure, until you’re hovering over his face, his breath hot against your core. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice muffled as he pulls you down. “Sit on me. Let me take care of you.”

You lower yourself, and the first touch of his mouth has you gasping, hands bracing against the barn wall. His tongue dives into you, eager and unyielding, and his hands grip your ass, urging you to move.

You do, grinding against him, chasing the pleasure that’s building too fast, too intense. His moans vibrate through you, his stubble scraping your thighs, and it’s messy, desperate, perfect. “Clark, oh God,” you pant, head thrown back as he sucks your clit, his hands squeezing harder, encouraging you to ride him faster.

The barn fades away, there’s just him, his mouth, the obscene sounds of his tongue working you over. You’re trembling, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up, not even when you cry out, your release crashing over you like a wave.

He keeps going, licking you through the aftershocks, until you’re boneless, gasping his name. Only then does he ease you off, pulling you down to straddle his lap, his face flushed and glistening, a satisfied grin on his lips. “Told ya, darlin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Ain’t stoppin’ till you forget everything but me.”

“Clark…” you whispered, half-warning, half-plea.

“C’mere, darlin’,” he murmured low in that slow drawl, voice rough like gravel and honey. His big hand patted his thigh. “Ain’t nobody payin’ us any mind back here.”

You climbed over the console without hesitation. The second your dress rode up and you settled into his lap, you felt him — already hard, thick, and straining against his jeans. Clark didn’t waste time. He tugged your panties to the side, freed himself, and guided you down onto his dick with a slow, steady push until he was buried to the hilt inside your warm, wet heat.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned quietly against your ear, one strong arm wrapping around your waist to hold you flush against his chest. “Just sit nice and still for me, sweetheart. Keep me warm while we watch the picture.”

You whimpered softly as he stretched you so full. Clark’s other hand immediately slid between your thighs, calloused fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, lazy circles that made your legs tremble.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing his large palm gently over your mouth. “Can’t have none of them folks hearin’ those pretty little sounds you make for me. This pussy’s mine tonight.”

His accent thickened as he rocked up into you the tiniest bit, barely moving but enough to grind deep. His fingers never stopped their steady rhythm on your clit — firm, practiced strokes that had you clenching around his thick length.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed, lips brushing your temple. “Squeezin’ me so sweet. Been thinkin’ about this all damn day, darlin’. Had to feel you wrapped around me.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled as your hips twitched helplessly. Clark held you tighter, keeping you impaled on him while the movie played on, completely forgotten. Every slow circle of his fingers pushed you closer, the stretch of him inside you making your eyes flutter shut. “Atta girl… just like that,” he praised, voice low and raspy. “You’re gettin’ so wet for me. Gonna make a mess of my lap, ain’t ya?”

Your breathing grew ragged against his hand. Clark’s hips started rolling up in shallow thrusts, fucking into you as much as the position allowed; deep, possessive little movements that had you seeing stars.

“I’m gettin’ close, baby,” he growled softly, accent thick and wrecked. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy right here where anybody could see if they looked hard enough. You want that? Want your husband to cum deep inside you?” You nodded frantically, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. Clark rubbed your clit faster, tighter, until your whole body tensed.

“That’s my good girl,” Clark praised, voice low and wrecked. “Cumin’ so sweet on me already. Keep squeezin’ me just like that, baby.”

He didn’t let up. His fingers kept rubbing your sensitive clit through the aftershocks, drawing out a second, deeper orgasm only moments later. Your walls clenched and pulsed around him again, throbbing hard as you shook in his lap. Clark groaned quietly, hips twitching up just enough to grind deeper into your fluttering heat.

“Atta girl… milkin’ me so good. You feel that? This tight little cunt’s suckin’ on me like she wants my cum already.” A third orgasm crashed over you before you could even catch your breath. Your whole body tensed, pussy throbbing wildly around his dick as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you. Tears pricked your eyes from the intensity, your muffled cries vibrating against his palm.

Clark’s breathing grew ragged. “Fuck, darlin’… you’re throbbin’ so hard around me. Can’t hold out much longer.”

He rubbed your clit through one final, devastating orgasm that left you limp and trembling in his arms, your pussy pulsating around him in tight, rhythmic spasms. Only then did Clark let himself go. He buried his face in your neck, groaning low and deep as he came hard inside you, thick, hot pulses of cum flooding your walls while your cunt continued to flutter and squeeze around him, drawing every last drop from him.

Clark held you there after, still buried deep, lazily kissing your shoulder while his cum leaked out around him.

━ TAGLIST ˋ°•*⁀➷

━ TAGLIST ˋ°•*⁀➷

Every controlled drop and rise of his body made those tags clank. The sound was familiar now, almost comforting. You knew what it meant. The adrenaline from training always mixed with the ghosts he carried from the field—long hours behind the scope, the weight of every perfect shot, the violent thoughts that never quite left him. Working out was his anchor. It quieted the noise from his childhood, the darkness that still lurked at the edges of his mind. He wanted to be better. For you. You were the only north star he’d ever had.

His sharp eyes flicked up as you stirred, rolling over to face him. The moment your gazes locked, his rhythm faltered for half a second before he pushed up smoothly to his knees. “Hey baby,” he murmured, voice rough from exertion. “Sorry if I woke you.”

You smiled sleepily, reaching out. “It’s okay… as long as you’re here with me.”

The months he’d been gone had been brutal. The worry never really left you—knowing he was the best sniper they had didn’t stop the fear that something in his head might finally crack under the pressure. But right now he was here, solid and real and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.

Dex rose to his feet and climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grace. He slowly dragged the covers down, revealing the thin nightie that barely covered your chest and thighs. His gaze darkened, hungry but still carrying that fragile edge beneath it.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then lower—trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and across your collarbone. One strap slipped easily off your shoulder under his fingers. He tugged the silky fabric lower, exposing your breasts, and groaned softly as he latched onto a nipple, sucking and licking until you arched into his mouth with a quiet whimper.

Dex didn’t waste time. He shoved the hem of your nightie up around your waist, yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his hard length, and reached for a pillow. He lifted your hips and slid it beneath you, angling you perfectly.

Then he was on you, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he pushed inside in one smooth, deep stroke. You gasped at the stretch, and he immediately started fucking you into the mattress. Every thrust hit deep and perfect, the pillow letting him grind even further.

His dog tags dangled right above your face, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips like a hypnotic pendulum. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a messy kiss. When he pulled back for air, you tilted your head up and gently caught the tags between your lips.

Dex’s eyes widened, breath hitching. You held his stare—exactly the way he needed—and bit down softly on the cool metal, tongue brushing against it.

“Fuck…” he breathed, voice cracking with raw need. The sight made something in him snap. His hips drove harder, faster, pushing into you while he kept his eyes locked on yours. He couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. You kept biting his dog tags, moaning around the metal, eyes glassy with pleasure as he fucked you exactly how you both needed.

The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast. Dex’s rhythm started to falter, his control fraying at the edges. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he gasped against your mouth as he started to come, burying himself as deep as he could, hips jerking with every pulse.

“I won’t, baby,” you cried out, clenching hard around him as your own orgasm crashed over you. “I’m right here—Dex—right here.”

You trembled beneath him, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours while the aftershocks rolled through both of you. After a moment, Dex reached up with shaky fingers and lifted the chain from around his own neck. Still buried deep in your pulsing heat, he slipped his dog tags over your head, letting them settle warm against your chest.

“They look better on you,” he whispered, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. His hand splayed possessively over the tags now resting between your breasts. “Stay right here with me.”

Every controlled drop and rise of his body made those tags clank. The sound was familiar now, almost comforting. You knew what it meant. The adrenaline from training always mixed with the ghosts he carried from the field—long hours behind the scope, the weight of every perfect shot, the violent thoughts that never quite left him. Working out was his anchor. It quieted the noise from his childhood, the darkness that still lurked at the edges of his mind. He wanted to be better. For you. You were the only north star he’d ever had.

His sharp eyes flicked up as you stirred, rolling over to face him. The moment your gazes locked, his rhythm faltered for half a second before he pushed up smoothly to his knees. “Hey baby,” he murmured, voice rough from exertion. “Sorry if I woke you.”

You smiled sleepily, reaching out. “It’s okay… as long as you’re here with me.”

The months he’d been gone had been brutal. The worry never really left you—knowing he was the best sniper they had didn’t stop the fear that something in his head might finally crack under the pressure. But right now he was here, solid and real and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.

Dex rose to his feet and climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grace. He slowly dragged the covers down, revealing the thin nightie that barely covered your chest and thighs. His gaze darkened, hungry but still carrying that fragile edge beneath it.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then lower—trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and across your collarbone. One strap slipped easily off your shoulder under his fingers. He tugged the silky fabric lower, exposing your breasts, and groaned softly as he latched onto a nipple, sucking and licking until you arched into his mouth with a quiet whimper.

Dex didn’t waste time. He shoved the hem of your nightie up around your waist, yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his hard length, and reached for a pillow. He lifted your hips and slid it beneath you, angling you perfectly.

Then he was on you, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he pushed inside in one smooth, deep stroke. You gasped at the stretch, and he immediately started fucking you into the mattress. Every thrust hit deep and perfect, the pillow letting him grind even further.

His dog tags dangled right above your face, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips like a hypnotic pendulum. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a messy kiss. When he pulled back for air, you tilted your head up and gently caught the tags between your lips.

Dex’s eyes widened, breath hitching. You held his stare—exactly the way he needed—and bit down softly on the cool metal, tongue brushing against it.

“Fuck…” he breathed, voice cracking with raw need. The sight made something in him snap. His hips drove harder, faster, pushing into you while he kept his eyes locked on yours. He couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. You kept biting his dog tags, moaning around the metal, eyes glassy with pleasure as he fucked you exactly how you both needed.

The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast. Dex’s rhythm started to falter, his control fraying at the edges. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he gasped against your mouth as he started to come, burying himself as deep as he could, hips jerking with every pulse.

“I won’t, baby,” you cried out, clenching hard around him as your own orgasm crashed over you. “I’m right here—Dex—right here.”

You trembled beneath him, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours while the aftershocks rolled through both of you. After a moment, Dex reached up with shaky fingers and lifted the chain from around his own neck. Still buried deep in your pulsing heat, he slipped his dog tags over your head, letting them settle warm against your chest.

“They look better on you,” he whispered, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. His hand splayed possessively over the tags now resting between your breasts. “Stay right here with me.”