Twilight didn’t want to go.
She had wanted to, that much she knew. Right up until the night before, when the excitement had melted away and she’d lain awake, a bundle of nerves, dreading the morning sun right up until it peeked through her bedroom curtains. And now she couldn’t summon the courage to shift herself from under the covers, preferring to nestle in their familiar warmth while she still could.
“Twilight?” Her father poked his head around her door. “Come on kiddo, what’re you still doing in bed? We’ve got to leave in an hour.”
Twilight’s response was a quiet, ashamed mutter.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said, I don’t want to go,” she repeated, louder this time.
Night Light frowned in confusion. “What?”
Twilight hung her head. “They’ll laugh at me.”
Stepping into her room and closing the door quietly behind him, Night Light tiptoed around the sprawl of books she’d been studying last night, and settled himself at the end of the bed.
“Now why would they do that?” he asked gently.
“They’re all going to be so much better than me.”
“Of course they won’t,” her father said, resting a hoof reassuringly against her leg. “And they’re going to be just as nervous as you, I promise.”
Twilight hugged her covers tighter around her. “What about the Princess?” she insisted. “If she thinks I’m not good enough…”
Her father sighed, not in exasperation, but in fulfilled expectation. “Twilight, I want to give you something.”
He held out a hoof with a small, grey rock nestled in it. Twilight’s confusion must have showed, because Night Light smiled.
“I thought you might have forgotten,” he said. “It’s the rock you first learned magic with.”
And now Twilight remembered. Kicking away the stone, Night Light returning it over and over. His words, so quietly confident and reassuring, even when she’d been ready to give up forever. After all this time, he’d kept it.
“And now look at you,” her father continued. “Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns doesn’t offer auditions to everyone, kiddo.”
“But-”
“No buts. You didn’t think you could lift up that rock either, and now you can do it without even thinking, right?”
Twilight nodded sullenly. The rock was cool in her hoof, smooth and somehow familiar even now.
“Don’t worry about the other foals. Your mother and I are going to be right there with you.”
“Promise?”
Night Light smiled and hugged her tightly. Twilight sank into his fur, wrapping her little legs around him as best she could. “Always,” he said.
***
“Twilight?”
A hoof nudged her shoulder. For a moment she was still that little filly, being woken by her father, but reality briskly pushed the illusion aside. Night Light’s hooves were around her still, his embrace soft and warm, and she murmured something unintelligible even to herself as she snuggled closer against him.
“It’s morning,” he said.
It took a second for his words to properly sink in, and then she jolted upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and staring out the windows, where the sun was already streaming in.
“It’s morning!?” Twilight leapt out of the chair, leaving her father’s warmth behind her as she brushed a hoof frantically through her mane in an attempt to defrazzle it.
“What’s the matter?”
“This is the matter!” Twilight gestured to the room in general. “What will Mom say when she realises you didn’t go to bed last night?”
“Twilight-”
“What if someone tries to knock on my door? What if they realise I was with you? What if-”
“Twilight, stop.” Night Light’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was filled with such weight that Twilight quieted immediately. “Even if all that happens, and we both know that’s unlikely, do you honestly think this is the first thing they’ll imagine?” He sighed deeply. “Dammit kiddo, even I can’t believe we let it get this far.”
But the proof was undeniable; a dark stain on the chair, a deep but not unpleasant ache in Twilight’s hindquarters, one she hadn’t felt for far too long. Still, her father was right. There was no way her family would suspect anything like this.
Flashes of the night before kept darting through her mind – the creaks of the chair beneath them, the heat of his length as he entered her, filling her so completely, each rush of memory accompanied by a small, giddy burst in her chest. Memories of Night Light’s hooves tightening around her, his mane plastered to his forehead, his eyes…
His eyes screwed tightly shut.
Twilight’s excitement faltered. That couldn’t be right, could it? She wanted to remember the way their eyes had locked together, Night Light’s full of as much love and lust as hers undoubtedly were, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t think of a single moment where that had happened. Each instant that had burned itself irreversibly in her mind was filled with her own passion, but in every one Night Light’s eyes were closed, his head tilted away from her. In fact, even now he was staring down at the carpet, his forehead crumpled in thought.
“Dad?” Twilight’s voice was quiet and hesitant. She hadn’t meant it to be, but it betrayed her nonetheless.
“Yeah?” He didn’t look up.
She wanted nothing more than that, for him to look up, but he stayed fixated on the ground. In a last ditch effort to get any reaction at all from him, Twilight trotted across the room and threw her hooves around him in a tight embrace. He shuddered at her touch.
“Damn it, Twilight.”
Twilight… He had whispered her name, she remembered that much. He might not have looked at her, but she still had that.
And then a horrible thought occurred to her, one that sent a thick chill through her body, right to the tips of her hooves. Twilight had remembered the bathroom, how she’d blindfolded her father with the towel before using her magic to sate the both of them. He’d called out “Twilight” then, too, and not for her. Night Light used her mother’s first name so rarely it was no surprise she hadn’t even considered the possibility that he hadn’t been calling out hers. Now, though, the doubt set its talons deeply into her mind, and no matter how tightly she hugged her father she couldn’t shake it off.
And then he hugged her back, but rather than the comforting, fatherly embrace Twilight was used to, Night Light clung to her, burying his head against her neck. This was wrong, this was all wrong, this wasn’t how she’d imagined it at all. Her father shook in her hooves, shuddering against her as Twilight tried to ignore the damp patches his eyes were leaving on her fur. She wished she had something to say. He always did, whenever she needed him, but now the tables were turned and Twilight had no words to give. Everything she thought of seemed so shallow and useless.
And so Twilight fought back her own tears in silence, stroking her father’s mane as he sobbed into her shoulder.
I’ve made a mistake.
***
Dear Princess Celestia,
The letters sat heavily on the page, taunting Twilight as she stared down at them and the vast emptiness on the parchment beneath. So much space for so many words, and none seemed to be the right ones. How could she even start a letter like this?
Twenty minutes later the page remained empty. Twilight groaned and let her head fall forwards, hitting the desk with a thump. She couldn’t do it. Even if she knew exactly what to write, exactly how to put the vicious storm of feelings plaguing her into words, Twilight couldn’t have done it. Writing the letter was one thing, sending it another entirely. She shuddered as she imagined Celestia’s reply.
A soft knock at her door broke Twilight out of her stupor, and for a second she tried to cover up the nearly-blank parchment, as if whoever was outside would somehow be able to read the shameful things Twilight had been trying to put on it.
“Twilight?” Her mother’s voice. “Can I come in?”
No.
“Yes,” she answered. The door swung open and Velvet stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her.
“Hey honey,” Velvet said, settling herself at the end of Twilight’s bed, across from her. Twilight didn’t turn around. “I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”
Twilight said nothing, staring intently at the page in front of her. The pregnant silence sat heavily in the air as she waited for her mother to try and break it again.
“Writing a letter to the Princess?” Velvet asked, eventually.
Twilight nodded.
“Good, that’s… That’s good.” Another pause. Twilight still couldn’t bring herself to look around, though the blank page offered little comfort instead.
“You really should open those curtains,” her mother ventured, obviously trying to evoke even the slightest reaction from her daughter. “It’s so dark in here.”
Wordlessly, Twilight’s horn lit up, and the curtains swished to the side, letting the midday sun stream in through the windows. It stung Twilight’s eyes, and she winced. She was expecting something along the lines of ‘See, isn’t that better?’ to follow, but it never came.
“You haven’t, um…” Velvet bit her lip. “Have you spoken to your father at all today?”
A weight dropped through Twilight’s stomach. Did she know? Surely she couldn’t, there was no way, how could she possibly know?
“Nope,” she answered, trying to make it as natural as possible. To Twilight’s ears, it sounded anything but.
“Oh.”
A long pause, the moments ticking past as Twilight waited with bated breath, dreading her mother’s next words. Finally she spoke.
“Because he’s barely left our room at all either, and I wondered if…” She trailed off, before shaking her head dismissively. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
The wave of relief that washed over Twilight was tainted with uncertainty. No, her mother didn’t know, but it sounded as though Night Light was as torn up about it as she’d feared. Twilight turned to find her mother staring down at her hooves, lost in thought. Finally, she forced herself to speak, and her voice was husky and hollow. “Are you okay, Mom?”
The twisted voice was quick to pipe up. She wouldn’t be if she knew what you and your father did last night.
Shut up.
Her mother gave a start at her voice, and for a second Twilight thought she’d said that last bit out loud.
“Hm? Oh, of course I am honey, it’s you that I’m wor-” Velvet cut herself off, biting her lip nervously. “I mean, yes, I’m fine.” If she wasn’t unconvincing already, the nervous way she cleared her throat cast away any last doubt.
The silence stretched on, Twilight shifting awkwardly in her seat, staring at the waste bin beside the desk that was overflowing with crumpled up failures. None of them had anything incriminating written on them, at least – she’d never managed to get past more than two words anyway.
Still, the terrible pangs of guilt insisted her mother knew anyway. Even though she couldn’t have, even though this couldn’t be the way Velvet would react if she found out. Twilight kept straying to visions of her mother beneath Night Light, bent over the bed as Twilight stared through the crack of the wardrobe, unable to do anything but watch, unable to turn away even if that was all she wanted to do. Except in these memories Velvet was staring straight at her, a look of pure heartbreak on her face, tears falling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. That wasn’t how it happened, of course, but Twilight saw it anyway.
Twilight tried to look at her mother now, she really did. Tried to look the mare that raised and loved and cared for her in the eyes… and failed. Each time she stole a glance at Velvet, a fresh flood of guilt poured through her, almost threatening to drown her in it. Something lay beneath the guilt, too. A darker, sicker emotion that bubbled wickedly under the rising tide.
Jealousy.
Twilight, she heard her father groan, as she took him to the hilt again and again, the chair creaking so loudly beneath them Twilight thought it might break. Twilight, he breathed, hooves clattering uselessly against the cold bathroom tiles as Night Light called out to his wife. Twilight. She wasn’t so sure of the difference any more.
“I’m sorry, Twilight.” Velvet’s voice shattered the memories. “I really am. I thought this holiday would be better. I thought it would help.”
An unspoken offer hung in the air. You can talk to me, it said. I’m your mother, I’ll listen. And despite everything, it was still somewhat tempting. Twilight could almost fool herself into believing Velvet would understand, that she would forgive, that she would comfort. Almost.
But no matter how much she wanted to believe that, no matter how much she wanted to throw caution to the wind and finally shake the mounting pressure in her chest, the fact remained: she had slept with Velvet’s husband, her own father, and there was nothing in Equestria that would or could make her mother understand or sympathise. For all the comfort Velvet tried to offer, Twilight alone knew how empty that promise was. Velvet couldn’t help, and her father couldn’t either.
No, this was her burden, and it wasn’t going to simply disappear. That was a fantasy, the kind foals told themselves because they knew that inevitably someone else would make it right. And she’d been trying to find that someone, even now. As if Celestia could swoop down and make everything okay again, a scared little foal’s hero.
“I know you didn’t really want to come,” Velvet spoke slowly, as if each word had to be pried out. “I just thought it might help if you were with your family, whatever it is. That, and some more selfish reasons.” Velvet shook her head. “But it’s not what I thought it would be, and I’m sorry.”
This was not what Twilight had expected. She’d already mentally prepared herself for an inevitable lecture about making the most of their vacation, of getting out of her stuffy room and spending time with the family. Wasn’t that what they were here for, after all?
But faced instead with apologies she didn’t really understand, Twilight was left with no idea how to respond. The words rose again in her mind, this time spoken softly in Celestia’s voice. You’ve made a mistake.
I know, Twilight answered, as Velvet continued to stare out the window. I know I have, but I don’t know if I can fix it.
But of course you can, the Princess answered. You’re the only one who stands a chance.
Her mother spoke again, and her voice was barely more than a whisper. “If you want to leave, we can,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to stay.”
But Twilight’s expression had hardened, finally able to look her mother in the eyes. “No,” she replied. “I want to.”
And of course that was a lie, but Twilight couldn’t leave now, not with her family threatening to crumble around her at any moment, and with it all being her fault. She had to fix this.
If only she knew how.
***
Be calm, Twilight.
She didn’t even know whose voice that one was. Her own, maybe; her internal voices had all become so hopelessly amalgamated it was often impossible to tell them apart now. Still, Twilight wished she could take its advice, nervously shifting her weight from hoof to hoof.
Her ‘plan’ was simple. Well, simple on paper, at least. The execution would be a lot more difficult. She shifted her weight again, and to an outside observer the carpet would have indented from seemingly nothing. The invisibility spell was one she’d used a fair few times, mostly for benign things like sneaking snacks without Spike being able to silently judge her, or helping Pinkie pull off her ridiculous pranks. Tonight it served a much bleaker purpose.
It had been nearly an hour since her parents had gone to bed. She knew this because they were right in front of her, their now-sleeping forms wrapped tightly under the covers. They slept facing away from each other, and another guilty twinge had hit Twilight when she saw that. She’d even brought earplugs so she could turn away and avoid another ‘wardrobe incident’, but tonight her parents had barely even looked at each other, with only the most cursory of ‘good night’s.
A single shaft of moonlight sliced between the curtains as Twilight tiptoed towards the bed, illuminating her briefly as she faded back into view with a quiet fizzle. She was close enough to her father now that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and the thought was filled with bitterness. It seemed to sum up everything wrong in so many ways, everything she wanted so close that Twilight could almost wrap her hooves around it, only for it to fade away like smoke just as she thought it was finally in her grasp.
For a long while Twilight did nothing. She wanted to believe it was to steady her nerves, and it was close enough to the truth that Twilight could almost convince herself. But when she couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, she knew it was time. She’d been so foolish, Twilight knew that now. Foolish to expect even the slightest return of affection, of desire. She’d been so blinded she hadn’t even truly seen his reluctance until afterwards, and of course by then it was far too late. The knowledge that he would never – could never – feel the same way drove ice shards into her heart, but it hurt her even more to see the pony she loved this broken.
And so, after everything, Twilight was going to take it all away again.
She swallowed. Memory spells were more than merely frowned upon. A unicorn found guilty of attempting to use them faced eternal banishment, and that was if the Princesses were feeling particularly forgiving. They might be inclined to just lock her in the dungeon and throw away the key. And even before all that, the spells were famously difficult. So many variables, so many things to get wrong. Ponies had gone mad after they’d been performed incorrectly. Others had forgotten years of their life. The book Twilight had pored over during several of her stints in the Canterlot archives had been very… explicit in those failures, presumably to dissuade the reader from actually putting the spells into practice. In general, though, the simpler the better, and so Twilight had decided to just entirely wipe the last five days from her father’s mind.
Her confession, his rejection, her persistence, his acquiescence. All of it gone, for him at least. She’d still have to bear that terrible weight, still let those embers smoulder in her chest, probably never to fade entirely. And every time she saw him after, they’d flare once again, and Twilight could never even tell him why she found it so hard to look at him. This was the cost for that night, and if Twilight was honest with herself she’d gladly pay it again and again and again, if only it didn’t hurt him so much as well. If only it didn’t hurt everyone, without them even knowing why.
Twilight steeled herself. Five days. No more, no less. Even something that simple required utmost concentration; nothing could be allowed to go wrong. Magic rushed into her horn at the merest thought, filling it with familiar power. She could lose herself in the intricacies the spell demanded, at least, weaving the magic in her mind as she drowned out everything else, demanding nothing less than perfection. All too soon she was ready, the spell needing only to be released into her father’s sleeping mind. Then this would be over.
Do it, Celestia’s voice commanded. Do it now, fix this while you still can, don’t hesitate.
But Twilight did.
What if I’ve done the spell wrong? What if I’m making an even worse mistake?
Night Light shifted slightly beneath her, the shadows of his face brought into stark relief beneath the purple glow of her magic.
You’re making excuses, Twilight. This may be your last chance to stop this.
Twilight bit her lip, It would be so easy to let the spell go now, to watch the magic sink into her father and erase everything.
But she didn’t want to.
She didn’t want him to forget the kisses. She didn’t want him to forget how they’d made love, or the night spent wrapped in each other’s hooves. She didn’t want to give that up for the world.
You have to, Twilight. And was there a slight hint of panic in Celestia’s voice now? Twilight thought there might be, and she took a sadistic pleasure from it. You know you can’t let this carry on. He’s your father, and no matter what you desire, you can’t have him.
But-
He isn’t yours, Twilight. And he never will be.
Tears coursed freely down Twilight’s cheeks, the cool night air making her shiver.
It isn’t fair.
It was such a foalish thought, but Twilight couldn’t help it. He was the only stallion she’d ever wanted, ever needed this much, and he could never feel the same way, and the thought had burned a hole right through her.
It isn’t FAIR.
Of course it isn’t, my little pony. But what is?
Twilight hung her head. Of course Celestia’s voice was right. This was the right thing to do, perhaps the only right thing. She looked up again, meaning to get one last glimpse of her father before unleashing her magic, only to come face to face with him looking right back at her, his eyes wide in surprise.
Twilight yelped, stumbling backwards as the bolt lanced out from her horn unintentionally. She heard her father grunt as she fell to the floor, and a wave of instant regret and panic slammed into her.
“Kiddo?” Night Light asked, blearily.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it, I wasn’t really going to, I’m sorry!” Over and over again Twilight apologised in a cracked whisper through choked back sobs, knowing he wouldn’t even understand.
And now he was hugging her anyway, still warm from the bedcovers, and Twilight couldn’t stop crying like a little foal, no matter how many times her father told her it was alright, whatever it was, and everything was going to be okay.
***
The castle was even bigger than she could possibly have imagined, all imposing stone and towering archways. Everywhere they went everyone seemed impossibly busy, rushing around so quickly that Twilight was sure she would have been trampled underhoof were the little filly not nestled between her parents as they walked. All of this did little to calm the tightness in her stomach.
And as they approached the massive double doors they’d been directed to, her chest clenched almost painfully tightly. She couldn’t do this, there was no way she could. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t good enough, there was so much more she could have studied, there was-
Before she melted down completely, a hoof landed on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You holding up okay there, kiddo?”
Twilight nodded. Her father remained fully unconvinced.
“Hey Velvet, we’ll see you inside, okay?”
Velvet exchanged a concerned glance with her husband, before her expression softened in understanding. “Okay honey.”
As he mother disappeared through the doors, Night Light pulled Twilight into a quiet alcove. “Now, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes.”
“Because you look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”
Twilight shrank down into herself even more. “W-what?” She tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was so nervous that even she winced. “No, I’m fine. It’s only the most important thing that’s ever going to happen to me and I could just mess it up and never get into Celestia’s School and everyone will laugh at me and I’ll have to give up magic forever and-” Twilight caught herself, but the damage was already done.
But instead of being annoyed at her obvious lie, Night Light just smiled. “It’s okay to be nervous, Twilight. Anyone would be in your position.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“Maybe not, but I can promise you that you’ll be fine.”
Twilight scowled at the floor. “You don’t know that.”
“Of course I do. And you know what?” Her father’s hoof lifted her chin up to look at him. “It doesn’t even matter what I think, because you know you can do it too.”
“Huh?”
“You wouldn’t have come all this way otherwise, would you?” He moved closer to her ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “And between you and me, I think you’ve got a better shot than all the other foals put together.
“Why’s that?”
Her father pulled back, a wide grin on his face. “Because you’re my daughter, and I’ve seen how good you are. No matter what happens today, I’m proud of you kiddo, and your magic is going to take you so far.”
He gave her one last brief hug, and then together they walked through the doors, a pair of stoic-faced guards closing it behind them.
***
Night Light frowned at the pillow sitting between them, a black mark scorched into its covering where the magic had struck it.
“An inch closer…” He trailed off.
“I know,” said Twilight, staring numbly at her hooves. “I know, I know, it was stupid.”
“Would… would it have worked?” her father asked.
Twilight nodded. “I think so.”
Night Light said nothing.
They’d moved into a different, nearby bedroom, her father gently urging her to leave before she woke up Velvet. It hadn’t taken Twilight long to realise her wayward spell had missed its target. He still remembered, and in pure relief Twilight had broken down and told him everything.
Night Light’s expression was utterly inscrutable, staring intently at the retrieved pillow.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight repeated hollowly.
“I know you are,” he said. “But I still can’t believe a mare as smart as you could do something so stupid.”
His words stung, even more so because Twilight knew he was right.
“You can’t just magic all your problems away, kiddo. Nothing’s that simple.”
Now it was Twilight’s turn to say nothing, mollified.
“And this is too big to sweep under the rug like that. I don’t think you’d be able to bottle all this up again anyway, not anymore.”
There was a ‘but’ coming, Twilight could feel it. She knew what it would be, too: a final confirmation that the night they’d shared together would be a one time thing and nothing more, never spoken of again. And even though she hated it, Twilight had to agree with him. She’d already been prepared to throw it away, and now even though it still left a bitter taste in her mouth, she could accept it. It was already more than she deserved.
Night Light was clearly struggling to find the words, and so Twilight tried to speak for him. It was the least she could do.
“Dad, I think-”
“No.”
His interruption was so unexpected that Twilight immediately stopped talking.
“No,” he repeated, “let me finish.” Her father took a deep breath. “You were right, back then. That night.” And now he looked directly at her, their eyes meeting. “I didn’t want to stop you.”
Twilight blinked in surprise, her chest suddenly clenching tight.
“Or at least, not all of me wanted to. But that was enough to haunt me, Twilight. Enough to keep me up at night, wondering what was wrong with me.”
He reached out a hoof, gently touching it to Twilight’s face.
“I tried to put a stop to it before it got any further, I really did. But you were hurting so much, Twilight, and I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t mean to let it get this far.”
A pause, a long, trembling exhale.
“But now that it has, locking it away isn’t good for either of us.” He nodded at the burned pillow. “And at this rate, everyone’s going to notice.”
He shifted closer, so close that their muzzles were almost touching. Twilight had completely stopped breathing.
“I’ve been a terrible father,” he said, quietly.
“I think I’ve been a worse daughter,” Twilight answered and, despite everything, Night Light managed a pained laugh.
“Maybe we deserve each other,” he said, and the tightness in her chest twisted so hard it was almost painful. But it was a good kind of pain, the kind she never wanted to leave.
No. Celestia’s voice was harsh and firm. You were going to stop this, Twilight. This won’t help you.
Her father’s hoof reached up and brushed through her mane. “If you really still want this, Twilight, I’m here.”
Stop it, stop this, you’re only making it worse, you’re only going to-
Shut up.
This was a new voice. Calm and warm, so filled with authority that even Celestia was instantly silenced. Twilight didn’t struggle placing it. How could she not recognise Night Light?
She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t. Twilight had been so close to giving him up, to finally moving on, and a part of her still held tightly to that ideal, but now she knew it was impossible. Now his eyes had found hers, filled with… not eagerness, exactly, but at the very least willingness. Acceptance.
And the barest hint of excitement.
Still scarcely able to believe it, Twilight moved first, closing the gap between them and bringing him close for the inevitable kiss. He was still hesitant, giving the slightest, instinctive movement away as their lips touched, but Twilight soon banished his doubts by wrapping her hooves around him. His reservations melted away at her eagerness, sinking into Twilight’s embrace as a surge of triumph flooded her.
Celestia, what had she been thinking, trying to deny herself this? This was all she wanted – this, forever. Every touch lasted for an age, each press of his hoof seeming to remain on her skin long after it had moved away, burning into her memory, a hot flush filling her cheeks as he finally broke the kiss and pulled away, both of them needing to catch their breath.
Their next kiss was gentler but just as intense, and almost without really meaning to Twilight and her father found themselves at the foot of the bed, their momentum carrying them over and dropping onto it together, Night Light’s weight pressing down on her chest, holding her there as his lips brushed against her neck. It was far from uncomfortable, though; it felt right. Her stallion, laying her down and mounting her, asserting himself as her mate. This was what she had been waiting for, and only now did she realise what a poor imitation their previous encounter had been.
Now Night Light was the attentive lover that any mare would dream of, his kisses whispering against her fur, sending ripples of excitement down her back. His hoof gently working its way over her thigh, trailing up her leg, closer and closer. And when its torturously slow ascent reached its apex and brushed against her marehood, Twilight clutched him tighter, a harsh gasp escaping as they finally broke the kiss. She could feel the heat that had flooded her cheeks, filling the rest of her body too as his hoof strayed away again, that teasing touch as fleeting as it could be. Even Night Light’s face was flushed slightly, and he made no attempt to hide his mounting excitement as he pressed his lips to hers once more.
This, this is what it should have been like. No more reluctance, no more screwing his eyes tightly shut to avoid looking at her. Now Night Light wanted her, his desire obvious in the multitude of kisses he planted on her skin, in the way his hooves roamed over her flanks, squeezing and grasping, and every part of her body craved and delighted in his attentions. His length lay between them, hot and so stiff, twitching eagerly every time she moved beneath him and the fur of her stomach brushed against it. She’d do it intentionally just to get that reaction, but his touch was enough to make her squirm anyway.
And then he whispered in her ear; three words that made her already full heart threaten to burst.
“Are you ready?”
As if she wasn’t, as if she hadn’t been for all these months, dreaming of the time he would take her again. There weren’t even words in her vocabulary to describe just how ready she was, how desperate and wanting, and so Twilight simply nodded, biting her lip. A moment of fervent anticipation as he positioned himself, and then he was pushing into her, Twilight unable to stifle the moan as her father slid inside. And it was different this time. This was slow and tender and loving against the desperate rutting she’d taken from him before. Now he nuzzled against her, just as she did to him, and as he slowly thrust forward his hooves continued to play over every inch of her that they could reach and caress. Now his desire was as obvious as hers, and their bodies were on fire, and everywhere he touched burned.
And when their hips met, Twilight wrapped her hindlegs around him, silently pleading for him to stay there, to give her just a moment to try and collect her thoughts as he filled her so wonderfully. But Night Light refused, already pulling back as Twilight squeezed desperately around his length, her body begging him to remain buried inside her. He didn’t deny her for long, though, and soon he was pressing into her again, leaving her shuddering beneath him.
No hiding anymore. No more denial, or hesitation. Night Light’s eyes were wide open, and Twilight almost thought she could see her own face reflected in their lust-glazed surface, her mouth wide open, panting for breath as he thrust into her again and again. He had been hers, and now she was his as she had been the first time. His hooves were gripping her midriff so tightly that Twilight wondered if they might leave marks under her fur, and she didn’t care. Part of her hoped they would. They’d be reminders that this was real, because even now she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
But it was real, it had to be, because even in her most perfect fantasies Night Light hadn’t been so attentive, so passionate and receptive. Whenever he brushed against that wonderful spot inside her that made Twilight shudder and jolt, he’d adjust himself so that for the next few moments Twilight was assaulted over and over, all the while one of his hooves toying with her clit and turning Twilight into a quivering mess. And then – just as she could take it no more – he would ease off and return to his normal rhythm, giving Twilight just enough time to calm slightly before doing it all over again.
This was so much more than the savage rutting from both times before. This was making love, and the fact that it was her father above her simultaneously didn’t matter and was the most important thing in the world. What really mattered was that it was him, that it was Night Light, and nothing else.
Twilight remembered the blindfold, the hoofcuffs, the way they’d scuffed along the floor with each of her father’s thrusts. That was the last time he’d been this passionate, as lost in the moment as she was. But now even that seemed like a pale imitation as he bore down on her, his teeth gently grazing her neck with every other kiss, clutching her mane in his hooves, his length as hard as steel within her, each thrust driving deeper and deeper and pressing against her walls so perfectly, as though he was made to be there.
The air was rich with the smell of their lovemaking, thick with sweat and musk to the point that it made Twilight’s head spin. Every time he entered her she shook with delight and raw lust, and every time he pulled back he left her feeling so empty, clamping down around him to draw him back inside, begging him not to leave her again.
And now a weakness began to work its way up her hindlegs, bringing with it familiar twitches and a building excitement. She had to call out to him, partly to warn him how close she was, and partly because she still couldn’t believe her fantasy had finally been made real after being so ready to abandon it. Night Light. The stallion who had been there for her for so long was here for her now, in ways no-one would ever understand but them. She only had one name for him.
“Dad,” she breathed, barely more than a whisper.
In many ways, it was a final roll of the dice. One last test to see if he really wanted this as much as she did. Even though she hated it, Twilight half-expecting that to be too much for him, for him to stop and leave in disgust, muttering half-hearted apologies.
If anything he only grew more eager at her words, burying his muzzle against her neck with a groan. He was close now, she knew. His thrusts were shorter and quicker, and his tight grasp on her was beginning to slip. He let out a low grunt, and then…
“Twilight…” And now she knew for certain – it was for her.
It had always been for her.
Twilight’s orgasm hit her like a wall, her mind spiralling into a whirlwind mess of euphoria and love. Somewhere in the haze his kiss found her, the only thing still tethering her to reality as her body threatened to sweep her mind away completely, and she returned it eagerly even as she spasmed beneath him.
Night Light didn’t last much longer, giving one last, powerful thrust as he came deep inside her, the impossible heat that filled her waiting marehood only spurring her to greater and greater heights. And when at last her senses returned to her, Night Light was already lying beside her, breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
More kisses now as she snuggled into him, just like she’d done as a little filly, nestled safely in his hooves. She rolled over, her back to him, before sidling back into his warm embrace, Night Light draping a hoof over to rest against her stomach as he pulled her in tight.
Luna’s moon was almost full that night, and it shone brightly through the window at the exhausted lovers. The lanterns had long since died, forgotten and ignored, and Twilight felt like she could see every single star that sparkled in the black sky. The telltale sound of magic came from behind her, and the curtains were surrounded by a soft, blue glow.
“Don’t,” she murmured, and after a moment her father’s magic faded. “I want to look for a bit longer.”
She felt him shrug, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head as they lay there, stargazing together. His breathing had become a slow, calm rise and fall, and she could feel his heartbeat against her back.
For the first time in far too long, wrapped in pale moonlight and her father’s hooves, Twilight smiled.