crimson-lair

[crimson-lair]

coming back just to announce that this game will be released on steam soon 😌

Found a new unreleased visual novel GL game with handsome women which means butches✨.. but IT'S KOREAN AND I UNDERSTAND NOTHING

[crimson-lair]

[crimson-lair]

Since Cinnabar is also one of my favorite Sinners as well, I want to ask you this question (not a request); do you think Cinnabar is an equestrian / horse girl? I personally do think she's one in my opinion. Cinnabar would be so gentle with horses & she would definitely take you out on a horseback riding date. Both of you sharing / riding the same horse as Cinnabar wraps her arms around you; making sure that you feel safe & protecting you.

Cinnabar's favorite horse breed is the Friesian; a handsome prince does deserve to ride a handsome horse after all. It would be so cute to see Cinnabar braid a Friesian's black, majestic mane. Dressage is something that I feel Cinnabar would be really good at; she would win so many Dressage competitions.

Anyway, thank you very much for your writings; they're so fun to read through! : )

i swear i saw this ask on someone's blog before BUT I AGREE IT'S CANON

even tho i didn't buy it (fake fan spotted 😔), cinna's attire is one of my favorite. IT'S SO DREAMY. but if i do own it, I'll probably just stare at her in daze OUGHH her smile is just too gentle in that attire, makes me want to jump into another dimension now just to ride horses with her 😭

also in addition of eve's new attire.. hehe i can imagine cinna taking care of eve (daughter 🫶) pranking included

[crimson-lair]

It's so boring without you, you're so cool and interesting. I'm looking forward to your return (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

my apologies for the super late reply but IM FINALLY BACK (me saying this as if i will not procrastinate again in a few days..)

also someone actually finds me cool and interesting? 👁👄👁 i'm fully aware that i'm just being weird but what a compliment :D

[crimson-lair]

WORTH MORE THAN EVERY GIG.

Written by Sloane.

Posted — 02/7/25

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

TAGS : f4f/wlw , partial & mentioned nsfw , angsty , mentions of blood & wounds , arguing , cussing , etc

WORD COUNT : 2.0k

“Lock your doors.”

“Always remember how I knock.”

“I don't want to come back home and find you dead.”

These words were something that Angell never fails to remind you everyday especially before she goes to work. And each time before she says goodbye, you get nothing but a brief side hug—if not a hug or if she's in a bigger rush, you only get a half-hearted nod before she hastily makes a beeline for the door.

The life of being a hitman’s lover. She's gone for almost the entire day, returns home when you're asleep—heck that even the weekends can't provide a little escape, she's either asleep for hours or preoccupied with that computer of hers. Apparently, being a hitman's lover is not for the weak. And you had to learn that the hard way.

Sat down by the couch and all alone, you’d do nothing else but mindlessly stare at the television. You're not just lonely, you're getting eaten alive by boredom as well. Everyday, it's just an endless routine of you cleaning your bedroom, making food, washing the dishes, all the housework is left up to you.

Not that you find it hard. You don't always have to clean—especially if you're always alone in the house for at least 90% of the time.

Would've been great if we had a day all to ourselves. And by ‘we’ you're thinking of you and Angell, together, doing all sorts of things you both want to do to make up for lost time.

Does she even want to make up for lost time?

The question stings, your heart burns. And even so, that thought alone prompts you to come to your senses once more.

The weather reporter speaks.

“Reporting for today’s forecast—we’re expected to have moderate to heavy rainfalls at the hour of…”

It's raining again. For almost the whole week—it has always rained. Not even a gloomy weather can stop Angell. No. It'll take a lot more to do. You don't know whether or not you should be… impressed? Worried? Upset? Her persistence could come across as something peculiar, but you know she means no harm by it.

You’d release a sigh as your hand reaches over—taking hold of the remote which was placed nearby, and upon doing so, you’d turn off the TV. The screen flickered close, shutting any of its power away. The sounds around you became prominent, the room turned slightly dimmer.

The dreary weather pitter-pattered. And in the background, a melody plays out. It's a tune you'd always listen to. The music that accompanies you whenever you wait for your Angell to come home. Dirty Nightsong, In One Room.

Right when you stood up from your seat—as if it was on cue, familiar knocks would tap into the other side of your front door. A thumping of a person's hand with punctuating pauses in-between. You'd recognize this anywhere. This is Angell.

On the earlier days of your relationship with her, you'd either run as if you're on a marathon just to reach that door—or you'd move so hurriedly fast you'd trip on the floor. And it always ended with Angell chuckling, smiling, and even laughing carefreely as she steps her way in. But now? Both you and her got quite a bit dull.

Leisurely—you’d make your way to the door. Slowly but surely turning the knob, not even bothering to look into the peephole. You'll always recognize Angell, in more ways than one.

But she'll return to you in a state you wouldn't expect, or at least, in a state you wouldn't want to expect.

She stood there. Drenched, disheveled, and bloody. Her head hung low along with her silky bracket strands—dripping off beads of water. Her leather jacket hugged her body so perfectly, slightly crumpled due to the dampness of the rain, and that includes her tank top.

Pelvic v-lines, defined and prominent—it slightly peeked from underneath her top, whilst her abs partially bulged from underneath the dark fabric of her shirt. But no, you mustn’t gawk at her like this. Not if there's a vague streak of red underneath all that fabric, against those heavenly muscles… that body rivaling that of a Greek goddess, it's wounded.

And frankly, you find yourself getting utterly devastated even though you've been mad at her this past couple of weeks. Weeks of distances, days of no interaction. God, it felt like a sting, but seeing her like this? It hurt even more.

“Angell— just what happened to you?” you questioned, but you’d actually like to interrogate her instead. You took her arm in her hand, immediately hoisting her into the expanse of your cozy shared apartment with her.

Like a fragile ragdoll, her body followed your grip—your pull. The heaviness of her weight crashed upon yours, and by luck, you managed to shut the door in time before she had lazily pinned you against the wall. Coldness and wetness traveled upon your body, from her to you.

Till now, she hasn't replied. Hasn't uttered another word. And you're left there to stand—trapped in between those drenched arms of hers, strong yet partially shaky. “Angell…?” you whisper one more time, this time, concern lingers by your voice.

“...I missed you.” she muttered, her voice sounded more of a call for help, as if she might've just avoided something fatal, which she probably did. But you couldn't understand why would she sweet talk you the moment she came back home—in a bloody mess at that.

“Don't give me that. I have to patch you up.” your tone was quite strong, unyielding. Your expression says otherwise though. Though you'll of course have to nudge her off of you, guide her back to the living room, let her body sink over the couch.

You'd rather have her that way than dead.

——

Moments passed—and you're currently standing in between her parted legs. A towel sprawled over the smoothness of her hair, her jacket was off, your hand tended her with care.

And of all the things she could've done, instead of taking her shirt off, she insisted on biting into the hem of her shirt. She's oddly sensitive to pain right now after all.

Teeth against the fabric, the shirt was rolled up to her mouth. Her breasts were clothed yet her abs protruded—jagged scars engraved over the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were shut close, her brow was arched upwards, signifying just how she endured this process.

And for this night at least, she looked vulnerable. To you and only you.

——

“Tell me what happened.” you raised a question once again, and by now you stood in front of her like an angered mother. Crossing your arms over her chest, an evidently upset frown plastered across your face.

Angell turned her head away from you, avoiding eye contact as she rested one of her hands upon her thigh, the other lingered by her nape. But with a defeated sigh, she’d finally reply.

“Nothing happened. I just got into a bad situation that's all.. I got a little occupied and—”

“Occupied? Getting a little occupied results in you going home all wounded?”

“No. But you'll have to understand, it's part of my job.”

“Dying is part of your job now?!”

“I can't avoid that risk.”

You fell silent. Obviously shocked. Yes, you understand that becoming a hitman has its risks, but you also couldn't help but wonder—would Angell bother living a long life for you? For the amount of opportunities her future holds? The amount of changes she could make?

“I’m sorry.”

Two words she’s always said. Two words said with absolute sincerity and yet the situation remains the same.

And those two words alone? They alone forced tears to rush out from your eyes.

You're at your breaking point, and it shows.

“You—you keep me locked up in here for almost everyday!” you stretched a finger out at her as you shouted. “You make me wait hours! Fucking hours, Angell. And whenever you come home you don't even talk to me anymore!”

Profanity came with sadness as you lost it even more, your vision became unclear as rivers of tears continued to flow by your eyes. “Now you expect me to suck up the fact that you'll die without us making most of whatever this is in between us?!”

You can't see her at all. But oh, if only you could—you’d see that redness in her eyes. The redness which also screams sadness. You sniveled, rather embarrassingly, but you couldn't fight that hand which reached for your waist.

Her hand which pulled you in against her. “I'm sorry that I haven't been coming home earlier.” you paused.

“I'm sorry that I’ve been worrying you too much.” another hand reaches for the side of your face, a finger catches your tears, delicately wiping them away “I'm sorry that you've been in pain because of me.”

Your vision became clear once more, looking down at Angell who remained sitting by the couch with her hands which stilled by your waist. Yet her words were different from her actions.

"I'm sorry that I love you."

How wounding of her.

You struggled. Writhing—trying to get out of her grip. Trying to escape that touch which you won't be able to leave.

“But please understand, I mean no harm by it.” Angell continued, and you looked away, saying: "Just say it, you don't care at all.”

“If I don't care it wouldn't hurt here.” she mused, her withdrawn hand took your wrist—guiding your palm. From the surface of her sculpted pelvis, to that deviously defined abs, all the way up to her chest, underneath her bandaged collarbone. “It wouldn't have continued living on for you, in the first place.”

A beating heart close to your hand, beneath that porcelain skin.

And that made it worse, you cried again. Jabbing at her unscathed shoulder. “Stop it- let go off me, please.”

“You don't want me to.” she stated.

By her words, she's beyond right. You don't want her to let go.

Your body follows her lead, straddling her lap, your legs on either sides of her thigh—your hand resting upon her shoulder. She stared up at you.

“I said I can't avoid the risk of dying, but I would never let it happen to me.” Angell stuck a hand out, the back of her hand—her knuckles, caressed your cheekbone with tears that still trickles off to your chin. “Not when I have someone to come home to.”

And as she leans in, she whispering. “I’ll make it up to you. Starting today, please let me make it up to you.”

You have no words left to reply, rendered vulnerable, only to listen.

“You’re worth more than any gig that I took.”

That was the last thing said by her.

——

Sheets were rustled as your nails dug in it, you cried out, you whined, you pleaded—her name came out of your mouth like a prayer.

She pleasured you, better than anyone could, better than she did before. You're crying again, but this time, it wasn't out of sadness anymore. Gentle. She was so gentle. Kissing your tears away, fingers inching within you—delicately, despite how she handled her weapon.

Release after release, the rounds became more intense. And you weren't so sure if you could still walk in the morning. You'd still be mad at her by the time you wake up, but it is for a different reason this time. At the very least, you wouldn't try to leave her anymore. Not today.

——

Her breathing fanned over your skin. her body curled above yours. Chest to chest, you laid bare with her, with only a blanket to provide coverage.

And finally, for the first time in weeks, or probably months, you woke up next to her. Bruised in the right ways, sore in a good way. You wouldn't trade this morning for anything there is.

By the time she woke up, there's one thing you're set on doing though.

Not a dirty eat-an-Angell-out in her sleep no. Maybe you'd love to cook her some red bean soup.

——

[crimson-lair]

MISS?? MAAM?? IM COMBUSTING

anyways

happy new year guys! 👯

[crimson-lair]

MIRA MIRA MIRA

[crimson-lair]

I'M ALIVE 🧍‍♀️

[crimson-lair]

IS IT ME OR YOU WHO'S YEARNING SO BADLY?

It happens so suddenly when her hand gently reaches for the back of your waist, a gesture so natural it feels as though it was always meant to be there. And like a cat longing for gentle caress, she leans in, her forehead brushing softly against yours.

Then her lips find yours. It’s not rushed or forceful—just a soft, lingering kiss.

But it makes you weak in the knees, your heart pounding uncontrollably. Whether it’s from the sudden affection or the way her strong arms lift you effortlessly, carrying you down to the familiar, soft sofa where you two used to cuddle on—you can’t tell. But there’s no time to think when her gentle approach shifts into something different. Something that sends a numbing touch through your nerves.

Even the grace of her goldfish you take care for pales in comparison to the way her fingers move, tracing the soft dint of your back. Oh, how perfectly the shape of her fingertips fits into that dimple, as if they were made for it.

.

.

.

And then they fucked, the end.

[crimson-lair]

Redoing Shalom's interrogation.. it's still insane that AISNO allowed did this

beware of spoiler 👯

[crimson-lair]

BE KIND TO YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL.. OR NOT.

note: don't expect me to write a full fic. this is just a short scenario 👯

For as long as she could remember, Cinnabar had been a guardian angel, watching over countless souls throughout the ages. She'd seen it all—children with innocent dreams, elders with lives full of wisdom, lovers with stories both happy and tragic. She had been there through moments of triumph and despair, guiding, protecting, offering the solace that only an unseen presence could provide. Each life was a fleeting glimpse of the human experience, and she'd borne witness to more endings than she could count.

But this time…

Cinnabar's wings twitched, feathers ruffling as a flush crept up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she desperately tried to calm the warmth pooling beneath her skin, but it was no use. Nothing in her celestial existence had prepared her for this—for someone like you.

Never in all her years had she encountered a human who could actually see her, let alone touch her. The idea seemed laughably impossible; guardian angels were meant to be invisible, intangible, felt but never seen. Yet here you were, standing right in front of her, your eyes locked with hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And to make matters worse, you were so bold—too daring. Your fingers grazing the edge of her wings, the soft downy feathers, made her tremble under your touch. A shiver ran down her spine, something she hadn't felt in centuries.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing in a way that felt strange and yet oddly exciting. Angels were meant to remain calm, composed, above earthly desires and whims. But there was nothing calm about the way her pulse quickened, or how her wings fluttered against the sheets beneath her, helplessly pinned on the bed.

"W-What do you think you're doing?" she stammered, her voice trembling with confusion. Her wide eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of explanation. But all she felt was breathless, caught up in a moment she'd never expected.

[crimson-lair]

what is the most weirdest ask in your inbox besides the horny and stuff

I don't know what this called, but probably this.. still a horny one tho

[crimson-lair]

Found a new unreleased visual novel GL game with handsome women which means butches✨.. but IT'S KOREAN AND I UNDERSTAND NOTHING

[crimson-lair]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZOYA MY PTN FIRST CRUSH

[crimson-lair]

NOT SHOWING MYSELF!!! my anon disguise is perfect. definitely not predictable as to who i am <\3

what leashes... i wasn't thinking about any leashes... you gotta be sick to be into that fr cough cough

[crimson-lair]

Zoya dangled the choker in front of her, raising an eyebrow as she inspected it. "A choker? What do you need this for?" she asked, her tone laced with mild amusement. Her other hand rested firmly on top of your head, preventing you from snatching it back. To her, it didn’t look like a choker at all—more like a collar.

You had claimed it was official merch, but Zoya wasn’t aware that this item was being sold as merchandise until now. Maybe it had slipped past her while she was preoccupied with the band’s new song. After all, deciding what to sell wasn’t really her responsibility.

"And you bought all four members' designs?" she mused, her smirk deepening as she held the choker just out of your reach. The idea that you had gone out of your way to collect them all was more than a little amusing to her. There was something about the thought of you wearing something so… possessive, with each band member’s design, that sparked a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Zoya finally lowered the choker, letting it dangle just in front of your face as if to taunt you. "You're really dedicated." Her tone was teasing, but there was an underlying curiosity as well. She couldn’t help but wonder what you planned to do with them all.

"Or do you want me to use it on you? With an extra leash, perhaps?"

.

.

.

BREAK THE 4TH WALL

"Well, I guess it's nice to see our merch getting some love. Just make sure you don't strangle yourself with it, okay? Or [censor][censor][censor]" - Zoya, probably.

My exact reactions to AISNO selling chokers:

[crimson-lair]

they sell CHOKER 😭😭