reyna always had a bit of a possessive streak when it came to you.

in fact, most of the agents did. who would dare lay a hand on their loyal healer of valorant? one tiny, splotched bruise and the whole protocol would be out for blood.

particularly reyna.

her fingers twitch at her sides when she sees you chatting to sova.

sova. the russian man who’s looks were worth more than his stupid drones and arrows, reyna always seethed. why would you be talking to him, of all people? he isn’t good enough for you, reyna knows that.

that moment he lays a hand on your shoulder is the one where reyna loses all self control completely.

she’s not thinking when her fingers curl around the dagger in her belt, or when she storms into the room with her pink empress heart glowing brighter than ever.

reyna unleashes a hellish slew of spanish curses, rambling on and on about his impropriety, how he shouldn’t touch something so precious.. her corazón, her little cariño that is too innocent and soft for the likes of this man.

“we were just talking about the training—”

reyna silences him with a deathly glare, one hand snaking around to rest firmly on the small of your back.

“no. enough. we’re leaving,” reyna snaps, guiding you forwards— away from him, away from all the people.