Chapter One
Yandere Fluttershy
Today you find yourself moving along, sluggishly, to Fluttershy’s cottage as the morning sun is just barely fazing through the cloudy sky. As you move through the lazy streets of Ponyville, a crisp wind blows through and animates your well kept hair. Your hand quickly brushes it back into place, only for the air current to repeat itself again. In a way, it’s actually quite refreshing; one of the many reasons you love Sunday mornings.
You notice that the closer you get to Fluttershy’s home, the stronger the scent of flowers and perfume become. It wasn’t overpowering, and it certainly wasn’t minute. You take a deep breath, indulging in the intoxicating aroma. You loved the smell, and the girl who exuded it. Every Sunday you spent with Fluttershy was a gift from Celestia herself. Everything about her was perfect. The way her silky-pink hair flowed like water, cascading gracefully down past her narrow shoulders only to come to an abrupt halt before her feminine thighs. But it wasn’t just her looks you admired, it was her peaceful personality. Nothing could make her more attractive than that.
You stand at the base of a hill that is decorated by a flowery meadow. Reds, blues, and an assortment of other colors demanded your attention. Just beyond that, you see a familiar site, the cottage. A small smile breaks out in your expression. Just a few moments longer, and you’ll be graced by her presence.
Your legs begin to work in tandem with each other, steadily rising and falling until you reach the top of the hill. Once at the top, you slow your stride to a nip. Mere inches from the door, you open it and enter without knocking. You come over every Sunday, surely she wouldn’t mind. Inside is a barrage of pink, blue and yellow tints. Fluttershy has a very specific taste when it comes to home decorating. Not exactly your style, but you’re not one to judge.
You graze the leather couch with the tip of your fingers, daydreaming about a first kiss. A few seconds pass, and you begin to wonder where she could be. You decide to call her name, but get no response. You notice a strange smell, and it draws you into the next room where you discover a basket on the dining room table. The basket is multicolored and you can tell it was made by hand. You admire Fluttershy’s craft for a few moments before glancing into the wicker basket. Your face is flooded with a red shade as you notice a very inappropriate item inside. ‘Why would fluttershy leave something so… personal out in the open,’ you wonder. You look around to make sure she didn’t catch you taking one last involuntary look at the prosthetic organ before closing the basket.
All of the sudden, you hear a thud in the room above you, and then another one immediately after. Curious, you head to the source. On the second floor, above the dining room, you see a door decorated in hearts. You reach for the handle to open the door, but something is blocking it. You pull a couple of times to confirm your situation and realize that nothing is blocking the door. Someone is holding it shut.
“Please,” you hear a familiar voice say, “don’t come in.”
You ask Fluttershy what the problem is, but she won’t say specifically.
“I’m very sorry, just please wait downstairs,” she says. Something is definitely wrong.
You continue to ask questions only for her to evade them and insist you wait in the living room.
Once downstairs, you hear the sound of metal tinking together and tumblers moving before Fluttershy glides down the stairs to greet you, properly. Her face seems to be slightly flushed. Perhaps today wasn’t a good day for her, she was obviously in the middle of something personal. ‘Personal,’ you think to yourself, reminded of the masterbatory tool you found earlier.
You ask her as gently as possible why she has such a thing, but the subject at hand isn’t exactly an easy one to go about. As you mention said object, the color in her face goes from one that is a pinkish tint to full blown tomato. Heavily embarrassed, she explains herself as quickly as possible.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she says, “that is so gross. You must think I’m some kind of pervert.”
You tell her that it’s really no big deal, and everyone has their own kinks. You even go as far as to tell her of your own ‘devices’ and personal preference.
“Really?” she asks.
Again, you reassure her that she is no different from the rest of humanity.
Fluttershy lets out a great sigh, grateful that you understand. You notice a glint in her eye and an innocent smile form on her beautiful face.
You ask her what she’s thinking, to which she asks, “You said it’s not weird to have kinks, right?”
Fluttershy inches closer and closer to you, still smiling sweetly. You nod, quickly, in agreeance. Her smile greatly enhances and she says, “I’d like to show you something.”
Reaching for your hand, she wraps her fingers, tightly, around your own and guides you up the stairs, toward the heart-decorated door. a quick sniff reveals a scent that you are very familiar with. Releasing her grip, she digs into her skirt pocket for a key and unlocks the door. And then, before entering, she gives you a reassuring glance, as if to say I trust you. once inside, a weird, sick feeling bubbles up from inside you. On every wall, from top to bottom were pictures. But not just any pictures, they were pictures of you; all over. They were everywhere. Some overlapped each other, some were scattered about on the floor, and some were even on the ceiling. However, that’s just the pictures. there were piles of clothes, old cell phones and other things that all belong to you. No wonder the place smelled familiar, it was all you. A shrine built in your honor. You turned around, wanting to ask what the hell this was, and where she got all of your stuff but instead, you found a pair of lips, desperately clinging to your own. Spit and saliva gathered around the corners of your mouth as her tongue began to explore the crevices of your teeth. You hated to admit it, but she was good. This was the most spectacular kiss, and you were drunk on it. Part of you wanted to run, to get away from her, but deep down you knew this is what you wanted. And you weren’t just going to throw it away because of her obsession with you, because face it; If she wasn’t obsessed, you would be.