#{ omg gurl it's literally almost been two years since we first rped :')))) }

[mothernatureknows]

theoreticalguardianangel:

“Wh—For real?” Barry watches disappointedly at the unnecessary waste of beverage but waste almost no time in snatching up another from a nearby’s waitress’ tray without even being seen, leaving on its place a 10 dollar bill to make up for it. “This…” He holds up his recently acquired beer and immediately holds it away from his reach, afraid she might go ahead and repeat the process. “—doesn’t do anything to me,” he insists, wondering which part of that sentence he has repeated over and over is the one she is having trouble comprehending, pausing his explanation to take a sip. “I have an extram—extrem—extremely high metabolism,” he manages at last. “so the alcohol works through my system real fast because I’m the Fla—where d’he go?” He turned like he has been doing all night each time he blurts out his secret identity, only to discover this time that the people cheering on what they hopefully thought were the non-sensical rambles of a heavily drunk loser are gone. “He got an Oscar,” he reminds her with a satisfied smile, bobbing his head as if in approval to Leonardo DiCaprio’s long-deserved success. His smile widens into a smug grin as she doubts he was actually fast enough to perform such a motion without it being visible to the naked eye. “Did I?” he retorts amusedly, holding up his hands and weakly wiggling his fingers, like a drunken magician at the end of an act. “You know what, I need some more chicken wings,” he decides, lazily rubbing his chest. “And fries, I’m gonna get… just—don’t throw those away too, okay? I really love chicken wings,” he warns as he points her way, eyes already getting watery at the possibility of such an ATROCIOUS act being performed. 

“What the—no, give that to me!” she commands, reaching out to grab the new beer bottle in Barry’s once unoccupied hand. Even with his extremely “high” metabolism, he was still acting like a complete, fucking idiot, and she wasn’t about to let him drink himself to full, shit-faced mode. Try as she might, he somehow keeps the drink out of her reach, her hand coming up short of the bottle. Releasing a frustrated sigh, Luna waits until he’s distracted—which is right when he looks around for the guys who were cheering him on—and quickly extends her hand over, just enough to tap the bottle once and discreetly FREEZE the bottle to Barry’s hand. “I told you to give it to me,” she says, her tone resembling that of a mother scolding her child. “Keep yapping about the Flash, and I’ll freeze more than just the bottle.” She doesn’t totally mean it—she was already risking exposing herself and him with this one, small burst of power—BUT, if it’s enough to stop him from blacking out, so be it. She lets out a snort when he waggles his fingers at her, revealing one of her, all-too-rare half smiles. “You’re such a fucking moron.” Despite her strong use of language, her tone is endearing, just another sign of how comfortable she’s grown around Barry. It's definitely progress from how they were almost two years ago, where she almost threatened to kill him several times, but she still has some way to go. “Haven’t you had enough?” She motions to the visible chicken wing sauce on his shirt and the few spots he missed on his face. “I think you’ve had enough, for tonight.”