Nothing But Danger (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

What Tyler Doesn't Know

Author's note:

This amazing fanart is by @popsicledots_ ! They drew an adorable rendition of (y/n)'s  outfit. I love the details, down to the glimmer of light on the shoes and the song in her airpods. Her eyes look so pretty and ocean-y. I love it so much!! 

If you want your fanart featured in future chapters, send it to charitybrynerthompson@gmail.com . I'd love to see what you make! <3

BACK TO THE STORY

Then he pointed the gun straight at Tyler's heart.

Ceiling lights played on the silver gun, glossy like a desert mirage. A grave-like silence descended over the Weathervane. The hum of the air conditioning and the buzz of the overhead lights spilled into the quiet, draping the closed shop in a false calm. 

Tyler didn't dissolve into hysterics. He barely moved, other than his eyebrows raising in cold shock. 

"Tyler," Miles calmly said. "The money. Where is it?" 

You frowned. What money?

Tyler's lean shoulders stiffened. With an apprehensive, careful glance at you, he replied quietly, "I'm not sure what you mean." Like a rabid hunting dog, Miles' crazed eyes seized on the glance. 

"Maybe I'll shoot her first," Miles sneered, training his glassy stare on you. "Will that jog your memory?" His sudden threat seemed unreal, as if directed at a faraway stranger. 

"No," Tyler asserted, quickly sidestepping to protect you from Miles' view. By his sides, his fingers quickly, erratically twitched, curling in and out of a fist. He was nervous "I remember now." 

Miles lunged forward with sloppy, aggressive steps that smacked into the linoleum wood floor. He forcefully poked the barrel of the gun against Tyler's chest, indenting the earthy fabric. 

Tyler blinked, eyes wide and confused. He carefully faltered back under the pressure. Miles guided him by gunpoint next to you on the sticky plastic of the booth.

You peeled your sweaty palm up from the booth, realizing you had scarcely shuddered since Miles drew his cruel weapon. Your hands trembled with anticipation, longing to unleash threads of telekinetic power onto Miles. 

But you tugged your phone out instead, discreetly tapping out 9-1-1 under the table. 

Around people, you couldn't yet control the raging, crackling magic of your power. The accident last Christmas had proved that. You couldn't trust yourself. And if Weems and your parents ever discovered what truly happened that icy night... they wouldn't trust you, either. 

You felt the bench seat depress slightly underneath Tyler's weight. He turned his neck, his gentle, green eyes holding yours for a desperate moment. 

"Tyler, are we going to die?" You whispered, seizing the opportunity to speak without raising Miles' suspicions. Hopefully, whoever had answered your 9-1-1 call would hear Tyler Galpin's name and immediately think of the Weathervane. From the down-the-street office, the sheriff could arrive in seconds. 

"No, no," Tyler promised, unaware that your pathetic, scared sentence had been only for the cops' benefit. In his distorted fantasy, you were a terrified girl in need of reassurance. Against the plastic of the booth, you felt the warmth of his hand securely resting on yours. "I take care of everyone in the Weathervane. I'll take care of you."

Inexplicably, your heart stuttered. 

"Stop talking. I'll shoot him," Miles dangerously warned. "I'll blow his blood all over that pretty white shirt of yours." The sickening thought of Tyler's warm blood splattering across your shoulders and rolling in rich beads down your chest sent pulses of disgust through your bones.