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ayewritebullsheet · 29 days ago

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[FOREWARNING: 4k+ words and a barely edited chapter up ahead. Bon appétit, folks! 👌🏻]

CHAPTER TWO

James was staying in Room 603.

That was Mrs. McCarthney's daily reminder. That, you knew. Of course, you knew. You lived beside him, anyway.

Just the two of you. Your newest, next-door neighbor, James Sunderland.

It had been a while since you last saw him (two weeks, to be precise), but that was a conscious choice rather than happenstance.

With the brevity of your neighbors' residency, you'd become weary of fraternizing with the newer tenants after the others' sudden yet eventual departure. It was now a tiring cycle. The excitement of the encounter, the ease of the budding friendship, and the dread of them leaving. Rinse, repeat.

You consented to this resolution: lessen your attachments and the subsequent disappointments.

However, Mrs. McCarthney was having none of that.

Time and time again, you've evaded her sometimes subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle schemes to draw you closer to your new neighbors. You have been successful in your endeavors, but these past days have been different. After hearing the older woman's petulant nagging, relentless reminders, and nonchalant plea disguising her passive-aggressiveness over the promised pie, you ceded in frustration.

Oh, you got him something alright.

It wasn't the pie you promised, but you wagered this was better than what was suggested.

It was a cheesecake made by yours truly, but without James Sunderland in mind. Despite its modest features, it had a few additional ingredients that made it more flavorsome than Stanley's usual. Perfect for a gift. It was requested and later canceled by the dejected customer at the last minute due to, as per word on the streets, being jilted by their would-be lover hours before the scheduled time.

The rescinded day-old cheesecake then sat sadly at the topmost of Stanley's refrigerator before you withdrew it from its place. With Rosamund's seasoned hands, she enclosed the cheesecake in the bakeshop's branded box and ribbons, ensuring that Mrs. McCarthney wouldn't be able to pry into the box and see the cheesecake masquerading as the pie before you deliver it to James.

And there you were, standing outside Room 603, primped and prepared, with the boxed cheesecake in one hand while the other gently knocked on his door. You waited for James to come forth, nearly exhilarated to finally have this delivered to him.

You waited apprehensively.

And waited.

Then you waited impatiently.

You tucked a bit of hair behind your ear and prolonged your wait, but neither his acknowledgment nor a sound reverberating from within was heard, prompting you to question whether he was even there in the first place. Though the wall between his room and yours was ample, the sound of creaks, soft sobbing, and something lugging the floor was loud enough to reach your room; you could only assume he was there, ready and waiting. Perhaps this was another one of Andy's antics. Again. That little fucker.

It also didn't cross your mind to ask Lucas when you saw him in the lobby earlier, as your thoughts were too engrossed in your search for words to rehearse for when you finally came face-to-face with James. And in your quiet rumination, you devised excuses for your lengthy absence (and avoidance) if he ever questioned it, considered interjecting some small talk about the current events, and threw in remarks about his new abode while you're at it. That should suffice. Yes.

"Ja—um, Mr. Sunderland? It's me." You knocked on his door again and leaned to listen. Nothing. Not a squeak of noise or a hint of anomaly, just the sound of your deep breaths bouncing against his door and your heartbeats that had mellowed down.

With no one to meet but the unbroken silence of the hallway and the sudden nip in the air, you retraced into your room, sighing on your way there. Resolved to let time and fate accommodate you and James instead, rather than allowing intentions and Mrs. McCarthney's machinations to hold the rein, but the elevator's chime interrupted you midway.

And there he was—in the nick of time, too—your next-door neighbor. Apparently preoccupied.

James slowly egressed from the elevator, enshrouded by a mountain of boxes in his arms that made him look like animated legs with no torso. His tread toward his room was slow and steady, unaware of your presence nearby until you called him.

He stopped instantly, and after a contemplative pause, he finally replied. "Hi—there." His bearings straightened before he asked. "Do you need something?"

Your feet teetered, imitating your hesitance while you eyed his quiet struggle with a cringe. You would've rushed in to unload the burden on his arms, but his grip on them made you assume your help was unwelcome. "Not me... But I got the thing I was about to get you a week ago. It's probably not that important right now but—do you need help with that? Those look really heavy!"

You just couldn't resist.

"They are... a bit," James grunted. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"'kay."

He readjusted the boxes in his hands, his voice strained when he abruptly asked. "How's your head?"

"What'd you mean?"

"Last time... you fell? Right?"

"Oh!" Like a flash of remembrance, your hand massaged the back of your head. It barely hurt anymore. Probably not at all. But that memory felt like months ago to you. "It's fine. Didn't feel like getting it checked 'cause nothing concerning happened after that."

"Oh. Good." He replied. You wished you could see him behind the towering boxes and read his reaction thoroughly to ease your doubts. However, all you could do was assume. He must've been nodding behind those boxes. "How's... your friend's dog?"

"All good. He got scolded for bad behavior, but I bet it's nothing serious. He's too spoiled for that. I guess... If you don't give him a treat, he'll learn something from it? Hold his ball back? Or no stick fetching? I don't know! I don't know how dog training works."

"At least he's okay."

"Yeah, that's the important part, right?" You said with a smile. If only James had known the earful you received from Tina when she found out Haddock had traversed the entirety of Longcreek, unchaperoned. The censure was nowhere near hurtful or nasty; it was just Tina's usual acerbic remarks that didn't cut too deep. Still, it was an earful. It took a whole afternoon. "Say, on a scale of one to ten, how'd you rate me as a dogsitter? I could do that as a part-time job."

"Umm..." He paused. "Five?"

"Well, it's not the rating I expected, but that's close to an okay-ish, so I'll take it."

James replied in a hum before the hallway turned quiet. The two of you stood there, biding each other's time for the other to speak. But none cam—

"So, uh..." He said suddenly while his fingernails grazed the boxes. You looked at him expectantly. "The thing you mentioned. What do you mean by that?"

"Oh! Here it is!" You held the box out front with one hand while the other waved around it in a slow and delicate motion. Your proud face beamed, never minding the spontaneity of your little presentation.

James straightened a bit, quiet as always. Then, he replied with a slight hesitancy. "I'm sorry. I-I can't really see what's going on."

Oh, good God. Your cheeks were fevered from embarrassment while the excited smile you once bore turned into an empty grin. You relocated to his side, where his face and eyes were visible from your sight, and remade the gesture with a little more panache and a smile that was wider than before. "Ta-da!"

James' gaze may not have met yours, but you noticed a small, soft smile coming forth. "Is that the thing?"

"Well... The thing was supposed to be the pie, like what was planned, but I haven't had the time to make you the special kind, so I got you the understudy instead: a cheesecake." You said with all the smiles. "It's still a special kind of cheesecake, I promise. But don't tell Mrs. McCarthney it's a cheesecake, though."

James' eyes were now anchored on yours, green yet seemingly unsure. Though the strain on his face had dwindled to a steady composure, his restive fingers pattered on the boxes, playing a vague and dissonant tune.

You watched his glazed look turn dour as you waited for... something. A response? An acknowledgment? A small, distinctive reaction to decipher? Just something. However, James' muted indifference sliced through your mustered confidence, extinguishing the warmth you kept close by, and had you standing in the middle of a cracked, gelid lake, ready to collapse.

But you weren't prepared for the plunge. You weren't a masochist for it. You smiled to look unaffected by the situation instead. "I guess it's a bad time for this, I'm so sorry. I can ask Lucas to drop this off later and—"

"No, wait!" James staggered forward and skidded to a stop. Confused by this unexpected reaction, his eyebrows furrowed as he stuttered. "I just—I'm... I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say. That's all."

"Oh," Your eyes widened a bit. "I see."

James hummed as he eyed the box in your hand and then at the seemingly genuine surprise on your face. He felt inclined to confess, however trivial or improbable it may be to you, but this was his truth. It had been so long since someone had done something nice that any ministrations received still felt foreign or undue. The most he received without solicitations were the pitied looks and glances that singed his soul with guilt of his shortcomings and uselessness to his ailing wife, the supposedly inspiring touches left his skin bruised instead, their repeated consolations his tongue could reiterate without mind, and their string of gossip became a dull white noise he forced himself to deafen. James' sensibilities were stunted. His sudden desire for admission surged like a heavy deluge.

Now, the voice told him riotously. He should say something now!

Now!

"Thank you," James replied after a hard swallow, resolved by this choice. "You didn't have to, and... I'm not really worth your time and effort, but thank you. You just... took me by surprise, that's all."

Your face brightened. "Well, if you're gonna act like a deer in headlights whenever someone surprises you... I guess I'm gonna have to be careful with you. Or Mrs. McCarthney should be careful with you since you're the apple of her eye right now and—" You paused, a rueful grin suddenly appearing. "And I really shouldn't be telling you that."

"I won't tell her."

"Oh, good! But the welcome banners are still a no, huh?"

"Yeah." That made him smile, just a bit. "I'm afraid so."

"Alright. No surprises. No big surprises. At least I know what I'm up against. Here—" You took bits and bits of the boxes off James' arms, withholding his chances to balk when you told him. "You said these were heavy, right? Let me help you get settled."

Though the slight surprise remained, James said no rebuff but nodded. He led you to his room, and you trailed close behind. Now with the weight sufficiently taken from him, he balanced the remaining boxes with one arm while the other produced the keys from his pockets. Barely breaking a sweat, you noticed. As if this happened with such frequency, he must've been accustomed to anything heavy-duty, albeit his physicality didn't correspond. Despite such a simple feat, you watched with mild fascination, from his blond hair to his dark brown shoes and back again, ruminating whether he'd be interested in working at Stanley's during his indefinite stay.

Some days ago, during one of Stanley's breaks, you overheard his grousing to his missus about hiring a fill-in for Dan before his upcoming surgery. You thought of James on a whim and had his name listed as one of your potentials.

Then, in came your trepidation.

Knowing Stanley, he always had reservations about employing any Longcreek locals and had been earful to his decision to anyone who would listen. You and Stanley had a rough patch when you applied years ago, but he yielded tentatively after Mrs. McCarthney's admonishment. Most of Stanley's reasons were ill-defined, but the gist of his occasional tirade was the unwavering distrust among the locals that somehow felt misplaced and unmerited after a decent pondering. You weren't sure how to approach the topic, especially if you mentioned that James was your neighbor.

However, James wasn't local—he never was. Therefore, Stanley couldn't disapprove even if he prevaricated. James would be a perfect substitute for Dan while he was gone.

Yes.

Yes!

No.

Oh, God, no! You cleared the growing smile away and tucked the idea at the deepest part of your consciousness. Never to be unearthed again. Ever. Don't even think about it, you. He was never going to accept it, anyway.

"There's..." James began with a sigh, turning slightly to you. He looked noticeably discomfited, too. "There's not much around here yet. I've only just started."

You shrugged. "No worries."

With a loose stare, James nodded before he pushed the door open and welcomed you inside. He kept his head low when he said something under his breath while you stepped further into the room. You didn't think it was this bad, but you somehow understood the chagrin that James kept muted.

The room was plain, and it wasn't the plainness you would immediately conclude as simple, ordinary, or homely. More bluntly, the room was the bare, empty, and lonely plain that struck your commiseration.

He didn't have furnishings or home appliances to fill the space, memories to frame the walls, or a collection of trinkets to display. The room looked dreary and barren. Not even a sight of large boxes or luggage to indicate he hadn't started or finished unpacking. The only items he had were the necessities: a thin mattress on the floor with a lonesome pillow and blankets bundled impetuously at the center of the supposed living room, and a low wooden stool accompanying them. The kitchen was on the immediate left, lacking the kitchenware and appliances he needed, while the chair and table he had were meant for a singular resident. The warmth of the afternoon permeated the living room as his windows and the glass door adjoining the balcony were bare of curtains for the privacy and coverage he deserved.

But the scene looked all too familiar, you were taken back to the first time you stepped into yours years ago.

You remembered how the frigid temperature had entrenched the room after weeks of downpour, the smell of the timeworn carpet and shriveled walls wafted as the open door welcomed you, and the image of your eventual loneliness delineated your overstrung thoughts when Mrs. McCarthney ushered you inside. The room was a sad and empty scene, much like the blues and violets on your skin and the pockets and bag you brought in haste. The sight of your plight struck the heart of your landlady.

Consternation filled you in the following days. The abrupt turn of the page and the eventualities for the future chapters made you apprehensive. But all those trembling days, nights of terror, and your attempt to build a wall slowly abated and were dismantled with the landlady's steadfast presence. The lent blankets and pillows then became your story's prologue, and the vacant space was eventually filled with what was now your safe haven.

"Sorry for the mess," James said. When you turned to him, he had already discarded the boxes on the countertop. "I wasn't expecting visitors. Still, I should've... cleaned."

"It's fine." You smiled. "Well, there's hardly a mess around here."

He couldn't decide whether you were teasing him or being sarcastic, so he nodded in response instead.

"Looks cozy, though."

"I guess? Sometimes... yeah."

"Lots of elbow room, too."

He chuckled at that. "Yeah. For now."

You set the boxes beside his, separating the cheesecake from the rest, and grabbed a small box at the topmost to examine it. "So, what'cha got here?"

"Just some things." James' eyes flickered from you to the floor. "I, uh, Mrs. McCarthney told me I should buy something around here and offered me a loan. I just gotta pay her once I get a job. No interest, too."

"That's... really nice of her." You suspected Mrs. McCarthney would do something with James, especially after her quotidian gossip and incessant speculations. He was now marked as her project to accomplish, and your time as her favorite had finally ended. Thankfully.

"Yeah... You were right about that, too." He went over to the counter and began opening the boxes. "But it might take a while. I haven't... there's no hiring anywhere in town right now."

"I'm sure she won't mind. Trust me." You assured him, unsure whether to inform him about a possible opening at Stanley's. Probably not now, but soon. If Stanley permits. And while at it, you carefully took the item out of the box. The sight of it had you hold back the growing smile. "So cute! I didn't know you're a fan!"

His eyes widened, and his face flushed at the reveal. It was a plug-in Garfield nightlight that looked lackadaisically designed and painted. He got three of them, too. "It-it's all they had! The light from the streetlights doesn't reach here and—"

"I know."

"It gets really dark at night."

"I know."

"I just wanted one, but they gave me the rest."

You hummed. "It looks like someone has a crush if they gave the rest away that easily. I wish I had the same privilege as you."

"You can have one if you like. Three's enough."

"Seems like you need it more than I do, but thanks, anyway. Let's give him a test, though! Maybe they gave it away 'cause some of them are defective." You tore one of the Garfields out of its packaging. "Where'd you want him?"

James pointed to his makeshift bed, where a socket behind the stool became visible. You walked over to and around his bed, plugging the nightlight into the socket. It worked! Garfield didn't look risible as you initially expected when lit. The light was tolerably bright, but the orange was unappealing against the bulb's warm tone. It was too orange for your liking.

"Looks good." James raised a flimsy thumbs-up.

"Good enough as a ghost repellent, I hope."

James smiled a little before he resumed unboxing. You readjusted the stool, tugging it just a little here and a bit here, positioning it where the light wouldn't be so intrusive to James' sleep tonight and the following nights, until you noticed the corner of a picture protruding from under the pillow.

You looked over the kitchen, where James was too preoccupied to notice you, and then at the edge of the photo. It felt wrong. So, so, wrong. But the curious cat in you couldn't help but pry. Just briefly. A glance wouldn't hurt anybody, right?

You lifted the pillow slightly and studied whatever you could as fast as possible. It was a photo of a woman with a lake and mountain backdrop. She wore a pretty pink cardigan paired with a flowered shirt underneath. Her brown hair was fastened back, highlighting her defined jawline and the softness in her eyes and—clack!

Your hurried perusal ended at the sound of steel meeting the floor. With a light jolt, you promptly buried the woman under the pillow and looked up at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" He exclaimed. James had disappeared from your sight until his raised hand emerged from behind the counter. He got back up again and waved a frying pan awkwardly. "It's fine."

"But are you fine?"

"Didn't hit me."

"Well, lucky you. That thing sounded heavy! You would've gotten amputated if it had crushed your foot!"

His eyes narrowed. "That's not possible. Is it?"

"It could happen, if you're not too careful." You shrugged and got to your feet, retracing your steps to where he was. A bit leisurely than intended. The mystery woman suddenly reclaimed your thoughts and piqued your interest. Who could she be? She seemed important enough for James to carry her in his pockets. Could she be the younger version of his mother? His sister? A favorite cousin? His best friend? Or maybe... perhaps, an old girlfriend?

But one word hankered to be on the list along with the rest. The word pummeled at the back of your head, begging to be included. But you... You weren't sure you wanted that, so you studied James' hands to abate your conjecture.

His fingers were free from any adornment, of any tangible signs of commitment, or any visible band that made that word worthy of inclusion. They were as bare as yours. At least, yours happened of late.

Your tedious tread slowed, and your focus that was once on his hands steered upward, only for your cheeks to feel feverish again when you met his eyes. It was different this time—incomparable to the flush of embarrassment you once had. You just found yourself... shy under his unflinching stare. But this merely made you question if something was wrong with you. His eyes may have had a sliver of their usual vacancy, but you could tell by the panning of his eyes and the tilt of his head that he'd been looking distinctly.

Was there something wrong with how you looked? Did something go wrong with your makeup? Your clothes? Was it too little? Too much? Too monotonous? Or eccentric? No, not really. You were just your usual self, prettier and more presentable than in normal days, yet James could only look at you as if your faults had manifested clearly compared to your efforts.

What... what was he staring at?

James was able to release a breath, low and relieving. Everything became crystal clear after a period of fixation. It was safe to admit that after days of wrestling and wrangling with his thoughts, he had been right. You were not Mary. You never were before, and you never were now. His resolve to avoid you for weeks was a stupid choice. He should've known his mind had deluded him again the first time the two of you met, and he should've looked closely instead of recoiling at the illusory similarities.

But there was no semblance of her in you. You were you. In your own shape and size. In your own shade and blemishes. In your own gait and bearing. You were you. Not Mary. Not his Mary, at least. Well, Mary was no longer his, either.

"Mr. Sunderland?" He heard you called, and his musings concluded. He found your stare fixed on him, wide with concern. Your eyebrows furrowed while the corners of your lips were pulled down. "Is everything okay?"

With his mouth slightly agape, the words refused to withdraw from his tongue. He could, but his thoughts twisted and turned until his mouth began running around. "I, uh, um... It's—there's, uh, so I have this, uh. We could... I'm—shit."

"You're shit?" You asked in a good-natured way while you kept a straight face, desperate not to break into a smile as James fumbled for words.

He let out a sharp breath and gathered whatever minuscule shards of confidence he had left. "Your cheesecake—"

"Your cheesecake." You reminded him, arms folding over your chest.

"Would you... Would you like something with it?"

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "Soda?"

Your lips were pursed tightly, your eyes were still locked on his, but your head shook slowly in response.

"Milk?"

You shook your head again.

"C-Coffee?"

And again.

"Juice?"

And again, but the corner of your lip had turned upward.

James sighed while rubbing his nape. "Those are the only things I have."

"Well—" A loud beeping took you both by surprise. James' eyes followed the noise as you checked your wristwatch. Oh, no. It was time. With a sigh, you looked back at him with a crestfallen smile. "I'm so sorry, but thank you, Mr. Sunderland. I appreciate the offer, but I just remembered my kids are gonna be waiting for me downstairs if I don't show up."

You noticed the bit of brightness on his face receded, and so did the rising sparkle in his eyes before he asked. "Your kids?"

"Yeah, four of 'em."

"Oh... I see."

"I had to pick them up at their place, otherwise they'd be coming down on their own. There's Louie Robinson from Room 405, Chris and Jill Kennedy from 307, and then Bill and Irene's kid, Lizzy."

"Oh!"

"Their tutoring starts in seven minutes, and I just need to prepare the room before I pick them up."

"Okay." James nodded slowly, his stare veering away from you again before he walked toward the door. "I'll walk you to the elevator."

"Oh, no! You don't have to!" You hurried to him, stopping him from turning the knob further with your hand atop his. "I'll be fine."

It took him by surprise at first, but now, James couldn't remove his gaze from it. Oh, God. This was such a conflicting feeling to confront. Your benign touch oozed an unfathomable warmth that confused him, yet he relished every ounce of this sensation. There was a quiet temptation stirring in him the longer he stared. The inclination to rub a thumb over your skin surged in, wondering if they were as soft as they appeared. He could pivot his palm to clasp yours. Tightly. Leaving no space for anything else, pulling you in until the creases on your palms kissed each other. His fingers could fill the spaces between yours. His skin against yours. Pulses beating alongside each other.

Oh, God. He missed being touched so much. Those little, innocent touches were his favorites. Like an arm linked with his while walking down the sidewalk, a heavy head on his shoulder during a movie, a reassuring hand holding his face at the worst times, a peck on his cheek for good luck, even a friendly handshake would suffice. He yearned for those little moments. It was a ridiculous and selfish desire to aspire, but James was sickened with want; he became red with shame.

A small smile emerged when you caught his stare again. Despite the shyness resurfacing, you audaciously told him. "Although... I'm okay with you watching over me instead. Something could get me on the way there. Who knows?"

YOU WHAT?! You almost wanted to punch the air for suggesting that! Stupid request! He was never going to—

"Okay." He replied in his usual low voice and nodded. His stare remained on his hand and yours until the intensity loosened. Then, he opened the door for you.

Your short trek toward the elevator made you feel clumsy. Your legs felt tangled, your back and hips stiff, and you felt inclined to repeatedly roll your shoulders to straighten your worn-out posture. It couldn't be helped, not when James sentineled as you suggested. When you glanced over your shoulder, sure enough, he was there. Standing and leaning by his door frame with diligent eyes in your direction, his face partly seen and partly covered.

And as the elevator chimed and opened, the last thing you saw of James Sunderland was how his eyebrows furrowed. You could only construe worry or uncertainty in that solitary expression, so you gave him one last, reassuring smile before you left.

It's that beaming smile again, he noted. Unabashedly wide and bright. The one that threw him off the first time. This time, however, it didn't. Not anymore, James hoped.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I was gonna update on the last day of April but... my hands slipped and I wrote more than I intended. Oops.

Anyway, see you in the next chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE #2 (because I posted this very late at midnight when I was half-asleep that I forgot to add this message):

To those who commented on the previous chapter, I see you and I love you so much! ❤️❤️❤️ I just get so shy and anxious when talking with readers that I often don't know how to respond. But I see you and your comments had me flailing my arms, kicking my feet, and inspiring me to continue on. Thank you so much for giving this story a read! I love you all so much! I hope you enjoyed your story with James, and the rest of your day or night.

#sh2 remake #silent hill 2 remake #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland fanfic #sh2 remake fanfic #something new by ayewritebullsheet

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ayewritebullsheet · 2 months ago

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NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

#fanfic #writing #anti generative ai

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ayewritebullsheet · 2 months ago

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canon: they died

fanfic: fUCK YOU

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ayewritebullsheet · 2 months ago

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writing is hard but coming up with a cunty title and catchy summary will slay even god's strongest soldier

#when my weakness is finding a cunty title and writing a catchy summary 😬

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ayewritebullsheet · 2 months ago

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sometimes I wonder how y'all are obsessed with specific characters and I'm like "why them" but then I remember that sometimes its literally not your choice you just look at them wrong and all of a sudden they're taking up your every thought forever

#me with gavin reed and james sunderland

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ayewritebullsheet · 3 months ago

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PYRAMID HEAD & JAMES SUNDERLAND Silent Hill 2 (2024) dev. Bloober Team [ × , × ]

#(!!) where's their peen?#show us their peen!!#silent hill 2 remake #sh2 remake #james sunderland #pyramid head

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ayewritebullsheet · 3 months ago

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When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

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ayewritebullsheet · 3 months ago

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Months after Mary's death, James reluctantly but steadily picks his life back up again, starting something new with the help of the neighbor who doesn't seem to leave him alone.

*Set after the ending where James is very much alive, on Earth, and isn't on a rowboat to delulu land* Dog ending, then.*

READ HERE:

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | TBA

#silent hill 2 remake #sh2 remake #james sunderland #sh2 remake fanfic #james sunderland x reader

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ayewritebullsheet · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE

His name was James—something, something.

You tried to recall. Mrs. McCarthney told you fleetingly about a new tenant besides yours some days ago, (or was it a week ago) but paid no mind to it at the time. Few of her tenants barely last a month on your floor anyway, so you weren't eager to meet new acquaintances only for them to leave too soon.

Despite your disinterest, the older woman continued to gossip about this new tenant to you, remarking how adamant he was about occupying one of the rooms on the sixth floor despite her warnings about the recurring... strange noises. Mrs. McCarthney also mentioned his pleasant features and soothing voice before she told you to be cordial and wary.

"It's gonna be the two of you up there, sweets. Be nice and make him feel welcome." Mrs. McCarthney reminded sweetly. "But not too welcoming. James is still a man. He might take it the wrong way."

You didn't expect him to be here now, standing at the front door of the apartment building with Mrs. McCarthney beckoning you closer. You hadn't even prepared an introduction or something similar, not when you were too surprised at his arrival and busy unraveling yourself from Haddock's leash tangled around your legs. You went to them anyway, spinning yourself loose before lightly tugging the leash and leading the dog toward the front.

When you came face-to-face, you somehow read him like a cover. James seemed older than you, but not too far. The exhaustion seemed to age him and when you peered into his eyes, there wasn't anything in them but vacancy. You would've given him credit for appearing well-kept and presentable for first impressions despite the clear despondency, but his endeavors merely felt halfway. His wrinkled shirt, rough-dried jeans and coat, and his attempts to gel his blond hair back failed as they fell back on his forehead again.

However, you were quite conflicted about admitting that Mrs. McCarthney may have been right when she said he was pleasant-looking, especially at first glance. You didn't give a damn when the landlady mentioned it beforehand... and you probably still shouldn't. You wagered he won't last long like the rest of them. Just here for a quick stop-and-go.

"Ehem," Mrs. McCarthney cleared her throat, interrupting your quiet perusal. When you turned to her, Mrs. McCarthney looked at you with a raised eyebrow while her lips turned cheekily lopsided.

You returned a confused look and held onto Haddock's leash when you felt it nearly slipping from your grip. The canine began to writhe behind you, tugging you in his desired direction, and whining lowly when you resisted.

Mrs. McCarthney said nothing to you but went on to introduce you to James, telling him, as she always tells her prior tenants; your name, which floor and room you were staying in, and the 'if you can't get a hold of Lucas or me, knock on her door if you ever need anything, she can help' oration.

James' once glassy eyes briefly scanned you from head to toe before he flashed you a closed yet somewhat reticent smile and a short nod of acknowledgment.

You smiled in return, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish.

You were aware you didn't look your best that day compared to him, but then again, you didn't expect to meet anyone important either. Before leaving Tina's house for Haddock's walk, you hadn't bothered to primp yourself or glance at the mirror. But surely; the impetuous ponytail, your colorless face, a bit of dough and buttercream that might have smirched your uniform, and Haddock's hair at the hem of your pants won't give anyone a sore eye, right? Right?

"She's also a baker down at Stanley's," Mrs. McCarthney added in her lengthy enumeration that you've decided to deafen out of diffidence. "You could give James your complimentary pie, sweets."

James immediately shook his head. "Oh, no, that's—I don't wanna—"

"That meringue pie! I like your lemon one the most! I wish you'd make them more often." The older woman turned to James and whispered conspiratorially. "The last two she made were terrible!"

Your eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Bland filling, burnt cream, soggy crust, it was horrible! And she made us eat it like we were some kind of guinea pigs! Bill and Lucas had diarrhea for two days!"

"An exaggeration, I promise!" You retorted. "It was just a day."

You heard James' faint chuckle before Mrs. McCarthney demanded. "The lemon one, sweets, for James! Not the other two."

With a light scoff, you replied. "Fine."

"And please, sweets, control that dog," said Mrs. McCarthney, eyeing Haddock with a little displeasure. "Careful, it's looping around you."

James approached you with his head low and whispered. "You really don't have to, you know. It's already too much."

"Well, I'm not gonna hear the end of this if I won't, so..." you told him matter-of-factly at first, but when the disquietness abided James' face, most likely disinclined by the hospitality, you tried to placate him with a closed and assured smile. "It's fine, really. It's been a while since I made one, anyway. It might be a better time to start again."

He smiled, his head bopping a little sheepishly, and said in a slight stammer. "I'm James, by the way... James Sunderland. But I figured Mrs. McCarthney already told you that."

So he wasn't James—something, something.

"Yeah, she did mention you. Like, an embarrassing lot, actually. I'm kind of contemplating whether I should say something or not."

With a quiet chuckle, he lowered his gaze and replied. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, no, don't be." You waved a hand. "Although you wouldn't mind a little harmless gossip between us little women, right? There's not a lot going on here, so..."

Mrs. McCarthney's face flushed. "Oh, sweets, don't—"

"Yeah... that slipped."

But the look Mrs. McCarthney caught on your face told her otherwise. She snorted, annoyed. "Well, next time, keep it in your tongue. It was supposed to be between us, you know?"

"And about the pie," You mused. "It might take a while. I won't be back until next week. I'm watching over this guy until my friend comes back." You pointed at the whining dog scampering around.

James' eyes followed Haddock as the canine scurried behind him and barked riotously. He looked back up at you, still with that slight smile. "Take your time. I don't really mind—"

The leash suddenly tightened around your legs. Your eyes grew wide when James staggered forward until you collided with each other. Mrs. McCarthney stridently chastised the dog, but to no avail as Haddock kept his unruly behavior, barking and dragging you and James to his desired destination. The leash began to brace deeply on your skin, probably leaving a scrape or a harsh print later if this persisted.

James had his hand on your back while he held on the brick wall for dear life with the other. Instincts kicked in, and you quickly placed a hand on his chest, wanting to distance yourself from him when his breath brushed against your face.

His eyes were locked on yours, green and focused. You almost wanted to melt or hide at how piercing his gaze was. His lips were pursed, and he breathed heavily through his flared nostrils. His face mirrored your struggles. Then he grunted, "Let him go."

You hastily complied, and the leash loosened slightly. But with Haddock's brute strength, his tugging stayed the course. With a hand then holding onto James' coat while he was slipping from his grip, the two of you were swept off your feet and onto the ground as a grand finale.

"You little shit!" Mrs. McCarthney shrieked.

On the ground, where the world seemed to turn upside down, you watched as the canine dashed down the sidewalk, his leash dragging behind him before he was gone.

"Ha—" Words were stuck at the tip of your tongue while the wind seemed to get knocked out of you. A sting rippled through your head, and specks of black and white bounced when your eyes closed. When you felt an awkward wriggle on top, you opened them again and found him. Widened eyes and red-faced.

"I am so, so sorry!" James stuttered, and his weight hastily eased from you. "I tried to hold on, and, uh, are you okay?"

You winced as you raised a thumb in response. A pair of hands helped you off the ground, but you briskly sprung on your feet, which you realized was a stupid decision as the rush made you woozy in the head and wobbly on your ground.

"Easy! Not too fast!" James softly chided. He stood close by, hands out and ready, yet he hesitated. He wanted to hold you securely when your steps teetered but stopped himself again. Somehow, he braced for the impact of your shove or the castigate to be spat.

He waited.

And waited.

But somehow it never came.

Instead, when you staggered another step forward, you were instantly in James' strong yet assiduous hold, rescued from the inevitable fall. Sirens in your head rang. Your instincts told you to brush him off and spew a segment of reassurances, but your hands on his arms tightened as if defying yourself unexpectedly. His soft and soothing mumbles battled against Mrs. McCarthney's admonishment.

"This is why I don't allow pets here, sweets." Mrs. McCarthney said. "They're too rambunctious! Imagine how many more it could've run through without care!"

"Yeah," You finally managed to reply, your eyes still clammed shut. "Figured it."

Mrs. McCarthney then turned to James. "I used to allow them back years ago, but one of them left their doors open, and their dogs ran loose. Went berserk on everyone they saw, and my poor Seth fell down the stairs and broke his hip trying to stop them and—" She paused, a slight apprehension dawned. "Are you alright, sweets? Did you hit your head? Is your hip alright? Is anything alright?"

You simply wave a hand, eyes blinking the specks away as you scan the sidewalk for any sign of Haddock. None. Someone's going to get murdered. Most definitely you.

"If she hit her head, she'll need ice, Mrs. McCarthney, or maybe get it checked as soon as possible," James said.

"I'm serious, sweets, did it hurt? Is anything hurt?"

"I'm fine," You told her sincerely. "I think ice would do."

"Right. I'll tell Lucas to find the dog for you. And you better tell that friend of yours to control that thing, otherwise, I'll have someone take care of it for her. Don't think I'm joking around here, sweets." The landlady warned before she beckoned the two of you inside.

James helped without delay. Slowly and steadily, he ushered you into the lobby and sat you on a nearby couch. Throughout the time, when James' smooth and encouraging mumbles carried on, you debated whether his succor was necessary since you felt able enough as the ache and throbbing had slightly waned as time passed.

You should've objected.

You should have.

However, through his ministrations, you somehow got a glimpse into James. You saw his sudden care and aid. The gesture felt natural for him, like a second nature.

His stance was firm and sturdy, determined to keep you upright as if your knees would yield at any moment. His tread was slow and careful, attentive to your steps and surroundings. His touch was soft and cautious as if your skin was so fragile that it would bleed under his touch.

It was an intriguing combination.

The bustling noise inside the receptionist's office broke your quick rumination when Mrs. McCarthney barked at Lucas to fetch Haddock for you... and an ice pack and medicine before he goes. And make it fast.

"You know there's nothing wrong with having it checked, just to be sure," James crouched in front of you, and the worried look lingered. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." Your lips pursed. You tried to be reassuring, but the assuring smile remade into chagrin. "It's... not exactly the first meeting I had in mind."

"That's—" He paused, somewhat surprised. A smile nearly crept up his face, but then was promptly rueful when he asked. "What did you have in mind?"

You shook your head slowly. "No fucking clue, actually. But the dog wasn't part of it, I promise. I could've gotten some people around, though."

"Is... Is everyone always friendly around here?"

"Nope. It's just Mrs. McCarthney. I think she's just intrinsically nice... and warm to everyone. There are a handful of others I know, but not everyone."

"That's nice." He smiled placidly, then thought about expounding a bit. "New people. New... place. Well... I was also kinda hoping there'd be a welcome banner."

"Oh!" You chirped. "You want that?"

"I—No, I didn't mean, I'm just... joking."

"Would you object if I gave you one?"

James paused again to consider before he quietly chuckled. "Yes."

"Shame. I know a very cute girl who'll make an equally cute banner for you."

"I don't wanna waste your time on me, Miss."

"I'm sure she won't mind." You beamed.

James' eyebrows furrowed, and like double vision, remembrance flickered in his eyes. Your smile this time was unabashedly wide, full of teeth, cheeks round, and eyes narrowed; there was something comely and soothing about it that was difficult to construe.

But James was transported back in time, to many years ago. Familiarity struck, and he found himself reliving the incandescence of her smile. How her face would light up and leave him saturated in her glow.

Mary, he said, lower than a whisper, but it rattled him like thunder.

"What?" You asked him, your voice was washed away from his busy thoughts.

Oh, Mary. How you were missed so dearly. Day and night since she passed, James thought of nothing but her—the love that budded and blossomed, the moments spent and shared, the memories recalled and recorded, the things she loved and hated, vital to trivial. Despite the illness that befell her, Mary's memory remained tattooed in his mind—the good, the bad, and the worst. His heart still called and yearned for her like a sad howl of an abandoned mutt left waiting and wondering.

Mary... Mary...

I missed you.

I'm so, so sorry.

You stared at him, a little worried. The rousing glow and the faint sparkle in his eyes quickly dissipated, donning the vacancy that pervaded him earlier. You reached out to tap his shoulder, but he briskly avoided your touch and got to his feet.

Your arms instinctively tensed at your sides, and your heart raced. However, despite his looming and towering figure against yours, he looked almost frail, like he was about to fold or crumble to his knees. And his benign display made your wariness seem misplaced. You swallowed slowly. "James? Is everything alright?"

When he met your intent gaze, his eyes were nearly blank but also almost teary, as he backed away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry—This was a mistake—you're- you're not—I-I can't—I can't do this."

With nothing else to say, and the single, teetering brick in his massive wall was cemented back again, James marched toward the stairs and disappeared from your sight.

You were left alone and the rush of apprehension slowly quelled. Confusion then replaced it, and you were somewhat disheartened at the turn of events.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Meet-cute? No. Let's meet-awkward! Anyway, bon appetit, folks!

#sh2 remake #silent hill 2 remake #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland fanfic #sh2 remake fanfic #something new by ayewritebullsheet

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ayewritebullsheet · 3 months ago

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On That Prego Sauce [James Sunderland X Reader]

synopsis: Ever since you got pregnant, your husband's simply caring and attentive behavior gradually shifted to a stressed, bordering on paranoid, bundle of nerves. In today's program, he's trying to banish you from the kitchen as you attempt to cook dinner.

status: oneshot

content warning: female reader, pregnant reader, talks about pregnancy [obviously], slight anxiety problems, fluff, romance, kissing, gen in general, James goes to therapy™

author's note: This is kind of a funny/endearing bit, as you can say from the name. It's relatively short, but I thought I'd share it anyway since I got inspired by some art of James with a baby on Pinterest ;)

You catch James lurking anxiously behind you out of the corner of your eye as you stir the bubbling pot of pasta sauce. His eyes dart between the stove's temperature knob and the rounded belly under your maternity dress for the umpteenth time, twitching nervously. You hum to yourself, already knowing what he's going to say, and roll your eyes, pretending not to see his uneasy posture.

— Honey, are you sure you should be standing so long in this heat? Why don't you have a seat and let me take over? — James suggests, already reaching for the spoon in your hand, his calloused fingers brushing slightly against yours.

He's been hovering over you the whole evening, trying to gently shoo you away from the kitchen counter as you casually chopped tomatoes. His hands would idly paw at your sides as he followed your every move around the room, wheezing whenever your pregnant tummy brushed the cabinets.

— James, I am perfectly capable of cooking dinner. It's not like I'm about to go into labor over a hot stove, — you answer patiently as you hold the spoon away from his grasp, giving him a slightly exasperated look mixed with concern. He looks more tired than you, even though it's you who's carrying his child.

James sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes a small step back, hands raised in a placating gesture. He knows he needs to rein in his overprotectiveness, to let you breathe, but it's hard, especially now with you so... vulnerable. Precious. Fragile.

His eyes flick down to your rounded belly, now more prominent than ever, before meeting your gaze again.

— Sorry, you're right. I know you can handle this; it's just... I worry, — James admits gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck, — It's my job to take care of you, and... Well, I'm still getting used to the idea of us being... Of you being...

He trails off, unable to find the right words. Of you being a mother, he wants to say. Of us being a family. A family with a child of his own. The thought sends a confusing mix of emotions surging through him — joy, trepidation, and a deep, gnawing anxiety he can't quite shake.

James can't help but feel the overwhelming urge to take control, even though he knows cooking dinner is no Olympic sport. He's been this way ever since you got pregnant, a caring husband slowly morphing into an utterly obsessive caregiver running on autopilot; diligently flipping through countless pregnancy and paternity books into the late hours of the night. Of course he knew pregnancy was no illness; the doctor said so, but old habits die hard.

— Here, let me get that for you, — James murmurs, reaching around you to take the spoon anyway, his chest pressing lightly against your back. He gives the sauce a few quick stirs, his anxious side-eye relaxing as you finally give up the handle with a sigh.

— Just relax, sweetheart. You shouldn't be exerting yourself like this, — his usually surly hazel-green gaze softens upon meeting yours as you reach to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. Your touch sends goosebumps to swarm all over his body as he breathes you in, reveling in your natural smell mixed with subtle perfume.

— Alright, alright, Mr. Worrywart. I will rest even though it's the only thing I do these days, — you glance up at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you lean back against the hard planes of his chest, surrendering. Gosh, it's not like you're lifting a car or running a marathon.

James can't help but grin at your playful nagging, feeling relief spread through his chest as soon as you lean into him. He wraps his arms around your plump frame, pulling you gently back against him as he continues to stir the contents of the ceramic pot, his stubbled chin resting lightly atop your head.

His hands roam slowly over your belly, moving the fabric while feeling the gentle curve of it, marveling at the life you've created together. He knows he's been hovering more than usual lately, but he can't seem to help himself. It's hard for him to not be a worrywart. Not when it's you.

— I can't help it, — he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that's almost aching, — Just... Bear with me, alright? It's hard for me to let go sometimes, — James swallows hard, his grip tightening slightly around you as he feels you melt back against him.

— Bear with you? — you murmur softly, tilting your head to the side so you can press another kiss to his jaw, feeling the rough stubble scrape deliciously against your lips.

You turn in his arms, your belly brushing against his stomach as you wind your arms around his neck, looking up at him with a soft, loving gaze. Your fingers play with the short baby hairs at the nape of his neck, toying with them gently, causing James to close his eyes in bliss at your ministrations.

— I'm not going anywhere, James. I'm right here, and I'm not made of glass. You don't have to be so worried, — you whisper, your thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone, — I... We feel so loved and cared for already, so you don't need to stress so much. You already are the husband I need you to be. Just a little... overbearing sometimes.

— A hovering helicopter husband, — he jokes as he nuzzles into your palm, a smile stretching over his face.

— My favorite helicopter husband, yes, — you muse.

James feels a shudder run through him at your gentle touch and soothing words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leans into your caress. Just as he gives another reassuring rub to your full belly, he feels it respond to his loving touch. A kick.

James's eyes widen in surprise as he feels the sharp jab against his palm, a jolt of adrenaline and awe surging through him at the sudden movement.

— Ow, that hurt, — you whine, leaning your head into James's chest as you heave, — I guess this small bean agrees with you. I'll take your advice and sit...

— Hey, hey... easy there, little one, — James murmurs, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles over the spot where he felt the kick, as if trying to calm them.

He sinks to his knees before you, his eyes never leaving your belly, as he helps you ease yourself down onto the chair. James leans in close, resting his cheek against your belly, his arms wrapping around your thighs. His eyes trail up from the smooth golden band on your finger to your face, his green eyes filled with such concern and tender love that it makes your heart skip a beat.

— Thank you, baby, I'm feeling better already, — you smile down at him, hoping to put him at ease, even though you still feel your stomach throb.

— Are you sure? You don't look so good; maybe we should call the doctor just in case? — he retorts almost immediately, but you stop him before he starts overreacting.

— James, honey, we've talked about this. I'll tell you if I feel unwell, I promise, — you reach down to gently squeeze his hands, his fingers interlocking with yours like on instinct. He takes in your expression, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort and seemingly relaxes after detecting none.

— Sorry. Sometimes I can't believe this is really happening, — he murmurs against the fabric of your pastel dress after a while, his breath fanning over your baby bump, — Sometimes this all just feels... like a dream.

— But it is happening. It's real, and you're going to be a dad, — you beam down at him, eyes crinkling in the corners as you comb through his blonde hair.

James blushes slightly at your words, a shy but proud smile spreading across his face. He leans into your touch, savoring the feeling of your fingers tugging gently at his scalp.

— Yeah... I guess I am, — he murmurs, a note of wonder in his voice.

Suddenly a sizzling sound makes you jump slightly in your seat, with James still on his knees in front of you.

— James, the sauce! — you exhale, voice shrill with defeat as the sauce spills over the pot and onto the stove, forgotten in the midst of your affectionate exchange.

James curses under his breath, leaping to his feet and rushing to the stove. He quickly turns down the heat and grabs a spoon, stirring the liquid vigorously, trying to salvage it. He glances over his shoulder at you, a rueful, slightly embarrassed grin on his face.

— Sorry about that. Guess I got a little distracted, — he says, scraping the burnt bits from the bottom of the pot, — I think that's what happens when you've got the most beautiful woman in the world sitting right in front of you?

— Yeah, excuses, excuses,— you laugh softly as you watch him, amused, — I guess I'll have to put up with your thoughts being so utterly consumed by me for a few more months.

James chuckles softly as he continues to stir the sauce, the burnt smell slowly dissipating. He pushes off from the counter and walks back over to you, sinking to his knees once more. He rests his hands on your knees, squeezing them gently as he gazes up at you with a soft, peaceful expression.

— A few more months? No, I don't think so, — he retorts with a grin, bringing your hand up to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. — Try that for the rest of my life.

— Ew, what's that smell? Did you guys burn something? — Laura complains as you hear the gentle patter of her feet on the carpeted floor of the living room.

— James is cooking dinner! — you call out to her, a hint of irony in your tone, only to be met with the girl's face scrunched up with disgust appearing in the door frame.

— A-ha! I bet he was being all kissy with you again and ruined it, — she teases as James gives her a look, still situated at your feet, but smiles at the mischievous girl eventually.

— Well... You're not exactly wrong, Laura, — he says, giving your hand a squeeze as he does, puckering his lips at the girl comically, — Want me to kiss you too, little whiny princess?

— Ugh, no way! And that dinner smells like some spaghetti factory explosion!

#this is so cute 😍#james sunderland #silent hill 2 remake #james sunderland x reader

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