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Chapter Text

Acheron has always wondered what would happen if someone were ever to access her memories. Having never met anyone capable of doing so, it seemed a fruitless thought experiment, yet her mind has always wandered back to that question. If someone could see the things she couldn't; sharpen those hazy memories into the clarity she had never been able to find.. what would they see? Each day she wakes up in a cold sweat, sometimes with fragments of a tortured dream, and sometimes with no remnants at all; but always with a deep, immovable sense of dread. If there were indeed someone who could pull back the curtain, would they feel it too?

The woman with sunset eyes is the first to try and find answers. “Beautiful Ranger”, she calls her; as though it is an intimate conversation, and not an interrogation. “What have you done?”, she asks.

Acheron cannot tell her the answer, though it seems she is more than capable of finding out for herself. Her encroaching gaze pierces right through Acheron, boring a hole between her eyes as she searches for what the Galaxy Ranger cannot find. The woman is beautiful, and carries a somewhat trustworthy air despite the fact that she clearly harbours ulterior motives. Acheron is familiar with silky smooth, candy-coated, calculated advances - yet she cannot help but think that if she had the answers to give, she would surrender them willingly to this beautiful Memokeeper.

She hears herself ask a question, though it's not out loud. Her mind reaches out to the Memokeeper’s, searching. ‘Excuse me’, it says, though Acheron is not consciously thinking to communicate the words. ‘Are you asking me?’

Those sunset eyes widen suddenly, and Acheron knows the woman has found something. Exactly what it is remains unclear, but though the woman's body continues to move in perfect sync with Acheron's, her eyes are hazy and her gaze is vacant, as if a million miles away. Acheron follows the steps as she has before, noting with some level of intrigue that the effortless flow of their bodies in tandem has not let up in the slightest, and while they move, she searches those brilliant eyes for something . She knows she will not receive a single answer until the Memokeeper can communicate with her again, yet she cannot help but wonder what she’s looking for, and what she's finding.

Who were those people she had asked about? Duke Inferno, The Annihilation Gang… The names prompt a small flicker of recognition, but nothing more. Is Acheron the one who had killed their leader, or is she merely a suspect? What reason would she have had to kill them? Who were they, and what threat did they pose? A million questions swim through her mind, untethered to answers or even a shred of context to ground them. Acheron can only hope that if this Memokeeper can indeed find answers to those questions, she will be benevolent enough to share some of the blessing of Remembrance.

The woman doesn't spend long locked away in Acheron's head - a minute, at most - yet as Acheron dips her low and watches her return to herself, it's clear that that minute has dragged her through hell. She looks at Acheron differently now, as if she no longer believes herself to be the predator, and Acheron the prey. Acheron is hardly surprised - after all, her memories wouldn't haunt her every day if they weren't haunting to begin with - but it's unnerving to see the calculated, in control demeanour give way to sheer horror. Her breaths come out ragged, shaking her whole body, and her mouth hangs open as if poised to scream. 

How do you seek answers from someone who's been able to peer inside your head and find things that are locked away from you, but has clearly suffered as a result? What do you say?

“Who… are the Annihilation Gang?”

It's clear in an instant that she's led with the wrong question. The Memokeeper rises, shakily, but as swiftly as possible, and stumbles out of Acheron's grasp, putting distance between the two of them immediately. “What.. What did you do to me?”

Acheron's heart falls. There will be no answers tonight, clearly. “I'm sorry”, she says, apologetic and fully meaning it, despite not having been able to see exactly what the woman experienced. “I’m not sure if you were told, and I wouldn't blame you if you find this hard to believe, but I.. cannot access my own memories. My mindscape is a domain sealed away even to me. I'm not sure why, nor have I ever known what would happen if someone were to pick the lock, so to speak. Clearly, it's… not good.”

“I was told, but I…” She is not hostile, thankfully, but there's still a clear apprehension in her body language, and she eyes Acheron with a degree of suspicion. “It's awfully convenient, that's all. Murder in secret, then happen to have no memory of it. How would anyone know they could trust you?”

Acheron sighs. “That's the million dollar question, isn't it? Look, I completely understand. I doubt I'd trust me in your position. The only way to verify though, is unfortunately, you or another Memokeeper going back in there - but of course, that's hardly an attractive idea.”

“I have to admit, I was cocky. I thought, if anyone could find what was lost, it would be me. And more than that, I thought I could handle whatever it was. But shamefully, the idea of going back scares the hell out of me. You were… well, I suppose it wasn't exactly you, but, whatever or whoever is in charge in there, was terrifying . It's maddening, honestly; I want to know, even more now than I did before, what your mind has locked away, but at the same time, I'm terrified of ever looking in there again.”

“Join the club”, Acheron chuckles ruefully. “I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again, but…” She sighs, resigned to hopelessness, yet taking her shot anyway. “I have a few questions, if you're feeling generous.”

The lavender haired woman pauses, contemplating. Acheron will take whatever is allowed to her, knowing full well that that may be nothing. After all, it would be perfectly fair for the seer to feel violated and distrustful, unwilling to answer any of Acheron’s questions about herself. But she takes in a shaky breath, and throws Acheron a bone. “Alright. I'll try to answer any questions you may have.”

Hope surges in Acheron's chest. “Wow, thank you. I appreciate it. I… I won't ask you to talk about whatever you saw in my memories just now, unless you'd like to. But, I'd like to know what it is you were seeking from me tonight. The background to the questions, at least, since the answers elude us both.” 

She gestures to the booth where the woman had first approached her, and when they reach it, the Memokeeper sinks into the plush seating wearily. It occurs to Acheron then that she'd never even learned the woman’s name. During their dance, she had told her of her role in the Garden of Recollection, and indirectly made her intentions to interrogate Acheron known, but throughout the process had dropped the information sparingly, treating her first as a stranger, only to later call her by her title of Ranger when zeroing in on her target. As a result, Acheron now knows less than nothing about a woman who has peered into her mind and come out scarred. “Is there a name I can call you, by the way? I imagine you know mine, given your awareness of who I am. But we kind of skipped the initial pleasantries.”

The woman smiles, the slightest hint of that initial gleam returning to her eyes. “I know your name, Acheron. As for mine, you may call me Black Swan.” 

Acheron nods. It's a little strange, and feels more like a title than an actual name, but then, that’s somewhat normal in Penacony. Besides, it fits her the same way her mysterious aura, mesmerising eyes and coy smile do. There’s no way someone this fascinating would wear a name any less so. No way Acheron would be drawn to anyone less intriguing.

Because it’s true, though she hates to admit it; she is drawn to her. In a way that extends beyond mere attraction, and beyond the evident seduction skills she possesses. It’s more that Acheron’s very being seems to call to her - a fact which leaves her more than a little caught out. They only just met, after all! And their meeting was under some pretty messed up circumstances. And yet… 

“So”, Black Swan starts, pulling Acheron out of her thoughts, “when I returned from that little.. field trip, so to speak, you asked me who the Annihilation Gang were. You don't have any memory of them? Even Duke Inferno, at least?”

Once again, the names trigger something, but it's not something she can even hope to identify. “I can tell there should be a memory attached to the names, but I can't grasp it. It's like that feeling when you have a word on the tip of your tongue, but the more you try to remember it the more it eludes you. In all honesty, that's what a lot of my fragmented memories are like. Close enough to chase, but never enough to actually reach.”

“Hmm.. Perhaps a visual will help. I think I saw him when I peered into your mind, so maybe there's enough there to unlock. This isn’t typically a method I would use first and foremost, but it’ll do.” Black Swan grabs her phone, pausing to find an image, and when she does, Acheron is pleased to find it actually does help. Although she's still unsure about her involvement with him and why she'd sought him out to kill, at the very least she has a visual to associate with the name.

“The horns… Yes, it's coming together a little more now. I just don't…” She sighs, frustrated with herself. “I'm sorry. This isn't helpful at all. Part of the reason I generally go it alone is so that my inconsistent memory isn't a burden on others the same way it is on me. But, well.. you sought me out, so I suppose it's not as if I put you in this position willingly.”

Black Swan smiles a small, almost pitying smile, and Acheron hates it. As much as she finds herself wanting to have a positive relationship with the Memokeeper, she doesn't want it to be formed out of pity, or for Black Swan to tread carefully around her. A part of Acheron misses the way she’d been before; sure of her goal and confident that she would reach it, and feeling fully in control of the situation. Anyone else might have responded with fear or indignation at being hunted like prey, but Acheron had found the hunter in Black Swan hopelessly entrancing. And now that the hunter is neither her, nor Acheron, but a third entity Acheron plays host to but cannot interact with, things feel unbalanced and wrong . 

“You're right”, Black Swan intrudes on her musings, bringing her focus back to centre. “I did seek you out, and I still wish to complete my task. But don't be frustrated with yourself on my account. I'm sure it's difficult enough to live your life with this, let alone actively trying to seek out memories you can't access for someone else's sake.”

Acheron's heart leaps to the woman before her. It's ridiculous, and probably more than a little fucked up, considering the events of their first meeting, but she has never been treated like this by anyone - at least, as far as she can remember. She does have some memories, as inconsistent as they are, but they mostly come in the form of feelings, and one of the most prominent ones that always sticks with her is the frustrated resignation of knowing it's become too hard for yet another person. She, as far as she knows at least, has never sought out companionship, for exactly this reason. She works independently, and keeps the details of her employer tattooed on the underside of her wrist, as that is the only way she can hope to be a reliable employee; yet even then can vaguely recall the exasperated sighs of colleagues and acquaintances, and the distinct feeling that her brain hinders more than her hands help. To have someone willing to be patient with her, even if it's for the sake of gathering intel for her own work, warms Acheron's heart. In a way, she's almost grateful that she may forget about this bewitching woman at some point, because there's little hope of ever being able to share more than this conversation with her, and she's confident that when it ends, it'll hurt .

“Can I ask you something?” Acheron asks cautiously. “Like I said earlier, you don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable. It's about what you saw.”

“Ask away”, Black Swan replies with a smile. “I think I can brave it.”

“You said ‘whoever’s in charge in there'. Was that an expression; an assumption that some other consciousness must be in control? Or did you actually see a person in my mind?”

“Oh, I saw someone, alright. You, but not quite. Your - well, her - hair was white, and every feature was the same, but lacking colour, save for a deep crimson in the eyes. The eyes were soulless, too, as if they could take whatever they liked without a care. Having spent some time with you now, it's clear that the you I'm interacting with is completely different from her, but she must be a part of you in some way.”

Acheron nods slowly. “That… makes sense. I suppose she is me in a way, although I would prefer not to think so. When I sleep, my hair turns white, and I sometimes wake with a memory of having seen her in my dreams. Occasionally I also see her when I'm trying to remember things, but it seems that only happens when whatever I'm looking for is important and intentionally being kept from me. When I'm trying to remember where my room is, for example, she's nowhere to be found. Kinda rude, if I’m being honest. She could at least do me that one solid.”

Black Swan laughs, a tinkling melody. “You know, you're quite cute when you're not a white-haired horror plucking and picking me apart and hunting me for sport.”

It surprises Acheron that Black Swan would flirt with her. It surprises her even more so that she can respond in kind, and easily so.

“First of all, that ‘white-haired horror' is not me, and second, I seem to recall you throwing a few compliments my way during our dance. Now if only I could remember the exact words you used… Would you enlighten me, beautiful Memokeeper?”

It's natural, as if they've been doing it for years. As if the deeply scarring events from earlier hadn't happened, as if their dance is continuing undisturbed. She likes it. A lot.

“Hmm.. I don't think I believe you. Nor do I want to indulge your ego. Aren't you supposed to have a memory problem, lovely Ranger?”

Acheron smiles. Lovely Ranger. “Okay, fair call. I promise it's not a case of selective memory. As far as I've been able to understand, it's more of a haziness that forms over the course of time. For example, the beginning of our night together is already starting to blur at the edges. But I keep notes in my phone for things that matter, which is how I've even managed to retain an understanding of how my memory fades.”

“Hmm. Smart. And this? Is tonight important enough to make it into the notes?”

“Please. Whatever I've retained when we part ways will be inscribed in history immediately. It's not every day you unintentionally subject a gorgeous woman to the Eldritch horrors that live in your mind, and get to keep enjoying the pleasure of her company afterwards.” 

“You”, Black Swan whispers, those eyes once again brilliantly aglow, “are incorrigible.” 

They talk for what feels like hours, and though Acheron can feel the threads slipping away from her with each passing moment, she is learning things about herself and her situation that she never would've been able to if it weren't for the Memokeeper. It's an absurd and painful kind of addiction that she feels welling up inside her, but, considering their unique situation it's hardly surprising. Eventually, Black Swan walks her to her room, and the childish reluctance for things to end takes root in her chest. It's over, after this. 

Except, apparently, it's not.

“Tomorrow, I'll come find you”, Black Swan says. 

Acheron blinks in surprise. “Really?”

“I won't lie and say this isn't somewhat transactional for both of us; I'm not completely without my own agenda here. But we both benefit from it, you in regaining some lost memories, and I in finding the answers I was sent to retrieve and for the fun of solving the mystery that is Acheron. And I think we can both agree that, transactional or not, we're having fun, no?”

Acheron's face warms, as does her heart. It's a strange arrangement, there's no doubt about that, but Acheron cares little for the details if they both walk away satisfied, especially if their attraction to each other is mutual.

“I would agree, yes.”

“Then it's settled, then. May I have your phone?”

Acheron hands it over and watches as Black Swan types out a few sentences of text. When she receives it back, it reads:

Black Swan

Don't you dare forget it.

And a number below.

“I'll be back here tomorrow”, she says. And then she's gone, leaving Acheron to smile like a teenage girl as she enters her hotel room and all but floats to her bed, immediately adding details to Black Swan’s note and saving her number so nothing in her mind can go to waste.

Black Swan. Hair like lavender, eyes like sunsets. Utterly captivating and utterly unforgettable. Memokeeper of the Garden of Recollection. Will be back to help you recover your memories.

The most beautiful woman you've ever met.

It's barely a conscious decision to reach between her thighs and indulge herself. Hours of barely-repressed desire are now free to be explored, and she is happy to oblige, attaching a memory to every caress. It's hurried, though she wishes it didn't have to be, and as the pressure builds in her core there's barely even a visual attached to the memories that guide her through her pleasure. But there's a feeling, a cocktail of lust and gratitude forming something purple and orange and warm; colours that now don't have a specific place or thing attached to them but feel perfectly right regardless. As Acheron climaxes, even the name of the woman who has captivated her no longer rests on her tongue.

But it's okay. Her phone rests beside her, ready and waiting to remind her of all she has forgotten. 

Black Swan , the note says. Acheron smiles.

She'll be back tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Black Swan is no stranger to a tortured soul. Hell, she could practically consider herself one; after all, pulling at threads of memories ranging from cathartic to utterly heartbreaking would leave anyone a little mentally altered. But she has never seen anything quite like Acheron’s situation. The woman is reserved - not shy or unconfident, simply used to flying solo - something Black Swan can relate to, though she quite enjoys the more intimate, one on one social interaction that comes with her line of work. She has always been fascinated by the inner workings of people's minds, and Acheron is no exception - if anything, she is the most fascinating case study yet, despite the inherent fear that comes with the thought of peering into her mind. In every possible way, Acheron has defied Black Swan's expectations, leaving her utterly lost.

She had never intended to form anything more than a once off connection with the mysterious Ranger. Black Swan is used to utilising her charm in situations like these and had at first considered this one to be no different. Approaching her for a dance had been a calculated decision - though one she would happily have seen through to the end if needed. (She has her own preferences when it comes to companionship, after all, and Acheron happens to check every box.) You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, as the saying goes, and Black Swan is happy to be honey for as long as she needs to in order to encourage her targets to lower their guard.

However, confidence often begets complacency, and for the brief moment that her own guard is down, Black Swan is picked up and thrown into a whirlwind of warring emotions, out of control and at the mercy of another. For someone so used to pulling the strings of any interaction, this is hardly a welcome experience.

And yet…

Black Swan cannot deny that the entire encounter has been mystifying in the best of ways. After all, being as fascinated with the human condition as she is, there is endless intrigue to be found in learning not only about Acheron but also herself, and all the change she is capable of. Because Black Swan has changed, and quite a lot in such a short time. It's rare for her to have something to ponder repeatedly, so used to the instant gratification of looking into a person's mind and instantly finding the answers she seeks. As such, no person ever holds her interest for too long, their mystique giving way to dull reality the moment she peers beyond the surface. But Acheron is endless mystery. Every question answered produces another, and every day spent with her leaves Black Swan eager for the next. No one has ever captured her attention like this before. 

But more than all of this, more than the intrigue and the attraction… Black Swan cares for Acheron. Try as she might to deny it, she does; more and more every day. And that's not exactly rare for her, but it's definitely rare that she allows it. Many assume her heart to be frozen over, but the truth is far more complex - it may not be cold and dark but it is desensitised; a result of deliberate efforts to preserve her own mental fortitude. To carry every piece of sorrow, guilt and anger she has ever found in others’ hearts would be her death sentence, condemning her to inescapable despair. A Memokeeper must compartmentalise. Yet when it comes to her, Black Swan cannot. 

She is not blessed with forgetting. Every frame of that glimpse into Acheron's memories is burned into her brain, and the knowledge that it is what Acheron dreams of every night is bone chilling. Black Swan wants to unravel it, if for no other reason than to free Acheron of it. 

A small, perhaps childlike part of her cannot help but think fate has brought them together. An enigma tortured by memories she cannot reach, whose only hope is someone who has built their life on the pursuit of memory; and a Memokeeper who has taken on the pain and suffering of many but never allowed herself to feel it all too deeply, finally finding someone her heart bleeds for? How could two people of such complementary natures not fit together like puzzle pieces? Surely, although it seems such a bold and grandiose statement to make, Black Swan was meant to find her. So although it may be out of character, over the top and honestly, a little embarrassing, she will continue to find her. Every day.

Another day comes, and she knocks on Acheron's door.

The woman Acheron is expecting knocks on her door. She does not know her, yet, at the same time, she does. She knows her name, her appearance and the reason for her visit, and she knows that she has grown to desire this woman more than she has ever desired anyone - but it is several other versions of her that know all this. Not this her. This version of her knows facts, and holds the feelings attached to them, yet every night must relearn the context that binds them together. 

At the very least, she has a starting point. “Black Swan, I believe?”

The woman smiles, and instantly Acheron knows why she would've wanted to commit the sight to memory. “Oh, darling, you have no idea how good it feels to know that you refresh your memory of me every time I come and see you.”

She is breathtaking and utterly enchanting as she moves through Acheron's days and nights, navigating her pieced-together memories and hastily written notes as though it's as natural as breathing. Acheron would have no idea how long they've been at this if it weren't for her beloved phone - almost a week, it seems. Her notes read like diary entries, outlining the events of each encounter and allowing her head to catch up to her impatient heart that begs to race ahead. If the fondness seeping into every memo is any indication, they grow closer with every meeting, and it seems Acheron isn’t the only one being pulled in by the invisible string that sits between them. Black Swan is forward and forthright in her interest, not just in unravelling Acheron's past, but also in unravelling Acheron herself. And though Acheron knows this had started as a mission, and that Black Swan will have to report what she learns, she will let her in to gather intelligence anyway. She is already far beyond being able to deny her.

Black Swan re-enters her mind tonight, for the first time since their first engagement. It's something they've been discussing carefully, as it brings them both more than a little apprehension and discomfort, but Black Swan is more than willing to brave it for both their sakes. “All I ask”, she says, “is that we repeat history. A dance, beautiful Ranger.” Acheron is happy to oblige.

They dance in the somewhat-confined space of the hotel room, and at some point in the process, Black Swan pauses to make purposeful eye contact with Acheron, silently asking permission. Acheron nods, and with that, Black Swan closes her eyes, an indicator she is entering Acheron’s mind once again. Just as before, her body continues to move in sync with Acheron's, entirely undisturbed, eyes closed and expression serene as though she's traipsing through a pleasant dreamscape. If it weren’t for their first encounter and the conversations they’ve shared about it since, Acheron would have no reason to believe she is in any discomfort. Yet the first time had been misleading, too - up until the moment she saw the horror in Black Swan’s eyes, Acheron had been none the wiser. She won’t make the mistake of assuming the best this time.

She wonders what Black Swan is seeing. Is she being tortured in the same way as before? Has the other her inside her head welcomed Black Swan in this time, or is she fighting that same resistance? If she’s been able to access Acheron’s memories, what is she finding? The curiosity tugs at her as she sways and turns through the hotel room, twirling Black Swan in her arms. But when she dips her low and pulls her back up only to find that her eyes have opened and a single tear rolls down her cheek, curiosity gives way to fear.

“What is it?” Acheron asks, hesitant. She hopes and prays to any power that may listen that whatever Black Swan has seen is not enough to make her say goodbye and put an end to this beautiful dream.

“It's silly, because you don't remember it”, Black Swan says, wiping the tear away, “but I see the things you've been through, and my heart bleeds for you.”

Acheron does not know the version of Black Swan whose gaze has evolved from lustful to fond, who has sought her out every night not merely to help her but also out of sheer desire to be in her company, who yearns for her and cares for her intimately and sincerely. Acheron barely even has an accurate name for her own feelings, or the way they feel foreign due to her memories yet completely right to her heart. She does not know what to make of their strange relationship at all, to be honest.

Yet she cannot help it; she has to kiss her.

Black Swan meets her approach with enthusiastic reciprocity, hands moving to caress Acheron's face. In turn, Acheron lets her touch fall onto Black Swan’s waist, relishing in the feel of every curve. A tongue runs along her bottom lip and she is keen to grant it entrance, and within moments the pair’s lips and hands have migrated all over each other's bodies. In a sudden flash of painful clarity, Acheron pulls away. “Wait-”

She most likely won’t remember this.

She needs to remember this.

As if still in her mind, Black Swan understands immediately. Leading Acheron over to the back of the hotel room, she takes out her phone and sets it up on a nearby surface to face the bed. “Will this do?”, she asks.

It's perhaps the simplest technique a Memokeeper has ever employed to preserve a memory, and the thought almost makes Acheron laugh - but the intent behind it, to not let a single moment go uncaptured, leaves her once again in shock and awe to be cared for in such a way. Surely, she must be the luckiest person in all the world.

“Yes, absolutely”, she breathes.

Black Swan takes her time. She positions herself behind Acheron with the two of them facing the camera, putting on a show for Acheron to watch later when time has taken the experience from her. Her hands roam all over Acheron’s body, removing items of clothing at a tantalisingly slow pace, and her lips and tongue follow suit, ghosting over the shell of her ear, her jawline, her shoulder; anywhere she can place featherlight touches to send Acheron’s pulse going haywire. Her every movement leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and Acheron barely has a moment to feel self conscious about filming a heated embrace like this, embarrassment giving way to pleasure in an instant.

Her eyes flutter closed as her head falls back, and she savours every tender touch Black Swan deigns to give her. 

“Hmm, pretty”, she hears Black Swan say. She opens her eyes just in time to watch the ends of her hair shift back to their usual deep purple as Black Swan twirls a few strands between her fingers. 

“It doesn't.. make you uncomfortable?” Acheron asks tentatively.

“What, because of her ?”, Black Swan laughs softly. “No need to worry. I don't scare that easily. I'll admit, I did the first time. But knowing what to expect made her far less intimidating the second time around. Now, enough about her.. my focus is on you, and you alone.”

Black Swan resumes her soft caresses, instantly re-orienting Acheron into the moment. Her upper body, now unclothed and exposed, jolts at the agonisingly soft drag of gloved fingers tracing the contours of her waist and stomach and travelling up to cup her breast. Black Swan’s left hand mirrors her right, and skillful fingers trace circles over Acheron’s already hard nipples, all while her mouth sucks and bites at the juncture between Acheron’s neck and shoulder. Acheron can hardly breathe. Who would’ve known a lover’s touch could do so much?

She barely registers herself becoming vocal, soft sighs and moans of pleasure giving her feelings away. “Oh, darling”, Black Swan all but coos, “I’ve barely even started and you’re already making such pretty sounds. Surely you don’t think this is as good as it gets, do you?”

Her sultry voice alone is enough to drag another moan out of Acheron’s mouth, but when Black Swan twirls her around as if they’re still in a dance and pins her against the wall to lick and suck at her chest, it’s all Acheron can do not to cry out. 

The wall is covered with old TV screens that hum and flicker softly behind her, yet Acheron is pleasantly surprised to find the screen her back is pressed against isn’t painfully hot, merely a comfortable warmth on her skin. Is it mere luck, or had Black Swan even accounted for a detail as specific as this? 

They stand side-on to the camera now, as if this expert Memokeeper really is crafting this memory down to the very last detail so that Acheron won’t miss a thing. She finds herself briefly fixated on that thought, but her concentration is swiftly broken by Black Swan attending to every sensitive spot on her body. One hand expertly teases a nipple, with the other occupied by her masterful tongue, and her free hand snakes down beneath Acheron's shorts and underwear to reach for the spot that needs her touch most. A ragged, shaky breath tears itself from Acheron's throat as Black Swan’s fingers make contact, and she is powerless to stop the gasps that follow as those deft fingertips circle and rub and flick and tease with practised technique. 

As expected, Black Swan is a master at finding the exact touch Acheron craves without her even needing to put it into words. Her pace is measured as she teases Acheron’s clit, fast enough to quicken her pulse but not so fast that she sends her over the edge too early. All the while, her mouth and right hand don’t let up, biting and sucking and squeezing and teasing till Acheron is writhing and clenching her thighs, desperate for more. She needs more.

Black Swan senses her mounting desperation and pauses a moment, pulling away to shake her head.

“Patience, darling. We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

But her laboured breaths betray her. She wants this, too.

This knowledge makes Acheron bold. She sneaks two fingers beneath Black Swan’s collar to press softly at her pulse point. Just as she thought. She leans down and kisses that same spot, pulling away ever so slightly to trail more lingering, open kisses against the bare skin of her collarbone just below the fabric.

“Something tells me, beautiful Memokeeper”, she says, allowing her breath to ghost over Black Swan’s skin with each word, “that you’re struggling with patience just as much as I am.”

“Hmm, cute.” A finger at her chin, and Black Swan has Acheron at her mercy yet again. She steps in somehow closer, chest pressed against Acheron’s, and looks at her through long lashes. “But you forget; I’m the one who holds the cards here. And I think I’ve got you all figured out by now. In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could get you to the finish line with this alone.”

Their silhouettes blur together as Black Swan presses herself flush against Acheron’s torso, blinking those dazzling eyes up at her once again as she sinks to a kneel at her feet. The anticipation alone is enough to make Acheron spiral, but the longing clouding Black Swan’s warm gaze is something else entirely. To have all these signs, for it to be so abundantly clear that their attraction is shared; it causes something to soar within her. This isn’t some kind of twisted favour, this isn’t work.. This is two people with ambiguous yet intense feelings, and a strong desire to be close to one another. This is affection returned.

“Now… are you ready, baby?”

Black Swan is still an utter tease. Slowly, delicately, she lifts each of Acheron’s legs one by one to remove her shoes, kissing from ankle to thigh. She pulls Acheron's shorts and underwear down at the same painfully slow pace, taking extra care to lightly brush against every inch of Acheron’s skin with the soft caress of velvet gloved fingers. She lifts Acheron’s left leg to hook it over her shoulder and then finally, finally , her hands come to rest on Acheron’s thighs, gripping as she dives in to savour her. The first press of her tongue against Acheron’s aching, sensitive heat is almost enough to make her right leg give out, but she stabilises and weaves her hands through Black Swan’s hair to ground her as her eyes screw shut and cries of pleasure fall from her lips. 

Black Swan’s lips and tongue are artful and exploratory in their movements, lapping up Acheron’s slick, sucking at her clit and teasingly tracing the slit at her entrance, but never does she grant her the release of entering in. She still intends to test Acheron’s patience every step of the way, and Acheron would be a damn liar if she said it wasn’t working. Her chest heaves as she fights for breath through the heady rush, and she can feel herself starting to slip against the wall, yet Black Swan is still relentless.

“Please, I-”

Black Swan pauses, looking up. “I said patience, didn’t I?”

“Haven’t I been patient?” She’s downright whining , something Acheron never thought she’d do in all her years. But if anyone was going to bring out a desperation in her, it would be this woman. 

“Hmm, didn’t take you for the bratty type. But I can work with that.” Just to prove her point, she slows down her movements all together, tongue tracing Acheron’s skin with the barest touch. Then she even has the audacity to blow against Acheron’s wet folds, drawing the most desperate moan from her lips and causing her whole body to shiver.

“God, please , Swan, I-”

Black Swan stops abruptly. 

“Sorry, was that weird?” Acheron panics. “It just slipped out, I-”

“Say it again..”

Acheron looks down at Black Swan to find something different , but most definitely pleased, in her eyes. She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Swan. Please..”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please, please , fuck me.”

“With pleasure.”

When they’re both standing again, Acheron wastes no time helping Black Swan remove her clothes. (Although she simply can’t resist pausing to kiss at every bit of skin now exposed to her. She’s only human, after all.)

Black Swan pushes Acheron onto the bed the moment they’re both fully naked, immediately climbing on to hover over her with her thigh pressed right up against Acheron’s crotch. Then she pauses, seemingly taking in the sight of Acheron below her. “I think I could get used to this sight”, she says, smiling fondly even as her eyes rake up and down Acheron’s body without shame.

“I could say the same”, Acheron says with a smile, marveling at the way Black Swan’s eyes seem to glow in the dim light, and the softness of her hair as it falls all around her and tickles Acheron’s skin. “It’s like I’m looking at the sun.”

Black Swan merely laughs and looks away, but there’s a flush to her cheeks that wasn’t present a moment ago. Emboldened by the knowledge that she can cause such a reaction, Acheron caresses the back of Black Swan’s neck and brings her in to suck a bruising mark at the same pulse point she’d kissed earlier.

Black Swan melts into it for a moment, but all too soon seems to remember her mission, pulling away to kiss Acheron’s earlobe and tug at it with her teeth, sharp enough to draw out a high pitched whine. She doesn’t have to say anything; they both know she’s in control. Seemingly inspired by Acheron’s actions, she marks up her entire neck and chest with hickeys and bite marks, all the while pressing her thigh in even closer where it sits right in the sweet spot between Acheron’s legs. Her right hand pins both of Acheron’s together on the pillow above her head, and her left hand travels down her torso, coming to a stop where it had earlier, right above her clit.

“I’m not gonna be as gentle this time around”, she warns, half teasing and half genuinely preparing Acheron. “Think you can handle it?”

Acheron merely nods, words gone as need takes over. Black Swan hums, tracing the ultra-sensitive skin with a fingernail, then rapidly pushing a finger deep inside her and pressing hard . Acheron gasps, back arching at the sudden and intense pressure and immediately Black Swan lets up the slightest bit, getting in her space to touch their foreheads together and check in with her. “Still all good, or too much?”, she asks sincerely.

“Good”, Acheron affirms hurriedly, nodding as her chest heaves. “ Definitely good. Don’t stop.”

“Very well then, as you wish, my love.” The endearment sends butterflies scattering in her stomach, but then something shifts in Black Swan’s expression now that she knows Acheron is comfortable, and it’s almost sinister. 

Oh, fuck , Acheron thinks. Am I ready for this?

Black Swan sets a brutal pace. Pumping in and out with one finger, then two, she reaches in deep with every thrust, hooking her fingers up in exactly the right way to make Acheron’s toes curl. All the while, she grinds her own heat against Acheron’s thigh, breathing heavily in tandem with Acheron’s heaving gasps for air. If it were any other night, Acheron may have fought harder for dominance, but if Black Swan’s reactions to all of Acheron’s attempts to do so are any indication, she fully intends to make tonight all about pleasing her and will not accept a role reversal. And in all honesty, Acheron doesn’t mind being solely catered to for a night. It’s clear Black Swan is receiving just as much pleasure from pleasing her as Acheron is from being pleased. They can compete to see who comes out on top another day. For now, Acheron is content to let the master work.

And work she does. She takes note of all Acheron’s moans and whines and gasps and adapts to every reaction, fingers still filling her up, thumb circling her clit for added stimulation that has her grasping the pillow beneath her for something to anchor her. Acheron can feel the pressure building, twisting tighter in her gut, and she knows she won’t be able to hold on much longer.

“I’m close, Swan, I’m so close-” Desperation colours her voice; makes her beg for release as her breathing quickens and her heart hammers rapidly in her chest.

“I know, baby”, Black Swan purrs, never letting up in her movements even as her own breathing starts to stutter. Her flushed cheeks tell Acheron she too is close, driven to the brink by nothing more than the act of fucking her into oblivion, and something about that drives Acheron so wild that it’s the last push her body needs to send that building pleasure higher and higher till it hits its peak ―

“Swan, I’m-!”

The dam breaks. Pleasure burns through her as she gasps through a rippling orgasm, still shaking and grinding on Black Swan’s fingers as she rides out the high. With her memories being as displaced as they are, it’s tough to say whether or not this is her first time, but she has to believe that surely, in all her years, if she’d ever felt pleasure like this, it would be etched permanently into her memory. Black Swan removes her fingers from inside Acheron and licks her spend clean off them, which proves to be far too much for Acheron still in the midst of her orgasm. The high, needy, loud cry the action elicits from Acheron is Black Swan’s final undoing - she grinds feverishly against Acheron’s thigh now, finally losing control and becoming more vocal than she has all night as pleasure takes its hold on her too. The pair shake through their releases, Black Swan falling onto Acheron, suddenly weak with the loss of adrenaline. Acheron wraps her arms around Black Swan’s waist and pulls her in close, and slowly but surely, their breaths slow and their bodies relax together.

“You know”, Black Swan says, when they’re both a little more calm, “believe it or not, I’ve never done that before.”

Acheron raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific; if you’re telling me you’ve never had sex before there is absolutely no way I’m believing that.”

“No, no!” Black Swan laughs. “I mean, I’ve never gotten off just from getting someone else off. Ever. I honestly didn’t think it was possible until tonight.”

“Must be a sign”, Acheron replies, uncharacteristically bold, though her heart betrays her fear. She doesn’t finish the sentence, not quite brave enough to openly imply that fate might have brought them together, but she thinks Black Swan might just get what’s unsaid anyway, and she hopes against hope that she’ll agree with the sentiment.

Black Swan hums. “I’ll take it”, is all she says in reply before burrowing into Acheron’s chest and making herself comfortable there. It’s a casual agreement, in keeping with Acheron’s casual implication, but it feels like their hearts are committing together to words they cannot yet verbalise. 

“You getting sleepy?”, Acheron asks in responses to Black Swan’s casual cuddling. She’s hoping that even if they have things to figure out in the morning, they can at least find comfort and rest with each other for the night.

“Mmmm”, Black Swan mumbles drowsily. “Can I stay here tonight? Too tired to get up and walk back to my room.” 

“Of course”, Acheron laughs. Whether it’s truth or an excuse doesn’t matter to her; getting to fall asleep and wake up with the woman who has completely captured her heart and is helping her take steps to repair her mind is more than she could ever have asked for. She knows, realistically, that even if they’re on the same page about wanting to be together, they’ll still have obstacles to deal with - neither of them live stationary lifestyles and as a result may miss each other more often than they see each other. Plus, Acheron barely even knows what the Garden of Recollection stands for or what they’re trying to do. There could come a day where the two of them are forced to stand as opponents, not as allies. But it all seems inconsequential to her. She’s found something worth holding onto, here - she knows she has. And for as long as she can grasp it, she’ll hold it tight.

Sleep comes naturally and comfortably to Acheron for the first time in years, as do pleasant dreams; a rare occurrence for her. Whether they’re due to the Memokeeper’s interference or to the sheer influence of her company, she won’t know until she wakes up. But she savours every last bit of it. And when morning comes, and she opens her eyes to find someone in her arms for the first time in her life (probably), it’s hard to believe she’s not still dreaming.

“Morning, Swan”, she says, fondly and naturally as if they’ve been doing this for years. 

“Morning, my love”, Black Swan replies.