what a fun event, thank you @mattmelloweek for organising this again and coming up with some wonderful prompts :) listed below are all seven fics written for the week, with both tumblr and ao3 links...
Thank you all for your contributions and making this years MattMelloWeek a wonderful success. There has been a fantastic mix of fic and art for these two and it has been great seeing people still hold this pairing near and dear to them. We look forward to seeing you again next year for the third annual ship week!
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Relationship: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Characters: Matt | Mail Jeevas, Mello | Mihael Keehl
Additional Tags: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Moving In Together, Not Canon Compliant
Word Count: 804
Series: Part 7of MattMello Week 2025 | @mattmelloweek
Summary: What happens after the Kira case, in which Matt escaped and Mello survived.
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It did all work out, in the end.
That small apartment you rented out for a few months in Los Angeles wasn’t exactly glamorous, a rushed decision made on the flight back from Japan when you were, briefly, a fugitive on the run. You understood why Mello wouldn’t respond to your texts, but with your eyes glued to the screen, you found yourself praying in a clumsy, amateur fashion that the plan did go as intended. That he would come out alive.
He had crawled out of the hellfire once, he could do it again.
You received a call from an unknown number exactly four months after you arrived in the States once again, locking yourself in as you tried to distract yourself from Mello’s absence and the paranoia that the police would knock at your door at any given moment. You heard a distinct buzz and picked up the call without hesitation.
“I’m fine. Near caught him. It’s over now.”
Mello would text you that evening, telling you to take the next flight to London. Near had insisted you both return to the UK, for whatever reason, and there was already a house in the capital under Near’s name that awaited your arrival. You would touch down first, caught up in a faded recognition of somewhere you once called home, and used your phone to find your way east, using the coordinates Mello had sent over.
Unfurnished, the size of the house looked intimidating as you wandered in, with nothing more than a backpack of accumulated necessities you had managed to obtain. Perhaps it was that you hadn’t lived in a place with so much room for so long that you were almost intimidated by the space, unable to envision how it could become your own. The flight had been a long one and, finding a mattress propped up in the hallway, you pulled it into the living room and fell straight to sleep on it, using your jacket as a blanket.
Mello arrived the next afternoon.
You held him close, breathing in that familiar earthy smell that no one other than Mello emanated, and rather than begin to groan, or struggle against your embrace, his arms wrapped around your back and he lowered his face into the curve of your neck. You told him that you missed him and he made a noise that suggested he did too.
Making a house into a home was always going to be a challenge. There were some essentials that needed to be procured – a bedframe, a sofa, various kitchen appliances – and these filled those large blank spaces with the commitment of residency. Mello would often say this wasn’t meant to be permanent, that although Near had not made any suggestion that they were indebted to him in any way, that you both would be moving out as soon as the opportunity presented itself. You felt no sense of urgency, this sense of sudden stability foreign yet welcome after these past years of constant vigilance.
There would be no threats of heart attacks, and you cut back on the cigarettes, the irony of dying in such a way from your own hand no longer offered the incentive it once held.
You had been decorating. Mello felt the white walls were too dull so after a healthy debate at the pub the evening before, you both settled on a burgundy colour, which you picked up that morning. Mello had found what appeared to be a very lucrative junk sale a few streets away, and arrived with various rugs, lampshades and kitsch ceramic that initially looked like a rather incohesive collection of impulse purchases. After the paint had dried, you put up some shelves and he arranged it all in such a way that even you had to admit looked nice.
Eventually, you brought back your tech, albeit having lost files and documents you would never be able to recover without the backups on hard drives that could be anywhere now. You were careful in settling them up so the cables didn’t trail across the floor, which had been a pet peeve of Mello’s when you first moved in together, but once your laptops were turned on, your consoles whirred into life, you realised you really didn’t want to leave now.
This was where you were happiest.
Granted, you know there’ll come a time any day now where the House will reach out, a new case will be opened, and perhaps you will need to leave this place behind. For now, you both spend your evenings on the sofa, drinking beers as you lie beside one another, easy conversations flowing. Mello is more relaxed than you have ever seen him, and he smiles easier now too.
It did all work out, and now you can enjoy it together.
Last day of @mattmelloweek !! Sorry if it's ass, but I wanted to feature @zimt-deathnote 's wonderful m2 designs with them being happy and married and all.
Series: Part 6 of MattMello Week 2025 | @mattmelloweek
Summary: Mello gains ownership of the Death Note, and Matt decides to reward him for his hard work.
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"We did it." Mello throws something at me, which I manage to grab with both hands in a sporadic moment of luck. Sealed in an evidence bag is a black notebook, white text reading 'Death Note' in English scrawled across the front.
"I didn't expect it to look so..."
"Normal?" Mello plants himself on the edge of the bed, stripping himself of his jacket before unlacing his boots, "It looks like a sorry attempt at a prank. If I hadn’t seen the names inside, I would have suspected as much. There is also a list of rules too, really convoluted, but I’ll work my way through them over the next few days. I'll need you to go through the list of people written in there and verify them as legitimate Kira victims.”
I turn the notebook over as if the back cover would reveal anything more of interest, but upon being greeted with nothing worthwhile, I toss it on the bedside table, "Can't believe you can just write names in this book and people die."
Mello frowns, "Well that's what we are dealing with, Matt, whether you want to believe it or not."
"Chill out, I'm not saying you're wrong or anything." I sit up, my hand reaching for the small of Mello's back, "I think it's impressive you managed to pull the exchange off, you know." Granted, I was relieved when Mello confirmed the girl had been reunited with her father, thinking he had gone a little too far in kidnapping her to begin with. Not that Mello would have appreciated my two cents on his ethical practices.
"It went fine." Mello mutters stubbornly, evidently unconvinced that my earlier comment was not, in fact, passive aggressive, "We have the notebook now, meaning I can learn more about how it works. That should give us a significant advantage over Near going forward."
"Are you going to write names in it?"
"I won't, no, but we will need to be certain of what it is capable of. Don’t worry – my test subjects will not be anyone the world will miss." I have learnt over my time with Mello since arriving in the States that he tends to know what he's doing, and it is best to let him get on with it without challenging him.
"What are you going to do to celebrate then?"I ask instead, my hand climbing beneath his leather vest. I can feel the narrow edge of his spine against my fingertips. He repositions himself, glancing at me.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, this is more than enough of an excuse to do something, right? It's like you said, you're ahead of Near now, you've got the most powerful weapon humanity has ever come up against in your hands, I think you deserve to reward yourself for your hard work."
Mello considers my words, before cocking his head, “What do you suggest?”
I slide my hand back down his back, bringing it around his hip to grab onto his Chromehearts belt buckle, “Let me treat you.”
“If you’re so eager…” Mello guides my face towards his, his palm against my jawline, and we kiss as I pull his belt strap loose, tugging his incredibly frustrating tight leather trousers down. He moves further on to the bed, his own hands on mine as we manage to pull them. I slide my hand beneath his underwear, satisfied to find that he is already hard and the quiet murmurs between our lips only confirms his desires. I slide my tongue into his mouth, circling it over his, against his teeth, and gently push him down onto the mattress.
Disengaging, I hurriedly begin fiddling with my own fly, impatient and paranoid of breaking the momentum. I have never been very good at taking things slow, playing the long game but then again, neither has Mello. He is already arching his hips upward, exposing himself, as he pushes his pants down his thighs to hold his cock like a threat. If you don’t hurry the fuck up, Matt, I am going to start without you.
I manage to strip myself of my jeans and underwear, throwing them to the floor as my hands greedily clamp onto Mello’s soft, bare legs, hoisting them upright. He purrs, balancing them on my shoulders.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
I spit on my palm, a rather crass but still effective technique in times like this when Mello and I aren’t willing to mess around, and prepare myself, my spare hand restraining Mello by the wrists above his head. My hands are considerably bigger than his, and I can pin him down without too much effort. He writhes beneath me, but before he can make any complaint, I push my lips back onto his. He relaxes, and I take the opportunity to push myself in.
Mello’s tight, and that pressure makes me moan, although I am conscious to keep my voice low. I move my hips so I pull back ever so slightly, before thrusting in again, and Mello gasps, breaking our kiss. I lean back to watch his face screw into a tight grimace at the sensation of being penetrated. He wears his expressions so clearly, it is never difficult to decipher how he feels, even if to some he appears untranslatable. Or rather, unpredictable.
“You okay?”
“Keep going.”
I am establishing a rhythm, one that won’t be sustainable as I force myself deep then drift back, again and again, the speed developing naturally. As I said, I am not a patient man. My hand is becoming clammy against Mello’s wrists but I am determined to keep him under my control, and he makes up for his lack of ability to move to instead groan, his eyes shut tight.
“You like that, babe? You like being rewarded?” In response, Mello lets out a soft whine, but I can’t be doing all the work today, so I lean closer, “Tell me how much you’re enjoying it.”
“I fucking love it.” Mello stammers breathlessly and I propel myself forcefully into him, prompting a more explicit moan.
“Good boy. You can’t wait can you? You’re so desperate to cum.”
“Please.” Mello never begs, always bratty enough to play a tug of war with me at times like these. Yet today he is clearly so desperate, it doesn’t even cross his mind to put up a fight.
“Do you think you deserve it?”
“I do, fuck, Matt, I do!” It is almost pathetic but I cannot pretend that hearing Mello whimper my name isn’t pushing me to the edge too. I bring my face close to his again, my breath hot against his cheek.
“We are going to do it together, okay? On the count of three…” I can barely hold myself together but my own discomfort with the build up is negligible knowing Mello is also resisting climax. I adjust my body so I begin grinding, and the slight change in pattern prompts Mello to try and push himself up, unable to do so effectively. Caught between desire and desperation to escape.
“One…” I pull my hand away, and Mello immediately wraps his arms around my neck, rapid gasps spilling from his lips interrupted by indistinguishable noises that I know only I can evoke. That alone emboldens me.
“Two…” I am losing feeling in my legs, my chest tight, but my body seems to be driven by determination of the end point. I will spend the rest of the day with sore muscles and exhausted, but for this moment, I can endure such misery. For that highest peak of pleasure I am willing to put my body through anything. To chase the high.
“And three.” The final number breaks between my lips as I release deep within Mello, who in turn cums as well, our joint orgasm jolting us close, caught up in the exact same ecstasy. I pull away, catching my breath as he lies there, strangely silent despite how his chest rises and falls as quickly as mine does.
We appear to have made quite a mess.
I grab the tissue box, conveniently on the bedside table and wipe myself, “Did you enjoy that?”
“It was fine.”
“Fine? Sounds like it was more than fine, Mello.” I screw up the tissue in my hand and toss it.
Mello’s eyes widen and he sits up, turning to look where the tissue landed, “Oh for fuck’s sake!”
I follow his gaze and realise the cum stained tissue landed on the Death Note. Whoops.
