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kiwanopie · 1 year

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What happens if crime lord!Kiyoomi actually thinks you’re dead?

went off the deep end with this one, but hey! there’s a happy ending at least <3

cw: death, murder, actual bad guy kiyoomi, grief, graphic descriptors of death (not reader), happy ending but a lot of kiyoomi turning into the worst guy ever

wc: 3.5k

He’d kill you if it didn’t mean winding up in the same predicament again. For all the suffering you’ve caused he’d be due a severed finger. - Lucky you he doesn’t regularly keep anything sharp on him.

Atsumu’s never quite been the caring type. Faithful? Sure. But never compassionate. ~ Never quite felt bad for the wounded paw or attached himself to temporary things and temporary pleasures, never really formed a dependency on people in a way that ever mattered. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not heartless. There are people he loves. His brother, his mother, maybe a few of his cousins. But he’s never quite had the capacity to feel bad for someone. It’s never clicked. He supposes that’s why he’s so valued in his profession.

But over the past three years, watching a man who owns everything, who controls everything, grieve and become the worst version of himself - the worst version of anyone, sour and harden into a crust and get worse every day… Well, he might say he feels a little sore about it. Experiencing grief from a bird’s eye view, that’d be easy, if it weren't for his position as the guy’s right hand man.

When news of your death broke out the first thing Kiyoomi did was lock himself in his office. He wasn’t there when the guy who told him did, didn’t see the look on his face or the initial reaction that came at finding out the woman he loved had been murdered in cold blood. Well not quite cold. The car they rigged blew you to bits. But he was there for the aftermath. He saw the nauseated look on his face when walking into his office. Pallid and silent. Kiyoomi’s always been a quiet guy but the stillness that followed him was a vacuum. If he stood too close he’d all but stop breathing, even the acoustic in the hall seemed to have left with him.

He stayed in that office for three days. Didn’t leave for food or water, didn’t pick up the phone or address any of his constituents. Didn’t even move a muscle when one of the guys started a fire a few rooms over. Lucky him they put it out but those shadows under the door never moved. - By day three, Atsumu had almost figured he’d killed himself. But there wasn’t a smell, and by closing, his door had been left open. Torn papers and broken glass, toppled over furniture left as any indication he was ever there.

But that was just denial.

Atsumu isn't the kind of guy to go out of his way to do something cruel. Well… that’s a lie. He doesn’t do it often. Sure he’s laughed in the faces of groveling women, sneered at broken men and maybe even kept a bastard alive a little longer than he had to but that’s kind of his schtick? He’s supposed to be a loose cannon! What’s an aloof domineering big boss without one?

But this - Makato hits the ground with a curdled groan. More pushed out by inertia than the bullet lodged in his brain, but even so, the way his face goes slack feels particularly disturbing. What shit luck. They just hired this kid not even a month ago.

Kiyoomi shuffles his feet until he’s standing in front of the next one. Same soured scowl on his face, same outstretched arm, same barrel burning scorch marks on the underling's forehead.

“Plea-“

This one falls on his back.

Atsumu grimaces at the blood splatter that reaches him from his place a little further behind. He’s making a mess. Which probably makes matters worse because Kiyoomi notoriously hates messes. He hates the smell of too much blood and too much gun powder. Guns create loud noises that are more grating than gratifying, and he doesn’t like presenting his business as a group that murders and nothing else.

Nushiba pisses himself when the boss cocks his pistol, the smell makes him kiss his teeth.

��You think you all deserve to be scared?” Kiyoomi speaks into the room. “Is that why you failed us so badly? Fear? You were afraid of what?”

Kiyoomi aims for his mouth this time, the force of the blast blows his teeth into bloody fragments. “There is nothing on this earth that warrants this kind of disobedience. Nothing. I should never expect to be let down this gravely by my own men.”

Kenji gets a few rounds in his stomach before he nails the killing blow in his head. He was the one who was supposed to check in with him before you left the venue. You weren't even supposed to be beyond the front doors let alone the back seat of the car. He’s still blinking when he hits the ground, bleeding out of the chunk missing out of his head but his breathing doesn’t stop for a few odd seconds. He’s cognizant enough to cry.

“Let this be a reminder to everyone in this room,” Kiyoomi announces. And he spits on Kenji’s body for good measure. “You don’t fear death. You don’t fear pain. You don’t fear God,”

“You fear me.”

Atsumu forces down a swallow as Sakusa shoots his colleague in the throat.

In just the next year and a half his boss and companion had become the boogie man.

If he wasn’t the most feared man in Asia already, you’d say he’d broken the scales and became the most feared in all of the Pacific. He had taken the entire underground industry and painted it red. Jobs they’d otherwise refused for morality sake were on the table now. And he was killing people with families, the families themselves. Selling witnesses into slavery and destroying the infrastructure of even some of their allies. But they could do nothing to stop him. Retaliating wouldn’t work, the guy had nothing to lose at this point. And with a show of chops like this who would even want to be on his bad side. He was killing people on his own team if they didn’t didn’t jump high enough. - The only thing you can do against a man like he’d become is roll over on your back and show your belly.

And obviously the guys responsible for the assanation were no more.

Jesus, just the thought of what he made them do to Onslaught’s people makes him a little queasy. “Ya’ called me in here, boss?”

Kiyoomi quietly nods.

Atsumu redistributes some of the weight on his feet as he waits for his boss to start. - Watches him stare into empty space with his hands folded over his chest, too far from his desk to reach for his pistol, but who's to say he doesn’t already got it on him.

He’s always had a habit for yapping when he’s anxious. “Something on yer mind, boss man?”

Kiyoomi pulls a piece of skin off his bottom lip.

“Do you think…” He starts flatly. “…That I’ve been overreacting?”

Atsumu hesitates. Not too noticeably. He doesn’t have a death wish. But he hesitates. Any sane man would tell him yes, obviously. But Atsumu’s not exactly sane, and he toys the line of what could be considered a “man” quite often.

Is he overreacting? If he were him, “No,” Atsumu says honestly. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

Kiyoomi takes the reassurance with a twitch of his brow.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I know how people are starting to look at me, and this organization,” He says thinly. “I know that she-“

It looks like it physically hurts him to say. “…I know that… she was scared. And she didn’t like the way I did things. Because she was good. She was a good person. And now… I’m worse.”

There are tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you think…” Kiyoomi swallows. “… Do you think if I was better… If I could be better… she would still-“

“That girl loved ya, Omi.”

And even if talking out of turn could get him killed, nothing would be worse than what’ll happen if he lets him continue. “She loved you. Even if she could be a little twitchy about this… whole thing that we’re doin’ here, I could see it in tha way she waited for ya. She’d would sleep here all night if it meant you were going home with ‘er in the morning. It wasn't you that… It wasn’t you.”

“Yer grievin’.” He sighs. And for a moment it feels like he’s talking to his brother. Talking him out of doing something stupid cause he’s scared. - He’s scared and hurt. Whether that be from nearly losing a twin in a gun fight or finding out that someone you cared so deeply for has passed, it’s the same ballpark. It’s the same love. “We all become different people when we grieve. It’s a shitty fuckin’ feelin’ and it feels like dyin’ everyday.”

“Yer not overreacting.” Atsumu says, and then he chuckles under his breath. “Hell, if she were here she’d act like it was just Tuesday. ‘Girl could talk down a hurricane if you put ‘er to it.”

Kiyoomi lets out a humored breath.

“Yeah…” He sniffles. “…Thanks uh… Thank you, Miya. I appreciate that.”

“No problem, boss. Ya’ want me to round the boys up downstairs?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As much as he tried to get things back to normal, he couldn’t.

It was too much to lose you and by extension his happiness all at once. Thank the powers that be that he didn’t get any meaner, but a “nice” Kiyoomi had never quite been an option. With you around he was subdued, he had something to look forward to after work. Better days were the days you showed up and sat all cozied up near his desk. Sometimes he’d find you curled up on his lap - less common, the few times he’s barged in and found you bouncing on it. Repremandings aside, you kept him docile. Softened and genial, as much as a love drunk fool as any guy as reserved as him could be.

But now you’re gone.

Kiyoomi gets a little callous when he’s depressed.

There’s a civil servant in front of him. Not the first one he’s seen up close, not the first one he’s captured, but it’s the first one that cries so easily when he gets the tools out. She’s got a neat little suit and tie on that glows somewhat in the darkness of the cellar but he supposes that's a part of the gag. Justice. The fight against evil and the hand of the law, let it warm you over like the sun! Though regrettably, there ain’t too much sunlight for her to access fifty feet underground.

Atsumu checks his watch. The boys should be making some noise at the old courthouse about now. This little lady was supposed to be there around noon for the showcase, but he’s sure the big dogs won’t notice that their runner up has gone missing too soon. Big cases like this usually run an understudy anyway, and with the kind of shit they’ll be going against it’ll be a party.

So they can be comforted by the fact that no one’ll come looking. And the clear fear that that brings to the woman strapped to the ladder back, well he could go so far as to say it feels invigorating.

“Don’t play around with her too much, Miya. We need her lucid enough to talk.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest behind him. “This isn’t supposed to be for fun.”

Says the guy sitting in the splash zone. Even shrouded by shadows he can see the latent satisfaction in his face at seeing the official suffer. It’s the only time he sees him have any fun in this half year.

Atsumu exhales as he bounces the hammer drill in his hand. “A’right, I hear ya.”

He holds it to the bridge of her collar bone as she struggles. “You heard the boss. The fuck are you people doin’ with our money?”

“I already said I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Bullshit.” Kiyoomi asserts. “You work directly under Takuto. You of all people should know what goes on behind the scenes.”

“Shin doesn’t tell me anything…!” She sobs. “…He doesn’t tell me anything! I just write him his scripts and bring him his coffee!”

“So why does he cite you as an advisor?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

Kiyoomi kisses his teeth. “Miya.”

Her collarbone breaks with a nasty crack.

Her scream is enough to make his ears ring as he frowns to himself in his seat. It’s a pathetic display of the people who should be protecting the general public, let alone headlining our political infrastructure but it isn’t surprising. Half of the big wigs in the law game often pay off major criminals like him to send off small fries to further their laws and agendas, the other half, his people pay off to stay out of their dealings and territories. The Takuto firm has been a middleman of theirs for around two years now. They pay them to stage big cases with a few of their showmen, and Sakusa enterprises hands them a fat check to look the other way when his people pass by. Occasionally even, they do some of their handling for them.

But they’ve been doing a less than satisfactory job recently. And Kiyoomi’s just lost one of his best guys to the shithead with an angel scribbled on his business card. Nice guy he is, he only wants a refund and the head of the guy who did it. But they haven’t been exactly reciptible of his wishes.

Because they don’t have the money anymore. And Takuto’s too chicken shit to give himself up, even under threat of young uninvolved employees losing their lives in the process.

“You know something.” Kiyoomi says. “Your name is on everything. Not just our contracts but on the publicity deals. You’re a signing witness for all the cases you sell, all the commercials, all the revenue we gave you. So what the fuck do you mean when you say you don’t have it? You people make at least a million yen a day and you have nothing to show for it?”

She shakes her head.

“Speak clearly.”

“W-We don’t… We don’t.” She whimpers.

“Why not?”

“Please… I…”

Kiyoomi’s voice is so venomous that it nearly makes Atsumu wince. “You’ve got three fucking seconds to tell me what I wanna hear before we start sawing your hands off.”

She starts to retch. Even Atsumu kinda wants her to speak up.

“Ichi,”

“God, please…”

“Ni,”

“It’s…” She pitters off.

Kiyoomi sighs and starts the motion of lifting off of his feet.

She chokes it out like she’s gagging. “It’s Gethsemane! He’s been funneling the money to Gethsemane!”

Kiyoomi stops in his tracks.

There’s a look that passes through his eyes. A look that’s misplaced from the situation at hand and directed at something reminiscent. Something forgotten but perpetual, an open sore, now more scab than raw vessel, that peels open and encourages a reaction more akin to flinching. Bracing. Something hits him so suddenly that it overwhelms him to the point of freezing in place. Halting his breaths before blowing them out quietly. Atsumu could go as far as to say his eyes have gone glossy.

He speaks… carefully. “What do you know about Gethsemane?”

“The-They’ve… They’ve been threatening us… I think,” She admits shakily. “Whatever they’ve been saying to Shin is what’s been making him pay them. He says it’s for our safety.”

Atsumu scoffs.

“Why?” Is what Kiyoomi responds with. Which makes Atsumu furrow. I mean, Gethsemane’s fairly new to Japan and they’re a powerful organization, sure. But they’ve never exactly been on their radar. “Why are they-“

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “What would they want with you? Gethsemane doesn’t affiliate with case work. They would have no reason to threaten you.”

She pinches out a pained sound that sounds more like a plea than anything else. “I-…It’s the new hire… I think it’s the new hire…”

She sniffles. “They didn’t start bothering us until she showed up.”

Kiyoomi’s chair squeaks as he rises out of his seat.

It’s not even a moment that fully passes before he’s standing among the two. Towering just under the dim light, broad shoulders making shadows over the young official tied to her seat. Atsumu can barely react when he snatches the hammer drill out of his hands, and he eyeballs him as he points it before her nose.

His grip is trembling. Atsumu’s harrowed to find that there are tears in his eyes. “What’s her name?”

“I-I don’t-“ She cowers. “I don’t remember-“

He starts the motor. “Guess.”

“I-It was something foreign! She’s…. S-She’s gaijin! S-Super quiet!? You could find her on the registry if you-“

Kiyoomi takes a few dizzy steps back.

Atsumu stares.

She’s not talking about who he thinks she is?

You’re asleep in his arms when he walks through the door.

Knocked out would be more accurate telling by how limply your body pours into his grasp but it’s you. Flesh and blood, breathing in quiet puffs. The little sundress you’re wearing compliments you like everything else you wear. Just as pretty if not prettier, just as soft if not cottony.

Atsumu gapes as Kiyoomi silently walks through his living room, he’s following him before he knows what to do with himself. “H-Holy shit! Is that her?!”

Kiyoomi sniffles and then nods.

“What the fuck…What?! How did she-“

“I don’t know.”

Kiyoomi opens the bedroom door with his foot. Belatedly, Atsumu realizes he’s never been to this part of his house before.

His bedroom is about as neat as he’d expect it to be. Pretty much spotless to the point he wonders if the guy even sleeps in here or just hovers over the bed every night. There’s a big bay window that if not for the curtains would give a good view of the garden, solid mahogany floors, a big entrance to what he can assume is an enormous bathroom but -

Your stuff is still here.

At least, he can assume it’s yours and that it’s been here the whole time. Kiyoomi’s not quite a pink slippers kind of guy. He doesn’t think his tall frame would fit the little robe thrown over the vanity chair. Old posters of American artists take up a far wall and the English lettering on them is stylized and a little hard to read. Artists that look like you and share varying skin tones, some hung up records mounted to compliment them on the wall. There’s a console there that he knows Kiyoomi doesn’t touch, video game memorabilia posted on a near table. Even as he gets closer he realizes the discarded guitar leaned against the loveseat has collected dust over time. Hell, some of your clothes are still sitting where you probably left them before what happened a solid three years ago.

Oh man. Atsumu sighs through his nose. This guy’s been more tortured than he thought.

Kiyoomi’s feather gentle as he lays you on the bed, careful to position your neck in a way that won’t leave a crook in it when you eventually wake up. He’s tender enough to make the faux blonde go shy. So ginger that he blushes seeing him tuck some of your hair behind your ear and shuffles a little when he stares at you a long moment before letting out a sigh. He gawks as Kiyoomi lowers himself beside you, careful of your legs as the bed dips.

No one knows what to say.

Which is surprising, because nine times out of ten Atsumu can’t shut the fuck up. “Wh…” He whisps.

Kiyoomi turns his head to wipe some of the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t…”

He clears his throat. “I don’t know what this is about. Why her director is fear mongering a law firm into taking her in…Why she’s affiliated with these people in the first place… or why she’s been hiding for so long-“

His voice breaks. He really doesn’t wanna start again, his eyes have gone raw. “I just… hope that she can explain it to me when she wakes up. So we can put all this behind us.”

“Do…” Atsumu pitters. “Do you want me to stick around until then? Maybe call in the-“

“No, no,” Kiyoomi runs a hand through his hair. “No. The drug won’t wear until sometime tomorrow morning. So, you’re free until then. Just… Just uh-“

He messily fishes in his jacket pocket till he’s pulling out a crumpled up piece of paper. “Go to this address and make it seem like she went out for groceries or something. It’ll give us some time before they start looking.”

Atsumu takes the slip and slides it in his pants. “Alright… You gonna be okay?”

Kiyoomi breathes in a watery sniffle before nodding surely. “I’m just gonna turn in for the night, I think.” It’s five. “I think I’ve… exhausted all of my resources for today. - A headache like this is only gonna get worse.”

Kiyoomi rests his head in his hand. “Yeah… uh- engage the security system before you lock the door on your way out.”

Atsumu backs into the doorway. “Sure thing.”

“Miya?”

“Yeah?”

Kiyoomi turns to tuck his legs behind yours. “Hit the lights, please.”

“Gotcha.”

The lights dim as Kiyoomi pulls you into his chest.