The craze around the world

Diana stood at the very peak of the nearest skyscraper and opened her messages, her fingers flying across the screen. ''Hey, handsome. Your guardian angel is flying in. Close the blackout curtains, turn on the candles. I'll be over in a few minutes. Want anything?'' She added a winking emoji at the end, a playful touch that she knew would make him smile. She hit send, the message disappearing into the digital ether. For a moment, she just stood there, a smile on her face, imagining him reading her text, his own smile forming in response. Then, with a sigh, she tucked her phone away in her cleavage, causing a soft bounce and small slosh.

By the next second, she was off.

The wind whipped Diana's dark hair as she floated gracefully through the warm morning sky. They were going through a heatwave, no doubt a factor those villains took into account when initiating their grand plan, hoping the scorching weather might, if only slightly, put the heroes off their game. Of course, as the story always tends to go, they failed. They had to. Diana had plans. They weren't about to muddy her schedule. After a few minutes, she descended toward the rooftop of her rather bland-looking apartment complex in Gateway City. It was a modest building, one of many, despite it just being where Steve lived before she had moved in with him. She quite enjoyed it. It was simple, unassuming, yet one of the larger buildings in the area, allowing her to watch over her city and its people, as one of them, without flying above it like one of the gods. With Steve's apartment being the highest within the apartment, they were granted private access to the roof, and she often enjoyed sitting up here just watching the city. Man's world, for all its faults, had places of light. This city was her light, away from Themyscira, one she'd protect.

She landed with a soft thud, her red boots barely making a sound on the tarred gravel. Her breasts, which had been a bit snug in her armored corset, noticeably jiggled with the impact, a deep, milky sloshing sound echoing in her own ears. That sloshing sound was not there this morning... She frowned. It was an odd sensation, one she hadn't quite gotten used to. Ever since destroying that strange device, her chest had felt... different. Fuller. Heavier. The familiar weight of her own breasts was amplified, a constant reminder of the bizarre event. She had spent the better part of the flight here trying to adjust her armor, stuff her breasts down good and well; it made her cleavage look far more round, but they were shoved in nice and snug. Yet it was no use. The bounce of her chest was mitigated but not stifled; it was almost cartoonish the way her breasts were bouncing.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She had more important things to worry about. Diana reached for her phone, a sleek, modern device that was a stark contrast to her ancient origins. She scrolled through her contacts, her thumb hovering over Steve's name, a small, fond smile on her face. They had a date tonight. A simple dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant, followed by a walk along the waterfront. She was looking forward to it. She needed it after the day she had. But with Circe's parting hex and needing to speak with the ambassadors in Washington D.C.'s, she had to make some adjustments to her plans.

Circe will pay for this. Her usual antics were one thing. But ruining her date? Really, anything that would affect her man, outside of the capes and costumes, was a special kind of hell for the sorceress. Having arrived, she pulled up Steve's contact once again and pressed the call button, holding the phone to her ear. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she was about to hang up, he finally answered.

"Hey Di," Steve's voice was warm, a welcome balm to her frayed nerves. "What's up? You here?"

"Mhm~" she hummed, her voice soft, a clear contrast to the commanding tone she used with her fellow heroes. "I'll be descending the stairs now. Last chance for any prayers. If a god is listening... she might be willing to grant anything you desire~"

"Only thing I want is my angel. ASAP!" He laughed, before adding in a fainter voice, "B-But. If you don't mind... keep the suit on?"

"Heh, soon, my love. Soon," she purred, "And I think your god can grant that wish of yours." Ending the call. She could practically hear him grinning through the phone. With a final, deep breath, she turned and headed for the roof access door, her hips swaying with a practiced grace, her breasts bouncing with a rhythm that was still, to her, foreign, but easily ignoreable. Hells. In this one situation, she didn't mind. Steve's love for breasts wasn't foreign to her. In their first fated encounter, she discovered he loved her "huge rack" while he was under the effects of The Lasso of Truth.

She'd planned this date meticulously… with reservations at a secluded spot with a view of the Potomac, a bottle of vintage wine from Themyscira's hidden vineyards (smuggled under the nose of her mother and American customs), and even calling in favors with all the heroes she's helped over the years to keep crime low. What goes around comes around. It was a damn shame plans had to be adjusted, but she was anything but inflexible. She'd make this work. Make her man understand how much she loves him. Steve Trevor deserved this. After months of battles, briefings, and stolen moments, today was for them. Just Diana and Steve, no capes, no crises.

She stepped through the door, her red boots making barely a sound on the hardwood floor. The apartment was cloaked in darkness, thick blackout curtains drawn tight, shutting out the morning city entirely, the only illumination a soft constellation of candlelight scattered across Steve's living room. Shadows danced along the walls, glinting off the golden lasso at her hip and tracing every line of her iconic Wonder Woman costume; red and gold gleaming, blue-tight brief-coated hips swaying as she stepped further into the apartment.

"Ms. Prince," Steve teased, grinning as he set down his drink and stepped forward to greet her. "You know, I did ask for the full experience, but… seeing you here, it's almost surreal."

She smiled, strong but soft around the edges, her armor catching little shards of golden light. She placed her fists on the round curve of her hour-glass hips and thrust her chest out to make the iconic Wonder Woman pose that could be recognized by her silhouette alone, "The lasso compels me to grant your every desire, my champion," she purred back, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, her warmth radiating even through the leather and metal. "But for you? I don't need its power."

Before he could say another word, her lips met his, firm and hungry. He melted against her, hands immediately finding her waist, then sliding lower to grip the supple curve of her ass. She responded in kind, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as the other came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in the short hair at his nape. The kiss deepened, a clash of soft skin and hard armor, a familiar dance that spoke of years of passion. She could feel him stiffen against her, the hard line of his erection pressing through his jeans and into her hip, and she let out a low, guttural growl of approval and pressed harder against him, her breasts mashing like pillows against his upper chest and lower face due to their height difference, while a deep and resonant sloshing echoed from her boobs between them as their bodies melded.

Breaking the kiss, Diana pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against his, her breathing a little heavier. The deep, milky sloshing from her chest seemed to still. A thin line of saliva connected their lips for a moment as she breathed right into his face before breaking. Her gaze held a playful fire as she took a step back. "You like what you see, my love?" She purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I hope you're not disappointed," she replied, her voice as steady and warm as ever. "It's not often I get invited for dinner in uniform."

He laughed, trying to gather his wits and moving to pull out a chair at the small, candlelit table he'd set up near the window. "Are you kidding? You're outshining the whole Justice League right now."

She settled into the chair with Amazonian poise, a playful glint in her eyes. "Flattery again, Steve? I thought you would've learned by now.. I'm immune."

Steve sat across from her, unable to hide his affection. "I have to try. Besides, it's not flattery if it's the truth. So... how was the mission? Save the world before lunch?"

"Indeed. A minor setback with Circe and her allies, but nothing we couldn't handle." She waved it off, not wanting to dwell on the odd hex that had affected her and the other heroines; the exaggerated bounce, the faint sloshing. It was Circe's doing, no doubt, a petty humiliation she'd reverse soon enough. For now, it was contained; her willpower held firm. "Tonight is about us. No shop talk."

"Fair enough," Steve chuckled, raising his glass. "To us, then. And to finally getting time off."

The two clinked their glasses before drinking. The wine was rich and earthy to her tongue as the conversation flowed through her lips naturally. They shared back-and-forth banter; his latest Air **** escapades, how he had a near-**** experience with his parachute not deploying, and how he considered calling her before realizing he had his emergency chute. She tried to keep her smile, but hearing that he even risked relying on an emergency backup parachute when she could've dropped whatever she was doing to save her man did annoy her somewhat, but she kept her smile and nodded. She shared her own stories, some of arm wrestling with Power Girl, or some stories of embassy diplomacy laced with subtle humor. "You should have seen the ambassador from Kahndaq," she said mid-laugh. "He tried to out-stare me during negotiations. As if a mortal glare could—"

And then it hit. Reality stuttered, a cosmic hiccup that rippled through her like a shockwave from Zeus's thunderbolt. On instinct alone, Diana channeled her willpower and focus, yet regardless, she could've sworn she felt herself glitch into a slightly different state; she was holding her glass. But. Like a video feed glitching and stuttering off a bad tape, she almost teleported to a slightly different position, now holding the air, her hands closed around it like pumping an invisible girthy... hotdog. One moment, she was mid-sentence, her mind on the amusing tale; the next, an overwhelming, insatiable hunger exploded in her core. Not for food, not for wine. For hotdogs. The craving was primal, all-consuming, erasing everything else. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as her body tensed. She jolted perfectly, taught in her seat, her breasts heaving with a sudden, violent jiggle that sloshed audibly within her corset, like twin oceans in a storm.

"—intimidate... hotdogs," she finished, but the word twisted she always planned on saying that. Right? Her voice dropped to a guttural growl. "I... I need hotdogs. Now."

Steve blinked, caught off guard. "Hotdogs? Diana, what are you—"

She shot to her feet, the chair toppling backward with a crash. Everything adorning it smashed against the wooden floor; the entire apartment shook from her sudden movement. Her full height caused the chandelier above to smack her in the face as it wobbled. Diana didn't care. The hunger was madness, a frenzy that overrode reason, logic, even her feared willpower and her Amazonian discipline. Hotdogs. She needed them. Craved them like air, like battle, like life itself. Her mind flashed to every street vendor, every stadium, every corner store in the city. She had to have them. All of them.

"Diana?" Steve stood, concern etching his face as he reached for her arm. "Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?"

His touch sparked something within her, a flicker of recognition amid the chaos. Steve. Her love, her anchor in the man's world. But the craving warped it, twisting affection into desperation. She grabbed his shoulders, her grip superhuman, fingers digging in just enough to bruise despite her subconscious restraint. Her desire alone could have crushed him, but behind the scenes, her willpower was running overtime trying to hold back her own sheer strength from hurting him. "Steve... hotdogs. We need hotdogs. You understand, don't you? They're everything. Our favorite. I must... consume them." Her voice was a mix of her usual poise and feral urgency, eyes wild but still holding a spark of the woman he knew. She didn't hurt him, not fully, but the pressure made him wince, his knees buckling slightly under her strength.

"Ow—Diana, you're scaring me. Let's sit down, okay? No hotdogs here, but we can order something else—"

"No!" She shoved him back, not hard enough to injure, but sufficient to send him stumbling into the counter, plates shattering as he caught himself. Recognition held her back; some deep part of her screamed that this was wrong, that Steve was not the enemy, but the "truth" drowned it out. Hotdogs were paramount. She leaped into the air, shattering the rooftop as she blasted off, her corset peeling off slightly from the ****, showing far more boobage and a distinct areola. Below, the city streets called to her; vendors, carts, anywhere with that processed, glorious meat. Diana pulled out her lasso and, without warning, lashed up the worker she saw striding out of a '7-Eleven', yanking him towards her mid-air. "Where are the hotdogs?!" she boomed, the lasso compelling him to answer.

"I—I-wh—w-wha!?? I-don't know! We're out! I—I'm so scared!" He bellowed out the truth. "Wonder Woman! Why are you-why are you doing this!???? Y-You're our hero! This doesn't make sense! I-" He continued spouting out the truth that came to his frantic mind, but Diana didn't give him time to finish, she only heard, "No hotdogs, no use."

She dropped him and looked around for hotdogs.

But a voice in her head, deep within, was fighting to will itself forward. He said.. Wonder Woman. Right. She is Wonder Woman; this is her city. Her people. She protects her people. And that man can't fly. She dropped him. He's falling. Her willpower was trying to fight something, tell her something... and. Oh.

Diana was faster than the man's fall, faster than the fall of many. She rocketed back down, catching him midair, before safely setting him down. For a moment, she felt clear-headed. The hunger was still there, a gnawing ache that coiled in her stomach and burned behind her eyes, but for a fleeting second, clarity pierced through it. She looked at the trembling man she'd nearly terrified out of his wits, at the city she'd sworn to protect. She helped people out of a burning building a block from here just last week. What was happening to her? This was not justice. This was not her. But it didn't matter. Because her will as Wonder Woman would always fight throug—the scent of grilled onions hit her nose, instantly her primal craving for hotdogs surged back into her. She zoomed up into the air without warning and blasted through the city streets, hunting for the nearest hotdog stand or vendor. In seconds, she dove toward the nearest one, a small stand near the mall, shoving civilians aside with gentle but insistent ****. "Give me all your hotdogs!" she bellowed, her voice echoing like thunder. The vendor screamed as she uprooted the entire cart, devouring handfuls without care, buns and all, the frenzy only growing.

Around her, other women—heroines, civilians, glitched into the same madness. A green trail, iconic for Starfire, zipped by in a blur, tackling a truck full of supplies before the alien teen heroine herself exploded from the top of it, carrying multiple baskets of hotdogs. She then flew into a black portal that had opened up directly in front of her. Hawkgirl swooped down, out of nowhere, and stole a crate of hotogs from another woman who was running out of a grocery store. The city descended into chaos, women everywhere abandoning reason for the singular pursuit. Diana recognized the wrongness, but the true love of hotdogs compelled her. Hotdogs were life. She flew on, food cart in hand, sloshing breasts bouncing wildly, leaving a trail of confusion and upended lives. Steve... she'd make it up to him later. After more hotdogs. Wonderful… meaty hotdogs…

Then, another ripple. Reality jerked again, this time softer, recalibrating. The frenzy ebbed, the all-consuming madness dialing back to a strong preference. Diana hovered mid-air, half-eaten hotdog in hand, blinking as sanity flooded back. "What... in Hera's name?" The cart dropped from her grasp, crashing below with a metallic thud. The hunger remained, for hotdogs (and now, inexplicably, tied to cocks in her mind, a dual craving that made her flush), but it was manageable, preferred, not apocalyptic. Women below calmed, lines forming orderly instead of riots. She herself felt an odd shift; she looked down and rubbed both hands all over her body. Had she just glitched? Like reality hiccuped? She was mid-flight blasting at full speed, and suddenly, she was a few meters back, hovering in a passive float. No. Not possible, the world couldn't glitch like that and affect her, not with her strength of will. Granted, she was a bit.. eager; her craving for hotdogs got excessive. Women loved hotdogs (and cocks) equally, yes. But didn't go this crazy. Always preferred, but not worth upending the world.

Suddenly, shame washed over her. Steve. She'd hurt him, however minimally. She rocketed back to the rooftop, flying through the shattered roof. Steve was rubbing his shoulders, quietly sweeping up the rubble into a dustpan, "Diana?"

"I'm... I'm so sorry," she said, pulling him into a gentle embrace, once again mitigating her strength to prevent any form of harm whatsoever whilst still holding firm. "Something overcame me. A hex... perhaps. But it passed." The preference lingered; she'd crave a hotdog later, maybe even tease Steve about his "hotdog" but control returned. "Are you okay? Let me see your arm." She checked him over, her fingers delicate, probing for injuries.

He winced as she touched a spot on his shoulder, seeing this, she quickly removed his shirt to see a faint bruise already forming. "I'm fine, Di. Just... rattled. You were scaring me for a second there. Talking like that about hotdogs like they were... I don't know, ambrosia from the gods."

"I hurt you? Oh gods, I hurt you." She looked at the bruise, "I—"

"I'm fine, Di. You didn't hurt me. I've been shot before."

"N-No. I could've... Steve, when I hold you... it's like paper, I could have..."

"Hey," Steve's gentle but firm voice pulled her back. "You're okay. You held back. You always hold back. You love me too much to ever hurt me." He kissed her forehead. "But we need to figure out what's going on. You weren't the only one. I saw... I saw Hawkgirl flying off with a woman, she left her on the roof over there." He pointed out the window.

"Right. I'll... I'll go get her down... This might be Circe's work, but it's affecting more than just me. This is widespread." She felt a profound sense of shame. She'd lost control. She'd attacked a civilian, terrorized him, and for what? A craving. A simple, mundane craving for hotdogs. And she had to fight for control? She felt her willpower had been stronger than this before. She could resist being possessed by gods, resist illusions of incredible power, but a simple craving for hotdogs? She had to fight not to drop a man from the sky? Pathetic. She didn't want to let the team know. She'd handle this herself. Handle Circe herself. "That witch crossed a line." She clenched her fists, feeling a sense of true anger at the games that fake God was trying to play. "People could have been hurt. You could have been hurt. I only have ONE of you, Steve. One. I'm not letting this stand."

"Again, Di. I'm fine. If anything," He chuckled, "I'm kinda in love with you more. You lost control, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to hurt me." He said with a smirk. "Even like this, you protect me from yourself." He moved in and kissed her. The passionate kiss made Diana forget about everything, even the bruise. She kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his back, pulling him closer. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, the hard line of his cock straining, pressing against her crotch, his hotdog...

No. Not now.

She pulled back from him, rubbing a gentle hand over his shoulder. "Your resilience still amazes me, my love." She leaned in and kissed the spot where the bruise had been, her lips warm and soft. "I will make it up to you. Once I'm done," turning to the window, Diana gave him a lingering glance, "I'll handle Circe and fix this. Chaos will not descend into man's world as long as I am its protector. I promise."

"Yeah. As I said, you've never failed before."

"And I never will." Diana didn't wait for another word. With a final, reassuring smile, she shot into the air, a red and blue blur against the morning sun. She flew towards the rooftop where Steve had pointed, her mind racing. The hunger was still there, a dull, persistent throb at the back of her mind. A preference. That's all it was. She could ignore it. She had to. She was Wonder Woman. She would not be a **** to a craving. She'd find Circe and make her undo this hex. Once and for all.

Barbara Gordon's apartment in Gotham was a far cry from the Batcave's climate-controlled sanctuary. That's to say, the air hung thick and stagnant, in the summer warmth, the ancient window unit wheezing pathetically against the brutal summer heat wave. Sweat beaded on every exposed inch of skin, turning the small living room into a humid sauna. Barbara, out of her Batgirl attire and rocking civilian clothing, a tank top, and shorts that clung uncomfortably, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, the musky scent of exertion filling the space. Her clothes were utterly drenched, and the front of her boobs and cleavage line was matted with a huge damp spot.

Across from her sat Kara Zor-El, Supergirl, in her full Supergirl suit, the blue crop top with the iconic S-shield logo, red skirt, cape, and boots, the usual ensemble. Only sweat stained just the same. If anything more so, both pits, the entire S-symbol, were clinging to her body so tightly that the outline of her bra beneath was unmistakable. That's not to mention the build-up between her legs. She was hoping she could have a nice cold shower after what happened today, but that action-packed fight, in the middle of summer, on top of sitting in this hotbox, she was not in the cleanest state, that's saying it lightly. Her blonde hair matted to her neck, cheeks flushed from the heat. Both women glistened, their bodies radiating a potent, earthy musk that mixed with the faint ozone of Kara's Kryptonian aura. They'd chosen the apartment for privacy; this was too intimate for the Cave's prying eyes or ears. No Alfred, no Bruce. Just two friends puzzling out a bizarre anomaly.

"Okay, hold still," Barbara said, adjusting the small sound sensor device against Kara's chest. The gadget, a Bat-tech prototype, hummed softly as it pressed into the sweat-slicked skin just above Supergirl's suit top. Kara's breasts, already pronounced under the thin fabric, jiggled slightly with her breathing, a faint sloshing audible even without the tech. "I'm running the acoustics now. Comparing density waves to your last scan from the Watchtower med bay." She hummed over the loud clacking of fingers over a keyboard.

Kara fidgeted, fanning herself with a magazine, completely forgetting about her own frost breath ability. "This heat is killing me, Babs. Why couldn't we do this in the Cave? It's like a freezer down there." She spread her legs to air out beneath her skirt, only closing her thighs when realizing she didn't want to fill the room with any more heated musk than there was already. "I know you've got all kinds of gadgets in these walls. You don't have Mr. Freeze's ice gun or something?"

"Yeah. I usually just stay at the mansion, so I haven't paid the A.C. bill yet... but we're here because this is weird, Kara. Intimate weird. I don't need the boys walking in while I'm basically ultrasounding your boobs." Barbara glanced at her laptop screen, data scrolling by. "Alright... initial readings. Your breasts are... okay, this can't be right. The internal composition is showing 95% liquid. Not fat, not tissue—milk. Literal milk. Fresh, Kryptonian-grade dairy. It's like you're a walking milk carton. Density's up by 12%, size increased by about 5% since your last physical. See? Here's the before-and-after overlay from the League files—I, uh, may have borrowed them."

Kara's eyes widened, a mix of shock and embarrassment flushing her already red face. She poked at her own chest experimentally, feeling the subtle give, the slosh. "Milk? Like... actual milk? That's impossible. Is this happening to all women, or just me? Did Circe hit us with some lactation curse?"

Barbara shook her head, leaning back on the couch, her own tank top dark with sweat patches under her arms and across her chest. "I'd notice if it were me. My body's the same as always. No weird sloshing or bounce. This has to be targeted at you hero types with th—"

Kara's eyes narrowed, activating her X-ray vision without warning. She stared right at her best friend's rack, peering through the tank top like it was glass. "Whoa... you're not gonna believe this, Babs. I can literally see the milk sloshing inside your boobs. It's like looking at a water balloon... I'm staring at the white stuff right now, swirling around with every breath you—"

"Um~ okay!" Barbara blushed and waved her hands, that action itself causing a small jiggle which Kara was keen to observe. "Okay, point made.. ugh~! this is a new level of discrimination. I—" Mid-sentence, reality blinked. A seismic shift ripped through the world, glitching thoughts, desires, everything. Barbara's words twisted, her voice dropping to a primal snarl. "—hotdogs. I need hotdogs. Now!" The hunger erupted like a supernova in her gut, obliterating reason. Hotdogs. Nothing else mattered. The apartment, the analysis, Kara. Irrelevant. Only the crave, the frenzy, the animalistic need to consume.

Kara's eyes glazed over in the same instant, her super-speed kicking in as the shared madness synced. "Hotdogs," she echoed, a guttural growl escaping her lips. In a blur of blue and red, she rocketed to the kitchen fridge, yanking the door open so hard it nearly tore off its hinges. There, miraculously, pathetically. One lone hotdog sat in a plastic wrapper, forgotten from some late-night snack run. Kara snatched it, but Barbara was already lunging, her Batgirl instincts firing despite the haze.

"No! Mine!" Barbara snarled, activating her apartment's fail-safes with a slap to a hidden panel on the wall. Alarms blared; Bat-shaped drones buzzed from ceiling vents, deploying kryptonite-laced nets and red-sun emitters designed to neutralize overpowered threats like rogue Kryptonians protruding from the walls; grapple lines shot from hidden compartments, aiming to ensnare; and sonic batarangs whistled through the air, tuned to disrupt the senses of anyone with super-hearing. It was a fortress designed for intruders, especially not best friends who either would die to protect the other. But the craving made everything an enemy.

But against Kryptonians' who don't hold back, the tech was nothing. Kara plowed through it all like tissue paper. Her heat vision sliced the kryptonite nets mid-drop before they could reach her, her freeze breath (she suddenly remembered she had) froze over the red sun emitters in a whirlwind of frost, and eradicated the sound emitters with a sonic boom clap of her own, far louder than the devices. Barbara dove to the couch where her discarded Batgirl suit had lain, she retrieved her grapple gun from the utility belt and shot a line, grappling for the hotdog, but Kara's strength was far too fast and overwhelming. She grabbed the line and, with a feral grunt, Supergirl yanked Barbara forward and flipped her best friend in the world onto the floor, pinning her down, not with hands, but with her ass. Kara dropped so fast her red skirt hiked up as she slammed her sweat-drenched, tiny-panties-clad rear right onto Barbara's face, the full weight of her Kryptonian body (held back just enough not to crush outright) smothering her. The musk was overpowering: thick, salty, feminine sweat mixed with the heat-trapped scent of exertion and unwashed exertion from the day's battles, her tiny panties utterly drenched, pressing damp, pantie-lined pussy directly against Barbara's nose and mouth in full, suffocating contact.

"Mmmph!" Barbara thrashed, her legs kicking futilely, hands clawing at Kara's thighs. But Supergirl didn't budge. The teen's willpower, still maturing, had no way of recognizing the person begging for air under her sweaty ass, trapped in darkness, unable to breathe. No Amazonian discipline here, to identify a human far weaker than herself, just raw, selfish hunger. A tiny voice in Kara's head whispered... this is Babs, your best friend, stop...! But it was drowned in the crave. She tore into the hotdog wrapper with her teeth, devouring the cold, uncooked meat in frantic bites, juices dribbling down her chin. Barbara's struggles weakened, her vision blurring as oxygen starved her brain. A hand despretly slapped, grabbed, and clutched onto the Kryptonian's thighs and ass. Begging her best friend to get up, move, let her breathe. The musk invaded her senses, a suffocating fog of salty skin and damp fabric pressing deeper, her lungs burning, body going limp. Seconds from blacking out, from dying under her friend's ass for a goddamn hotdog.

Kara finished, licking her fingers clean, the frenzy peaking. She stood up abruptly, ass lifting with a wet *schlick* from the sweaty bond. "More... need more hotdogs," she muttered, eyes scanning the empty fridge. Then she glanced down, Barbara's head still half-stuck in the imprint of her cheeks' musk, like a personal tail her **** body just limply in her buttcheeks, face purple, gasping weakly, inches from ****.

Another ripple. Reality realligned with itself, the universe toning down the madness. The all-consuming craze softened to a strong, lingering preference; hotdogs (and cocks, a weird dual echo in her mind) were favorites, craved, but not worth ****. Kara blinked, sanity crashing back. "Babs? Oh, Rao—BABS!" Horror flooded her as she yanked Batgirl free from her butt with a loud PLOP! She dropped to her knees, super-speed checking vitals, fanning air. "I... I didn't... what happened? I almost killed you! Over a stupid hotdog?"

"Oh, Rao—! No-no-no.. Babs! BABS! Please!" Kara begged, but she quickly realized she had to act. Barbara's lips... the CPR class at the Watchtower. "Okay, okay, okay... I can do this. Hold on." She didn't want to do this. She never thought her lips would ever be touching her friends; yet she didn't have a choice. She tilted Barbara's **** head back, pinched her nose, and hesitated. Her lips hovered, a breath away from her best friend's. The memory of Barbara's sweaty face pressed against her own panties flashed through her mind, making her flush. Her super senses could smell the thick, musky aroma her own ass had left behind, emanating off the lips she had to press hers against. She pushed the thought away. This wasn't the time; besides, it was her own ass, her own crotch, her own sweat.

Pressing mouth to mouth with someone's face deep in her butt is her own fault when she was suffocating the one girl alive she'd do literally anything for. She sealed their lips, tasting salt and sweat, and gave two gentle puffs of air—super-breath, carefully controlled. Barbara's chest rose, but her eyes stayed shut. Kara tried again, deeper this time, then began chest compressions, her strength held back to a mere human's.

"Come on, Babs, don't do this to me," she whispered, pressing her lips again, tasting her own musk on Barbara's plush pillows, before breathing more life into her. "I'm so sorry."

On the third compression, Barbara's body convulsed, and she hacked up a lungful of air laced with Kara's ass sweat, her eyes fluttering open. She gasped, lungs burning, face drenched in tears and musk. Barbara's body jolted. Her eyes fluttered open, hazily. "K... Kara...?" she rasped, her throat raw.

"Oh, thank Rao, thank thank Rao!" Kara sobbed, wrapping her arms around Barbara, pulling her into a crushing hug. "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to—I was just... the craving..."

Barbara winced, pushing her away weakly. "Craving? You tried to kill me. You sat on my face until I passed out." Her voice was bitter, shaking. "Your sweaty... everything... I couldn't breathe."

"I know! I know! I'm so sorry! I... I lost control! I-"

"I-It's okay..." Barbara rasped, her throat raw. "You... you sat on me." A wave of something else hit her too—deep, guttural shame. Sitting up shakily, the musk still clinging to her face like a shameful mask, she looked around the room. She'd fought back too, activated defenses meant for criminals, tried to maim her friend... for food. "I... I tried to tase you with kryptonite. I..." Her face burned, the humiliation stinging worse than the suffocation. "We both lost it. I'm so sorry. I—" She rubbed her neck, the near-**** intimacy leaving her rattled. "I-I don't know why... I saw there was only one hotdog and... I needed it." Hotdogs sounded good... really good.

But not at the cost of her best friend. Kara hugged her fiercely, tears mixing with sweat, the heat forgotten in the relief. Whatever this was, it was bigger than them. They'd figure it out. Together. After maybe grabbing a hotdog. Just one. Or two.