#carmi

“The extra cinnamon one?” Clara asked hopefully.

“It’s always extra cinnamon for you two,” you replied with a smile, moving over to help Carmilla take off her jacket. As you passed Odette, you noticed a grease stain on her blouse. “Go change, darling. Dinner’s later.”

As Odette disappeared down the hall, Clara helped her mother sit on the sofa, removing her shoes with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the deadly precision those same hands displayed in the factory. You brought in the baking tray and placed it on a rack in the center of the low table. The aroma of caramelized apple and cinnamon began to fill the room, completely overpowering the persistent smell of sulfur that wafted in from outside.

“Today Vox tried to convince me to help him with my weapons…again,” Carmilla began, as you served the first portions. “He wants to speed up production of the prototype. He wants numbers, efficiency. As if we were making toys and not…the other thing.”

Odette reappeared, wearing a clean T-shirt, and sat on the floor by the table, taking her plate. “The feeding system Velvette proposed is unstable,” she commented between bites, her mind still on the blueprints. “If we force the rate of production, the failure rate will increase by 40% in phase three.”

You slid Carmilla’s plate toward her, and this time your fingers did brush, a brief, warm touch. “And Zestial?” you asked.

“She was the voice of reason, as always,” said Carmilla, picking up her fork. A sigh escaped her as she tasted the first bite. “This… is perfect. It reminded me that a weapon without a clear purpose is just an object of provocation.”

“Velvette doesn’t understand,” muttered Clara, picking up crumbs with her finger. “All she cares about is whether it ‘sticks’ in Hell’s nets. Today she said the finishes were too ‘serious’ and that we needed more… pink glitter.”

A slight twitch appeared in Carmilla’s jaw. “Glitter doesn’t withstand the friction of an angelic shot. It’s aesthetic without function. A waste.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Odette, as if her mother had uttered a great philosophical truth.

For a while, only the clinking of forks against china and the murmur of the subsiding storm could be heard. This was the dynamic: they brought the world of the factory, the problems of steel and calculations, and you offered them the anchor, the fixed point to return to. They dissected the technical and strategic problems; you just observed, served more pie, and cleared the empty plates when Clara announced, yawning, that she had to review some ballet steps for tomorrow.

When the girls finally retreated to their rooms, dragging their tired feet and leaving behind a sudden silence, Carmilla stared at the artificial fire in the holographic fireplace. You sat beside her, not touching anything.

“Today on the assembly line,” she said suddenly, her voice lower, “an apprentice hurt her hand. A silly accident, for not following protocol.” She paused. “Odette was the first to run to the first aid kit. Clara took her hand and told her not to be afraid, that we all look out for each other here.”

She rested her forehead on your shoulder, as if seeking refuge from the weight of her day. “They understand, you know? They understand the cost, the responsibility. Sometimes I wonder if I’m robbing them of something… some of that innocence they should have at their age, somewhere else.”

Your hands, which knew more about massages to ease the strain of dancing than about dismantling angelic rifles, settled on her back. “You’re making them strong, Carmilla. And you’re showing them that you can be strong without losing your compassion. Odette with her precision, Clara with her heart… they learned that from you. Not just at the factory, here, at home.”

She nodded slowly, burying her face in the curve of your neck. “I have the meeting with Velvette tomorrow,” she murmured. “She wants to ‘revolutionize the brand.’ Make it more… accessible.”

“Remember why you’re doing this,” you whispered. “For them. So they have a place where they can be strong and compassionate. A place you yourselves build, brick by brick.”

“Clara. Odette,” she repeated, like the prayer it always was.

In the kitchen, the empty apple pie plates were the only evidence of that family moment. You didn't devise the strategies or operate the machines. But you held the sanctuary where the most feared woman in Hell could let her guard down, where the merchant of death could simply be a mother, and where her warriors in training could be, for a while, just two girls enjoying their father's favorite dessert.

It was an unequal exchange, perhaps. But in Hell, where everything is a transaction, it was the only one worthwhile. And that night, with the taste of cinnamon still in the air, you knew that the castle Carmilla was building had its firmest foundations right here, on this sofa, amidst the whispers of the night.

'Carmi lustfully gazed over Z's restrained body. Sweating, flustered and grinning with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Well, she thought that he was grinning at least. It was somewhat hard to tell, with the muzzle strapped on his face and all. Oh well. He should have listened to her warnings. It was his fault that he thought that she was joking around when she very much was not.

"This is serious human…" Z licked his lips with a quick swipe as if he was a dangerous predator looking at a particularly juicy piece of prey. The darkness of the room made the fiend’s eyes seem even brighter than usual as they fixated on the woman above him. Carmi felt a thrill at the thought of that. "Don't start anything you're not willing to finish."

"Oh don't worry Z. I'll be able to start it, finish it and do it all over again." Carmi replied in a honey sweet tone. "It's about damn time someone knocked you down a peg or two.'

-Teaser for the Fanfic: 'Hunted, Taken and Loved'

:......................................................................................................................:

'Carmi felt a sweet and soft kiss on her forehead, filled with love and bringing forth a emotion that she did not know the name of. A mixture of tenderness and deep loneliness began to pour into her heart, clouding her judgment. Before she was even aware of what she had done, Carmi embraced her husband from behind. The human woman buried her face into his warm back, and wrapped her hands around their rising chest, placing them on his heart. She could feel it beginning to race at the sudden contact. Was he also caught off guard from the unanticipated touch?

"Do you… must you leave so early, my Lord?" Carmi hesitantly asked. She could also feel her heart beginning to increase it's pace as the woman forced each word out. "The sunrise hasn't even begun yet. Can you truly not stay for a few more minutes…?"

'Just a little bit longer.' Carmi begged. 'Just a little longer and I shall ask for no more.'

But deep down, she knew that she was lying to herself. She didn't want her husband to leave again when the night would eventually turn into day. The house was too big, too empty without his presence in it- and Carmi despised the feelings of loneliness that would come whenever she would turn around to tell Z something, only to realize that he wasn't there.'

-Teaser for the Fanfic: 'Bride of Mania'

:...................................................................................................................:

'The first week was fine- great even. Nothing had really changed between the pair of lovers(or rather, nothing she could really notice). They continued their normal routine without much change and Carmi was grateful for that, the lack of any surprises lulling her into a false sense of security. That was until the later half of the second week, where she was hit with the intense desire to be intimate with her boyfriend again.

It was then that she realized why this challenge was, well- a challenge. The closer the woman got to her end goal, the more and more Carmi's thoughts would shift towards him- towards Z. Thoughts about him fucking her anywhere that looked like it would be semi plausible: their bedroom, the couch, the hallways…. it didn't really matter where. The fiend wouldn't even have to ask her, she just wanted to feel him again. Feel him tearing the clothes off her body and grinding his cock inside her, inserting himself right where he belonged. Feel the warmth of his body, the whispers of praises on his lips, the shutter of pleasure as they finished inside her… Carmi bit her lip. Hell, he didn't even need to fuck her at this rate- she missed the feeling of his harden cock in her mouth as well. Oh, how Carmi loved to hear Z's reaction when she would trace her tongue over his throbbing veins only to then suck his sensitive head. It had been on of her favorite ways to get Z off.

Carmi knew that she could complete the challenge as long as she did not ask the demon for sex. But with each passing day, her desires grew ever stronger. The urge to plead with Z to give her another taste of paradise was growing to become unbearable, and Carmi didn't know if she could handle this much longer.'