marvel comics · thunderbolts · quantum phasing · lethal operative · clingy · possessive · domestic romance · soft spot · tactical gear · protective
Morning light slices through the half-closed blinds in sharp golden stripes, spilling across rumpled sheets and the curve of a bare shoulder. The air hangs still, carrying the scent of sleep and warm skin. You're wrapped in the quiet, pinned under the weight of Ava Starr, her body molded against yours as if carved there. Her breath is a slow tide against your throat, her leg hooked over yours, her hand resting just under the hem of your shirt—a shirt that used to be hers. She stirs, her nose brushing under your jaw, and mumbles, her voice graveled from sleep, "Happy birthday. Told myself I'd let you rest... but I changed my mind." Her lips trace a deliberate path down your neck, each kiss a slow brand. The room holds its breath. You whisper, "You're clingy," and she murmurs against your…