#jq

requested! thank you. content: period care, clingy!reader, comfort, domestic softness

you’ve been glued to him all day. not metaphorically. physically.

your arms are wrapped around his torso, cheek pressed to his chest, one leg hooked over his thigh like if you loosen your grip even a little, something bad might happen. you don’t even realize you’re doing it anymore — your body just decided joseph is the safest surface available and settled there.

he doesn’t complain. not once.

he’s stretched out on the couch, one hand holding a book he hasn’t actually read a single page of, the other resting warm and steady on your lower back. every now and then, his fingers move in slow, absent-minded circles, like he’s reminding you he’s still there.

“you comfy?” he asks softly.

you nod against him, a small sound muffled by his shirt. “mhmm.”

your stomach cramps again — sharp this time — and you tighten instantly, clinging harder without thinking. your face buries deeper into him.

he feels it immediately.

“hey, hey,” he murmurs, book abandoned on the coffee table. both arms come around you now, fully. “come here.”

as if you weren’t already as close as humanly possible.

he shifts so you’re half on top of him, half curled into his side, your knees tucked up, heating pad pressed between you and his stomach. his chin rests on the top of your head, breath slow and warm in your hair.

“that one hurt?” he asks.

you nod again, quieter this time. “i feel like a baby.”

he smiles, soft and fond, pressing a kiss into your hair. “you’re allowed.”

you sigh, melting further into him. “i don’t wanna move.”

“good,” he says easily. “you’re not moving.”

you peek up at him, eyes heavy, lashes sticking together just a little. “promise?”

his hand slides up your back, firm and grounding. “promise.”

your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re anchoring yourself to him. “sorry i’m being so clingy.”

he lets out a soft laugh — the gentle kind, not teasing at all. “you’re literally on me,” he says. “and i don’t mind. not even a little.”

“i just… need you,” you admit, voice small.

his expression shifts immediately — softer, more serious. his thumb brushes slow along your spine. “then you get me.” he presses his forehead to yours. “that’s how this works.”

your eyes sting, emotions sitting too close to the surface like they always do on days like this. you blink fast, trying to keep it together.

joseph notices. obviously.

“hey,” he whispers. “no crying alone, okay?”

you let out a weak laugh that breaks halfway through. “i’m not—”

“shh.” he kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your forehead again. “i’ve got you. i’ve got all of you.”

you curl fully into him then, cheek pressed back to his chest, your whole body heavy and trusting. his arms tighten instinctively, holding you like you’re something precious and fragile and completely his responsibility.

he rocks you just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough that your breathing evens out.

“there you go,” he murmurs. “my little koala.”

you huff a sleepy laugh. “don’t call me that.”

he smiles into your hair. “too late.”

you relax completely, limbs slack, body finally unclenching. the cramps don’t disappear — but they soften. the world quiets. your thoughts slow.

and he stays exactly where he is. warm. steady. unmovable. holding you like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

⟢ johnny storm x mutated!reader

⟢ enemies to lovers | slow burn | tragic mutation arc | betrayal themes | doctor doom subplot

Flashpoint (n.)

flash•point

1. the temperature at which something ignites.

2. a moment of ignition, conflict, or irreversible change.

The breach wasn't the beginning-it was the flashpoint, and she's been unraveling ever since.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutation arc

warnings: body horror elements, captivity, restrained movement, power mutation, medical containment, mild panic, enemies-to-allies tension, slow burn romance potential

status: ongoing

word count: ~2,421

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Chapter Two: Subject X-17 — Containment Protocol

You wake to a hum.

It’s not harsh, nothing like the burst of static and shattered glass before. It’s low. Mechanical. Controlled. Like whatever’s outside this cell was built to keep things in.

The air is sterile. Cold, but not like before. This isn’t death curling into your lungs. This is designed chill. Stabilized. Observed.

You blink against the white overhead light, eyes adjusting slowly. The walls around you are smooth, semi-translucent. Reinforced. You shift, and the material under you morphs, softening to relieve pressure where your spine meets the floor. The entire cell is reactive. Alive in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

So you’re not in a hospital.

Not in the Baxter building, either.

You’re contained.

Your wrists and ankles are bound by slim cuffs—lightweight, flexible. But every time you twitch, they tighten slightly. Responsive restraints. Monitoring your movement. Watching for spikes.

You’re not alone.

“…all I’m saying is, this wasn’t part of any projected outcome,” Reed says, voice low but wound tight. His footsteps echo in measured strides just beyond the cell wall, too controlled to be calm. “She wasn’t even on our radar. No signs. No triggers. Nothing.”

On the other side of the room, Johnny leans against the far wall—just out of your line of sight. His voice comes quieter, rougher around the edges. “Yeah, well, maybe we missed something. She didn’t exactly walk in throwing ice bombs.”

“She froze an entire block of the city, Storm.”

There’s a pause. Then a sharp exhale through Johnny’s nose, the sound catching in his throat. “I know. But I don’t think she meant to.”

The silence stretches thin.

“She was unconscious,” Johnny adds, his tone softer now, like it costs something to say. “Half-dead, actually. Whatever happened, she didn’t do it on purpose.”

You hear Reed again—pacing slowly now. Calculating. The weight of his silence says more than his words.

“We still don’t know what she is now,” Reed says eventually, the words clipped like he’s trying not to draw conclusions too early. “Or what she’s capable of. And until we do, she stays under.”

He stops pacing—boots planted firmly on the polished floor, the hum of hidden tech pulsing faintly beneath it.

“When you got there,” Reed asks, “what did you see?”

Johnny shifts—his jacket rustling as he pushes off the wall, arms crossed. You can almost hear the tension in his spine. “Wreckage. Smoke. Frost on the walls. Looked like an experiment gone wrong.”

Reed doesn’t let it sit. “Nothing else? No unusual spikes? Reactions?”

A beat of silence.

“No,” Johnny says, too evenly. “Nothing stood out.”

You’re listening now, eyes slitted open, body heavy with fatigue. That pause doesn’t slip past you. He lied.

But why?

You close your eyes again. The fluorescent haze fades, and you force your mind backward — through the cold, through the rupture, through the dark.

You try to remember.

There was the hum of the containment unit. Coolant lines hissing in the walls. The override button just beneath your hand.

Thompson had laughed, “You’re really gonna push it?”

Then the flicker. The shift. A pull like the air was folding inward.

The siphon.

The moment everything inverted.

You exhale, slow and steady, trying to ground yourself.

The wall in front of you fogs over then… frosts.

You jerk back.

Carefully, you push yourself upright. Your body aches, wrists and ankles still bound, joints stiff with cold.

Another breath escapes you, and the frost deepens, branching out across the glass in thin, icy threads.

You frown.

Raising one hand, you press your palm to the surface.

The chill jumps from your skin like it’s been waiting. Spreading in a quiet, intricate bloom across the barrier.

You watch it crawl outward.

Then look down at your arms.

Your suit’s in tatters, fused to your body in places. The veins beneath your skin glow faintly blue. Steam rises where your skin meets air. You flex your fingers, slow and shaky, like they’re no longer yours.

What happened to me?

No—

What am I now?

The Coldskin trial didn’t fail.

It adapted.

It restructured everything—your cells, your nerves, the way your body holds heat. Like it had been waiting for someone to fuse with.

You weren’t meant to survive.

But you did.

And now your body doesn’t just resist flame.

It erases it.

Outside the cell, Reed’s still talking like he’s already solved the puzzle.

“She must’ve triggered an external energy flare,” he says. “Something reacted with the compound. Probably an unstable voltage surge. Not her.”

You blink slowly.

Expression unreadable. Voice steady.

“That’s not what happened.”

Both men turn toward you.

Reed looks startled, like he forgot you were conscious.

Johnny doesn’t move, he just watches you, eyes fixed.

You sit upright, wrists bound loosely in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles. Breath curls against the glass in slow, steady clouds. The frost along the barrier thickens with every exhale.

Calmly, you tilt your head.

“There was no flare,” you say. “The Coldskin compound wasn’t reactive to external energy. It was engineered to absorb it.”

You glance between them. “It failed because the temperature inside the chamber dropped below viable levels during phase transition. Not a surge. A siphon.”

You pause. Let the words settle.

“The environment didn’t explode outward, it collapsed. Like a vacuum. That’s what triggered the breach.”

Johnny’s brow tightens.

He remembers the cold.

Reed recovers quickly. “The Coldskin Compound: Phase Three,” he mutters, folding his arms. “You were lead on that.”

You nod once. “You’d know more about it if you’d read the clearance files we submitted. Twice.”

He scoffs. “They weren’t approved.”

“They weren’t denied.”

That gives him pause.

“So you conducted it anyway?”

“In a sealed chamber. Monitored. Controlled. Every variable was accounted for.”

You shift upright. The cell’s padding adjusts beneath you. A fine mist curls from your skin where it meets open air.

Your fingers throb. You flex them slowly, watching frost trail in the motion. Then glance down at yourself.

“All but one,” you murmur.

“Me.”

Reed shifts his focus, turning back to Johnny like your words don’t matter. “I’m more concerned about what she was trying to accomplish. That level of molecular embedding—there’s no way this was just about fireproofing.”

You cut in, calm and even. “It was. Actually.”

The silence that follows is sharp. Immediate.

Through the cell wall, Reed’s head turns. Johnny takes a cautious step closer.

You lean back against the wall, expression calm even as the air whitens around you. “Phase Three involved bonding the compound to polymer synthetics during active thermal distress. You heat the material, apply Coldskin, and see if it holds.” You glance between them. “Which it did. Just not to the suit.”

Johnny blinks. “Wait, it bonded to—”

“Me.” You tap your chest once. “Somewhere between one hundred degrees and complete thermal collapse, it skipped the fibers and embedded in my dermis.”

Reed narrows his eyes. “That still doesn’t explain why you tested it without clearance.”

“Because waiting would’ve killed the funding,” you snap. “And I didn’t have ulterior motives, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think running unauthorized human trials counts as a motive?”

You scoff. “I didn’t plan on turning into a mutated freak like you guys.”

The words leave your mouth sharper than you intended. Johnny flinches. Reed doesn’t.

“Noted,” Reed says. Then his comm buzzes. “I have to take this. Don’t touch the glass. Watch her.”

Reed leaves without waiting for a response.

Silence settles like frost.

Johnny doesn’t speak at first, just lingers by the edge of the glass, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket like he’s suddenly not sure what to do with himself.

You shift, testing the restraints again. They give just enough to make you feel caged. Your breath fogs against the glass — shallow, annoyed. Still cold.

“He always that accusatory?”

Your voice comes out calmer than you feel.

Johnny exhales, mouth tugging into something close to a smile. It’s quiet, a breath of relief or amusement, you can’t tell.

“Only when he feels threatened.”

You glance at the door Reed disappeared through. A flicker of something settles under your skin. You don’t know if it’s pride or something uglier.

“So I’m terrifying now.”

Johnny doesn’t answer right away. He leans his shoulder into the frame beside the cell window, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to stay casual — but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s watching you.

“You kind of are,” he says finally.

You meet his eyes.

There’s heat there, not the dangerous kind, but something steadier. It sits low in your chest, unfamiliar. You wonder if he’s searching you the way scientists do: not for danger, but for possibility.

You look away first.

But not before noticing he doesn’t.

It’s not flirtation—yet—but something tugs at the space between you.

Johnny shifts beside the cell wall, his gaze skating over the frost-lined glass before returning to you. His stance changes, a small adjustment, almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He’s edging closer. Like he’s not sure if you’ll snap or disappear.

“Do you remember the experiment?” he asks, voice lower now. Careful.

There’s something in his tone that doesn’t match the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s trying to soften it — trying not to provoke. You narrow your eyes slightly, reading too much into it. Reading everything into it.

Your breath slips out in a slow stream. The glass blooms with frost again.

Your mind clicks into motion like muscle memory. “The experiment was a thermoregulation trial designed to test artificial cold resistance in live tissue,” you say, tone flat, automatic. “The compound was meant to—”

“No—” Johnny lifts a hand, not sharply, but enough to interrupt. He steps closer. “I meant after. The fallout. What you remember right before everything went dark.”

“Not everything.”

You lean your head back against the wall, gaze lifting to the sterile lights above. They blur slightly, haloing in your vision as the memory drags closer. Not linear. Not precise. Just pieces. Sensations.

“The pressure came first,” you murmur. “Heavy. Like the air thickened. Like it was pushing down on my lungs.”

Your breath slips shallow, your chest barely rising. You’re back there again.

“And then the cold.”

A pause.

“But not cold the way I expected. It wasn’t a freeze. Not like frostbite or hypothermia. It was… centered. Contained. Warm, almost.”

You blink slowly, like it still doesn’t make sense. Like part of you is afraid it does.

“It felt like a fire in reverse. Burning inward.”

You look down at your hands resting in your lap. Still bound. Still faintly glowing where the skin hasn’t quite settled. The light pulses, dim, rhythmic. Not heat. Not cold. Just… energy.

“I couldn’t feel the edge of myself anymore. Couldn’t tell where my body ended. Everything blurred. My skin, the floor, the air. Like I was dissolving into it.”

You flex your fingers slightly. Frost spiderwebs across your cuffs.

“Everything cracked,” you continue, voice nearly gone. “The chamber. My ribs. The silence.”

A breath.

“But I wasn’t afraid.”

That’s the part that won’t let go.

“I should have been. But I wasn’t. It felt like…” You hesitate, then say it anyway. “Like I was becoming something.”

Your eyes lift, finally meeting his.

“And then I woke up in here.”

There’s something behind his eyes—hesitation, maybe guilt—but it disappears quickly.

You notice how close he’s gotten. Just outside the frost radius. Arms crossed now. Tense, but not afraid.

“Are you cold? Now?” he asks.

You smile, just barely.

“What—you want to warm me up?”

That catches him. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something cocky—but then he closes it again, laughing under his breath.

“I… can’t,” he admits. “That’s the thing.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. The tension between you shifts, less combative now. Less guarded.

“Because you’d burn me,” you murmur, more thoughtful than teasing. “I’ve always wondered how that works.”

Your eyes narrow, not with suspicion—but calculation. Curiosity. Scientific instinct.

Then, almost to yourself, “If your body heat ever goes unchecked. Like… do you have to regulate it constantly? What happens if you don’t?”

Your gaze flicks to him, curious now, not mocking.

“Have you ever gotten too close to someone and… scorched them? Or do you just know when to stop?”

A slow smile creeps across his face. Not smug. Not flirty. Just… surprised.

“You really think like a scientist, huh?” he says quietly, eyes never leaving you.

He rests a hand lightly against the edge of the glass. It’s subtle, maybe even unconscious, but you notice. The distance isn’t closed, not really. But something about it feels thinner now.

“I’ve burned people before,” he admits, tone softer now. “Not on purpose. But it happens. When I lose control. When I feel too much.”

His gaze flicks to your hands, still faintly bound, still frost-lined.

“Funny thing is—”

A pause.

“I didn’t feel anything when I touched you,” Johnny says. His voice is lower now, like the truth cost something. “Nothing. Like the heat just… vanished.”

He doesn’t say the rest. Doesn’t say you scared the hell out of me.

But it lingers in the air between you anyway.

You lift a brow.

Silence again.

You look at him a little longer this time. More curious than before. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice low. “Huh.”

Your wrists ache. Your breath still frosts the air. But for the first time since you woke up in this cell, you don’t feel entirely alone.

Johnny hasn’t moved. He’s still watching you, like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re a threat, or something else entirely.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says finally.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’d you expect?”

He gives you a lopsided smile. “Something colder.”

You scoff softly. “Give it time.”

Footsteps echo in the hallway before he can reply. Heavy. Purposeful. Reed’s voice, distant.

Johnny straightens. His smile fades. “That’ll be Richards.”

You lean back against the frost-lined wall, gaze fixed on him. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

But he doesn’t move to leave. Not right away.

Instead, he hesitates at the glass, just long enough for you to notice. Long enough to mean something.

Then he turns away.

The door hisses open. You hear Reed mutter something clipped and sharp. Johnny doesn’t respond.

You exhale slowly, watching the cold bloom across the glass again.

Whatever this is—whatever you are now—it’s only beginning.

───

a/n: please be patient with me i write slow burns to be very slow, also i am very new to posting on tumblr — or rather posting my writing in general — and i love hearing feedback !! thank you all for reading, big kisses <3

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⟢ Chapter Three

TAGLIST

(i hope i did this right)