Crona had never been strong. Not once in his entire life. He had been raised from birth to be a weapon, to be used and abused by his mother, Medusa. He had been beaten down and broken by his mother for always being weak. She had cursed him with the burden of Ragnarok, a living creature and weapon made from his own black blood, which only served to torment him more.

And yet, all of that changed when Maka came into Crona's life. Maka Albarn was the first person to treat Crona like a human being. The first person to try and understand him. It made him feel… warm. Warm inside and out. He would do anything to share that feeling with Maka. But… no. Crona knew that he did not deserve Maka. After all, she had Soul. Soul Evans was so much cooler than Crona… so much… stronger. Crona didn't want to admit it, but there was something alluring about the boy. What little time he had outside of his sparsely furnished room at DWMA he'd spent watching Soul and his friend Black Star playing basketball in the hot afternoon sun. Their muscular, teenage bodies glistening in the light. Those were the kinds of boys that Maka liked. The kind Crona could never be. Her mind wandered and thought of Ragnarok, how he used to be before Maka. His large black body rippling with dense musculature most bodybuilders would envy.

Crona gazed into his full body mirror, one of the few accoutrements besides his bed. Crona was still wearing the clothes his mother made him wear. A plain, long black dress with a white collar, and simple black shoes. He looked himself over, trying his best to flex, but his body barely offered the cloth any resistance. As he flexed, Crona thought of Ragnarok. His beefy, hunky body. Those chiseled abs, bulging pectorals and swollen biceps. As Crona continued to flex in the mirror, he imagined his gown was Ragnarok's dark skin. The idea of his own body changing, growing to be as big as Ragnarok was making him feel warm again. Crona imagined putting Ragnarok in a headlock, his own massive muscles crushing his once powerful oppressor. Then, he imagined getting bigger than Ragnarok. Bigger than anyone.

"Urk!" Crona cried out, feeling a sharp pain between his legs. He looked down and saw a thumb sized tent forming in his gown. Crona groaned, he'd gotten hard again. As part of making his life a living Hell, Medusa made Crona wear the black dress he now wore not only to humiliate him, but deny him pleasure as well. Crona couldn't take the dress off by himself, all the latches were in the back, and Ragnarok never even let him get close to try and remove them. Medusa even made Crona wear women's underwear, which strained even his tiny junk. Crona's mind was swimming in lustful daydreams of growing bigger and stronger. He had to get off somehow.

Crona gripped the tent in his dress with both hands, getting a handle on the thick fabric. It was difficult, but Crona eventually grabbed just the right spot to form a sleeve around his tiny cock. A thud rang out in the air. A door had opened somewhere. Was someone coming? But… but the only one who ever came to see Crona was Maka – she would bring him food – and Crona couldn't let Maka see him like this! He had to get off – now.

Crona slid his hands back and forth against his gown, the fabric rubbing coarsely against his cock. Images of Crona growing surged through his mind – his back shredding this damned gown and choking panties, veins the size of his fingernails tracing his entire body, his dick growing to monstrous proportions, balls churning with seed. A twelve-foot-tall mountain of a man with a five-foot-long cock. Crona's hands moved faster and faster, his breathing grew heavier as the cloth stimulated his cock more and more. And…

Nothing. Crona didn't cum. It didn't make sense, the fantasy was so, so good, so raw. It made her feel…powerful. But nothing happened, aside from a few spurts of pre. Rhythmic noises could be heard growing louder and louder outside. Maka was DEFINITELY on her way. Crona had to… Maka…

Crona's mind drifted away as she thrusted into her dress over and over again. Crona stood naked, fully erect with a two-foot cock, grapefruit sized balls and mammoth sized muscles all over his body. Maka knelt before him, cradling his balls and taking a deep, long sniff of his musk.

"What are you doing?" Crona asked with a knowing grin.

"I wanted to see… what a real man smelled like." Maka breathed, her arms wrapped around Crona's massive balls as if they were a life preserver in an ocean of mediocre men. Maka's delicate hands explored Crona's bulging quads, even one of his legs was bigger than the girl.

"My god… you're so perfect, Crona…" Maka mewled, her breathy words sending electricity up Crona's spine. He had to have her. Now.

Crona grit his teeth. His hands were a blur. The cloth was rubbing his cock raw but he didn't care. His panties dug into his ass hard.

Crona tore off Maka's clothes with one hand, leaving her naked as the day she was born. Maka's juices pooling on the floor showed just how ready she was as she stared at her lover's massive member.

"Thank fuck, those were just getting in the way…" Maka purred before pouncing at Crona, and climbing on top of his massive cock.

Three loud knocks. Maka was at the door. No! Not now! Not when he was so close! Crona turned away from the door and clambered into bed, never stopping his furious flagellation.

Crona, a muscular god, pounded away at Maka's pussy with his massive cock, the strength in him enough to hold her in the air purely by the might of his dick. Crona's massive hands kneading Maka's perky little tits as he took her breath away with commanding, relentless kisses and a tongue that could practically suffocate his crush. Their lips would part, leaving a thick trail of saliva. Maka, in a lusty haze would say:

"Fuck, you're even bigger than I'd dreamed… fuck me! Fuck me hard, Crona!"

"FUCK!" Crona screamed out, unable to hold it in any longer. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. His own cum dripped from his panties, wetting his dress. Warmth radiated from his cock, even as his panties tried desperately to hold it down. Crona panted like an animal in heat as he came down. It felt like something was born within him. He wanted to get stronger. No, he needed to get stronger. To prove he could be the man worthy of Maka. As Crona came down from the greatest orgasm of his life, he realized he hadn't heard any more knocking. Had Maka come inside? Had she seen him?! Had she-?!

A loud slam stopped Crona's train of thought, and he whipped around to face the door to his room.

"Maka, I-!" but Crona never finished his sentence. Left at the foot of the door was not Crona's usual tray of food, but a corked beaker, full of black-purple liquid.

"Maka?" Crona thought aloud as he got up from his bed, pulled his cum-soaked panties off and discarded them, and picked up the beaker. Attached to it was a note, which read:

"If you want her, drink this. -A Friend."

"Who could have…?" Crona asked herself before opening the door to her room and looking for the person who had given him such an odd gift. But there was no one around. Not a soul.

"Scary…" Crona said before shutting the door to his room. He stared intently at the beaker, and pondered all the things it could do to him. It could be poison. But then, he thought of Maka, and the vision he'd had.

It was worth the risk.

Crona uncorked the beaker, and downed the entirety of its contents.

Little did he know that his gift giver wasn't far, prowling the streets of Death City.

"Have your fun, my child." Medusa, (still inhabiting the body of Rachel Boyd) declared, "Soon, I'll have mine."