>Be Anon

>You’re tired as hell from working Sweet Apple Acres and can’t wait to pass out on your bed.

>You reach to open your front door, when you hear something peculiar.

>It sounds like…squeaking?

>To be fair, you were having a bit of a mice problem.

>You we’re going to do some amateur pest control until Fluttershy caught the faintest scent of your bloodlust.

>Though, this squeaking sounds different.

>It sounds artificial.

>You open the door, the sound becoming much more clear.

>Definitely squeaking.

>Slow too.

>Almost like someone was taking long, hard strokes.

>You take a single step.

>The squeaking stops.

>You wait.

>…

>Silence.

>Then, the squeaking comes back, a little faster than before.

>You exhale, already tired of whatever horsefuckery you’re inevitably going to find.

>You inch towards your bedroom door, where the sounds appear to be emanating from.

>As you get closer, you hear panting and moaning.

>You roll your eyes.

>It’s probably Fluttershy again, doing horrible, unspeakable evils to a poor mouse.

>You’ve done this song and dance before, so you waste no time.

>You open the door unceremoniously.

>You stare.

>Pinkie Pie sits atop your bed with a head-sized, green balloon with a question mark written in marker.

>Between her legs.

>She looks up at you, her face flushed from embarrassment and exhaustion.

>”O-okay, I know what it looks like and…”

>She hesitates, looking around the room, possibly for an escape.

>Her head limply falls, her hair deflating just a little.

>”…It’s exactly what it looks like.”

>You stare at the pony for a moment.

>You suck your teeth.

“Fucking looners.”