Bad Habit - {Eddie Munson x y/n}

Robin 'Blabber Mouth' Buckley

The insistent banging at your front door rouses you from your long afternoon nap, groggy and disoriented. Eddie's head still lays as heavy as lead on your chest, using your breasts as a pillow, a string of drool attaches his lips to your clammy skin. You groan, followed by a long yawn, when the rhythmic tapping at the door gets even louder and even more annoying. You try to sit up, but Eddies weight pins you to the bed.

"Eddie," you grumble, your voice still thick with sleep, "Eds, you gotta move, someone's at the door," you tell him, pushing his head off of your bare chest so you can sit up.
"Hmmm," he groans in protest at you as his head hits the bed instead of your pillowy breasts that he was really enjoying taking a nap on. Your chest is damp and sticky, a mixture of sweat from the heat of his skin on yours and his deep sleep drooling.

You pull your sweatpants up your legs and throw Eddie's tee over your nude body, before slipping your feet into a pair of fluffy socks. You walk to the front door on shaky legs, still aching from your afternoon endeavours with Eddie and also still not fully awake yet.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" You call out to whoever is banging consistently on your front door. You would've thought they'd of gotten the point and assumed you weren't home and left, clearly not.

*BANG BANG BANG*

"Jesus, alright!" You shout, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you unlock the door and swing it open, only to be met with Steve - armed with a bag stuffed full of snacks and drinks, and Robin - clutching a stack of movies to her chest.
"Goddamn girl, you look hungover as hell." Robin scoffs as she barges her way into your home, almost treading on your toes.

"Hello to you too." You roll your eyes at her as she heads straight down the hallway towards your lounge.
"She's kinda right," Steve cringes, "you look like the walking dead." He teases you with a hand on your shoulder as you move aside to let him in.
"Wow, you guys are just such great friends," you smile sarcastically as he passes you and you close the door behind him. You follow after Steve and Robin where they make themselves at home upon your sofa in the lounge, kicking their shoes off.

"Need I remind you that we did in fact consume way too much tequila last night," you scrunch your eyes closed as you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue again just at the mention of it, "so yeah I am hungover as hell."
"Well it's like," Robin begins and then checks the watch strapped to her wrist, "it's 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I thought you'd be more lively by now but you look like you've just woken from a coma."
"I have just woken," you tell her as you watch her eyeing the snacks that Eddie had left out on the coffee table earlier today, "not from a coma, from a nap, which you rudely interrupted." You stick your tongue out at and screw your face in faux anger.

Steve jumps up and heads into your kitchen, he clatters around and then reappears with three tall glasses of ice his hand, he places them onto the coffee table before cracking open a bottle of soda, dividing it between the three glasses.
"Hangover cure in a bottle," he says as he replaces the cap and hands you a glass. You sip the juice, savouring the cool fizz on your tongue, it awakens you a little further.

He's right, it might not have cured your hangover entirely, but it's definitely cured your dry mouth and languid mind.
"Thanks Doctor Steve, I appreciate it," you smile and chuckle softly at him over your glass as he throws himself back onto the sofa beside Robin, "you'll need another glass though." You inform him.
"Huh?" He says with a scrunched brow. You walk through to the kitchen and retrieve another glass of ice, filling it with soda right to the brim.

"Someone else is here?" Robin quizzes you quietly, looking just as confused as Steve as they glance at each other before their eyes settle on you.
"Who's here?" Steve whispers, softly shaking his head with confusion, a strand of hair falls into his face but is quickly reinstated by his hand. His face is screwed up in an almost worrying look, his eyes are traced on yours and his brow is twisted uncomfortably.
"It's Tom Cruise of course," you joke but they still look puzzled, you tut and scoff at them. Who the hell do they think you've invited back to your apartment, surely they can guess? Surely they don't think you pulled a random stranger into bed with you on the walk from Gabriel's car to your front door? Surely they don't think you'd have any man except your boyfriend in your apartment?