I haven't seen many Roman Torchwick reader inserts, which is sad to me because he's such a great character (flawed, but beloved). So for all you RWBY fans who like our charismatic criminal mastermind, here's one I've been working on. I hope you enjoy! 😁
Nine o'clock could not come any slower.
Impatiently, you leaned your elbow against the counter, head resting on your hand and foot tapping away the seconds. There weren't going to be anymore customers for tonight; there never was. Why the shop remained open for so long was beyond you. Especially considering the recent heists.
A frown tugged at the corner of your lips at the thought, eyes glancing at the clock for the twelfth time in the last two minutes. Dust robberies weren't unheard of, but they weren't exactly common either. Recently, however, they had become just that: a scarily common occurance. No one knew why the number of dust heists had risen, but everyone knew who to blame.
The man was already notorious for his extensive list of crimes, particularly those dealing with dust heists. Yet even he had never ventured so far and so often to steal as much dust as he had recently. Pressing your lips against your hand, you pondered why exactly he would need so much dust in the first place. The amounts he had been stealing and how often he was stealing them were extensive. What did he need all of that dust for?
A loud bang jolted you from your relaxed position, sending you on alert. You jerked upwards, scanning the storefront to pinpoint the source of the noise. Was someone breaking in? Your right hand moved towards the cuff on your left wrist, left hand meeting the cuff on your right as you poised for a possible attack, ready to activate your weapons at any moment.
The sound of a meow drew your attenrion to the front window, where a white cat was scuttling away from a now over turned trash can. You took a moment to process this, frustration running through your veins as you realized you had gotten panicked over nothing. Peeling your fingers away from the circlets around your wrists, you stifly returned your elbow to the counter--chin resting against your hand, fingers digging into your jaw.
You couldn't blame your jumpiness entirely on the cat, though. Subconsciously glancing at the clock--half past eight--you recognized that maaaybe watching so much of the news wasn't all that good for you, especially considering most of it consisted of dust heists and Grim attacks these days. It made Vale seem a lot less safe, perhaps excessively so. What were the chances of the old man's dust shop being robbed a second time anyway? Not likely. It had to be on par with the chances of getting struck by lightning twice, a rarity in itself. Clearly, you needed to cut back on the news: it was making your later shifts much more nerve-wracking.
Not that you would even have the late shift, if the old man hadn't started to feel sick.
Minutes passed sluggishly, but you remained relitively alert, credited partially to the cat incident which still had your nerves on end. Every so often, you would glance at the clock, a routine to check that time was in fact actually passing. Gosh, this shift was so slow.
The chime of nine was a relieving sound.
Pushing back from the counter, you moved to make towards the door, eager to lock it from the possibility of any last minute stragglers, rare as that was. Reaching into your back pocket, you paused, realizing you left the keys behind the counter. Slight annoyance drew out a sigh as you returned to the counter, dipping behind it and reaching under to grab the keys.
In the same moment, the entrance bell chimed, cheerfully alerting you to someone's presence in the building. A surge of annoyance hit you. Just as you were about to close, too. You pulled yourself up from your position behind the counter, opening your mouth to inform whoever had walked in that the store was now closed for the night. But as you stood, your words caught in your throat, gaze falling warily on the well dressed man with red hair and a signature bowler hat, tailed by a group of men in black suits.
You recognized him immediately.
"Well hello, gorgeous," Roman Torchwick perked upon seeing you behind the counter, pausing at the door, a grin gracing his pleasent features. "Sorry to inturrupt such a peaceful night, were you just about to close?" Immediately, a sense of utter dread washed over you. This was not how you wanted your night to go.
Suddenly the chances of getting hit by lightning twice seemed incredibly probable.
Two of the men broke away from the group as soon as they entered, moving towards the dust dispensors. You eyed them warily, only to return your gaze to the criminal before you, his confident saunter bringing him to a stop at the counter.
"You know, I don't remember seeing you around the last time I stopped by." Crossing his arms over his cane, Torchwick leaned forward, examining you with curious eyes. Without hesitation, one of the men behind him pulled out a gun and pointed it towards your face, causing you to go rigid. Torchwick paid no mind to the escalation of tension, unhurried and unworried. "Whatever happened to the old man?"
You took a moment, registering the gun as well as the fact that you were outnumnbered and, undoubtedly, outskilled. Clearly, odds were not on your side tonight. Not quite processing the question presented, you opened you mouth, closed it, and then managed a mumble. "You... you're Torchwick...."
"Always nice to meet a fan," he purred, dismissing your stumbled words with a wave of his hand. "Now, just tell me what happened to the old man and we can make this quick. I know you're probably just itching to close up and get home."
"And left you with the closing shift?" The man tsked, smirking despite his pitying tone. "Unlucky."
Several things happened at once. First, another of the men moved away from the group towards the back of the store, leaving Torchwick and the lacky with the gun. Second, the men at the dispensors began to open them, emptying the dust into cannisters. Instinctively, you moved to protest. "Ah, ah, ah," Torchwick cut in with a mockingly disaproving look, and the man with the gun took a step closer. "Let's not get too excited."
Pushing off of his cane, he leaned against it with one hand, motioning towards the dust gems in the display case with the other. "Now, why don't you pull out the dust from under the counter for me and I'll get out of your hair." Your nerves jumped, and you glanced at the dispensors, which were now dipping low, emptying with speed. Torchwick caught your glance, waving his cane slightly in dismissal. "Don't worry about the dust in the dispensors," he purred, "my men will take care of that."
You steeled yourself. This was it, you had to do something to stop them, especially now that you would be out of the line of sight of the man with the gun. Bending down behind the counter without a word, you made as if to grab a few of the dust crystals in the display case, fingers brushing against the circlets around your wrist. In the next instant, you pressed down, activating your circlets and grasping the weapons that formed from them with ease as they jumped off of your wrists, forming into two pike swords.
Pushing upwards, you vaulted over the counter, landing hard on the other side and aiming a pike past Torchwick to disarm the man with the gun. The element of surprise gifted you with a late reaction from the man, and you knocked the pistol out of his hand, ramming a foot into his stomach and sending him falling backwards.
Torchwick didn't hesitate.
You barely managed to turn around and block his cane as it swung up, aimed at your cheek. Pushing, you tried to jab your free pike at his stomach, only to have it skillfully blocked by the butt of his cane, the hook of it locking on to your first pike. Gritting your teeth, you kicked at his left knee, forcing him to step backwards and release the pressure on your pikes. The two of you split apart, and you tightened your grip on your pikes, readying for a returning blow.
The tall man before you chuckled, relaxed as he took another step back, straightening to give you a curious smile. Swinging his cane to position it in front of him, readying himself for whatever move you might make next, he shook his head. "Why do I always run into armed women at this place?"
Registering his slight glance to your left, you whirled, knocking one of his lackies back and sending the side of a pike into the man's face. At the same time, another man sent a fist towards you. You weren't able to block in time, and a sharp pain flew up your cheek as you stepped back at the impact.
Torchwick took the opprotunity. Swinging his cane, he caught your shoulder and sent a blow to your side. You stumbled, breath momentarily escaping you, but you managed to regain your footing and your senses fast enough to block his next hit, which would have sent you to the ground for sure.
Huffing, you brought your free pike around, aiming to stab at his hand and disarm him. Instead, Torchwick ducked under your swing, hooking a foot around your ankle along the way and pulling your leg out from under you.
The ground rose up to meet you, embracing you with a stiff and sharp pain to your back.
Thouroughly frustrated, you forced yourself to recover, hooked your wrists around one of his ankles, and yanked him down with you.
A foot was thrown towards you face, but you blocked it, twisting yourself around and flipping to your feet. From the ground, Torchwick grit his teeth, visibly annoyed. He raised his cane, aiming the butt of it at your face.
The realization registered, but too late. The blast threw you backwards, sending you crashing into a shelf. Dizzy, you tried to get up. You had to get up. But your weight held you down, and your pikes had scattered during your flight across the room.
Torchwick appeared in your vision, smirking down at you.
"You are just a determined little thing, aren't you?" He purred, all previous signs of annoyance washed from his face, replaced with a smile. "But you're no huntress."
He wasn't wrong. But that didn't mean you were going to let him win.
You had one last trick up your sleeve.
You thrust your right hand out, emitting an explosive blast towards the man towering above you. Satisfaction rushed through your veins as your semblance caught the criminal by surprise, sending Torchwick flying back. No time to linger. Taking the advantage, you stumbled to your feet, grasping your pikes from the ground.
Gathering yourself, you rushed at Torchwick while he was down, growling as you aimed a pike to strike. Before you could reach him, one of his men lept in the way, aiming a gun and fireing at you. You swung an arm, sending another explosive blast out, which met the bullet mid air. Jumping through the remnants of the small blast, you kicked the man to the ground, barrelling past him to continue toward Torchwick. The criminal had gotten to his feet again, frustration written in his features as he met your oncoming blow with ease, countering it with a kick which forced you a step back.
"You're a bit of a firecracker, aren't you?" He hummed with a growl in his tone.
You clenched your jaw, trying not to let his words get to your head. To be entirely honest with yourself, you were lucky you'd even managed to learn your semblance for this kind of situation; usually only trained hunters and huntresses knew how to control it. Even more so, you were lucky Torchwick had, apparently, never learnt his.
Not that it made fighting him any easier.
With a grunt you pressed the attack, beginning a continuous bombardment of swings at Torchwick. He danced around your strikes, tracking and parrying your movements with only slight stress in his actions, and nonetheless with intense skill.
Swing. Block. Duck. Cut. Kick. Block. Swing. Cut. Duck. The two of you fell into motion, analyzing each other's movements and responding as fast as you could, trying to keep the advantage. Occassionally you would attempt to take the tactic of surprise, sending out a blast in his direction which he continuously managed to anticipate and react to quick enough to dodge or block with his cane.
With the tension of the moment, you almost forgot there were still other people in the building.
A hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you sround, fist soaring towards your face. Attention shifted, you blocked the blow, kicking out the lacky's knee with a grunt of frustration.
Unfortunately, the distraction was enough.
By the time you saw the cane in your perhiphal vision, you couldn't get out of the way. You flipped to the ground, hard, breath once again escaping you, pikes flying in different directions. Struggling, you tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness hit you and a boot pressed against your stomach, pushing you back down. Leaving you staring up at the face of Roman Torchwick.
Torchwick aimed the butt of his cane at your face, expression a contempt but stern smirk. In that instant, you were sure he would kill you. Kill you and leave you where you lay, another reminder of his growing power in Vale for the authorities to find. But, the blow never came. Instead, the man above you sent you a disarming smirk, swinging his cane around two fingers before placing the end of it on the floor beside him.
"Not good enough," he reprimended, mocking in his tone. His eyes briefly scanned the storefront, and he chuckled. "But you've got spirit, I'll give you that."
Glancing back at his men that had recovered, he nodded towards the counter. They collected the dust in the display case quickly, causing your frustration to grow. "You wont keep getting away with this, Torchwick. Someone's going to stop you."
Unbothered by your words, if anything amused, he smiled down at you, releasing the pressure on your stomach as he stepped away, backing towards the door. "This was fun, firecracker. We'll have to do it again sometime." Pulling out a cigerette from his white coat and lighting it, he sent you a wink, tipping his bowler hat as he turned away.
You glowered. "You better hope there isn't a next time, Torchwick. I wont let you get away again."
"On the contrary! I'm looking forward to it." He sent you another smile over his shoulder, confident and compelling as ever, and then dissapeared out the door and into the night, his lackies close behind, favoring whatever wounds you'd managed to give thrm.
You watched from the floor as they left, registering the pain in your sides from Roman Torchwick's cane. Your fists clenched and you hit the ground, glaring at one of your strewn pikes. If only you'd been stronger, maybe you'd have been able to stop him.
Laying back, you stared up at the ceiling, replaying every move and word he'd said. The man was smooth under pressure, you admitted with annoyance. And even without any training in his semblance, he was one heck of a fighter.
Which lead you to wonder: why, exactly, he had spared you. Torchwick wasn't known for being merciful; as a matter of fact the last time he had robbed this very store he'd almost killed a girl--a huntress in training, granted, but regardless he hadn't shown her mercy.
Perhaps that was one of the most intimidating things about him.
You hoped you never would have the displeasure of meeting him again.
