Random Fandom Imagines 2

Jim Motiarty

"Alright, alright!" The sounds of a single pair of hands clapping among the wreckage of voices, shouts and whispers echoed throughout the large room, and almost immediately did all of the noises come to an ominous and unanimous halt. "Enough chatter, dears. If you will, please turn your attention to the large table at the head of the room!"
This large room, filled with fancy suits and dresses all alike, was cheerfully furnished into a rather equate dining hall. As the rectangle shape gave the room an elongated feel, there were eight windows shaped in the back walls to illuminate the pale pink that lined adjacent to three or four golden chandeliers patching the gaps between. The trim of the room, white as snow, brightened the otherwise dull corners that threatened to darken such a bright atmosphere.
Tables were set up evenly throughout the room diagonal from the mahogany entrance and spaced out so that no table was too close to another, at least eight tables for each row. Clothing the tables were a pure white with a pink lace lining to match the walls. Suede mahogany sitting chairs that arched comfortably on the back surrounded each table tastefully, accompanied by glasses of champagne and wine atop flat and grey centerpieces that supported white vases filled with pink roses.
This ballroom was so beautiful, it would be hard to believe that the seats were filled with criminal masterminds and conspirators.
And you sat at the front table, the head of the room, next to the brilliant consulting criminal that was Jim Moriarty.
All heads moved in unison towards the front of the room. You could register expressions of distaste, anger, intrigue, admiration and other sorts of emotions that threatened to sear into the person that was the criminal mastermind at your side. Thankfully, none of those emotions were directed towards you, since you were so easily ignored once all of the eyes in the room hit your terrifying boss.
As if on cue, Jim stands up and flattens his hands to run along his notorious Westwood suit. It definitely wasn't his favorite, you thought, but it was infinitely nicer material than his usual suited attire. You wondered what the occasion was, and why he would choose then to wear it.
Jim wouldn't tell you what the meeting was all about; instead, he decided that it would be a wonderful time to start a fight the night before about how incompetent you were since you weren't able to break big brother Mycroft's government security. However, you knew that Jim had spent quite a bit of time stressing about other things, threatening to skin his clients, working on their fear; so you didn't take his words seriously. How could you, when he continuously uses the same threats over and over again but doesn't act on them. There was no way you were going to fear him if he didn't back up his threats.
That didn't stop you from taking the hours before to try to hack it again. You were successful, yet, you weren't planning on telling Jim until later on in the night.
And so, you two weren't necessarily on speaking terms. Instead, you merely gave each other small signs of affection or appreciation, such as pouring his wine and silencing his oh so important text messages. It didn't matter how mad you were at him, or how mad he was at you, there wasn't any time to take it out on each other with ridiculous silence. Too much work needed to be done.
"Ladies and gentleman," started your boss in his suave Irish accent. His hands clapped together and then spread apart to enunciate towards the crowd of tables, people and champagne. "I'm glad you could make it on such short notice. I'm sure you think this is some sort of threat or business inquire, but I'm afraid you've mistaken." Jim clears his throat, and then says in a softer, playful tone that ricocheted off of the walls of the ballroom in an inconceivable echo. "This is a celebration."
Aside from the murmurs and silence that steadied the room's ensemble of people, there was an eerie quietness that settled into the atmosphere. Looks of confusion and irritation were taking over those that were fear prior to Jim's spoken words, and you noticed as a cocky smile replaced that of Jim's previously jutted lips.
"'A celebration? What ever could you mean, Jim?'" The consulting criminal decided to imitate someone asking what he meant in a squall of a voice. "Well, that's simple. Today, we're celebrating the break in London's government security."
Your head snapped up, wide eyes and all, towards your irritatingly obnoxious boyfriend. How, in all of the world of hacking and stealing confidential knowledge, did he know that you even slightly got close to getting into the government, let alone your succession? You made sure to close all of your doors, cover your tracks, even to wipe your motherboard of any evidence containing your government break.
Jim sent you a side glance, his grin never faltering, as the rest of the room followed his eyes and landed on you. Furrowed brows and blinking eyes were all you saw, and you couldn't blame them. They knew that when Jim hired you, you were only a novice—someone that only knew the smaller basics of hacking. Yet, throughout the two years that you'd spent working with him, you've grown into Europe's most talented and dangerous hacker, able to confiscate and destroy any confidential information in the snap of a finger. Your only problem in your line of work was London's government security, and you even smashed that to bits the night prior.
"Now, I'm sure you're all very familiar with my little sidekick, Y/N," you were going to kill him. He knew you hated that title, as true as it was. Jim offered a wink at your stone face and continued. "She's successfully infiltrated Government security as of last night. London will be at our feet, breathing in our poisons. Oh, the games we shall play." At the mention of the word 'games' his head tilted slightly to the left and he had a dreamy look in his eyes.
"But sir," says one individual with peppered hair and droopy blue eyes. He was wearing a brown three-piece suit that looked well put together under such short notice. "Couldn't you have hired anyone to do that sooner?"
"Ah, you see, I could have," Jim replied, shaking his head. "But there's the fact that she's the most dangerous hacker in Europe. Or didn't you know?" His eyes squinted together with tightened waterlines to stare at the individual.
Oddly enough, you felt a flip in your stomach and your face start to heat up. Was Jim defending you, complimenting you, or enunciating your use as a tool to his games? You couldn't really tell, and even if you could, you didn't think you wanted to know.
"Y/N here has undergone severe mental training in order to accommodate me and my... company. She's worked numerous hours of the night to do tasks that I have appointed to her, without so much as pay, and has passed and finished those tasks with flying colors." Suddenly, Jim was inching toward you, draping his arm across your shoulder and tipping the temple of his head against your own. Upon this sudden display of affection, you flinched for about a millisecond, but composed yourself immediately. "So today's celebration is about her. Her achievements of a criminal mastermind hidden beneath criminal masterminds and behind a wall of computers."
"What does this have to do with us?" Says a woman on the opposite side of the ballroom. Jim unhinges himself from you and straightens up, clears his throat, and pops his neck.
"Well," he starts. "Y/N is a genius. I've given her a place to live, food to eat, and plenty of other things for her troubles and struggles upon working with me. She is patient, disgustingly kind, irrationally thoughtful, and undeniably evil. She could take down cities with the power that she has. But you only have to take one look at this amazing woman to know," Jim pauses, turns his head and stares at you with chocolate hues. He then moves, turning his body to face yours, kneeling and tucking one knee on the ground while the other bent to hold him up.
Gasps could be heard echoing along the room.
"Jim?" you asked, biting your lip. A surge of anxiety bottled up inside of your chest while you looked down at the raven-haired man. "What are you—"
"You only have to take one look at this amazing woman to know that she's taken the blackened heart that resided in my chest and gave it life."
And then he pulled out a small red-velvet box from his blazer.
The world stopped, everyone seemed to halt around you, frozen in time with expressions of confusion, joy, anger and jealousy. Jim had invited those that he didn't care for; those that grew an affection towards him that he would take advantage of, and those who hated his guts. This led you to believe that maybe, this wasn't genuine. Maybe it was a hoax in order to start up another game while Sherlock was off doing god knows what. But there was a rushing beat inside of your chest; a fluffy feeling that radiated happiness instead of fear when he opened that box and showed a small, but shining diamond ring.
"Y/N," Jim says slowly. "You are the only person I will ever lower myself onto the ground for. You are the only person who gets to see me like this, in public—and hopefully elsewhere—but I would like to keep it that way. And even though I threaten you; even though I get angry with your incompetence, you're the only one who gladly deals with it. So," he pauses, takes a breath, and instead of a giant smile resting on his face, there were flat lips telling you that this was sincere. If this was fake, he'd be putting off an artificial beam of excitement. Instead, there was this serious Jim down on one knee, embarrassing himself in front of his criminal associates, purposing to you. "Y/N. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," you said without thinking, the air in your lungs nearly giving out from unconsciously holding your breath. "Yes, I will."
And to your surprise, there was a round of applause. Some women and men rowed in the back, while others rolled there eyes. Of course, you didn't care. Your arms were snaked around his neck as soon as the ring was on your finger.
"Now, don't think this means I won't threaten to skin you when you misbehave." He murmurs seductively in your ear, followed by a tiny bit of air being blown on your lobe.
You reply, "I wouldn't have it any other way."