Work Text:
The missions had been relentless—dimension-hopping chaos, villains spilling out of rifts like they were on a schedule.
But finally, for once, downtime had found them.
Johnny, Lie, and Peter slipped into Johnny’s room in the Baxter Building—a space that screamed Johnny Storm in every possible way.
Bright wallpaper in aggressively neon orange. Posters of flashy cars. A cluster of video game consoles wired into a giant plasma screen. A foosball table. Even a rock-climbing wall he barely used but insisted was “part of the aesthetic.”
But none of that held their attention.
No—what the three of them had their eyes set on was the ping pong table.
It had become something of a ritual: whenever they had time, they played. But not just any match. Oh no.
This was a battle of skill, wits, and absolute ridiculousness—played with the dramatic intensity of a wuxia epic.
It hadn’t surprised Johnny to learn Peter was a huge nerd who binged K-dramas and wuxia novels like they were oxygen. After a while of dating, Johnny had found himself getting into them too—though he still liked to poke fun every now and then.
And when Iron Fist joined their multiversal mess, Peter had practically lit up with curiosity. Lin Lie was basically a living wuxia protagonist.
When Lie eventually joined their relationship, he’d thankfully found their obsession amusing rather than offensive—and every now and then, he indulged them.
Like today.
“The Tournament of Eternal Ping,” Lie began, eyes closed, voice calm and reverent, like a seasoned drama narrator. “An ancient table game as old as time.”
“For centuries, it has maintained balance across the Seven Realms of Heaven… where two warriors strike the Jade Sphere of Destiny—” He raised the ping pong ball between two fingers, then pointed to the net. “—across the Barrier Between Worlds.”
“Ohoho… Disciple of the Basement Table…” Peter declared, standing on a chair like it was a mountain peak, his voice dropping into an overly dramatic register. “You dare challenge the Spider Sect?”
“Hmph!” Johnny shot back, gripping his paddle with both hands like a sacred weapon. “I have trained under Master YouTube Tutorial. I know I shall win!”
“Ohoho, bold words, young flame!” Peter hopped down, grinning as he raised his paddle. “Let us see if you survive them!”
They weren’t even doing real accents—just vague, over-the-top voices that drifted wildly between ancient warrior, anime villain, and “guy who watched one subtitled episode at 2 a.m.”
Lie smirked, already on the verge of laughing, but pressed on with his narration.
“Who shall claim victory in this cycle’s match?” he mused, voice wavering slightly between dignity and barely-contained snorts. “We shall soon see.”
From seemingly nowhere, he produced a small gong— stolen borrowed from K’un-Lun.
(The masters would survive. It’s not like they don’t have dozens of them.)
“FIGHT!” Lie struck it with a loud GONG.
Peter opened with an aggressive strike. Johnny returned it with ease.
Lie, utterly unbothered, took a slow sip from one of Johnny’s energy drinks.
“The Spider Disciple begins with reckless enthusiasm,” he narrated calmly. “Tragic.”
“THE WHISPERING DRAGON STRIKES—!” Peter shouted, switching to a soft, precise serve.
Johnny barely returned it. Peter sent it back. Johnny hit it again—harder this time. Then again.
“And his opponent counters with the Ancient Technique of Button-Mashing,” Lie added dryly.
The rally picked up.
“CRANE SLAPS THE NET!”
“SPIDER STYLE—BACKHAND OF DESTINY—!” Peter declared—and promptly missed.
Lie set his drink down with solemn gravity. “A devastating error. His master warned him… yet he did not listen.”
“NOOO—MY ANCESTORS HAVE FAILED ME!” Peter wailed, collapsing to his knees.
“Haha!” Johnny laughed, equal parts amused and smug, as he served again. “Eat this!”
Peter scrambled—and somehow returned it perfectly.
Johnny winced.
“OH?” Lie leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “Has the underestimated one awakened?”
“Hey—whose side are you on?!” Peter demanded, hands on his hips.
Lie smiled serenely. “I narrate only what fate reveals.”
Peter huffed—and then, purely by accident, hit the edge of the table.
Johnny dropped to his knees.
“Impossible… the Forbidden Pong!”
“Truly,” Lie nodded, picking his drink back up, “neither of them trained properly.”
But despite his teasing, a soft smile curved across his lips as he watched them.
Because this—this was them.
Zero shame. Maximum imagination. Turning the dumbest game imaginable into something epic.
That was what he loved about them.
The final rally devolved into chaos—neither backing down, both shouting increasingly absurd techniques as the ball flew back and forth.
Faster.
Messier.
Louder.
Johnny, red-faced and grinning wildly, wound up for a final strike.
“TAKE THIS—ULTIMATE PONG OF HEAVENLY—”
CRACK.
The ball launched off the table.
The paddle… did not stop.
Time seemed to slow.
The paddle spun through the air in a perfect arc, and then—
SMASH.
Window. Gone.
“Ah,” Lie said calmly, not missing a beat. “A forbidden technique. One that trades victory… for consequences.”
Silence.
Peter and Johnny stared at the shattered window—at the cracks spiderwebbing outward, at the gaping hole where glass used to be.
Somewhere in the Baxter Building—
“JOHNNY! What was that?!”
All three froze.
“…My sister has awakened,” Johnny whispered.
Peter was already spiraling.
“Okayokayokay—window equals questions—questions equal grounding—grounding equals no ping pong—”
“Evacuation plan. Now,” Lie said, instantly shifting from narrator to strategist.
They moved.
Fast.
Lie tossed a jacket over the broken window like that would fix anything. Johnny shoved the paddles into a pile of dirty laundry. Peter yanked open the fire escape with practiced urgency.
And somehow, even now, Lie found time to whisper: “The disciples flee the sect… pursued by the Wrathful Susan Storm.”
“I regret nothing,” Johnny grinned, already climbing out.
Footsteps approached. Fast.
“Johnny, MOVE—” Peter hissed, halfway out the window.
They scrambled out just as the door swung open behind them.
Flames flared at Johnny’s boots as he grabbed both of them and took off, carrying them down toward the garage in a streak of heat and light.
They landed a moment later.
Peter exhaled shakily. “Are… are we safe?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said quickly. “Sue hates the garage. Says she can’t stand the smell of gasoline.”
There was a pause.
And then—
Peter started laughing.
Really laughing.
Because somehow, despite everything—despite the multiversal war, the endless fights, the constant danger—they were still just this.
Three idiots who broke a window and ran like kids avoiding getting caught.
And it felt… good.
“Next time,” Peter said between breaths, “we play at my place.”
Lie smirked. “Next time… protective talismans.”
“That too.” Johnny flashed a grin, thumbs up.
Lie chuckled—and slipped effortlessly back into his narrator voice.
“Thus concludes Episode 47. Next week: consequences.”
Johnny laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the garage. And Peter?
Peter was thriving—flustered, happy, and already leaning in with a grin.
“Okay, but next round? You have to do the tragic flashback voice.”
Lie winked. “I’ll consider it.”
And just like that, another chaotic match came to an end—with Peter being ridiculous, Johnny being gloriously over-the-top, and Lie lovingly roasting them both with absolute authority.
All in all, not a bad way to survive the end of the universe.