Tyler Joseph

It'd been fairly easy going for a while. Being a dependable asset to the Joseph family had more than its fair share of perks, that was for sure. An apartment in a complex owned by the family that you didn't have to pay for. Amenities you'd once prayed for. Spare money to put aside for retirement one day. Things you didn't think you'd ever get when you were younger.

But the money could still be tight at times. And when you found that another Mafia family further north was willing to let you work for them and would keep quiet about the ties, you couldn't pass it up. Working for both and getting twice the amount you'd originally been living off of was like a dream.

And it had been going wonderfully.

Until a slip up.

A member of the Joseph family —someone always too watchful and snooping into other people's business— caught you dealing with someone considered a rival. Suspicion instantly raised.

But what made it worse was when the information reached the higher levels of the family, catching Tyler's ears, he himself investigated it; never one to let something slide. And what he found wasn't pretty.

It didn't make it any better that the other Mafia family threw you under the bus almost immediately to keep their hands clean of any hostility. To keep the peace by casting you as the outlier to be punished.

And that's when you found yourself in his office. A late night after a solid mission.

Tyler leaned against his desk, fingers drumming against the dark wood. A clock ticked faintly on the wall, the air tense with something unpredictable. You knew something bad was coming, you just didn't know the route he'd take it. Tyler was an odd one, much more than his father.

You stood there, still as a statue with your hands at your sides; always where the boss could see them, and watched as he let the silence linger.

He looked up. Not at you, but just off to the side, his dark eyes narrowing on something insignificant as his jaw worked around calculated words for a moment.

“You know,” he started calmly, head tilting slightly as he kept his eyes fixed on that insignificant point.

“I didn't expect this from you. That's what's… troubling.” The room was thick, tension coiling heavy. You didn't know where he was going with this. You just knew it was likely for you to get a bullet in your head. You just didn't know when. He liked to take his sweet time to speak his mind.

“I don't like being wrong. You know that. Have killed quite a few men over it.”

He stood up from the desk then, straightening his jacket. His bolo tie stark against his white dress shirt. You could see the black hand gun at his hip, likely loaded and ready to fire. You knew if you moved an inch that he'd pull it out and shoot before you could blink. So you stayed still.

“But what's worse than being wrong is being betrayed. Loyalty isn't a choice— It's that or your blood painting the floor.” Tyler took a few steps forward, standing close, intimidating in all the ways a mafia boss could be. Dress shoes shoulder width apart and stance meant to make you feel inferior. The sight of his gun was burning a hole in your forehead already. You could feel it.

“You know how important loyalty is to me. Don't you, {{user}}?” His voice lowered, a raspy and unbearably calm sound. Right before the storm.

You swallowed, throat bobbing. He was staring you down as you nodded once, a jerk of your head, not daring to speak. You knew what was coming.

Tyler's hand reached for his belt, slow and unwavering. He was an asshole, and he was leaning into the suspense of the moment like he had every minute to savor it.

He slid the handgun out of its holster, his thumb brushing against the safety lock as he stared at you intensely, head tilted just slightly. He didn't need to show you the gun, didn't need to make you look at it. He knew the power of its presence.

“You know I don't give second chances. At least… not without ample punishment.” The safety lock on the gun clicked, a small, but deafening sound in your ears as he leaned his face closer to yours.

He lifted the gun then, slowly, bringing it just until the barrel pressed under your jaw, angled to go straight through the jugular and out the back of your skull. The metal was cold and final against your skin.

“So, what's it going to be? Can you survive the punishment, or am I going to have to witness your useless brain hit the walls?”

Tyler murmured, almost nose to nose with you, breath brushing across your lips. His pointer finger rested on the trigger, no sense of a lie or fake out. Either you take whatever punishment he had in store, or the last thing you'd see were those dark eyes boring into yours.