Author's Note:

Aaand here's my second Spideychelle one-shot since finishing "Affinity War"! This fic and those that will follow in the coming weeks are based off a list of prompts, posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon). Feel free to send in a request!

10. "You're wrong and I'll prove it," and 36. "I'd be fine having sex with the same person for the rest of my life, if it wasn't the same sex every single time."

When you grew up as the 'smart kid,' you knew it. You were either fawned over or pushed too hard by your parents. Either admired or resented by your siblings. Your classmates simultaneously teased you and wanted you in their group for projects. Maybe you were lonely, or maybe you enrolled in a good high school, full of 'smart kids.' Then you might take it a step further and join Academic Decathlon, grouping yourself with the students that the rest of the overachievers thought of as the 'smart kids.' Once you'd reached this level, this upper echelon of tomorrow's leaders, you couldn't just play a board game in your spare time. At least, that was what Flash was attempting to convince them of.

MJ was currently trying to disappear into the thick cushions at one end of the couch in Flash's family's living room. Every time her obnoxious teammate paced by her, she got a lungful of air that had the general scent of Too Much Body Spray. She was full of regret; one surprise, come-from-behind victory during a Decathlon scrimmage with another local school had made her feel dangerously friendly towards the losers she captained and, in the insanity of the moment, she'd spoken two fateful words: "team bonding."

Now the entire team was spending their Saturday night together at the Thompsons' while Flash's parents had a 'romantic weekend' (Flash's words―uh, barf) in Las Vegas. Weird family. Somewhere between an impromptu video game championship and the time the tower of pizzas arrived (apparently a purchase that qualified as an emergency, subsequently charged to Mr. Thompson's credit card), MJ had identified sinking into the depths of the couch as the least obvious escape route. They just had to forget about her for a while. If she was completely still, there would eventually be an opportunity to book it to the door and taste the freedom of her old life. A life before team bonding.

But then Flash started in on his board games rant and before he'd reached the end of it (she hoped there actually was an end), he'd begun counting the other people in the room in case teams needed to be formed. What pissed MJ off even more than being counted for participation reasons was the fact that Flash didn't know how many people were in Decathlon. Not like they had biweekly practices or he'd been on the team for three years with very few new faces or anything. Moron.

"So we combine them," he insisted. "Play multiple games at once."

"More challenging," Cindy agreed, perking up next to MJ. "I like it."

"Bonding is cancelled," MJ protested wearily. "I'm the captain."

Flash rounded on her, crossing his arms.

"Well, there should be another captain, for, like, morale and chilling!" he said. "And that's me."

"That's the last thing we need," she grumbled.

"You're wrong," Flash argued, "and I'll prove it."

That was probably when she should've protested harder instead of slouching off to the bathroom, but hey, she'd drunk two cans of ginger ale and her bladder was feeling it. Constant small sips meant shorter responses and therefore, fewer chances of being engaged in conversation. Now, walking back into the living room, MJ saw that she was going to pay for her pee break and pay dearly.

There was a creased Twister mat unfolded on the floor.

Logically, there wouldn't be room for them all on the plastic sheet, but solving that problem was another thing they'd done while she was gone. (She'd been two minutes! What the hell?!) These devious, academically-accomplished bastards―had already laid out and begun the alternate game, what looked like a combination of Clue and Life. Betty was sitting with her legs neatly folded, hashing out rules that seemed to require players to solve the murder before they reached retirement. Oh, and the killer was one of the family members they would collect on the way.

MJ was going to lose her shit. If she was about to be held against her will for… who knew how long, potentially hours… she would have at least wanted to be in the group that wouldn't be contorting themselves to reach the correct coloured circle.

She could almost convince herself that was how she felt as long as she didn't make eye contact with Peter, staring at her from the other side of the Twister mat. MJ swallowed and did what anyone with a massive secret crush and a deficient sense of self-preservation would do: she peeled off her socks, rolled up the cuffs of her boyfriend jeans, and stepped up to the edge of the mat.

A dozen rounds in and she was lying to herself again. It was obviously Flash's body spray that made her want to knock him over, not the fact that he was positioned between her and Peter. (Yeah right.) Maybe he'd topple on his own if she announced that she knew Peter was Spider-Man. Was that an appropriate conversation starter? Parties weren't really her thing.

MJ eyed Peter as he placed his left hand on yellow. Seriously, was no one else paying attention to the ease with which that nerd shifted his limbs? You didn't get casual strength and defined arm muscles like that from constructing Lego Death Stars, that was for damn sure. It was the latest in a long, long trail of breadcrumbs she'd been gathering for months. She closed her eyes for a second and refocused on the game. Again, the urge to bump Flash possessed her. But she wasn't supposed to wish for him to be out―Flash was on her team. Twister wasn't meant to be a team sport, but Christ, these touchy-feely saps.

Ned, who had apparently been killed off in Clue/Life (yeah, she really hadn't gotten a good grasp of the rules, or they'd evolved), was now working the Twister spinner and cheerfully reading out each round's accompanying question. Because it had to be a combination of games. Because, again, Flash was a moron.

"Right foot blue, MJ," he directed. (Fucking easy for him to say, she thought as she stretched with a grunt.) "And your question…" Ned drew a card from the deck. "Would you rather have sex with the same person for the rest of your life, or never get to have sex with anyone more than once?"

"Flash, where did you get these questions?" she wondered, moving her foot with a smack.

It wasn't the first time she'd asked, but he was being cagey about it. Honestly, most of them sounded like they'd come from some kind of sex therapy manual. Oh god, maybe it was a real game and his disgustingly-in-love parents played it.

"Just answer," Flash demanded. "I can't…. stay…"

He slipped and fell on his ass. MJ blurted out a laugh. Finally, she was having fun at team bonding night.

Flash extricated himself from the mat, being a good enough sport not to try to take MJ or Peter down as he made his exit, going to watch Clue/Life. Peter and MJ were the only two left now. MJ rotated her foot experimentally on its circle, making her toes brush Peter's. A blush raced up his face like a burning match. Fascinating.

"MJ?" Ned asked, waiting.

"Uh, can you come back to me?"

He frowned.

"You're supposed to―"

"They're fake rules," she reminded him, "and Peter doesn't care. I'll answer my question after he moves."

Peter shrugged. Ned sighed dramatically.

"Fine, but I think you should be setting a better example as captain."

"Noted." She rolled her eyes.

"'K, Peter…" He paused as the spinner whirled around. "Left hand blue."

MJ clenched her teeth together and squeezed her lips shut as she analyzed the circles surrounding his current location. She would not smile she would not smile she would not smile―Peter lunged towards her and, after maybe a second's worth of hesitation, reached his arm over her extended leg instead of under it. She had her stomach to the ceiling, braced on hands and feet like a crab, which had been extremely unsexy until Peter positioned himself like he was about to climb on top of her. The front of his t-shirt draped over her thigh. MJ wasn't sure he strictly had to be that close. She narrowed her eyes.

Dammit, he'd been playing a long game too.

After settling into his new posture by rocking a bit on his hands, he glanced up, flicking hair out of his eyes. They looked at each other. Yep, definitely dammit.

"Back to you," Ned reminded her. "No more passing."

"What was the question again?" she checked, trying to sound bored.

"She's stalling," Peter accused. Their eyes held for a second. "MJ has the best memory in this room."

Playful complaints? Flattery? And, oh, he wanted her to answer the question? She would answer that question.

"I'd be fine having sex with the same person for the rest of my life," MJ told Ned (while really, actually, telling Peter), "if it wasn't the same sex every single time."

She was almost certain he'd started to lean over her body more before shifting back. And his mouth was open. Though she never stared at his mouth. (Another lie.)

"What if it was one person who behaved like two people?" Ned asked gleefully.

Peter's head whipped around to shoot his friend a wide-eyed look that, to MJ, blatantly said shut up. Could they make it any more obvious that Peter had a secret identity? It was baffling. These were the stupidest smart kids she'd ever had the misfortune of making friends with… and in one case, accidentally falling head over heels for. If they were going to be that dumb, she would indulge herself in a moment of pretend ignorance.

"Like roleplay or something?" she asked. Peter made a weird sound in his throat. MJ decided to go in for the kill, catching his eye. "Yeah, maybe. I'm kind of into masks."

"I forfeit," Peter announced, springing to his feet.

Once he'd bounded away down the hall to the bathroom, MJ let herself collapse onto the mat.

"So I guess it's pretty much impossible that you haven't noticed Peter likes you," Ned summarized, idly flicking the spinner.

"I've noticed lots of things," she replied, smiling as she stared at the high ceiling.

She chose not to specify that one of them was Peter's super alter ego. Or that another was the bulge in the front of his jeans he hadn't managed to completely block with his hands before running out. Not that MJ would ever look.