5 Works by blondiest
Listing Works
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Summary
“Hi,” Eddie greets the man, “My— uh, my wife and I want to look at some rings. We, uh, just eloped.”
The guy nods wordlessly and pulls out a shoebox from under the counter, sliding it across the surface for Eddie to dig through. It doesn’t take too long to narrow down the options— he finds one that fits him, a plain silver band, almost immediately, then turns to call Chrissy over. His breath catches in his throat.
She’s a vision, an angel in light-wash denim and white Reeboks, illuminated by the late-afternoon sun streaming through the windows, the golden rays flashing through the dusty air. She turns a Polaroid camera over in her hands, expression almost longing as she inspects it.
“Chrissy,” he finally manages to say. She looks up, big pretty eyes on him. “Wanna come try on rings?”
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on indefinite hiatus
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Summary
Right there, on the ugliest rust-orange sofa to make it out of the seventies, is the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking world. She’s still in her wedding gown, one that would look ridiculous on anyone but her— big, puffy sleeves, beaded bodice, lace goddamn everywhere. Her cheeks are streaked with mascara, pink lipstick just slightly smeared, and—
She’s looking right at him.
“Eddie,” she says, and he remembers with a jolt that he’s just standing there in the doorway while his roommate and the love of his life and some random guy all stare at him.
"Fuck," he breathes, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut behind him. "Hey, Chrissy."
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“Eddie,” she murmurs. He can feel her lips move against his jaw and it’s intoxicating. Being this attracted to someone should be — illegal. Or something. God, he can't even think with her this close. He barely manages to reply at all, and when he does, his voice sounds all wrong, ragged and crackled.
“Y— yeah, Chrissy?”
Her breath tickles as she exhales. She’s getting lower now, peppering kisses down his throat until she settles at the nape of his neck. Her fingers intertwine with his curls, her nails scraping against his scalp.
He can’t even pretend to keep his composure. He’s under her thumb, willingly and willfully. She could ask for anything and he’d bust his ass to give it to her.
Christ, is he that far gone already? The sound he makes is broken, a little desperate, gasping, and does not help his case.
“Can I have just a little taste?”
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The first thing she notices is that she’s swaying with the music, really feeling the rhythm, relishing the sound of the bass and the melody of the synthesizer. A giggle bubbles up in her, and she throws a hand over her mouth, beaming through her fingers.
“Eddie,” she says, giddy. “I’m dancing.”
He gives her a grin, looking up from his guitar. He’d been plucking along lazily to the track, fiddling with the tuning of the strings here and there.
“So you are, princess.”
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Summary
in which Chrissy works her way through the five languages of love and discovers a sixth along the way— eggs.