When toxicity reigns alongside emboldened passion and impossible love, things grow messy. Things become more complicated than they need to be. Communication is near non-existent and can force you to a decision that you hate to make but that has beco...
AN: Song used: Medicate Me by Rain City Drive ft. Dayseeker
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'When it's over we just leave the lights low
Roll back, eyes closed
It's suicidal
Coming off your chemical...'
Releasing a breath that he didn't realise he was holding, Jaqen's eyes lifted towards the ceiling of his bedroom. Beside him, sleeping soundly, lay Arya. How she could sleep so easily, when he was shattering over and over again inside, was beyond him.
He had swore this would never happen, that he would never allow her to have his body again. But, it seemed, he was weak with her and he gave in every single time. No matter what he tried to say or do, or how nasty and harsh he got with her, she always came back and he always gave in. Inevitably, no matter how viciously they fought, or how cutting their words to one another were, they always found themselves in bed together. Him sliding inside of her shortly thereafter. Gods but it was so fucked up. Their relationship to one another was completely unhealthy and bordering on poisonous.
But even though he knew this, he couldn't stop himself from having her. Even tonight, after she had held her blade to his heart and told him that she was leaving to return back to Winterfell? He, he had asked her whether she wanted a farewell dance before she started her journey. It had surprised her, he could tell, as it was usually her that initiated their dalliances. Rarely, if ever, was he the one to do so. He simply accepted her offers. Stupidly. Idiotically. Like he was a green boy once more, where the temptation of the pleasures of the flesh were too much to resist.
It sickened him as much as it excited him. He was almost glad that she was leaving and he would most likely never see her again. Because then, finally, he would have peace. If she wasn't here then there was no temptation in which to resist. He could lick his wounds and heal. At least for the most part, he knew the scar of Arya Stark would forever marr his heart. Maybe even his soul. She was his cross to bear and tonight had been the coup de gras of their fucked up relationship. The end was nigh for them and he was both elated and sorrowful. Truly a bittersweet thing. In all ways that mattered.
But tonight had been a different joining to any of their previous ones. This one had been vicious, biting and rough. On her part because of what he had done to her, he had finally found the limits of her tolerance for the order and their games. And on his, because he knew he'd been forced to screw any last chance he had to keep her with him. To make her his properly and fully. One did not simply come back from attempted murder, forced or no, without severe consequences. And his consequence was the complete loss of Arya.
So he had settled himself with leaving marks on her porcelain skin from his hands and his teeth. She would have bruises on her hips and thighs for at least a week. So anytime she bathed or changed her clothing she would see them and be reminded of his face. Of the things he had done to her this night. Just as he would be, when he would see his own bruises and bite marks. His back would bear the deep scratches of her nails for a little while as well. Not that he'd be able to see those. But the others on his chest, hips and neck? Those would be fully visible.
