Fluttershy - Spouse

>Your hands shake as you twist the dials on the hob.
>Hours had passed much quicker than you'd expected, and you'd lost most of the afternoon helping Zecora gather plants out in Everfree.
>The foilage was too thick, and you honestly hadn't realised how late it was getting.
>But you're back now, and your hands are a blur as you work to make dinner.
>Half a cup of oil into the wok, and you leave it to heat up whilst furiously chopping beans and mushrooms into tiny chunks.
>They slide in, the oil hissing and spitting, throwing boiling specks across your hands and arms, but you ignore the pain.
>You open up the heat-height cupboard, and pull out a few handfuls of hay, tossing them into the wok too.
>Dinner won't be impressive, but it'll be done.
>You can only hope it'll be done well enough.
>With a slam, the front door crashes open, yanking you from your musings.
>It's difficult, but you manage to prevent yourself from flinching.
>You have to stay cool, calm, and collected.
>The harsh clip-clopping of hooves across polished floorboards is a cadence you've managed to get used to over the years, no matter how strange it was on arrival.
>But it still sends chills up your spine.
>You're almost certain you remembered to clean the floor this morning, but a pause in her steps make you reconsider.
>Closing your eyes, you still yourself, halting your trembling.
>Fear is not your ally in this.
>Fear is the mind-killer.
>You remember that from... somewhere.
>Even without a source, it's poignant.
>Possibly a quote, from someone back home.
>You quickly dish the stir-fry, loading two plates, and place them onto the table.
>A plate of fresh bread stands in the middle, and you set down two crystal glasses, and a carafe of water.
>You glance at everything, and let out a small smile.
>Everything's there.

>You wash your hands in the sink, a quick scrub under cold water, and leave the kitchen.
>Can't let dinner stand too long - it'll go cold.
>Stepping into the lounge, you see her.
>Resting her hooves on a pouffe, she's settled into her favourite green armchair.
>Her eyes are closed, resting after a hard day's work, but you can see her ears swivel to you.
>You clear your throat.
"Flutters, sweetie, I've made dinner. It's on the table, unless you'd rather eat in here?"
>She grunts, and opens her eyes.
>They pierce right through you, and you can't hold back the flinch this time.
>"Well if you've already set the table, I guess we can eat in there Anon. But where's my sugar?"
>She grins at you, and winks.
>You blink, swallowing heavily, and step over to her.
>Bending, you place a quick kiss to her cheek.
>You pull back, and see her smile.
>It's just as large as it used to be, and doesn't look any different, but it sets your guts to trembling.
>Life wasn't always like this.
>She hops off the chair, and gently flutters through to the kitchen, sitting down and sniffing her plate.
>You hang back, ready to flee if you need to.
>Fortunately, it seems tonight might be okay.
>She takes a small bite, and lets out a little whinny of approval.
>Reassured, you follow, and sit opposite, picking your fork from the table and tucking in.
>The hay tickles and scratches your throat, but you choke it down.
>It won't kill you, and what's a momentary annoyance in the grand scheme of things?
>You sneak a glance at Fluttershy, and see she's already most of the way through her plate.
>She lifts her head, and looks at you.
>You set your fork on the table, and lay your hands flat, a dull clack from your ring as it meets the treated oak.
>Neither of you move for a moment.
>"Was... Was that it, mister?"
>She giggles.
>"Or have you cooked something special for dessert?"

>You freeze.
>That's what you'd forgotten.
>Her chair squeals against the floor as she pushes herself away from the table.
>"Unless you're the pudding tonight, Anon?"
>She giggles again, and steps to your chair.
>Burying her nose in your crotch, she takes a giant sniff, huffing your scent deep inside her.
"There's-ice-cream-in-the-fridge"
>Your sudden blurt surprises you, but the look on her face says she is too.
>Her eyes narrow in anger.
"You go sit yourself back down, I'll sort it all out."
>Her features smooth out, like calmed water, and she smiles at you.
>"I'd like that."
>Quickly, you get up from the table and turn, ready to dish up for her.
>Her wing wraps around your waist, holding you in place.
>"But not now. I've got a craving for something else sweet."
>You don't try to struggle, and just follow as she leads you towards the bedroom.
>She's your beloved wife, it's your duty to care for her.
>Right?