Lay All Your Sins In Me

If Artoria were to pinpoint the core of the problem, she would say this: she has never learned how to properly want.

She knows how to feel things (grief, anger, joy, grief, anger, annoyance, grief, anger, anger, anger) and she certainly knows how to take actions (fight, survive, lay low, steal, appease) but for the longest time she has buried her desires to the deepest parts of her being. Artoria Caster is not a person; she’s a device, a tool, a slave of fate and Britain alike. Artoria Caster does not get what she wants, so it’s better to not want anything at all. Artoria Caster is not allowed to want, so it’s better to shut up and keep her hands to herself.

“Fuck,” Ritsuka swears against her lips. She parts from them, then briefly peers down. Their shirt has been raked up, revealing bright red marks where she’s clawed at their belly. Their neck is already starting to bruise where she bit them earlier, right beneath the jaw.

Artoria looks, and she wants. She wants her skin against their skin. She wants to get under their skin. She wants her mouth on theirs and her teeth at their lips and their blood on her tongue she wants she wants she wants she’s fucking starving she’s been hungry for so long and finally she can eat,

This isn’t normal. This isn’t normal behavior. She needs to leave and calm the fuck down right now. “S-sorry,” she lets out a nervous laugh, slowly pulling away from them, “we should, uhm, we should stop-”

Two arms lock around her neck, stopping her from leaving. “Don’t you dare.”

There is steel in their gaze and fire in their tone, and even without her eyes she would know they are not wearing any sort of mask right now.

Fine. If they’re not pretending, the least she can do is pretend less. “Ritsuka, if we keep going, I am going to hurt you.”

“And? Go right ahead.” They tilt their head back, showing off their throat. “Take a bite. Draw some blood. Or am I not appetizing enough?”

She swallows. Hard. She can feel the drool filling her mouth. “You being appetizing is precisely the problem.”  

Ritsuka shifts. One of their hands leave her neck to trail up, petting the top of her hair. “Artoria. You are kind, determined, strong.” Their hand slides down, cupping her cheek. “Many people in Chaldea love you for your qualities.”

Suddenly, their thumb hooks her upper lip and pulls it up, baring her teeth. “But your hunger is mine. Your violence is mine. No one else but me can see you like this. No one else but me knows your rage, your bitterness, your fangs. No one.”

There is a short pause, and then, a little quieter: “Don’t take that way from me. Please. Don’t… don’t deny me this. I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if it’s ugly. I want you. All of you. Please let me have you.”

… Oh.

They’re starving, too.

This fool. This idiot. They’re immune to poison, so they think they can drink it unfiltered. They live surrounded by knights, by gods, by monsters and by humans, and yet here they are craving the touch of a wild beast.

“Artoria, please.” Their thumb slides between her teeth, half plea and half bait. “I won’t break from this.”

Of course they won’t. They already broke long ago.

Were Artoria a better person, she would find the strength to refuse. Were she truly worthy of being called a hero, she would get up, leave, and never speak of this again.

But she is not. She’s a person, and they’re a person, and this is the most selfish she’s even seen them being, and so Artoria closes her eyes and bites down.

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