>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.”