Varian x Reader Oneshots

My Hands Are Tied, Padre

"When I fantasize about a woman in cuffs, this isn't exactly what I imagine," he said, stroking your face tenderly with his grease stricken fingers, his scruffy beard tickling your cheek as he got to close for comfort.

"But I can make it work."

You scoffed, turning your head away from him as he fiddled with your handcuffs, taking far too long.

"Hey, knock it off," your freckled accomplice yelled, and the Pig turned over to him. It was funny really; they weren't exactly on the same level. Freckles was tall, and skinny, and in theory not at all intimidating, but his electric eyes that swirled like a whirlpool caused your stomach to erupt into fits of breaths that latched desperately onto sanity when they stared at you.

On the other hand, Pig was short and stout with a bristly moustache and a similar beard, like a diseased caterpillar escaping the depths of the apocalypse. He must have been about a foot under Freckles, and the wrinkles the lined the underbellies of his eyes sunk into his face when he glared, making him seem less scary and more drunken.

You smirked at them, both considered men by the loosest of threads, and crossed one leg behind the other in casual criminality, mind wandering back to the insane moment you decided to rob this mansion in the first place. Of course, it wasn't insane in theory, but when Freckles decided to crash the party, everything went downhill.

You didn't even know his name, but apparently crashing headfirst into each other, armed with crossbows and daggers, was a decent first meeting. Although, that would be if he hadn't opened his mouth.

The extensive sarcasm! The threatening hardening of his non existent shoulders! The shaking of his measly knife! Woe to everyone who crosses him!

"Stop smirking sweetheart," the Pig growled, paws clutching at your wrists with his obese digits, wrangling with the handcuffs that he only just put in place.

"What the hell are you - hey!" You complained, hand now dangerously close to that of Freckles, whose shoulders were squared (barely) next to your head, nose twitching like a rabbit and eyes wide with anger like a kitten. It was adorable that he was trying, really.

You both shook your conjoined wrists at the Pig, who laughed like a meat grinder and turned away from you, walking over to the prison cart that was manned by two soldier horses.

"Great," Freckles mumbled, crossing his arms broodingly and dragging you with him.

"Watch it, splash," you argued, pulling your arm back and making the lamppost topple.

"Splash?" He questioned, undeniable curiousity masked by the mirage of angst that had befallen him.

"Yeah splash," you said, putting your free hand on your hip, "if you hadn't dropped that green bottle of goop on the floor, making me slip and notify the guards, then we wouldn't even be in this mess!"

Freckles just turned away from you, a small smile playing at his lips.

"You think this is funny?" You whispered, laced with the force of a shout, and Freckles chuckled, out loud this time.

"We won't make it to the prison," he notified, "I know some tricks."

You stared up at him, eyebrow raised in a universal symbol of disbelief.

"Really?" You mused, your eyes going wide and lips playing a smile of mock admiration, "Wow!"

He was not amused, funnily enough.

You were though.

"Come on lovebirds, into the pit," a woman called, her guard outfit gleaming with pride and sickly devotion. You squinted at the name badge.

"Huh," you smiled, looking at the woman, "wouldn't have thought guards would have name badges. Like, howdy doo, my names Steve, prepare to die."

The female guard squinted her eyes at you, and you shuffled in your spot, zeroing your eyes onto her grey orbs.

"Of course, that would be assuming that 'Steve'," You made air quotes with your free hand, "can actually aim."

"So Cassandra," Freckles started, emphasising her name with an obvious reel of disgust, "you gonna shoot, waste the arrow in that crossbow?"

The guard - Cassandra - furrowed her brow as she shifted her newly placed hand from her crossbow to her sword. As if that was any less threatening.

"Have we met?" She growled, and Freckles raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"I don't believe we have," he answered, smiling in a way that said 'Yes. Yes we have you idiot.'

Cassandra turned, flicking her fingers and beckoning two lesser guards to steal them onto the cart.

You stared up questioningly at the man beside you, but his gaze was hard set on the approaching guards.

"Well," you said, turning back to Dumb and Dumber, "this ought to be fun."

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"Now would be a great time to bust out your 'tricks', Freckles," you mumbled, shifting as far as possible away from the man sat next to you. His jaw was set.

"Bit harder when I'm attached to you," he cast back, and you grumbled incoherent noises under your breath. Gobbledegook, essentially.

"So what's your name?" You asked, clearing the silence that he had created by being such a downer.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'P' like a darn child.

"Oh come on!" You yelled, slouching back in your seat and pulling him forwards a little bit. You slapped your forearm down over your eyes and groaned, fighting the migraine that threatened your skull every time the clip-clop of the horses shoes chimed rhythmically.

"Varian," he whispered, and you slid a glance from the underneath the sleeve. You smiled, pulling your eyes back underneath it, and whistling.

"Well, what's a big shot like you doing pulling small town robberies," you teased, and then simultaneously yelped as he pulled his arm upwards, nearly dislocating your shoulder.

"Hey!" You poked, but he just smiled, straightening out his ruffled sleeve. He smirked, turning his eyes down to you.

"Got to get the money from somewhere, right?"

You smiled to yourself, clicking your tongue.

"Thought you'd have lackeys that would do that kind of think for you?"

Varian looked away, not in guilt, but to avoid the question.

"Oh, Mister Lone Wolf doesn't have any friends," you mocked, putting on a baby voice as you leant your head back against the cold iron of the rocking cart.

He didn't answer.

You cocked your head, intrigued.

"What -"

"Shhh."

And then came the glorified clink of handcuffs, crashing to the ground.

And then the roll of a potion from the folds of a boot, causing the cart to stall and horses to depart.

Varian turned to you, his once rabbit nose turned still and scrawny face endearing and slightly terrifying.

"Shall we, m'lady?"