Just another Valorant x Male Reader One-Shot featuring some of your favorite agents. Enjoy!
AN: I don't own any pic or character in the story. Just writing some fanfic here.
The Valorant Protocol HQ was a labyrinth of sleek, steel corridors and cutting-edge technology. Every hallway echoed with the hum of energy coursing through the facility, punctuated by the occasional mechanical whir of automated defenses and the distant chatter of agents. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and metal, a constant reminder of the relentless training and combat preparation that took place within these walls. The lighting was dim, but with a soft glow from the neon strips embedded along the floor, casting an almost otherworldly ambiance.
(Y/n) walked briskly through the corridors, the weight of his broken Vandal in his hands and a frown tugging at his lips. He scratched his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. How could he have been so reckless? During training, his excitement had gotten the best of him again, and his superhuman strength had once more turned his weapon into little more than a heap of broken parts. He sighed heavily, muttering under his breath, "I hope Viper didn't find out about this." The thought of her finding out sent a shiver down his spine.
It wasn't the first time he had destroyed his Vandal, not even the second—it was the third time this month. And every single time, he had faced Viper's wrath. She was as cold and acid as the venom she wielded, and while (Y/n) was fearless in battle, there was something about her disapproval that unnerved him. Viper was like his kryptonite; one stern look from her was enough to make him crumble. She had this uncanny ability to strip away his bravado with just a few words, and he had no desire to experience that again today.
Determined to avoid her ire, he made a beeline for Killjoy's room. If anyone could fix his Vandal without blowing it out of proportion, it was Klara. She was a genius with tech, and she had always been patient with his little... mishaps. Maybe, just maybe, he could get this sorted without Viper ever finding out.
He approached Killjoy's door, took a deep breath, and hesitated for a moment before knocking. When there was no immediate response, he cautiously opened the door, ready to plead his case. "Klara, I need a favor," he started, stepping into the room.
But his words caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto an unexpected sight. There, in the middle of the room, was Viper, sitting casually on one of Killjoy's turrets, her expression unreadable but her posture relaxed. And right beside her, buzzing with infectious energy, was Killjoy—except she wasn't wearing her usual yellow jacket. No, Killjoy was clad in Viper's sleek, black, and green outfit, the sharp lines and dark colors a stark contrast to her usual vibrant look.
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As (Y/n) stood there, dumbfounded, his gaze traveled to Viper, and his jaw nearly dropped. Viper was wearing Killjoy's outfit—her oversized yellow jacket, the whole ensemble. The sight was so bizarre, so out of place, that for a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Killjoy was spinning around, showing off the outfit with an infectious grin, her enthusiasm filling the room. Viper, on the other hand, looked slightly amused, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a small, almost imperceptible smile, clearly entertained by Killjoy's antics despite her best efforts to appear indifferent.
