What can your muse do with Andy & "So this is what you call moving on from me."
Thank you, Anon! This was a fun one! ❤️
Starring: Dark!Enforcer!andy barber x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+. Murder. Implied stalking.
Word Count: 557
The restaurant is quiet enough that you hear the chair scrape against the hardwood before you ever see him. Your date is laughing. He’s halfway through telling you about some hiking trail he wants to take you to next weekend when the color drains from his face.
“Sir…?”
You don’t have to turn around. Every instinct in your body already knows.
Andy.
He stands beside the table in an immaculate charcoal suit, one gloved hand tucked into his pocket, the other lazily adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. To everyone else, he looks like another wealthy businessman.
To you, he’s death wearing a tailored smile.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Your stomach knots.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“No?” His eyes drift to the man sitting across from you. “Seems I arrived right on time.”
Your date clears his throat. “Listen, man, I don’t know who…”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
The words aren’t loud. They’re worse because they aren’t. You stand so fast your chair topples over.
“Andy.”
His gaze finally returns to yours, softening in a way that would almost look affectionate to anyone watching.
“There she is.”
“You need to leave.”
“I asked you to come home.”
“I told you I was done.”
His jaw flexes.
“You don’t get to be done.”
Your date rises beside you, trying to position himself between you.
“I think she made herself pretty clear.”
Andy studies him for a long moment. Almost curiously. Then he sighs.
“So…” His head tilts. “This is what you call moving on from me.”
The words are almost amused.
“You don’t understand,” you whisper.
Your date squares his shoulders.
“No. You don’t understand. She doesn’t want—”
The sound that follows is deafening.
A single crack.
The room erupts into screams. Your date crumples before the sentence is ever finished. Time stops.You stare.
No. No no no…
Blood creeps across the polished floor as Andy calmly lowers the suppressed pistol, his expression unreadable. He steps over the body as though it were an inconvenience. When he reaches you, your knees nearly give out.
“You…” Your voice breaks. “You killed him.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
His gloved fingers brush a tear from your cheek with unbearable tenderness.
“Because he touched what belongs to me.”
You slap him. Hard. The dining room falls silent except for distant crying. Andy barely reacts. Instead, he smiles.
“There you are.”
His hand closes gently—but unyieldingly—around your wrist.
“I’ve missed that fire.”
You try to pull away.
He doesn’t even strain to hold you.
“You don’t get to do this!” you scream. “I hate you!”
For the first time all night, Andy looks wounded. But only for a second. Then the coldness returns.
“No.”
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“You hate what I do.”
He steps closer until your forehead nearly brushes his chest.
“But if you truly hated me…”
His fingers tighten just enough to remind you escape isn’t an option.
“…you never would’ve looked over your shoulder every time the restaurant door opened.” His lips ghost your ear.
“You were hoping it would be me.”
Before you can deny it, he’s already leading you toward the waiting black sedan outside. Not because you’ve surrendered.
But because everyone in the restaurant is too terrified to stop the devil from taking back what he believes was always his.