A combination of pony OC/vore/rude language/bacon will be found in the following story.
Donut read if any of the above offend you.
 
>You are Anon.
>Millionaire and eccentric extraordinaire.
>Except that the former matters not in an apocalypse.
>A pony apocalypse it seems.
>It has been 2 weeks since everything began.
>Not that you minded of course.
>You lived in a condo that your family threw you in because you were deemed “too dangerous” to live with.
>While you had your antics, lining the neighbor's garden with pigeon pheromones was the last straw.
>At least that obese cat of theirs got to move those hams it calls legs.
>You slump down in your kitchen chair with a grin as you bake a dinner for eight.
>As you watch the meal heat up, you hear a distinct clip-clop of hooves down the hallway.
>You immediately go on edge, standing up with a hand instantly on the Tranquilizer gun in your pocket.
>“Hey Anon, I'm home!”
>Easing up on the trigger, you greet the familiar voice with a wave of your other hand and a smile on your face.
“Heya Sunny, dinner's up soon in case you didn't find anyone out there!”
>The young mare comes into view in your doorway, just as you remembered her:
>A coat of muted blonde, mane of a vibrant red, cut in a tomboyish fashion and a cutie mark of a Sunflower.
>“Oh, I found one, he just insists on cooking me dinner every day so I never have room for him”
“Sounds like a real jerk.”
>Sunny chuckles at the statement as she approaches you, giving you a sloppy lick on the side of your head.
>“A delicious jerk.” She says as she noisily smacks her lips.
“Save it for the wedding sister, I gotta meet the family first.”
>You tip-toe a bit to scratch behind her ears, which she responds by rubbing her muzzle against your dry cheek.
>You were not the tallest person out there, but these ponies on 4 legs were your height and some taller yet.
>You stare into her golden eyes as you turn around to attend to the oven.
>“What's cooking this time?”
“Oh, just a good ole lasagna, vegetarian.  Nothing too special.”
>Your mother always did tell you to practice some cooking at home.
>Being a professional pain-in-the-ass did not pay well it seems.
>“Well it smells great, bring it here,” she motions over to the dining table.
>You take the meal over to the table, cutting it up in appropriate proportions.
>A brick-sized portion for you, while your pony friend gets the entire house.
>As you settle back into you chair to enjoy your meal, Sunny waves her forehoof to grab your attention.
>“Hey, tell me a story!”
“Of what, the world's largest cheese grater?”
>“No, tell the story of how we met, I like it when you tell it!”
“Really?  This is like, the 5th time I'll be telling you it, and you were there for most of it!”
>“Please,” she says with large eyes, face assuming sad puppy dog formation.
>You let out an exasperated sigh and look across the table, grinning at your guest.
“Fine... I was returning home from work...”