Random hot guy imagines

Moriarty

You had been warn at a young age about befriending James Moriarty.

He was a compulsive liar and a psychopath. He would push you when he got bored , yell at you when ever he got the chance, and make you do dangerous things when ever he felt like it.

Even you knew he was bad news.
But he was so...
Charming.
So...
Persuasive.

And now you had been dragged into this mess.

You were 26 and you felt about 5.

"James... Please. Don't make me do this." You pleaded.

You couldn't shoot this man. This man  you didn't know, that you'd never met. All for what?
You didn't even know that.

You could feel James's breathe on your ear. Hot or cold, you couldn't tell.

"C'mon (y/n)... It's just like playing explorers with Arthur Dent. Remember doing that?"
His hand glided over your shoulder softly.

"Just shoot him (y/n)."

"Why are you making me do this?"

"Shoot him."

"J-James..." Tears began slipping down your cheeks.

"(y/n), SHOOT HIM!"

James was screaming now.

Repeating himself and saying terrible things over and over and over again.

"SHOOT HIM. SHOOT HIM NOW YOU STUPID GIRL!"

"I can't!" You whispered.
Everything seemed to daze as you felt yourself falling, the gun slipping out of your hands.

You heard James yelling something about getting you out of here and trusting you.

Then you hear a gun shot and the word "pathetic" before you loose consciousness.

You woke up in the same room as this morning, an office with polished wood walls and large desk in the middle.

The only difference was that there was no gun sitting on the desk, but instead a cup of tea.

Across the desk was the man you'd known since childhood, the man who you never knew you'd fear so much.

James.

"(y/n), you seemed tired."

You nod. The memory of earlier flooding into your head made you reluctant to respond verbally.

He sighed.

"I was counting on you. I thought I could trust you. You said you'd help (y/n)."

"Not like this James. I never agreed to kill anyone." Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"Killing is the simplest part of my game dear."

"Then I don't want to play."

James sighed again, this time, standing up as he did so.

He walked over to were you stood.

"It's not a choice rather you play or not. I expect you to be in your best dress by 8 sharp."

"I-I..."

"Don't fail this time dear."

With that the man who you began to regret making such good friends with in your youth, left you in the room alone.

Fearing the moment when 8:00 came.

I can't choose between Storm Lineberger or Hadley Fraser next