[conscientious] - vriska x troll!reader

Blood sticks

Sweat drips

Break the lock if it don't fit

~

You knew it was a bad idea to stare.

It always was.

Staring only made it worse, and that was the last thing you needed in this situation. Staring turned it into a vicious cycle. Staring put her in your mind, like a constant nagging reminder that you had fucked up, and even though this made you unhappy, it also made you want stare even more. She was an ever-present entity in your life, no matter how unpleasant it was to be constantly reminded of the quadrant you two shared.

But something about one Vriska Serket drew you in, catching you like a fly in a web, and your eyes couldn’t help but linger anytime they passed over her.

Her hair was loose and wild, falling in a messy ebony wave down to her mid-back. She tossed it over her shoulder with a shake of her head, eyes darting around the room before connecting briefly with yours. Offering you an icy glare, she seemed less than pleased when you winked in return. She rolled her eyes, looking mildly disgusted, and turned back to John with an emphatic adjustment of her position, as if to send you a mental message to fuck off. You wrinkled your nose at her back, resisting the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at the narcissistic female out of pure frustration.

Instead, you leaned back in the comfy sofa you had seated yourself on earlier, letting out a frustrated puff of air before letting your eyes wander from guest to guest.

Feferi loved to throw these parties, and you honestly enjoyed them, though you never told her that. You were too stubborn to admit that you actually liked these little gatherings you had labeled as ‘stupid’ who-knows-how-long-ago. That was your fatal flaw: you were stubborn. More so than a lot of people you knew, and even Vriska herself had called you out on it before.

Your stubborn tendencies were what had gotten you into this mess in the first place, and you often wished you had the guts to spit out something you actually meant for once in your life.

Because of your behavior, you only had two quadrants filled: moirail and kismesis. The former was Feferi, who was able to pry through your shell of insecurities, sarcasm, and general unfriendliness to become your friend and eventually partner in the pale quadrant, and the latter was Vriska Serket.

The latter was also a problem.

A massive problem, to be completely honest, and you hadn’t even approached Fef about it yet. You didn’t plan on approaching Feferi ever, as a matter of fact, as it had been excruciatingly difficult for you to even admit it to yourself.

It was something that rarely happened to trolls, and obviously a very touchy subject for you to even think about, let alone mention to your moirail.

You see, you were flushed for your kismesis.

You tended to have trouble recognizing and categorizing your emotions, so quadrants were something of a living hell for you. The way you had felt about Vriska at the beginning had been hazy and unclear, suspended somewhere in limbo between caliginous and flushed. Misinterpreting entirely, you had accepted a kismesis before realizing that your feelings were red. Full-blown, genuine (and frankly a little bit sickening in your opinion) red. It was something you had no control over, which frustrated you to no end, so you made half-assed attempts to ignore it. Obviously, that didn’t help much, let alone fix anything, so you had just concluded that you had to deal with it so none of your friendships or quadrants would be damaged.

Staring sulkily and absent-mindedly at the pop bottle you clutched in your right hand, you felt yourself slip slowly into deep thought.

It was definitely not one of your finest moments that you were remembering right now, and you bit your lip as you replayed the scene in your head.

“(y/n) (l/n),” the troll drawled, drawing out her vowels lazily, a smirk tugging at the edges of her painted lips. She crossed her thin legs, prosthetic hand playing with the artfully ripped fabric of her dark jeans. Her other hand held a shot glass delicately, and she downed its contents with a decisive flick of her wrist. She looked alert and determined, prepared for whatever came her way, whatever unexpected twist life had in store for her down the road.

Unfortunately, you were said twist.

“Fuck off, Serket,” you snapped, lip curling to reveal curved fangs. You slouched slightly, grip tightening on your beer.

“Feisty, are we?” She crooned mockingly, eyes narrowing in a playful manner. She seemed to be looking sideways at you, a cautious light gleaming in her eye but a self-righteous smirk plastered on her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and her words were placed in a careful, experimental way that she managed to mask with her bold posture.

“Anyone who rejects your red advances must be feisty, huh?” You retorted immediately, eyes flashing.

“Testy, then,” She concluded, gritting her teeth. “Me, pursue a red relationship with you? In your dreams,”

That caught your attention. “What do you want, then?”

“Something a little darker,” she proposed, tongue flitting across her lips quickly.

You turned to face her, suddenly more invested in the formerly uninteresting conversation. “Blackrom? You want a kismesis?” you inquired carefully, searching her eyes attentively for any sign of teasing or insincerity from her end.

“I assumed you’d be interested, (l/n). Was I wroooooooong?” She twirled a small lock of hair between her metal thumb and forefinger, eyes trained intently on you and lazy smirk adorning her lips like a declaration of victory.

“No,” you admitted.

She chuckled darkly, catching the bartender’s eye and flicking a finger toward her empty glass. “Wanna head back to my place, then?”

The memory had spiraled into a blur of blood-splattered passion from that moment on, and you didn’t even attempt to piece together the rest, but the morning after was much clearer in your mind.

You woke slowly, instinct and internal clock jolting you awake to meet the darkness of the troll day. The artificial light from the lamp on the table across the room burned your eyes and seemed to split your already-aching and therefore vulnerable head across your brow. You squinted delicately, letting out an inaudible grunt of pain as you sat up.

You lay on a pile of discarded clothing splayed across a wooden floor, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt with Vriska’s symbol on it. You felt sore all over, and it was exceedingly difficult to stumble across the room, gathering your things one by one. You knew how this worked. You ignored Vriska’s sleeping form, but took a brief second to squint at your appearance in a clear full-body mirror.

The shirt reached mid-thigh, probably because of Vriska’s height, and your legs were cold, grey skin exposed. Heavy bags shadowed your eyes, and your hair was in a sad state of disarray. Bruises and bitemarks scattered across your form, and you carefully lifted the hem of the shirt to reveal hasty scratchmarks etched into the vulnerable skin of your stomach.

And, sadly enough for you, that was the exact second you realized you had made some sort of mistake.

Soon, the two of you had developed a steady routine, and it wasn’t until you were at least three months into the relationship that you began to realize why you felt so bad about the relationship. You had developed strange and misplaced flushed feelings for the troll who was supposed to be your kismesis.

Sometimes, uncharacteristically, you would think about confessing. In your most emotionally vulnerable states in the early hours of the morning, your thoughts tended to wander to her. It wasn’t healthy, but you didn’t have the courage to face the fact that both you and Vriska could be negatively impacted by your behavior.

You had to take complete care, and you had to keep a conscience if you were going to make this work.

You were rudely jerked from your contemplations by Feferi plopping herself ungracefully on the couch next to you, grinning and throwing her arm around your shoulders in a friendly attempt to greet you. “Having fun~?” she chirped, and you frowned inwardly. You were well acquainted with the behavior of Feferi Peixies, and you could tell that she knew something was wrong. You were in no mood to discuss it, so you hoped she wouldn’t ask.

“Sure,” You gave her your usual reply, making a face.

She giggled. “Of course you are, silly,” She poked your cheek in an endearing manner, and you glared slightly.

“Aww, lighten up a bit, (y/n). These parties are supposed to be fun!”

You smirked lightly. “Fun for you,” you pointed out.

Across the room, Vriska adjusted her position again, giggling flirtatiously at John, and your lip curled distastefully.

Feferi’s eyes flicked across the room to see where your gaze lead, and let out a slight huff. “C’mon, (n/n), you reely need to stop letting her get up in your gills,”

You hesitated, but put on a frustrated glower and glanced Vriska’s way one more time. “I know I do,” you admitted, and this time your voice was void of your usual sarcasm.

~

A kick in the teeth is good for some