~It's the Little Things~

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Rating: teen
Tags: Self Insert, Fluttershy, Slice of Life, Second Person, Romance, Equestria Girls
Length: 4187

You've always been small, delicate, and lonesome. Which just makes you the perfect size for carrying. Perfect for a tall college campus goddess like Fluttershy. But what if. Just what *if*, though...?

You've always been small, delicate, and lonesome. Which just makes you the perfect size for carrying. Perfect for a tall college campus goddess like Fluttershy.

But what if?

But just what if, though...?

Tags: Self-Insert, Taller Woman, Bridal-Carrying, Mommy-Domme, Slightly Dub-Con Cuddles, r/petitesubswantonlyonethinganditseffingdisgusting.

Cover Art by NekoJackun

Published 2021-12-18 12:00:06 UTC
Last updated 2021-12-18 12:00:06 UTC

Wub-a-Dub-Dubcon

Since your very first day semester at Canterlot University began, you've had an insatiable crush on the goddess known as Fluttershy. Naturally, you've not been the only one. Every flesh and blood creature in the city worships her. And why would they not? She's the paragon of beauty, sexiness, and feminine perfection: tall, curvaceous, delicate-but-strong-at-heart. At nearly six foot and four inches (studious surveyors have made their best cringey guestimates from afar), Fluttershy exists as a whole lotta woman.

And like most majestic mountains, she's always been infamously untouchable. To the shock of every sentient drooler on two legs, Fluttershy has been known to turn down any and all suitors who have foolishly flounced her way. Rich men, popular women, even the occasionally desperate college professor—they've all tried and failed to woo her attention. And it's not as if the woman is completely devoid of affection; her avid love of animal caretaking is known far and wide. It's just that—with or without cognitive regard for the unassailable grandeur of her own being—Fluttershy has simply never cared for caring about anything other than friends, pets, and the platonic mirth that marinates unexcitedly in between.

Which is okay, or so you tell yourself. Whisper to yourself. Whimper to yourself, between showers and shadows and sighs. You've been infected. You were practically poisoned on Day One: just seeing her face, the flutter of her turquoise eyes, the lavish shine of her silken pink hair. Days before college orientation, you had heard rumors of this unearthly perfection that floated about the campus, uncontested. Breathless echoes of a mysterious Aphrodite laced the stale walls of your dormitory, and at first you had been doubtful, until the first day you laid eyes on the very manifestation of heavenliness, and her accompanying voice that cooed with such purity and warmth and livelihood.

It doesn't help that you've been blessed to share a class with her—something that several of your friends and study buddies have enviously interrogated you over. The semester that you joined, Fluttershy happened to be assisting the Advanced Calculus college professor as a tutor. Even if she mostly stood at the front of the class—far from your desk—you've constantly relished in the forty-or-so precious minutes of opportunity you've had to gaze at her, to hear her, and to catch even the faintest whiff of her flowery perfume... … … until the class ended abruptly—as it always does—and off Fluttershy marched to join her gaggle of girlish friends (who were also strikingly beautiful but somehow comparative ogres in the light of her impermeable radiance).

Eventually, as the months have rolled by—limping into these stale and bitter cram weeks—you've settled for the reality of your life here at Canterlot University. Quite simply, it will be lived completely and utterly alone. For “alone” is what it means to be dwelling in the cold, harsh, miserable absence of that tall and exquisite goddess whom you admire from so very far away. You might as well be in a grave. But what a damnable afterlife you've settled for: cursed to dwell on the fantasies of experiencing the impossible, of locking eyes with her, of sharing a park bench together, of being trapped in a stuck elevator, of so much as sharing a simple conversation where she laughs with you, smiles with you, talks to you...

What would she even say to an infinitesimal insect such as yourself? | “Oh look—our shoes match”? | “Do you happen to know what time it is”? | “Did you catch the latest episode of Daring Do: Manehattan Murder Mystery”? | “Let me tell you about the mating habits of migrating albatrosses”?

Or maybe she'd be saying: “Oh my goodness! Are you okay? No, precious—don't move! Wait for me! I'm almost there~!”

Wait...

...that's not right...

… … ...unless...

You wince. You rub your head. A second wave of pain throbs through you. A third.

Your vision returns through a gray fog, and you find yourself barely sitting up from where you've collapsed in the middle of the college courtyard on a sunny afternoon. There's a stinging sensation shooting up your ankle. The last thing you remember is having to rush to the campus bookstore before they ran out of copies of the assigned reading novel that your English professor instructed you to research at the last second. The next thing you know, your whole world is toppling and you've collapsed in a cringey heap atop blisteringly hard concrete.

Biting your lip, you try to move—but that sharp pain shoots through you again. You look down to where your ankle lies awkwardly beside an offensively-placed sandwich sign advertising local DnD dorm sessions, and you curse the Gods of Acne. Everything is spinning down the drain. All that you know is that you've fallen and everyone on campus is staring and you're a clumsy little fool and soon you'll be late for Economics 101 and your GPA will take a huge dive and the oceans are turning into plastic and China's hosting the olympics while getting away with genocide and Star Trek Discovery sucks—

It's enough to make a grown person cry. You feel it coming. Your ears turn red as your eyesockets start to burn...

...and then you hear her voice. Again. That's how you know you're not dreaming this whole fiasco.

“Oh, you poor thing! You took such a terrible fall! Please—look up at me, sweetie~”

You do as you're told. Your head tilts skyward. Blurry vision locks with twin pools of turquoise, melting emphathetically above a porcelain smile, cresting like a soft sunrise made of gold, laced with fuchsia. Even in the glare of summer, her makeup is immaculate. She looks like a princess glammed up for a Royal Ball, but she's simply absorbed in you. Staring down at you. Brushing a strand of perfect pink silk aside as she lovingly smiles and beams and gazes into you. It occurs to the feeble recesses of your mind that you're one breathless foot away from plunging headfirst into disastrously steep cleavage, framed by Fluttershy's simple white tank top, a framework that the entire county of creatures—both young and old—have drooled over in droves. But for the time being, all you can stare at is her smiling face, so joyous and hopeful, and completely and utterly aimed at one soul in this entire galaxy.

You.

“Everything is going to be okay~” Fluttershy purrs. “I promise~”

She's here. She's close. She's looming over you, and you can feel the toasty heat from her lungs. This is everything that you've ever wanted—but not the way you wanted it to happen.

And you can't help it. You can never control it in situations like this. The tears were already breaking the levee enough as it was.

“~Awwwww... oh my little angel~” What did she just call you? Wait. Her arms... is she scooping you up into a hug? “Shhh-shhh-shhh. It's okay, sweetie. Just let it all out.” You feel soft arms enfolding you. Painted fingernails run through your hair. Your hiccuping face finds it way into her shoulder—a pillowy place where immaculate skin and vanilla perfume waits to lull you into heartfelt release. “There there. No sense in holding it all in. You need to let all the pieces drop before you can pull yourself back together again~”

She's right. She's always been right. You feel as though her warm words of wisdom have been whispered into your ears all your life. But you've only met her this one time. Met? More like melted. By all the powers that be, Fluttershy—the Goddess of Canterlot University—is cradling you in the throbbing heart of campus and you are melting... teardrop by teardrop... breath by fractured breath—into her motherly embrace.

She absorbs it all, and then some. You didn't think you could be carried so swiftly past the first and second death of your young life, but here you are—ascending on angel wings—in her arms. Whoah, she's not only tall... she's strong.

“Here. Rest your foot, okay? Mommy knows just what to do for you~”

You summon the courage to break your sobs. You're gliding aloft in her feminine arms as she bridal-carries you across the college grounds. You've always been a small, petite little thing—but swimming in Fluttershy's embrace somehow makes you feel even tinier. You shrink from the moment by clinging tighter to her bosom; its softness and the floral fragrance baked into the very fabric of her clothes miraculously calms you. The woman's sincere tenderness numbs you to the sensation of every pair of eyes gawking enviously at this sanctified procession, and you summon the courage to ask this goddess precisely where she's taking you.

“To the science wing. I know a friend or two with a healing touch. They will make you feel all better, okay, sweetie?”

The beautiful surreality of this moment clouds your mind. Between gentle whiffs of vanilla, you remember dropping your bag full of things as you tripped back in the courtyard. In a feeble voice, you ask about it.

“I've got it right here, precious.” A shake of her soft shoulder, and you see the bag in question dangling. “See?” A slight giggle—like a mountain shedding flower petals. Her ample bosom rolls into you, sending gentle waves of calmness down your whole trembling frame. “Don't you worry, dear. Mommy's thought of everything~”

She really truly has. Mommy—err... Fluttershy has acted as if she's done this a million times before. But when? You've never seen her so much as talk to another human being who wasn't within her immediate circle of stunning lady-friends. But the way in which she's just now glided in to sweep you off your feet—literally—almost implies as if she's done this before with you... perhaps in a past life?

You sigh.

If only.

“Feeling better?” she coos.

You cling to her. You nod.

“Good. We're almost there, sweetie. Just be strong for a few more minutes. Mommy knows that you can do it~”

You glance up—your eyes nearly dried—in time to see the front doors to the college's science building. A startling image reflects off the glass panes before your gaze. You look like a doll in Fluttershy's strong embrace, or perhaps a petite-sized mannequin. Granted, yes, the size difference between you two makes this more than possible. You've always been “undercooked” in the physicality department, something that family and friends have teased you ceaselessly about since adolescence. On top of that, it's been widely known that Fluttershy's an indisputable supermodel from the Land of Giants. But seeing the sheer contrast is heart-stopping: you draped in her arms like some adorable little trophy following an Amazonian conquest. As the front doors open—improvised by the woman somehow without your noticing—you spot a new reflection, something of a bright glint to Fluttershy's teeth. Is she somehow... smiling more...?

“Almost there.” She hums. Her melodic voice fills your ears. Shakes your teeth. Tickles your heart. “Do you own a cat, perchance?”

You snap out of the moment, ignoring the white cinderblock walls and passing science lab doors. You state that—yes, indeed—your family has a cat. Your folks don't live too terribly far away from the campus, and you stop by their place at least once a week.

“I'm guessing it's a Persian,” she muses. “They're Rarity's favorite. Rarity—my friend. She likes cats. And so do I.”

You continue to be dumbfounded by her intuition.

“Oh. I saw some white hairs on your bag as I picked it up,” Fluttershy fumbles to say. Then she fumbles a little more, and you sense a nervous lilt to her otherwise stately voice. “Unless... the hairs belong to a certain significant other...?”

You swiftly deny this.

“Oh, good!” Her breath shakes through a smile, followed by a slight stammer: “Uhm... I mean... g-good that you have someone adorable and cute to take care of back home!” A dreamy sigh. “Isn't that such a lovely feeling...?”

You try to drum up a response, but your heart beat keeps catching in your throat.

“Oh, I do hope they're here at this hour...!” Fluttershy frees a hand—somehow—to twist a doorknob. She carries you into a large white room full of tables covered in complex robotic parts. At the far end of the room are two older classwomen dressed in labcoats. “Ah! Thank goodness!” She clears her throat, and you swear her voice takes on a softer... more timid tone now that she's addressing someone other than the awkward soul she's carrying. “Uhm... Twilight? Sunset? I... uh... we could really use your help, here.”

Both women turn away from a... … … laser gun? Shrink ray? Whatever it is, it's suddenly no longer the focus of their attention. They lift thick goggles, revealing bright eyes full of surprise and confusion.

“Fluttershy?”

“Fluttershy—what the heck is—?”

“Please...!” Fluttershy carries you into the center of the room and right before the intense scrutiny of these two companions. The two are normal-sized human beings, but the way in which Fluttershy is holding you nearly puts your face at eye-level with them, which is a queer feeling in and of itself. “They took such a tumble in the courtyard! I think their ankle could be twisted! I'm only an expert at treating wounded animals.” You sense her bottom lip protruding as a needy twinkle dances across her turquoise eyes. “Won't you take a look? See that it's nothing serious...?”

Sunset Shimmer—you faintly recognize her from multiple speeches in the college auditorium. And you're certain that you've seen her spectacled companion's face in local newspapers before. “Twilight Sparkle” certainly does sound like a name befitting the front page of a scientific article.

“And the reason you didn't go straight to the college infirmary is...?” Sunset's fiery eyebrow raises as she folds her arms in a cynical huff.

“Because... uhm...” Fluttershy's blushing. It feels like lava to the touch. Dear lord, her skin is so kissably soft. “...I didn't want to waste time?”

“The science wing's a longer walk from the courtyard,” Twilight adds.

“B-but I trust you two!” Fluttershy exclaims. Breathily. “Implicitly!”

“Fluttershy, we only volunteered with the First Aid Club for half a semester back at CHS—!”

“Pleeeeeease?” Fluttershy's voice dips melancholically, like a ballad from beyond the rings of Saturn. “Don't you think this is really... really important...???”

Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle stand—paralyzed—before Fluttershy's intoxicating gaze. Whatever weight is pressing upon them, it collapses on through. The two women share an exhausted look, then sigh through helpless smiles.

“Okay, Fluttershy,” Sunset Shimmer stifles a groan, ultimately navigating a wry smirk. “Only for you.”

Twilight Sparkle clears tools and jars off a nearby table. “I suppose we all knew this day would come eventually.”

You blink, wondering what that means. But before you can even say anything—

“Here.” Twilight gestures to the table. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you so much!” Fluttershy carries you over, sets your bag down on the floor... and then sits on the counter top. She plops you into her lap and smiles patiently at her friends...

...both of whom are gazing dumbly at her. “We weren't talking to you,” Twilight states.

“Uhm. I-I know.” Fluttershy's arms gives your waist a gentle squeeze from behind, and you feel her thighs squirming like a soft cushion beneath your evenly-placed rump. “But isn't this... uhhh... safer?”

Her friends exchange looks again. It's Sunset who rolls her eyes first, then kneels down with a magnifying glass. “Let's just get this over with.”

“I'll hold the leg steady while you take the shoe and sock off,” Twilight offers.

“Got it~”

You feel the women slowly stripping your pained calf of the mentioned articles. They are very slow and gentle and careful with their ministrations, but Fluttershy nevertheless gives your shoulder a gentle stroke from behind.

“You're going to be just fine, sweetie.” You can only assume that Fluttershy is smiling, but you can't see it. Her body is a warm and comfortable lounge chair, metaphorically speaking. And you not-so-metaphorically feel a pair of soft headrests pressing into your upper shoulders from behind—“Mommy's friends are the best and smartest people in this whole building!”

“Pffft!” Sunset gazes up with a crooked grin. “'Mommy???' Seriously, Fluttershy—?”

“Pay attention to what you are doing,” the voice above and behind you shoots. Like black comet fire.

“Ahem...” Sunset visibly sweats, returning her magnified gaze to your ankle. “Y-yes, ma'am.”

“Sooooo...” Twilight delicately breaks the ice by asking what your name is.

You nervously tell her.

“Hmmmm. I think I've heard of you before.” She slowly and delicately peels your sock off before gently cradling your exposed calf before Sunset's examination. “Say... don't you share a class with Fluttershy?”

You calm slightly, nodding and confirming.

“She started tutoring with the professor just a few months ago,” Twilight says. “Funny. He never said he needed help with the course work. But—for some reason—about a week or two into the semester, she signed herself up. I bet she's very helpful.”

You confess that the two of you had never spoken before this day.

“What? Really?” Twilight made a face, her eyes cutely blinking behind her glasses as she gawks up at the friend whose lap you're seated neatly on. “Strange. Cuz she's always talking about how she thinks—”

“Kaff! Koff!” Fluttershy kaffs, koffs. “Ahem... soooooooo, Sunset?” You feel a shuddering breath. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad.” The redhead hums, squinting through the magnifier. “Not bad at all.”

“See...?” Fluttershy ruffles your hair from behind. A finger tickles your ear. You feel like dissolving into a puddle and being absorbed into her epidermis right then and there. “Did Mommy lie to you?”

“No sign of a fracture from what I can tell.” Sunset Shimmer stands up. “But there's gonna be a nasty bruise.”

“Soooooo...” You feel an earnest shift in Fluttershy's weight—forward a little. Those “headrests” cushion warmly into the back of your neck, and you feel her deep pulse in both ears. “...will they need to be carried for a few more days?”

“Uhhh... crutches would do the trick, I think.” Sunset Shimmer stands up. “Or maybe a wheelchair. But—I think that should be a decision made by the campus doctor. Not us.”

“Awwwwwwwwww...” You feel Fluttershy's towering frame wilting above and behind you. At this rate, she might sink straight to bedrock—carrying you with her. It seems a decent-enough fate. “Well, if you insist.”

“Flutters...” Sunset plants her hands on her hips, glaring up at her friend. “For real. What is your deal—?”

“Sunny...” You hear Twilight whisper sharply. Both you and Sunset glance at her, and she's trying to mumble something... all the while pointing at you.

“Huh?” Sunset's face contorts into newer fields of confusion. “What? But I don't get—” Just then, Twilight leans in close, whispering into the other scientist's ear. Ms. Shimmer blinks. She looks at you, at Fluttershy, then you again. Next—something weird happens. Sunset Shimmer takes a full step forward and gently grasps your wrist with her naked palm. You swear that there is a change to her eyes. A flicker... a flash of light—perhaps—there and real and just-as-quickly gone. Once the cryptic event has run its course, her face washes over with a fresh wave of peace and understanding, solidifying into a knowing smile. “Ah. Right. Gotcha.”

“Mmmmmmmmm...” You feel Fluttershy's arms folding around you from behind. Tender, tight, tighter—but not suffocating. There's an evident plea being seeded in the back of her throat, and you feel the sheer lump forming a strange cyst between the two of you, a lingering obstacle ready to burst...

Thankfully, Ms. Sparkle drains the moment with a melodic tone: “Speaking of crutches, I think Rainbow Dash has a few to spare!” Twilight places a hand on Sunset's labcoat'd shoulder and guides the two of them towards the nearest exit. “How about we go and fetch them... from the gymnasium... … … clear across the entire campus.”

“Oh dear Celestia, Twiliiiiight...” Sunset rolls her tongue, eyes, and lungs. “But that will take us alllll afternoon.”

“Take all the time that you need,” Fluttershy says, emptying both chambers.

“You take care~” Twilight sings back. “Both of you~”

And with a dull thud, the laboratory door closes.

It's just you and Fluttershy and Fluttershy's bosom, a cocoon you could enfold yourself in forever.

“You... r-really don't have to use crutches, y'know,” she eventually says after a brief spell. Only now, at the nadir of this roller-coaster of agony and ecstasy do you start to ascertain the full gravity of unfolding events, and the still incomprehensible fact that it is settling to a rest here—soft and secure—in this doting goddess' loving arms. “I meant what I said earlier. I really can carry you to where you need to go. That is... so long as you won't feel silly being lifted about in the arms of an older... classwoman.”

You take a moment to imagine that. All of Canterlot University... all of Canterlot City watching... gaping... envying as a veritable giantess cradles you from place to place... engulfing you and you alone in the aura of her utterly unconquerable splendor.

“Meanwhile... you could spend the time telling me more about yourself... about what you do for a living... about the hobbies and interests you have... when you're not falling over awkwardly-placed signs in the middle of the courtyard... eeheeeheeheeeeeee...”

Oh gods... she's actually interested in you? In the words that you have to say? In all the inane things you've done to waste time in your silly little lonesome life—

“If you're even half as amazing as you are adorable... oh g-goodness...” You feel a quake to her words—to her weight as it struggles to remain upright behind you. Those arms close together, forming a cross around your heart, pressing you more firmly into her chest, a hug that knows no depths. “I... I-I just couldn't help myself. The moment... the first moment that I saw you. I... I-I had to volunteer.” Her voice catches on a tender squeak, and you can almost imagine a strange time—a prehistoric and pre-pubescent time—when this tall and magnificent woman was just as tiny, fragile, and precious as she's making you feel right now with each word purring from her lips that brush past your earlobes. “I-I don't even know a thing about Advanced Calculus, but as soon as I knew you were attending, I-I had to pass myself off as a tutor.” A deep gulp. “I... I-I just didn't have the courage to talk to you until what happened today. And... and now that I have...” Her voice drifts off... or maybe it drifts in. You become aware of her lungs expanding behind you, followed by the distinct flutter of your bangs. “Oh gosh... you smell so wonderful. Even in my dreams, it was never quite this... this...”

The room grows dead silent—save for your heartbeat. In between the quivers in your eyesight, the facsimile of panicked thoughts rocket their way to your brain. Your subconscious plays ancient PSAs, telling you that these are the bright neon warning signs of creepy danger, but...

This is Fluttershy. The Fluttershy. And you're you. And life is short and we all return to stardust and before any of us know it... we end up knowing nothing at all. For eternity.

And mercifully sooner than that, Fluttershy's voice humbly breaks the ice before you can: “All you need to do is say 'no,' and I will let you go. Right away. That is a promise.” She takes a breath. “Pinkie Pie swear.” She takes an even longer breath. “But I really... truly do wish to get to know you more. To be... closer. If... if you would let me, that is.”

There is no response. And that is nevertheless a response all the same. There is no protest—because there is nothing to resist. If one of you didn't understand that before, at least you both do now. And it only adds to the beauty of the unfolding moment. Blooming, like a flower.

“It's just that...” Encouraged, she continues stroking your hair—and then your shoulders—from behind. Softer and softer. Like a bed of butterflies lulling you into the sweetest dream. “I feel so bold when I'm around you. I feel like I could conquer the world.” You sense something pressing against the back of your neck. Soft lips. A dear kiss—your first, and definitely not your last. Then you feel Fluttershy nuzzling in even closer, hair soft as silk, voice smooth as rain. “I'd rather just conquer you.”

You breathe. She breathes. It's an honest wonder how you've lived this long being apart from birth to five centuries and a courtyard ago.

“Heeheehee...” She sniffles, releasing more than giggles. She repositions you so that you're sitting sideways on her lap. This allows the full beauty of her entreating smile to baptize your eyes, earnest and hopeful. “~It's the little things in life~” You know what she means, and yet not enough. Not yet. So she offers: “What do you say? Will you take Mommy's hand?”

To live is to answer.

What is your response?