James Sunderland X Maria - Blog Posts

A little sneak peek at what's in development for a future James Sunderland Smut.......

I need more metaphorical fanfics like ong this got my English literature nerd ass squealing with joy. You convey James' guilt and desire for human connection and euphoria so beautifully like I swearrrr I could annotate this bitch!

bliss

pairing: james sunderland x maria

cws/tags: p in v, oral, dubcon? (james is not into it), excessive metaphors

summary: if james and maria fucked or something??

a/n: idk even know how to describe this bc it's silent hill? like what is really happening here is subjective tbh

wc: 1k

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

Despite being held captive by Maria’s heat, James is thinking of Mary the entire time. She’s hot on the surface, warm on the inside, cold in her organs, freezing in her bones, and empty of a soul. Her pink acrylics are like fire when she digs them into his skin. She can’t keep him forever, but he’ll be covered in scratch marks for days. 

Beauty is pain, pain is beauty, or however the old saying goes. 

Maria looks more like Mary when she’s naked. When the choker is off. It looks like a dog collar, he once told her. And how appropriate it is for someone who sat pretty on the side of his bed and begged for this – for scraps. That’s what this is. The leftovers of love that no one else will have – like rotten fruit, it was once good. All of this is bitter, but everyone needs to eat something, at least once in a while, right? It’s not a feast, but it’ll do.

Maria isn’t the kind of dog that barks, she whimpers, and it tugs at his heartstrings until they snap and his willpower unravels. She sheds leopard print like snakeskin, hues of violet, magenta, cranberry, fall to the floor all at once. 

Her skin is soft, breasts perky, pink-nippled, the kind you see in magazines. James plays with them like he does keys on a piano – not well-practiced, yet eliciting sound nonetheless. She’s quiet now – a rarity – likely because Laura is down the hall, asleep, unaware, as she should be. More often than not, she is loud. Her heels click-clack down the hallway towards his bedroom like a warning siren, coming closer, speeding up with every step like his heartbeat.

Even with her shoes on, Maria doesn’t reach James in stature. Neither did Mary, but she never tried to, never needed to — she was above him in every other way. She was ephemeral. Quiet and angelic in ballet flats, she could slip into bed without waking him up. Realistically, she took up a third of this bed at most, maybe a quarter at her sickest, but with her absence the entirety of it feels empty, hollow, like the stuffing’s been removed from the mattress too, though two people lay upon it. 

His name floats from Maria’s lips to his ear, breathless, asking for more than he can give. He wonders if this is what Mary sounded like when they did this sort of thing all those years ago. James remembers her voice, her singing in the passenger seat to the mixtape he made for their first Valentine’s Day together, her yelling at him in the hospital. But he doesn’t remember her moaning, not like this, not on the edge of bliss. Those weren’t the memories he held onto the tightest. 

Not with the same grip that he has on Maria’s hips, maintaining the most control he can while she’s the one on top. Not with the same grip Maria’s cunt has around his dick. She’s squeezing the life out of him, but it feels good, undeniably. Unfairly. Penance is a woman. 

She’s so wet he slipped right in, so wet he slipped up and told her, “goddamn, you’re wet”, caught by surprise because what had he done? His mouth hasn’t touched either pair of lips, and he plans to keep it that way. 

When she gets up, removing the warmth that surrounded him, he groans in frustration. It’s a noise that must be familiar to her. His immense vexation is the only thing larger than her infatuation with him. 

James looks down – something he’s avoided doing until now – and sees her crawling downwards, pressing kisses down his stomach. 

“What are you doing?” he says with zero amusement.

Staining him with dark red lipstick. Like wine or blood. Like before and after.

“Has no one ever done this to you?” she asks, and she takes hold of his cock, making him take in a sharp breath before he answers.

It’s like a stab right through the chest, knocking the wind out of him with the force of something unspoken.  

“No, I– I mean, yes, I’ve had this done to me before. I’m asking you why you’re doing this.”

“Why not? You won’t even have to look at me, I can be under the covers, and you won’t have to hear me talking. You can even pretend I’m someone–”

“Shut up,” he says with a force he’d forgotten he could muster as he shoves his cock down her throat. 

He could pretend it’s someone else – the same way he’s been pretending Maria is Mary for the past 30 minutes or so, but he’d never hurt Mary. He hated hearing the sound of her gagging. He always kept her from going too far. Who is it if not Mary? 

It doesn’t matter who I am. 

Could she be his psychiatrist who’s 60 years old and annoys him to the point that it makes him miss Maria? The woman at the dry cleaners or the cashier at the grocery store? Maybe he needs to get back into watching porn. His mind runs faster than his feet ever have to get to the answer. There is only disappointment at the end of that road, only white sheets covering the another illusion.                       

It's Maria's mouth that sputters, her throat that chokes around his cock even though it's not that big.

When she first caught a glimpse of it, she gave him that classic bullshit line, telling him how big it is, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, well, it’s not small.”

“Just be normal, or as normal as you can be. I don’t want whatever this weird porn thing is that you’re doing.”

It makes it all seem fake. 

See, I’m real. 

Maybe, but not like Mary. 

Then again, maybe it's better if this is all fake so James and Maria are just marionette dolls in someone else’s fantasy, caught in a videotape. 

Maria doesn't need to be Mary, James doesn't need to be James. Instead, he pretends they’re both other people. She’s a nurse, he’s the doctor, she’s a mother, he’s the father.

James looks into her eyes when he’s on top of her, searching for something he’ll never find, until he gives up and flips her over and fucks her flat into the mattress. 

Maria is quiet only because she screams into the pillow. 

James is quiet because that’s how all tapes end. 

A click, static, then silence.