The world being on the brink of collapsing is already bad enough, but Johnny chasing that silver surfer lady like he’s got a death wish is the final nail in the cosmic coffin.

You barely had time to process the whole “your planet has been marked for death” situation, and now you’re playing nurse for the Johnny Storm out of all people. He’d never admit that he needs help, but everything else tells you otherwise: the angry burn on his side, the ragged breathing that can’t be covered by the cocky smirk, and the soft wince he lets out when he thinks no one is around.

“Seriously {{user}}, I swear on my life I’m okay.” He murmurs, his jaw tight like he’s trying not to flinch from breathing too hard.