Cozy Apple Wife Green


                                            "You're STILL working the orchard?"

                                            >"Hon, Sweet Apple Acres feeds all of Ponyville. There ain't no days off."

                                            >Applejack bucks the tree beside you, her massive belly wobbling with the impact.

                                            "Look at yourself! You're in no shape to be working!"

                                            >She freezes mid-buck and drops her rear hooves back down.

                                            >"WHAT'D you say about my shape?"

                                            >Oh boy. You're in the doghouse now.

                                            "AJ, you know I love your belly. I just think you're being hard on the foals."

                                            >"Now you listen here, mister. I was born during Applebuck Season. My mama was born during Applebuck season. Granny Smith worked up till the day she started foaling. It's Apple Family tradition. You knew these were the terms when you went and knocked me up."

                                            "I didn't know you were, like, serious."

                                            >She frowns, unimpressed. "I'm a mare of my word. When have I not been serious with you?"

                                            "Really?" you ask, smirking.

                                            >"Yeah," she says. "Go on, tell me."

                                            >You stifle a giggle and point to her belly.

                                            "Well, when we were makin' those guys—"

                                            >"Anon! What we do in the bedroom behind closed doors stays in the bedroom, you hear?"

                                            "Yes, dear."

                                            >"I ain't got time for such foolishness. We got an especially narrow window to harvest this season."

                                            >She returns to her task, each kick sending a giant ripple reverberating through her womb.

                                            >Just watching it in action was giving you anxiety.

                                            >Time to stop dicking around, Anon.

                                            "How about I take up your duties? It's about time I started pulling my weight around here, literally."

                                            >"I admire the work ethic, hon," she grunts, "but you ain't an earth pony. Not much you can do in the way of applebucking or cart-pulling."

                                            >You're running out of cards to play.

                                            "Well, maybe there's some way I can get you to ease up."

                                            >She delivers one final buck, knocking the last of the apples down.

                                            >Wiping the sweat off her brow, she turns back to you. "Not likel—"

                                            >She freezes at the sight of you holding your hands up, wiggling your fingers tantalizingly.

                                            >"Oh no," she moans, "don't you tempt me..."

                                            >You inch closer to her, flaunting your nimble digits.

                                            >"I-I'm warnin' ya, hon, I ain't giving in to your wily tricks..."

                                            >Her eyes tell a different story. They're locked onto your fingers, tracking them. Her mouth hangs open just a bit.

                                            "You sure I can't do ANYTHING to convince you, Jackie?"

                                            >You reach for her muzzle, stroking it gently with the back of your hand.

                                            >She delivers a delighted whimper, fighting desperately to contain herself.

                                            "Maybe some scritches?"

                                            >You bring your fingers to the back of her head, lightly dragging your nails against the soft coat.

                                            >Between her mane and her ear, you suddenly dig in, ferociously scratching her.

                                            >That does her in. Immediately, a long, drawn out moan escapes her throat.

                                            >The pregnancy was giving her all sorts of peculiar urges. But for the mother of your foals, you had no shame in indulging them.

                                            >"A-Anon," she pants. "Unf, don't stop..."

                                            "You've been working the farm so hard. Those muscles must be so sore. I'm sure you could use a massage. Maybe a... belly rub?"

                                            >Her eyes light up in excitement when you say the words. Immediately, she nods eagerly and drops down onto her side.

                                            >You chuckle and lie down with her, resting against the soft orchard grass.

                                            >Spooning her, you bring your arm over and around her plump belly, resting your palm against her navel.

                                            >Lightly, you caress her tummy, tracing her gorgeous maternal form. Her eyes squeeze shut and her breaths slow to a crawl.

                                            >Still stroking her voluptuous figure, you bury your face in her ponytail and kiss her neck, only pulling out when the need to breathe surpasses your lust for appul.

                                            >As the two of you bask in the late-summer sun, you admire the breathtaking qualities of the mare's body pressed up against yours.

                                            >The fine detail of the orange hairs in her coat, the intoxicating honeycrisp scent of her mane, the marvelous hips...

                                            >You bring your hands down to her hips, rubbing her cutie mark. Those apple-buckin', baby-birthin', melon-crushin' hips.

                                            >Caressing them, you croon softly into her ear.

                                            "How's my little apple delight feeling now?"

                                            >From the gentle moan she delivers, you could swear she's getting a spa treatment.

                                            >"Maybe you're right. I have been workin' myself into a tizzy lately."

                                            >You chuckle.

                                            "Didn't you already learn this lesson? Not to overwork yourself and let your loved ones lend a helping ha-oof?"

                                            >Nice save.

                                            >"Mmmm, maybe so, but I just ain't the type for slackin' off. Shucks, what would I even do with a maternity leave? Take up knittin'? I'd go stir-crazy under a week. Cooped up in the house like that, Granny Smith'd probably talk my ear off."

                                            >You knew what you signed up for when you married her. Sure, she's been nothing short of the perfect wife material and a natural caretaker, but hard work is in her blood.

                                            >An idea comes to you. Affectionately, you bring your hand back to her belly.

                                            "But what about lil' Jackie Jr.? I'm sure she'd miss her mama if she were working the farm all day long. Maternity leave would mean lots and lots of fun with the foals."

                                            >From your angle, you can just barely catch her smirking. "I'm inclined to consider it, if'n you go back to workin' those hips with those ha-ooves of yours," she teases.

                                            "Yes, ma'am!"

                                            >Gladly, you oblige, kneading her hips with your knuckles.

                                            >"And you know how I feel about 'Jackie'."

                                            "Aw, come on, it's just so perfect!"

                                            >These muscles are so unbelievable. So dense. So tense.

                                            >She's been working like crazy her last trimester, leading up to harvesting season.

                                            >At least you've convinced her to take a break. You’ll keep at it till she pops if it keeps her from working. Eagerly, you work your fingers into her stiff thigh.

                                            >Oh, how you love burying your face between these thighs. She hasn't let you do that in weeks.

                                            >She's been so distracted with work ever since she got pregnant.

                                            >Wait a minute...

                                            >Is she insecure about her body?

                                            >Constantly working, avoiding sexual intimacy…

                                            >There have been a few warning signs, but you didn’t think she was actually ashamed of her bloated belly. By all indications, she was excited to be a mother.

                                            >Even so, she’s a stubborn mare. Hard exterior, but you know there’s a deeply sensitive soul inside. That’s what made you fall in love with her.

                                            >Looking back, you feel so stupid. Of course she’s feeling insecure.

                                            >She normally has such a lean figure, and motherhood has taken that away from her.

                                            >Her confidence is shaken. You’re her husband, it’s your job to restore it, to reassure her how much you adore her maternal form.

                                            >But not in any obvious way. She’s clever. If you just obliviously compliment her, she’ll see through right through you and think you’re humoring her. Then she’ll really close herself off.

                                            >She needs to see you’re still attracted to her, in a way she’s accustomed to, without it seeming forced. It’s a tough line to straddle.

                                            >What if you… yeah… it’s risky, but it just might work.

                                            >You take a break from massaging her flank, slowly bring your hand down…

                                            >And give her a nice firm smack on the rump.

                                            >Immediately, she kicks her hind legs and whinnies. “A-Anon! What do you think yer doin’?”

                                            >You do your best to sound innocuous.

                                            “I couldn’t help myself! It was right there, and you know I can’t resist those sweet apple cheeks!”

                                            >She looks back at you irritably.

                                            >“What if Apple Bloom were nearby? How’d you explain that to her?”

                                            >She’s mad, yeah, but she’s blushing like a schoolfilly. You know what she likes.

                                            >And it’s freaky.

                                            “Relax, dear, your sister’s nowhere near here.”

                                            >“Eee-nope. Just me.”

                                            >The two of you whip your heads to see a familiar hulking red stallion watching from just a few yards away.

                                            >Applejack scrambles to stand up. "Big Mac! We were just, uh—"

                                            >"Y'all were cuddling in the middle of the orchard," he says, in that booming voice of his.

                                            "Hi, Big Mac."

                                            >Rising to your feet as well, you wave at him.

                                            "Sorry for spanking your sister."

                                            >You do your best to stifle your snicker at the sheer absurdity of that sentence.

                                            >Applejack subtly kicks at your shin and changes the subject. "How's the harvest comin' along?"

                                            >"West orchard's done," he replies, turning back to head home. "You can finish up here tomorrow, supper's almost on."

                                            >"Come on, lover boy," she taunts, bumping her head affectionately against your arm. "I can tell the lil' ones worked up a mighty appetite after helping their mama all day."

                                            >That's an interesting way of looking at it.

                                            >You replace her hat and walk back to the farmhouse together, resting your hand on the back of her head.

                                            >The sun is beginning to set, beaming through the vast sea of trees.

                                            >She's been pregnant for a quite a few months now, but the reality of it still hits you from time to time.

                                            >You're gonna be a dad.

                                            >In a few short weeks, you'll be enjoying sunsets like this one, except with two little precious foals in your arms.

                                            >You'd never thought you'd get here.

                                            >As you enter the house, the aroma of dinner entices you. Granny Smith's cooking up a storm.

                                            >After washing up, you help Applejack set the table, making googly eyes at each other from across the dining room.

                                            >She's the perfect balance of tough and cookie. You love it whenever her sensitive side comes out.

                                            >Even though she sticks to her guns, motherhood's been making her softer. It's so adorable.

                                            >Big Mac comes in to take his seat, while you and Applejack finish setting up.

                                            >As you sit down beside each other, Granny Smith carries in the first tray of piping-hot food.

                                            >Home-cooked meals have been doing wonders for your mood and health. It's the simple pleasures of farm life that make every day with Applejack bliss.

                                            >You look on as Granny sets down each dish. Split-pea soup, roasted carrots, mashed potatoes, fried cauliflower... it just keeps coming.

                                            >Once she takes her seat at the head of the table, you all watch the feast before you excitedly.

                                            >"Where's Apple Bloom?" Applejack asks. "We can't start without h—"

                                            >Right on cue, your little sister-in-law bursts into the dining room. "OHMAGOSH! Wait till y'all hear about today, I have so much to tell—"

                                            >"Easy there, Apple Bloom," Applejack chuckles. "Go and wash up. Save the chatter for family supper."

                                            >Apple Bloom runs to the bathroom while Applejack hands you a dish. "Go and make your plate, hon."

                                            >You eagerly scoop a little of each dish onto your plate.

                                            >Family supper.

                                            >It's another of those Apple Family traditions. It took some adjusting to, after you and Applejack got hitched.

                                            >You used to eat your meals alone, so having to sit down with your wife's family every day was quite the transition.

                                            >You felt like an outsider, intruding on their mealtime. But these folks are the salt of the earth.

                                            >They welcomed you right away, treated you like their own kin. Because now, you are.

                                            >You still get a little nervous around Big Mac sometimes. He's a quiet guy, hard to know what he's thinking. But he seems to like you.

                                            >Granny Smith loves you. You're always sure to pay her compliments and she simply adores your cute banter. As the matriarch, she's head of the family, and she's always seen you as one of her own.

                                            >Apple Bloom looks up to you. Thinks the stupid antics you put on to entertain her are the most hilarious thing in the world. You always make time for her, and she loves it.

                                            >Sometimes Applejack watches you play with her. She gets this dumb little smile on her face. When you glance over, you like how you can tell exactly what she's thinking.

                                            >How you're going to do the same thing for your own filly one day.

                                            >Apple Bloom returns to the dining room, hooves sparkling clean, and takes her seat.

                                            >"Cape comes off at the table," Applejack sternly reminds her.

                                            >She grumbles as she undoes her crusader cloak and lets it fall to the floor. "Yes, mom," she jeers.

                                            >"Apple Bloom!" she chastises.

                                            >"What? I can say that, you're a mama now, ain't ya?"

                                            >"Now children, don't go pickin' fights at the dinner table," Granny interrupts. "Supper's gettin' cold."

                                            >Applejack turns to you. "Hon, would you like to say grace?"

                                            "Oh, uh, sure."

                                            >Everyone joins hooves and you begin.

                                            "Princess Celestia, we thank you for this feast we're about to enjoy. Your bountiful sun gives our crops the light they need to grow, and is the reason for all this delicious food we have before us. We're ever so thankful for the blessings you've bestowed our family, especially these two little miracles right here."

                                            >You release your hand from Applejack's hoof to affectionately stroke her belly.

                                            "Through your divine magic, so many wonderful things are made possible, and I can't thank you enough for sending me down the path that led to where I am today."

                                            >"A-men!" Apple Bloom exclaims. "Did I say that right, Uncle Anon?"

                                            "Sure did, sweetheart."

                                            >"Let's dig in!" Granny declares.

                                            >Eagerly, you all start chowing down on the delicious feast that Granny prepared, telling each other about your respective days between bites.

                                            >"How's the harvest comin'?" Granny asks.

                                            >"Some of the trees in the East Orchard are lookin' a tad droopy," Applejack answers. "Might have to graft a few extra branches come next season. The stragglers put a slight damper on this year's yield, but we're almost done."

                                            >Big Mac swallows a bite of his carrots. "Might've been finished today if Applejack hadn't seen fit to lay about the orchard with her fella."

                                            >Your face turns flush as Applejack stammers defensively. "I— We— Now look here— we'd been— for five minutes! It wasn't my fault, Anon tempted me!"

                                            >"Aw, hush, honey," Granny reassures her. "I don't blame you none. I may be gettin' up there in years, but I still remember what it's like to be young in love."

                                            >"You were young?" Apple Bloom asks.

                                            >The table shakes with a loud thud.

                                            >"Ow!" she yells, rubbing her hoof. "Who kicked me?"

                                            "So, Apple Bloom," you say, changing the subject, "you excited to be an aunt?"

                                            >"Sure am! I can't wait to induct them as honorary crusaders!"

                                            >"Auntie Apple Bloom," Applejack chuckles. "Can't say I ever expected to hear that. Not at her age, at least."

                                            >"Well, shucks, I don't wanna be called Auntie!" she protests.

                                            "Why not?"

                                            >"Makes me feel old! No offense to Granny, but I wanna stay young!"

                                            >"Oh, no offense taken, dearie," Granny replies with a laugh. "But I'll tell ya now, the decades fly by, and before you know it, you're sittin' right here at the head of the table, wonderin' where it all went."

                                            >Big Mac pats her hoof. "Don't you fret, Granny. You got another 10 years in you, at least."

                                            >"Darn tootin'!" she says confidently. "Say, you two settle on names for the young'ns yet?"

                                            >You shoot a smile at Applejack, and she returns a look that says "don't you say it."

                                            "What do you guys think about Jackie Jr.?"

                                            >Apple Bloom beams in adoration. "Aw, after her mama!"

                                            >Applejack frowns, cutting away at her cauliflower. "I already told Anon I ain't keen on that name."

                                            >"Why not?" Granny asks. "I think it's plumb right. Good ol' 'nonnymous made a smart call there, namin' her for a respectable mare."

                                            >"A foal's name is sacred. Somethin' they got to live up to. Ain't right to force her into followin' after my image. Plus, I think it stinks of ego. That's the kinda thing you'd see outta Rainbow Dash, not me. It's a bad idea."

                                            >You look down at your plate guiltily. She has a point.

                                            "I'm sorry. I just love you so much, and I wanted her to take after you. But you're right."

                                            >Applejack's obstinance melts away into remorse, and she places a hoof around your shoulder. "Aw, darlin', don't be sad. Don't get me wrong, it was mighty sweet o' you to suggest it, but it just ain't a good fit. I promise you, you and me are gonna sit down and hash out the perfect names for 'em when they finally come."

                                            >"Just as well," Big Mac chimes in, "can hardly name 'em when you don't know the sex."

                                            >Applejack frowns at him. "I told you a million times, it's a colt and a filly."

                                            >You nod in agreement. Truthfully, you're not quite as convinced, but she insists she can tell, and far be it from her husband to defy her. United front, a woman scorned, and all that.

                                            >"And what about you, big brother?" she continues. "Easy to judge, but I sure don't see you gettin' hitched or startin' a family."

                                            >He turns his head up proudly. "You know I've been courtin' Sugar Belle."

                                            >"Mmhmm," she replies skeptically. "And that's been goin' on for how long? I got to figure most stallions'd be finished courtin' by now."

                                            >"Didn't I just tell y'all to quit yer bickerin'?" Granny scolds them. "You especially, AJ. You ought to know better, all that bad juju's no good for the foals."

                                            >"I wonder what their special talents'll be!" Apple Bloom pipes up, swinging her legs excitedly. "I'm gon' help 'em get their cutie marks."

                                            >Applejack smiles warmly. "It's a good thing they'll have you lookin' after 'em, then. I hope it's apple farmin', but shoot, I'll support them no matter what it might be. 'Cept if it's strawberries, o' course."

                                            "AJ, we talked about this—"

                                            >"Those who cannot farm, farm strawberries!" she proclaims, pounding the table with both hooves, utensils gripped tightly.

                                            "Okay, okay."

                                            >You know better than to get in a shouting match with her. That's one issue she won't budge on.

                                            >By now, you're all finishing up dinner, marked by the daily routines: Granny Smith excusing herself to bring out one of her fresh-baked pies, Big Mac quickly scarfing down his second helping, and Applejack sternly reminding her sister to clean her plate.

                                            "Hey, Big Mac, did you get a chance to go into town today?"

                                            >"Eeyup," he answers mindlessly, focused more on finishing his plate. "Got the stuff you asked for, left it in the barn. I can show you now if you like."

                                            >"What stuff?" Applejack asks curiously.

                                            >Big Mac freezes when he realizes his mistake.

                                            "Uh, nothing. Just some supplies to fix up the barn."

                                            >You stand up and push in your chair, trying not to give her a chance to prod any further.

                                            "I mean, these hands sure are handy, right? Well, I got to get started on those repairs. Come on, Big Mac. You can get the dishes tonight, right, honey? Promise I'll get them tomorrow. Thanks, love ya!"

                                            >You hurriedly head out the door with Big McIntosh following close behind.

                                            >Applejack squints suspiciously after you for a moment before getting to work collecting the dishes.

                                            >"Where'd them boys run off to?" Granny asks, bringing in the pie.

                                            >"I dunno," she answers. "Something fishy, I'd wager."

                                            >Apple Bloom eyes the dessert enthusiastically. "Oh, well. More for me!"


                                            >You follow Big Mac to the barn. By now, it's dark, and the clouds of mosquitoes are hanging in the air around the homestead's lanterns.

                                            >You help him to push open the barn door and step inside, holding up a lantern to illuminate it.

                                            >"This good enough for ya?" he asks.

                                            >You approach the pile of lumber, tools, and paint cans resting on the hay-strewn ground.

                                            "Yeah," you answer, squatting down to inspect the supplies. "This'll work just fine."

                                            >You get back up and return to him, standing beside the barn door.

                                            "How much do I owe you?"

                                            >"Don't worry about it none. Call it my gift for the new parents."

                                            "Thanks. I won't forget it."

                                            >"You sure you won't need a hoof with it?"

                                            >You glance back at the pile.

                                            "No. This is something I've got to do alone."

                                            >You turn back to your brother-in-law. He might be a massive stallion, but you still stand a good head over him.

                                            "And nothing to AJ about this, alright? You almost let it slip back at dinner."

                                            >"I know, I know, but it ain't her you got to worry about. It's Apple Bloom you oughta think of, always sneakin' round the farm, spyin' every chance she gets."

                                            >"Do not!" a little voice squeaks angrily.

                                            >You both spin around to see the filly watching you from outside the barn, her face coated in pie crumbs.

                                            >"Whatchya'll doin out here this late?" she asks.

                                            >Big Mac looks to you to answer her.

                                            "Nothing, Bloo. Boring adult stuff. You saved a slice of pie for me, didn't you?"

                                            >"'Course I did!" she says proudly. "AJ was gonna eat it, but I made her save it for you."

                                            "Ah, let her have it next time," you answer, heaving the barn door shut. "She's eating for three now."

                                            >Big Mac starts walking back to the farmhouse. "Come on, y'all, it's getting late."

                                            >You lock the barn up and stash the key in your pocket before walking Apple Bloom back inside.

                                            >The table's cleaned, save for your slice of pie, when you return. Applejack's in the kitchen with Granny Smith, taking care of the dishes.

                                            >You quickly wolf down the still-warm pie, while enthusiastically listening to Apple Bloom recount her daily adventure to you.

                                            >Seems like the Cutie Mark Crusaders spent the day gem hunting with Rarity. Sweetie Belle tried to do the gem-finding spell and Apple Bloom managed the digging while Scootaloo scouted the area for diamond dogs.

                                            >You don't remember the whole story, but there was some incident that left Rarity paranoid about those things.

                                            >Once you finish your dessert, you bring your plate into the kitchen, and drop it in the sink, in front of your wife.

                                            "Can I give you a helping ha-oof?" you ask slyly.

                                            >"Sure can, lover boy," she smiles back, rinsing off a soapy dish. "I wash, you dry. How's that sound?"

                                            >You grab the dishcloth and start toweling off the dishes on the rack.

                                            >While you work, you steal quick glances at her. Whenever your eyes meet, you crack a smile at each other, interspersed with lovey faces and playful nudges.

                                            >"Y'all are too cute," Granny says.

                                            >You glance over your shoulder to see her knitting in the corner of the kitchen, and laugh to yourself. That mare has a rocking chair in every room of the dang house.

                                            "You're not too shabby yourself, Granny."

                                            >"Oh, hush," she responds, flattered. "You keep smooth-talkin' me and I'll have to steal you away from AJ."

                                            "You hear that, sweetheart? You've got some stiff competition."

                                            >"I sure hope not," Applejack replies. "Thought I locked you down ages ago. Ain't that what the locket you got me's supposed to represent? That I ain't got to worry about fightin' for your affections no more?"

                                            "Maybe, but I don't see that locket on you. So as far as that's concerned, Granny's still in the running."

                                            >"You know I don't wear it when I'm workin' the orchard. Applebucking's messy work. But if that's all it takes for you to replace me, we got a real problem."

                                            >You pull her in close and plant a kiss on the top of her head, making her blush.

                                            "Aw, I could never replace you. You're the apple of my eye."

                                            >"There he goes again with the smooth talk!" Granny chuckles. "How do you do it, 'nonny boy?"

                                            >You smile down at Applejack.

                                            "Maybe she just brings out the best in me."

                                            >Soon, you finish up the dishes, and retire to your room with Applejack.

                                            >She decides to shower before bed. While your instinct is to join her, there isn't exactly enough room. It was cramped enough in there before the foals came along. Now, it's downright impossible.

                                            >So, you climb into bed and pick up a book while she washes off.

                                            >You don't end up reading much. There's a lot on your mind.

                                            >Her due date's in a few short weeks. There's the baby shower Pinkie's throwing her next Tuesday, then she has an appointment with the gyno on Friday.

                                            >Every step of the way they've been reassuring you the foals are coming along just fine.

                                            >That hasn't stopped you from worrying. It's an unprecedented case. You're no stallion.

                                            >But no matter what happens, you're going to love those little guys more than anything in the world.

                                            >Because they're yours.

                                            >"Well howdy, darlin'."

                                            >You look up from the book you haven't been reading to see Applejack standing in the doorway.

                                            >Her ponytail's undone, her wet mane cascading down her face and neck. Resting against her breast is the locket.

                                            >Total unf.

                                            >You coyly beckon her, and she obliges, climbing into her side of the bed.

                                            >There she lies beside you, head on the pillow, adjacent to yours. She's the loveliest little mare.

                                            >You gently take the locket, draped around her neck, between your fingers. Hoof-casted gold, in the shape of an apple.

                                            >"I'll never forget the day you gave it to me."

                                            >Almost three years ago now. Geez, how time flies.

                                            "I was so nervous."

                                            >"Why's that?" she asks curiously.

                                            "...I didn't know if you'd say yes."

                                            >She giggles softly. "We'd been goin' steady for months by then, silly. 'Course I'd say yes."

                                            "Yeah, but it's still scary, you know? It's the biggest question you'll ever ask."

                                            >"Best decision I ever made."

                                            >You glance up from the locket to meet her eyes, gazing deeply into yours.

                                            >Those emerald irises are still, to this day, the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

                                            >Back home, green eyes were a pretty trait, sure. But on a mare, they were something else altogether.

                                            >Those giant, expressive eyes, the glint in her pupils... you're enamored with every part of her.

                                            >You lift your hand from the locket and rest your thumb gently against her face.

                                            >Her coat is so soft. Slowly, you trace your finger around her freckles.

                                            "I've always loved these freckles."

                                            >Her cheeks turn flush and she looks down in embarrassment. "Oh, hush," she mumbles.

                                            "I'm serious. They're such a small detail, but they make all the difference."

                                            >You lean in and kiss her cheek tenderly.

                                            >"How'd I ever land a fella like you?"

                                            >You smile and lift up the locket once again, flipping it open to reveal the photo inside.

                                            "That's how."

                                            >It was the photograph taken during your vows. Applejack, in her gorgeous white dress, hair all done up, looked like a princess. And there you stood in your suit, opposite her. Hoof in hand.

                                            >"We were something else, huh?"

                                            "Yeah."

                                            >She pauses, admiring the photo with you, lost in thought. "I was so cute back then..."

                                            >You look back up at her.

                                            "Applejack..." you start.

                                            >She snaps back to reality, realizing what she said. "I— I meant—"

                                            "You know how beautiful I think you are, right?"

                                            >"'Course I do," she answers firmly. "I'm beautiful, and you know it, and I know it, so why—"

                                            >She chokes up before she can finish, tears building.

                                            >You wrap your arms around her.

                                            "Sweetheart, you don't have to do this."

                                            >She sniffles and avoids your eyes. "I'm not doing anything."

                                            "You're doing that scrunch you get when you're hiding something."

                                            >"I— I—" she stammers, struggling to get the words out.

                                            >You lean your forehead against hers reassuringly.

                                            >"I don't like the way I look!" she cries out. "I hate what I've turned into, and I hate even more that I hate it! I'm supposed to be happy to be this big, but I'm not, and that makes me a terrible mother!"

                                            "Hey, hey..."

                                            >You cradle her close in your arms, letting her cry into your chest.

                                            "It's okay. You're not a bad mother."

                                            >"I am. I worry more about the shape of my belly than my own two foals."

                                            "The foals are fine. The doctors said so. There's nothing to worry about."

                                            >"It's such a vain, petty thing to care about. I hate that I care so dang much."

                                            "It's completely normal to be emotional this late in the pregnancy. I don't blame you one bit."

                                            >Her tears stain your shirt, but you hold her closer still.

                                            "You're the most beautiful mare I've ever seen. Even now. Especially now."

                                            >"You're just sayin' that," she whimpers.

                                            >You pull back a bit to look down at her.

                                            "Your pregnancy hasn't taken away your freckles. Or those shining eyes, or this gorgeous blonde mane. And your belly, your beautiful belly? There's two precious lives growing inside here. Nothing could be more beautiful than that."

                                            >She returns her head to your chest as her cries die down.

                                            >"You must think I'm such a fool, gettin' so hung up on my own body like that. I know it ain't like me."

                                            "I love you, AJ. I don't care how big your belly gets. Nothing will ever change that."

                                            >You take the locket off her neck and drop it on the nightstand before returning to holding her.

                                            >Her hooves wrapped around you, she nestles into you affectionately.

                                            >"I love you, too, Anon," she whispers.

                                            >"I love you, too."


                                            >You get up before dawn the next day.

                                            >Before you climb out of bed, you gently kiss Applejack's forehead. Though she fights you on it, you insist she looks best in the mornings. Her  messy mane, the placid slumber... this is her at her most vulnerable. You've always appreciated the beauty in that.

                                            >It's not like you to rise before her, but you're keeping a secret from her.

                                            >You throw on your jacket and lace up your work boots before leaving the house.

                                            >The crisp autumn air hits you, and the farm is blanketed by a thin fog, leaving behind the morning dew. Just over the horizon of the east orchard, there's a sliver of a stunning pink gradient, signaling the coming sun.

                                            >You unlock the barn door and slide it open to reveal the supplies inside. You're not quite sure how long this project will take, but you're on a deadline. Not to mention, you'll have to work around Applejack's schedule to keep her from finding out.

                                            >You gather up the supplies in a cart and start hauling them over to a clearing in the west orchard.

                                            >The location's remote, and the harvest's done in this section, so there's little chance of you getting caught. So long as it doesn't rain, you should be set to work here.

                                            >You stare down at the lumber and tools a moment. It's been a while since you tried your hand at this. Thankfully, you still remember a thing or two.

                                            >Carefully, you begin measuring and cutting the planks.

                                            >After an hour, you step back to realize it's taking longer than you anticipated. Big Mac got what he could, but a bandsaw or a vise grip would speed things up considerably.

                                            >Since it seems that's not an option, you return to work, realizing now you'll have to dedicate much more time to this than you initially expected.

                                            >You keep at it for a while longer, until around midday.

                                            "Shit!"

                                            >You end up snapping another board, because you have no way to secure both ends at once. This project was quickly becoming an impossible feat.

                                            >"AJ says you aren't supposed to use cuss words."

                                            >You look over your shoulder. Looks like Apple Bloom's found you. She always does. That kid should have a cutie mark for tracking you down.

                                            "She's right, Bloo. Just lost my temper, that's all. What are you doing here?"

                                            >"I was on my way to the clubhouse when I heard you sawing. Whatcha doin'?"

                                            >You glance around the clearing to make sure you're alone, more for show than anything. Leaning in towards her emphatically, you whisper.

                                            "Can you keep a secret?"

                                            >Apple Bloom excitedly nods.

                                            "Promise you won't tell your sister?"

                                            >"Pinkie promise!" she declares.

                                            >That Pinkie, teaching her goofs to the fillies. Now there's a mare that's good with kids.

                                            "Alright then. I'm building a crib for the foals."


                                            >"Aw, sweet!" Apple Bloom wags her tail excitedly, looking down at your handiwork. "You know how to do that?"

                                            >You slump back against a tree trunk.

                                            "I used to do some woodwork, years back, before I met your sister. But the way this crib's going, I'm a little more rusty than I thought."

                                            >"I can help!" she declares proudly.

                                            "Oh?"

                                            >You raise an eyebrow.

                                            "You sure you're up to the task? Might take a while."

                                            >"Of course! You're lookin' at the most determined filly in all of Ponyville."

                                            "In that respect, you sure do take after your sister."

                                            >You sit back up and grab another plank.

                                            "Help me keep this end stable while I saw, okay? Keep your hoof on it, just like that, nice and steady."

                                            >After you saw a few planks, much more smoothly with her help, you let her do the measuring for the base boards. She holds the tape measure and you mark off where to cut notches.

                                            >While you work, you make conversation.

                                            "So when the foals come, are you gonna help out when it comes to raising them?"

                                            >"You bet!" she exclaims. "The Cutie Mark Crusaders already tried gettin' motherhood cutie marks, but it didn't work on account of we didn't have any foals. We tried asking Rarity how to get them, but she just got all weird and made Sweetie Belle come home."

                                            >Picturing how mortified Rarity must have been, you're forced to turn your head away to stifle a grin.

                                            >"How DO you get foals, Anon?"

                                            "That's a job for your sister to answer. She's the expert, after all."

                                            >She frowns. "I already asked her, she told me I ain't ready yet. Maybe I'll ask Twilight, 'cause she knows everything 'bout everything."

                                            "No, no, don't go bothering all the ladies in town. You'll learn in time, when you grow up like them."

                                            >"Shoot."

                                            >You mark off the last measurement and she spits the measuring tape out.

                                            >Still, what she said got you thinking. She might have been onto something.

                                            "You think that Twilight has some books about woodworking techniques?"

                                            >"I seen her library myself. She's got books on every topic there is."

                                            "I think I'll pay her a visit. I can't, for the life of me, remember how to cut this one joint by hand."

                                            >"Cool! Can I come?"

                                            "I've got a more important job for you. Listen close."

                                            >She stands at attention, waiting for you to relay your instructions.

                                            "Keep your sister occupied. I don't want her sniffing after me, finding out what I'm up to. This is going to be a surprise."

                                            >"Really?" she asks.  "Pssh, I can do that."

                                            "I'm counting on you, Bloo. Don't let me down. Run along now."

                                            >She scampers off into the orchard, yelling a goodbye, while you return your tools to the cart.

                                            >Once the task's done, you head out to pay Twilight a visit.

                                            >The walk to Golden Oaks Library is a short one, but it makes you realize you haven't left the farm in over a week. The homestead is so nice and vast that you often forget there's a whole world outside of it.

                                            >You nod courteously at the ponies you pass by going about their business. They've come to welcome you as the friendly stranger in town, though it took a few years to get to that point.

                                            >Once your engagement to Applejack went public, any concerns the townsfolk about you were immediately quelled.

                                            >In their minds, you were joining a family that was a fixture of Ponyville. People saw Applejack as the best judge of character, and ultimately, it extended them a gesture that you were here to stay.

                                            >Now, as far as anyone here was concerned, you were as Ponyvillian as apple pie.

                                            >Applejack's friends were your biggest supporters from the start, though.

                                            >You got to know Rarity a bit thanks to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle always hanging out. You often wondered what she was doing in a quaint little village like this, but you respected her craft.

                                            >Rainbow Dash was another story. She's a great friend to your wife: dedicated, and understands her like no other, but those two together has been a tinderbox.

                                            >A few months back you had to literally drag AJ home after they got into an argument about the merits of strength versus agility.

                                            >For some reason, that mare just seems to egg her on at every opportunity, and competitive as she is, she lets herself get baited into a fight every time.

                                            >Rainbow Dash might be the only one who's better than you at getting her goat. But there's a difference. You do it playfully. Dash seems to do it out of her own arrogance.

                                            >But when the dust settles, and it always does, they respect the hell out of each other.

                                            >And then there's Twilight, kindly Twilight. She was the one who introduced you to Applejack. You'll never forget that moment.

                                            >Back home, you had a bit of a thing for country girls, but you never met one as perfect as her. You were instantly smitten with everything about her, from her golden mane to her tiny white freckles.

                                            >That first delighted "howdy" still rings true in your mind. She was so happy to see you.

                                            >She always is.

                                            >Before you know it, you've arrived, having spent the entire walk thinking about how much you love your wife.

                                            >You push open the door to the combination library/treehouse and find Spike inside, re-shelving books.

                                            "What's up, you funky little dragon?"

                                            >Spike, unamused, rolls his eyes and yells up the stairs. "Twilight, Anon's here!"

                                            >She approaches the railing, and her eyes light up when they meet yours. She rushes to meet you.

                                            >"Anon! I haven't seen you in forever!"

                                            >You smile and raise a hand hello as she trots downstairs.

                                            "Yeah, we've been busy at the farm, between the pregnancy and the harvest."

                                            >"Of course. Goodness, Applejack was so big last time I saw her! When's the due date?"

                                            "Three weeks from tomorrow."

                                            >"Three weeks! Seems like just yesterday you were making the announcement. How is Applejack, is she doing well? She's not freaking out or anything, right? I feel like I'd drive myself crazy with anticipation if it were me."

                                            >Twilight's a little... high-strung.

                                            "She's good. Still working, even now, you know how she is. A little bit of a self-image problem, but it's just the hormones, you know? I'm there for her, and she's looking forward to motherhood."

                                            >"Good, good." She smiles warmly, and from her expression you can tell she's obviously very invested in her friends. "So I trust you didn't come here just to give me an update? What can I help you with?"

                                            "I need a book on carpentry. There's this one joint I'm trying to cut, but I can't remember it. Got anything that could steer me in the right direction?"

                                            >"Of course!" She spins around. "Spike, get me Intermediate Woodworking Techniques from upstairs, will you?"

                                            >Spike climbs down from his ladder and trudges up the stairs, grumbling under his breath.

                                            >Twilight turns back to you. "Don't mind him. He's just sour because I teased him in front of Rarity today."

                                            >You never understood her relationship with him. Is like a servant boy? A kid brother? Who knows?

                                            >"Why the sudden interest in carpentry?" she asks. "I don't recall you ever mentioning it."

                                            >You hesitate to answer. The more people that know, the less of a secret it becomes.

                                            "I'm working on a project."

                                            >"Oh? What are you building?"

                                            >You sigh. Dodging the question will just make you seem shifty, and you don't want to come off weird to your wife's friends.

                                            "It's... a crib. For my foals."

                                            >"Awww!" She clutches a hoof to her chest, taken by the tender gesture.

                                            "But it's a surpise. Applejack can't know, okay?"

                                            >"Double awww! Don't worry, Anon. Your secret's safe with me. But if you want to keep it from her, you might want to do something about that sawdust in your hair."

                                            "Good looking out."

                                            >You dust off your hair.

                                            "Got it?"

                                            >"No..." she says, craning her neck up to check. "Here. Kneel down and I'll get it."

                                            >You oblige and get down on your knees, bowing your head for her to reach.

                                            >She takes a hoof and delicately brushes off the debris. "There you go. All set. See?"

                                            >You lift your head back up to see her holding a clump of sawdust up on her hoof.

                                            >"Make a wish."

                                            "Huh?"

                                            >Suddenly, she blows the tiny bit of dust into your face and giggles.

                                            >You smile and wipe your face off with your shirt collar. She's normally not one for pranks, but you had to concede, this one was relatively harmless and even a little cute.

                                            "Very funny."

                                            >Suddenly, you hear the door open behind you, and before you can turn to look, it's followed a very familiar voice yelling very angrily.

                                            >"WHAT in Sam Hill is going on in here?"


                                            >ABORT ABORT ABORT

                                            >Wait, no

                                            >Poor word choice

                                            >What you mean to say is 'get the fuck out, because your pregnant wife is ticked off.'

                                            >But you can't run. She's standing in the doorway.

                                            >(And also you'd never run from her because you're a loving, doting husband who respects the hell out of his wife.)

                                            >((But mostly the first one.))

                                            >So instead, you scramble up to your feet and face her.

                                            "Hey, hon! What're you doing here?"

                                            >You do your best to sound like you're not up to anything, but she caught you totally off-guard, and it bleeds through your shaky tone.

                                            >"What AM I doing here? What do you think YOU'RE doing here?"

                                            >She steps through the doorway into the library, and you see Apple Bloom dragged in behind her, clinging to her hind leg in a desperate attempt to stop her.

                                            >"Last night you sneak off with Big Mac about some shady business behind my back, and now I hear you're paying Twilight a secret visit. I gave you the benefit of the doubt on my way here, but imagine my consternation when I see you gallivantin' with somepony else through the window. Where the hell do you get off, flirting with my BEST FRIEND, of all ponies?"

                                            >What? Flirting?

                                            >That's not it at all, you thought this was about your secret project, you weren't doing anything with Tw—

                                            >"Please don't get mad, Uncle Anon!" Apple Bloom cries out, still wrapped around her sister's leg. "I was distractin' her like you told me to, but she tortured the truth outta me! Wasn't my fault, I swear!"

                                            >Oh, fuck. This does look bad. But it's not the truth...

                                            >You step forward earnestly, fully prepared to come clean about everything and pray she believes you.

                                            "AJ, I—"

                                            >"Anon came by to borrow a book," Twilight says determinedly, stepping ahead of you. "He was looking for something new to read."

                                            >"A book," Applejack replies, completely deadpan. "And I suppose a book's why he was kneelin' for you, lettin' you touch his hair and blow in his face all seductively?"

                                            >Twilight looks mortified by the accusation, but forces a poker face. "He had something in his hair."

                                            >You nod emphatically.

                                            >"I agree I acted inappropriately, touching your husband like that," she continues. "It was entirely out of line. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me. But Anon didn't do anything wrong. Please don't fault him for my behavior."

                                            >Applejack pauses a moment before looking up at you. "Is what she's saying true?"

                                            >Again, you nod.

                                            "I promise you, it is."

                                            >"You know honesty's the most important thing to me."

                                            >You sidestep Twilight and come down to give her a reassuring hug.

                                            "You don't ever have to worry about that."

                                            >But...

                                            >Does she?

                                            >You ARE hiding something from her.

                                            >It's not an affair. It's just a gift for her.

                                            >But you've only just begun, and already you're forced into spinning an elaborate web of deception to perpetuate the surprise.

                                            >When you're married to the element of honesty, is it okay to keep white lies?

                                            >Do good intentions justify the deceit, when your relationship is built upon trust?

                                            >This is a long hug.

                                            >With your chin resting on her wither, you glance down at the floor.

                                            >Apple Bloom is still there, holding her leg. She shoots you an apprehensive smile.

                                            >You release one arm to pat Apple Bloom's head.

                                            "You can let go now, Bloo."

                                            >With a sigh of relief, she relinquishes her grip around Applejack's leg, and falls flat on her back dramatically.

                                            >You give the side of Applejack's swollen barrel a tender rub and stand back up.

                                            >Twilight smiles at you both. "I'll have Spike deliver to the book to you, when he finally gets around to finding it."

                                            "Thanks. I think I'll bring the girls home."

                                            >"So long, Twilight," Applejack says. "Sorry for barging in on you like that."

                                            >"It's no worry at all. I'll see you both at the baby shower!" she says happily, waving you out.

                                            >Applejack and Apple Bloom walk on either side of you as you escort them home.

                                            >Applejack bumps her head into your arm affectionately. "I— I'm sorry for gettin' all riled up back there. I know you wouldn't lie to me. It's just, seein' you with her, all giddy-like... it threw me into a right rage. I don't know what came over me."

                                            >She doesn't like to admit to mood swings, but you've been seeing them crop up more and more.

                                            >It's to be expected, but it's still scary seeing them have such sway over her. She's normally so... level-headed.

                                            "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. Honestly, it was just Twilight being Twilight. She didn't mean any harm by the playfulness, you know she'd never try to come between us. She thinks the world of you."

                                            >"You'll always tell me the truth, right, hon?" Applejack gazes up at you hopefully.

                                            "Of course."

                                            >"So... why didn't you want me finding out where you were?"

                                            >As she looks to you, you can sense that she's afraid of the answer.

                                            >She already knows you tasked Apple Bloom with distracting her so you could swing by the library.

                                            >And you can see, quite clearly, how that reeks of an affair. Here, she's giving you a chance to explain yourself.

                                            >Better that the lies just end here. In meeting her eyes, you can't fathom betraying her faith in you over something so trivial.

                                            >You turn to Apple Bloom.

                                            "What do you say, kiddo, should we tell her?"

                                            >"I dunno!" she replies cheerfully. "It ain't my secret. It's all you."

                                            >You place a hand against the side of Applejack's head, holding her close as you walk through Ponyville.

                                            "You see, sweetheart, I've been working on something for you. Big Mac in the barn, Apple Bloom trying to fool you, Twilight's book, it's all a part of it."

                                            >"Well, don't keep me in suspense," she says. "What is it?"

                                            "It's a surprise. Let me keep that, at least?"

                                            >"Fine," she huffs. "Better be worth it, after all the worry you been puttin' me through."

                                            >You smile down at her and tussle her ponytail.

                                            "Patience is a virtue."

                                            >"Not testing your wife's patience is a virtue, too, y'know."

                                            "Aw, let me make it up to you. What do you want? Another massage? Belly rub? You want me to carry you home?"

                                            >Applejack scoffs skeptically.

                                            "What?"

                                            >"I didn't say nothin'."

                                            "You don't think I can carry you home?"

                                            >"Oh, I know you can't."

                                            "I've done it before."

                                            >"You're right, you could before. Before I... turned into... THIS."

                                            "AJ."

                                            >You lock eyes with her and tilt your head towards Apple Bloom.

                                            >She's at that delicate age where she's so impressionable. You don't want her picking up any insecurities. Not after the way you've seen the fillies at her school already fawning over having long legs and thin barrels.

                                            >Applejack just snorts and looks away. "My point stands."

                                            >You don't like this.

                                            >It all started so simple. Cuddles. Jokes. Endless pampering.

                                            >Now it's secrets and body issues.

                                            >Last night she broke out into this tearful confession, and today she's acting so cold you'd think it never happened.

                                            >In retrospect, you haven't been helping. Sneaking around behind her back only exacerbated her self-esteem issues.

                                            >Christ, today she thought you were flirting with another mare. She never had any concerns about that before; there was always an implicit trust between you.

                                            >The truth is, she's always been the most confident mare. Humble, but self-assured. She never doubted herself.

                                            >But this pregnancy has been fraught with doubts.

                                            >Doubts about the way she looks.

                                            >Doubts about her husband's fidelity.

                                            >Doubts about whether she's even enough for you.

                                            >Which is... insane.

                                            >She's always been your whole world.

                                            >Nothing has ever mattered to you more than her.

                                            >And right now, she needs to be reminded of that.

                                            >So, body issues be damned...

                                            >...you're going to carry your wife.

                                            >Without a word, you squat down and scoop her up into your arms.

                                            >"Wha— Anon!"

                                            >In one swift motion, you lift her up, cradling her belly against your chest. She throws her front hooves around your neck, hesitant to squirm for fear of falling and hurting the foals.

                                            >There is a tense, frozen second where she looks into your eyes, fully expecting you to to drop her.

                                            >But that doesn't happen.

                                            >The next second passes. She quickly glances down, shocked that your knees haven't buckled.

                                            >You take a step forward, followed by another, keen not to shake or show any sign of weakness that would worry her.

                                            >"Go, Uncle Anon, go!" Apple Bloom cheers, hopping beside you.

                                            >Soon you find your footing and keep a steady pace as your carry her down the street.

                                            >It's not easy. She must be as heavy as you by now, maybe even a little more. But you don't care one bit.

                                            >"Anon... I..." she starts.

                                            "Was wrong?"

                                            >She laughs just a little, an amused expression flashing between her concerned glances. "You said you'd carry me all the way home. I ain't wrong yet."

                                            "No sweat."

                                            >"Land's sakes, don't go and drop me just 'cause you're stubborn."

                                            "Hush, love. I've got you."

                                            >To your credit, once you got some momentum going, you manage to carry her at a normal walking pace.

                                            >You do everything humanly possible to lock up your muscles and make it seem effortless.

                                            >It's not too far to Sweet Apple Acres. Still, as it draws on, it proves to be quite the arduous task.

                                            >But this is about something far greater than some display of masculinity.

                                            >This is for her.

                                            >For the way she looks at herself.

                                            >For the self-loathing that gnaws away at her confidence.

                                            >For the fear that she's too big to be loved the same way you've always loved her.

                                            >You haven't, for one second, loved her any less than you did the day you married her.

                                            >So you will not let her down.

                                            >Literally.

                                            >After a few minutes, you pass through the arch marking the entry to the homestead.

                                            "You remember the last time we did this?"

                                            >She beams. "Our wedding day. I was in my dress, and you had the whole arch covered top to bottom in flowers."

                                            >Ceremoniously, you lower her to the ground. Your limbs are going to be on fire tomorrow. But today, it feels pretty sweet.

                                            >"Alright!" Apple Bloom shouts. "He did it, just like he said he could! You were wrong, big sis!"

                                            >"I sure was," she concedes, as she leaves your arms and plants her hooves on the ground.

                                            >Before you can stand back up, though, she pulls you back in for a kiss.

                                            >The sweet, sweet taste of victory.

                                            >When she finally pulls away, she presses her forehead against yours lovingly.

                                            >"My husband, the honorary earth pony."