#also also i have your other asks left to answer too! will do it oson i promise

[gonnasmashupurbike]

My boy only breaks his favorite toys I'm queen of sand castles he destroys

or

Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up

masterpiece til you tore it all up forever but im a mbobhft stanner too anon i fear youve broken me

[zoadgo]

Kinktober Day Eight | Blood/Gore | in the end, it’s the taste of you | Octavia x Niylah | The 100

Words: 2778

Tags: Blood, Gore, Blood Consumption, Canon Compliant Cannibalism, Blood Painting, Oral Sex, Definitely Unsanitary Sexual Acts

tagging @socialmediapath​

Note that this is a kinktober prompt fill. It will be explicit smut, and quite likely, kinky. Mind the tags.

ao3

The fights are over. The victor has been freed. The others have been mourned and laid to rest as they might not have at a time not so long past. Everyone has left, back to their lives, to surviving. Everyone except for Octavia, who inhabits the role of Blodreina as she drags the toe of her boot through one of the still warm puddles of blood on the floor.

Down here, in the ring, she can smell their death. The blood and viscera splattered and smeared about, it’s not something that can ever be cleared away, not that they really try. It’s good for them to know of the consequences of defying her; this is their punishment, and her triumph. She knows she ought to hate it, the blood games, the death sport, but doing so grows harder each time.

Octavia closes her eyes and takes a deep breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep within her, a hungry snake coils, ever gluttonous. That wicked thing was always there, but others kept it down, hidden and safe. Trapped under the floorboards, as she had been. But without their influence, and with urging for her to be even more brutal than she had ever been, well, the result speaks for itself. The fact that her hands had only quaked slightly the first time she had fed on the flesh of her people, and that once her morals had been broken, they never attempted to rear their heads again. In the moment, she hadn’t necessarily wanted to, but now the snake feeds on her regret, cleansing her of it.

And it grows.

“Bloodreina,” a voice calls softly, something alluring and appealing in the very tone of it. Octavia doesn’t want to be disturbed, but such is the way of life for her now. Her eyes open slowly, reluctant to shrink back to what she must be for those who approach her. To be less than the hunger inside of her.

“Niylah.” Octavia smiles, small, but genuine for Niylah as she would not be for too many others. “What brings you here?”

“You,” Niylah replies, without hesitation, shame, or explanation. She simply walks into the room, looking up at the fenced walls as if she can still see the crowds there. Octavia can; she can hear them, feel them in her blood if she listens to the beating of her heart. Omon gon oson; all of me for all of us. It’s no wonder she’s so much more than she used to be, she’s become one with her people, an effigy of Wonkru.

Niylah circles around the room, her path taking her in a slow rotation around Octavia, like a planet orbiting the sun. She tracks the other woman’s wandering, but she does not press her to make her reason for being here known. It’s quiet, and Octavia craves the quiet like Abby craves her drugs. Well, perhaps not exactly like that; Abby thinks she’s subtle about it, whereas Octavia makes it well known that she would rather be left alone.

“Do you ever miss it?” Niylah breaks the silence after a time, her slow circuit of the room currently placing her somewhere behind Octavia. Octavia frowns slightly in thought.

“What, the ground?” She hazards a guess, as that’s what everyone always whines and whines about missing. As if they don’t have everything they need down here, as if they aren’t cared for, provided for, and loved.

Ungrateful.

“No. The dark year.”

The blood in Octavia’s veins freezes at the words, and her snake shifts in interest. The dark year, eating the flesh of the fallen, executing those who wouldn’t do so. The last time that she’d had actual meat between her teeth, rather than soybean mush. She knows her answer, but she also is well aware she’s forbidden mention of the time.

“...You know not to mention that,” Octavia hisses the words through her teeth.

“I’m sorry, Blodreina.” Niylah’s pacing brings her in front of Octavia once more, and she inclines her head in obeisance. “But the question still stands.”

“I- we did what we had to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Niylah grabs Octavia’s arm. An impertinence, a sign of treason. Octavia could throw her in the pits for that, but given that they’re already there, it seems rather silly. Niylah raises her other hand, palm towards Octavia, and Octavia’s gaze becomes transfixed upon the glistening red on her fingers. Blood, swept from the walls, presumably. “You know sometimes I watch the fights, and I think about what a waste it is.”

“A waste of life?” Octavia grunts, because she always sees attacks when possible, and she has heard the whisperings. They all sound like Kane, of course, the deep rooted weed she cannot kill.

Niylah shakes her head, though, and drags her fingers over the pulse on Octavia’s neck, anointing her with the blood of warriors. Octavia breathes in sharply, the touch so foreign. When was the last time anyone had been close enough to her to do that? A gunshot sounds in her head, echo of a memory, and she closes her eyes as Niylah leans towards her.

“No. A waste of meat.”

Octavia’s eyes remain shut, but she can feel Niylah’s breath ghost over her cheek, tickling her ear. So close, so dangerous, so… appetizing. Octavia shudders as she takes a deep breath in, remember charred jaguar and slow roasted boar and raw, bloody, necessary-

“I do miss meat.” The confession is a whisper, but it sounds out as loud as any command she’s ever given.

“So do I.” Niylah’s words are acceptance and salvation, calmly uttered directly into Octavia’s ear.

A flash of heat on her neck nearly causes Octavia to jump, her eyes flying openas Niylah licks the blood from her neck. Octavia should be repulsed, or at the very least offended. She should be a lot of things that she isn’t, these days. Instead, Octavia holds a breath, tilting her chin slightly to bare her neck. Niylah graciously accepts the silent offer, tasting her, cleaning her her tongue.

Octavia has spent so much of her life being held apart from others, she’s still somewhat unused to being touched, especially so intimately. She craves it in that deep, dark place, but it’s too easy for her to fall apart under a simple touch. Now, more than ever, that’s not an option. She must be strong, even if it’s just her and Niylah. Perhaps especially if it’s just her and Niylah.

It takes a monumental effort, but Octavia grabs Niylah by the shoulders, pushing her away. Niylah makes a small noise of confusion, looking up at Octavia with a furrowed brow, but Octavia makes no moves to explain herself. She doesn’t have to, she’s Blodreina, she does what she wants and everyone else pays the price. Isn’t that what the traitors among her people say? Well, maybe she should prove them right, just this once.

Octavia hooks an ankle behind Niylah and pushes her to the ground. She goes down easily, rear hitting the ground solidly, looking up at Octavia with parted lips. A smudge of red on her cheek, only noticeable due to the pallor they all share, makes Octavia salivate. She wants it, all of it; the blood, the heat, Niylah. She is more these days than she ever was before, and her appetites seem to have grown as well.

Octavia kneels down next to her and grabs Niylah’s jaw in a controlling grasp. She turns Niylah’s head without resistance or complaint, position it so that the light catches on the smear on her cheek. Octavia almost leans in like that, takes what she wants, what the snake inside of her insists that she needs. But she holds back just for a moment, listening to the quiver in Niylah’s breath.

“Tell me to stop,” Octavia orders, and Niylah shakes her head slightly in her grip.

“Never, Blodreina.” The title is like a prayer, something more than mortal. It’s odd to be considered as some kind of legend, but it’s not bad. Not in the slightest. Niylah smiles, as if she’s not in the clutch of something so dangerous as Octavia, “It’s not my place.”

“Then what is your place? Here, on your ass, surrounded by blood?” Octavia asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Wherever it pleases you,” Niylah says, honest as ever. She gives Octavia so much power, so much control. Especially with the tone of her voice, heavy with desire, drawing Octavia in and making her heart race like a good fight.

“What if I say your place is here,” Octavia shoves Niylah back to lay flat on the ground, climbing on top of her and bracketing her with her arms, “beneath me. Would you tell me to stop?”

“Never,” Niylah breathes the word into the air between them, captured by Octavia’s hair falling as a curtain around them.

Octavia can’t hold back any longer, doesn’t want to. She shifts to lean down, tasting the blood on Niylah’s skin as Niylah had done to her just moments ago. There’s not much there, and she can just barely taste the metallic notes beneath the salt of Niylah’s skin. It serves just enough to make her desperate for more. Octavia slides her gaze to the floor near them, slips her fingers into a puddle of blood. Cooled, but not gone entirely cold and congealed, not yet.

This, she paints on Niylah’s lips, focus intense on her handiwork. It looks finer than anything she’s ever seen, the bright red against her pale skin. Niylah yields to her touch so beautifully, eyes closing and lips parting. At another time, in another world, Octavia might have been happy with this. But in this world, her hunger makes demands of her, and she helpless to resist.

Octavia leans down and licks the blood from Niylah’s lips, one long, indulgent drag of her tongue before she takes mercy on the other woman. She shares the bounty with her in a surge of the lips together, their tongues dragging against one another. Niylah moans into the kiss, her hands coming up to wrap gently around the back of Octavia’s neck. It’s soft, in harsh contrast to the flavour of iron overwhelming the embrace.

Octavia breaks away with a frown, only more ravenous now than when she’d stepped into the room. She drags more blood onto Niylah’s skin, her neck this time. Bared to her as soon as Niylah reads her intent. Their roles could so easily be reversed, if Octavia were only Octavia. But Blodreina must be the one to lean down, to cleanse her skin with her mouth, to draw the breathy moans from the one beneath her.

A red trail marks Octavia’s passage; pulse points, collarbones, cleavage. She doesn’t bother undressing Niylah, simply rucks her shirt up to her ribs and begins again below the fabric. Each rib receives its own warpaint, meeting at her navel. It’s an incredible sight, but not nearly as delightful as the taste when Octavia undoes her work with her tongue, or the sounds Niylah makes when she dips her tongue into her bellybutton. Power and the sick pleasure it brings races through Octavia, making her smile against Niylah’s hot skin.

It’s all so alluring, and a part of Octavia warns caution. That going down this road, there is no return from, that she may already be too far gone. It’s a foolish voice, of course. This is nothing compared to everything she’s done before. This is simply urges, natural as they come.

Still, Octavia stops, squeezing her hand to drip blood on the jut of Niylah’s hip, watching the way her skin jumps at the touch.

“Tell me to stop,” Octavia says one more time. They both know her ultimate destination, her final meal.

Niylah shakes her head in heavy silence. Not words, not permission or rejection, which is not at all what Octavia demanded. Octavia moves back up her body in a heartbeat, wrapping her blood stained fingers around Niylah’s throat. No pressure, just a promise of a threat. Niylah licks her lips, not a single shred of fear to be found in her expression.

“Tell me,” Octavia hisses.

Niylah shakes her head, denying her Queen’s order. “No. Don’t stop.”

Octavia crashes their lips together once more, this time with far more teeth and urgency. No holding back, then, Niylah is hers. Hers to kiss, to touch, to consume in any way she sees fit. Octavia hums, low and pleased, almost like a purr, and Niylah shivers in response. Niylah has her own strength, but she’s not a warrior, and she’s certainly not a god. Octavia wonders if she knows how easily she could be broken, how similar she is to a mountain goat courting a puma.

Octavia breaks away to return her mouth where she left off, laving the skin over Niylah’s hip. She drags her teeth over the curve of bone, hearing Niylah’s breath catch in her throat. It’s intoxicating, the long lost taste of blood on her tongue, the sounds of Niylah’s pleasure echoing in the empty cage.

Octavia undoes Niylah’s pants, paying no mind to the markings she leaves on the fabric. No one will notice, she’s sure, their lives are grimy enough that some new stains are hardly worth noticing. When she wins her fight against the closures, Octavia drags the pants down to Niylah’s ankles. She doesn’t bother removing them entirely, unwilling to struggle with shoes when her prize has been revealed to her.

With a hungry noise, like a starved man looking upon a five course meal, Octavia looks upon Niylah’s nakedness. She dips her hands in blood and places matching prints on the inside of each thigh as she spreads them, settling in the space she makes. She breathes in the heavy scent of arousal, mixed with the smell of death in the most distracting way. With red thumbs, Octavia spreads Niylah open in front of her. She doesn’t delay, diving in and dragging her tongue through the slick flesh presented to her.

Octavia eats her out as if Niylah is her last meal on Earth. Or perhaps, more accurately, as if she’s her last chance to have the taste of blood and flesh. She savours the feeling of Niylah’s soft folds, memorizing them with her mouth. Her tongue drags over her thumbs, and the taste of death mingles with that of an act so intimately acquainted with life. Octavia moans against her, and she can feel Niylah tremble in response.

It’s good, but it’s not enough, not for Octavia. So she plunges two fingers into Niylah, driving that flavour there to seek out, indulging in the hot grip of her. She can feel Niylah’s muscles tremble as she dries her fingers in and out, mouth still on her. She rolls her tongue over Niylah’s clit, stroking circles around the bud of pleasure, as Niylah whimpers and moans. Octavia feels like she has the upper hand in a swordfight, all powerful and accomplished.

Octavia withdraws her hand, replacing her digits with her tongue. She can barely taste a hint of blood there, but she devours every ghostly trace of it. She curls her tongue inside of Niylah’s pressing as deep as she can, straining into her. As she does so, she brings her other hand to toy with Niylah’s clit, drawing an ever increasing symphony of noises from her.

It pleases Octavia, the way that Niylah bucks into her touch, the curses that fall from her lips. This is honest as so little else is, a true expression of emotion. Octavia, displaying her primal hunger as she runs her tongue through quivering muscles, and Niylah showing her quaking pleasure. Octavia rubs her clit faster, driving that enjoyment onwards towards its inevitable end.

When Niylah climaxes, she does so with her thighs clenched around Octavia’s ears, and her inner muscles clamped on Octavia’s tongue. Octavia withdraws from the vice of her, replacing her thumb with the far softer touch of her mouth to coax Niylah through her orgasm. She does so with long, slow strokes, hunger satiated for a moment.

Just a moment, because as Niylah slowly relaxes, Octavia can already feel that telltale stirring once more. She lifts her head with a hum, turning her face in order to lick some of the dried blood from Niylah’s inner thigh. Yes, that ravenous intent can never truly lay quiet, but perhaps this is a way to put it to rest, if only for a few heartbeats.

Octavia closes her eyes and breathes in the heavy scents of struggle and exertion. Yes, it will have to do.