König x Female!Reader
••Now a prisoner, you're set to be interrogated by the man who caught you.

Your captors dragged you to their lair, stripped you of your gear, and threw you into a room with a bag tied over your head. Your arms were bound behind your back with tight wire that dug painfully into your skin.

The most you could do was lay there and try to steady your nerves, nothing but the maddening buzz of an overhead light to keep you company.

These people were strange to you. They wore a uniform you didn't recognize. However, they didn't seem to recognize your uniform either based on the mumblings you'd heard before being thrown in the room. The man from the field eluded you. None of the voices from other soldiers matched his, and you knew exactly what he sounded like. His voice had been burned into your memory.

"...little rabbit."

The lock on the door slid back with a loud shunk, causing your body to stiffen. The door creaked open and in came the heavy thud of boots, soon followed by a crash as the door slammed shut.

A cry of surprise escaped you as you were plucked from the floor like nothing more than a child's doll. The soldier handled you with ease, his thick fingers wrapped around the entirety of your upper arm. He sat you down in a chair rather forcefully and pushed your head back so that you sat up straight.

Fear coursed through your veins and you almost believed he could smell it based on the way he chuckled lowly.

"Do not be afraid. I will not harm you... yet." He finally spoke, sending shivers down your spine. It was him. "Answer all of my questions truthfully, and this will go far more pleasantly for you."

"Fuck you." You spat.

A sigh of disappointment. Then, a hand surging forward to seize your jaw in a crushing grip. Blood pooled in your mouth from your bitten tongue, filling it with the taste of metal.

"You should be thankful that you're even alive." He seethed venomously. After a moment, he let go, leaving you with a sore jaw. "So eine Respektlosigkeit..."

The sound of fabric against fabric filled your ears as he stood, casting a shadow over you. Although you couldn't see him, you could feel his commanding presence.

"Now, what were you doing in that field, hm? Other than hiding like a coward."

You clenched your jaw, remaining silent.

"Answer me." He pressed.

"I'll answer you if you take this damn bag off my head." You huffed in response.

For a moment, he was silent, presumably considering your words.

"Very well."

You recoiled as the bag was pulled off your head, squinting your eyes while they adjusted to the light. Your vision refocused on your interrogator as he stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest—lord, was he something.

For starters, he was an absolute unit. Standing nearly double your height, he almost didn't fit in the room. The ceiling was only a few inches taller and you were sure he had to duck through the doorway when he came in.

He wore the usual combat gear—all tailored specifically to his immense size. A sniper's hood hid his face, only his eyes peeking out from two crudely cut holes in the fabric. To say he appeared unsettling was an understatement. You tried your best not to squirm under his intense gaze.

While you were studying him, he was also studying you—and he seemed to like what he saw. However, his eyes narrowed as they landed upon a certain area.

"Those bruises are old. Not made by my men." He said, pointing at your face. "What have you been up to?"

"That's irrelevant." You huffed, not buying his sense of fake concern—if you could even call it that.

"I decide what is relevant, kaninchen." His asserted sharply. "Answer me."

You rolled your eyes. "I got beat up on a mission. There, you happy?"

It wasn't the truth—not at all. Just something to feed to him so he'd stop going down that path.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and studied you. "That brings us back to the original question. What were you doing in that field? Were you spying, perhaps?"

"No."

"Then tell me what you were doing."

"Running."

"From who? Certainly not us, since I didn't hear any reports of contact."

You pursed your lip. This would be the point of no return if you decided to go forward. You'd be royally screwed.

He watched you, waiting for an answer, growing more impatient by the second until finally, he leaned down and propped his hands on the back of the chair you were sitting in. His concealed face was mere inches from yours—so close, his eyes seemed to burn into your very soul.

"I'd rather not ruin that pretty face of yours." He murmured. His left hand moved to flick open a knife he'd pulled from his belt and he ever so slightly dragged its edge across your cheek. "But I will if I must."

You swallowed thickly, wincing as the knife grazed your cheek and left a thin line of blood behind.

"I was running from my task force." You finally answered him.

Your answer must've surprised him, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing back down.

"Task force 141?" He growled, pressing the flat side of the blade against your skin.

You leaned away from him. "No, different one. Buncha liars and backstabbers. They didn't give a shit about me, so I ran."

His eyes shifted to the bruises again and a few gears began to turn in his mind. He pulled the knife away, his gaze softening somewhat out of pity.

"Bastarde. The bruises are from them." He muttered. "I assume you have information, then."

You nodded slowly, grimacing at the stiffness in your neck.

No turning back now.

He nodded as well with a quiet hum, then rose to his full height and looked down at you.

"I will give you a choice." He said, no hint of malice in his tone. He was a strange one, the way he shifted between aggression and calmness. "Give me information about your task force and their plans and I will grant you safe haven in exchange. Deny my offer and I will gladly throw you back to the wolves."

You didn't think twice, already giving an affirming nod. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Good." He said, sounding pleased.

Time to show those assholes the consequences of their actions.