Supergirl's claim

Two hours later, the kitchen smelled like victory. Victory in the form of seven steaming boxes lined neatly on the counter. The pizza guy wiped his hands on a towel, a little tired but grinning, proud of the work.

“Okay,” he said, sliding the last box into a stack. “Seven pies, piping hot. Thank you for your patience, ma’am.”

Diana rose gracefully from her seat, her golden-brown skin catching the low glow of the overhead lights. Her smile was pleasant and practiced and perfect. But her eyes—sharp, blue, and ancient—flicked just once toward Kara.

Kara was leaning against the counter, her shirt rumpled, hair slightly out of place in ways that only he didn’t notice. Her skirt was intentionally showing much of her bare thigh. She was practically humming, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright, her lips curved in that barely-suppressed grin of someone who had gotten exactly what she wanted.

She got dicked down.

When he waited for Diana to pay, Kara casually got him to turn away from the customer and brushed the flour off his shirt like a doting girlfriend. She didn’t even glance at Diana when she said, with a cheerfully smug tone, “We make a good team, don’t we?”

He chuckled, not catching the edge in her voice. “Yeah, thanks for helping back there. You’re a natural.”

Kara’s eyes flicked toward Diana then, just for a heartbeat, as if to say: Hear that? He said we.

What neither of them expected, however, was for the pizza guy to smack her ass. Kara let out a small gasp. She certainly didn’t expect it. Neither did Diana.

“But I do have a customer to deal with.” He smiled politely, as if not realizing what he did. He acted like he kissed her cheek rather than gave her booty a good smack in front of a stranger.

“R-right…”

That was why he smacked her ass? Damn. Kara bit her lip and took a step back. Somehow, she wasn’t offended. Somehow, that was just…hot.

Diana’s jaw flexed once, but her smile didn’t falter. “You truly did remarkable work,” she said smoothly, her tone butter-warm and formal. She reached into her purse and drew out crisp bills, folding them neatly before setting them on the counter.

“For you,” Diana said, her eyes meeting his with the kind of warmth that could have melted glaciers. “A tip. Your dedication deserves recognition.”

The pizza guy blinked, startled. “Wow, this is… way too much! Thank you, really, I—”

Before he could finish, Kara looped her arm tightly around his, pressing her body close to his side, her smile stretching ear to ear. “Isn’t she generous?” Kara chimed in sweetly, her tone honeyed with faux-innocence. “Thank you so much, Miss Prince.”

Diana looked at her then, her smile frozen in place like marble carved over a furnace. “Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Enjoy your night.”

Her voice carried the faintest, sharpest edge, one only Kara caught.

“Don’t worry, we will,” Kara said, her voice dipped just enough to make the innuendo sting.

He, predictably, blinked between them with a confused but grateful smile. “Seriously, thank you again. These tips mean a lot. Hope your party goes great.”

Diana took her order, seven boxes stacked effortlessly in her arms as though weight meant nothing to her, seven and walked to the door. The walk and the poise, it was perfect. Only the tightness in her jaw betrayed her.

Kara leaned her cheek on his shoulder, waving brightly like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Bye-bye!”

The bell over the door chimed as Diana stepped out into the Gotham night.

The silence that followed was filled only by Kara’s triumphant little hum, her fingers tightening just slightly around his arm. Then a certain hand snaked down, went under skirt, and grabbed her bare ass. Kara smirked, as if cementing her claim.