xReader moves with her family to a new town and starts bonding with Joel, an ex military man, who soon grows to be obsessed with her. Their encounters start to grow more bold, after learning that they were sleeping just a few yards away from each other.
Perhaps it was fate that placed the two of them in this town. This boring, old, chatty town where nothing of much importance ever unfolds.
Fresh soil to those who act in such grotesque ways. Scandal likes to take its course — the smaller the town, the better.
No need to worry, though; everything that happens behind curtains stays hidden, safe and sound.
Your family arrived at noon, the sun still shining bright — not surprising for an August day in the south of Texas.
It was a mystery to you why your family had to move. You’d be off to college after this summer anyway, so why now? you thought to yourself as you stepped out of the car and took in the new house for the first time. It was big, with a porch that had seen better days, but it had potential — great potential, in fact.
The kind that came with an old charm. A friendly exterior with neat little windows, and an interior that was just as inviting, complete with creaking floors that only added to its quirky character. Dizzy from the heat, you flopped down on the first seating option you could find — the old leather couch in your new living room. It came with the house, and you didn’t want to think too much about why the previous owner hadn’t bothered to take it with them.
At least I get to sit down, you thought, staring across the room at the fireplace. Melting into the leather, you drifted into thoughts of last year.
That cruel, awful year. The one that made you want to violently vomit onto the oak panels beneath your feet.
Not many boys had paid attention to you. You’d had one boyfriend, but he wasn’t the best choice you’d ever made. After promising to make you love yourself, he’d left you more insecure than ever.
Your looks — if those even mattered — weren’t your only insecurity. It was also your personality. The very thing that made you you.
Since you were young, you’d had a strange relationship with sexuality. For you, it was always tied to shame. A high libido and a Christian upbringing was not the best combination — what a surprise.
So when Joel introduced himself, you wanted to shake it off. Another older man from Texas with questionable values and the mentality of a Mormon, MAGA-hat-wearing idiot. (In moments like that, you were thankful you hadn’t ended up in Utah.)
But there was something different about him. Something that drew you in.Was it the way he shook your hand — so steady, his big palm wrapping around yours? Or the glint in his eyes when you said your name, half-shy and half out of breath?
Maybe it was both. Or maybe you were simply suffering from the merciless August sun burning down on your scalp.
Or maybe it was the undeniable fact that he was handsome. Dark curls streaked with silver, warm brown eyes, and a mustache that made him look like one of those ’80s movie stars.
Whatever it was, it left you slightly weak in the knees — and reminded you that you now had a room with plenty of privacy. And surely, you could make good use of that.
Joel Miller knew what he was doing. Of course he did. He wasn’t a man who thought too much; he acted on instinct.
Not many things could throw him off his steady track.
Then your family arrived, and like metal to a magnet, he found himself pulled toward you.
He had no problem helping carry a few boxes, and soon enough, he knew exactly where fate had led him.
You stood there with your suitcase — hair messy from the car ride, eyes sleepy and hazy from the heat, cheeks flushed. You smiled as you introduced yourself, and the moment your delicate hand met his, he knew exactly what kind of trouble you’d bring.
He had always been a hardworking man, always moving, always helping.
His early years in the military had left him inevitably rough around the edges, with scars of both the physical and emotional kind. At 6'2", broad-shouldered and strong, he’d been good material — reliable in the field until his captain decided otherwise.
At forty-five, it was time to retire. To “settle down,” as they called it.Though he’d never admit it, that decision had left a bigger wound than anything he’d faced in combat.
It had been almost five years since his involuntary retirement. Since then, he’d lived in this very town, working with his hands, selling furniture.
Proving himself again as a reliable, helpful, functioning member of society — the very image of a good American man. Paying his taxes, living in a white wooden house with a picket fence… and now, with a newly arrived view.
The first thing you noticed when you entered your new room was the big window in the center of the wall. Facing away from the street meant you didn’t have much to look at — just the tree that separated your house from the neighbor’s, and a single window across from yours, closed tightly with blinds.
Before you could run to tell your sibling you basically had a brick wall view, the blinds shifted.
Just a little — as if someone wanted only a sliver of sunlight inside. You stared, transfixed, watching the wooden slats creak. You couldn’t make out who was behind them.
With parted lips, you looked away, feeling like you’d seen something forbidden.
“Great, so much for privacy,” you sighed.
Later that night, you were curled up beneath your blanket, gaze fixed on the glow from that same window.
Like a moth to a flame, you crept out of bed and peeked over your windowsill.
There — just for a moment — you saw it.
A shadow behind the thin curtains. Broad shoulders, tall frame.
Before you could form a thought, the shadow moved, closing the blinds as if caught in the act.
Had they seen you?
Blinking rapidly, feeling exposed and a little embarrassed, you rushed back to bed, pulling the blanket over yourself like it could shield you from whatever lived just a few yards away.
Before you drifted off to sleep, you made a mental note:
Today, after a long time, I dared to look at the pictures I still have left of you. Why did I never notice how tired you looked. I hope you're less tired and not sick anymore. I hope your nose didn't get injured again. And I hope you haven't forgotten me. I don't know what to do with this. Or me. Anyways I hope you sleep well. I care for you
Dear diary, I hate being sick. I think i gained weight. One kilogram at least. I feel fat and I still don't have new bikini pictures. Why can't I be hot and blonde. I hate my fat thighs and sore boobs
Also, another thing happened today. It doesn’t seem big from an outsider perspective, but i walked along the street that i used to live in. I passed by the old church and i could even hear the bells ringing. The air felt electric today and it seemed that the street was charged with this strange energy. Maybe it was this weird sense of nostalgia. If so, it certainly peaked when i surpassed my old neighbours house and reached the old multi story house that me and my parents used to live in. I know every nook and cranny in this house. I know the smell and I know the sounds. My first memories were created in these room. Sometimes i think that I was actually born on a summers day. My body and mind know the contrast too well. The one between hot grass and cold walls protecting you from the beaming sun. Is 20 too young to feel nostalgia? I’ve been asking myself that a lot these days. I don’t blame myself though, cause how could I not feel happiness and bitter sadness when I have these experiences stored in myself so deeply? I miss my first nanny. I remember your white hair and the couch we used to sit on. The one with the thousand stuffed animals that you had collected over the decades. Thank you for gifting me one of your angels.
I think these early memories shaped me thoroughly. Of your small apartment in the second story. The vintage furniture and the tea scent. Writing this, everything seems to come back to life. Lord, I wished I could enter this sweet old house again. Let me visit the cold staircase and the Glasblock glory. Where I used to sing and eternally daydream. It truly is all inside me. Let me be your miniature princess again, sweet Saphire castle. I will try to be worthy again
Dear diary, today I had my last exam. At least for the next two months. Hopefully I passed most classes. I know I fucked up in statistics and I blame myself for it so much. Well i guess now all we can do is wait and study.
Dear diary, when I said „let something happen to me“, I didn’t mean that for sure. I’m sitting here, apparently so stressed from exams that my period decided to visit me twice this month. Apparently its called Mittelschmerz, yes the word is of German origin, and is normal to happen during ovulation. Everyone is still telling me to go to the doctor though which I get. Nobody would be fan of another miserable ´Carrie` remake.
I really hope these awful terrible ungodly cramps will end soon. Please I beg you
With lots of love that is sincere and comes directly from my heart, in attempts to persuade you,
Dear diary. Exams are killing me and so are my boobs. No, seriously they have been hurting for days to the point I can’t even lift my arms. I blame the weather. Cloudy, with no chance for rain.
See you tomorrow and wish me luck so I will survive uni tomorrow. Goodnight.
PS: I`m about to read the smuttiest fanfiction ever
