#yanderesubcrollo

[shalnarkwifeyy]

A Life of Shadows

☆mafia au☆

Yan! Sub!Chrollo x Dom! Reader

Fighting has always been a part of me. It’s not about survival anymore—it’s about control. In this world, control is everything. The strong lead, the weak follow, and the rest are left to rot in the dirt.

Justice? Fairness? Lies fed to the masses. The truth is simple: power is the only thing that matters.

So why do I keep going? Maybe because I refuse to be controlled.

My feet carried me through the dimly lit streets, ignoring the sounds of pain and suffering that echoed from the alleys. This city was a graveyard for the weak. I had no sympathy. I was here for one thing—work.

The flower shop looked innocent enough from the outside. Soft colors, delicate arrangements in the window. But behind the facade, it was a front for something far more dangerous. A money-laundering hub for the Phantom Troupe.

Just as I reached the door, a voice stopped me.

“You work here?”

I turned, my gaze settling on the man standing under the flickering streetlight.

He was striking—slicked-back black hair, dark eyes that lingered too long. There was something meticulous about him, like every movement was calculated. He radiated authority, but I knew men like him. The ones who thought they had control over everything around them.

I tilted my head. “Yeah. And you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his eyes remained cold. “I’m looking for the owner."

I held his gaze, unbothered. “Follow me.”

Inside, the shop smelled of roses and fresh bills. The owner sat behind the counter, counting stacks of cash with shaky hands. When he saw my companion, his face paled.

“Stealing from the Troupe?” The man’s voice was soft, but it carried weight. “I expected better.”

The owner tensed, fingers twitching toward the drawer. A flash of silver—a knife.

Amateur.

He lunged at the man beside me, but before he could react, I moved. A swift kick to the gut, and the owner flew backward, crashing into the shelves. Glass shattered, petals scattered across the floor.

The stranger blinked, staring at me with something like... awe.

I sighed. “Slow reflexes. Noted.”

He straightened his coat, recovering quickly. “Impressive.” His eyes lingered on me, calculating. “You’re stronger than I expected.”

I smirked. “You’d be surprised.”

He stepped closer, too close. “Work for me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’d want to?”

His smile widened, but there was something off about it. “Because you’re not the type to stay in a place like this.”

I considered him for a moment. Then, against my better judgment, I agreed.

One Month Later

Working for Chrollo was… amusing.

He was good at playing the leader—always composed, always in control. But I saw the cracks beneath the surface. He was meticulous, yes, but there was something beneath the calm exterior, something unraveling.

I tested him. Pushed him. He didn’t like being challenged, but he never stopped watching me.

He followed me more than necessary, his presence a constant shadow. I could feel his eyes on me whenever I walked into a room.

And when I spoke, he listened—too intently.

The first time I pinned him against the wall during a sparring match, I expected resistance. Instead, his lips parted slightly, his breath uneven.

“You’re holding back,” I said, my grip firm around his wrist.

His dark eyes flickered with something dangerous—something desperate. “Maybe I want to see what you'll do next.

I let him go, but the way he lingered in my space afterward told me enough.

He wanted more.

It didn’t take long before I found him in my quarters one night, seated on my bed like he belonged there.

“You again?” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I was waiting.” His voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

I narrowed my eyes. “For what?”

A slow smile crept across his lips. “You.”

He wasn’t subtle anymore. The touches lingered too long, his presence too close. If I walked ahead, I’d feel him trailing just behind me. He didn't ask for permission; he simply existed in my space.

And when I called him out on it, he only looked at me with those dark, endless eyes—like he was memorizing every inch of me.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he’d ask, his voice low, teasing. But there was something beneath it. Something craving control... and losing it.

I smirked. “If I did, you wouldn’t be standing here.”

He liked that.

Too much.

Then, the attack happened.

Another worker—someone who had been watching Chrollo for weeks—made his move. A blade slashed through the air, fast, aimed straight for his throat.

He didn’t react in time.

I intercepted, twisting the attacker’s arm and driving him into the wall with enough force to crack it. A swift, precise punch to the ribs, and he crumpled to the ground.

Chrollo stood there, wide-eyed, his breathing ragged. Blood trickled from his side.

I stepped closer, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “You really need to watch your back.”

For the first time, he looked... vulnerable. And he didn’t hate it.

Instead, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes softened—too soft.

“I knew you’d save me,” he whispered.

I sighed. “Don’t make it a habit.”

But something shifted after that night. He hovered even closer, his touches more deliberate. He’d watch me with that same unnerving gaze, like he was trying to figure out how to crawl under my skin and stay there.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he said one evening, his voice barely above a whisper.

I didn’t respond. Trust wasn’t something I dealt in.

But it didn’t stop him from trying to tether himself to me.

Once, I caught him watching me sleep, his fingers grazing my wrist lightly—like he needed reassurance that I was still there.

He didn’t try to lead anymore. He let me take control, following my commands with an unsettling ease.

And in the moments when I pushed him, when I pressed him too hard, I could see it—the way he thrived under it.

“You like this, don’t you?” I muttered, gripping his collar tightly one night.

His breath hitched, and he didn’t deny it.

Chrollo Lucilfer, the feared leader of the Phantom Troupe, was mine. And he knew it.