Content Note: This story contains Omegaverse AKA Alpha/Beta/Omega themes, but they're pretty mild, in my opinion. All sex occurs between female-identifying alphas and omegas. If that makes your hackles stand up (hey-o! wolf puns!) check back later for one of my non-ABO works.
Author's Note: Nia is an alpha in this, but remains a transwoman, having undergone both gender transitions and status-related therapy. I'm also including the show's retcon from episodes 06x05 and 06x06 that twenty-something Cat Grant visited Midvale and encountered Nia during her and Brainy's time travel mission. Nia's hoping Cat doesn't remember that...
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"Well, well, well...aren't you all grown up, Kiera?"
Kara spins so fast that it has Nia coughing in a way that sounds suspiciously like 'secret identity.
"Cat," she mumbles.
Elegant as ever, her old boss lifts her flute of champagne to her lips, her trademark platinum bracelet twinkling in the low lighting. Behind Cat is a strawberry blonde omega clad in a shimmering drape of green silk seemingly modeled after the chitons so popular on statues of Greek goddesses. It bares her legs to mid-thigh and the silver-plated clasps leave tantalizing glimpses of milky flesh between hips and ribs. The collar is turtleneck-high and crushed velvet, leading to a gold chain. The outline is tempting without being glued to her bust and her butt, and so like something at the National City University sculpture garden that no one would dare call it racy. Perhaps it's an in-joke between them about her very classical figure: all curves and heft in tribute to the ancient feminine from ages before anyone heard of 'thigh gap'. The omega's scent screams admiration and her hand never leaves the small of Cat's back. Kara spots a tiny scar on Cat's braceleted wrist. It's a better place for a businesswoman to have a bite, Kara supposes. Easier to conceal. Never let them know what the rules are, Cat once told her.
"Speechlessness does not suit a journalist."
If Cat wanted Kara to recover the power of speech, calling Kara a journalist wasn't the way. Cat is the Journalist, just like Astra was the Soldier to a younger Kara. Kara barely feels like a small-J journalist on a good day. Her sins are undetected but numerous: over-relying on 'Supergirl' (technically herself) as a source, leaving breadcrumb trails for the authorities to find so she can interview them later, straddling the line between op-ed and news because fuck the idea that racism is "a viewpoint" that should be given equal weight.
"Right," Kara finally manages. "Good point."
"Naturally," Cat retorts. "I made it. This is Vania."
Rao's mercy. The Amazon? Aella and Melanippe's daughter?
"Lovely to meet you, sister," Vania drawls. "For you it's Van, or just V."
The clues are there. That unique, breathy, French-Spanish-Russian-Arabic sounding accent. The use of 'sister' as an all-purpose term for any woman in sight. A taste in clothing that runs towards 500 BC more than last fall's hottest trends. Walks like an Amazon, talks like an Amazon, prefers women like an Amazon.
When Kara lifts her hand to her lips, a discreet sweep of X-Ray vision shows nothing but skin. Pale and freckled skin, not flesh that's transparent through to the knucklebones. Not human, or not only human.
"Charmed, V."
Cat's head dips in acknowledgment to Nia, who is going to faint if Cat does that again.
"You haven't introduced me to your date, Kiera."
"This is Nia. Ah...a friend."
"My..." Nia pauses. "...partner is having a rough patch. We're trying to keep it low-key for him. So when I go out, it's with Kara."
Nia squares her posture, more alpha-like in stance than Kara ever learned to be, and somehow stiffens her scent too. Without a Kryptonian nose, Kara doesn't think someone would catch that Nia was a male omega at birth. Trans magic. Nia's hand reaches towards Cat, trembling more than it has in any fight she's ever had suited up as Dreamer.
"Nia Nal."
"I'm Cat Grant. Obviously."
The handshake is brief and jerky and meant to show a burst of strength but also respect. Nia is making Kara's alpha feel foolish and inadequate tonight.
"The pieces on fashion, expression, and gender," Cat recalls, tapping a long finger against her wine glass. "And the op-ed on status-body divergence. I'm guessing those were yours?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ma'am," Cat huffs. "Ma'am is my mother. An association you do not want me to make. Those articles were tolerable. I thought you seemed familiar."
Nia shivers. Cat turns her all-seeing gaze back on Kara. Pale blue, almost green. Knife-sharp and intense enough to spear Kara to the spot, bracing for a verbal beat-down.
"I recommended to Ms. Luthor that she assign Nia to you, Kara."
"You did? You personally?" Nia all but squeals.
"Mmm. But I wanted you to teach her how to show some spine, Kara. Not donate yours," she teases.
Van slides her arm in Cat's and gestures towards the banquet table.
"Let Kara be, my heart."
She turns her ocean-blue eyes on Nia and waves a hand idly at the food.
"Come, little oracle. I do love a good story of Cat's handpicked proteges," she purrs.
As the trio passes by, Kara feels blunt nails scrape across her abs.
"Missed a button," one of her tormentors hisses.
Kara's ill-conceived attempt to look more feminine--turns out that was not why Lena was ignoring her--left her out of practice in slacks and a dress shirt like this. Jackets and blazers are pretty straightforward. She can usually find her arms. It's not exactly possible to check in the middle of the Luthor Foundation for the Arts ballroom, so Kara starts trying to make her way to the alpha's bathrooms unseen.
She doesn't get far.
Leaned up against a pillar in a cozy, semi-dark corner, she spots two heads crowned by luscious waterfalls of black. Next to Lena, Andrea towers even in shorter heels. They lurk a few paces from the omega's room and are orbited by a hijacked waiter who is clearly terrified of disappointing a Luthor, so they're not something Kara can slip past. Kara slows her approach--don't over-alpha it, she reminds herself--hoping to seem like she's passing by casually rather than storming towards women she has a complicated history with. Andrea and Supergirl have had run-ins, typically involving the Argentinian omega's voice plunging to a dark, syrupy trill and a lot of bicep-squeezing. Kara and Lena have gone through every kind of complicated there is.
Rainforest green and lightning blue eyes catch Kara and follow her as she approaches. Smiles spread on both omegas' faces and Lena whispers something to Andrea. Kara hasn't been using her supersenses all night and even if she was, Lena might be wearing one of Lex's old white-noise emitters anyway. Naturally, Lena improved the design, pumping out a soothing rumble that makes Kara all drowsy...or maybe it's the omega so smart it hurts that makes her turn to mush. More experiments needed.
"Evening," Kara mumbles, reaching as if to tip her hat. She's not wearing a hat. This is what pretty ladies do to her. Make her a moron.
"Yes, it is," Andrea replies, pecking Lena on the cheek.
Kara shoulders the door open and beelines for a mirror. Sure enough, she missed no fewer than two buttons on her shirt. The instant she took her jacket off, it must have been obvious but no one said anything. No one said anything for two hours. She huffs angrily, making a few curls of hair dance across her forehead.
What is this, Midvale High? Laugh at the awkward girl?
The door swings open. Cat and Vania stumble in, tangled with each other. Greedy with their hands and lips and teeth. Van's grip on Cat's shoulders tighten and the alpha hisses. The amazon's hips jerk forward, reflexively seeking the grind of her mate's cock, and Cat whines. Their scents blur. Alpha, confident and citrus-sharp. Omega, spiraling and smoky and with a pull like gravity itself. Despite one of them being an amazon trained since she could walk in things like detecting ambushes, they haven't seemed to notice Kara. She steps back into the corner, transfixed by seeing her old boss look so carefree in a way she never did before she left for DC. Did she meet Van there? A gala at the Themysciran Embassy, perhaps? Van was part of Diana's honor guard at a White House visit, took a shine to the press secretary?
Kara has so many questions for Cat, not to mention more than a little jealousy.
They stumble into a stall and the lock slams with a click. Fabric rustles and one of them makes a sound split between a yelp and a moan. Kara catches a glimpse of silver patent leather--Cat's heels, not Van's sandals--and averts her gaze before she can have an uncomfortable replay of the wet dreams of her early twenties with the bonus of her boss eating out a goddamned amazon. Her cheeks burn and her ears feel hot and prickly. She's not sure she can leave without one of them hearing, and she certainly can't stay. That'd be pervy. Maybe worse than pervy. Wonder Woman herself answers every single question about her personal life with a smirk. Who knows what life is like on that island?
Something shrieks at the edge of Kara's hearing. Lena's alarm watch.
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The 'crisis' turns out to be Lena and Andrea next door in the omega's ladies, still dressed to the nines, with the waiter that they'd hijacked held between them. Andrea's long fingers are curled around the waiter's cock. Each pump is slow. Deliberate. Controlling. Lena's tongue traces the poor woman's ear--pink, puffy, and perfect--dragging strangled sounds from deep in her ribs. Andrea's bending over more than she needs to, making sure Kara has a good view of her golden skin. Up and down she strokes, up and down goes the mind-melting glimpse of her cleavage.
"Nice of you to join us," Lena purrs. "I knew I could count on Supergirl."
There's something about the waiter, too. Something familiar.
"You're the vigilante that I had to save six months ago."
The woman was good and obviously had excellent training. Batman-level moves but no Batsuit. Bruce won't admit it, but the fifty million dollars of bulletproof armor matters.
"Answer her, love."
Lena's teeth bite into the earlobe and the waiter makes a moan that might be an 'uh-huh' sort of sound.
