shapeshifting on a saturday night // (clark kent)
summary: you think superman is hot, and he saves the day (or night). though, you can't help but notice his resemblance to your favourite office crush.
pairing: clark kent (2025) x velvet!reader
wc: 2.6k
tags/warnings: coworkers, alcohol use (probably a concerning amount), lovesick!clark and (mildly)toxic!reader. other than that, fluff!
requests/inbox
nav / clark kent masterlist
a/n: filling out my masterlists one fic at a time :') happy new year everyone!! (also the charlotte gloss in the header is my fav of all time highly recommend)
"He kinda looks like Clark, doesn't he?"
"Who?" Lois responds to your very silly question, glancing up and around the large open room that made up the headquarters of the Daily Planet.
"Him." You say simply, popping your gum and nodding up to the TV on the wall, playing some reruns from yesterday of a battle that had happened near the harbour. No fatalities, very minor injuries, but probably millions of dollars of damage done to yachts bobbing around the water when the creature crawled out of the sea and when Superman sent him right back.
The sudden distraction from their conversation draws Cat's attention too, and they simultaneously squint and tilt their heads as they look up at the TV.
"Clark Kent?"
"Yeah."
"I don't see it." Lois says, lips pressing together while she raises her coffee mug to take a sip. You'd seen her pour the sugar in earlier— it's a wonder she can close her eyes at night and sleep.
Cat giggles, nudging her chair and jostling the cup unintentionally. "It's the tall man-blue eyes-brown hair combo." She says, more to you.
You hum, shrugging a bit and looking back at your phone again. "Either way, he's hot."
It's too late to be out— realistically you knew that, but somehow every time you'd managed to fish your phone out of your bra in the loud and sticky club, even as the time got later and later you still didn't magically find yourself at home. Funny how that works.
Fearing the moment the lights would come on and blind you, throwing you out into the Metropolis night with fuzzy vision after being flashbanged as a signal to get out, your friends dragged you out shouting something about an Uber over the music.
You nearly fall out the doors and into the bouncer, muttering an apology that's met with an eye roll that just makes you giggle. "Has aanyone told you how tall you are? You're like… like… tall."
You're mostly ignored, just pointed in the direction of your friends across the wide sidewalk as they climbed in the back seat of a car, one of them leaning in the passengers side window to talk to the driver.
You aren't aware of your own clumsy steps before you're leaning heavily on her back, poking your head in as well.
"We can buddy up, she'll sit on my lap. Come onnnnn…" She whines, and you automatically nod in agreement.
"Yeah, we can cuddle up." You add unhelpfully as you grin and rest your chin on her shoulder, blinking slowly.
He just shakes his head. "No, not in my car. Just order another for your friend."
Considering your other three friends were piled in the back seat and this girl you were hugging from behind like a corny prom photo was the one who ordered this one, you could deduce they were probably talking about you.
"No, come on. She'll be so good. We're really chill." She promises, and is met with a scolding look from this stranger.
You make an effort to stand up straight, pushing your hair out of your face and taking a breath that is meant to be sobering and reassuring. "Don't even worry about it. I got it. I'll get my own car, I'll meet you guys at your place in like half an hour."
"No, no way. We're not going to leave you here." She insists, holding your arm to keep you both upright as you fish out your phone again. She turns back to the driver again. "Can we at least wait until her car gets here? You can't expect me to leave my friend— a gorgeous young woman, mind you— on the side of the street by herself at one in the morning!"
Before he can argue, because you knew your friend would definitely fight on your behalf nd he was more than capable of kicking everyone else out of his back seat when one of them was already asleep, you grab onto her again. "Hey, don't worry about me. I'll be right behind you, and I'm not by myself, I've got my close personal friend the door guy to make sure I don't get killed." You point back at the doors, to the bouncer that is still pointedly ignoring your group.
She relents.
"Okay, okay. Fine. Text me when you get in the car, and when you get to the building and I'll let you in."
You nod, taking the time to hug her, much to her drivers dismay, before stepping back so they could get in and be on their way.
You open your phone as the car disappears down the street, mindlessly opening some social media app you can't even see clearly before remembering you're supposed to be getting a ride. You laugh a little to yourself at your forgetfulness, leaning back against the brick of the building as you try and find the app you actually were looking for when… your phone freezes, and then black screens. Dead.
You smack it, as if that would somehow CPR your phone back enough to summon a ride, but it obviously doesn't work. You huff, turning in the direction of the club doors again. "Hey, sorry, mister tall guy, can I borrow your—"
He's gone.
You look around, squeezing your eyes shut before opening them again to try and get a better grasp of your surroundings. Apparently you'd been walking during your scrolling excursion, and suddenly you had no idea where you were. You couldn't be far from the club, it had only been a few minutes, but alas, it was too late for your drunk brain to redeem itself on this one.
"Shit…" You mumble to yourself, making a conscious effort to blink again and take a deep breath. It was cold out tonight, surely that would help in the absence of a slap in the face.
Find street sign. Find street sign, figure out where you are.
The club wasn't far from your own small apartment, but it was much farther from where your friends were all going where they had room for all of you to have a sleepover after the night out. You just had to find your way home, charge your phone, and then call a ride to their place. That couldn't be too hard!
(It was, apparently, too hard.)
You feel like you've walked up and down the same streets a million times, not recognizing anything and praying you don't look as drunk as you feel right now.
(You do.)
Clark could see it from the roof of whatever company building he was sitting on, just swinging his legs and looking at the stars. When he heard the muttered and slurred curses of a confused and highly intoxicated woman nearly falling into the street, he pushes himself up almost immediately and steps off the ledge. The least he could do was check if she was okay and not actually alone this late.
It wasn't until he tracked the humming down that he noticed it was you, though.
He would laugh if he weren't so worried. Or disappointed. Or a healthy combination of both. He shouldn't be, though, and he knows that. He'd been in your orbit at work for quite some time now, and he knows how you're the type to show up clean and professional but still regale everyone with tales of your outrageous weekends both presently and in your college years.
Just last week you'd told everyone about your 21st birthday, when you went out to a bar that held hostage your shoe until you paid (that, thankfully, also had seating that didn't require your feet to be on the ground. You remembered to pay, but you didn't remember to get your shoe back until the next day. Also the time you and your best friend in college had two days off so you drove all the way to Gotham City the same day without a plan on where to stay, went to some kind of show, made friends there and stayed with them before leaving the next afternoon.
You were messy and fun, and adventure glimmered in your eyes even when you looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. You had more in common than you knew, the near ability to shapeshift outside of work the way he did into the city's greatest hero. It was no wonder he was falling in love with you, really.
"Hey, miss?" He lands just behind you, jogging a little to catch up.
"Pay my rent and then we can talk." You mutter an automatic response you always give to men on dark streets this late into the night, not even bothering to look his way as you looked up for any hint at where you were.
Clark does laugh, this time. "Fair." He agrees, stepping in beside you and following your swaying steps so he could step in if you were about to fall.
"Sorry, what I meant to say was piss—" You cut yourself off hard when you finally catch a glimpse at the man next to you. Superman, to be terribly precise, complete with the costume. Uniform? Super…Suit? No matter. "Holy shit."
He raises an eyebrow, dimples popping when he can't fight the smile. Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, even as you stop walking and grab his arm.
"Oh my God! I know you!"
"Yeah?" He chuckles, holding out his free arm next to you in case you need further steadying.
"Yeah!" You nod, giggling as you look up at him. "You were… I saw you on TV… yesterday. Yeah, yesterday. Or today? I don't know, but I definitely saw you. Recently."
More recently than you know.
"Oh, yeah. Do you trust me to help you get home, then? You look a little lost." He says gently, careful not to be patronizing.
You huff, holding up your phone. "I'm not lost, Mr. Man. My phone just died and I couldn't call a ride. Now I'm walking home."
He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright. Just… let me have my piece of mind and walk you the rest of the way home, then?"
Your expression shifts then, from exasperated to a smile as you tuck some of your hair back behind your ears. "Okay." You agree with a shrug, unable to help but be a little giggly at the concept of Superman walking you home.
Clark chuckles, nodding a bit and starting to walk in the direction of your building. "C'mon, then." He urges you, knowing you were too drunk to notice him leading the way. "Have a good night?"
"Yeah, good, but my friend's driver wouldn't let me in the car." You shrug, following along beside him. "You know, I was saying yesterday to some of my friends at work that I think you kind of look like our other friend." You add in a mumble.
"Oh?" He asks, trying to sound more casual than he definitely felt about you somehow almost clocking him past his glasses.
"Yeah. You've actually done interviews with him. Clark Kent? We work at the Daily Planet."
Ohhhh no.
"Oh! Yeah, I think I might remember him." He replies, clearing his throat and looking at the sidewalk ahead. Change the subject. "Do you like working there?"
"Yeah, I love it." You slur, almost tumbling over a dip in the sidewalk but you catch yourself. Clark almost gets to breathe a sigh of relief that you let him change the subject before you keep talking. "He's great. I think he's taller than you, though— is he taller?"
Clearly, you weren't letting this go. However, you were clearly still under the impression that he and Superman were distinctly two separate people, so he obviously hadn't blown anything too badly.
"I… yeah, I think he was a little taller." He agrees, unsure what else to do or say.
You look up at him, almost assessing as you walk. (Stumble.) You were making one of the most unwise— possibly funniest— decisions you've ever made in your life.
"He's real sweet, isn't he?" You ask, smiling.
"Yeah, he's really… he's nice."
"Cute, too. And God, he looks good in a white shirt. Oh, I, like, die when he takes his jacket off." You giggle, pretending to fan yourself.
Clark's heart nearly stops, stuttering in his chest before coming back to life. "Uh, I think we turn here." He mumbles, guiding you carefully around a corner onto your street. His cheeks are burning hot, tinged pink in the poor lighting.
"Don't tell him I said that, obviously." You add, words tangling together in your mouth and coming out kind of slurred again. "But yeah, he's like, so cute. Got that sexy, nerdy sort of thing going on. But he has social skills, you know?"
You were flirting with him, terribly, laying it on thick— though this time you didn't fully understand how your system was simultaneously backfiring and doing exactly what you wanted. Pitting men against each other without them knowing, or making them at least think they had competition, often made them step up their game. Did you actually think Clark was hot? Obviously, even if you would never tell anyone at work that in so much detail. But did you also think Superman was hot and present and very hopefully walking you right to your door? Also yes, and also obviously, you wanted him to come inside with you when you got there— friends entirely forgotten, but surely they wouldn't mind when you got to tell them tomorrow morning that yes you ghosted them, but "guys, I slept with Superman" is an undeniably appealing story to tell for far more reasons than one.
"Nope, definitely won't tell him." Clark, no— Superman— promises quickly with a shake of his head.
"You do look a bit like him, though." You add, feeling as though you've successfully seeded the roots of insecurity the same way you often did to men at bars, circling back to stroking his ego just enough. Terribly toxic, you knew, but absolutely worth the shot when you were handed one. "I'm not sure what it is, though…"
"Yeah," He laughs awkwardly, scratching at his jaw and distinctly avoiding eye contact. "Don't know what it could be."
Superman had very kindly declined your suggestion that he come inside when you made it to your apartment, even if he did have to fly you up to a window because you left your keys at your friend's house during pres before you went out. You were content; that was story enough for you.
You strided straight into the Daily Planet office on Monday morning, heels clicking against the flooring and echoing with the chatter of the space while you made a beeline for Cat's desk, the only person who would care, other than your friends, of course.
She was over the moon for you, of course, gushing over every scarce detail you managed to remember through the fog of your own creation, manifested by the consumption of about twelve drinks.
When Clark arrived, twenty minutes late for the day but only ten minutes later than you, you almost completely zone out of the barrage of questions Cat was still asking you. Because he's carrying his grey jacket, not wearing it. This must be the best week of your life.
Whatever higher power exists in this universe has shone their blessings upon you today, and you know it because you got to touch Superman's biceps and see Clark Kent's shoulders stretch out the fabric of his white button-up first thing in the morning two days later, and he even gives you an awkward smile and a half-wave in greeting.
Your drunken attempts at flirting hadn't worked on Superman, but— even if you didn't know it yet—they had certainly worked on Clark Kent.
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