LOVE LOVE? Clark kent x Fem Reader
warnings- cursing, the use of Y/n!,
Clark Kent had faced a lot of weird things since moving to Metropolis.
Alien threats, exploding robots, Lois Lane’s coffee dependency—
But nothing, nothing, prepared him for you.
You, the girl Aphrodite herself apparently cursed with… dangerous levels of irresistible charm.
You, with the pink dresses, glossed lips, perfectly brushed hair, and perfume that made his knees go weak—though he always pretended it was allergies.
You, who could barely go to the corner store without men accidentally walking into street signs while staring at you.
Sweet, shy, hopeless Clark?
He was the one stuck taking care of you until the curse wore off.
You were supposed to keep a low profile.
Clark specifically asked you to stay home, stay calm, stay inside.
Under pink neon lights, swaying your hips to Tyla’s “IS IT,”
dress glittering like you were personally handcrafted by the goddess who cursed you.
Clark stood across the room, jaw tense behind his glasses, eyes following your every move.
Oh, you felt him looking.
“Is it the fucks that I don’t give?”
You sang along under your breath as you shimmied a little closer to him.
Was it the curse making you bold?
Or… was it something else?
you weren’t supposed to leave his sight.
So technically… you were obeying him.
Clark wasn’t strong with girls.
He was strong with—well, everything else.
Understanding the way your lip gloss made your mouth look soft and shiny?
He didn’t stand a chance.
He swallowed hard as you walked toward him, dress unzipping just a teeny bit in the back where the hook had loosened from your dancing.
“Y/n,” he said softly, desperately, “you shouldn’t be—uh—doing this.”
You tilted your head, lashes fluttering.
“The more you tell me don’t,” you quoted the song, “the more you turn me on.”
Clark’s ears turned bright red.
Close enough that he could smell your perfume—sweet, floral, dizzying.
Close enough that if he lost control of even one breath, he’d fall straight into you.
“Is it wrong that I wanna get right with you?” you murmured.
His heart thudded so loud you were sure even humans could’ve heard it.
Clark finally grabbed your hand—not rough, not controlling, just enough.
“Y/n… the Aphrodite curse is making people fall at your feet. They’ll follow you home, they’ll fight over you, they’ll—”
He looked away, cheeks burning.
The curse didn’t usually affect people with superhuman physiology…
“Clark,” you whispered, “that’s you. Not the curse.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you—
all glitter and gloss and pink perfection, and somehow still the softest person he’d ever known.
“I can’t leave you alone,” he admitted quietly.
“Not with all these eyes on you.”
“Because you’re supposed to protect me?” you teased.
“Because I don’t like when anyone else looks at you like that.”
“Clark Kent,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his chest, “are you jealous?”
Then something in him shifted—
Your curse didn’t make men honest.
“You asked me what it is,” he said, voice barely audible over the music.
“It’s everything. The dress. The song. The way you smile. The way you run into danger with pink nail polish on.”
“Maybe it’s that I want to take you home. Safely,” he clarified instantly, ears flaming again.
“But also… because I don’t want to stop being the one who gets to take care of you.”
Your heart actually melted.
“You don’t have to take care of me forever,” you whispered.
You slid your hand into his, letting him guide you out of the party, out of the noise, out of the eyes that weren’t his.
“I can’t leave,” you sang softly, swaying into his side.
“Dancing alone don’t look right on me.”
Clark glanced down at you, awe in his eyes.
**And as the curse slowly began to fade…
You realized something simple, undeniable, and beautifully human:**
Even without Aphrodite messing with your aura—
Clark Kent would’ve fallen for you anyway.
You were already gone for him.
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