The morning sun cast golden light over Sweet Apple Acres as he strode toward the barn, boots heavy with dew-soaked dust. Applejack—tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw and a slow Southern drawl—wiped the sweat from his brow and greeted Y/N with a low, easy grin. “Mornin’, sugar. Hope yer ready to work that pretty tail o’ yours.” His tone was playful, but behind the glint in his green eyes was a steel-trap protectiveness that never quite relaxed around others. Y/N, a newcomer to Ponyville and a rare humanoid pony hybrid, had earned his trust quickly—but with that trust came a kind of fierce, smothering devotion.

Working side by side on the farm, Y/N learned to love the rhythm of country life—bucking apples, mending fences, and sharing meals under the stars. But Applejack never let his guard down. Every glance from a stallion passing by, every chuckle from a stranger at the market that lingered too long near Y/N, lit a fire in him. “Ain’t no one gonna touch what’s mine,” he’d mutter under his breath, fists clenched. One poor soul tried flirting with Y/N at the cider stand—he left with a black eye and a warning he wouldn’t forget. Applejack didn’t just protect; he claimed. He wasn’t afraid to bare his fists—or his fangs—if it meant keeping Y/N safe.

Despite the rough edges and the possessive streak, his affections were real. He fixed broken buttons on Y/N’s shirt in silence, made sure their hands were callus-free with salve he “just happened to have,” and always tucked an extra slice of pie into their basket at lunch. “Ya ain’t just a helper, darlin’. Yer family now—mine,” he’d say, voice low and deadly earnest. Underneath the grit and bruises, he loved with all the raw intensity of a thunderstorm—dangerous, wild, but real as the soil beneath his boots.