Control You - ManjiroXReader (Bonten)

Preface

"Its no surprise I turned you in 'cause us traitors never win" - Taylor Swift

The waiting room clung to a chill, the air dry and lifeless. The harsh, white light overhead only deepened the oppressive gloom that already permeated the space. Since I was a little girl, my dream had been to rise as Japan's top detective. Now, on the cusp of achieving that ambition by bringing down someone as charismatic, magnetic, and seemingly invincible as him, an unforeseen pang of regret seared through me.
It's an enigma, this shift in perception. It commenced with the subtle resurrection of childhood memories, followed by his moments of kindness, his meticulous attention to detail, and the allure of shimmering gifts. Could it be that within this acknowledged "monster," a glint of light existed? The consensus, unanimous among observers, deemed our connection a classic case of Stockholm syndrome—a chilling realization that cast shadows over the unconventional dance between captor and captive.

To have fallen deeply in love with a man became my entanglement, a sacrifice of my own freedom. The media, quick to paint him as a villain who committed unspeakable acts against me, remains oblivious to the truth—that not even a strand of hair was harmed. In his own words, he declared that if, with the passage of time, I still desired to bring him down, he would surrender willingly, offering me on a silver platter the dream we once shared as kids in his grandfather's dojo. And so, I retained the glory, hailed as the hero who brought down the most notorious criminal boss of our era. Yet, amid the accolades, regret clawed at me.

"He'll only get 15 minutes, Y/N," Naoto warned, my partner and ex-fiancé. He epitomized the stereotypical good guy, the husband material that made for a convenient career move, but not someone I could ever truly love, not like the way I loved him—the one who orchestrated the entire operation. In reality, I never made an attempt to escape, but in everyone's eyes, I was the "undercover genius."

"I don't understand why you'd want to talk to someone like him. He's not the boy next door anymore, Y/N. You have to wake up. He kidnapped you, not to mention all the other unspeakable things he's done for years," Naoto growled in frustration. I clenched my fist, standing up and walking towards the security door.

"Don't you dare speak about him as if you know him, Naoto. You'll never be half the man he is," I spat like venom, removing my engagement ring and tossing it to the floor before defiantly walking in.

It dawned on me that I had worn it all this time. Moving toward the chair, I caught sight of him behind the glass, his gaze unchanged – those deep onyx eyes locked onto me, the same way they always had. Staring into them felt like peering into the abyss, a mesmerizing darkness that could consume, yet I found myself captivated, willing to lose hours in that enigmatic gaze.

Seated in silence, we reach for the phones, our only conduit for communication across the imposing glass barrier. "Manjiro... I..." My attempt to speak is stifled by a knot in my throat, rendering me speechless. This pain is more profound than I anticipated.

"It's okay," Manjiro's voice, calm as a placid lake, wraps around me like a comforting shroud. "Y/N, do you remember when we first met?" He tilts his head, platinum hair cascading delicately over his face. For a fleeting moment, he mirrors the boy I knew in our childhood. Tears well up, and I manage to speak through soft sobs, "Of course, how could I forget?"

"We've weathered the storm for an eternity, dear," Manjiro maintains an unsettling calmness, detached from the chaos that surrounds us. "Mikey, I'm sorry. I never wanted things to unravel in this way." Tears continue to trace down my cheeks as I look at him, and suddenly, he smirks.

"Oh dear, don't cry. You know I hate to see you cry. I thought this is what you always wanted. It's the best future, isn't it?" He smiles from the other side of the glass, as if he were already a free man. Frustration boils within me, and I yell, "How can you be this calm?"

"Do you really underestimate me that much, Y/N?" He continued to gaze at me, his face resting on his hand as he playfully blew air through his hair. "What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. I knew him too well; he was undoubtedly scheming.

"Tell me, Y/N, what do you want? Ask for the world, and I'll lay it at your feet," he proposed, a dangerous allure in his voice. "You want me to face justice and meet my deserved end—I'll do it. You want this place to burn to the ground, and me to vanish into the shadows—I'll do it. What... do... you... want?" His offer hung in the air, and I understood the implicit cost.

"I want you," I cooed, placing my palm on the cold glass. He mirrored my movement, his hand meeting mine. "In that case, give Kokonoi a call. He'll instruct you on what needs to be done," he revealed, his smirk betraying the intricate dance of desire and manipulation in the twisted game he orchestrated.

Those marked his parting words as the guard ushered him back into the unforgiving confines. Tears streamed down my face, mirroring the ghost of a smirk he left behind. In the dark pursuit of triumph, there's a price to pay, and I stood ready to cast aside the culmination of my hard-earned efforts. What loomed before me was undeniably self-indulgent, a plunge into the abyss of my desires. In that moment, I disregarded the consequences, for the one I yearned to reclaim.