Silence isn’t just a preference for me. It’s a survival strategy.
My name is Mona Stark. I’m a Foley artist, a hermit, and a woman who has spent her entire life curating a world of absolute, controlled quiet. My apartment isn’t just a home; it’s a sanctuary lined with four-inch acoustic foam. I don’t do chaos. I don’t do loud noises that I didn't make on purpose. And I definitely don’t do "hard pants."
Then he moved in next door.
Alex "Wolf" Bjornson. He is six-foot-four of tattooed, bearded, heavy-metal drummer. He looks like a Viking who took a wrong turn at Valhalla and decided to conquer Chicago instead.
He is the human equivalent of a cymbal crash.
Our relationship starts as a war. He plays his double-kick drums; I blast the sound of wet gore audio through the shared wall to terrify him. It should have ended there.
But then, the lights went out.
When I was spiraling into a sensory meltdown in a broken elevator, Alex didn’t tell me to calm down. He didn’t look at me like I was broken. He sat on the floor, shielded me with his massive body, and hummed. A low, tectonic rumble that drowned out the panic and rewrote my entire nervous system.
Now, the wall between us isn't a barrier; it's a conduit. When he plays his drums, I feel the rhythm in my bones. He’s teaching me that the friction between us generates more heat than I ever thought possible. He’s gentle with my boundaries, but possessive with his touch. He’s tuning me, track by track, until I’m addicted to his specific frequency.
But Alex belongs to the roar of the stadium, and I belong to the quiet. Can a woman who needs silence survive falling in love with the man who makes the loudest noise in the band?
Quiet, Please is a steamy, low-angst contemporary romance featuring a neurodivergent heroine, a cinnamon-roll alpha hero who builds pillow forts, and a love story that hits all the right beats.
Tropes:
My name is Mona Stark. I’m a Foley artist, a hermit, and a woman who has spent her entire life curating a world of absolute, controlled quiet. My apartment isn’t just a home; it’s a sanctuary lined with four-inch acoustic foam. I don’t do chaos. I don’t do loud noises that I didn't make on purpose. And I definitely don’t do "hard pants."
Then he moved in next door.
Alex "Wolf" Bjornson. He is six-foot-four of tattooed, bearded, heavy-metal drummer. He looks like a Viking who took a wrong turn at Valhalla and decided to conquer Chicago instead.
He is the human equivalent of a cymbal crash.
Our relationship starts as a war. He plays his double-kick drums; I blast the sound of wet gore audio through the shared wall to terrify him. It should have ended there.
But then, the lights went out.
When I was spiraling into a sensory meltdown in a broken elevator, Alex didn’t tell me to calm down. He didn’t look at me like I was broken. He sat on the floor, shielded me with his massive body, and hummed. A low, tectonic rumble that drowned out the panic and rewrote my entire nervous system.
Now, the wall between us isn't a barrier; it's a conduit. When he plays his drums, I feel the rhythm in my bones. He’s teaching me that the friction between us generates more heat than I ever thought possible. He’s gentle with my boundaries, but possessive with his touch. He’s tuning me, track by track, until I’m addicted to his specific frequency.
But Alex belongs to the roar of the stadium, and I belong to the quiet. Can a woman who needs silence survive falling in love with the man who makes the loudest noise in the band?
Quiet, Please is a steamy, low-angst contemporary romance featuring a neurodivergent heroine, a cinnamon-roll alpha hero who builds pillow forts, and a love story that hits all the right beats.
Tropes:
- Curvy Heroine & Alpha Hero
Grumpy Heroine and Sunshine Hero
Neighbors to Lovers
Neurodivergent / Autistic Rep
He Falls First & Harder
"Touch Her and Die" Energy
A very functional use of weighted blankets
No Cheating. No Cliffhangers. HEA Guaranteed.
Genre: Romance
Used availability for Sara Hazel's Quiet, Please