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saddleups · 15 days ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 .

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 10k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . ongoing , part one of two. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . : implied domestic violence/abusive relationship . alcoholism . terminal illness . description of hallucinations . dream sequences . spanking . hairpulling . rough sex . unreliable reader . p_rn w/ plot .

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . . james sunderland has emerged from the fog of silent hill , bearing the weight of his past but with a tentative acceptance of his guilt. with young laura by his side, he's prepared to leave the town's horrors behind and step into a new chapter. but when laura bolts back into the fog to retrieve a forgotten stuffed animal, james has no choice but to follow amidst his return, he encounters you — a stranger bound to silent hill by your own unfinished business, still searching for answers about your late husband. as the two of you form a reluctant alliance, the lines between reality and nightmare blur, forcing both of you to confront haunted memories and a shared need for redemption in a town that preys on every buried secret.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . where all my sunderheads at??? i guess taking a break from one fic only lead me into the arms of another fic. this will be a two-parter, maybe an epilogue who knows? just testing the waters with this. please be aware that the contents of this fic are in line with the themes commonly found in the silent hill franchise. please consider the warnings and read with caution.

The fog clung to the streets of Silent Hill like a shroud, a familiar yet unsettling presence that whispered secrets of the past. James held Laura’s hand tightly as they made their way toward the town’s edge, the weight of their shared experiences hanging heavily between them. After everything he had endured, he was finally ready to leave this cursed place behind, to start anew with her by his side.

“Are you sure you have everything?” he asked, glancing down at her small backpack, packed full of her belongings. She nodded, her eyes bright with determination. They’d faced enough together, and now, with the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders, he felt a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Just as they approached the outskirts, Laura suddenly halted, her expression shifting from excitement to panic. “Wait! I forgot my bunny!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing off the fog-drenched buildings.

“What?” James felt his heart drop. “Laura, we can’t go back! It’s dangerous!”

But she was already pulling away, her small legs carrying her back toward the heart of Silent Hill. He cursed under his breath, adrenaline surging through him as he chased after her. “Laura, stop! Please!”

The fog swirled around him, thickening with every step. It felt as if the town itself was resisting their departure, reluctant to let them go. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, familiar shapes that once haunted him. But now, they merely observed, lingering like specters of the past rather than threats. The creatures, remnants of his darkest fears, stayed back, as if recognizing that James had earned his freedom.

“Laura!” he called out, his voice strained as he strained to catch up to her. “Where did you go?”

The day at the lake was one of those rare moments you held close—a time when you and Chris weren’t at each other’s throats, voices raised, each of you convinced that volume could somehow mend what was breaking between you. Chris was never a great man; he did what he could, and you gave him credit for that. He tried, he really did. But then he died, and… well, that was complicated.

The lake had been everything your relationship wasn’t at the time: calm, serene, a mirror of something whole. The town welcomed you both with open arms, mistaking you for lovebirds celebrating an anniversary. Little did they know it was the last-ditch effort to salvage a marriage already unraveling. You had been done with him, resigned to leaving. But something about that day at the lake changed things. You returned home, and for a while, it was as if Silent Hill had lifted a weight, given you a second chance. Chris seemed different—softer, even attentive. He asked about your day, kept his temper, stopped drinking so much. And for once, being a "good wife" felt possible, like a role you could fit into.

Then Chris got sick. So sick, in fact, that you didn’t know what to do. He refused hospital stays, insisted the doctors were all quacks who didn’t know a damn thing. And he wasn’t entirely wrong—no diagnosis ever stuck. His hair thinned, his weight plummeted, and the six-foot-four man who’d once filled a room seemed to shrink before your eyes. He took to drinking again, convinced it was doing him more good than the doctors ever had. And then, one ordinary Wednesday afternoon, he died. Just like that.

So when you received a voicemail from the Lakeview Hotel saying your husband had booked the honeymoon suite for the weekend, you thought it was a cruel joke. Then came flowers at work, the card signed “Chris” with a note about how much he looked forward to your trip back to Silent Hill. Something was wrong, something deeply, viscerally wrong. But you had to know.

The fog in Silent Hill was relentless, thick and damp, swirling around you as if it were alive. When the wind picked up, it chafed your cheeks raw, and the empty water bottle in your hand felt like a taunt. The town looked so different from what you remembered. Gone were the bustling streets and cheerful Americana charm that had once made you consider leaving the city to settle here. What you found instead was a hollow vessel, the life drained from it, a love grown cold. But you searched on, knowing this desolate place held your only answers.

Time didn’t move right here; minutes and hours blurred together until they meant nothing. The fog rang in your ears, drowning out your thoughts until you found yourself in front of a crumbling apartment complex near the town square. Inside, you moved slowly, feeling like you were following someone else’s steps, picking up right where they had left off. It felt like a cage, in both the literal and the suffocating, metaphorical sense.

The walls—sticky with something infectious—pressed in on you, both restricting and repelling as you paced the decayed floor. The beam of your flashlight crackled, faintly illuminating the mangled limbs soaking in stagnant pools of bile and blood. Your steps traced a path with no end in sight, guided only by luck and a fading wit, absent even a scrap of a map. Someone had taken it before you, maybe to keep you lost. You rubbed at the cross on your chest, though the metal burned cold against your skin, and no prayer would form to soothe you.

How long had it been? How many bullets did you have left?

Then, you heard footsteps. A scrape, then another, louder than your heartbeat but not by much. Slowly, you raised the gun, unable to see much of anything, the pungent stench saturating the air as you squinted into the darkness. A shadow moved in the murk, steps too soft to be anything monstrous. And yet, your finger tightened on the trigger.

The crack of your shot echoed through the hall.

The figure jerked backward, but you could tell it hadn’t struck home. He stumbled into view, lifting his hands, a gun gripped loosely in one. His face came into focus under your wavering flashlight—a man, worn down, wary, yet unafraid.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice rough.

"Let’s put the guns down first," he replied, voice low and steady, as he slowly lowered his weapon, tucking it away with one last glance at you.

You mirrored his action, hands dropping just enough.

“You almost killed me,” he said.

“Yeah, well, can you blame me?”

A pause, then he nodded. “Suppose you’re right.”

His gaze shifted, still guarded. “James Sunderland,” he added, almost reluctantly.

You hesitated. “That supposed to mean something?”

“Not really.” His eyes lingered, taking in your face, maybe wondering if you, too, had anything left to lose.

You held his gaze, unsure whether this new presence was a relief or just another curse to endure. You swallow, and give him your name.

He repeats it with a polite smile before asking, “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m looking for my...daughter. Laura” His words are plain, almost hollow, yet you can feel the weight behind them. There’s a sincerity there, but even so, you keep your distance, wary that he could be just another twisted manifestation of the town, designed to taunt you.

“I’m a journalist…an investigative journalist,” you say, the lie escaping easily enough, though you throw in a casual shrug to help sell it. “Strange things happen in this town. Worth investigating.”

James nods, seeming to accept this, and even manages a faint, tired smile. “Yeah. Well, good luck.”

With that, he turns and walks away. As he does, you notice a sheaf of papers slipping from his back pocket—maps in various states of decay. You quicken your pace to catch up, trying to think of something to say. He glances back, his expression mirroring your own uncertainty. You know playing the helpless act would ring hollow after nearly shooting him in the head, so you try something new. Honesty.

“I’m…lost.” The admission comes reluctantly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. “Just let me tag along, yeah?”

James doesn’t respond right away, and you brace yourself for rejection. But then you speak up, pressing your case further. “I won’t get in the way. Plus, you’ll have an extra gun.”

He looks at you, working his jaw as if weighing a response. You’re ready to hear him refuse when he finally parts his lips to answer.

“Sure,” he says. “Just stay close.”

He’s disarming, isn’t he? Voice so gentle, so steady. You aren’t sure if that’s normal. After years of Chris’s voice sharp with vitriol, you’d almost forgotten that men could speak without dripping contempt.

The two of you navigate the building, slipping from one corridor to the next in tense silence, every footfall weighed with alertness. Neither of you is inclined to push the silence back; this isn’t the place for it, anyway. Each door you try leads to the same dead end: strange rooms littered with remnants of lives long abandoned, like paintings frozen in decay. A child’s single shoe left on a dusty carpet. Newspapers yellowed with age. The walls scrawled with jagged messages that almost seem to call to you personally.

James steps into the next room first, and suddenly the air is cut by a familiar, sickening squelch. You both go rigid. His flashlight catches only the vague outline of it—an amalgamation of twisted, fleshy limbs tangled around itself, no face, no eyes, barely a body but moving like something alive. It trudges toward you with the single-mindedness of something that hunts.

Without thinking, you raise your gun, squeezing the trigger as you aim for its head. The shot lands, and the creature lurches backward, twisting before collapsing in a heap mere inches from James.

James’s wide eyes meet yours, both of you sharing a sharp, relieved exhale. "Thanks," he breathes, still catching his breath. "Guess it’s good you didn’t miss this time."

“Yeah,” you say, your heart pounding almost as loud as his. He presses a hand to his chest as if it might slow the beat, while you take a moment to steady your grip on the gun.

For a moment, you’re both suspended in a quiet that feels heavier than before. Trust was established, and it's almost like it scared you both. The crackle of a record player cuts through the silence, startling you. A song starts, warped and dragging, as if it's being pulled through deep water.

Why do birds suddenly appear…

The voice is strained, drowning in static. You press your hand to head as a pang hits you. The words churning something up you'd thought you'd locked away.

…Every time you are near…

The room looses focus, eyes blur and darkness begins to press in from all asides. Your heartbeat drums in your eyes, every note tangling around your memories of Chris, the way he used to hum this song when things were still.. bearable.

…Just like me, they long to be…

The room spins and you stagger slightly, barely catching yourself on a shelf with a thud. The song goes on, warped, echoing…

Close to you…

“Hey, you all right?” James’s voice pulls you back, grounding you as you blink, disoriented, trying to shake the fog from your mind. He’s closer now, his eyes narrowing, his expression shifting from vague curiosity to something sharper, more focused.

You pull yourself up, forcing a shrug. “I’m fine,” you say, the lie coming out thick. “Just…dizzy, that’s all.”

James studies you, not entirely convinced. There’s a pause as the record scratches, skipping over a verse, the strained vocals dragging out an unsteady note that seems to fill the room. You glance away, letting the darkness swallow your expression, fighting the emotions this song brings up.

“Pretty strong reaction for a journalist.” His tone is quiet, but the words cut through the static. He doesn’t press further, but the question lingers in his eyes.

You laugh it off, masking your discomfort. “Yeah, guess I don’t like this song much,” you manage, brushing past him to look for the record player. “The whole place feels like it’s… like it’s trying to get in my head.”

You spot the record player in the corner, its needle still scratching, caught on the line, "close to you." It’s enough to make your stomach twist, but you shake off the dizziness and press the needle to silence. When you turn, James’s eyes are still on you, his expression wary, cautious.

The silence stretches, heavy with what you’re both choosing not to say. Finally, he nods toward the doorway. “Ready to go?”

You let out a breath, forcing your voice to stay light. “Lead the way.”

As he moves ahead, you catch him glancing back at you, each look carrying a hint of suspicion. You know he’s beginning to piece things together, but you’re not ready to give him the truth—not yet.

Chris was an enigma, a puzzle you never fully solved, even when he was by your side. That song had its roots deep in your life together: road trips, late-night humming, dancing to it at your wedding. You hadn’t heard it in years, and yet it still had the power to unravel you.

“You sure you’re alright?” James asks, his voice steady but his eyes watchful.

“Just… a little tired.” The lie tastes hollow, but it’s enough for now.

James doesn’t press, nodding as he lets it go. You can see Silent Hill’s weight on him too, a shared fatigue between you. There's a muted relief in his eyes, knowing he’s not alone in this—someone else who sees what he sees and is capable of handling the worst of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, glancing out a window, confronting the fog-choked street. “Me too.”

You’re both drained, each weighed down by the town's relentless demands. When you come across yet another abandoned apartment with a door slightly ajar, it looks as good a place as any to rest. James enters first, gun drawn, carefully scanning each room until he’s satisfied it’s safe. You follow, and the two of you settle into the dusty living room, sinking onto the worn couch across from him. The dim light casting shadows over his face makes him look even more exhausted than before. Despite his guarded demeanor, a flicker of relief softens his expression.

But you’re barely aware of him. Your mind keeps drifting, pulled back to the haunting notes of Close to You, the song’s echo dredging up memories and leaving a strange, hollow ache in its wake. Chris used to sing it with that same reverence you heard in your mind just now. The way it clung to him, stayed with you, as if the song itself held a secret too. You close your eyes, your last thought tangled in memories as sleep claims you faster than you realize.

The dream is seamless, more real than any nightmare should feel.

The church pews overflow with lush white blooms, their delicate petals casting a fragrant veil over the room, mingling with the scent of polished wood and old hymnals. Statues of angels line the chancel, their stone faces serene, hands pressed together in prayer, as if they too bless this day. Friends and family fill the space—faces from high school, colleagues, distant cousins. The two of you are well-loved, and it shows in every corner of this room filled with warm smiles and gentle whispers.

Your dress is exquisite, timeless, the lace delicate and intricate. A sheer net veil drapes over your face, softening your features; Chris never liked heavy makeup, and today, you’re everything he’s ever wanted. The wedding march begins, and as you step down the aisle, heart pounding, you see him waiting—Chris, the man you loved, standing with that familiar smile. It’s perfect, almost too perfect.

You’re standing by the lake now, that same lake you once visited together. The water is unnaturally still, like polished glass, reflecting a cloudless sky with eerie clarity. You look down and see yourself dressed differently—a simple sundress, soft and light, embroidered with tiny flowers. The lake shifts, its surface darkening to an inky black, and Chris’s form starts to dissolve, his features warping as he stares at you. His brown eyes, once warm, pool with a thick, dark liquid that streams down his face—a grotesque mix of blood and tears.

His lips pull back into a grimace, revealing not his familiar smile but a horrifying maw of decayed teeth, blackened and rotten, the gums swollen and raw. It’s almost impossible to look at him, but there’s something in his eyes—a haunting, bottomless pain—that keeps you rooted, feeling his anguish as if it’s your own. You try to reach him, but he keeps drifting farther, swallowed by the thickening fog, his shape barely visible. Your legs feel heavy, unable to chase after him. You open your mouth to scream, but your voice is gone. In place of Chris’s hum, the warped, dragging voice from the record begins to play, twisting the lyrics into something unsettling.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time you are near…

It’s as if the town itself is singing, mocking your grief, laughing at your misery. You spin around, and now, in the lake’s reflection, you see… James?

He stands in the distance, his gaze fixed on something just beyond your line of sight. His expression is twisted in pain, not the frantic desperation of your own memories but a deep, abiding sorrow that feels almost like acceptance. It’s a sorrow that seeps into the atmosphere, heavy and palpable, and it pierces through the veil of your nightmare, pulling you toward him as if you’re both bound by an unseen thread.

Your mind fractures with the realization that this isn’t your memory—it’s his. You want to call out to him, to bridge the distance between you, but no sound escapes your lips. The fog envelops you both, thick and suffocating, intertwining your fears and regrets into a shared torment. As you look closer, flashes of another woman’s face blur into the water beside Chris’s—faces of those you’ve each lost or left behind, woven into the fabric of this haunting place. The lyrics echo around you, a cruel reminder of your collective longing:

They long to be… close to you.

Then everything shatters—the lake, the fog, and the memories—blowing apart like glass fragments, each shard reflecting images you’d rather forget. You wake with a jolt, gasping, and for a disorienting second, you don’t know where you are. Your hand flies to your chest, feeling the rapid thump of your heart, the remnants of the nightmare lingering. Across the room, James is also awake, his face pale and strained as he stares at the wall, clearly shaken by whatever he just experienced.

The silence stretches, both of you catching your breath, still in the grip of the shared memory. After a moment, James finally looks at you, his gaze troubled. He knelt on the floor across from you, reaching forward. You retreat inward, bringing your knees close to your chest as you attempt to gather yourself from the vivid nightmare.

“You… saw it too, didn’t you?” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

For a long moment, you don’t know what to say. All the excuses you’d planned earlier crumble, replaced by the rawness of what you just experienced. You give a slow nod, your voice shaky. “Yeah, I… I did.”

The weight of this unspoken bond hangs between you, a fragile connection forged through shared suffering. You can tell he wants to ask more, but he holds back, respect or fear—it’s hard to tell.

“You’re not a journalist, are you?” His voice is edged with something colder than distrust. “Why are you lying to me?”

Your index finger digs into the flesh of your thumb, scratching at the nail fold, peeling away the dead skin with anxious precision. With a reluctant sigh, you finally admit,

“My husband is here.” The words sound foreign, almost absurd, and you stop, feeling the weight of them settle uncomfortably. Your fingers drift to the spot where your wedding band should have been; it’s been years since you wore it. You hope James doesn’t notice its absence.

James’s gaze drifts, as though he’s caught in a memory of his own, piecing together fragments that refuse to settle. He remembers his own day by the lake, the memory of Mary and him standing silently together, wrapped in a shared peace as they looked out over the water’s glassy calm. That day had held something pure, untouched. But when that same vision began to warp, blending into a nightmare where he saw you there, tangled in shadows and held close by a man whose features twisted painfully, he assumed it must have been someone you loved deeply. Someone whose memory drew you here, too, searching through Silent Hill’s fog for answers, just like him.

“Did you get a letter from him?” James asks, his voice almost relieved, as though grasping at a thread of shared experience. “Like I did… from Mary?” His eyes search yours, teetering on the edge of desperation, as though hoping you might be a lifeline, someone who could understand.

“No,” you murmur, the answer thick in your throat. “He… he booked us the honeymoon suite at Lakeside. For our anniversary.” You hesitate, then glance up at James. Oddly, there’s a connection there, a shared understanding that feels like an anchor in this distorted reality. “I got a phone call. He said he’d be… waiting for me.”

James shifts, steadying himself, then reaches down and offers his hand. “How long have you been married?”

Taking his hand, you rise, feeling the warmth of his grip. “A long time.”

Lucky for you, he doesn’t ask for more.

You rub your eyes, exhausted. The rest was a waste of time, James knew that. You noticed his urgency, his resolve. It didn't parallel you, who dreaded the confrontation with Chris.

"Who was the woman?"

"Mary," he says her name with such familiarity. There's warmth in his tone that had been absence till now.

God, he must really love her. And you wonder what that felt like, the warm embrace of a man who loved you.

“Is she Laura's mom?”

James voice is low and purposeful. “It's...complicated.”

Taking the hint, you refuse to press further, “we should keep moving.”

You come to your senses, dusting off your legs, turning your gaze toward an hallway drowned in darkness. It looked endless, barely visible under a tangle of peeling wallpaper and decay. With a hesitant nod, you follow him; your hearts quicken as you tread deeper into the unknown. As you walk, each step feels like an invitation into Silent Hill’s dark heart. The sound of your footsteps is swallowed by the oppressive quiet, James reached forward firmly grabbing your forearm and pushing you toward him. You let out a scream, it echoes through the hallway sending you into a flustered, embarrassed state. You’d done so well keeping your composure, keeping your fear close to your chest even when Silent Hill beckoned for you to give into it.

“Careful!”

Your gaze falls to the floor and you can't help but notice the large, jagged hole that threatens to swallow you whole. You're still in James' grasp, you look up at him and see the exhaustion etched into his face. The stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw looks foreign, a sign of how little sleep he's gotten. But despite it all, there is an undeniable warmth in his eyes, a flicker of determination that refuses to be dimmed. It hits you suddenly.

Shit, he’s handsome.

As if sensing your thoughts, James pulls you closer and your body responds automatically. His touch is like a lifeline, one that you grip onto tightly. Your breath hitches as he leans in, his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

It's strangely calming, and you find yourself sinking into him as if searching for some kind of solace. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent, and for a brief moment you both linger in this embrace. Before you can gather your thoughts and thank him for saving you from plummeting to your death, a voice interrupts the moment. It doesn't belong to either of you.

"Well, well. Looks like Jamesie has a new lady friend."

Both of you startle at the unexpected voice, but James responds with familiarity. He knows this woman. And as she steps out from the shadows, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and her ample assets on full display, it's clear why he knows her so well.

“Maria, don’t,” James’s voice drops, laced with warning. "I said we were finished."

You try to pull away, but James’s grip on your hand holds steady. It’s hard to tell if he’s unwilling to let go of you, or if he’s trying to shield you from something he knows all too well.

Maria steps forward, her heels striking the floor with sharp, deliberate clicks. Her gaze cuts through the darkness of the room, narrowing as they land on you. There's a mocking edge to her expression, something both inviting and dangerous, like she holds the keys to a room you don’t want to enter.

“Don’t what?” she taunts, her voice light, but a dark undercurrent simmers beneath it. The tension thickens, palpable, as though the entire room hinges on Maria’s whims. Something in her presence feels volatile, as if one wrong move might unravel whatever frail sense of reality you have left.

You find your voice, though it wavers. “James… who is this?”

But Maria doesn’t give him a chance to answer. Her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “She makes you feel like such a strong man, doesn’t she?” she purrs, her gaze shifting to him, almost challenging.

“Strong and brave,” she sneers softly, drawing out the words like she’s savoring each one. “But that’s only because she hasn’t seen you like I have.” Her eyes flash with something dark and possessive, a twisted familiarity that makes your stomach churn.

“What would you do if she knew who you really are, James?”

James stiffens beside you, but Maria doesn’t back off. Instead, she takes another step forward. Reaching towards you, gentle hands touching your hair with thoughtfulness, yet the action sends shivers down your spine. Maria tilts her head, studying you with a look that feels both knowing and cruel. “And you,” she says, her tone shifting, becoming almost sweet but dripping with malice. “Poor thing. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

Your fingers tighten in James’s grasp, and Maria’s eyes flicker with wicked amusement as she notices. A low, bitter chuckle escapes her, slicing through the room.

“You really think you’re here for your husband, don’t you? Sweet Chris is waiting for you, dear,” she coos, her voice dripping with venom.

Her words hit like a punch, and an icy chill races down your spine. How she could know Chris—how she could know anything about him—is beyond comprehension. Yet here she is, peeling back your skin, exposing secrets you thought were buried. The anger simmering within you begins to fester, raw and ugly, threatening to spill over.

“Stop,” you plead, voice shaking.

Maria’s lips twist into a mocking smile, and she leans in closer. “Isn’t he?” Her tone is taunting, merciless, as though she’s drawing power from the very pain she’s causing.

"How'd you think he'd feel seeing you locking arms with another man?"

Finding a surge of strength, you step forward, voice firm. “I said stop it.”

For a moment, Maria halts, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Then she raises her hands in exaggerated surrender, her smile never fading. “Oh, look at you, standing up for yourself.” She gives a small, mocking clap.

“You two really do make a cute couple.” Her words are laced with contempt, every syllable dripping with disdain.

With that, she takes a step back, casting one last dark glance at James before she turns to leave. Her parting words echo in the room, leaving a chill in their wake.

“Good luck, sweetheart. You’re going to need it.”

And then she’s gone, her laughter fading into the silence, leaving you and James in the tense, suffocating aftermath. The silence in the room feels electric, charged with the residue of Maria's taunts. The air grows thicker, pressing down on you as you turn to James, seeking solace in his familiar presence. But instead of comfort, unease flickers across his face—his eyes darting, unable to meet yours. It’s as if he’s caught in a web spun by Maria’s venomous words, and you can feel the strands tightening around your heart.

“James,” you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “How does she know Chris?” Your chest constricts at the mere mention of your husband’s name, the laughter you once shared with him echoing in your mind. James and you had been inseparable upon meeting, following each other at the heel as you navigated the labyrinth of the apartment complex. It wasn’t plausible to accuse James of telling Maria about Chris, yet you couldn’t conjure up another justification.

James glances away, fingers raking through his hair, a gesture so familiar yet suddenly alien. “I don’t know what she’s playing at,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his voice that tinges his words with doubt. You feel it—a crack in the foundation of trust that has held strong until now. He swallows hard, his throat working as though he’s contemplating a confession that could shatter everything between you. He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture that normally calms him now making his insides twist tighter. “She’s just… trying to get into your head,” he finally admits, but the hesitation lingers like a specter. You take a step closer to him, searching for reassurance in his deep-set gaze.

His eyes met yours, “Please believe me."

The air between you feels brittle, each word hanging like fragile glass, and you have to look away. Without a word, you step back and turn down the hallway, putting distance between yourself and James’s pained gaze. You walk, the low hum of silence filling your ears, until you find a room that’s only slightly ajar. With a deep breath, you nudge the door open and step inside, the hollow creak adding to the suffocating quiet.

The room itself is suffused with an eerie calm, yet it carries the faint remnants of something lived-in. Faded wallpaper, once cream-colored and adorned with delicate flowers, now curls at the edges, stained by water and age. Dust particles float in the muted light, casting a dreamlike haze over the place. A loveseat, its upholstery worn to the threads, sits against the far wall, its cushions sunken in, as if weighed down by the echoes of past residents who sought refuge here. An old, ornate mirror is mounted on the wall, the glass cracked, sending distorted reflections back at you. You catch your own image in its fractured surface, fragmented and unfamiliar.

You lower yourself onto the loveseat, and the springs creak beneath your weight, a hollow, mournful sound that matches the hollowness blooming in your chest. Maria’s words ring in your mind, each syllable a serrated edge cutting into memories you’ve tried so hard to repress. Chris—his laugh, his teasing smile, his hand in yours as you danced on your wedding day. And now, here in this place, in Silent Hill, his name feels like a curse, a haunting that even the fog cannot mask.

How could she know about him? How could she know you?

The silence presses on, thick and suffocating, forcing memories to the surface that you’d rather keep submerged. Chris wasn’t perfect; your marriage wasn’t the fairy tale people assumed it to be. You remember the fights, the silences, the times he looked at you as though he didn’t know you anymore. You remember feeling like strangers in your own home. The weight of it—the memory, the bitterness, the grief—settles on your chest like a stone, and you can feel yourself sinking under it, drawn down by a ghost who refuses to let you go.

You clench your hands together, fingers tracing the place where your wedding band used to rest. It’s just an empty strip of skin now, yet it still feels heavy, like an anchor tethering you to a past you can’t outrun. Maria’s voice reverberates in your mind, mocking and sharp, unearthing everything you’ve tried to bury.

How much did she know? How much could she see?

A chill seeps into your bones, the room itself growing colder as though responding to your turmoil. You wrap your arms around yourself, gaze drifting around the room once more, searching for answers in the decayed furniture, the cracked mirror, the peeling wallpaper. But the silence offers no solace, only a hollow echo of a life you once led, a love that may have been more illusion than truth.

The door creaks open softly, and you look up to see James standing there, a shadow in the doorway. His face is lined with concern, his brows furrowed, and he steps inside with cautious urgency, his voice low and gentle. “She’s just trying to mess with you,” he says, moving closer. “That’s what she does—Maria’s… she’s not someone you should trust.”

You feel a flash of anger bubble up, something raw that you can’t hold back. “She may be messing with me, but she’s clearly something to you, James. You think I haven’t noticed? She knows things that no stranger would know.”

You stand, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as though to ward off the chill that Maria left in the room. “Whatever she is, she’s tied to you. I can feel it.”

He looks away, eyes darkening, an almost haunted expression casting shadows across his face. “Maybe she is. But you can’t believe her. She… she’s just a part of this place, trying to twist things.” His fingers rake through his hair, betraying his own uncertainty. “You have to believe me.”

The truth in his words wavers, not quite reaching you. “Maybe this is where we part ways. You need to find Laura, I need to find Chris… maybe it’s better if we don’t drag each other further down.”

James takes a step toward you, urgency flaring in his eyes. “No—don’t say that. I know it sounds crazy, but I… I don’t want to go on alone. You’re here, and I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like… like I’m supposed to be with you, like you’re a part of this, too.”

The weight of his words presses into you, and the room falls quiet, thick with a shared loneliness, a strange intimacy brought on by this cursed place. For a moment, you can see the struggle behind his guarded gaze—a longing for connection, for some thread of human understanding. You feel it, too, this tether that’s kept you together, kept you following each other through the shadows of Silent Hill.

His eyes search yours, desperate, unguarded. “Please. We’re both here looking for answers… for the people we love. Isn’t that enough?”

You swallow hard, your emotions twisting into knots that leave you feeling raw and exposed. Chris’s memory looms, heavy and sharp, stirring a familiar pain in your chest. Despite all the hurt he left behind, despite the tangled mess he made of your heart, there’s an ache that remains—a longing, a craving for the simple comfort of touch, of companionship.

Your gaze settles on James, who stands there, his expression earnest, vulnerable in a way that only seems to deepen the strange connection between you. It’s been so long since someone looked at you like that, without judgment, without expectation. Just… seeing.

And James, with his own broken pieces, feels like someone who could understand. Someone you don’t have to explain yourself to. He doesn’t pry or push; his presence is soft, like a balm for the emptiness that’s grown inside you over the years. Chris may have broken parts of you, but James is different. He’s open in his own quiet way, holding his pain close yet giving space for yours.

James feels a slight shiver run through him as he stands in front of you, realizing that he’s not just here searching for Laura anymore. The realization deepens his guilt, the past hangs heavily on his shoulders. He carries the burden through the mist-shrouded streets. It dawns on him that he’s looking for something to believe in, something to hold onto.

Maybe it’s because of Mary, and that guilt has anchored him to this place. But you—you—are here, standing before him, offering the possibility of solace. There’s an unspoken understanding, a thread of empathy woven between your shared pain that draws him in—a yearning for connection, for hope, for a reason to keep moving forward.

Would Mary want this for me, do I deserve to have it?

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out slowly, as though afraid to startle you. His fingers find yours, and you feel a warmth—a reminder that you’re here, alive. He’s close now, his gaze steady and searching, asking permission without words. You feel yourself leaning in, drawn to him, the vulnerability in his eyes echoing your own.

When your lips meet, the kiss is soft, hesitant. But there’s a sweetness in it, a gentleness that feels like a reprieve, a quiet offering in a place that knows only shadows and despair. It'd been long since you felt a kiss like that, full of good intentions.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek, anchoring you in the moment. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself forget the weight of Silent Hill, the scars of Chris’s memory, the strange nightmare you’ve been thrust into.

For just a moment, there’s only you and James, two broken souls finding comfort in each other. When you finally part, his gaze lingers on you, a question, a silent promise. Brushing your nose against his, you close your eyes tightly, tears verging to spill through yet for whatever damn reason you stop them.

“Wait,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath. You pull backward, the warmth of his presence falling away like a fragile dream shattered by dawn. “What am I doing? This isn’t right.”

Confusion swirling in your mind like the fog outside. The warmth of him still lingers on your lips, it feels so sweet. So right. But the ache of Chris’s memory claws its way back, a sharp reminder of everything that remains unresolved. All the reasons as to why you were here.

James blinks, confusion clouding his eyes as he searches your face for answers, for assurance that this moment hasn’t meant something else entirely. “I didn’t—” James starts, his brows knitting together in concern. “I thought… I thought we were—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head violently as if to dislodge the memories that threaten to smother you. “We can’t just… I can’t pretend like everything’s okay here.”

James falters, his expression shifting from confusion to hurt. “I’m not trying to pretend anything. I thought…”

Realization washes over him, an understanding that battles with the hope he had dared to cling to moments ago. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean..” His words stutter, because James did mean something. And apart of you did too. Neither of you were ready to confront it.

James sighs, “we can’t just shut ourselves off from each other either. We need each other. Look around us—this place…” He gestures wildly at the peeling walls and flickering shadows. “It thrives on our pain and isolation. It wants us to stay broken.”

Your breath hitches as you take in the decay surrounding you—a world molded by fears and heartsick memories. Maria’s words echo in the back of your mind, fueling your doubt and straining the bond you have just begun to forge.

“But if we let it, if we lean on each other…” you murmur, a tremor threading through your voice. “What happens when the truth comes to light? When it all unravels and we’re left… shattered?”

James tilts his head, a flicker of defiance igniting in his eyes. “Maybe it can’t unravel if we face it together,” he responds. “Maybe that’s how we find the strength to overcome this—this place, this guilt, these ghosts of our past.” He takes another cautious step toward you, bridging the gap that had formed between your hearts.

“James, I don’t know if I can do that,” you admit, your heart racing with uncertainty. The shadows stretch and creep closer, whispering secrets meant to keep you both locked within their grasp.

“Then let me help you,” he pleads softly, an earnestness in his tone that cuts through the fog of confusion. “We’ve already faced so much together in such little time—more than either of us thought was possible. You don't have to do this alone.”

His words reverberate with raw honesty, pulling at something deep inside you—the spark of hope woven tightly into the air. The flickering light cast shadows that danced across your faces, illuminating the vulnerability in James's gaze. It was a look that you hadn't seen in Chris before, it was a look of promised understanding and comfort. A safe harbor.

“James…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. The weight of Chris’s memory lingered like a ghost, but in that moment, you were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, pulling you closer against the chill of the darkened room.

“I'm here,” James said softly, reaching out to cup your cheek.

His touch ignited a flicker of something deep within you, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time. You leaned into his hand, closing your eyes for a brief moment, allowing the warmth to wash over you. There was an undeniable connection, an unspoken understanding that anchored you both.

“I’m scared, James,” you confessed, your heart racing as the memories of your husband intertwined with the growing emotions you felt for this man. “What if I can’t do this? What if—”

“Stop,” he interrupted gently, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“You’re stronger than you think. You just have to trust me.”

James’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you fell away. The kiss deepened, a desperate expression of everything left unsaid—the frustration, the fear, the need for connection. You tangled your fingers in his hair, losing yourself in the moment as your hearts raced in synchrony. It was a kiss that spoke of yearning, of healing, and the promise of something more. In that breathless exchange, you both felt the weight of your pasts lift, if only for a fleeting moment.

As you finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, the room around you felt a little less suffocating. James looked down at you, his expression a mix of surprise and longing, as if he too was processing the intensity of what had just happened.

“Wow,” he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That was...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking as you caught your breath. “Unexpected,” you add, your cheeks flushed.

Finding a new companion in the midst of all this was unexpected, yet you couldn't deny it wasn't wanted.

Exiting the apartment, you return to the fog swarmed streets with the intention of going to Lakeview Hotel and settle this.

"Tell me about Chris."

James’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though he knew the weight of what he was asking but couldn’t help himself. The question caught you off guard, slicing through the quiet that had fallen over you both since the kiss. You pulled back, eyes narrowing as you measured his expression, wondering why he wanted to know—wondering if you should even answer.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“What about him?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral. The memory of Chris’s face lingers at the edge of your mind, blurring between pain and longing, between a life you lived and a guilt you couldn’t quite let go of.

James shifts, his brow knitting as he considers his words carefully. “Well, you said you were married for a long time… I just thought… maybe he was part of the reason you’re here.” He pauses, then adds almost apologetically, “I just want to understand.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, the tension in your chest tightening. “So, you kiss me, and now you want me to bare my soul?” you ask, a hint of sarcasm bleeding into your voice, trying to lighten the confession that was pressing against your throat.

James’s gaze holds steady, his face tinged with a mix of embarrassment and genuine concern. “I’m sorry—I just thought…” He fumbles for a second, searching for the right words. “I just thought maybe… if I know, I can help.”

The idea of anyone helping you felt almost absurd, but here he was, leaning into the murky past you’d never wanted to share. You take a breath, feeling the weight of what it means to even think about Chris—to feel the pull of what you left behind.

The truth of it stirs in you, raw and jagged, as you force yourself to continue. “Kissing you…” Your voice falters, and you can’t meet his eyes. “Kissing you makes me realize what I was doing even before I came here.” You clench your jaw, steadying yourself as you try to explain. “I was unfaithful in my own way—long chats, late nights with men I’d never meet. Random strangers who’d call me beautiful just to feel something real again. Just to feel noticed.”

You feel James’s gaze on you, but it’s soft, like he’s looking past the words to the heart of it. You keep talking, almost as if to absolve yourself, or maybe just to say it out loud. “It wasn’t ever physical. I never wanted that. But I wanted to know I could be seen, could still be wanted. That I wasn’t just someone’s forgotten wife.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, and James finally nods, his face shadowed with understanding, though he doesn’t press you any further. The question lingers, though, as if he’s on the brink of asking something more but thinks better of it.

As the fog thickens around you both, you wonder if he can see how broken this confession has left you, your own secrets spilling out like poisoned air. But there’s something reassuring in the way he stays, how he doesn’t look away. He’s searching for his own peace, you can tell. But here, together, you’re both finding something neither of you had expected: a moment of understanding, as fleeting and fragile as it is.

Your confession made the weight of the cross necklace on your chest feel lighter, a burden released, if only for a moment. But Silent Hill had other plans, a different way of reminding you why you were here. That song—the one that had haunted you—warps again, piercing through the fog with an unsettling clarity.

Why do stars fall down from the sky?

It was louder this time, invasive, its notes burrowing into your chest like needles. The sound seeped through your skin, winding its way through your veins until you could feel it thrum with your pulse. Your body began to tremble, muscles weakening, as if the song itself was commanding you to surrender.

Every time you walk by?

You stagger, trying to shake off the sensation, but the pressure overwhelms you. Your knees buckle, and the world tilts, the song closing in, dragging you down.

James lunges forward, reaching you just as your legs give out, his arms strong around you as he keeps you upright. “Hey!” he calls, his voice tinged with alarm as he holds you close. “Stay with me—stay with me!”

Just like me, they long to be

But his voice is fading, becoming part of the fog as your mind begins to drift, retreating into a darkness that feels familiar yet endless. The haunting refrain echoes, growing louder and louder, pressing down on you, pulling you further from James’s steady grip and deeper into the secrets that Silent Hill had dredged up from the shadows.

Your vision blurs, the edges softening until James’s face is little more than a shadow against the fog. The song’s haunting lyrics spiral in your mind, merging with his voice as he calls your name, but the words feel distant, muffled, like they’re underwater.

Your pulse quickens, heartbeat pounding loud in your ears as your body grows cold and heavy. Your legs tremble and your knees weaken; you try to catch your breath, but it slips away, pulled down by the weight of the memories clawing at you. James’s grip tightens around you, but the sensation barely registers as a wave of dizziness crashes over, sending you spiraling.

Close to you.

The melody presses into you like a physical force, digging into your chest until your heartbeat falters. You reach for James, but your fingers grow numb, vision narrowing into a tunnel of darkness, and the world tilts, fading away as you finally surrender, consciousness slipping into the void.

Slowly, your heavy eyelids flutter open and you find yourself standing in the dimly lit, crimson-tinted bathroom of Heaven's Night. The air is thick with a palpable electricity, a raw and close sensation that sends shivers down your spine. The familiar smells of smoke and stale perfume mingle with something new - the warm, musky scent of desire. You can hear the faint hum of neon lights from the club pulsing through the walls, casting a seductive glow over the small bathroom.

In front of you is an old, dirty sink accompanied by a cracked and weathered mirror. The reflection staring back at you feels surreal and blurred, but you can't help but notice how different you look. Your hair is styled in loose waves, a deep crimson shade staining your lips. Your outfit is a low cut dress that hugs your curves in all the right places, revealing just enough skin to leave little to the imagination. As you take a step back to admire yourself, you suddenly collide into something - or someone.

Turning your neck, you see James standing behind you with a hungry look in his eyes. The gentleness he once had is now replaced with an untapped dominance that sends a rush of excitement through your body. His rough breath fans across your neck as his hands find their way to your waist, gripping you with a restraint that feels seconds away from breaking. Pressed together in the tight space, the intensity between you surges like an electric current, igniting long-buried desires that are now clawing their way to the surface.

James is already so close, but he presses even closer until your bodies are flush against each other. He doesn't stop until your front collides with the cold porcelain sink, causing you to gasp and turn your face towards the mirror inches away from your nose. In its reflection, you see two figures consumed by desire - yours with an equal if not greater intensity than James'. It's been so long since you've felt this kind of want, this kind of fiery desire. And as he leans in closer, you can't help but give in to the temptation and let yourself drown in the heat of the moment.

The first kiss is a violent onslaught, a collision of two tormented souls who have been lost in darkness for far too long. The force behind it is primal and desperate, the mingling of desperation and desire causing an inferno to rage between your lips.

You instinctively raise your arms, tangling your fingers in his hair as he presses you forcefully against the sink. In this moment, there is only him and the overwhelming need for him. James eagerly grabs at your breasts, tearing at your clothing until your laced bra is exposed, barely containing your hardened buds which beg for his touch. His grip tightens as his lips trail down your neck, each touch rough and urgent.

There is a raw honesty in every touch, every shared breath that speaks volumes about the pent-up frustration and pain that has brought you both to this moment. Here, in the seedy sanctuary of Heaven's Night, you lose yourself completely to each other-- no expectations, no inhibitions, just the all-consuming desire to feel alive in a town that takes everything from you.

Your body arches against James' as you feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you. In one swift motion, he grabs the hem of your skirt and pulls it up, baring your ass to him. Any sense of embarrassment is quickly replaced by intense arousal.

Without hesitation, James moves your panties aside and spits on his fingers before plunging them into your dripping cunt. You let out a wild shriek, the cool air hitting your exposed sex only to be soothed by the warmth of his wet fingers. He pumps two slender digits inside you with ease, the sound of your wet core filling the room.

His words send shivers down your spine as he scissors his fingers inside you, "Listen to how wet you are for me already." Your hands leave his hair and grip onto the sink for support as you lose yourself in his touch.

He suddenly removes his fingers and gives your wet cunt a sharp slap, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body and out of your mouth. "You couldn't stop thinking about this, could you?" he growls.

"No," you whimper, unable to resist his dominance. "I need it so bad, James," you plead, wiggling your ass towards him. "I need your cock inside me."

He doesn't hesitate, his grunts joining yours as he complies, thrusting his hard cock into you with renewed vigor. Every inch of you is filled, your body shaking with the intensity of it all.

"Harder! James! Harder!" You beg, your voice trembling with need.

James notices your half-lidded eyes drifting shut, lost in the throes of passion. With a growl, he pulls your hair back, forcing you to look at your reflection in the mirror.

"Look at you. Look how cock-hungry you are." His words are a filthy whisper, laced with dominance and affection.

Your eyes flutter open, staring into the mirror where you both are reflected. The sight is intoxicating, your bodies entwined, your faces a mix of pleasure and raw need. You watch as James continues to pound into you, his muscles straining with effort, his eyes locked on yours. The reflection in the mirror is almost too much to bear, the reality of the scene so vivid, so real.

"Please," you whimper, your voice breaking. "I need more."

James smirks, his hand moving to cup your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. "What do you need, baby?" He asks, his tone gentle despite the rough handling.

"I... I need you to make me come," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. The admission feels liberating, freeing.

His eyes darken with intent, a predatory gleam flashing in their depths. "That's my girl," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "But not just yet. Not until you've earned it."

With that, he yanks your head back, exposing your neck, and bites down gently, his teeth grazing your skin. The sensation is electrifying, a jolt of pleasure that shoots straight to your core. You arch your back, pressing yourself further onto his cock, desperate for more.

"James..." You groan, your body trembling with need.

He releases your neck, leaving a mark that slowly begins to throb. His hand moves down, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your ass. With a firm grip, he spanks you, the sting a welcome contrast to the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Did that hurt, baby?" He asks, his voice dripping with concern.

You shake your head, moaning softly. "No, it felt... good."

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "Good girl," he praises, his hand landing another smack on your already reddened skin. "Now, tell me what you want."

"I want you to... to keep going," you gasp, your voice strained with effort. "I want you to make me beg for it."

His grin widens, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, I intend to."

With that, he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more primal. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, controlling you. You can feel the pressure building inside you, the orgasm lurking just out of reach. You clench your muscles around him, trying to coax it closer, but James has other plans.

"Not yet," he growls, his voice harsh. "Not until you're begging, baby."

Your frustration mounts, your body screaming for release, but James is relentless. He alternates between slow, teasing strokes and wild, frenzied thrusts, keeping you on the edge, always just one step away from oblivion.

"Please, James," you plead, your voice breaking. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

He pauses, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "What do you want, baby?" He asks, his voice calm, controlled.

"I want to come," you sob, tears streaming down your face. "Please, let me come."

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a victorious gleam in his eyes. "Beg for it," he demands, his voice firm.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of his command pressing down on you. But the need, the desperation, it's overwhelming. You crumple under the pressure, your pride forgotten.

"Please, James," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, let me come. I'll do anything."

His smile widens, a predator finally catching its prey. "Anything?" He asks, his tone curious.

You nod, your resolve crumbling. "Yes, anything."

With a satisfied hum, he resumes, his thrusts becoming more brutal, more punishing. You can feel the orgasm creeping closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you. And then, just as you think you can't take it anymore, James pulls out.

Your eyes fly open, confusion and frustration mingling in your gaze. "No," you whine, reaching for him. "Don't stop."

He steps back, his cock glistening with your arousal, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Make a choice, baby,"

“Choice?” You ask, panting.

James lunges forward, his erection pressing hard against your backside. He grabs the delicate cross chain around your neck with a tight grip, pulling at it until it snaps off in his hand. The necklace falls to the ground with a metallic clang, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his hungry advances…

"Yeah, choice."

The gray fog clears just enough to reveal a run-down convenience store, the dim lights barely illuminating the cracked tile and empty shelves. James adjusts his grip, holding your limp form securely as he pushes through the broken door. The smell of stale air and dust hits him, but he hardly notices—his focus is on finding something, anything to help you.

Inside, Laura sits cross-legged on the floor, her back against a display, a dusty stuffed bunny cradled in her arms. She looks up at the sound of footsteps, her eyes narrowing with cautious curiosity as she spots you in James’s arms.

James releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he sees Laura sitting there, safe and sound with her stuffed bunny. Relief washes over him, momentarily cutting through the ever-present tension in his chest. He approaches, his arms aching from carrying you, but there's still a sternness in his voice.

“Laura,” he says, steady but firm. “Don’t run off like that again.”

She looks up at him, feigning innocence as she squeezes the bunny closer. “I just forgot Mr. Hopps! You wouldn’t leave Mary’s things behind, would you?”

James’s expression softens, but only slightly. “No, but…” He trails off, glancing down at your unconscious form, still nestled carefully in his arms. “I just need to know you’re safe. We can’t afford to lose each other in this place.”

Laura stares at him, her brows furrowing as her gaze shifts from his concerned face to you. "Who’s that?” she asks, her tone both wary and a little defiant. “Is she okay?”

“She just needs a little help,” James replies, his voice low, soothing—almost like he's trying to convince himself, too. He carefully lowers you onto a patch of clean floor, checking your breathing, his hand lingering near yours before he pulls back. He takes off his military jacket, balling it up and placing it under your head to support your neck.

Laura tilts her head, observing you. After a moment, she shrugs and says, almost offhandedly, “She’s really pretty, you know.”

James glances at Laura, surprised, before his gaze returns to you. He hadn’t thought about it like that—or maybe he’d been trying not to. He just wanted you safe. But with you lying there, fragile and quiet, Laura’s words stir something that catches him off guard.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I guess she is.”

Laura watches him carefully, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “So, you’re helping her because she’s pretty?”

James lets out a short laugh, more a huff than anything else. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m helping her because… because she’s here, and she...” His voice is distant, like he’s still working through it himself. "She… She’s someone who gets it. Someone who needs help, like you and me.”

Laura huffs but nods slowly, her gaze lingering on you, still clutching her bunny. “Fine. I’ll stay. But she better not be all weird.”

James manages a small, weary smile. “No promises,” he murmurs, sitting down beside you both, his eyes on the fog-shrouded streets.

“But we’ll wait here until she’s ready.”

#james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #james x reader #silent hill 2 smut #silent hill x reader #silent hill x reader smut #james sunderland x you #james x you #james sunderland x fem reader #saddleups #filed: long to be

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