#james sunderland fanfiction

[sundeerland]

james sunderland x gn!reader

request: Hello! I see your requests are open? If you write for him, could you write some headcanons on james sunderland being with/comforting a highly anxious s/o? Please and thank you 😊

note: hiii, of course!! thank you for requesting this!! it's been a while since i wrote something for tumblr so i hope this is decent :) and sorry if there's any errors, english isn't my first language. anyways, enjoy!

i think james would be so understanding about your condition, because he is kind of a anxious person himself

he do try to maintain his composure in that matter tho, that's why no one would think he is experiencing the effects of it

when it comes to you, he will stop any task he has in his hands to give you the proper support (unless he's taking down the monsters that comes for the both of you)

will help you regulate your breathing while caressing the side of your arms or your back, whichever is more comforting to you

if you bring to him your worries about anything, he will listen carefully, even if it's something nearly impossible to happen he still will validate your fear and thoughts about it

james himself have these kind of thoughts, he just decide not to share often. but there is rare moments he vocals it to you because he feels comfortable and feels he will not be judged for it

when it comes to you having a hard time to move foward due to your anxiety of what you two will face next, james won't take long to find a safe place for you to rest your mind and body

he will think of a topic to say to distract your mind of it's horrors, and will be pretty much happy about it if you laugh of something he said to ease your thoughts

if you're willing to accept hugs in vulnerable moments, expect to be engulfed by his warmth and a gentle hand caressing the back of your head

overall he's a comprehensive person and is relieved you have someone to rely on, especially because that someone is him

[james-silent-hill]

PLEASE MIND THE TAGS AND NOTES!!

(NOT ALL TAGS APPLY YET BECAUSE ITS A MULTI CHAPTER FIC)

A Female reader/ James Sunderland fanfiction, part 1.

Enjoy:

‘Violate me'

"What?" James spins around, a mixture of confusion and distaste written all over his Features.

"What? I didn't say anything." You huff, he's been on edge this whole time. Sure you both seem lost in this place, you don't even remember how you got here. All you know is that you woke up with your upper body resting on a bar table. Wearing something you would have never picked out for yourself.

Red high heels with a slightly ripped and thin Pantyhose.

A tight denim skirt and a stomach free Black top. The only jacket you got is James green one, pulling it tightly around your shoulders.

"Sorry, I thought I heard you say something" James shakes his head to himself, guiding the two of you with his flashlight towards another empty and cold looking place. Maybe he can get a fire started or something.

When he helps you climb inside through the window he stops to stare at something causing you to lightly run into his side "What?!" He spins around again, a form of anger on his face.

"What's wrong with you? You stopped moving and I didn't see shit in here" You huff.

"No you said something this time, I know you did." His body language makes you feel uneasy and you are slowly reconsidering if you can actually trust him.

"I didn't. I swear. What do you keep hearing me say?" Now you are curious.

"Forget about it. Just...if you are messing with me, stop okay?" He turns away and starts collecting wood. Or more like parts of the inner walls tossing them on a pile. Hopefully a fire works out here.

After a few too many failed attempts of him trying to make a fire you step in, you manage the first time you try. Watching the dry wood burst into a bright and big fire, it warms your skin, it looks tempting to touch, if only it wasn't so dangerous.

James pulls up two chairs close by the fire, holding on tightly to his metal pipe with an eye on the window.

"Ugh these are fucking killing me, I don't even know why I'm wearing them" your hands pull on one of the Red high heels. Rubbing at your ankle before you do the same with your other foot. "I don't know why I'm wearing any of this" You sigh.

Not exactly survival attire.

His gaze is glued on your legs, watching your hands massage your ankle and calf muscle.

'Hurt me'

He hears you whisper even though not a single sound left your lips.

"I'm sorry." James frowns deeply.

"Sorry for what?" You place the heels next to you, inching your feet closer to the fire, picking at the torn fabric of your pantyhose.

"For being angry, I don't mean to be. It's just...this place" it drives him mad the way your fingers toy with the thin fabric. Tracing your thigh with his eyes, fighting an urge to pull at the denim skirt to see your legs connect to your hips.

"It's okay, I'm kinda used to that stuff, you just gotta be able to handle it when it comes back at ya" when your eyes meet his thin lipped polite smile is almost unsettling.

"You get angry too?" He asks.

"Yeah, I've lived in an angry home for many years, so, there will always be anger." But you don't want to go down the trauma lane today.

And thankfully James doesn't ask anything further. It's just the two of you and a blazing fire in a run down old store. His face lit up by those flames almost seems nostalgic, but the sad kind, fond memories written over with painful ones, the kind you'd rather forget about.

"We can rest a bit but we shouldn't stay too long" James is always in a hurry to get somewhere but only barely knows to where.

"Okay." You nod, breathing in deeply, the scent on his jacket reminds you of something. Decay. And a probably failed attempt to mask that scent with a way too aggressive aftershave. You enjoy not having your feet in those shoes and your legs strained from the uncomfortable angle for a few moments longer before James seemingly gets more and more uncomfortable.

"Hey you okay?" You put your hand on his shoulder but he flinches away from your touch.

"You are sure you aren't saying things?" His eyes seem desperate for reassurance or...for you to confess to something you didn't do.

"Positive. We were sitting in silence" He seems to dislike that statement a lot.

"So i'm just crazy then, great" He nods, he's tired, god he's so tired.

"If you tell me what you heard or what you keep hearing then maybe we can figure it out or something?" You shrug.

Something in his eyes seems off again.

"No..No it's...- it's Vile. It's awful." His breathing picks up speed when your body turns towards him and you place your feet at the edge of his chair.

"Just talk to me. Everything about this place is Vile and..awful" You huff.

"I keep hearing you say things that you aren't, stuff you certainly don't mean. It's so...off putting. It's like I'm reading a mind that isn't there, because I know It's nothing you would think or say." He really is uneasy about this.

"James, what am I saying?" You wonder.

"Violate me."

"That's what I heard the first time. And then I heard Hurt me." He can't look at you at all.

"Oh? Wow. Yeah I really didn't say that" Why would you say such things? Doesn't make any sense.

"Is that all you heard?" Is there more? If there is, you hope it won't be as bad as 'violate me'.

"Just a moment ago I could have sworn I heard you say 'let it all out on me' " His eyes wander to your legs again, how easily spreadable they look. The voice is dripping filth in his ear again, he can't believe he's hearing such words especially knowing the woman in front of him didn't say any of them.

"Let what out? Anger? Frustration? In what way?" But while you finish your sentence your eyes trace his, the way his gaze is lingering on your knees, picturing something.

"Wow...okay, that's, that's a lot and that's not okay" You turn away from him putting the shoes back on.

"That's what I mean, I'm sorry, I know this all seems so messed up. I'd never.." He shakes his head "I would never." He says in a firm and loud tone.

"Bare minimum but good to know" You give him his jacket back, feeling uneasy in the cold and under his gaze now that you stepped away from the fire. You don't do that anymore, be a thing for fucked up guys who need to unwind. An object they can toss out once they get tired of it.

"Don't go! Please, you're gonna get yourself killed in those heels. Or in the cold." He keeps his distance but offers his jacket back to you.

You hate that he's right.

The longer you hesitate to take his jacket back the sadder his eyes seem. Almost as if he's really haunted by what he said, and by what he's hearing.

You reach out and take his jacket, pulling it over your shoulders and tugging your arms in front of your chest. "I used to...say these things. I don't say them anymore" his gaze truly does appear to soften.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." He slowly takes his seat back by the fire.

"Used to drink and Party a lot. Hook up with the fucked up ones you know? And one night I.. -" You hear the brakes of a car loudly in the distance. The sound of a horrible crash almost bursts your eardrum.

"Did you hear that???" You jump up to look out of the window but there aren't any driving cars. Or people. Let alone a real road for cars to drive onto.

"Hear what? I didn't.. " James follows to peek outside. It's just as silent and as foggy as it was when you two came in here.

"Sounded like a horrible crash" You frown. A memory floats in your head somewhere unable to reach it, unable to really remember.

"Strange. Feeling like there is something you have to remember. Need to remember. But it won't come to you no matter how hard you try" You point out and when you turn around James is just a few inches from you.

He's beautiful.

If only his eyes weren't so haunted, it's a look you remember, the edges of the eyes slightly red and the shape of the eye feels..taunting.

It's a pair of eyes you see staring down at you, slamming your body into the mattress as hard as they can while pouring another drink down their greedy throats. You let them. You didn't fight. You didn't want to fight it.

A part of you always liked it.

It feels as if he knows, knows that deep down you want to be roughed up, have bruises on your hips and wrists for days.. reminders of their brutality.

He looks at you as if he can see you touching yourself to those memories. Clench your bruises while you climax to be reminded of the feeling again, and again and again.

He looks away first, trying to keep his composure. God he's trying so hard.

"This has to stop. These things we keep hearing, I can't..- I can't focus, I forgot where i was heading! What I had to look for." He frowns. A bottle of whisky smiles brightly at him in the rubble of the rundown store. He can't. He can't have a drink not now. Not here. Not with you.

He can't even look at you for too long or these thoughts or voices whatever they are come back. They always come back.

"Let's just stay busy, let's keep going, you said you had to find something in an Apartment?" You tilt your head taking the map from his jacket pocket. A set of heavy door keys jingle in the same pocket.

"Let's head there and not stop no matter what we see or hear, okay?" You shift your weight on your heels when you don't get an answer straight away.

"Okay James?" You try to see what he's looking at this time but.. you two don't see the same things in here. You probably never will.

"Yeah." He grabs the metal pipe from the chair and then he's out the door, waiting for you to catch up.

______

At the Apartments.

The tension didn't ease up much but at least you have something new to do, you have no idea what he's searching for but as long as he kills those monsters for you, you gladly tag along.

"You okay?" You ask when he's staring off into the distance again.

"Voices." He replies with an exhausted sigh.

"What did they whisper this time? I mean.. can't get that much worse right?" He doesn't respond at first and you sense this weight on his shoulders again, if his Guilt was a rain cloud it would follow him around everywhere.

"Squeeze until my eyes roll back" He whispers.

"Oh" choking was a big part of it, everytime you were dumb enough to trust someone with it, it could have been the last mistake you've made.

Nobody luckily ever took it too far, or you wouldn't be here right now.

"Are you hearing things about me?" He asks before trying to solve some kind of puzzle looking thing.

"No, I don't hear any voices but..-" You hesitate.

"But?" He turns looking at some type of button in his hand not sure yet what to do with it.

"But I can see it.”

“In your eyes I mean." You avoid his gaze this time.

"See what?" He takes a gentle hold of your shoulder.

"Death." You frown when his haunted gaze turns sad, desperate, trapped.

"My wife, she- she passed" He lies.

"Oh shit. Sorry! I'm so sorry about that, I shouldn't have said it" You really didn't mean to remind him of that.

"Was it very recent?" Trying empathy on a man like him is playing a dangerous game, you've done it too many times.

"It's been three years" He mumbles while solving the little mystery by replacing some buttons.

"You look like it happened yesterday".

You hear a door in the distance unlock and watch James step away from the table the puzzle was on, he seems colder now, you probably overstepped a little. You two are strangers after all. Maybe it's not for you to say how he looks or how he might be feeling.

"You don't look too happy either, it's in your eyes too, your cheekbones, the way they look a bit sucked in. Alcoholic?" He asks not so gently.

"Used to be a lot of things, but I never had a Problem with that" You stand on this. Wrongly so.

"Sure." James nods before he walks past you, he doesn't seem to believe a word you said. Takes one to know one maybe? No. You never had a problem right?

_____

The stroll through the different run down Apartments it's exhausting in its own way. Your feet really really hurt by now and ever since you mentioned how James looks as if his wife passed yesterday he's been distant. Maybe the memory of it just simply hurts and he needs some time to cool down again.

You suddenly feel a grip on the jacket, yelling out as you get flung across the room by something, something big and scary wearing a Triangle shaped helmet carrying a huge sword.

You hear James gun go off a bunch of times but the landing you took knocked the air out of your lungs. That thing turns around and walks towards you, James Shooting doesn't matter at all.

It grabs you by your throat and...this must be it. You'll die here. Your punishment for what happened 3 months ago..

The realization of it weighs deep in your gut, the guilt you feel pouring into every inch of your skin makes you sick. And then the Monster drops you,it slowly walks out of the Apartment and you hear the sound of the sword dragging behind it get further and further away.

"I did it. I killed him..- I killed him, I killed that poor kid" You shake your head violently. Hands shaking. Every fiber in you craves a drink.

"What? Hey, calm down, what are you talking about?" James tries to lift you up from the floor but you won't budge. So he kneels down next to you.

But instead of confessing anything you just push yourself up against him, arms wrap around his torso while your head rests on his chest.

Being held like this while the memory of a crash comes back to you helps but in the end..you are here for a reason, crying about it won't be enough, everyone in silent hill needs to pay for their sins. You shouldn't have driven that night, in the rain, after a bunch of drinks. You took a risk and it backfired.

And then you ran. Not wanting to rot away in prison for killing that 17 year old in the other car, you ran and you ran until you woke up here, lost, stranded.

Now two haunted pairs of eyes are gazing at each other. None of them are better than the other.

________

I hope you liked it!

Here you can read it or bookmark it on A03 !

Part 2 right here

[james-silent-hill]

Oh

My

Fucking

GOD

Listening to that WHILE im working on a spicy scene in my fanfic is literally...

Heaven.

Lord have mercy for this brainrot about to be UNHEALTHY haha.

PART 1 - SILENT HILL 2 REMAKE

In-game SOUNDS + EFFORTS (James Sunderland)

[escapefromthedeal]

Inspired by my Heather/James longfic you can find here:

Daily Routine & Living Together Part II

[moth-r4t]

LAURA PLAYS THE PIANO ⋆ A SHORT SILENT HILL FIC

* silent hill 2 spoilers.

James had little clue how he'd convinced Laura to come with him. He'd killed Mary— the closest thing the little girl had to a mother. Despite Mary having little time left, the time that her and Laura did have, he'd taken that away. From both of them. God, he was a coward.

A desperate, foolish coward.

Maybe that was why he'd offered for Laura to come home with him. He couldn't face the silence alone. He couldn't bare to come home to an empty house, where his own guilt would no doubt swallow him whole.

Things had been... tense, to say the least, in the beginning. James couldn't blame the young girl, though. Who knew what she'd seen and experienced alone in that town. She was only eight years old; how could be begin to explain himself? Explain the decisions he made? His misery was the only consequence, paired with the hateful glares he'd catch Laura giving him from the corner of his eye.

Truth was, he couldn't explain. Maybe because he didn't know how to. Maybe he didn't want to. Either, or— he at least felt the least bit better knowing Laura wouldn't be stuck in that town, she'd have a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in, food in her belly and clothes on her back. It really was the very least he could do. She certainly didn't like James, he already knew that from their encounters in Silent Hill, but at least he could try and give her the life he knew Mary would've wanted for her.

The drive out of town and back home was... long. Quiet. The first half hour spent in deafening silence, the tension thick enough James was sure he could slice the air between them open with a knife. He was grateful when she seemingly got bored of the quiet and began flipping through stations on the radio. He didn't recognize the station or the music she settled on, although it was a nice change from the unspoken words between the pair.

He didn't know when she fell asleep on the trip; by the time they arrived and he shifted the car into park, he'd carried the sleeping girl inside and gently placed her within the small, spare bedroom atop the mattress tucked into the corner.

Being a single father was never on James's agenda. He didn't even know if that's what he could call himself. For a while the pair didn't even talk. James would drink from sun up to sun down, making food when Laura asked for it and giving her free reign of the back yard and living room. He knew it couldn't be like this forever. He needed a new job, Laura needed to go to school and to be social.

"James?" A voice sounded behind him, from in the kitchen. It was Laura, obviously.

His head turned, a brow arched. She only talked to him when she wanted something. "Yes?"

"I want to play piano."

Piano? God, he'd nearly forgotten she played. "Right now?" He asked, a brow arching.

"No, you fart face!" The little girl rolled her eyes, "There's no piano here! Just... I dunno..." Her shoulders shrugged, bottom lip pursing into a pout.

He couldn't help the tight-lipped smile that spread across his lips, a nod following. "Okay," he said simply, "I'll see what I can do."

After a short search, he was able to find piano lessons for her. Although she insisted she didn't need lessons, and truthfully she didn't, she seemed to brighten up at the opportunity. She'd start school not long after and James would finally put in the effort to find another job.

Things were looking up. Despite the weight of Silent Hill and the loss of Mary that still hung heavy in both their hearts, James might even consider the fact that they'd bonded. Laura never called James 'dad', and he never expected her to, but the cozy movie nights where she'd fall asleep curled up on the couch and he'd have to tuck her into bed, or when she'd come home from school to show off her report card full of A's, or the way her face lit up when James presented a keyboard for her to keep in her room.

He found himself wanting to drink less and less. Why? He didn't know. He just wanted to be there, in the moment. He wanted to listen to her ramble about school and the sound of her playing keyboard from her bedroom and hearing her footsteps run down the hall when he called for dinner.

He had found another reason to live. He had a surrogate-daughter to keep warm, happy, and raise. He'd make Mary proud. And he damn knew Mary was already proud of Laura; she was such an eccentric, fun, bright little girl. Maybe she'd never call him dad. Maybe someday he'd be able to explain better to her about Mary. But for now, this was a good start. A simple, better life.

For them both.

[zenithangelic]

Silent Hill protags's reaction to the Reader using a cardboard box by hiding themselve within a cardboard box to help with hiding and to escape from the creatures (from each game) without them noticing and it somehow works. (Basically a Metal Gear reference)

Silent Hill protags reaction to reader hiding from monsters in a cardboard box:

Harry Mason

Harry Mason stumbles through the thick fog, gripping his flashlight tightly, the dim beam barely cutting through the oppressive gloom. Every rustling sound, every distant moan keeps him on edge. He’s searching for any sign of y/n, desperate to find them before something else does. The last he saw of them, they’d dashed down an alleyway to escape one of those… things.

“Y/n!” he whispers, his voice barely a murmur. “Where are you?”

He nearly trips on something, catching himself before he falls. When he looks down, his gaze catches on… a cardboard box? Plopped right in the middle of the alley, it looks suspiciously out of place, given everything going on. Frowning, he nudges it with his foot.

"Y/n, is that… you?" His voice is low, disbelieving, but he can’t ignore the quiet snicker that comes from inside.

“Shh!” y/n hisses from beneath the box. “They’re still out there, Harry. Just—pretend I’m not here.”

Harry stares, dumbfounded. "You... hid yourself under a box?"

“Hey, it works! You don’t see any monsters around, do you?” they reply, a little defensive but clearly proud of their makeshift camouflage.

Harry blinks, processing this unexpected tactic. Then, against his better judgment, he crouches down, squinting at the box.

"...and how, exactly, did you think of this?"

“Let’s just say it was... instinct,” y/n mutters, peeking out just a bit. “Are we safe?”

As if on cue, a low growl rumbles from further down the alley. Harry tenses up, but y/n ducks fully back under the box. He watches in absolute astonishment as one of the shadowy, twisted creatures stumbles into the alleyway, sniffing the air. It lumbers closer, mere feet away, but doesn’t seem to notice the box—or y/n beneath it. It sniffs, lets out a frustrated grunt, and shuffles away into the fog.

Once it’s gone, y/n peeks out again, wide-eyed. “See? Told you it’d work.”

Harry stares at them, half relieved and half amazed. "I… I can’t believe that actually worked."

Y/n grins, lifting the box just enough to give him a wink. “Next time, you should try it too. Just gotta find yourself a box.”

James Sunderland

James Sunderland grips his plank tightly, breathing heavily as he glances over his shoulder. He can't shake the feeling that something is watching him, something far more dangerous than anything he's encountered so far. The heavy, scraping sound of a metal blade dragging against the floor sends shivers down his spine.

"Pyramid Head..." he mutters to himself, his knuckles turning white as he clutches his weapon. There's no way he can outrun it for long—not with the pounding weight of his own fear slowing his steps.

Just when he's about to make a break for it, a hand grabs him, pulling him into the shadowy corner of the room. He whips around, about to swing his plank, but stops short when he sees y/n crouching beside him.

"Shh!" they whisper, holding a finger to their lips.

He stares at them, wide-eyed. "Y/n? What—what are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, they pull out a small cardboard box from behind them. It's crumpled, barely holding together, but y/n gives him a resolute nod. "Get under this. Trust me."

James blinks, utterly bewildered. "You want us to hide... under a box?"

They nod, gesturing for him to crouch down with them. "Do you see anything else around here that could hide us?"

With Pyramid Head's blade screeching ever closer, he realises there’s no time to argue. Reluctantly, he crouches down, allowing y/n to place the cardboard box over both of their heads. James tries not to think about how ridiculous they must look right now. He can’t help but whisper, “This is insane, y/n.”

But y/n doesn’t answer, frozen in silence as the heavy footfalls approach, stopping just a few feet away from them. Through a tiny tear in the box, James can see a faint outline of the hulking figure—the rusted, pyramid-shaped helmet towering over the creature’s muscular frame, its massive knife glinting dimly in the darkness. His heart hammers in his chest, so loud he's sure Pyramid Head will hear it.

For a terrifying moment, Pyramid Head stands still, seemingly sniffing the air. James holds his breath, fingers digging into the dusty floor. The seconds stretch out, agonisingly slow, until finally, Pyramid Head begins to move, dragging its blade away from them and down the hall, leaving nothing but the chilling echo of metal on concrete.

As soon as the sound fades, y/n lifts the box slightly, peeking out. They let out a shaky breath, giving him a triumphant grin.

“See? It worked,” they whisper, pride flickering in their eyes.

James, still trembling, stares at them in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to thank you or ask if you’re out of your mind.”

They shrug, suppressing a small laugh. “Maybe both. But hey, it kept us from getting chopped up, didn’t it?”

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he takes their hand, helping them up. “Next time, y/n, let’s try hiding somewhere that makes a little more sense.”

Y/n grins, giving him a wink. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Heather Mason

Heather Mason presses herself against the wall, trying to calm her ragged breathing. She’s cornered in a narrow, dimly lit hospital corridor, the air thick with the nauseating smell of antiseptic and something far more sinister. Just around the corner, she can hear the shuffling footsteps of one of the nurses—those twisted, monstrous figures with bandaged faces and twitching limbs, wielding jagged steel pipes like grim extensions of their own arms.

She frantically searches for any place to hide, but the corridor offers nothing but bare walls and closed doors. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears as the nurse’s footsteps grow louder, closer.

Then, out of nowhere, y/n slips up beside her, clutching a small, worn cardboard box. Heather stares at them, her face a mixture of confusion and desperation.

“Heather,” y/n whispers, holding the box up like it’s some sort of treasure. “Get in here with me.”

Heather blinks, incredulous. “Are you serious? We’re going to hide under that?”

Y/n shrugs, flashing her a half-nervous, half-determined grin. “It’s the best I could find. Besides, I think it’ll work.”

Heather narrows her eyes, glancing back down the hallway where the nurse’s silhouette is just barely visible, twitching and shuffling closer. She mutters under her breath, “This is insane,” but crouches down with y/n anyway, squeezing under the flimsy cardboard box as they lower it over themselves.

Inside, they’re huddled close, both trying to stay as silent as possible. Heather feels y/n’s arm pressed against hers, their breathing shallow as they listen to the footsteps drawing near. Through a small gap in the box, she can see the nurse hobbling down the hallway, its twitching head jerking in random directions, as if searching for something—or someone.

Heather’s heart races as the nurse stops just inches from them. She can see its feet, the blood-streaked heels of its shoes almost touching the edge of the box. Her hand instinctively reaches for her weapon, but y/n grips her wrist lightly, shaking their head.

They stay frozen, not daring to move a muscle. After a long, agonising moment, the nurse emits a low, guttural groan and turns, shuffling away down the corridor. Heather waits until the twisted footsteps have completely faded before exhaling in relief, her hand releasing the tense grip on her weapon.

Y/n lifts the box a bit, looking over at her with a smirk. “See? Worked like a charm.”

Heather stares at them, her expression a blend of exasperation and reluctant amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We just hid from a killer nurse… in a cardboard box.”

Y/n shrugs, their smirk widening. “Sometimes the best ideas are the weirdest ones.”

Heather lets out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You’re lucky that worked, because if it didn’t, I’d be coming after you next.”

They both share a quick, relieved smile before slipping out from under the box. Heather straightens up, glancing warily down the corridor to make sure it’s clear.

“Next time,” she says, nudging y/n’s shoulder, “we’re bringing something a little more… practical.”

Henry Townshend

Henry Townshend finds himself standing alone in a decaying hallway, walls pulsing with an unnatural, suffocating darkness. He grips his rusted pipe tightly, every nerve on edge. He can hear the eerie, heavy breathing of the creature he’s come to dread most: one of the Twin Victims. Its grotesque, childlike heads sway back and forth, and the elongated arms make it look like something from a twisted nightmare.

He backs up slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, when a hand suddenly reaches out from a doorway, grabbing his sleeve. Henry flinches, raising his pipe defensively, but relaxes when he sees it’s y/n.

“Y/n, what—?”

“Shh,” they whisper urgently, pulling him into the small, crumbling storage closet. Inside, they’re clutching an old, dented cardboard box, big enough to cover them both if they squeeze in close.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. “You want us to hide in… that?”

“Yes,” y/n whispers, their eyes darting to the doorway. “I’ve got a feeling it might actually work.”

Henry stares at the box, then at y/n, a bemused look crossing his face. “You’re serious?”

But there’s no time to question it further; the heavy, dragging footsteps of the Twin Victims grow louder, echoing down the hallway. With no other option, he nods reluctantly and crouches down with y/n under the box, pressing close to fit. They lower the box over themselves, and for a moment, everything feels absurdly quiet in the tiny, dark space.

Henry can hear y/n’s breathing, shallow and quick, and he does his best to keep calm. Through a small rip in the cardboard, he catches a glimpse of the Twin Victims lurching into the room, their strange, childlike faces whispering nonsensical words as they search. Their elongated fingers scrape against the walls, moving closer and closer to their hiding spot.

He holds his breath, feeling y/n’s hand on his arm, both of them frozen as they watch the monster draw near. The creature’s fingers hover near the edge of the box, scraping the floor just inches away. Henry braces himself, ready to spring up and fight if he has to, but y/n’s grip on his arm tightens, silently urging him to stay still.

The Twin Victims pause, their heavy, labored breaths filling the silence. After what feels like an eternity, they slowly retreat, shuffling out of the room, their whispers fading into the hallway.

Once they’re sure it’s gone, y/n lets out a shaky sigh, lifting the box slightly. “See? It worked…”

Henry stares at them, his eyes wide with a mixture of amazement and confusion. “I… I can’t believe it. We just hid from a monster in a cardboard box.”

Y/n grins, giving him a slight shrug. “Hey, sometimes the simplest ideas are the best, right?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, shaking his head with a faint, disbelieving smile. “I don’t know whether to thank you or ask if you’ve lost your mind.”

They both chuckle quietly, the tension melting away for a brief moment as they slip out from under the box. Henry glances down the hall, making sure the coast is clear, and then nods to y/n.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, casting one last look at the battered cardboard box. “But maybe next time, let’s stick to something… a little less unconventional.”

Y/n grins, nudging his shoulder. “I’ll take it under consideration.”

A/N - I loved this request! I'm a big Metal Gear fan so getting to reference one of my favourite franchises within one of my other favourite franchises (Silent Hill) was super cool!

♡If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi ♡

[manthemoth]

SPEAKING OF THE FANFIC ITS BACK!! With a new chapter too :^3c https://archiveofourown.org/works/59674042/chapters/152199763

[thekadster]

such a pretty house (a silent hill 2 oneshot)

Fandom: Silent Hill 2

Word Count: 1,304

Content Warnings: Grief, mourning

Summary:

James didn’t really know what he wanted anymore. He wanted her—he always would. But he had been given a second chance. (Or: James' inner thoughts about grief and parenting after he adopts Laura)

also read it on ao3!

Of course he’d have nights like these again.

Black and white static flickered on the TV, gentle shapes dancing across James’ face. The channel had gone dead while he was asleep. Now, he was sitting on the couch, hunched over, propped up by his elbows on his thighs. He stared at some distant point on the carpet. The house stood as silent as the grave, save for the falling and rising of his chest.

The noise in his ears brought a certain solace; it seeped into his mind, filling in tiny networks of cracks and fissures. It reminded him of the sea. It had been ages since he went to the beach. The last time he’d gone was with…

Ah, there it is.

A familiar ache bloomed in his chest. He used to wince at the sensation, but these past few weeks might as well have been years. Guilt and shame had become two of his best friends and worst enemies. Ever faithful like the stars, they never failed to remind him that they were always there, looking out for him. That he could turn to them—whether he wanted to or not.

James didn’t really know what he wanted anymore. He wanted her—he always would. Gods, how he wished she were here. He could almost imagine the weight of the couch shift beside him. Maybe, if he stayed still like this for long enough, he could feel her hand on his shoulder, hear her whisper to him.

But heaven knows he lost his chance. They lost their chance.

No matter what they did, perhaps it was always going to end this way.

“James?”

He nearly jumped at the sound. Looking up, he saw Laura standing in the doorway. His gaze softened. “Laura, what are you doing up so late?”

“I just wanted a glass of water,” she answered, holding the half-empty glass in question. “What are you doing up so late?”

James paused, glancing away for a moment. “I fell asleep.” He switched off the TV. “I was just watching something.”

Even in the dim light, he could tell Laura wasn’t entirely buying it. A pit settled in his stomach; this kid had been able to see right through him since the day they first met.

“I bet you haven’t brushed your teeth yet.” She took a few steps towards him. “I bet your breath smells gross.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared on his face. “Lucky guess.”

“Ew!” she laughed, the sound bubbling through the room. Even with her mockery, it helped lift James’ spirits slightly.

He shook his head. “I’ll be up soon, you go on back to bed.”

But she remained there, taking a few more moments to look at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “Are you okay?”

His heart skipped a beat. Such an innocent question froze his world in its tracks. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Laura may have been young, but both of them knew she wasn’t stupid. The lines on his face, the grain in his voice, the burden in his eyes—they told enough. It didn’t take an eight-year-old to figure it out.

“Okay,” she mumbled. She stepped back and gave him a little wave. “Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, returning the gesture.

Once the pitter patter of her feet faded away, his eyes scanned the room. His mind lingered on the girl’s gaze. He hadn’t expected nor wanted her to see him like that, especially not after the hotel. He couldn’t help but wonder how he looked through her eyes back then—what monster did she see?

Did she see it again tonight?

James heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his seat. His eyes landed on a framed photo on top of the television. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The picture was of him and Mary, posing together next to some railing overlooking a river. He remembered that day—the sun in their eyes, the ice cream, the big blue sky. They got lost on the way there; in classic husband fashion, he’d insisted he didn’t need the map. After they spent ten minutes in the winding forest and missed the turn two towns over, she eventually convinced him to follow it. Frustration and reprimand were evident in her voice, but neither of them stayed mad about it. It was their day, after all. Mistakes happen, and they’d only lost so much time. As the sun went down, they laughed about it on the way home.

Now, he didn’t even have a map. He’d never felt so out of place in his—their house before. They had long dreamed of having a child, and in some twisted way, James had gotten his wish. He wondered what she’d say now, what she’d tell him to do. She knew Laura better than he did, anyway. All while he stewed in his own impatience and hate, the two forged a connection greater than anything he could ever hope to see. In what little time Mary had left, she made a family of a stranger. And he never bothered to notice.

But that didn’t matter now. He’d been given a second chance, thrust back into a world now both familiar and foreign. While Silent Hill still sometimes haunted him in the unholy hours of the night—visions of the park, the nurses, that damned pyramid-headed freak—it couldn’t hurt him anymore (physically, at least). He had stepped into that town and walked away alive—and with company, too.

For himself and Laura, all they had now was each other. After the nightmare was over, she had nowhere to go, no one waiting for her, and he couldn’t bear to leave her alone. It took a while to organize the adoption papers, but she was now a Sunderland. Still, he knew well that she had her own reservations about him. He didn’t expect her to totally forgive him for what he did to Mary. Truth be told, neither did he.

Her letter sat safely in his bedside drawer. He hadn’t reread it since he got home; he felt he would crumple instantly. All the same, whenever James needed her the most, it always rang out to him. It wrapped its arms around him, laid its head on his shoulder, traced the bags under his eyes with gentle thumbs. Every line, every letter reached out to hold his hand, to remind him that their marriage, while doomed, remained a wonderful thing. That he had her blessing to go on.

And so, with trembling limbs and gritted teeth, he would. Come hell or high water, he was determined to fulfill her final wish. Though he was still reeling from the fact that he was now technically a father, he resolved in his heart of hearts that he was going to give Laura the best damn childhood he could. He’d take her to school, help her with homework even when he may not understand it. He wanted to eat ice cream with her on a sunny day, to walk with her in the rain, to hold her when times got harder. He would make sure her glass would always run over.

The future was wide open, almost swallowing him whole. His sins had shattered all he knew into angry, dreadful shards. But he continued onward, stepping over jagged fragments. Day by day, he would pick up the pieces, even as they cut his fingers, and reassemble what he could. His chest stung at the very thought, but at least he knew that grief wore the same face as love. Part of him was glad it smiled at him at all.

James was going to live for himself, and for others. James was going to live.

But first, he needed to sleep.

[the-bar-sinister]

Needle By Thread (1093 words) by Overlord_Mordax Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Horror, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Time Loop, Whump

-

James wakes up in the sodden, decrepit bathroom, heavy with fatigue and dizzy with confusion. He stares into his milky, distant-seeming reflection in the dirty haze of the mirror, and he stares at his hands, sweaty and stained, and he feels suddenly like he has been here before. He feels it like a blow to the head leaving him reeling and drooling and about to be sick.

He stumbles and the moment passes. He catches his breath and he gulps down the bile. He has been here before, years ago. On his honeymoon. That is the source of the deja vu, the strange wave of grotesque nostalgia that overtook him for a moment. Nearly knocked him from his feet.

That must be it.

He has only ever been here once before.

With her. With Mary.

Surely that happy memory is the one that his hindbrain is reaching for as he stands among the spiderwebs and the black mold. Surely it makes him sick because Mary got sick— because this place, this town, is the last place he held her before everything started to go wrong.

There is no other meaning to the already fading sensation. There is no smell of rotten flesh. There is no vision of endless twisting corridors, bloated carpets and peeling wallpaper.

It fades. It doesn't matter.

He is back at the beginning. Back where it all started to go wrong.

Back in the last place he remembers being happy.

And there is a letter in his pocket.

James stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror for a moment more, his distant blue eyes, his tousled blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The lines on his face. Stress lines. They make him look older than he is. So do the heavy dark bags under his eyes.

He touches the front pocket of his jeans, just below the hem of his old army surplus coat. He can feel the paper of the letter crinkle as he touches it. He doesn't have to take it out to know what it says.

James pushes his sweaty hair out of his face before it falls right back where it was before. He turns and he shoulders his way out of the oppressive rest stop bathroom, and into the parking lot.

He sees his car outside, parked crooked in the nearby space. The many hours long drive to get here now seems like a distant memory. Like it happened to another man a dozen years ago. He really should have taken a break to sleep on the way, he knows that. He knows that he's fatigued and tired, and he was driving for so long that now that he's out of the car it feels like the drive was another lifetime. He knows that he could easily have fallen asleep and wrecked the car and gone to meet— no but he had to meet Mary.

Mary wrote him a letter. He touches his pocket and he feels it crinkle again. 

He couldn't even stop for one second on his way here. Not for an instant.

Mary wrote him a letter. Mary was in this town.

Mary was supposed to be dead.

James paces the parking lot, trying to dismiss the tingling, numb sensation that suffused his whole body, but especially his legs. The air is cold and the fog is heavy and wet. It casts a gloom over the trees that hang slumped on the hill just over the barrier wall, rambling scrub-like all the way down from here to the lake.

James leans his hands on the cold, rough grit of the concrete wall and he looks out into the impenetrable fog. Somewhere down there is the lake. Somewhere down there is Mary– maybe.

He doesn't have to look at the letter to know what it says.

"I'm alone there now, in our 'special place'. Waiting for you.'

He feels the concrete sapping whatever heat is left in his fingers and he pulls them away, jamming them into the pockets of the old military coat. It's not as helpful as he hoped. He should have brought gloves. He and Mary had been here in the summer, he didn't think about how cold it would be now.

He ran out of the house without even thinking about gloves. He barely thought about keys.

He's thinking now. He's thinking about where the hell Mary could be. If she is here. If she's alive. How could she be alive? Mary died of that damned disease three years ago. A dead person can't write a letter.

Where the hell would she be? Their 'special place'? The whole town was their special place.

James bustles over to the car and its hinges squeak as he pulls the door open to grab the map out of the glove compartment. There's an old picture, too, and James stares at it for a moment, feeling achy and numb and lost and angry. Mary's face smiles back at him just the same.

He puts the map and the picture in his pocket too and he slams the door of the car.

The road is closed past here. There's a faded yellow and black barrier all across the main road, down from the rest stop and James remembers hazily that that was why he had stopped driving in the first place. The road into town is blocked completely.

If he wants to get to Mary he is going to have to leave his car here and walk.

It's fine with him. It's really fine. Maybe walking a little way will clear the feeling of lack, of numbness, of bereftness from his body. Maybe walking will warm the icy toes of his shoes and the tips of his fingers.

At least if he passes out walking he's the only one who'll go down. Not the car going nose first into the lake, giving him enough time to think about what he's done, but not enough time to escape. Even if he tried to escape.

James' chest feels heavy for a moment and his breath shudders. His vision shimmers as if he is sunk below the waves. 

It passes. He is here and this is now. Just like those old self-help books used to say. You can only do the task that's in front of you.

James' task is to find Mary. There's no use thinking about anything else.

Before he even reminds himself of his purpose he is already halfway down the stone steps, headed toward the winding path through the woods.

[sunderaku]

Escrito por: @SandiaHanejima_ [Wattpad]

[Fragmento]

"¿Cómo funcionan realmente los seres humanos y sus pecados? ¿Cómo funcionaba ella misma y su raza, de la cual era completamente ignorante? Al haber renunciado a sus recuerdos, renunció también a lo que ella misma fue y todo resultó en vano porque el mundo que conoció le entregó más incertidumbre que respuestas, más sensaciones horribles que placenteras. Pensaba que quizá, todo ello era producto de que los extraterrestres no poseían un alma y por eso nunca vivirían como el resto de los humanos. Pensando de ese modo, las cosas cobraban algo de sentido y, aún así, no lograría lograría nunca descifrar del todo su propia situación, principalmente, porque era incapaz de recordar qué era lo que la había conducido hasta la tierra en primer lugar.

Aunque si lo recordase, quizá la decepción habría sido más dolorosa.

Ahora, lo único que tenía además de dudas, era esa presión en su pecho que había provocado aquel hombre. Este aún yacía en el suelo dormido y aunque una parte de ella, quería despertarlo y mirarlo a los ojos una vez más, tal vez, en un intento de comprender la compasión y el aprecio que había desarrollado por él, la melancolía que se había apoderado de ella."

[james-silent-hill]

PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND INTRO:

Read Chapter 1 of this Story Here !

Smut ahead! :

The silence is unsettling but James held you the entire time. He's careful not to place his hands anywhere where they don't belong. You can hear his pounding heart in his chest and the soft and steady flow of air he's breathing in and out. It's comforting and soothing even if the whole situation is deeply unsettling. 

"You don't have to tell me what you did." James speaks first, his hand stroking over your back. 

You greatly appreciate that, it's not easy to admit you've done everything a human being could do wrong in a situation like that. There isn't a day where you don't regret, feel the guilt, you didn't run because you didn't care. You ran because you panicked, fled the scene in a drunken terrified state. 

You didn't do it to be cruel. Right? 

"Maybe one day? If we...survive whatever this thing was that threw me around" You move away from James to rub at your arm and hip. That hurts but the bruises remind you of something, it takes a lot of self control not to squeeze them and indulge in the pain for just a moment. 

"Maybe." James nods, getting up and dusting off his pants before he offers you both of his hands. Lifting you onto your feet.

"Anything bleeding?" He asks worried, the way you were tossed? Wouldn't surprise him if something got damaged on your skin or bones. 

"I don't think so, just a bit traumatized, what on earth was that?" You huff, dusting yourself off as well before you check for any injuries. But even if there were any, they wouldn't be that important to you right now. 

"Wish I knew. I've seen it before just staring at me, guess it had a message for you" James grabs his gun and pipe that he had dropped to help you. He can still feel the small wet spots on his shirt...the weight of your head on his chest.

'Use me' 

"I can always tell you know? It's like a cold breeze hits you or something, you literally shudder" You point out when he reacts to something he heard again. 

"Use me" James repeats it, looking you up and down. 

His eyes mixed with that sting of being thrown around do not help your thoughts. Doesn't help the feeling of wanting those hands of his around your neck. Squeezing and squeezing.

"Good one" You point out. 

He chuckles.. 

That's the first time you've seen him somewhat laughing, smiling a little. Warming up to each other feels nice considering all this ice around them. 

"You need some rest I think. We can rest. Find a room that doesn't look uh, you know, moldy" He points out and you slowly nod. 

Trying to find a nice looking place almost feels impossible but eventually you manage. A small bed and a small couch but the cleanest ones you've seen so far. 

Of course he leaves you the bed. 

For some reason, there isn't a single pillow in sight. Weird. No doors either. Just a small room with a bed and the living room with the couch. 

At least a blanket. That's nice. 

You take off those brutal heels, this however is a pain you don't quite enjoy. 

"Ouch.." they feel so sore and irritated. You have to find others around here somewhere. 

"You okay?" James leans into the doorframe. 

God he's really something, he's effortless, everything he does he does with some strange kind of ease. Especially looking this fine in a place like that. 

"Gotta find me some new shoes. This really hurts you know?" You point at your legs. 

His eyes travel them for much longer than you would have thought. 

"I keep an eye out for something more comfortable." He huffs, when he turns to leave a soft hiss escapes you. 

"James?" You squint your eyes, this feels strangely familiar. 

"Mhm?" 

"Thank you for dragging me along and everything. I know im...a bit of a burden to you" You can't fight. Can't really use weapons. Can barely run in those stupid shoes. He'd be faster without you. 

"Don't say that. Don't..- Don't ever say that." His eyes glisten, his smile faded quickly. He's so serious now it almost makes you feel small. 

"Okay." 

You wonder what that was about. 

"I'm sorry..." You don't even know what you're apologizing for. 

'Bite me until i bleed for you'  

James turns his head away from you, a hand holding onto the doorframe. It's doing something to him, something he doesn't want, something he doesn't even want to think about. But these words are in his head all the time, and it's been so long since he..- even with himself. 

"It's okay." James nods before he disappears. 

He sits down on the couch in the living room, face in his hands, massaging his temples and cheekbones. 

He sees himself doing everything these voices tell him to do. Use you. Bite into your skin. Squeeze your throat until your eyes roll back. 

Violate you, hurt you.

He doesn't want to hurt you! He never wanted to hurt anyone, ever. He feels sick with these thoughts, another punishment? For sometimes smiling a second too long at Mary's nurses? Or for buying some tapes and trying to get it done himself but the terrible coughing in the other room...- So he just couldn't. 

He felt awful for even wanting to, how could this be on his mind with everything going on around him? 

His hands clutch the blanket, roughly tugging it into his lap. Trying to get his thoughts elsewhere. 

But all he can picture are his hands tearing apart that pantyhose. Leaving finger shaped bruises behind on your inner thighs and hip bones. Thrust so hard the bed damn near breaks. He wants to feel your skin against his teeth, hear you scream. 

"Hey! Look what I found! Lucky me." You are happy, a small victory for you despite the horrors of this place. 

"I found them under the bed, sure they have a bit of a heel but it's a lot flatter and wider plus half leather boots are seriously cute with that skirt, well in a way you know?" You didn't even notice the state he's in.

The dripping guilt, it’s covering his entire body. 

When you do finally meet his eyes something in your body melts. You squeeze your thighs together while you stand, taking a shaky breath. 

There it is…. 

The animal in every man. 

The threat in the air. 

The danger around you. 

The pure fiery desperation in his eyes.

‘Break me’ 

James hears the voice whisper, is it just him or did it get louder? 

"Do you want me to leave?" You don't want him to feel this way, not when he isn't enjoying it, it looks like this Lust is tearing him apart, fiber to fiber, bone to bone. 

He slowly shakes his head.

"Then what do you want James?" You slowly slip out of the boots you found, asking like you don't know what the answer will be.  

"I don't want to do this to you." He breathes out, his posture is stiff, like a river this guilt flows, a constant wave he always seems to be drowning in. 

"I know. James. Of course I know. But is it worth it? Feeling this bad all the time because you feel like it's wrong? Because what? You aren't allowed to feel lust or attraction or something? To me that just sounds like nobody but you is judging you for that, all you gotta do is ask, ask and we do whatever you want." 

His hand slowly takes away the blanket from his lap. 

Revealing a pretty large bulge pressing harshly and uncomfortably against his jeans. 

"Ask me..." You step a bit closer. 

"Can I let it all out on you?" His breath is shaky, his hands tremble and his eyes avoid you. 

You take his chin into your palm, lifting his head up slowly. 

"Yes. Yes you can." You sigh. 

This is home for you, this is exactly what you needed too. 

His hands grab your hips, pulling you down onto him. Forcing the denim skirt to ride up when you straddle him. His hands roughly tear at the fabric of the pantyhose. 

He lifts the skirt up until it rests on your stomach. Looking at your thighs and hips and the torn holes in the fabric, hooking his finger into another hole and tearing on it until your underwear is exposed.

You keep your hands to yourself for now, this is difficult for him. For his guilt and that loss of his wife.. you don't want to spook him. Do something too drastic or make him uncomfortable in any way. 

His hand trembles so badly when he tries to open his belt, or buttons on his dark blue Button up shirt. 

"Can I?" You ask, watching him struggle for a moment longer. 

James lets his head fall back, resting on the couch, eyes squeezed shut while he tries to nod. 

"Is that a yes?" You just need to make sure. 

"Yes."

Your hands carefully move, undoing some of his shirt buttons and then you open his belt. That alone makes him exhale so sharply you’d think he might explode right under you.  

"That bad?" You slide his jacket off that he let you borrow against the cold,  when your eyes meet all he can do is nod. What a desperate man, for someone who beats in monsters and stomps them until they die he truly looks scared to his very core right now.  

After the belt is undone your fingers open the button on his jeans and then finally the zipper. A soft pull and the jeans rest on his mid thigh. 

That bulge in his underwear makes your throat dry, that familiar sense of lust creeping into every fiber of your body. 

Your hand cups his bulge and his body squirms underneath you. 

"Fuck.." You sigh. 

"Long and thick just how I love it" You whisper. 

His hands grab your hips and that silent plea on his lips makes you squirm in return. 

You lean in closer, breath ghosting over his cheek. 

"Violate me..." You whisper. Not just a voice, a sound in his head. This time those words really left your lips. 

Just as you were about to pull him out of his underwear he moved.

He takes your body with a brutal grip and moves you like you weigh nothing to him, throwing your back onto the couch. Moving himself between your legs. 

It's a mixture of pulling fabrics out of the way but without a warning you feel your underwear pulled to the side and the head of his large cock presses against you. 

Its teeth gritting when he tries to push into your body like this. 

And when his entire length is finally all the way inside you you cry out. 

Pleasure and pain mix, his breathing didn't calm down one bit.

He doesn't give you time to adjust, he just moves, a rough and rather dry thrust after another. 

But you don't complain. You don't cry. You just take his hand and put it around your throat yourself. 

His breathing catches you off guard. 

He sounds so pathetic. 

So insanely desperate... He really didn't do this in a long time. His hand slowly squeezes the sides of your neck, you wonder how this feels for him, what he's thinking about. 

It's not a surprise that he doesn't kiss you, doesn't touch your body. It's a simple act, it's just about getting off and nothing else. 

When your vision turns into a calm blurr you can feel his fingers ease in their grip. Blood rushes back into your head and your legs wrap around his waist, you like him desperate like this.The sound in his rough moans, his lungs huffing and grunting. Groaning. Such deeply out of breath moans..

It also doesn't bother you that he isn't even looking into your eyes, he doesn't want this type of intimacy right now, he just wants to get off. 

And so do you. So your fingers move on their own, rubbing two into your sensitive clit. The feeling causes a hard clench around him but you're not quite there yet.

His thrusts are insanely strong, you can see this barrier he had built up slowly break and fall into pieces. This pleasure he kept himself from for so long. 

You keep the pace of harshly rubbing your clit while he uses your body like a toy. 

You bring yourself over the edge and that sweet ecstatic burst of happiness mixes with the pain between your legs. It's rough and it's a bit raw but you wouldn't have it any other way. 

You clench strongly around him which doesn't go unnoticed by James, his head slowly lifts and he meets yours eyes just for a second. Just until he squeezes his eyes shut again, reapplies the pressure around your throat and then he cums himself. 

He takes such a long time until he's really all out, spent, until that last voice cracked pathetic moan leaves his lips. 

He finally gave up, and defeat looks so fucking pretty on him. 

He lets go of your throat, taking a moment to calm himself down. Then he carefully pulls himself out of your body, taking a good look at what he's done before his fingers let the piece of underwear on you slide back in its right place. 

The Red hand print around your throat, the torn fabric of the pantyhose, the thin underwear doing little to mask the mess behind it. The look on your face.

"I'm sorry." He tries to hold it together, putting himself away and closing his pants with shaky hands again. 

"I'm so sorry...." He whispers with closed eyes.

But that apology isn't for you. 

He's apologizing to his dead wife for giving in for the first time in god only knows how many years. Sleeping with another woman. 

There wasn't an ounce of passion in this. Normally that doesn't bother you but right now? Of course you are fine with it being rough and quick and meaning nothing but.. you like him a little, you don't hate his guts. Any soft touch would have been okay, even a short and sweet one. 

You slowly sit up, rubbing your neck and trying to figure out what you'll do with the dirty underwear and without the pantyhose now.

This felt really really cold. But it's also your comfort, you don't mind it. You'll live. Will he though?

"Will you manage?" You ask carefully. 

"I don't know" He slowly opens his eyes again, still struggling to look into yours.

____

Hey thanks for reading.

To be continued ! :)

Show some Love on AO3 If u like

[byexbyez]

TEASER:

you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. | james x mary (& maria) one-shot content warnings: 18+, dark themes, canon character death, graphic depictions of violence

excerpt: If there was a time when the sound of James’s name from Mary’s lips did not feel like a burden, he does not remember it.

coming soon.

read here.

[voyaage1969]

Can we get some James and Mary fics? Maybe an alternate reality one where they're happy?😭

I'd like to try to write my own, but I'm a poopy writer. I was thinking of it taking place during the "Bliss" ending. Perhaps I'll get to work? 😆

[dorminchu]

null moon

Summary: The weight of the handgun in his jacket pocket was more reassuring. Characters: James Sunderland, Maria Rating: G Wordcount: 100

The last time he'd come to Rosewater Park, Mary was still alive.

As he walked along the pier the division between gray, impenetrable sky and water bled together, obfuscated by fog. James couldn't make out the horizon. Well, it was off-season anyway.

His footsteps and Maria's heels echoed in the empty silence and the weight of the handgun in his jacket pocket was somehow more reassuring.

She kept close enough that he could feel her shivering. Maria struck him as the type to never admit she was uncomfortable, and sooner mock him for expressing concern. So he bit his tongue.

a/n: Here's a hundred words of James passive-aggressively tolerating Maria and not being as upset as he should. I plan to write a drabble or two about Maria soon, but my love for the Rosewater Park pier was too strong this time :D

[escapefromthedeal]

Daily Routine & Living Together

Inspired by my Heather/James longfic you can find here:

[moth-r4t]

i have a few sundermason oneshots & a fic im tempted to post here, but im unsure. i wrote them before the silent hill 2 remake, and my fic is still ongoing. i js don't have the motivation to go back and edit whole chapters but im excited to share :( i feel like my james portrayal hasn't/won't change drastically, but there will be smaller things here & there.