1. The Unwilling Seduction of Shauna Vayne

Contrary to what most people thought, Vayne liked men quite a bit. She was just picky about the type of men she liked, and her priorities tended to keep those urges at bay anyhow.

She liked big men – Tall, broad men. The men she liked were strong and had grown out of the need to prove it; they were starting to thicken through the waist, but could still frighten away the boys stuck in the 'proving it' stage. She admired the way that a man's muscle was easier to see than a woman's, just below the skin without curves to get in the way. Shoulders, calves, abdominals – they slid and twisted like an anatomy and physiology lesson.

She supposed that, if pressed, Draven could be considered attractive for this reason: strictly in appearance. The Glorious Executioner's personality was far too tiring for her tastes despite his well-built physique. Though he was probably around her age, he still carried himself like a cocky teenager. Unlike the no-nonsense attitude she harbored towards her pursuits, Draven was determined to make everything an unnecessary spectacle as if the world revolved around him. Whether he was acting as an ally or an enemy, his bizarre sense of humor and narcissism were prevalent.

That, and she couldn't stand his mustache.

But that being said, she did kind of like his arms.

Donning his usual attire, she could see the way bands of muscle on his upper arms twitched when he twirled his axes around. The muscle reminded her of thick rope, and even the parts covered by his bracers became pleasing to the eye when he was in combat. Though she would never admit it, when he swiveled his wrists her stomach twisted right along with them, and the tattoos that ran down his limbs only accentuated his masculinity. Vayne wanted to trace a finger along them just to watch him squirm and shudder and possibly shut him up.

But she found this sort of attraction strange, because Draven definitely wasn't her type. He was vulgar, cocky, crazy, and just a little too desperate.

But somehow his faults were what made him appealing, and maybe this had something to do with the arms thing. Draven unapologetically was who he was and his body reflected that: stockpiled muscle under tanned skin and battle scars as proof of him clawing his way through the ranks of the Noxian army, making a name for himself alongside his brother with a trail of bloodshed. He was the definition of dysfunction, yet had somehow drawn to him a small collection of individuals who made sure that he functioned well enough, mostly Darius keeping him in check along with a few of his fellow Noxians whom he had earned the respect of despite the way he chose to carry himself.

Draven would make a horrible boyfriend.

But might make for an interesting lover.

It had been a long time since she'd been with anyone – months – and since Draven was already always casually insulting/flirting with her on the Fields of Justice, she was reasonably certain he would agree to any arrangement she proposed if she ever lost her mind and did so. Vayne never expected her quiet musings would ever personify themselves, but thinking about it now, maybe she had been considering Draven longer than she'd really been aware.

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Running into other champions from the league wasn't all that unheard of. So when Draven, followed by Katarina and Talon of House du Couteau, burst into the very Bilgewater pub she'd been sitting in, she hadn't paid them the slightest of mind. As if on cue, Draven had noisily proclaimed his arrival to the patrons inside by quite literally kicking the door open and announcing, "Draven's here, baby!" His traveling companions seemed less than impressed however, and the Sinister Blade promptly shoved her elbow into his back to get him out of the way.

"Ouch, that hurt, Kitty Kat," Draven whined, giving the redhead a mock-injured look. Katarina in turn rolled her eyes.

"Go and get us some beers already," Katarina told him before pointing out an empty table near a worn target board, designating where her and Talon would be when he fetched their drinks.

Vayne hadn't made any attempt to acknowledge them from her shadowy position at the bar, quite content to enjoy her drink on her own. In fact, she was particularly sure that the trio hadn't noticed her at all until Draven had approached the bartender and ordered for the three of them. It took him a bit to actually realize she was there, eyebrows raising in curiosity when he finally spotted her.

"Hey there, Vayne," he greeted when he noticed her, propping an elbow onto the bar with the foamy sound of the beer tap being put to work in the background. "Haven't seen you around here before. What brings you to these parts?"

From behind her red lenses, her eyes flicked to his arm for a moment before forcing her attention back to his face and the aggravating mustache splayed across his upper lip.

"It's not any of your concern," she said curtly, taking another delicate sip of from her glass to illustrate her disinterest. Truthfully, Bilgewater was only a stop in her travels due to her next ship leaving in the morning. She assumed the same of Draven and the other two, but even so, she wasn't keen on letting others in on her personal itineraries.

"Alright, geez," Draven replied, giving her a rather pointed look as the bartender promptly delivered three pitchers. She tried her best not to stare when he somehow was able to grip all three handles with one hand, forearm muscles flexing with the newfound weight. "It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more friendly, you know," he told her with an exaggerated frown before turning to rejoin his companions.

Vayne shot an annoyed glare towards the axe-wielder's backside before resuming her solitary drinking activities, the sound of the three Noxians performing a celebratory toast obnoxiously prominent in the background. Though she supposed that so long as they didn't pay her any extra mind, she wouldn't be obliged to do so either.

That is, until she heard the sharp impact of steel embedding itself into wood.

Knowing all three to be quite skilled in some sort of combat requiring blades, Vayne's curiosity got the best of her and she allowed herself to peek over her shoulder at the little game they'd made of the dart board. Talon had sent a knife cleanly to the center of the target with accuracy that rivaled the queen of the Freljord, though his two comrades appeared bored with his display of skill. The assassin let out a triumphant huff before relenting to the sofa for the next player's turn.

"You really have no sense of flair, do you, Talon," Katarina mentioned, procuring one of her own knives from the holster on her leg. She let it zip to the right instead of straight towards the wall, bouncing off of Draven's chestplate and then Talon's shoulder guard before joining his own blade in the center. The Sinister Blade expelled a hearty laugh at Talon's less than amused expression after being caught off guard, teasing him with a haughty snicker.

"You're unnecessary tactics are precisely the reason why I had to learn how to sew," Talon grumbled even if she hadn't put a hole in his cloak this time.

"That's not helping your case at all," the redhead sneered haughtily.

"Not bad," Draven commented, giving the woman a small bout of mock applause before stepping up to the plate. "But let Draven show you how it's really done. Let me borrow a few of those, Kitty Kat."

Katarina muttered something along the lines of, "Stop calling me that," before relinquishing all the visible knives she carried on her person. Vayne raised a brow as Draven transferred one of the many blades from his left hand to his right, giving it a few small tosses into the air as if to gauge its weight.

"Now," he grinned broadly, and Vayne swore that for a split second he sent her dark corner a glance as if he were addressing her personally. "Watch this."

The knife in his right hand went sailing towards the board, completely missing the mark in the center. But before Vayne could begin to question his targeting abilities, he sent another from the small collection in his left hand to right and repeating the process. By the third toss, she was sure he'd been missing on purpose, though his warped accuracy wasn't what was currently had her attention.

It was mesmerizing to say the least. The man was like a machine, maneuvering his left arm to send a blade careening at the perfect height to catch with his right and shooting it cleanly through the air towards the board. She supposed what he was doing was akin to juggling, though the term wasn't nearly as attractive sounding as it deserved. With every flick of his wrist Vayne felt her insides churn, fixated by the muscles of his tanned arms as they continued to move. They were defined, but not grossly so, and even with the dim tavern lighting, she could see them swell and recede with the repetition. And to make matters worse, the fluid movements were only further enhanced by the intricate lines on his skin. Her eyes roved and traced the ink up his arms and across his shoulders towards his face, which still appeared concentrated on his task despite how effortless he made it seem. Against her better judgment, she continued to follow them, this time taking the route down his neck and using the portions exposed through his chestplate as a guide. Though his usual attire left a lot to be imagined, it didn't stop her from mapping them with her imagination, getting all the way to his hipbones until realizing how dangerous it would be for her to continue.

The Night Hunter had unconsciously downed the rest of her drink while spectating, the rim masking the direction of her gaze. By the time her eyes had worked their way back up, the last knife had hit the dart board and Draven looked quite content with his handiwork. Though he had missed all the conventional marks, he had succeeded in artistically forming a perfect D around the two lonely knives in the center and causing Katarina and Talon to shake their heads in knowing. Vayne only tore her eyes away after his trademark Draven laugh brought her back, though the modest heat that had formed between her legs remained. She slammed her empty glass on the counter in frustration, barely stopping herself from breaking it.

"Whiskey," she snarled at the bartender who jumped at the sudden animosity in her voice. "Triple shot."

"Y-Yes ma'am!" he complied, fixing her drink in record time and setting it in front of her with shaky hands. Vayne refused to let her neck rotate as she downed the dark liquid in a few desperate gulps, hoping the burn in her stomach would distract her from any unnecessary thoughts. It was after two more drinks that she decided it would be best to leave the bar altogether, since her hearing was apparently choosing to filter out everything but Draven amidst all the noise.

Leaving a few folded bills on the counter, the she tried her best to ghost her way through the crowd as to not draw any attention to herself. She did quite well until she reached the door, where the whiskey-induced audacity combined with frustration finally reared its ugly head. She slammed oaken door shut with as much force as Draven had used an hour earlier, the abuse causing a wiry string of one of the old framed photos on the wall to finally give and shatter to the floor.

"What's her problem?" Katarina wrinkled her nose, having caught sight of the familiar braid while the Night Hunter had been traversing the tables towards the exit.

"Who knows," Draven shrugged, hopelessly oblivious to the fact that he was at fault. He gave the door one last glance before dismissing the thought, raising his pitcher and downing the last of its contents in one fell swoop. He let out a grand belch that caused his comrades to wince as the traces of foam fizzled on his mustache. "Round two?"

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Vayne cursed the Institute of War for putting on such an event.

In celebration of the winter season, the Institute had implemented a special sort of competition in which champions could be summoned alone or in a pair to face off against another solo or duo on the Howling Abyss. She didn't have any internal qualms about participating in the event itself, but today, her summoner had chosen to put her in her Heartseeker attire in the middle of the Freljord's neverending winter. As soon as she'd materialized on the north side fountain, her arms immediately folded themselves across her torso as she fought the urge to shiver.

And as if things couldn't get any worse, she had been summoned alongside none other than Draven. Not that she questioned his combat abilities since he'd proven himself many times over to be quite strong, but as of late, his sheer presence had proved enough to put her in a bad mood.

Vayne spoke no words to him when he appeared beside her, choosing to immediately barter with the shopkeeper instead of discussing strategy. She preoccupied herself with strapping her potions to her holster as her teeth chattered with the cold, waiting for the hermit to finally procure her Doran's blade.

But despite her resolve to ignore Draven for the most part, she couldn't help but notice that he hadn't moved within the precious time they had to shop, choosing to blatantly stare at her instead of buying his items.

"What?" she snapped, already irritated enough at the cold. This hadn't seemed to faze him much though, as Draven only blinked in response. Vayne was seriously about to shoot him with an arrow to make sure he was mentally there when he finally spoke.

"You should wear your hair that way more often," her fellow marksman commented, the uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice causing her stomach to do a flip. "It looks nice."

It took a few seconds for the Night Hunter to actually process what he'd said, one gloved hand unconsciously moving to finger her dark tresses as she mentally stumbled for words. Thankfully, the heavy thud of the sword interrupted the moment, her no-nonsense composure mostly returning.

"Hurry up and buy the rest of your items," Vayne said curtly, avoiding eye contact as she adjusted the red frames to rest across the bridge of her nose. She readied her crossbow with a snap before moving ahead without him, praying he hadn't spotted the pop of color on her cheeks. "We need bush control before the cougar woman traps them."

"On it," he muttered, affirming that he was back in his right state of mind.

Vayne couldn't help but notice that it suddenly felt a little less cold.

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Vayne would never ever, under any circumstances, admit to actively seeking out Draven unless she absolutely had to. The current situation in the wake of their most recent match was one of these rare exceptions, which was why she was currently storming towards forbidden territory in her heeled boots.

She certainly wasn't seeking him out just to look at him, either. No siree. Not Shauna Vayne.

She spotted her prey quickly and made a beeline for him, catching the mildly worried look on the other champion's face in the mirror as he caught sight of her.

The man had been shaving, or at least attempting to. He craned his neck back and started eyeing her from the mirror and giving her a bit of his would-be debonair grin that made her want to squirm. He was only wearing a towel at the moment, the white terrycloth drooping low on his hips as it collected the water from his post-match shower. His hair was combed back to the nape of his neck and showing its full length while unstyled and free from its usual ponytail. A few strands that had dried faster than the rest broke free from the pack and fell over his shoulder, flirting with his collarbones and catching her attention for a moment before she remembered her purpose. Draven shifted slightly under her fiery gaze and had to catch his towel as it made a desperate lunge towards indecency.

"Hey, Vayne," he said as he tried to tie his towel with one hand. "You, uh, do know that this is the men's locker room, right?" he pointed out despite the fact that he was the only room's occupant at the moment – all the other male champions had long since left while he underwent the tedious process of grooming himself.

Vayne's brows furrowed in frustration. The amount of nonchalance in those words had to be illegal coming from an extremely built man with legs to next Tuesday who was fresh from a shower. Granted the shaving cream on his neck and face detracted from the image a bit, but once he got the towel tied off and tilted his head back to begin carefully shaving his neck it was extremely difficult not to watch the razor as it revealed inch after agonizing inch of tanned skin.

"What the hell was that earlier?" she demanded with fury, completely ignoring his question and causing him to jump and almost drop his razor.

"So you're still mad," Draven put the small blade down and turned to face her properly. "But I can explain–"

"I deserved that fifth kill on Jarvan after taking down the remainder of their team," she seethed, cutting him off mid-sentence. This is why she disliked being sent to command the troops to the north instead of south where she was usually designated. There was too much competition in score with two marksmen on the field. "He was already on the verge of collapse, I would have been able to take him down easily after striking down the fox."

"No, you wouldn't have," Draven said, voice getting a tad defensive in an attempt to actually prove his point. He made sure to follow up before she had the chance to angrily retort, "You were pretty injured yourself and everyone else was too away far to help you."

"And even though you knew Jarvan was waiting in the wings, one knock-up from him and a charm to the face and you would have been respawning back in the fountain. You should be thankful that I actually knocked him away in time and finished him off while you took down Ahri," he finished, looking as if it offended him to have her question what he'd done.

Vayne pursed her lips, rendered speechless after hearing his logic. It surprised her how much consideration towards her safety the Noxian executioner had put in his action plan. Though endeavors conducted on the Fields of Justice were a collaborative effort, she tended to have a 'watch your own back' type of attitude when summoned, and would have expected the same of him.

But at the same time, her sense of pride wouldn't allow her to back down, even if he did have a valid point.

"You don't know that," she scoffed, acting as though her demeanor hadn't wavered after hearing his words. This was proving to be quite difficult however, as the towel began to make its descent again causing Draven to pull it back up. The motion however, provided her with a different view entirely as the terrycloth parted like a fine evening gown to expose a fair amount of his upper thigh before he cursed and made a move to fix it.

Now that her fit of rage had partly subsided, she realized that the lines on his chest were fully exposed now and begging to be followed again. She was vaguely aware of Draven attempting to further argue with her, though she was a bit too preoccupied to listen since everything about him seemed to draw her gaze downwards. Even the water seeping out of his hair was proving to be dangerous, trailing down the crevices in his muscles and disappearing into the towel around his hips.

Stop.

"Hey, Vayne. You alright?" Draven asked suddenly, snapping his fingers to try and get her attention. Again, the champion shifted his weight from one leg to the other, towel shifting with him. The knot, which he had tied with one hand, was just barely teasing with coming undone.

Vayne wished it an agonizing death tangled in the drum of a washing machine.

–And promptly realized she needed to get out of there.

"Don't get in my way next time," she stammered in what she deemed as a pissed enough tone before promptly storming her way out of the locker room, leaving Draven to question what in the hell was it that had her panties all in a knot lately.

No sooner had the door swung shut behind her did the towel finally decide to give in to her demands.

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The next time Vayne and Draven met was once again on Summoner's Rift. They were thankfully on opposing teams this time, both to the south where they belonged. And though Draven was currently donning his gladiator costume with markings in a different pattern across his exposed arms and chest, Vayne had been doing well in keeping her attention focused on the match and was currently even in score with the opposing marksman.

But because of the natural advantage in strength Draven had early on, she had to be careful while picking off the enemy soldiers. Thresh had been doing a good job so far exerting pressure in the lane, constantly serving as a threat in the shrubs to keeping Draven on his toes whenever he tried to retrieve an axe. This allowed Vayne to keep up with him so far as income was concerned, but Janna of Zaun had been doing her part to assist her partner as well. She seemed to always be able to shield Draven when a silver-tipped arrow was sent his way, and the seemingly endless tornadoes she summoned forced Vayne tumble away and miss and sacrifice the last hit on an enemy grunt lest she wanted an axe embedded in her side.

All in all, she and Draven were relatively even with their respective allies having yet to make an appearance from the jungle and forces in the dead center of the lane. Neither of them had gone back to buy actual damage items either, determined to stick it out until the other performed their recall spell first.

Vayne bit her lip, wishing the stubborn man would hurry up and retreat back to base already. They were both severely lacking in damage at this point in the game, and with the amount of gold in her pockets, she had enough to buy her cutlass as well as upgrade her boots to better dodge tornadoes. Thresh sent another chained scythe flying through the lane in an attempt to make the executioner back off, but Draven artfully sidestepped it while still managing to catch an axe, rendering the Chain Warden idle for the next few seconds. And if that wasn't enough, the shield from the Storm's Fury mitigated the damage from the arrow she sent afterwards.

This was just getting silly. Neither of them had a clear advantage, but at this rate, she was going to have nothing but her Doran's Blade before Udyr finally decided to show up.

Another tornado was sent hurling in her direction causing her and Thresh to fall a few meters back, though it took its entire duration for her to realize that it had more purpose than to simply zone the two of them away. The opening had given Draven the chance to slam both his axes into the ground and sending them to the north steady as a professional. She would have labeled the act as wishful thinking had she not seen the explosion that followed, poor Rumble's fur scorched black and sailing through the air for the entire rift to see.

Draven let out an accomplished laugh as his axes returned, and Vayne watched the clench of muscle as he flexed his grip on the handles, tossing them ceremoniously in the air as a sign of victory as he collected the bounty for his kill. The action rendered her immobile for a moment as she stopped to watch in a moment of weakness, a dull ache forming between her hip bones as her eyes greedily took in the sight of his fully exposed chest and arms glistening with sweat and dirt, muscles and movements clearly defined with every flick of his wrist.

Vayne barely had the time to grab onto the lantern Thresh sent her way before an axe was sent her way. But despite her retreat, she failed to evade the axe itself, which had left a deep gash on her stomach.

"Damn it," she cursed as she pressed her hands to the bloody mess on her abdomen, the stinging pain bringing her back to her senses. Safely under their tower now, Vayne decided to give in and cast her recall spell in order to heal herself at the fountain.

"You seem distracted," the Chain Warden bellowed as he began to recall alongside her, green eyes glowing in question. "This is unlike you."

"I'm fine," Vayne replied sternly, wound pulsing in pain. "It won't happen again."

Thresh seemed satisfied enough with her answer, but she couldn't help but mentally berate herself when their opposing lane retreated to their tower to safely recall as well. Draven in particular seemed quite pleased with their victory in the battle of willpower, arms raised high as bright blue rings began to materialize beneath his feet. She scowled in his direction as light particles began to obscure him, almost causing her to miss the small glance he gave her before she was sent back to her fountain – A sly, knowing grin that seemed to color his features for just a moment.

It was almost like he–

No…

No…

She knew that grin. It was the self-assured grin of the enemy that thought he had given her the slip right before she condemned them to the nearest wall and promptly ended them. It was confident, full of itself, and utterly shit-eating. It was the cocksure grin of a smarmy son of a bitch that knew quite well that he had a body capable of haunting daydreams and was using it to his advantage.

Instead of being insulted, Vayne readied her weapon with new resolve as the gash on her abdomen stitched itself closed.

This meant war.


Dipping my feet into the League of Legends category this time, what? Even though I'm definitely more successful with one-shots, I hope to have this completed within three chapters in order to keep it reasonable to finish I've actually had this idea for quite a while and I have the entire thing planned out, so the next chapters should be completed reasonably soon – the next centering around Draven and the third serving as some sort of conclusion. Vayne proved pretty difficult to write here since this is meant to be humorous and she's quite a serious champ, so I'd love to hear feedback concerning her characterization and anything else my lovely readers would like to point out or mention. Keep an eye out for the next chapter!