#sitcom caps

[that70sshowgoldencouple]

The expressions on both Red and Kitty's faces in that last image 🤣🤣

Season 6, Episode 25: The Seeker

[undermyellowumbrella]

[that90sshowgoldencouple]

Don't get me wrong, I LOVED seeing Eric and the gang but the appearance I was most excited to see may very well have been Bob. Seeing him with Red and Kitty again was perfect! Wouldn't have been the same without a reunion of these three!

[rhombiee]

New muse (Uncle Jesse screen caps) got that 90s swag (comfort rewatch of Full House)

Bonus colorized! (My ENEMY)

[natbplease]

hatred and contempt and wrath and malice is stored in the last five minutes of how i met your mother

[severalowls]

Hey why is fucking Friends trending on tumblr dot com? Why is Chandler trending in 2023? Are zoomers getting into the white middle class fantasy wank show? Are is it this website's secret over-40s demographic showing up?

[cutecapybarapics]

[fates-theysband]

"rolan deep isn't kissable he's literally a bug" YOU FOOL!!!! YOU FUCKING BUFFOON!!!! AS IF THE MAIN REASON TO KISS HIM WASN'T HIS FUCKING MODERN-DAY CHANGELING IDENTITY CRISIS SWAG!!! THE BUG THING IS A CHARM POINT!!!!

[vodkamademedoit]

Me four!

The Golden Girls - 2.02 - Ladies of the Evening

[lovebugism]

smutty requests you say... maybe eddie x reader fooling around secretly, while wayne's home? so like a little exhibitionism kink?

i'm just now realizing i totally misread the prompt so pls forgive me anon, i'll happily write a part 2 to this if u want!! — the first time uncle wayne catches you and eddie in the act™ (established relationship, inspired by this universe, smut 18+ | 1.3k)

“Alright. I’m headed out,” Wayne announces in a gravelly drawl, huffing as he rises from his creaking recliner. His work boots sound heavy on the worn carpet as he trudges towards the front door, closer to a wretched and unavoidable graveyard shift. His old bones are weighed down by a preemptive dread and a homemade meal you cooked with him in mind.

Eddie feels bad for being so happy to see him leave.

“Have fun,” the boy lilts playfully from where he’s sprawled along the couch, smiling wide with his head tilted to his shoulder.

Wayne grumbles vaguely in response.

“Bye, Mr. Munson,” you grin more sincerely than the boy beside you.

The man flashes you a mere hint of a grin, which is a whole lot more than most people get these days. He pulls a worn baseball cap over his balding head and nods once in your direction. “Bye, sweetpea,” he responds in his usual gritty and melodic Southern cadence.

The rusted hinges of the screen door squeal open and shut behind him. A wintery breeze billows in, briefly piercing the heated trailer and biting at Eddie’s burning skin. 

You idle on the other side of the couch, with your eyes drawn to the sitcom playing in static colors ahead of you — unaware of your boy’s building desire and far too distant for his liking. Eddie marvels at your profile, unabashed and boyish, and waits for the perfect moment to strike.

He hears Wayne’s truck door close with a muffled thud. The ignition rattles for a moment, then roars when amber headlights shine suddenly through the sheer curtains. Eddie waits until he hears the tires crunch against the gravel drive before he pounces on you, like unsuspecting prey to a predator of unbridled longing.

You squeal when his mouth locks suddenly with your pulse, warm and wet on your unkissed skin. He wraps you in his arms like he intends to smother you against him. You swear you can feel his heart racing against your shoulder. His tongue darts along the most sensitive spot on your neck, and your head tips back with an airy laugh.

“What?” Eddie mumbles, muffled into your skin.

“Nothing,” you giggle. “Just thought you’d last longer than that.”

“Hm. Feel like I’ve heard that one before.”

“Shut up,” you gripe, but pull him impossibly closer just the same.

You bury your nose in his wild curls, inhaling the sweet scent of his conditioner and the subtle skunky smell of weed. He mouths at your neck with an intentional sloppiness that makes your eyes flutter.

Eddie grumbles a moan against your skin, which you feel in little tingles in the pit of your stomach. “You taste good,” the boy observes mindlessly into your pulse.

“I taste like sweat,” you scoff against his temple. “I still need to shower.”

“What’s the point? You’re just gonna get dirty again.”

Eddie pulls away with a soft smack. His lips are rosy and softly swollen as they curl into a grin. His chocolate eyes swim with mischief as yours narrow into a squint. “You’re such a boy,” you deadpan.

“Just love you,” the boy shrugs. “That’s all.”

You’re grateful when his lips finally meet yours. You’re only able to breathe when he’s kissing you, in a heavy exhale through your nose that fans along his cupid’s bow. He licks into your mouth tasting like a homecooked meal and nicotine and boy. Something foreign and nostalgic and tender. You melt into him accordingly. 

When he urges you to lay back against the couch, you let him. You cradle his face in your hands to keep him close as he props himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you despite his efforts to kiss the breath from your lungs. His weight is a comforting one anyway — body warm and lean and pleasantly heavy on top of yours.

You forget to take another breath until Eddie pulls away. You inhale deeply, lungs grateful for air, as the boy’s mouth treks down your jaw.

He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your neck and collarbone, spit cooling and drying again on your skin. Goosebumps pebble in their wake, while his hand slides down your stomach.

His fingertips creep into the waistline of your pajama pants, perhaps a fruitless distraction from the lovebite he sucks just below your jaw. It’s a burning sensation of his teeth, followed by a warmer, more pleasant one as his tongue smooths over the bite.

“What are you? A vampire?” you giggle, fingers twisting in his hair.

You feel his smile curl into your neck. “Maybe,” he quips.

“I have to go leave eventually. You know that, right? And my roommates will freak if they see a hickey.”

Eddie whines between his kisses. “No, you don’t,” he insists with an audible frown. “Why can’t you just stay here forever?”

“Even if I wanted to, Wayne would still see. And that would be equally as horrifying.”

“He won’t be back until morning,” Eddie argues, punctuated by his teeth scraping your pulse. “It’ll be faded by then. Probably.” He licks over the bite and pulls away, peering down at you with a mischievous leer. “Unless… You want me to stop?” he offers in a sarcastic lilt.

You squirm under his gaze. “No…” you answer sheepishly.

He grins. “Then stop complaining, sweet thing.”

“Eddie,” you scold when the boy ducks down again, continuing his assault on your delicate skin, though you make no further attempt to stop him.

His kisses grow wetter and warmer and more languid as his hand travels down down down. A breathy moan catches in your throat when his calloused palm cups your bare pussy.

The damp, velvet feeling of you makes Eddie’s eyes widen. He didn’t know you’d be naked down there. He might’ve been more careful about it if he had.

“Shit,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you squeak, face swirled apologetically.

Eddie pulls away again, head spinning as he stares down at you with heavy eyes. “No— Don’t— Don’t apologize for that shit, are you kidding?” he stammers, then laughs at how sorrowful you look. Like this could ever be a bad thing. “It’s hot.”

You smile sheepishly. “I’m just running out of clean clothes. That’s why I had to do the laundry today.”

“Well, next time, I’m just gonna lock the door to the washer,” Eddie retorts playfully. “So then you have to walk around naked.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a boy,” you repeat, right before you drag him down by his shoulders to swallow him in another kiss.

You lick into his mouth only to find that his hand had never wavered. He cups you delicately there still, and creeps his middle finger between your satiny folds. 

Your hips buck on instinct. His palm bumps your clit. Your moans entwine in a kiss.

The screen door opens again with another grating screech. You and Eddie part instantly, swollen mouths smacking as your heads turn in sync.

Wayne stills in the doorway, weathered face swirled in horror. Neither of you move for several long moments — like, if you stay still, you’ll turn invisible somehow.

“Really?” Wayne huffs. “On the couch?”

Eddie’s wide eyes dart awkwardly. “What are you doing here?” he wonders breathlessly, still on top of you and still with his hand down your pants.

“Forgot my damn wallet.” Wayne keeps his gaze averted as he trudges to the tiny, square dining table by the window. He tucks the leather billfold into the pocket of his navy jumpsuit and promptly returns the way he came.

You and Eddie spare a wordless look of horror between you in the meanwhile.

“Do it in a bed next time, alright?” Wayne advises from the doorway with his back facing you. The rusted door creaks open and, just before it shuts behind him, you hear him shout. “And use protection!”

[celestialprincesse]

Since ur taking requests… could I request this please? It’s okay if you don’t want to do it :)!!

Fluff!! 141tf trying to communicate with a new addition.. cause she doesn’t speak English as a first language.

Simon trying his hardest to be less sarcastic and damp his dry humor a bit so it doesn’t come off as scary or confusing to her, or soap doing that thing where he speaks slowly to get his point over. Gaz learning slangs and her language cause he’s a sweetheart fr and price already knows her language and she’s her bestie now.

<3

𐙚⋆°.

You'd only been called in to help TF141 as backup, a less conspicuous translator intended to help gather information on a covert mission - a quick in and out. Simple enough, right?

Simple enough, if any of them had a basic understanding of any language besides English. You know enough, but it can only get you so far.

Currently, you're sat in the common area, a pair of headphones smushed in your ears as you occupy yourself with an episode of 'Friday Night Dinners' - Laswell had suggested watching what she described as 'quintessential English telly' to get a better grip on the humour you were sorely lacking in an understanding of.

In fact, you're so immersed, and actually entertained, by the sitcom, that you don't notice a gruff "brew?" coming from Simon's general direction by the kettle.

"Oh, pardon?" You question, noting the way Soap's lips curl into an amused smile at your propriety, and Simon forgetting that most of his phrases and slang wouldn't be understood outside of a Manchester pub, let alone England.

"Cup of tea." Price cuts in, seeing the way your brows furrow with confusion, and slight disappointment at feeling left out, all of them bonded by their shared language - all but you.

"She'll have a builders, one sugar, splash of milk." The captain grunts in Simon's general direction, somehow having memorised the way you take your tea, and recited it before you can even get a word out. Honestly, you don't even like English tea that much, but you'd copied the way Gaz made his tea on the first day you'd arrived here, and made a habit of it since.

"Actually, I bought some herbal." He chirps up from the corner, taking off his cap to run a hand across the tight coils of his hair before replacing the union jack accessory. "Trying to cut back on caffeine." Gaz lies, not wanting you to feel like any more of a fish out of water. He's seen the way you'd scowled upon first arriving at the barracks to find the only drinks available being in the heavily caffeinated genre.

Despite their grasp on your language being far from fluent, they're trying in the ways they know how, and that's enough for you.

𐙚⋆°.

[that70sshowgoldencouple]

I mean Leo wasn’t that far off this time

Season 3, Episode 3: Hyde’s Dad

[booksandchainmail]

continuing my read of Anne Lister's diaries, now up to 1820 (part 1 here).

It has to be incredibly awkward at these houseparties where Anne has had liaisons with multiple women there, but I'm given to understand this is also how modern lesbian socializing works

It gets brought up that the only thing preventing Anne and Mariana from living together (at least in retrospect) was money, with Anne needing to be able to provide ~30 pounds a year for Mariana, which sheds a new light on how focused Anne is on her financials and potential inheritance

Class keeps coming up! Mariana would be okayish with Anne having a lowerclass girl on the side, but not someone in their social circles

Notably Anne did not encode this passage: "Sat up lovemaking, she conjuring me to be faithful, to consider myself as married, & always to act to other women as if I was M---'s husband." And from then on she does! They talk it over a bit more through the next few days, and from then Anne focuses on how in time they may live together, and refers to Mariana as her wife

Mariana's later letters also reflect this: "I shall not lose you, my husband, shall I? Oh, no, no. You will not, cannot, forget I am your constant, faithful, your affectionate wife."

It is noted again that Anne has a gentleman's manners towards other women, and there's a bit where a woman stops to visit Mariana and says that other girls are scared of Anne, particularly citing her "deep-toned voice as very singular"

"Yet my manners are certainly peculiar, not at all masculine but rather softly gentleman-like. I know how to please girls." No one every accused Anne Lister of lacking self-confidence! Also, interesting to see the Takarazuka-style butch ethos of "woman who is better at being a man then men are" already present here.

"Musing on the subject of being my own master. Of going to Buxton in my own carriage with a man & a maidservant. Meeting with a elegant girl of family & fortune; paying her attention;taking her to see Castleton; staying all night; having a double bedroom; gaining her affections, etc. Mused on all this but did not let it lead to anything worse."

one of Anne's acquaintances mentions a local cook/housekeeper, Mrs Ruspin, who after several years "turn[ed] out to be a man", and then eloped to London with the housemaid and opened a shop

The most common word in this book is probably vulgar. Anne thinks everyone is vulgar: her neighbors, her family, random townsfolk, girls she's flirting with...

We now come to the house party from sitcom-hell: present are Anne Lister, Isabella (her longterm ex who she's trying to extricate herself from), Isabella's sister Charlotte, Nantz (the sister of Anne's wife, who Anne had a brief fling with), Nantz's sister Harriet, and Miss Vallance (new and pretty).

I truly cannot summarize the amount of fuckery going on in this section. Anne spends every evening hanging out for a bit in someone's bedroom, then she'll switch rooms and whoever the new room belongs too will pout about her having been somewhere else beforehand. Anne is paying a lot of attention to Miss Vallance, Isabella and Nantz are jealous, Anne is trying to console Isabella without changing any of her behavior, Charlotte is indignant on Isabella's behalf, Anne is half-heartedly and smugly sleeping with Nantz, etc

And of course Anne caps this off by starting to flirt with Harriet, meaning that she has now hit on all four of her wife's sisters

[brainddeadd]

Could you write something about Luke Hughes with his basic little hockey fashion sense and fashion student reader who dresses like Fran Fine from the nanny? Like it’s just she looks like she could slot perfectly into an 80s movie and he looks like he just left the gym

Luke Hughes was always the type to keep things simple. A hoodie, a team-branded tee, maybe a hat on game days. He was practical. His wardrobe consisted of things he could wear from the gym to a quick dinner out, and his idea of fashion usually boiled down to whatever was comfortable.

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were a walking time capsule of 80s glam, a bold burst of color and style that could have fit seamlessly into an old sitcom. The kind of outfits that Fran Fine from The Nanny would give a nod of approval to. Animal prints, shoulder pads, bright tights, oversized belts, and sky-high heels were your go-tos. Every day was a new fashion statement — not that it bothered Luke. If anything, he loved it.

But that didn’t stop him from poking fun sometimes.

You came strutting into his apartment one afternoon, sporting a leopard-print blazer, a matching mini skirt, and towering black heels that made you seem like you were stepping straight out of an 80s movie set.

Luke glanced up from the couch, dressed in a simple hoodie, sweats, and a backwards cap. He couldn’t help but laugh, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Going somewhere important, babe? Or did I miss the theme party?”

You placed your hands on your hips, spinning around with a wink. “Not everyone can pull off the ‘I-just-rolled-out-of-the-gym’ look like you, Hughes.”

He chuckled, standing up to meet you at the kitchen counter. “Hey, comfort’s key,” he teased, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. “But seriously, you look great. I don’t know how you walk in those heels, though.”

You grinned, reaching up to straighten his hat. “That’s because I have style, baby. You should try it sometime.”

“Style, huh?” Luke raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his usual get-up. “I mean, this hoodie’s a classic.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in one of my outfits.”

He leaned in closer, smirking. “I could pull off the leopard print if I wanted to.”

Your eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh, I dare you, Luke.”

You both knew he wouldn’t actually go through with it, but the thought of Luke Hughes in one of your loud, bold outfits sent you into a fit of laughter. Despite the contrast in your styles, you wouldn’t change a thing. You loved that he was so laid-back while you pushed every fashion boundary there was.

Luke smiled at the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, and though you teased each other constantly, he adored the confidence with which you owned your style. And to be fair, even in his simple sweats, he had a charm about him that was hard to ignore.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “Alright, fashion icon, you win this one. But someday, I’m gonna surprise you. Just wait. Maybe I’ll show up to a game in some neon pink or a tiger-striped jacket. We’ll see who’s got the better style then.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Can’t wait to see that.”

But as you both laughed and leaned into each other, you knew that regardless of what either of you wore, you fit together perfectly — even if he looked like he just left the gym, and you looked like you were about to make a cameo in an 80s sitcom.

[thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos]

Random Turtle HCs

Based on the Bayverse turts, guys are 25+ SFW

-Donnie listens to 70s/80s funk jams in the lab. Anything with a groovy beat helps keep him focused on his tasks, but sometimes he subconsciously starts dancing when his favorite songs come on the speakers. Mikey caught him once, and he's never heard the end of it.

-When they were tweens Mikey got Raph into animes like Dragonball Z and Bleach. It was something they both really got excited about when the re-runs would come on tv. As they get older, both guys still watch it together for a lil brother bonding time. They're currently binging Jujustu Kaisen and One Punch Man. Donnie will sometimes watch an episode or two with them, but he never really got into it. Leo makes fun of Mikey and Raph for liking such bro-y shows, but secretly watches shojo/shonen animes like Fruits Basket or Oran Host Club. He's re-watching Inuyasha right now (for the third time). He would die of embarrassment if his brothers found out (Donnie knows).

-After seriously pulling a muscle a few years ago, Leo got really into massage therapy. He did a bunch of research on physical therapy and different massage techniques, and figured out how to marry the two ideas so he could help out when his brothers inevitably hurt themselves. Cough *Mikey* Cough.

-Speaking of which, Mikey is literally always hurting himself. He's not clumsy, he's just a wild dude who tends to overestimate the capabilities of his board. He's smacked into the side of a building more times than his brothers can count.

-Raph has a tendency to yap in the weight room. He's serious about working out, but if one of his brothers comes in to work in with him, he'll get reeeaal chatty. It's just the space he feels most comfortable and open, where his walls come down. Mikey doesn't mind, but it bugs the crap out of Leo.

-Donnie has to be dragged to the weight room to lift weights. Leo insists on it, and even gave him a perfectly tailored workout plan, but Donnie will make up every excuse to not go. He's never been able to build muscle like his brothers, and they know that, but Leo still wants him to continue strength training. Once as a teen, he was tossed over Raph's shoulder and brought in. Raph got away mostly unscathed.

-Leo writes Star trek and Battlestar Galactica fanfic. No, I will not elaborate.

-Mikey has been teaching Splinter new slang words, mostly to irritate Leo. The other night at dinner he used "no cap" in a sentence, and Leo got up and left the table. Mikey was cackling.

-Donnie swears. A lot. Raph and Mikey do too, but Don is real bad. Leo tries not to, out of respect and in the name of good manners, but if he gets heated in a videogame against Mikey, watch out.

-Mikey struggles with depression, but uses his sense of humor to cope. His jokes occasionally border on self-depreciating, which is a heads up to his brothers that he's not doing great. They take camping trips or plan fun days to help him out of the funk.

-Leo is the biggest flirt in the world. He doesn't realize he's doing it sometimes, until his victims are more blush than person and a puddle on the floor.

-Donnie is incredibly sassy. Like 1000%. He loved sitcom shows like The Golden Girls growing up, and learned how to deliver absolutely fatal comebacks with ease. He doesn't strike to kill unless he's annoyed, usually.

-Raph loves to sing. Like actually loves it. He won't sing for his brothers, but if you follow him on nights when he sneaks off, he goes to abandoned warehouses for the acoustics. Raph has a beautiful voice, with a little rasp to it, and he likes the way it echoes off the rafters. He usually sings along with 90s/2000s r&b, but sometimes will pull out some classic rock ballads. He's been singing Because of You by Ne-yo the past few nights.

-When Mikey discovers a new artist that he likes, the whole lair knows. He plays the music on full blast, going through the full discography. Donnie usually has to threaten to disconnect the wifi before he'll turn it down. His newest fixation was the Silk Sonic album.

-All the brothers' music tastes are influenced by each other. Raph listens to Rap, Leo likes R&B, Mikey's into Hip Hop, and Donnie's music is soup (there's a bit of literally everything). They all share music with each other, adding to the queue when they're in the garbage truck. The only consensus is that country sucks.

tags: @thelaundrybitch, @sophiacloud28

let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

[urhoneycombwitch]

plan b

husky!neighbor!Eddie x neighbor!Reader

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers used), embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.