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lovesickies) wrote2026-09-05 01:56 pm
lovesickies) wrote2026-09-05 01:56 pm
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femslashfete Fic: don't forget (Limbus Company)
Title: don't forget [AO3/Sunset]
Fandom: Limbus Company
Ship: Outis/Rodion
Prompt: Amnesty 11/#109 - Support
Rating: T
Scope/Length: 1343 words
Warnings: Allusions to cheating
Summary: Outis notices a change in Rodion's usual behavior. She neglects to remember falling asleep before Rodion the night before, and what her nightmares could've revealed to her.
Rodion’s looking at Outis a bit differently, today.
As much as Outis loathes to admit it to herself (to say nothing of admitting it to Rodion), Outis is with her often. Or rather, Rodion is always with Outis. Tagging along to Outis’ quarters when Outis stays up a little too late, telling her it’s bad for a babushka’s health to stay up at her old age. (She’s only fifty-one). Close enough that Outis knows all of Rodion’s favorite foods, and sometimes traverses the Backstreets whenever the bus is traveling to pick them up for her, grumbling in the face of Rodion’s beaming smile. Close enough that Outis can smell when Rodion’s shampoo has changed because the district they’re in doesn’t carry her preferred fragrance.
Rodion’s so attached to her, in fact, that she stays in Outis’ room, sometimes, when night falls and it’s time to sleep. Outis has, more or less, some control over the way her room on the bus appears to the others: a military barracks, clinically orderly, with little memorabilia or identifying factors. It’s nearly identical to the way Outis remembers it being when she served, save for pictures of a woman far too personal to ever reveal to one of her bumbling co-workers.
A co-worker. That’s all Rodion is. Persistent and a thorn in her side, using her body (curves, soft in the chest and in the hips and thighs, her stomach adorned with gentle rolls) to persuade Outis in ways only █████ ever could. Using her body, her smile, her laugh, the gentle way Rodion’s fingers dance up Outis’ biceps when both their clothes are off, and it’s just them.
That’s all it is. That’s why Outis is sensitive to change in her.
“You,” Outis tells her. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“Who, me?” Rodion asks, wiping her lips over with makeup remover. They’re in Outis’ room again, naturally, because Rodion says her room’s too cold, like ice. Outis thinks back to the frozen castle in J Corp, and somehow understands underneath the irritation. “Whadya mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Outis huffs, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “You’re smarter than you look… as much as I loathe to admit it.”
“Awwh, Outie! And here I always thought compliments might kill you,” Rodion teases, placing the little wet pad of fabric into a small, fashionable box, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “But, geez… ‘loathe to admit’? I really am just some bimbo to you, huh.”
“I just said the complete opposite,” Outis grits. “Now then, stop avoiding the subject, will you?”
Rodion stretches with a little whine of pleasure, arms above her head, clearly continuing to avoid Outis’ inquiry. Her breasts, full and plush, hang towards her belly without a bra to support them. Outis doesn’t have it in her to be particularly titulated by the image due to the irritation.
“Mm… yeah… but what if we don’t?” Rodion looks away, blue gaze meeting one of Outis’ room’s empty corners. “I didn’t mean to act weird, Outie, I just—for your own good, maybe you should drop it, yeah?”
Outis blinks, genuinely surprised if not a bit worried. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… uhhh, gosh, how do I say this. Sorry, that sounded worse than I wanted it to. S’just… you’re a private person, right? That’s why your room’s like this. All military and prim and proper and clean. Mine’s as cold as ice, but yours is cold in a different way. Like… just empty. Makes me think you don’t want me to know things. Which is fine.”
“And where are you getting with this?” Outis snaps without particularly meaning to. Rodion isn’t stupid and neither is Outis. She knows that Rodion has heard, or seen something that Outis hasn’t wanted her, or anyone else, to. Her watch is broken, so there’s nothing to find there, and her pocket watch with the picture inside (tender brown eyes and chestnut hair, a smile, a baby in her arms) is—it should’ve disappeared with the room. “Rodion.”
“Outis.” Rodion reaches out and grabs at the top of Outis’ hand. Her touch is warm. How could Rodion’s room be so cold, when her hand is so very warm? Outis realizes that her heart’s beating a bit quicker than usual and she feels humiliated. Thick eyebrows furrow at Rodion, resisting the urge even now to pull away from her. But she stays, and so Rodion takes that as a cue to continue. “A name. You said it in your sleep. I’m sorry. Y’know I can’t sleep sometimes either, and you just happened to fall asleep before me this time… I’m real sorry. I won’t ask questions, promise. I just—I’ll pretend like it never happened, ‘kay? I’ll forget about it.”
The name, though unspoken, hangs heavy between them. Spoken in nightmare, the only place Outis has no control over, and Rodion has heard. Rodion, who is not supposed to worry her pretty head over anything that matters. Rodion, who is only a co-worker: a burden, a thorn.
Outis imagines, then, the many ways this can play out for them: pushing Rodion down onto the barracks mattress. Choking her until Dante has to rewind the clock for them, so that she cannot tell anyone else. Kissing her hard enough to bruise, to shut her up. Loving her. Thanking her.
It’s the last one that surprises Outis most.
Rodion has promised Outis to forget all about her; to pretend this never happened. To erase the name, and the woman Outis (Odysseus?) loves so much, and Outis realizes all at once that she does not want that to happen.
She does not want Rodion to forget about her.
Outis pulls away from Rodion’s hand. Rodion flinches, a little, like she thinks Outis might do all those things she thought about—hit her, choke her. Maybe she’s most afraid to be kissed.
Outis’ hand touches the clammy nape of Rodion’s neck, and pulls her close enough that their mouths nearly touch. Close enough that Outis can smell that changed shampoo again, the faint chemical sweetness of makeup remover, and the living heat of another body that has no right to be this near.
Rodion’s breath catches. “Is this to shut me up?” She chuckles, a little nervously. “I already told ‘ya, Outie, I’ll forget—”
“No.” Outis’ voice is low enough that it’s almost lost against the soft line of Rodion’s mouth. “It’s a thank you. Don’t forget her.”
Rodion’s lashes flutter. The blue of her eyes is very close, curious in how she looks up at Outis. “And you won’t tell me more, either?”
“No.”
Outis’ word is final enough for them both, and so, without another word, she closes the last fraction of distance between them with a kiss. When they pull away from one another, Rodion’s already pink in the face—hand curling into Outis’ shirt to pull her closer. Outis crawls on top of her, pulling her in for another kiss, hungrier this time.
What a shameless, terrible woman. Shouldn’t she know, now, that Outis has another waiting for her? Another that she loves? Unlike earlier, she can no longer read what is reflected in Rodion’s gaze.
“Mmm. You’re so difficult… you know that?” Rodion tells her, kissing at the wrinkle at the corner of Outis’ mouth when she pulls away. “I never know what to do with you.”
Rodion leans in again. Her tongue traces the seam of Outis’ lower lip, pressing closer. Her pillowy breasts flatten against Outis’ chest; the heat of skin on skin is sudden and undeniable as Rodion works to undress her.
Rodion’s breath ghosts across her mouth as she rasps: “I promise. I won’t forget her. I won’t forget Penelope,” she finally speaks aloud. Outis pins Rodion down by her hands, grinding her lower-half into her as her shirt comes off, and Rodion’s nightgown slides down, and—
When Outis wakes up the next day with Rodion beside her, she’s no longer sure she can call this, this twisted and foul relationship, nothing.
Fandom: Limbus Company
Ship: Outis/Rodion
Prompt: Amnesty 11/#109 - Support
Rating: T
Scope/Length: 1343 words
Warnings: Allusions to cheating
Summary: Outis notices a change in Rodion's usual behavior. She neglects to remember falling asleep before Rodion the night before, and what her nightmares could've revealed to her.
Rodion’s looking at Outis a bit differently, today.
As much as Outis loathes to admit it to herself (to say nothing of admitting it to Rodion), Outis is with her often. Or rather, Rodion is always with Outis. Tagging along to Outis’ quarters when Outis stays up a little too late, telling her it’s bad for a babushka’s health to stay up at her old age. (She’s only fifty-one). Close enough that Outis knows all of Rodion’s favorite foods, and sometimes traverses the Backstreets whenever the bus is traveling to pick them up for her, grumbling in the face of Rodion’s beaming smile. Close enough that Outis can smell when Rodion’s shampoo has changed because the district they’re in doesn’t carry her preferred fragrance.
Rodion’s so attached to her, in fact, that she stays in Outis’ room, sometimes, when night falls and it’s time to sleep. Outis has, more or less, some control over the way her room on the bus appears to the others: a military barracks, clinically orderly, with little memorabilia or identifying factors. It’s nearly identical to the way Outis remembers it being when she served, save for pictures of a woman far too personal to ever reveal to one of her bumbling co-workers.
A co-worker. That’s all Rodion is. Persistent and a thorn in her side, using her body (curves, soft in the chest and in the hips and thighs, her stomach adorned with gentle rolls) to persuade Outis in ways only █████ ever could. Using her body, her smile, her laugh, the gentle way Rodion’s fingers dance up Outis’ biceps when both their clothes are off, and it’s just them.
That’s all it is. That’s why Outis is sensitive to change in her.
“You,” Outis tells her. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“Who, me?” Rodion asks, wiping her lips over with makeup remover. They’re in Outis’ room again, naturally, because Rodion says her room’s too cold, like ice. Outis thinks back to the frozen castle in J Corp, and somehow understands underneath the irritation. “Whadya mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Outis huffs, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “You’re smarter than you look… as much as I loathe to admit it.”
“Awwh, Outie! And here I always thought compliments might kill you,” Rodion teases, placing the little wet pad of fabric into a small, fashionable box, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “But, geez… ‘loathe to admit’? I really am just some bimbo to you, huh.”
“I just said the complete opposite,” Outis grits. “Now then, stop avoiding the subject, will you?”
Rodion stretches with a little whine of pleasure, arms above her head, clearly continuing to avoid Outis’ inquiry. Her breasts, full and plush, hang towards her belly without a bra to support them. Outis doesn’t have it in her to be particularly titulated by the image due to the irritation.
“Mm… yeah… but what if we don’t?” Rodion looks away, blue gaze meeting one of Outis’ room’s empty corners. “I didn’t mean to act weird, Outie, I just—for your own good, maybe you should drop it, yeah?”
Outis blinks, genuinely surprised if not a bit worried. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… uhhh, gosh, how do I say this. Sorry, that sounded worse than I wanted it to. S’just… you’re a private person, right? That’s why your room’s like this. All military and prim and proper and clean. Mine’s as cold as ice, but yours is cold in a different way. Like… just empty. Makes me think you don’t want me to know things. Which is fine.”
“And where are you getting with this?” Outis snaps without particularly meaning to. Rodion isn’t stupid and neither is Outis. She knows that Rodion has heard, or seen something that Outis hasn’t wanted her, or anyone else, to. Her watch is broken, so there’s nothing to find there, and her pocket watch with the picture inside (tender brown eyes and chestnut hair, a smile, a baby in her arms) is—it should’ve disappeared with the room. “Rodion.”
“Outis.” Rodion reaches out and grabs at the top of Outis’ hand. Her touch is warm. How could Rodion’s room be so cold, when her hand is so very warm? Outis realizes that her heart’s beating a bit quicker than usual and she feels humiliated. Thick eyebrows furrow at Rodion, resisting the urge even now to pull away from her. But she stays, and so Rodion takes that as a cue to continue. “A name. You said it in your sleep. I’m sorry. Y’know I can’t sleep sometimes either, and you just happened to fall asleep before me this time… I’m real sorry. I won’t ask questions, promise. I just—I’ll pretend like it never happened, ‘kay? I’ll forget about it.”
The name, though unspoken, hangs heavy between them. Spoken in nightmare, the only place Outis has no control over, and Rodion has heard. Rodion, who is not supposed to worry her pretty head over anything that matters. Rodion, who is only a co-worker: a burden, a thorn.
Outis imagines, then, the many ways this can play out for them: pushing Rodion down onto the barracks mattress. Choking her until Dante has to rewind the clock for them, so that she cannot tell anyone else. Kissing her hard enough to bruise, to shut her up. Loving her. Thanking her.
It’s the last one that surprises Outis most.
Rodion has promised Outis to forget all about her; to pretend this never happened. To erase the name, and the woman Outis (Odysseus?) loves so much, and Outis realizes all at once that she does not want that to happen.
She does not want Rodion to forget about her.
Outis pulls away from Rodion’s hand. Rodion flinches, a little, like she thinks Outis might do all those things she thought about—hit her, choke her. Maybe she’s most afraid to be kissed.
Outis’ hand touches the clammy nape of Rodion’s neck, and pulls her close enough that their mouths nearly touch. Close enough that Outis can smell that changed shampoo again, the faint chemical sweetness of makeup remover, and the living heat of another body that has no right to be this near.
Rodion’s breath catches. “Is this to shut me up?” She chuckles, a little nervously. “I already told ‘ya, Outie, I’ll forget—”
“No.” Outis’ voice is low enough that it’s almost lost against the soft line of Rodion’s mouth. “It’s a thank you. Don’t forget her.”
Rodion’s lashes flutter. The blue of her eyes is very close, curious in how she looks up at Outis. “And you won’t tell me more, either?”
“No.”
Outis’ word is final enough for them both, and so, without another word, she closes the last fraction of distance between them with a kiss. When they pull away from one another, Rodion’s already pink in the face—hand curling into Outis’ shirt to pull her closer. Outis crawls on top of her, pulling her in for another kiss, hungrier this time.
What a shameless, terrible woman. Shouldn’t she know, now, that Outis has another waiting for her? Another that she loves? Unlike earlier, she can no longer read what is reflected in Rodion’s gaze.
“Mmm. You’re so difficult… you know that?” Rodion tells her, kissing at the wrinkle at the corner of Outis’ mouth when she pulls away. “I never know what to do with you.”
Rodion leans in again. Her tongue traces the seam of Outis’ lower lip, pressing closer. Her pillowy breasts flatten against Outis’ chest; the heat of skin on skin is sudden and undeniable as Rodion works to undress her.
Rodion’s breath ghosts across her mouth as she rasps: “I promise. I won’t forget her. I won’t forget Penelope,” she finally speaks aloud. Outis pins Rodion down by her hands, grinding her lower-half into her as her shirt comes off, and Rodion’s nightgown slides down, and—
When Outis wakes up the next day with Rodion beside her, she’s no longer sure she can call this, this twisted and foul relationship, nothing.