joshler oneshots

keep your hands (and your blood) to yourself

summary:

josh is one of the best fbi agents in the business. tyler is exactly the opposite. it's okay though, because tyler will make sure everyone keeps their hands to themselves.

words: 580

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tyler joseph is one of the most unnerving criminals josh dun has ever met.

and he's met quite a few.

he should've known it was a mistake to speak a word to tyler. a few words, a couple pet names, and josh was falling, falling fast into something undubtably dangerous but seductive. and maybe josh shouldn't lie, he doesn't care much for life. maybe he doesn't actively pursue death, but he's rose through the ranks quickly for a reason.

and although he doesn't know it, that's lured tyler into him as well.

every cop tyler has ever encountered is careful, careful to the point where every time he looks them down in the eyes, he sees a mirror.

and oh, but mirrors are shattered so easily.

when he saw josh, the voices in his head screamed. they wanted possession, they wanted control of that bright hair and sideways smirk and reckless eyes. and he wanted that dark red voice, so pretty and smooth all for himself. and so, he had him.

because tyler got what he wanted, and once he did, he wouldn't let go.

josh's leather shoes clicked on the sidewalk. it was strangely empty, suspiciously empty and it should've put every nerve in josh's body on edge.

but josh was tired, so tired and the thought of tyler was buzzing in the front of his mind. so when a hand, far too rough and calloused to be tyler's wrapped around his neck, he didn't even have time to scream.

tyler was confused.

his sweetheart should've been home a half hour ago.

a laugh bubbled out and spilled into the room, tainting it with grey blue and bright red.

he grabbed the longest knife joshy had in his kitchen and jumped out the window.

josh was more blue and black than skin toned. there were angry red finger prints on his neck, and his wrists were blood red dripping and dark blue and ugly yellow bruises. but josh refused to make a noise. if he was going to die, he was going to do with some sort of dignity.

of course, that earned him some cracked ribs.

laughter jeered and echoed through the abandoned dead end, and josh had to work to stifle back a sob because all he could feel was pain, and there were hands, twisting and pulling and breaking, and there was shattered glass digging into the back of his head and his hands, and there were bodies everywhere and it was too warm and josh needed to get out because he couldn't breathe, and the panic he had worked to quell for so many years was rising.

the sound of glass shattering and splintering and a laugh that was cold, humorless enough to reduce the temperature broke through the haze of pain.

"what the fuck are you doing to my baby boy?"

and tyler was there, and tyler was twisting a knife between his fingers and there was glass in his hands.

his eyes were dead, and his voice was dark black.

josh still remembers the screaming.

and suddenly it was cold, and the pain was back and it was sharper and josh screamed.

he remembers cold hands and a familiar hummed melody.

he remembers a pair of lips (they were warm, josh thinks ironically) and they left trails across his body.

and what a scene they made, a murderer and his lover, kissing with bloody lips and caressing with broken hands, surrounded by bodies.