Archive of Our Own ^beta

It is exactly 9:30pm when the sound of jangling keys and the door to your apartment unlocking interrupts your reading midsentence. Placing a bookmark between the pages, you set the book - some trashy romance novel you picked up from the local convenience store - on the coffee table and rush to greet your boyfriend. He hadn’t returned home last night, and when you hadn’t received a word from him, you had called his office in a panic. You knew that his work was dangerous, you knew the risks, but Touta had always let you know if he was coming home late.

After leaving countless messages with various staff members, at 1am your phone had finally pinged, and you had never opened a message so fast.

I’m ok. Still at work. A big breakthrough on the case. Can’t tell you yet. I love you.

Though the message was obviously sent with the intention of putting your mind at ease, it had done the exact opposite, adrenaline coursing through your body. His texts were normally sickeningly sweet, long messages of him waxing poetic about how much he loved you and how much he couldn’t wait to come home. Sometimes they were a little racey, cheesy and cliché remarks about wanting to come home and “make sweet, sweet love to his darling muffin” never failing to making you giggle, cringe and blush all at once.

You had responded to his message, telling him how much you loved him and how much you couldn’t wait to see him, and tried to go to sleep.

You’d barely slept a wink.

Presently, he’s completely silent, standing in the genkan with his head downturned as he takes off his shoes and set his work bag and jacket on their respective hooks. His hair obscures his face, but you can see his lips are pulled into a thin line. Not a good day, then. Perhaps more of his colleagues bullying him, more insults flung his way, maybe even a mistake made on his part messing things up again.

Whatever it is, he needs some kind of comforting. Desperately.

“Welcome ho- mmph!” Touta’s mouth crashes against yours in an uncharacteristically bruising kiss before you can finish your usual greeting, his tongue forcefully shoved so deeply that it literally takes your breath away. It’s messy, full of teeth and tongue and raw emotion and it makes your head spin. He pulls away to change the angle of the kiss as his right hand entangles itself in your hair and his left around your back, pulling you impossibly close to him. He does so with a light grunt of frustration as your teeth clash, almost sounding angry.

Definitely not a good day.

Touta has always been so gentle with his affections over the past 2 years of your relationship, always easing you into intimacy with soft touches and lingering, longing looks. This Matsuda Touta, the one that suddenly pins you against the wall, his kiss unrelenting and rough, is almost an entirely different person. You have met a less intense version this Touta once, the day that Chief Yagami was murdered and he returned home, emotional and exhausted and seeking comfort.

From this, you know what it is he seeks. What he needs. You’ll talk about what happened, the reasons why he’s so emotional, later. Right now, he clearly just wants to feel.

He lifts you from the ground, and you instinctually wrap your legs around him. The kissing doesn’t stop as he sets you down on the nearest cabinet, some cheap thing you had bought together when you first moved in as a couple. You had no idea that it would be used for something so sinful at the time, that’s for sure. Some of the items on the cabinet are knocked off as it’s bumped with the force of your landing, and you hear something smash, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Comforting Touta is the top priority for you right now.

Touta doesn’t seem to care either, or doesn’t notice, because he’s groaning into your mouth and his hands are travelling up your sides, groping and grabbing all of your sensitive places along the way. You fumble blindly to undo his tie, his shirt buttons, one or two of them popping off in your haste, and as soon as they’re undone he damn near tears the shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it carelessly behind him, still kissing you all the while. Your hands map out his body and he his panting hitches a little. He has gotten a lot thinner over the past few months due to the stress of the case, but nonetheless his physique is still toned, still very very attractive to you. It is certainly the body of a police officer, a delicious secret that your sweet boyfriend who has the face of an angel has such a masculine physique. 

His hands move hurriedly to pull the sleeves of your dress and bra down, exposing your chest. They immediately cup your breasts, thumbs running over your nipples, making you shiver, before he ducks his head down to take one of them into his mouth. You gasp as he gives a hard suck. It’s been a long time since you’ve been intimate with each other, with him busy with the Kira case while your own occupation had become more demanding the last few weeks. Most days your schedules just didn’t line up, and when they did, when you tried to watch movies or a tv series together, one of you needed to be dragged to bed after falling asleep on the couch.

So when one of his hands moves under the skirt of your dress to roughly move your panties to the side, you moan loudly as his fingers swirl with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you enjoy. You’re so sensitive and he’s so good at this after years of practise that you have to take a few deep breaths to stop yourself from climaxing almost immediately. As clumsy as is he is, his hands and fingers have always been magic. He knows your body, knows how to use those clever digits to have you screaming and coming undone under his touch, usually in conjunction with his wicked mouth and tongue. Always giving, always patient, always gentle…

But not this time. This time, his fingers frantically rub at your sensitive spots. He’s desperate, not looking to draw this out. He needs you desperately and he needs you now. It’s kind of thrilling, seeing this side of your lover. Still waters run deep, and it seems that beneath that adorable smile and kind and goofy personality, Matsuda Touta is still very much a hot-blooded man.

You’re definitely ready enough for him, so incredibly slick that lewd sounds echo through the small space of the entryway. Your pleasure filled haze allows you just enough clarity to reach down and hurriedly undo his belt fumbling a few times, before reaching into his trousers and briefs to pull him free. Touta groans loudly, obscenely, in a way that would normally embarrass and fluster him, and buries his face into the crook of your neck as you take him in hand and give a few pumps, thumb swirling over the head. 

“Please.” He whimpers, sounding so desperate and so very him as his voice cracks. “Please.”

Your heart constricts at the pain in his voice. “I’m yours, Touta. Whatever you need, take it.”

He lines himself up with you and lets out a strangled cry as he pushes himself in all the way with a single sharp thrust of his hips. You gasp as he starts moving, the pace much faster than your usual lovemaking, and much, much harder. Each desperate movement has you both panting, gasping and moaning. It doesn’t take either of you very long to climax. Not with how wet you are and how hard he is and how good it feels to finally, finally, be connected to each other again. 

“T-Touta, I-I’m-“

He doesn’t answer, but groans and quickens his fingers and thrusts, the cabinet under you rocking and slamming against the walls with the force of it all. You won’t be able to make contact with your neighbours for a while, it seems, and it’s likely that the wall behind you will need some patching up tomorrow. His lack of words is unusual - he’s usually so vocal during sex, gasping and whimpering about how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how much he loves you. That’s what normally pushes you over the edge but this time, this time what does it is when he seals his mouth onto your neck and kisses you so hard you know there will be a mark tomorrow. A stark reminder that you’re his, that you and only you alone can console whatever he’s upset about in this way, and that he’s showing absolutely no mercy and taking his frustrations out on you.

You reach your high, eyes rolling back into your head as you cry out his name, tightly holding his head against your chest with one hand and raking your nails over his back with the other, unable to withstand the intensity of after so long. He’s moaning uncontrollably, those obscene noises coming back, and then he’s grabbing your hips hard enough to leave bruises and thrusts harshly once, twice, three times and shouts as he spills himself deep inside of you. 

Both of you are heaving with exertion, panting against each other’s necks. You eventually pull back from him, closing your eyes and resting your forehead on his as you calm yourselves. A few moments later he withdraws himself from your warmth, still panting, a small shudder running through him as he adjusts his clothing.

“Touta?” You whisper softly.

He raises his head and it’s then that you finally get a proper look at his face.

And your heart shatters.

So much so that you feel your eyes prick with tears. He looks absolutely devastated with grief. His brows are furrowed, his eyes, his big, beautiful brown eyes that are usually filled with loving and gentleness are bloodshot, rimmed with unshed tears. His panting is shaky, and you notice that his hands, so sure and strong moments ago, are shaking too as he fumbles with the fly and buttons on his pants. The dark circles around his eyes are more pronounced; the past few months working on the Kira case had been taxing on his physical and mental health, and whatever happened seems to have taken years off his life.

You search his face for a moment to try and piece together what may have happened. Touta is normally an open book, and the expression that he wears is similar to that of the night he came home after the murder of Chief Yagami, with an additional element added to it:

Fear.

It gives you pause, but tonight is not about you and your emotions, so you swallow hard. You gently take his face in your hands and lift his face to look at you, and the tender gesture seems to chip away some of his restraint, and you brush your thumbs against his cheeks to wipe away the tears that silently fall from his eyes and his mouth starts to quiver. He’s usually such an ugly crier, whether from joy or sadness, so evidently, he is still holding himself back from completely dissolving into a complete mess, likely for your sake.

Not a healthy thing for your normally emotional boyfriend. You press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Oh honey, what happened?”

Four words. Four seemingly simple words is all it takes for the face of the man you love to crumple in palpable grief as he suddenly wails brokenly, lurching forwards to bury his face in your neck as he sobs. You pull him against you, your own silent tears falling from your eyes as his entire body heaves against yours. Minutes which seem like hours pass and eventually his sobbing slows, giving way to hiccups.

His weight settles against you as he slumps over, clearly exhausted, a broken whisper of your name pulls you from your thoughts.

“Am I a bad person?” His voice is strained, muffled against your clothing.

The shattered pieces of your heart ache, “Oh, sweetheart, no. What could ever make you thi-“

“I killed him.” The words are stuttered out in a series of sobs as his grieving begins anew.

You freeze, going over the millions of possibilities on who it could have been and what the circumstances were. A random criminal? A teammate? On accident? On purpose?

Your stomach twists at the considerations, then, just as fast at the thoughts have surfaced, they are dismissed. Touta, sweet, goofy Touta, who drunkenly apologised to the coffee table just last week for accidentally kicking it, wasn’t capable of such things. Whatever happened, you’re sure it wasn’t without extreme cause. He wouldn’t be home if that were the case.

“Touta, breathe, honey.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. He always melts whenever he lays his head on your lap while you play with his hair. The gesture calms him down quicker this time and eventually, he stops crying, taking shuddering breaths.

“Please, sweetheart. Look at me. What happened?”

A deep breath and he lifts his head to look at you with those sad brown eyes that are haunted. “Kira. We figured it out and I… I shot him. And he… he….” He takes a shuddering breath and says your name, “It-it was Light. It was him the whole damn time!”

You gasp as your eyes go wide, your eyebrows nearly flying off your face. Nothing could have prepared you for that. Your gentle and unassuming boyfriend, the one who was continually bullied for being the “stupid” member of the NPA, was the one to bring down the infamous serial killer. And apparently in the permanent sort of way.

He suddenly looks panicked, “I-I didn’t mean to kill him! B-But he-he was- he had a piece of-of the book and he was writing really quickly and and and-“

His rapid-fire speech and stuttering signify that he’s working himself in to one of his usual panic attacks. You belatedly realise that in your shock, you’ve likely made him think that you would be horrified at his actions. You bring your lips to his forehead and press a gentle kiss there, and his body seems to relax a little.

“Shhhhh, honey, it’s okay. I still love you. It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I was so angry.”

“I’m sure you did what you had to do.”

“They had to pull me away before I shot him in the head!”

“He needed to be stopped.”

He’s becoming more elevated and worked by the second, his voice taking on a frightened tone, “But this makes me no better than him! Deciding who lives or dies, handing out justice as if I-“

“Matsuda Touta!” He startles at the raised tone of your voice and use of his last name, “Honey. You are a police officer. Your duty first and foremost is to protect people. And sometimes that means that you have to make decisions that aren’t exactly ideal. You did what you could. And I am so proud of you, you brave, silly man.”

“But I’m not me any-“

You press a gentle finger to his lips to silence any protests, “I know what you’re about to try and say. A bad person wouldn’t be a total mess right now. You’re still Touta – my sweet, caring, empathetic Touta.” You brush your lips against his ever so gently, “And I still love you.”

With that he cries against your chest a third time, all snot and tears and very much more like the Touta you know. This time it lasts a full fifteen minutes before he settles with a sigh and raises his head.

He looks exhausted.

You pluck a tissue from the box to your left – the only surviving item from your activities – and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks and dabs at his eyes before blowing his nose.

“Okay, honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you could use an extra-long, hot bath. You look like crap.”

“….That’s rude.” He huffs, pouting adorably as he snatches another tissue and blows his nose obnoxiously.

“Not rude if it’s true.” You stick your tongue out at him, and a tiny smile crosses his face as he moves over the mirror on the wall in the genkan to look at himself. He grimaces at his reflection as you straighten out your own clothes.

“Oh whoa, ’kay, I guess you have a point. I seriously look like I should be sent to the old folk’s home.”

You giggle. There’s he is.

“I’m serious! How could you even think about banging someone who looks more than half your a-“

He gasps suddenly, blushing furiously as he takes in the mess the two of you have made: the broken picture frames on the floor, the Lego bonsai that will need to be rebuilt, the key bowl flipped upside down, various keys scattered…

And most notably, the marks on the wall from where the cabinet was repeatedly slammed against it.

“Ohhhh my god!” He squeaks out, “W-We did that?!”

You burst out laughing from where you’re still perched on top of the cabinet.

Touta blushes even harder, something that you didn’t think was possible, when he takes in your dishevelled state. His eyes widen comically huge and his hands wave frantically about when he notices the growing bruise on your neck.

“I am sooooo sorry, honey! I was too rough!” He buries his face in his hands in embarrassment.

“Touta, it’s okay. It was all consensual, and you needed to let the frustration out somehow. I was more than happy to help.”

He lets out a strangled noise and you chuckle, hopping down from the cabinet, removing his hands from his face and kissing them. He looks adorably sheepish.

“I’m not upset with you. In fact it was… kinda hot.”

His eyes are going to fall out of his sockets, you’re sure of it.

You giggle, “Yeah. Go wash up, Touta. I’ll get us something to eat. It’s been a long day.”

“But, you need-

“Touta…” You warn.

“Yes, ma’am!”

You giggle as Touta gives you a quick peck before heading to the bathroom. How you adore this man…

As Touta bathes, you clean yourself up and head out to the nearest convenience store to get something for the both of you to eat. Upon your return, you eat in a comfortable silence, and Touta is looking a little more relaxed. Still tense, still exhausted, but he doesn’t look like he’ll break if you ask him if he’s okay.

Afterwards, you sit on the couch together and debrief the events of the evening before. He cries a few more times, and you reassure him again and again that he did what he had to do, that Near and the others of the NPA would be dead if it weren’t for him.

After you bathe, you enter your bedroom to find Touta standing by the window, staring out the at the night’s sky.

Without a word, you cross the room and embrace him from behind. He places his hands over yours.

“I love you, Touta.’” You whisper, and feel his chest rise and fall as he inhales and exhales deeply.

“I love you, too. So much.”

“Come to bed?”

He turns, bringing your knuckles to his lips, “Mmhmm.”

You make love once more that night.

He’s back to his regular self this time, gentler and unhurried, making you come undone under clever fingers and a wicked tongue before entering you. It’s heartachingly tender this time, his forehead on your own and his fingers intertwined with yours.

“I love you.” He whispers into your mouth, against your neck, against your chest, over and over and over again...

You echo the sentiment, your heart struggling to keep up with the intensity of your feelings.

A wave of emotion crashes over you and you suddenly realise that Touta could have been the one to die tonight.

“You okay? You’re crying.”

You touch your face, feeling the dampness on your cheeks, “Oh. Am I?”

“Yeah. Do we need to stop?”

“No. I’m okay. I’m just… so glad you’re safe Touta.”

“Me too.”

Touta rises early in the morning as the sun rises, peaking over the roof tops of the surrounding buildings. A habit from his training days early in his career that he’s never grown out of. You’re sleeping soundly beside him, hair sprawled over your pillow, your face the very image of peace.

He smiles softly as he places a gently kiss on your forehead, careful not to wake you, and opens the drawer of his nightstand. Slowly, he pulls out the small velvet box from the secret compartment and opens it, the gleam of the morning sunlight making the tiny gemstones shine brightly.

Today he would take you on that picnic he had planned months ago, finally asking you to spend the rest of your life with him.

You had once again mended his shattered heart and filled it with unconditional love. His only wish is that he could return the love you gave him for the rest of his life.