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bunkerlotus · 4 months ago

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In Silence Chapter One

The first chapter is finally done! This took me a bit longer than I would have hoped but I am getting back into the grove of writing.

https://www.tumblr.com/bunkerlotus/780272403147325440/in-silence-chapter-0?source=share this is the prologue to this chapter.

Heavily Inspired by @agirlcandream84 lovely neighbor!frank castle, and @wolvietxt fic Late Night Laundromat which are both amazing fics and head cannons by amazing authors!

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Thursday again. The laundry basket felt heavier than usual, but it probably had something to do with the exhaustion creeping through your veins. This week had felt like it had dragged on for ages, each day more tiring than the last. It didn’t help that the few hours you spent in your apartment at night, you had begun to take notice of him. Painfully aware of the distinct creak of his door accompanied by the heavy boots making their way into an echoed apartment. Sounds of unrestful sleep late into the night. You shouldn’t have taken such a notice, but it felt as if you were hyper aware of every miniscule sound that vibrated through the whisper-thin walls.

As you stepped into the gritty basement, you could hear the rattle of a running washer. Oh. Apprehension spiked in your chest, just for a moment. For a moment you were conflicted. Hoping for the sight of the strong frame draped over the wooden chair all while dreading the possibility. And yet, sitting in the same chair as last week was your neighbor.

It felt intentional. His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped into the room, torn away from his book at the sound of your footsteps. You were once again struck by the intensity of his eyes. While he still carried a weight of fatigue, his gaze was alert, focused on you and your movements as you hesitated in the doorway.

With a deep inhale you made your way to the usual washer and loaded your clothes. You glanced back up, and found yourself unsurprised to find his eyes still on you. You nod your head towards the book in his hand with a glance toward it. He too turned his gaze to the book resting in his rugged, commanding hands. He held it up for you for a moment, the cover title facing you. A classic, Great Expectations. The copy itself was well loved, the pages yellowed and the cover cracked. You nod in acknowledgement of the book, and of him. He too, seemed to nod gently in acknowledgement, or of understanding.

Your own book in hand, you sat upon the dryer that never seemed to work, long since ignored by the tenants with no time for damp clothes. The clock read only a few minutes past 3 in the morning. Even still, the sounds of the other tenants felt miles away. As if they were in some other dimension and you only existed here, with him. The radio too, hummed with life, something soft and forgotten, cracking on the tones.

He returned to his book in hand, and you too found solace in the words written some time ago. You both spent the hours like that, reading in a gentle serenity, enwrapped in the warmth of the dryers, lulled by the rumbles of the machines around you.

You had convinced yourself when you crawled into bed that night that it was a fluke, a circumstantial encounter in the quiet of night that was unlikely to happen again.

Until it did.

Once.

Then twice.

Then again.

A whole month had passed, and you and the man from apartment 4b seemed to have a recurring ritual of late night laundry. You kept each other company in silence. It felt as if words might break the fragile connection that hung in the air in the basement. It was so new, and unexpected. You were desperate for some sort of comfort, some kind of closeness that you thrived on the light glances and shared moments.

It seemed like he did too. One night, in the calm thrall of the laundry room, he spoke.

“Pete”, his voice was gravel, something unused and deep, It vibrated through the room, and you reveled in the rasped edge before you realized what he had spoken. His name, you supposed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Pete.”

It had seemed like all you would ever have with Pete was the warmth of the laundry room on thursdays.

Friday nights you spent out, typically at your favorite venue on the corner of 67th in manhattan. Still buzzing with the intensity of something new and shared with Pete, the night seemed to drag. You were desperate for Thursday to come. The rest of the days blurred into a slurry of monotonous routines. The same as it had been for years. Until him. He was new and different and he saw you and understood.

Saturday nights, like the rest, you spent huddled on the rooftop of the apartment building. While the day was warmed with the hopes of spring, the nights still had the bite of cold winter nights. The wind that whipped past occasionally, bringing with it a shiver down your spine and a need to be smaller. Sitting on the ledge of the roof was hardly a good idea, but it brought you peace to look out at the cityline. All the lights- different lives that people were living. A gentle reminder you weren’t truly alone. The chill in the air frosted your cheeks and burned your nose, but it helped you feel. A calm reminder that you were here, you were alive.

The rusted door groaned with exhurstion behind you. You knew by the heavy thud that echoed with every step, it was him. It was hard to mistake the steel toed work boots as they made their way through the building, much less on the metal rooftop which reverberated every little sound. Some nights the sound of the rain was enough to wash out the rest of the bustling city.

Even with the warmth that puddled in your chest at the serenity that surrounded you, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn to him. Couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Out of the corner of your eye, he leaned against the ledge, arms folded together and a distant look on his face. Distracted this week, it seemed. Like something was lingering beneath his skin. You wanted to peel back the layers to reveal the truth. You knew you never would. A heavy sigh pushed past his nose as he examined the cityline with you. Perhaps he wondered why you were out here. Or what you were thinking about alone on the rooftop in the dead of night. Or maybe, he didn’t think of you at all.

He was there the next night too.

Oh.

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#frank castle #slow burn #pining #a secret third thing

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bunkerlotus · 4 months ago

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In Silence chapter 0

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First chapter/prologue is complete for In Silence! Please let me know what you think and leave any recs on formatting. Im still pretty new to posting any of my writing lol.

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The first encounter of the stoic burly man happened in the dead of night. In the city that never sleeps, the gentle hum of the running dryers echoed in the basement of the building, muffling the sounds of creaking floorboards and indistinct words. The building itself was old, and probably nowhere near up to code but it was affordable enough for the small studio you came home to. A radio murmured in the corner of the laundry room, some sort of late night 80s music purring into the night. The analog clock above the door to the laundry room read sometime after 3 am at a quick glance, just as a figure loomed in the doorway before walking in.

You had seen him around the building once or twice in the last few months, the newest neighbor on the fourth floor. Your apartment was at the end of the hall of the fourth floor, nestled between his apartment and the one of the older couple who always had their tv on. As he made his way to the closest available washer, your eyes met from your position seated on top of an empty dryer, the book in hand momentarily forgotten. A charged tension hung in the air for a fleeting moment, before an exchanged tight lipped smile and nod of acknowledgement soothed the air. Your gaze returns to the faded book in your hands.

After a moment of clothes shuffling, machines whirring to life, you heard the squeak of the wooden chairs around the small table in the corner. Your eyes flitted up again to the silent man who was hunched over in the chair. This time, his intense eyes were elsewhere, giving you a moment to observe him in the dim flickered lighting. Even for someone who kept to himself, he seemed to fill the entire room. The energy around him seemed spiked, rigid with something you couldn't quite understand. Perhaps there was no understanding of a man like him. Even as he stared down at nothing, his eyes distant, his face remained as it was. Stoic and vague, something stern and weathered.

Darkness rimmed his eyes, an exhaustion you knew well. The necessity of sleep, and the lack of appetite for it. His fatigue seemed to enclose him, a deep sense of listlessness in the slum of his shoulders and the intermittent deep exhale that pushed from his lips.

You stayed as you were for a moment, perched atop a silent dryer as one hummed with life next to you. One leg tucked under you as the other hung over the edge, too far off the ground to scrape across the dusted concrete. You should look away. It was impolite to stare down some man you haven’t truly met, even if he was your neighbor. Even if in the late hours of the night there was no one else and there wouldn’t be. There never was anyone. It was part of the reason you always chose to do laundry here and now. Thursdays, at 3 in the morning when all seemed hushed and the effervescence of the city above just seemed… distant. In a way, even with him here in the same room, all you could feel was an echo of that very distance. Here, but not truly. Perhaps it was for the best.

His eyes met yours once again, and yet, you could not find it in yourself to find shame in the intensity of your gaze. Could not find it to look away. The intensity of his gaze felt all-consuming, a deer struck by headlights. It wasn’t just a stare, but an assessment, observation, something that clawed at your chest. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find. For a moment, his rigid frame relaxed and he leaned back into the chair, as it seemed to groan in protest. He held your gaze still, though it felt different than it had before.

Something new sparked in the almost silence. A curiosity.

The ever constant thrum of the machines seemed to fill the space with a sense of familiarity. You didn’t want to look away. And for some unknown reason, he didn’t either. The trance broke, as the dyer chimed next to you. Your head snapped to the clock ticking away above the door, a quarter past 4.

Oh.

The time had felt frozen, resolute in that single moment. But the time had slipped past in your scrutiny of the rugged man from apartment 4B. Your clothes felt too warm in your hands as finally, an embarrassed flush licked up your spine. The laundry room felt far too small for the strangeness that lingered in the air. In your mind's eye, you prayed he had looked away when you had, had taken no notice of the burn to your ears to the blundering movements of your hands. However, you knew he hadn’t turned his gaze. You could feel it linger, even as you gathered your clothes and left the room in silence.

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Heavily Inspired by @agirlcandream84 lovely neighbor!frank castle, and @wolvietxt fic Late Night Laundromat

They are both sooo talented!

If anyone knows how i can link the fic directly pls let me know!

#frank castle #neighbor frank castle #slow burn #pining #not romantic not platonic but a third secret thing #frank castle x reader #burly frank castle

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bunkerlotus · 4 months ago

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Prologue Preview

Chapter 0 - The beginning

Something new sparked in the almost silence. A curiosity.

The ever constant thrum of the machines seemed to fill the space with a sense of familiarity. You didn’t want to look away.

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This was heavily inspired by @agirlcandream84 's vers of neighbor frank castle, and @wolvietxt 's fic Late Night Laundromat

idk how to link fics but these ones are amazing! I believe they are in their masterlists

#frank castle #neighbor!frank castle #slow burn #frankcastle

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