Roman Torchwick x Reader: When The Sky Turns Dark

Naive

It's a new day and you feel restless.

You're leaning back in your chair, seated at just one of the many desks in a large classroom, tapping your fingers quietly against it. Ren sits in the desk to your left, sitting up straight and looking ahed with full attention. On your right, Nora leans foward in hers, resting her chin in her hands. Her eyes droop slowly and her mouth hangs boredly open. She doesn't want to be here as much as you do, maybe even more. Meanwhile your professor rambles about the history of Beacon. None of this interested you in the slightest. 

All you can think about is the next dust shop you were going to hit tonight. This one was better than the last. There was more glass for you to smash and an extra abundance of dust to steal. That should satisfy your craving to destroy. Something you didn't get to feel last time.

With this on your mind the day was short. Daydreaming through all of your classes made time go by faster. Ozpin ended up speaking briefly with you again, but he had somewhere to be so the only thing he was able to ask you about was how your arm felt. By now the only thing that remained of the bruise was a green circle. You didn't need to hide it anymore with the bandage.

Right now? You're biking down the empty orange-lit streets of the city. The sky is just a black sheet overhead. There is no moon or stars tonight. Breathing hard, you stand and pedal up a steep hill. With much effort you reach the top and sit back down again. This night is warm and humid. The air is thick in your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Torchwick's smirking face flashes through your mind for a moment. You have been trying to get him out of your head for the past couple of days now.

Tonight you were going to make your mark again. And no one was going to stop you.

-Time skip-

When you're close to arriving at the dust shop, you press your fingers jently down to brake the bike. You hop off, guiding it onto the sidewalk. You aren't worried about being seen, because there is literally no one. You slow your walk when you reach the corner of a stone building. This is where you lean your bike against. Cautiously, you creep to the edge and glance around it. The dust shop was across the street. And this time there were no humans in sight. The inside was dim, the only light emanating from a red emergency exit light by the front door. This was it.

You close your eyes and focus hard, taking deep breaths and clenching your fists.

...

When you open them again, you walk over to a nearby shop window. You stop once you're standing next to one and turn. Your reflection was no where to be seen. Extending your arm foward, you ball your fist and tap the window. No sound came. It worked. You had erased your presence.

Sauntering over across the street, you go to a security camera stationed by the front door and pull out your red spray can from your back pack. You shake it before spraying the camera lens carefree. In your other hand, you grab the led pipe you keep in your backpack also. With brute force, you plunge it into the glass of the door. It shatters into a spray of tiny pieces. You brush the pipe around the metal edges of the door to get rid of the excess glass. You shake your head. Who makes doors entirely out of glass? Stepping inside, you smile wide. Your surroundings are so colourful with dust, even in the dark. There are glass containers of dust on shelves and in cases. At the far back of the store is a marble counter with a shiney silver cash register. On the wall behind rests a giant painting in a fancy gold picture frame. You take a few steps closer and squint. Upon closer inspection it appears to be a portrait of Mr.Schnee.

Your smile grows wider.

There was no way you couldn't do this right away.

But first, you walked around the store and spray painted all of the cameras.

You return to the back, jumping on top of the counter to come face to face with that evil man.

"Bastard..." You grumble.

He was wearing his usual white suit and red tie. Standing up with his shoulders back confidently and his hands folded infront of him.

Gripping your metal pipe tightly, you swing it hard at the painting and pull back. Resulting in a gaping hole where his face used to be. Taking your paint can, you spray two diagonal red lines crossing over the man's entire body. A giant x. You stare at your handy work in satisfaction. Before hopping off the counter, you thrust a mighty kick at Mr.Schnee, leaving another hole, this time foot shaped. Moving to the wall, you grab the edges of the picture frame and lift. The painting leans foward and falls. You flip it over onto the floor so people can see your new work of art.

Returning to the now blank wall, you shake your spray paint vigorously.

"Wow, someone has a grudge."

You freeze, still facing the wall. This is the third time you've heard his voice.

Slowly turning in place, you hold your breath. Torchwick, joined by six masked faunus on either side of him, stands next to the painting, staring down at it with his hands on his hips.

"What a shame." He shakes his head. "Someone worked hard to paint that."

His eyes meet yours. "Have you no respect?"

Crap. Your semblance must have worn off.

You chuckle to yourself. "You're talking about me having no respect?"

"And class." He looks up to ponder for a moment. "And good looks. But I guess that's just how you are."

Torchwick glances around the room. "Now, what is a little girl like you doing in a place like this?" He shakes his finger at you. "Stealing is bad, you know."

"Sounds like you're a hypocrite." You say blandly.

"You know, you're too easy to find." He takes a step closer, standing on the painting.

"Weren't you just talking about how someone worked hard on that?"

"Do you really think I was being serious? Add a brain to the list of things you're lacking."

"How did you find me?"

"Without even trying." He smirks. "You're just too stupid to watch your back."

You ball your fists tightly, feeling a sudden anger and frustration.

"What are you going to do? Throw your paint can at me?"

...

"What's with that look?" He gapes at you, a fake hurt in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" The hurt in his face turns to hate. He takes another step foward. "Because last time I checked, I didn't steal someone's car and I didn't knee someone in the crotch!"

In this moment you break into a sprint and head for the door in a desperate escape attempt. One of the masked men catches up to you in an instant and grabs the neck of your black hoody, yanking you back. He grabs your arm roughly and drags you over infront of Torchwick.

"Wow. That was pathetic."

Whipping your paint can at his head, it hits above his eye. He backs away, holding his face and grunting in pain. You step on the man's foot who's holding you and he loosens his grip. You push him out of the way, run out the door and to your bike as fast as you possibly can. Running with it and jumping on, starting to petal.

-Time skip-

You make it back to the abandoned house. Rolling up the driveway and jumping off. Throwing your bike into the grass behind the house and climbing in the window. It's pitch black. The only sound your heavy breathing. You've never biked so fast in your life.

Shakily, you stride to the room where you keep your bag. The wooden floor creaks with each heavy step. When you enter, like always, dim orange light pours in from the window. You back up against the wall clutching your chest, trying to calm yourself. You were safe now.