Babysitting Sweetie (LAST MODDED LATE ON 12/8 MURRICA TIME)

// In the interest of trying to retain as much of [artist]'s intent and narrative, I tried to use his own dialogue as much as possible. I'm trying not to go off on my own tangent, here. \\

 

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        “Anon, thank you again for coming on such short notice!”

 

        Rarity bustled about, tossing a few last bits of clothing and miscellaneous items into her copious amount of luggage as she spoke. Oddly, despite her haste, everything seemed to end up neatly folded and organized into the bags. Her trip to Canterlot was, from what she had told you, ill-expected, but you had been all too eager to accept her request. After all, what better way to burrow further into her affections than to show that you could care for her family, as well?

 

        “Now, Anon,” she said absently as she pressed a few more patterns into a briefcase already brimming with them, “Are you QUITE sure you're up to the task?”

 

        “Sweetie's practically old enough to take care of herself, Rarity,” you responded in a placating voice. “I doubt we'll have any problems at all.”

 

        “But still...” Rarity trailed off as she tallied all the wares packed away, but you interrupted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She spun to face you.

 

        “Rarity,” you said reassuringly, “Really. We'll be fine.”

 

        She smiled warmly. “From you, Anon, I trust that'll be all too true.” She paused, then launched into a hug that seemed to surprise her as much as it did you. “Still, I can't thank you enough.”

 

        “Enough already,” you said drily, patting her on the back, “You're gonna make me blush.”

 

        Her own face took on a tinge of pink at your words. “Yes, well,” she said distractedly. She cleared her throat. “Let's go have a final chat with Sweetie Belle, hmmm?”

 

        Nodding, you followed her as she led you to the living room. There, sitting patiently on a chair and twiddling her thumbs, was Rarity's younger sister. Sweetie was almost a clone of Rarity in all aspects but for her lavender-and-pink hair and her brilliant green eyes. But the young girl had a charm all her own, and she looked at the two of you curiously.

 

        “Now, Sweetie,” Rarity said firmly, “I want you to be a good girl and listen to Anon, all right?”

 

        Sweetie frowned and gave an all-too-adolescent groaned of frustration. “Ughh, yes, Rarity, fine.” Her expression turned to a smile, with an innocent-yet-inexplicable blush on her cheeks, as she looked at you happily. She didn't already have a crush on you, did she? It was practically cradle-robbing.

 

        “Hello, Sweetie Belle,” you said graciously. “I'm your babysitter tonight.”

 

        Sweetie's face twisted into disgust and she groaned again. “I'm not a BABY, Anon,” she said poutily.

 

        “Hmm, well, ” Rarity interjected. You turned to look to her for any last-minute advice with what was likely to be a very rebellious charge, but she was already on her way out. “I'll be back within a day or two, Anon, I don't know which yet; just... err... try not to let her COOK you anything.”

 

        You chuckled a bit as you nodded. “Sure thing, Rarity,” you answered, and with a final head-bob of satisfaction, Rarity gathered up her myriad luggage and made to leave. You hurried to grab the door for her, and she thanked you as she slipped by. Closing it, you took a deep breath and turned. This was going to be... interesting.

 

        You returned to the living room, where Sweetie still sat on her perch, kicking her stockinged legs idly. Neither of you made eye contact with the other, as the silence grew palpable and the awkwardness grew.

 

        Sweetie broke the silence with yet another moan. This girl certainly had a way with words. “Ugh, Anon. I'm so BORED!” She rolled her eyes, and hunched forward, hands tucked into her lap.

 

        Great, ten seconds in and you were already falling behind. This wasn't going well. But an insistent – yet wholly irrational – thought scratched at the back of your head, determined to make itself known. And having seen the expression on her face, you realized that Sweetie would be game for anything. 'Oh, lord, I have sinned...' you thought to yourself even as you laughed bitterly within at your mind's twisted machinations.

 

        “Weellll,” you said, trailing the word off, “I know a game we could play... It's a lot of fun. Sound like something you might want to do?”

 

        In a flash Sweetie leapt to her feet, hopping slightly with her hands held up to her chin in girlish glee. “DO I?” she squealed eagerly, and your heart melted at the sound. It almost made you feel bad about your intentions. “Of COURSE!” She paused, lowering her hands. “What is it?” she asked curiously.

 

        “You'll see,” you responded mysteriously. It was like shaping clay, it seemed, and you were a master sculptor in this regard. You began searching around the house frantically, looking for... Ah. Sweetie watched you, confused, as you walked over to Rarity's workbench and grabbed a length of rope coiled up on it. Must have been for an Applejack ensemble. Nodding with satisfaction, you came back towards Sweetie. Her gaze followed you, her face utterly bemused, as you looked around again, this time for a workspace. The large green armchair struck you as a good candidate, and it even already had a nice, soft rug spread out in front of it.

 

        “Here, Sweetie,” you said, kneeling next to the strip of carpeting and patting it with your hand. “Lay down on your back right here. Facing this way, so that-”

 

        “Like this?” she asked, following your hand gestures, so that she ended up with head towards the chair.

 

        “Perfect,” you said brightly. You uncoiled the rope and began looping it around the two closest legs of the seat, testing its weight as you went. It was a heavy piece, apparently, with even you struggling to shift it a bit – Sweetie's strength would be ill-suited to moving it. Humming a bit, you lost yourself in the work.

 

        “So,” Sweetie broke in, “What is it we're gonna do?”

 

        “Just wait,” you admonished her, “You'll like it. I promise.” You put your hand near her head and moved the fingers together in the universal 'come' gesture. “Here, gimme your hands.”

 

        “Okay!” she said happily, her hands rising above her head readily and slipping into yours. She might not have been as fashion-crazy as her big sister, but Sweetie's skin was still quite soft – obviously, she took gracious care of herself. You grinned as you moved and twisted the rope about her wrists, holding her hands down with one of yours as you pulled it tight. She wiggled a bit, an unbidden test of your bondage, and grinned at you merrily. You sat back on your heels, satisfied with your work, and found yourself shaking your head disbelievingly at how chipper Sweetie still seemed to be. Either this girl was incredibly innocent-minded, or she hadn't quite yet grasped what was going on.

 

        Shrugging a bit, you scooted on your legs over towards her legs, bringing them up and over your knees. You looked over her shoes for a moment, noting that they were a more traditional style of buckle-up, fastened with a black strap over her feet to a golden button. You wrapped one arm around her legs to bring them up closer to eye level and moved your other hand to begin undoing the strap of one of the shoes. You snuck a glance at Sweetie's face, and noted with a perverse excitement that her ebullience had given way to concern, her expression watching your hand at work anxiously.

 

        “Anon,” she asked both quietly and haltingly, “Why are you... taking off my... shoes?” The last word was spoken in a upward-lilting squeak, both asking the sentence's question and adding the subtext of why it was her shoes, specifically. The effect was downright precious.

 

        You couldn't suppress a sinister chuckle. “You'll see in a minute,” you said as you worked at the straps. “Be patient.”

 

        You finished working off her cute little buckle-up shoes and sat back on your heels for a moment, taking the time to savor the sight of Sweetie's demure little feet wiggling around a bit at the newfound freedom. Her toes scrunched up and splayed out in turn; you doubted she realized how utterly adorable it was to watch. She still watched you nervously, feet rubbing against each other in anticipation.

 

        "Those shoes weren't exactly comfortable, Anon," Sweetie said cautiously, "And I was really only wearing them because Rarity 'simply can't abide the thought of us walking around unshod!'", she mimicked Rarity at the end, assuming an outrageously posh accent. That you weren't wearing your own shoes was ignored; apparently Rarity's caveat applied only to herself and Sweetie, as she had specifically told you to take 'those dreadful, generic things off before you dirty my floor' when she saw your sneakers. Slipping back into her normal voice, Sweetie continued, "But I'm not exactly sure why you didn't just tell me I could take them off..."

 

        You intentionally ignored her, picking up one of those petite, delicate feet as she finished. Grabbing a handful of the fabric, you began sliding the stocking down off of her foot, eliciting an almost-immediate squeal from your victim.

 

        "Hey, what are you doing?" Sweetie asked, giggling. "That tickles!"

 

        Already you were blessing your luck within your mind. It seemed Sweetie was ridiculously sensitive; so much so that the simple act of de-stocking-ing (whatever the word was) her caused her to burst into laughter. "Oh, does it now?" you asked, your tone dismissive as if the fact were of no consequence. Internally, you gave yourself a round of mental high-fives at having the sheer fortune of winning the chance to tickle this horribly-vulnerable pair of feet.