Re: Log, Marvel: Flash T & MJ W
First of all, MJ Watson was not some chick. Second of all, she knew a wheelchair was a big deal, especially to someone like Flash. Growing up, he was always tall, he was strong—he was a soldier even, after high school, and now, this. It wasn't something anyone would deal with well, she didn't think, but him even less so. She knew he was self-conscious about it. He'd said so before. He told her she wouldn't want to be with him, to sleep with him, like he was, but she disagreed. Everyone thought MJ was some plastic, shallow Barbie bitch of a girl, but she wasn't. Maybe it would be weird or whatever, but like, Flash—he was cute. Like, really cute. He was nice. Kind of dorky and more than a little bro-y, but he was a good guy, and he talked to MJ like she was a person capable of having feelings, which was a huge plus in her mind. And, again, he was really cute.
She looked a little longer than she might've before, watching him roll up in his gym t-shirt and combed hair, but she grinned immediately, a little flushed with her teeth hooking her bottom lip as she bounced on her feet.—Her eyes went to the graffiti and she laughed, nothing very dainty or ladylike about it.
"As if I would call myself a fly," MJ replied with expert flippancy, batting an eyelash at Flash. "I'd go for 'you're all flies in his web. I'm the black widow that bites his fucking head off.' Not as succinct, but more me."
She smiled and bent down, because he couldn't stop her, and she kissed him—very nicely!—on the cheek, leaving a streak of red she thumbed away like she was practiced at it.
"Tell me I look good so we can start this thing." She tipped her head, looking at the chair, then back to Flash. She wasn't shy about it and she didn't beat around the bush. "I've never done this. Do I push you...?"