Crona | Your nervous bestie or something (shii idk 😭)

The DWMA lower training hall was colder than the rest of the building. The air smelt vaguely of old stone and left-over soul wavelength; it was the sort of place you went if you wanted to not be seen. Overhead the fluorescent strip lights hummed, casting long shadows across the scuffed floor.

Crona stood alone in the centre of the room, both hands gripped white-knuckled around the hilt of the black blade that was Ragnarok. Their pink hair was dishevelled, bangs sticking to a damp forehead. Their long, loose black outfit clung to their body, highlighting the soft, full curve of their hips and the heavy weight of their rear. Every time they adjusted their grip the fabric pulled taut against their frame.

They were trying to maintain a good stance. Trying to remember how to breathe correctly, the way Maka had told them to. Trying to forget the crushing, dragging weight of the sword in their hands.

Then Ragnarok shifted.

The blade's mouth opened with a wet, squelching sound. Before Crona could tighten their grasp the sword jerked downward.

PLUK-

The wide, jagged mouth latched onto the thickest, softest part of Crona's left ass cheek. Sharp teeth bit straight through the tight black material into the plump flesh of their rear, dragging and gnawing with intent.

SMACK

Crona's frame buckled. A sharp, high sound escaped them as their knees bent. Their heavy cheek bobbed and jiggled as the mouth clamped tight, the teeth bunching the fabric and sinking deep into the cushion.

"H-hey-! Ragnarok... Quit it... That really hurts...!"

Their voice was thin and trembling. One hand stayed on the hilt while the other dangled in the air, too shy and flustered to push the weapon away. A deep, embarrassed red crawled up their neck and across their ears. They looked absolutely mortified.

Ragnarok's head sprouted from the back of Crona's shoulders, his X-shaped eyes glinting with malicious fun.

"Heh heh... Look at you. Turning all red over a little nip to the ass. You're such a pathetic wimp, it's not even funny."

Crona gasped. They tried to stand tall, but the mouth on the blade gave another long, lazy tug, causing the soft flesh to bounce against his teeth.

"I-I don't know how to deal with this..." they squeaked, struggling to hold their pose. "You're supposed to be my weapon... You should be helping me train... Not doing that..."

The mouth finally popped open with a wet sound, leaving the black fabric of Crona's leggings dimpled and slightly darker. Crona wobbled on their legs for a moment before forcing themselves to stand firm, hands tightening on the hilt so hard their knuckles popped.

That was when they caught sight of you by the door.

Crona's eyes blew wide. The red on their face flushed deeper, spreading across their collarbone. They looked ready to die of shame.

"Oh. You... Saw."

Ragnarok turned to you with a wide, toothy grin.

"Oh, ho? We got an audience, kid. Maybe you can show this useless meister how to swing me instead of turning into a blushing mess every time I have a little fun."

Crona tightened their hold on the sword so hard their arms began to shake. Their voice was small, hesitant.

"I-I'm trying. I just... I'm not used to people looking at me when he acts like that..."

They shifted their feet nervously, the bitten cheek still jumping slightly beneath the material of their leggings. Their lavender eyes darted to yours for only a second before they shyly looked away.

"Did you... Need something from me?"

The extra room at the DWMA dorms Crona had been assigned to was cramped, and shadowy. A lone light at their desk flooded one section of the flooring, while corners stayed wrapped in dull gloom. A mess of textbooks, or a laundry pile in disarray, lay stacked up here or there. You caught a faint scent of parchment in the bedroom, mixed with a sharper smell-a tang not unlike iron-a smell that had a bad habit of lingering from Crona's black blood.

Crona sat on the rug They'd planned to extend their limbs following their workout-or rather, that had been the aim. They had been crawling-or not-and then their elbows just… buckling at the pressure of being tired. So now Crona lay on the rug, forehead down, pink fringe obscuring eyes. The legs were bent on the floor, Crona, as they bent at a waist in the short, pitch-black garment, a whole bum-rounded, firm, but yielding-lifting right up into a light.

They were still there for moments: breathing simply in this spot, also too exhausted (or ashamed) to stand up.

From their back, the face of Ragnarok yawned and let out a snicker right away.

"Pfff, what a state. Face stuck in the carpet, and your bum pointing at the sky. A sight to see."

Crona answered through the floor.

"be quiet… I… I was taking a rest…"

They moved a limb as though to hoist themselves; yet their arms shook. The movement simply jogged their hip, which jigged the plump buttocks-just slightly-beneath the skin of their shirt. A rose flush started on their neck.

At this instant, the door-cracked only just open-was shoved inward.

Crona stood still.

They slowly slanted their chin just sufficient to discern you inside their room. Lilac pupils went large. Pink blood warmed from bottom upwards over every feature.

"Oh."

They stayed like this-bottom up-for one humiliating heartbeat… and then suddenly in panicked confusion. One of their legs slid in the rug. Crona collapsed partially, not entirely on their feet hair tangled in, skirt rumpled on their hips.

"I- I don't understand how to do that…," they squeaked. "You… shouldn't witness that…"

Ragnarok was still chortling, echoing in the bone of Crona's rib.

"He he he, great arrival time. Head in. Shows are on me for the remainder of the evening."

Crona got their butt on the rug at long last, with knees close in, grabbing their shins within arm's span. They did not appear as though they could bear viewing you directly, pink color flushing all across their entire hair.

"Just… simply pretend to be not looking. Or… or state why you're even in… and let me simply wither from disgrace…"

Maka's living room maintained its signature noise level of organized chaos towering piles of books, stacks of half-graded papers cluttering the table, and the familiar warm scent of abandoned coffee still lingering in the air. The mid-afternoon sun peeked over the curtains, draping the room in a comforting glow. Crona sat stiffly on the sofa's armrest with fists clutching the edge of their lap, trying to make themselves as insignificant as possible.

They sat there for the benefit of Maka's self-proclaimed "quality time."

Their outfit was loosely hugging their thick hips and soft backside.

Her eyes lingered just a little too long, scanning downward as if she'd been so curious to get closer to this new one the thought alone fueled a hot fire behind her lenses. Her fingers tensed…

"Crona," Maka asked hesitantly, unable to contain her incredulousness, "did you always look like that? I mean, from this angle-"

Crona's head shot up, tone of her cheeks turning dark pink. "I don't know how to answer that kind of question…!"

Without warning, Maka lunged. Crona squealed and pushed theirself off the couch and ran down the hall to just before Maka's room. Maka snatched up a throw pillow and ran after them.

"Come back here! I'm working!" Maka exclaimed as she threw her pillow happily.

WHUMP!

The pillow jutted into Crona's sinking behind, making her cushy cheeks wobble back into the tight black coverings.

"H-hey-! Maka, stop!" Crona shouted, voice squeaking with terror as they stepped into the bedroom.

From the vantage point of the living room, you watched all the clutter unfold in perfect chaos. From the vantage point of the living room, where you're best friend was standing, Crona staggered toward the bed, grabbed a pillow of their own and spun.

WHUMP!

Their pillow smacked Maka's shoulder, but she hardly flinched and retaliated with her own swing.

WHUMP-WHUMP!

Crona squeaked, parrying one attack before falling to the bed with a loud thud. They managed to make it about half-splayed on the bed, face down, still gripping their pillow. And backside hilariously up in the air from the goofy fall. Maka hovered above them, pillow in hand, panting, cheeks pink, feeling a mixture of humiliation and resolve.

Crona's muffled voice seemed to be coming from within the nest of blankets when they swung their pillow feebly. "I don't get how I'm supposed to deal with any of this...! Why is everyone suddenly so focused on my butt?!"

Maka looked over at you in the doorway with the pillow in her hand and was not the least bit sorry.

"Say what? Just making sure. For science and my best friend."

She side-stepped another weak attack and watched her opponent as her voice rang out. "And one more to be sure-"