Touch in the Dark- König x fem! Reader

RW 20- Home?

After the interrogation, I told Price I wanted a flight straight back to America. I was done. He agreed, knowing someone would end up dead if I wasn't sent home. I wasn't going to completely quit the military, it was all I have at this point. But I wasn't going to stay anywhere near them, not anymore. It hurt too much. 

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay with us longer," Price widened his arms, asking for a hug. I sighed, a small smile hitting my lips.

"It's alright, dad," I mocked him before sliding into his arms. "Things never go as planned around here, do they?" Price chuckled, holding me tightly.

"You're right kid, they never really do. Let me know when you touch ground. Come see me sometime, okay?" His voice shook toward the end and I could feel him squeeze a little harder. 

"I will. You've at least got Wires working with you. I believe in you all. You've got this," I confirmed, slowly pulling away. Price sighed, rolling his eyes at me. I let him down, and that feeling was going to stick with me forever. Whether I wanted it to affect me or not. "I'll be watching. Good luck with Shepherd." Price scoffed, a laugh finally escaping his lips.

"Be safe, kiddo."

"I will, dad." I climbed into the plane finally, seeing a few other people onboard. It would end up being some connecting flight to pick up some more transfers, and then we'd hit American soil. It'll be weird to be back home. 

Quickly, we took off, and I began to realize how boring flying on my own really was. I took out a piece of paper from the pouch in front of me and began doodling little things, like a flower pot, the boat we stole the one time we made it onto that oil rig, and then König's mask. Fuck. I put down my pencil, my eyes burning into the paper. Why did I draw him, why the hell was I thinking about that green bean giant? I put my hands into my head, finally feeling the weight of everything. I was on a flight back to America. I was pissed, rightfully so, and hurt. But that goddamn beast of a man had a hold of my heart. 

Why? God knows. I shouldn't feel a morsel of anything but hatred toward him. Yet something tugged at my brain, begging for something. I sighed, slouching back into my seat crumbling up the drawings. I couldn't help but think of his small giggles, his gunmetal eyes, and how warm his hands were. A ding interrupted my thoughts, informing me we were about to land as the seatbelt light clicked on. 

The landing was pretty smooth, at least for the most part. Once we hit ground, there was a big commotion toward the front. People screaming and yelling, some in English, and some in a different language. It increased in volume until they reached the back end of the plane. They searched through, finally making eye contact with me. The group was armed with a chestful of ammunition and held some modified type of AK. Shit.

"You, up." One of them spoke, a heavy accent blurring his English. Of course, they had to be pointing at me. I complied, not particularly wanting to feel a round go through me. Weapons weren't uncommon on these types of plane rides, but not what they had. Something was clearly amiss here. I could feel one of them press the barrel of their gun into the side of me, and another reached around my neck, pulling my dog tag up into his fingertips. 

"This one. Go," A man spoke, ramming his barrel into my back, and shoving me forward. Shit. They immediately spoke to one another in their language, occasionally yelling at me in broken English to go faster. 

We finally exited the plane, and they led me through the military base until we reached some shoddy helicopter. For some reason, no one had paid attention to me being held at gunpoint, but again, I could have been seen as a prisoner of war. It wasn't uncommon to have someone being hauled through to be transferred somewhere else. 

"Wait. Makarov," They finally spoke, shoving me into the helicopter. One of them ended up typing me up, somewhat securing me to the aircraft. This time, the ride was ten times worse. The whirring of the helicopter blades deafened me, as I sat on my feet uncomfortably, my hands tightly tied behind my back. Plus, much longer. Finally, we hit land, the cold air biting into my exposed skin. They untied me, ordered me up, and shoved me out into the cold air and snow. Where ever I was, it was clearly not America. 

We finally made it into a building, where they lead me down multiple hallways before shoving me into a room with a couple of chairs and some tv. How the tables have turned, huh? The door shortly opened after I arrived a man with short black hair about in his early 30s followed. 

"Nice ride, hm?" His Russian accent was very apparent. 

"Oh, just joyous," I mocked, finally taking a seat. He sat across from me, chuckling lightly.

"Full of spunk. Surprised you didn't fight on the way here," He lifted an eyebrow, confused by my actions.

"With those guns? Asking for a death wish. Fill me in as to why you kidnapped me?" I responded, surprising myself with my nonchalant behavior.

"Not yet, girl," He smiled, the door opening with a small tray of food and two cups. A small kettle followed. "Tea? I know you brits tend to like them."

"Not British, love. American," I corrected, turning down his tea.

"Ah, you're all still pigs," He spat, pouring himself a cup before sipping. I slouched into my seat, crossing my arms.

"This pig is out of commission. You should know that if you intercepted my flight," I glanced at my nails. Nervous habit to pick at them. 

"They don't lie when they say pigs are smart," He chuckled, annoying slurping on his drink. I'm in some deep shit now. Face to face with Makarov, and he's sitting in front of me after hunting me down. Price is going to have me if he finds me alive. 

"Now, let's talk about, Oliver." He gently set his cup down.