To be perfectly honest, Fluttershy just wanted to be a part of the group. She never actually anticipated the bottle landing on her and naming her the winner.

So when Applejack's empty cider bottle had nosed its way toward her, she was sure it would keep moving and name Rarity the winner, or something like that. It hadn't.

Instead, she simply sat there, the seconds passing as heat crawled to her face and she realized that the others were staring, waiting for her to say something or otherwise acknowledge her unforeseeable victory.

In those few spare seconds of hot-blooded insanity, a myriad of thoughts sprang to her mind, each branching off to innumerable tangents.

I won—that shouldn't have happened, I never win—will he want to stay over, is he good with kids?—Angel won't like this—TWILIGHT won't like this—Rainbow Dash is going to be really, really mad at me—do I have enough bleach to clean Twilight's castle?

So it was that the pink-haired girl shrank into her big yellow sweater, holding herself and crying inconsolably at the torrent of emotions.

Twilight and Rarity reached her first, brows furrowed as they rubbed Fluttershy's shoulders consolingly and tried to figure out why she'd be so upset.

"And here we go," Rainbow Dash grunted, rolling her eyes at the wasted chance.

"What's wrong?" Twilight asked softly, rubbing the sensitive girl's shoulder. Truth be told, she was relieved that the bottle had landed on the shyest of the six of them; aside from herself, Twilight was confident that Fluttershy was the only one who wouldn't take advantage of Spike in light of this arrangement.

"I–I," she stuttered, hiccuping in her nervousness.

Rarity stroked her back, acting like a blanket over the girl and glaring defensively at Dash and Applejack when the two gave each other looks. "Breath now, darling," she said soothingly. "Now, what's the matter?"

Fluttershy swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I don't have enough bleach to clean Twilight's castle," she whispered.

"Hey God, are you there? It's me, Rainbow Dash," the prismatic-haired girl said to herself as she lay spread-eagle on the carpet. "Why am I surrounded by pussies?"

Getting Spike to agree to watch the kids with her had been the easy part.

Despite his protests to anyone who would listen, Fluttershy and the girls knew that the young man was a receptacle for all things sappy and pathetic, small children being among the greatest of these.

It hadn't hurt Fluttershy's chances that, in spite of Twilight's wagering him to her friends for favors, the young green-haired man regarded Fluttershy as the least harmful of the six. While that was irrefutably true, however, that didn't mean that Fluttershy had to like it.

She shook her head as she remembered her mission. If she had to play the part of the blushing, impressionable little pushover, then she'd use that. Years of being best friends with Rarity had taught Fluttershy that subtlety was everything when it came to getting what you want. It had worked on her animals, it had worked on the Crusaders, and darn it, it was going to work on Spike.

All she needed was an in.

Currently she found herself outside of Sugar Cube Corner, having just knocked on the front door. Fluttershy had come by to pick up the twins, Pound and Pumpkin, and bring them back to the cottage for the remainder of their parent's "business trip." She wished someone would hurry up and open the door: the yellow sweater dress Rarity had made her was lovely in appearance, but it did nothing to keep her bare legs warm. She scolded herself internally for only stepping out with stockings and flats to cover her legs in this chilly weather.

She stood patiently in the crisp morning air, waiting for Pinkie to open the door to the bakery. A pair of slim hands slipped around Fluttershy's back, one pinching the startled girl's arms to her stomach, the other clamping her mouth shut before she could cry for help.

"Scream and I'll cut ya," a voice snarled in her ear, and Fluttershy quaked in her boots, all thoughts of subtlety and plotting for boyfriends banished from her mind.

A pair of plush, soft lips collided with Fluttershy's cheek, and with a mighty pphlbbbt! blew a wet and noisy raspberry onto the shocked girl's face.

Strong arms flipped Fluttershy around, showing the pink-haired culprit she had come here to meet. "Hiya, Fluttershy!" Pinkie greeted, either ignorant or uncaring of the taller girl's look of incredulity. "How did you like my serial killer impression?"

The caretaker wasn't amused, covering her chest in order to calm her heart's machine gun pace. "I think I just aged ten years," she said lowly.

Pinkie shrugged, taking her friend by the hand and leading her into the bakery. "Ah, well! They can't all be winners." She flipped the light switch to the front room, gesturing dramatically for the long-haired girl to make herself at home.

Fluttershy giggled. She could never stay mad at Pinkie for long.

She blinked as a thought occurred to her. "What were you doing outside this early? It's seven in the morning."

The party girl looked over her shoulder at Fluttershy, radiant blue eyes shining piercingly. "Normally, I'd tell you that I was doing something wacky and amusing, but I was really just out for a morning jog."

Fluttershy tilted her head, surprised. "Oh, I see. I didn't know you took those." Though it explained the girl's choice of attire: a form-fitting pink t-shirt and black track shorts that showed an enticing amount of skin.

Pinkie leaned on the counter that held the register, her hand rummaging out of sight before seizing a water bottle. "Sure do!" she said, before taking a quick swig. "Don't got a man to make my ass clap, so I gotta let gravity do it."

Fluttershy laughed softly, before hearing the distant patter of small feet above her head. "You don't want the twins to hear you talking like that," she whispered, smiling gently.

Pinkie Pie rolled her eyes as she sat down on the counter, crossing her legs. "Sorry to tell you, Fluttershy, but the little dickens—dickenses? Whatever, they live right across the hall from the parents, so," she said, shrugging, "they probably know a pretty good deal about ass-clapping already."

"She does have a big behind," Fluttershy agreed.

"Right?" Pinkie said, gesturing with her hands to outline an exaggerated hourglass figure, with a heavy emphasis on the bottom half. "It must be like cutting a hole in a peach and trying to thread a piece of spaghetti through it!"

The taller girl could only cover her mouth to hide her wheezing. "You really," she breathed, "shouldn't say those kinds of things."

Pinkie grinned and lay prone on the counter, striking a pose. "I calls em as I sees em." She looked towards the ceiling as she realized that the flurry of sound caused by the twin's running around upstairs hadn't ceased in the slightest. "Geez, what's taking those two? I told them to get packed last night."

But Fluttershy wasn't ready to let go of their previous subject just yet. "So do you think you could do a better job with his wife?" she asked, eyes cut mischievously at Pinkie.

The curly-haired girl snapped her eyes back to Fluttershy, grinning. "If I had a dick? You're darn tooting!" She leapt up from her place, grabbing a pastry bag full of white icing, holding it to her hips and slinging it menacingly as if it were a cock. She slapped it on nearby tabletops as she stalked towards an immensely amused Fluttershy, who watched her actions with raised eyebrows and quirked lips. Each slap left a small dab of what was, with enough imagination, a small, sugary smear of pre.

"Fluttershy, baby," she growled, made all the more hilarious by her squeaky, high-pitched voice, "we're talking missionary." She ground herself against a nearby table, maintaining eye contact and somehow keeping a straight face while Fluttershy laughed. "We're talking cowgirl," now sitting back on the table and rolling her hips while an imaginary partner rode her imaginary cock. "We're talking nasty shit she doesn't even know existed, she'd think I invented sex, busting all kinds of nuts on their wedding bed."

Fluttershy was convulsing now, bending over and waving at her friend to stop. Her chest-wracking laughs turned to squeals as the pink menace positioned herself behind Fluttershy and slid the pastry bag between the taller girl's thighs, pulling up her skirt.

"Pinkie–"

"Arch yer back, bitch," she rasped, in a gruff approximation of a man's voice, and Fluttershy found herself giggling again as Pinkie dry humped her from behind. It was a mark of their friendship that Fluttershy didn't die of embarrassment or shrug her off, like she surely would have done in years past.

"Goodness, you sure are a passionate one," the caretaker said through her giggles, rolling her eyes at Pinkie's exaggerated movements.

The smaller girl ceased her movements and wheeled Fluttershy around, pushing the girl gently down to her knees. "Open wide, princess," she ordered, and as Fluttershy opened her mouth obediently, albeit with a grin, Pinkie noted that if she had been a little bit bolder and just a teensy bit gayer, things would've played out differently.

Instead, she stroked her pastry bag penis off, shooting several strands of icing into Fluttershy's waiting mouth and hands. The girl licked her lips and obediently swallowed, showing a clean tongue when she finished. She smiled with one eye open, as a line or two of icing dotted her face. "Did I get the job?" she asked excitedly, and now it was Pinkie's turn to double over laughing from her unexpected response.

The curly haired girl wheezed for breath, having to pat herself on the back several times before she could focus herself again. "Oh no," she gasped, standing straight and wiping a tear from her eye.

Before Pinkie could congratulate her friend on her performance, however, the door to the bakery swung open, revealing Spike, wearing a purple hoodie and looking generally well-off. "Hey Pinkie, is Fluttershy h–" he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as dinner plates at the sight of Fluttershy on her knees, face covered in a mysterious white substance while Pinkie stood hunched over her, grasping something just in front of her crotch.

"Spike–"

"I'll come back later!" he screeched, covering his face and sprinting out the door.

Of course, Pinkie being Pinkie, she managed to catch up with the young man in a matter of seconds, and hauled him back to the bakery in even less.

Screams of "no, please," and "I'm a virgin" were a few of the protests the teenager threw out, but the curly-haired temptress was hearing none of it. She slapped him down on a nearby chair, plopping herself on his lap and looking intensely into his eyes with those adorable baby blues.

"I didn't see anything!" he immediately claimed, freezing in place. Fluttershy came to stand behind the chair, clearing her throat in a displeased manner and helping Pinkie to make the young man less comfortable. She giggled silently as Spike squirmed, uncomfortable with her standing where he couldn't see her.

"That's right," Pinkie quipped, tapping Spike's chin with the tip of her pastry bag and squinting at him suspiciously. "You didn't see a thing. But I know about teenage boys." She poked him in the chest. "If I let you go, you'll go around spreading rumors, telling people that the local pastry chef spends her free time giving pretty girls facials!"

"I don't know what I saw!" he screeched, leaning away from her, and Fluttershy marveled at how gullible the young man was. "I mean, I didn't see anything, I won't tell anyone, please don't hurt me–"

"I dunno, Pinkie," Fluttershy said, her voice grave. "He'll say anything to get out of here in one piece." She made the effort of cracking her knuckles; she managed to pop one, and was proud that she only cried for at the pain for ten seconds.

"Agreed!" Pinkie said, looking back down menacingly at their young victim. She tilted Spike's head back, prying open his mouth and forcing her tongue onto his. Fluttershy started, and she suddenly stopped finding their little prank funny.

Pinkie released the young man, smacking her lips as he floundered in his seat beneath her. "You had oatmeal with brown sugar this morning, with milk and french toast," she concluded. "Four thousand, eight-hundred and fifty-two tastes buds to count, more or less."

Despite her distaste with the woman's actions, Fluttershy couldn't helped but be a little impressed.

"How did you–" Spike started to ask, before having a finger shoved on his lips.

"You've got yourself a nice tongue, Spike," the baker said, patting him patronizingly on the cheek. "It'd be a real shame," she added, reaching a hand into her mass of voluminous hair, "if something happened to it."

PLONK!

Spike's eyes widened as somehow Pinkie retrieved a hammer from God knows where and set it down on the table next to them. He worked his mouth, unable to form words, before he looked up at the grim-faced woman before him. "I swear on my life, I won't tell anyone you have a penis–"

The party girl was unable to keep a straight face anymore. Pinkie's stone face morphed to a shit-eating grin, and a deep, shaking laugh shook from her gut. "Spike! Oh my God, we were screwing with you!" She leapt up from the chair, leaving their victim free to go. "I don't have a penis, me and Fluttershy were just pretending I did!" She flicked a glob of icing at him, which he dodged instinctively.

Spike's face was a mixture of rage, relief, incredulity, and maybe a smidge of good-humor. "Why would you pretend to have a dick?" he asked.

"Oh, because Fluttershy has a bukkake fetish," she explained, and Spike, being a rube, nodded slowly, accepting the bullshit as fact.

Fluttershy, for her part, didn't know what "boo cocky" meant, so she just smiled and nodded.

"So, what are you going to do while the kids are gone and the shop's closed?" Spike asked conversationally.

"'Sit down, be still, and try not to break anything,'" she repeated loyally, just like her employers/landlords had instructed.

As she said this, a rush of feet could be heard coming down the stairs, followed swiftly by a thunder of luggage scraping the wood.

"Get ready," Pinkie said, half-smiling wearily.

Suddenly, the Cake twins were on them like a storm, dropping their luggage and bringing a din of noise with them.

"Hi Fluttershy!" "Hi Pinkie!"

"Who's this?"

"He looks lonely." Pound surveyed, circling around the chair and staring unabashed at the apparent stranger. Pumpkin mimicked his actions, leering at the green-haired weirdo in her house. The two both wore sneakers, Pound in a black t-shirt with a skull on it and shorts, and Pumpkin wearing a yellow shirt with overalls.

"His name is Spike," Fluttershy added quietly, watching the interaction with sparkling eyes.

"Hey Spike," Pound asked, "hey, are you lonely? You don't look like you've ever been loved."

"Do you have someone you love?" Pumpkin added. "Do you have someone you love more than anything but she doesn't love you back?"

"Hey Spike, do you think you're gonna die alone someday?"

"Can I hit them?" Spike asked, getting up from his seat.

"No, no," Pinkie sighed. She heaved herself up from her seat on the counter and stretched her arm muscles. "They move way too fast for that."

The walk back to Fluttershy's cottage was proving to be long and awkward, though surprisingly full of conversation.

Then again, Fluttershy remarked to herself, said conversation was decidedly one-sided.

"Hey, hey Spike?"

The teenager looked at Pound, running circles around the two adults and generally touching whatever seemed nailed down to the ground. "What?" he asked, already tired of the two's boundless energy.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" the younger male asked, peering up at Spike as he ran in place.

Fluttershy tried not to be too obvious as she watched Spike's face out of the corner of her eye.

"Can't say that I have," he grunted. He shoved his hands back into his park, seeming to huddle into the hoodie, eyes thin as slits.

Pumpkin made a face, then discreetly handed what appeared to be a shiny metal object to her brother, who pocketed it triumphantly.

"Is it because your hair's a weird color?" Pumpkin asked, looking upset with Spike, as if it were his fault she'd just lost her pocket change.

Spike glared at the girl, unamused. "Pumpkin, baby, you're a ginger. Don't start with me."

Pumpkin's face soured, though it was obvious she didn't understand the significance of the insult.

"What about me, huh?" Pound asked, stepping in front of Spike and nearly making him trip. "What am I?"

"A broken condom–"

"Isn't the weather just lovely today?" Fluttershy interrupted, shooting Spike a displeased glare. He shrugged it off, his good mood long-since soured.

Fluttershy stared straight ahead in discontent. Their small group had been together less than five minutes and the caretaker could already tell that their week together was going to be a trying one.

She couldn't exactly blame Spike for getting upset at the twins'...candid behavior, but now, as she watched Pumpkin glare openly at Spike, mouth flat with blatant dislike, she wondered if bringing the green-haired teenager had been a wise choice.

Fluttershy pondered how she would be able to salvage their already lackluster day, when a nearby outdoor cafe caught her eye.

Smiling, she turned to the two children walking beside her. "Have you two darlings eaten breakfast yet?" When the two shook their heads in the negative, Fluttershy clucked her tongue. "That simply won't do. Come on, we'll go get something to eat after we get you two settled in–"

"Actually, Fluttershy," Spike said, getting her and the children's attention, "you guys go on ahead. I'll bring the stuff back to the cottage then come back, if that's alright with you."

The pink-haired woman blinked in surprise. "Oh–no you don't have to–" she started to say, before being cut off by an enthusiastic yell.

"WOO! Free food, let's book it!" Pound yelled, dropping his bags and grabbing his sister by the hand. Pumpkin, to her credit, glanced back at Spike, face clouded in indecision.

Fluttershy smiled gently at her friend, clasping her hands together at the waist. "That's really sweet of you."

The teenager smiled wanly, shrugging. "I guess kids have that effect on me," he said sarcastically, green eyes slanted in mischief.

She chuckled, looking down at the ground and back at Spike. "It wasn't so long ago that you were their size, you know."

"Ugh, don't remind me," he groaned, rubbing his head.

The young woman contented herself with just looking at him a moment more. Even knowing him as a child, she couldn't have predicted that he'd grow up to look so...noble. She began to wonder if it had anything to do with growing up with among the mages of Canterlot, or rather if it was in his genes. In any case, she knew there was no denying that he was a native of the fair city. Part of her thought he could be a superb Royal Guardsman—strong, resourceful, and intimidating if he put his mind to it—but in the end, Fluttershy knew that Spike simply didn't have it in him to cause deliberate harm to others. They were kindred spirits in that way.

"What is it?" Spike asked, and Fluttershy realized that she'd been staring long enough to make the young man uncomfortable. The twins glanced over at the two adults, wondering what was taking them so long.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, blushing and rubbing her shoulder. Fluttershy brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face and looked at him, smiling mildly. "You just...remind me of someone." She handed the keys to him, allowing her fingers to graze his momentarily.

As Spike stalked away, grunting and carrying both duffel bags under his arms, Fluttershy found her way to the table where the twins sat staring up at her.

"What do you two think of him?" the caretaker asked, smiling as she sat next to Pound.

Pumpkin gave a noncommittal shrug, head in hand and tracing idly on the tabletop.

"He seems alright," Pound said, leaning back and kicking his feet. "Kinda grumpy, though."

His twin looked up from the table, small blue eyes tracing the strange-haired jerk who was taking their luggage to Fluttershy's cottage. "He better not drop any of my stuff," she grumbled, swinging her legs and wishing she weren't so short.

Spike was a strong believer in karma.

Following Twilight for so many years had taught him that if you pissed off enough people, the universe would make sure to send some laser-guided justice your way with a quickness. He knew it from seeing it with his own eyes; it had happened to Nightmare Moon, it had happened to Chrysalis, and so on. Hell, Cadance and her people killed a guy with weaponized happiness, so Spike had decided early on in life that upsetting The Powers That Be was a no-no of the Nth degree.

It was for that exact reason that he found himself wondering just what the hell he did to ruin Angel's day, to the point where the furry little bastard felt justified in tripping the young man going up the stairs. As Spike growled and picked the scuffed duffel bags up off the floor, the white-haired jackass darted to a nearby windowsill, hissing at the intruder and shaking an angry paw.

"I'm going to fry you," Spike scowled, but he didn't concern himself with Fluttershy's second-in-command. The laws of the universe demanded that pricks like Angel get their comeuppance one day, and with the small white rabbit's track record, Spike could only hope he'd be there to see said comeuppance in person.

His mood sullied further, the teenager hefted the bags up to Fluttershy's room, where Pound and Pumpkin would be sleeping. As he noted how inviting and impossibly nice-smelling the room was—of course Fluttershy would have ridiculously soft down comforters on her cozy little bed—Spike soon realized that he heard humming. Frowning, he turned around, trying to identify the source. Placing the bags just in front of the bed frame, Spike circled the small room, before finding—feeling, rather—a curl of moist heat brush against his ankles. Now that he had stopped moving, he soon realized that the sloshing of water could be heard if one listened closely.

He moved to the other side of the room, apprehensive. Who would be bathing in Fluttershy's home when she's not here?

All of the other girls were occupied and Spike seriously doubted any of Fluttershy's animal wards knew how to work a shower nozzle. His hand grasped the doorknob, and he turned it inwards, pushing–

"Oh, what the hell!" he screamed, instantly regretting his choice to investigate, and wondering which manner of primordial being he had pissed off to deserve walking in on Discord mid-bath.

"I'd say good morning to you too," the elderly spirit of chaos droned, hoisting one gnarled and hairy leg mid-air as he shaved, "but I'll have you know, Spike, that I don't abide peeping." He wore a pink and white polka dotted shower cap, to speak nothing of the carpet of grey hairs matted to his chest.

"What are you doing here?" Spike demanded shrilly, facing away from the door. His eyes caught a large sewing needle nearby and Spike seriously wondered the merits of driving it through his skull to stop the pain.

"Well you see, I like to drop in on dear Fluttershy from time to time," he commented, finishing his leg and moving to his armpit. "The view from her bathroom window is just lovely–"

"I mean, what are you doing in her bathtub?" Spike asked, turning back to face the speaker while keeping his eyes riveted directly above the shower curtains.

"Oh, that," the older man said as he examined his knobby, wart-covered hand in boredom. "Well, for one, Fluttershy has the most delightful little shower oddities, wouldn't you know it? Very powerful showerhead, and some miracle-working apricot scrub that gets in all the right crevices."

Spike gagged. "Before I go out back and shoot myself–"

"Rude."

"–I should probably let you know that Fluttershy's going to be back with the kids she's babysitting soon. So I think it'd be best for everyone if you finished up before then."

Discord pondered this for a moment, before sighing. "I would hate to cut my well-deserved leisure time short, but I suppose that's for the best."

Spike sighed in relief.

The elderly man then spun onto his stomach, before hoisting himself halfway out of the water. "But seeing as how my arms aren't as limber as they used to be, you'll have to scrub my back first."

"I'll be dead and buried first, old man!" the teenager roared, feeling a vein pulse in his head.

The spirit of chaos and disharmony laughed exuberantly, rising out of the water entirely and stretching his arms. "Oh, Pinkie Pie has it right, I do so love making people laugh!"

"I'm not laughing," Spike growled, back turned to the lamentably nude gentleman.

"Well no, but I'm 'people', am I not?" Discord suggested.

"Not even on your good days," Spike returned.

Discord chuckled, his voice echoing in the small room. "Oh, you've got spunk to you, all right. Definitely Celestia's man."

"I'm no one's man," the teenager snarled.

"Oh dear, that's right; you aren't, are you?" the spirit said, chortling.

Spike's face lit up in embarrassment, but as he turned around to retort, he saw that the bathroom was empty, the tub drained and deceptively clean.

Deep, mischievous chuckles filled Fluttershy's cottage, and despite the years lacking in hostility between the two men, Spike couldn't help but feel shivers shaking down his spine at the sound.

Of course, that could change very easily, an oily voice seemed to whisper in his ear, and Spike couldn't help but feel as if the spirit of chaos was watching him, garbed in shadows and leering at him from some unreachable place. But it all depends on you: you'd be surprised at what people are in the dark.

"What the hell does that mean?" Spike growled, sounding braver than he felt.

It means, you little runt, that even she keeps secrets of her own...

One, she keeps in the dresser.

After the voice gave one last laugh, Spike felt the presence lift. He sighed at the lack of pressure he hadn't known he'd been feeling, feeling air rush back into his lungs.

He reflected on Discord's words, wondering what he meant by his mysterious message. What did Fluttershy keep in her dresser? Apparently it was important enough that the older man felt Spike should find out for himself.

As he inched closer to the cherry armoire opposite of Fluttershy's bed, Spike swallowed, feeling guilty for the trespass he was about to commit. His curiosity, however, was proving to be the stronger of the two emotions...

I swear to God, if I find a dildo...

Prying open the double doors, he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. As he surveyed the contents of the dresser, he failed to find anything of note aside from a few spare comforters and other such sundries.

Wait.

His eyes focused in on a square of leather near the back, and as he pulled on it, Spike found it to be a compact journal, lovingly worn by the feel of it.

It seems a little wide for a diary, he thought to himself, flipping it open to the middle. His eyes widened as he beheld a sketch of an animal, a falcon, rendered in stunning detail. If it hadn't been for the medium on which the image was supported, Spike could've sworn it was a black and white studio portrait. She drew this?

He admired the drawing a moment more, before flipping to a new page. A squirrel, bright-eyed, muscles tensed, seemingly ready to spring from the page. Flip. Angel, scowling yet personified in pencil. Flip. Another of Angel, this time not so angry and in much greater detail; the hairs and bits of exposed flesh were drawn with such attention that even Spike found it hard to loathe the creature in this representation.

Spike continued to flip the pages; Fluttershy had drawn dozens of animals, some from her shelter and some from her travels. Spike soon stumbled across a sketch of Philomena, Princess Celestia's pet phoenix, which he immediately admired for its sheer intensity and regality.

Looking back at the first entries, the older woman's portraits were noticeably blocky and heavy-handed, but even her meanest works alluded to some well-hidden talent and a meticulous eye. Her first entry, a series of body sketches of Angel—as seen by the somewhat visible circles and crosses of the heads—seemed to be several years old, dating back before Spike himself had arrived in Ponyville.

"I never knew she was such a good artist," Spike murmured to himself, turning the pages to more recent entries. He grinned upon seeing Rainbow Dash's hotblooded gaze stare up at him, and Spike was amazed how much she and Scootaloo looked alike when hair color wasn't an issue. Then came Pinkie Pie, curling, sinuous hair drawn with the utmost effort and dedication, so much so that Spike's attention couldn't focus on anything else on the page for more than a few seconds at a time.

Flip. Twilight looking down at a book, glasses on the bridge of her nose and her neck sloping beautifully.

Flip. Rarity, hair wrapped in a towel and smirking girlishly through a haze of steam. Spike's heart skipped wretchedly and he hurriedly moved past it.

Flip. Big McIntosh and Applejack, sitting side by side and playing chess, mirroring each other as they placed their heads in their hands, contemplating.

Flip. Mac again, holding a small child in his arms—one of his cousins from a reunion, no doubt.

Flip. Mac, again. His shirt practically clung to his chest like a second skin, and Spike suddenly felt like putting the journal back. He looked down at his own chest, which seemed scrawny and boyish in comparison.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Mac, Mac, Mac.

Spike didn't exactly know why he felt angry, or jealous, or inadequate, but he did. His nostrils flared and he wondered just what the hell Fluttershy even saw in Applejack's brother. Aside from the whole 'built like a brick house' thing he had going on, that was.

Thankfully, the art book soon featured other subjects, to Spike's relief. Applejack and Rarity on a boat, Rarity reading a small book under a fashionable sunhat, Applejack rowing and looking content.

Flip. Spike and Twilight resting under a tree, pictured at an angle.

Viewing it, Spike smiled, glad to see a drawing of himself, at last. His head rested on Twilight's lap, eyes closed as the dappled sunlight touched gently upon his face. Twilight looked down at him, face tired but unequivocally proud, and Spike felt himself grow uncomfortable at the thought of Twilight looking so strongly at him when he couldn't see her doing it.

Flip. Spike again, leaning against a bed and reading a comic book.

I wonder when she drew this, he thought, smiling gently as he turned the page.

He blinked.

It was him again, laying on his side and staring at the viewer lazily. His t-shirt was hitched up, exposing a bit of stomach just above his jeans. His bare arms, though admittedly not very muscular or developed, sported a surprising amount of detail. He wore no shoes or socks.

The gaze his drawing-self gave was the main focus of the work, though. Spike swallowed, feeling a nervous pit form in his stomach as he viewed himself. He never recalled ever looking at anyone that intensely, that...temptingly.

It shook him in a bad way to know that he could be seen as this, that Fluttershy had seen this in him. He felt like he should be flattered, but something about his portrait's barely masked sensuality had unsettled him, like an unwelcome invasion. It didn't feel like him.

He turned the page, somewhat startled to see yet another drawing of himself. Admittedly, though, it made him feel somewhat better than the last.

His hair was wet as he rose from out of a swimming pool, eyes shining boyishly; only the top half of his body could be seen, though Fluttershy had spared no expense when detailing what was available. Drops of water traced Spike's detailed musculature, marking every inch of sinew and outline of bone that was viewable whenever Spike himself was shirtless.

A small detail at the corner of the page caught Spike's eye, which he soon found to be a record of the date. His eyes widened in surprise—Fluttershy had finished this sketch of him only two days ago. Further checks confirmed it—this was her most recent entry.

He wondered at the woman's recent fascination with him as a subject, before deciding not to worry about it—chances were, she was on a kick with male subjects and didn't have much to work with.

His eyes found a nearby clock, and he frowned. Between his snooping and Discord's cryptic bullshit, he'd spent nigh-on fifteen minutes at Fluttershy's cottage when he was supposed to have spent one.

Unsure of what to do with this newfound information, Spike carefully replaced Fluttershy's art book in the dresser, leaving it exactly where he'd found it. Whether or not he'd eventually bring it up to her...

Well, that was Future Spike's problem.

Just when Fluttershy was starting to worry, Spike appeared in the distance, giving a half-smile and waving apologetically at their small group.

"What kept you?" the pink-haired woman asked as Spike sat down next to her. Pound and Pumpkin continued to tear into their pancakes, both eyeing the older male curiously.

"Your roommate gave me a bit of shock," Spike droned, smirking as a look of recognition struck Fluttershy's worried face.

"Oh, I hope Angel didn't cause too much trouble," she pleaded, nudging closer until their thighs touched.

"Who's Angel?" Pumpkin asked, mouth still full of food.

Pound swallowed, before adding, "That sounds like a stripper's name."

Fluttershy returned her attention to the twins, looking displeased.

"It's only a stripper's name if it's a guy's name," Spike clarified, reaching across the table and snatching a slice of bacon off of Pumpkin's plate. "Well, human guy, anyway," he said, ignoring Pumpkin's indignant glare. "Angel's a rabbit."

"Could we please not talk about strippers at the table?" Fluttershy cried.

"Why do you know so much about strippers?" Pumpkin asked noisily, pointing a fork at Spike.

"Pumpkin, honey, don't talk with your mouth full," Spike stressed, staring at the girl while taking a bite out of her stolen bacon.

"You're not my dad," she protested, chewing defiantly with her mouth full.

"Pumpkin–" Fluttershy said, irritated, before being interrupted once again.

"Yes I am," Spike said, leaning forward with the side of his head in his hand, gazing lazily at the orange-haired girl.

Fluttershy and the twins blinked, looking at Spike incredulously. "No you're not!" Pumpkin screeched, getting up from her seat angrily.

"Yes I am," Spike repeated, somehow keeping a straight face.

"No, you're not!"

"Yes I am."

"No you're not!"

"Prove it," Spike said, grinning when Pumpkin's face fell, stumped.

"W-well," she spluttered, "you're too young to have kids! You were barely older than us when we were born!"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Spike said, nodding. He felt Fluttershy eyeing him, but he paid her no mind. "Do you know where babies come from, Pumpkin?"

Both twins gaped at Spike, shaking their heads in the negative.

Fluttershy cringed. "I don't think this is a good conversation topic," she pleaded, frowning when Spike waved her off.

"Nah, they're good kids," the teenager said, grinning. "They're old enough to know." His grin widened when Pound and Pumpkin both nodded their heads in excitement. "Well, as I'm sure you two know by now, it's scientifically proven that babies can't be born unless a mom and a dad love each other very much." He felt Fluttershy hesitantly chuckle next to him as she cottoned on to his plan, and elbowed her gently under the table. She cleared her throat and smiled complacently.

"We know," Pound lied, his food off to the side, forgotten.

"Great!" Spike said, smiling. "Now, before you two were born–" Pumpkin scrunched her nose, still skeptical, "I was about ten or so, really young for having kids." He leaned forward on the table, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "But I didn't care," he proclaimed, "because I was deeply, madly in love."

Pumpkin gasped, her face flushing. Fluttershy's chest wracked with silent tremors as she restrained herself. "Who were you in love with?" Pumpkin asked, breathless.

Spike smiled at her. "You mean, who am I in love with. And I'm getting to that. Now of course, Princess Celestia made a law a long time ago that said anyone that had babies outside of marriage would be pushed off a cliff, so if I wanted any kids of my own—you two—I'd have to get married and get to work." He winked cheekily at Fluttershy, who rolled her eyes, smiling.

But Pound leered at him, skeptical. "I don't believe you. No one gets married when they're ten, it's against the law."

"Oh yes they do," Spike challenged. "You forgot, Twilight was good friends with the Princess, so it wasn't hard convincing her to make an exception for me."

The young boy stared at him, less sure of himself now, and Spike marveled at how easy it was to sucker children. Now he could understand how Twilight managed it so often when he was younger!

"Where's your ring?" Pumpkin asked curiously. She looked doubtful, but it was obvious that part of her wanted to believe his story.

Spike gasped, looking wide-eyed at the little girl. "It's invisible, of course! Do you know how big of a scandal it would be if people found out I was married?"

Pumpkin leaned back, sucking in her breath. "You mean...no one else knows?"

The green-haired bastard shook his head. "Besides Twilight, Princess Celestia, and you guys, no one else knows."

"And Fluttershy," Pound noted, his head resting on crossed arms as he looked up at Spike. "She didn't looked all that surprised when you told us."

"Well, of course not," Spike said, not missing a beat. "Who do you think I married?"

Fluttershy's jaw stopped working. She snapped her head to Spike so quickly that she could've sworn she gave herself whiplash. Part of her felt displeased with him for putting her in his lie without her permission, but the other part could only think...

JACKPOT.

"Oh," Pound said, blinking slowly and looking at Fluttershy in a new light. "I guess that makes sense."

"Does it?" Fluttershy asked through her teeth, not releasing Spike from her gaze for an instant. He simply shrugged at her, silently willing her to play along.

"How did you two fall in love?"

Both adults turned to look at Pumpkin. The girl shrank back, suddenly feeling sheepish at the attention being focused on her. "I was just wondering, s'all."

Fluttershy cleared her throat, looking at Spike pointedly, albeit with a small, nearly undetectable air of good humor. "Yes, Spike, please tell these young, impressionable children how we fell so madly in love."

The teenager grinned, though a sheen of sweat matted his brow. "Actually, dear," he stressed, "I think we'll save that for later." The twins groaned in unison. "If you two are good, I'll tell it to you as a bedtime story," he offered.

Pound grumbled in assent, arms crossed. "I still don't believe you guys are our parents," he muttered. "Mom and Dad won't think it's funny when they get back." Pumpkin nodded in agreement.

"You'd be surprised," Spike murmured, getting up from his seat. He held a hand out to Fluttershy, who graciously accepted it and rose from her seat. He kissed her hand, earning a giggle from the older woman.

Pumpkin followed their movements, frowning flatly. She got up from her seat as well, yanking her brother up with her. "Fluttershy, does your family know you're married?"

Fluttershy smiled gently at the girl, grasping Spike's shoulder and leaning into him convincingly. "Oh, yes. My mother approved, but my father didn't."

"No kidding," Spike added, squeezing his fake wife about the waist. "There was a huge falling out after he tried to kill me."

Pumpkin's eyes bulged. "Really?"

"Oh yes," Fluttershy nodded. "You can't get married without parental permission, so before he could propose, Spike had to duel my father."

"Who's a lumberjack," Spike added. He pulled Pumpkin by the hand, motioning for the others to follow him as they made to return to the cottage.

Pumpkin stared up at him. "A lumberjack."

"Why do you think Fluttershy loves nature so much?"

The twins found they couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Yes sir, that's my dad," Fluttershy lied, grabbing Pound's palm and following. "He just loves jacking those lumbers."

After dropping Spike and the kids off at the cottage, Fluttershy apologized profusely before heading off to the castle to start her work cleaning it, as per her agreement with Twilight. The majority of the animals—Angel included—had left with her, leaving the small house feeling hollow and quiet.

The caretaker had felt terrible for leaving Spike to take care of the twins all by himself, especially since she had been the one approached by the Cakes for babysitting in the first place. However, despite their rough start, Spike and the kids had started to click, that much Fluttershy could tell. He hadn't grown so old yet that he had forgotten how to get inside the head of a child, as evidenced by his skillful behavior when talking to the twins and convincing them of various untruths. The thought often caused her to smile as she went through her day's work, aiding and assisting her animal companions as they went about cleaning Twilight's castle.

Eventually, the day wore to a close, as evidenced by the deep crimson sunset percolating through the many windows of the citadel. Angel perched himself on Fluttershy's shoulder, thumping it with his foot in communication. She nodded in agreement.

"Alright everyone!" she called out, getting the attention of the creatures under her supervision. "That's enough for today, so please start wrapping up. We'll all head home in a couple of minutes." Her followers made various noises of assent, gathering up their supplies and meandering placidly in the direction of Fluttershy's cottage.

Fluttershy wiped her brow clean of sweat, smiling tiredly. Even with all of the extra help, they had only made a small dent in cleaning Twilight's castle. Though she was loathe to admit it, the young woman had underestimated the enormity of the building: it would likely take her the rest of the week to finish tidying up the main body, in addition to the many unexplored branches.

She didn't bother going to find Twilight to say goodbye—doubtless the girl was holed up in one of her studies by now—so instead she made for home, filling up her thoughts with Spike and the children, and wondering how they had spent their first day together.

Spike was an imaginative young man—as his 'wife' could confirm, chuckling at the thought—and he was a fiercely protective person towards those he loved. As Fluttershy puzzled out each of the young man's personality traits—his love for cooking, his life as a humble assistant, his sarcastic but often cheery disposition—she realized with more and more certainty that he had all the makings of a good househusband.

She blushed at the thought as she stood outside her front door, absently watching the creatures dropping off their supplies in the shed near the side of the house before milling about outside in the wide-open range.

Fluttershy knew she wasn't the type of girl given to obsessing over men, but something about Spike had a sort of drawing quality that the pink-haired woman just couldn't shake. Sure, he was good-looking and pleasant to be around, but she hadn't begun to notice him, really notice him until a couple of weeks ago, and boy, was he a good thing to notice.

It was after the fact of Spike's reaching adulthood that she began to comprehend the reality of his status—or rather, the girls did. Technically, any one of them could pursue him now and not be looked down upon for it. Technically, there was a very eligible young bachelor up for grabs, one whom they knew like the backs of their collective hands, and had absolutely nothing to fear or distrust.

To be perfectly honest, Fluttershy had just wanted to be part of the group; when their conversations shifted to concern Spike, and Twilight was nowhere to be found, the girls would speak shortly but passionately on the topic of interest, always stopping short of their true sentiments towards their leader's young ward. Fluttershy had offered up a few words of assent here and there—implication on her part meant that the others were less nervous about her silence, as silence meant discomfort, and discomfort meant a tattle-tale—but for the most part she had left the gossiping to the other girls.

Whenever these brief, passionate conversations would sprout up, the girls never ceased to amaze Fluttershy with their candidness; Applejack, normally so confident and deliberate, would become a blushing, shifty-eyed mess; Pinkie would become exceptionally grabby and lonely-eyed, wetting her lips unconsciously from time to time; Rainbow Dash would become unusually quiet, while occasionally offering an unusually intuitive insight about the young man: it was she who pointed out his love for children and other "sappy crap" which had kept the conversation going and had sent Fluttershy's mind a-scheming.

And of course, Rarity had to skirt around the obvious truth, now and again reminding the girls through one implication or another that all she had to do was give Spike the Look and even Twilight would be hard-pressed to stop the two of them being together.

This position of power annoyed the other girls to no end and placed them on edge, and even Fluttershy found that she didn't much care for Rarity in her moments of superiority. Her comments, though, left the taller girl wondering...

In reality, the only thing stopping any of them from going after that "barely-legal slice of ass", as Pinkie had so eloquently stated, was Twilight herself. Fluttershy was soon to realize that their situation was no different from the one concerning Applejack and her brother: the laws of friendship dictated that some lines simply couldn't be crossed, and if Applejack didn't want any of her closest friends within spitting distance of her big brother, it was a safe bet that Twilight Sparkle would be hanged and dead before she let her girls break a few couches with her surrogate son.

Only, Fluttershy knew herself fairly well. She knew she had a longstanding issue with temptation; any good thing that she knew she shouldn't have, couldn't have, only seemed that much more appealing to her. Philomena had done it, Mac had certainly done it, and now Spike had done it too. Want trickled into need, churning and twisting from thought to idea to plot, until the scorching thing deafened everything else. The fact of his prohibition only fed the intrigue she felt towards him, until she felt it bleeding from her mind and into a small and faithful tablet, channeling her would-be vices into art, abating her passion in one of the only ways she knew how.

Just inside the door, just inside her safe little retreat, was her taboo. He would be staying the rest of the week, he'd be sleeping only a few feet away from her tonight, he even came up with the lie that they were married with kids, which Fluttershy had to admit was actually kind of funny now that she thought about it.

He'd made it so easy for her.

Twilight trusts me, she thought to herself, and the thought doused the fire in her as easily as any bone-chilling shower. She trusts me and I shouldn't go back on my word.

Steeling her spine, she opened the door to the cottage and defiantly strode in. She had made up her mind to vent her passion to her sketchbook, and that would be that. Besides, a drawing of Spike in an apron would be cute, something to show off his more sensitive side–

"Welcome home!" a chorus of voices greeted her, and Fluttershy stopped in her tracks, stunned. She looked over to the kitchen, seeing Spike and the twins sitting behind a counter, smiling as steam billowed behind them.

Pound sat in a chair next to Spike, hands splayed across a cookbook. Pumpkin sat happily in Spike's lap, wearing an apron much too large for her as she stirred at a bowl filled nearly to the brim with batter.

Fluttershy's heart never stood a chance.

She melted, feeling herself fall dangerously in love with the idea of her pretend-family, with her pretend-husband and pretend-children and pretend-life. She knew then that she couldn't wait, would not wait for the absolute real thing to take place. All thoughts of betraying Twilight's trust were thrown to the wayside, and Fluttershy was confronted with a very real, very realizable case of the Baby Crazies.

I want one, I want five, I want a HUNDRED, she thought to herself as she crossed the distance to stand by her pretend-loves. If she could just have her own young and her own love to great her at the end of each day, she reasoned, she knew she could do any and everything she set her mind to. If only she could have these small blessings.

"I-missed-you-all-so-much!" she squealed with delight, punctuating each word with a kiss—to a cheek, to a forehead, anything that looked unloved and exposed.

Pumpkin giggled in Spike's lap, hugging Fluttershy's neck. "We did so much today!" she said, adjusting herself on Spike's knee as she tightened her embrace on her caretaker.

"You did, did you?" Fluttershy asked, pinching a blushing Pound on his cheeks, before turning to the man himself. She smiled brilliantly at him, as if to say You Did Good, and was glad to see him return the smile gratefully, before averting his eyes in embarrassment.

"Yeah, well, what else would you expect from your dad?" Spike asked, looking suspiciously down at Pumpkin.

"You're not our dad," she insisted, headbutting his chin gently. Spike squeezed her waist mildly with one arm, only offering a petulant "Yes huh" in retort.

Without thinking, Fluttershy. beaming, leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. As Spike's face blanked before erupting in a shade of crimson, Fluttershy licked her lips gently, wondering at how natural the act had felt. She turned her head to the children, who apparently thought nothing out of the ordinary at the display. "What all did you do?"

"We made a pillow fort," Pound said, tracing the words in the cookbook with a finger.

"Read some comics," Pumpkin added.

"Had a pillow fight–"

"Played truth or dare–"

"Then freeze tag–"

"Then hide and seek, Pound cheated–"

"Did not!"

"He did," Spike laughed, poking the boy in the side and still blushing.

"'sonly cheating if you get caught," he grumbled. Fluttershy giggled, which brought a smile to his face.

"Well," the older woman said, moving behind Spike and wrapping her arms around his torso in a hug, "I'm glad you all enjoyed yourselves." She brushed the edge of Spike's ear with her lips and felt him stiffen in her grasp.

"You and me both," Spike said in his thrumming voice, and Fluttershy reveled in its bass, feeling quite assuredly that she liked the way the bones in his chest rocked hers.

After a healthy, green dinner—Fluttershy had firmly insisted that no, triple decker brownie bombs were not an acceptable meal alternative—the children were shooed off for a bath before bed. Fluttershy stood smiling as the twins grumbled their way up the steps, before turning to Spike and grasping him by the hand. "We'd better get ready to put them to bed," she explained, before gesturing to Spike to make his way up the stairs.

"Sure thing," he answered, placing his hands on the railing and marching up. Two slim fingers clenched down on the flesh of his rear, and Spike yelped, nearly loosing his footing on the hardwood stair steps. He looked down at Fluttershy, incredulous. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she asked innocently, hands clasped in front of her chest.

"You pinched my butt!"

Fluttershy cocked her head. "I don't recall doing that."

"You totally just did!"

"You're being so silly right now."

The young man rolled his eyes, before turning back around and continuing up the steps. He made it only a few more feet before–

"Really?" he asked, spinning back around.

"Really what?" Fluttershy asked, blinking in apparent confusion.

"Are you just going to keep groping me every time I turn around?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she protested.

"Sure," he said, eyes narrowed. He feinted going up the stairs, before whipping his head around. Fluttershy froze, caught in the act: her hand was outstretched, reaching for the young man's lower half. "I knew it!"

"Fine, you caught me," Fluttershy grumbled in mock-petulance, placing her hands on her hips. "A girl can't even grope her husband in the comfort of her own home. What is the world coming to?"

Spike snorted, looking at her comically. "Alright, Rarity." He laughed when her nose scrunched at the comparison. "I wouldn't have taken you for a deviant, 'Shy."

She smiled mischievously, and Spike started to wonder if she'd been spending too much time around Pinkie. "You just wait until the kids are asleep."

He wasn't sure if she was being serious or not, given her character and history. As he opened the door to Fluttershy's bedroom—which still smelled excellent—his eyes flicked to the dresser, where the secret journal lay. Fluttershy seemed chaste enough, albeit with the makings of a tease skirting the edges of her personality. The fact of her courageous behavior as of late, as well as the existence of her secret artwork spelled out the rather obvious fact that Fluttershy had hidden depths to her. How deep? Spike hadn't the slightest.

Still, he resolved not to get his hopes up; this was Fluttershy, after all. A pinch or two on the rear didn't mean the girl would go after him as soon as the sun went down.

How deviant could she be?