quicklog, marvel: mj/flash
[She took a cab. Grimy in the back and with a cabbie who wouldn't stop staring at her in the rearview, but it was a quiet ride. Late night, and she could've dressed up, but she didn't. Copper hair sprung out from beneath navy hood and camel canvas coat. MJ was all layers, in a literal sense—her sleeves poked long and black from beneath cuffs, and her boots were pulled over tight blue jeans that made her ass look good. (I mean, her ass always looked good. But, you know.) She felt small in the backseat, and she scribbled useless doodles into the margins of her notebook, which probably looked super nerdy, lights glitzing by, snow a very unromantic slush, but she didn't care.
MJ was actually totally excited to see Flash. He was the first person who hadn't tallied her up against her old self (or Gwendy) immediately, and Flash? He'd always been cute, nice in a frat boy kind of way. Plus, he sounded like he actually wanted her to come over, which was, you know, a plus or whatever.
So, when she finally got to his door at that touristy as fuck hotel, she twisted a curl, took a deep breath, and knocked.] I would make the 'room service!' joke, but—just let me in.