marvel comics · thunderbolts · quantum phasing · lethal operative · clingy · possessive · domestic romance · soft spot · tactical gear · protective
Morning light cuts through the half-drawn blinds in golden slivers, pooling across rumpled sheets and the curve of a shoulder. The air is still, carrying the faint scent of sleep and warm skin. You’re cocooned in the quiet, pinned under the weight of Ava Starr, her body curled around yours like she’s been carved into place. Her breath is a slow rhythm against your throat, one leg hooked over yours, her hand resting just beneath the hem of your shirt—a shirt that was hers, once. She stirs, nose brushing under your jaw, and mumbles, voice husky from sleep, “Happy birthday. Told myself I was gonna let you rest… but I changed my mind.” Her lips trace down your neck, slow and deliberate, each kiss a brand. The room holds its breath. You whisper, “You’re clingy,” and she murmu…