Archive of Our Own ^beta

Philza Minecraft had been on the dark side of the streets for a very long, long time, since his first interventions dismantling brothels that were a little too... “flexible” with the idea of consent going to authentic inhumane places, all falling under the scourge of the Angel of Death until a man, a friend, appeared in front of him with the idea of dominating the criminal world, converting it to his ideals. That was a long time ago but corruption spreads like a fire in gasoline and Phil was there to suffocate it until it went out.

Maybe it was his cruelty in how he snuffed out the lives of those corrupt men that led him to pay the karma he was paying right now, he doesn't know.

The man sitting at his desk looked miserable for say the least, from the outside you feel the discord in the trademark half-twisted hat or the uncorked bottle of wine resting on his messy desk but you can see how the damage runs deeper than that if you know Philza well enough, the immaculate two pieces-suit stand out like a sore thumb on a man so casual and relaxed, the white shirt is buttoned at the neck almost restrictively, and his trail of beard is just a little more prominent than it has been in recent months.

The last few months, that sugar-filled almost year where mafia boss BOLAS had been closer to being an angel than he would ever be since he lived in what he could only call heaven.

His arrival in heaven was a young man with messy, dark hair. His purple eyes dragged him deep into the flames of hell now that they were no longer looking at him.

The fact that he had no one else to blame but himself didn't make it any easier.

But when Missa appeared everything was perfect. He was reserved but easy to smile, aloof but with loyal friends, so pathetic (and cute) yelling at the slightest threat but he was a real threat in front of some of the most ruthless members of BOLAS, selective but had two beautiful kids who looked alike barely in the whites of the eyes, even his last name “Sinfonia” evidenced the harsh contradiction that surrounds the object of the crow's loves, a man as gifted in every possible musical instrument as if he had the Midas touch, and yet that very appropriate last name wasn't real. His Missa was a set of contradictions and embarrassing coincidences over knots in lavender stems.

Which in retrospect must have been a loud alarm, a siren announcing the disaster that his false moon left in its wake in the crow's heart.

It turns out that his love lied, the fire burning inside him to abandon important meetings for the sole purpose of sharing more time of his life with him as opposed to the absolute security of being understood as someone returning to his childhood home (beloved, cared, welcome) with the ease of riding a bike. All of that had been a waste.

The soft hugs that lulled him into deep dreams (chasing away the nightmares that Missa shouldn't know about for his own good) to the chaste kisses all over the face that released the negativity from his husband's shoulders (and if instead of being a result of his low self-esteem was his guilt taking charge?) to the private kisses that said “I miss you” and “one last time, love” without the words, all were nothing but lies.

Not that he had cared much about anything at that moment, he found himself focused on his children (because now they were also Phil's children) they were angels and he only had the head to raise them with Missa, who returned with a sweeter demeanor after his night walks and long work trips, he tenderly asked for nap together as a family.

He should have questioned more why Missa disappeared like that, coincidentally, just when Phil was paying for the services of the most dangerous mercenary on the black market, unlike the assassins he had on his payroll, this guy had the prestige of killing only with his touch, too lethal and above all cautious, Phil did not even met him in person, they only contacted through third parties who agreed on the service and only told about his violet hood and his skull mask. It is said; no one has seen his face and lived to tell.

Like I said before; Phil is old, he's been in the environment for years where only an intelligent man could live as long as he does, with that in mind how was it possible that he didn't know that his sweet husband was actually the most dangerous bastard in the underworld? Shocked by the discovery, in this kind of world, someone you trust can stab you in the back so how can you trust a man who lied to you?

And Missa knew who Philza Minecraft was, what his name means, he always knew, he did always know when something had gone wrong and Philza needed more comfort, always two steps ahead of his needs because he knew it.

The time after their fight breaks up, everything is a drunken blur in the crow's mind, he doesn't remember what they said, he only knows the screams and the revolver clicking in his left pocket while Missa, The Reaper or whoever it was have knowledge of the gun in his pocket and as soon as he pointed it at the man he said he loved time ago the gun was already on the ground, rolling behind this man who was unrecognizable to Phil, the shouting match continued more heated after the blonde pointed his gun at the helpless and clumsy Missa.

That was the last time he saw Missa.

Phil has been so distracted, tired and paranoid since then, even the security is a disaster ignoring the advice of the rest of BOLAS. Philza has scattered guards in unimportant areas, some stuck to him all day but the majority watch that Missa does not return or get close to the children (his children; Missa's own children) Chayanne almost bites him at the slightest suspicion of not being able to see his father, so his impenetrable fortress suddenly becomes a weak place.

Literally and metaphorically

He ordered several guards not to even dream of setting foot in certain areas of the family mansion (those such as the music room, the kitchen and the art studio, any room with traces of Missa must remain identical to how it was before his departure, as if they were waiting for him)

Philza feels betrayed and hurt but above all he is so confused, his rational mind tells him to defend himself, to put up the highest walls to protect himself, his organization and his family but his family is Missa. He is outside and Philza once promised that he will demolish every wall in the world that did not open its doors for the man with purple eyes.

And yet here he is.

Inside his fortress it can breathe the air of a broken family, the kids have believed him for the moment but the tension is felt increasing with every minute they pass without hearing from their papa. Inside the fortress are no longer him and his chicks but a greedy and lonely crow with two brittle shells and a broken heart.

The days pass in that agony until there is a surprise attack from which they cannot respond.

Tensions with the Federal mafia had gotten much worse in recent months, after his formal alliance with Soulfire he did not believe they were going to attack seriously.

But they did.

Thank his Goddess, thank The Lady for allowing Chayanne and Tallulah to be in the school while the white clad mercenaries broke down every door and shot at anything that moved.

At least Missa would get them back and they would be together again. Just as they should have been before he and his greedy hope for a family took that away from them.

As soon as his office door is kicked down one of those white masked sons of bitches puts his hands on him, something happens.

Penetrating in his vision when he sees him but there is stealth in his steps, he is the only one to notice his presence until two bullets (how quickly are repeated) knock down two of the men to dead, wound another in the shoulder, and the last one misses just centimeters away for paint the wall with Philza's skull.

Four shots, two fired before the reaction time of their distracted predators and attacked from the purest darkness, shots fly towards the door and if it was not absolutely broken after that rude kick it is now unusable, falling from its hinges under the siege and behind it are no signs of the mysterious shooter.

Tense seconds pass until one of the feds quickly puts one of his dirty hands in Phil's hair, pulling hard on the golden strands in a hissing threat and that's when he enters the scene.

The men on each side of the door were the first to fall, one quickly takes the place of his fallen companion, his gun raised, ready to shoot, followed by the one with the shot in the shoulder, unfortunately with that wound he is not able to shoot at time to prevent another bullet from the darkness from taking the life of the other one.

The bullets fly again while the threshold of the door swallows the corpse, dragging it out and soon, very soon, his savior enters the room with a constant step carrying the dead body as a kind of human shield.

A well-placed shot, other fall.

And the guy who touched him is one of them, his screams are muffled by his mask and by the gunshots exploding around him.

Phil hides under his desk as fast as he can but not before taking a bullet in the shoulder, it hurts like shit.

But it seems that it hurts them more because he can hear how one by one the white masks fall with sharp blows, they could barely scream in horror before fall with a fatal shott.

Fast, efficient and lethal

When it seems that the rain of bullets is ending, Phil distinguishes the voices from outside his office. That sounds like… Chainsaws? And laughs Phil knows immediately that his best people, who should be with his children, are on and from what he hears they are having fun.

He slowly peeks out of his desk, his hand warm from the blood dripping from his shoulder, and finally sees the reason of his recent insomnia.

Missa, or also known as The Reaper, moves almost with grace but the anger burns in his every movement, it is a wild spectacle as soon as the bullets run out, each man who even tries to get close to Phil is shot down with ease, he watch in trance as his husband smash anyone who tries to get close to him to pieces.

“M- Missa…?” he comes out as a dismayed whisper

The Reaper turns to look at him for half a second, which one of them takes advantage of to kick him in the stomach. Missa lets out a grunt of acute pain but holds the guy's leg with his hands, taking advantage of pushing him forward, knocking another of them against the favorite glass table.

The two guys are left on the floor, one on top of the other and one's suit is now full of glass.

And just like that Missa goes for the next one and Phil can only watch in shock.

Missa is The Reaper, The Reaper is Missa. They are both the same person; they have been forever.

Missa, his Missa is his mercenary and his mercenary is his husband.

he approaches, slowly, as slowly as he can with a bullet embedded in his shoulder. The cacophony of screams shakes the floor and Philza suddenly realizes that he must have gone down to the panic room.

The weight of not doing so clings to his shoulders, the clear implications trying to cross the capo’s tired mind like a malicious whisper makes him feels so wrong, so manipulative.

But he was waiting for him to save him

Of a thousand people in this aggressive environment who swore their loyalty to him and finds himself depending on the arrival of the one who not only never swore anything to him but also betrayed him.

Oh well, who betrayed who?

After yelling at him for lying to him when he also lied, pointing a gun at him and taking him away from his own children, he knows that the Philza of the past would have sent him to hell for ruining the things with Missa.

Missa knew who he was before, he knew it from very early on and that affected Phil, it made him feel cornered and at a disadvantage. He realized at that moment that he was afraid; he didn't fear the hitman under his roof as much as he feared the man under his sheets. feared he was so vulnerable letting him walk around the red mafia's base of operations, taking the children to school every morning, training Chayanne and hearing Tallulah's flute in the distance did terrified him, his worst nightmare was in how his heart was warmed by them so soft and gentle in the reaper's expert hands he could take out his heart and the worst thing is that he would have left it in order to see the children and Missa every morning when he woke up.

My God, he was crazy, he went crazy when he fell in love with him and even crazier when Phil sabotaged his own happiness.

Loneliness tasted bitter on his lips, power and honor became poison with the diffuse days, with his cold bed at night, with his absence piercing his chest.

The last man fell and with the elegance of a dancer stabbed by a steel dagger into his chest, he did the same with the other two men on the ground. The Reaper left no witnesses or loose ends.

He could hear in the distance Baghera and Cellbit stopping their chainsaws which was a good sign. The Federation had basically sent a mini army to his grounds and he partly wondered if his men knew that Missa was there with him.

His name tasted salty when it finally left Phil's lips in a whisper, it tasted like the tears he shed every time he was sober to remember his absence. Behind that mask it is almost impossible to perceive the purple eyes but he knows well that look that is hidden in front of him.

Missa wipes the blood on his own pants with slow movements, the dagger pressed against his thigh until it's clean enough.

“Missa…” Phil insists, he shouldn't insist to the man who has the dagger, especially when he is hurt.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he feels (not sees) the intense gaze on his shrunken figure, well, at least he now has his attention. The purple eyes that he loves so much scan him from top to bottom and a wave of shame hits the stunned and guilty part of his subconscious as he remembers how he looks even worse for being in the middle of a fucking shootout. That wasn't how he would have wanted to see him again see but it was the most likely way to meet again now that he knew they were in the same work area

His eyes seem to linger on the wound on his shoulder and if he could see his husband's face, he would say he was not pleased with it.

“…Phil” Missa's voice sounds like a late greeting and is focused on him.

Goddess, how he had missed that voice

The professional, and infamous mercenary approaches, a little more hesitant than he should for a man of his reputation and a wave of affection breaks over Philza, he too takes a single step closer and they are looking at each other as the first time, feels like looking at the moon at its peak or the sun descending. He can't, he doesn't have the right to act like a wet cat after tearing up his enemies and expecting Phil to be normal about it. Missa just can't do that to him, he bites back a light laugh and takes another step in his direction. noticing that there is blood on his clothes and some cuts on it but if I had to guess I would say that most of it is from the others and Phil is already losing blood himself.

Missa takes another step, knowing the bleeding has stopped and believing the bullet grazed but he won't be sure until he concentrates on something other than mustering the words to ask him to fucking take off the mask.

Fortunately, he seems to read his mind as Phil doesn't even finish taking another slow step towards him when the mask is finally gone, The Reaper has officially left the room and his husband looms in front of him in his place. Is it strange to say that death is good for him? His face, his hair and the sparkle in his eyes or is the blonde just delirious?

Be that as it may, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in the middle of the destroyed office as if it were his own world.

"You went"

“You kicked me out.”

“You still shouldn't have left” he replied very intelligently and Missa smiled, a little nervous.

“Does it hurt so much?” The black-haired man worried, looking at his injured shoulder and Philza wasn't having his partner distracted just like that.

"No, no. It doesn't hurt" He responded, knowing that lies were not the best for the relationship at this time.

Missa frowned like a kitten about to sneeze but he allowed this one for him, just for now.

“You… you're right Philza” Missa lowered his head in shame and a confuse “what?” died in the blonde's throat.

"I shouldn't have left-"

“I pointed at you with a gun, mate” he interrupted, feeling guilty and a little freaked out by whatever that means, it all was his fault, why was Missa saying that?

“Still, I should have stayed, I wanted to stay” hesitantly he noticed how Missa’s arms floated loosely around him. They weren't very elegant clothes, just good enough for work and Philza wanted to focus on that and the stains of blood all over his man instead of the new confession, after everything he did, but how could Missa still wanted him?

“Missa…”

“I promised, right?” Phil raised his head suddenly, searching for his gaze between the strands of black hair that escaped from his messy ponytail. “I always keep my promises, dear”

When the members of Bolas made sure they had the entire area clean, they advanced, covering the entire perimeter until they climbed the stairs that led to the red leader's office, they found themselves face to face with the splintered frame of the door, an office in an absolute disaster. with the imposing doors thrown next to the lifeless bodies and in the eye of that past storm was the mob boss.

Philza was leaning against his desk (which was out of its place) the purple cloth acted as an improvised tourniquet and in his arms was the waist of a tall man with black hair that they had trouble recognizing at first if it weren't for the clear display of affection, unaware that they had company. Now Phil kept his face buried in the taller man's torso as if he were afraid to let him go again and Missa hummed, deeply satisfied with having his little bird in his arms again, he carefully avoided the other man's shoulder but remained attentive, didn't want to leave that wound out of sight until he could drag his husband stubborn ass to the infirmary. Ignoring the living and dead audience, the couple was trapped in their own world, little giggles that didn't seem to go anywhere, dying and returning with each other's laughter in a vicious circle, finally together.

“I promised you, I didn’t? as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again, cuervito”

EXTRA:

“You look pretty good with that ponytail you know, mate?”

“Philza!”

“So, guys, do I tell Jaiden that there will be no divorce?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie”