I'm still sick so sketching is easier than using my brain for writing... and it takes so long and I realise I'll have to go to my ophthalmologist again eventually
say what you will about the cw flash’s writing but the amount of foreshadowing that’s actually done well in the first two seasons is crazy and it’s shit you wouldn’t even notice or realise was foreshadowing until you rewatch it like season one episode seven with dr. wells naming people that died as a result of the particle accelerator explosion and him adding in people we will see in the show later
characters: barry allen, harrison wells (eobard thawne), harry wells (earth-2), h.r. wells, ralph dibny, cisco ramon, wally west, julian albert, leonard snart, hunter zolomon (zoom), savitar (dark barry allen)
Walks into the room and freezes for a second, processing the sight of you in his hoodie.
A slow, warm smile spreads across his face—completely smitten.
“Is that… mine?” he asks, voice soft but amused, his tone carrying that boyish wonder.
He steps closer and tugs gently at the sleeve, grinning: “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
Wraps his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your neck and murmuring: “God, I could get used to this.”
Gets a little clingy—presses kiss after kiss on your temple, cheeks, and neck because something about it feels so intimate.
Later, snaps a picture when you’re not looking (with your permission later) because he wants to remember how adorable you look.
When you give it back, he insists: “Keep it. It’s yours now.”
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne)
Notices instantly—his sharp eyes miss nothing—and his lips curl into a knowing smirk.
“My clothes?” he says in that low, velvety voice, stepping dangerously close.
Walks a slow circle around you, letting his gaze linger, deliberately making you squirm.
Fingers brush along the hem or collar, almost teasing, as he murmurs: “Interesting… you wear them well.”
The way he says it feels loaded with double meaning—power, possession, and intimacy all at once.
“Keep it,” he finally says, voice soft but commanding, “because now it’s yours… and everyone should know that.”
Later, he leans close to your ear with that smug whisper: “You have no idea what that does to me.”
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Harry Wells (Earth-2)
Sees you in his shirt and immediately scowls—not because he’s mad, but because he’s flustered.
“What… what are you doing?” comes out more gruff than intended.
Runs a hand through his hair, pacing for a second, then blurts: “You can’t just—steal my clothes like that.”
His voice softens when he sees your grin, and he mutters something like: “You look… good. Damn it.”
Eventually gives up pretending he’s annoyed and pulls you in for a kiss, muttering: “Fine. You win.”
For the rest of the day, he’s quieter, stealing glances at you every chance he gets—clearly loves it even if he’ll never admit it outright.
Later, when no one’s around, he hugs you from behind and whispers, almost grumpy but sincere: “Don’t do that unless you’re ready to drive me crazy.”
꒦´ཀ`꒦
H.R. Wells
Gasps audibly like it’s the most shocking thing in the world: “Oh. My. God. Is that my shirt?!”
Dramatically clutches his chest and stumbles back like he’s fainting.
“You… you look incredible! Like, out-of-this-world fantastic!” he gushes, spinning around you to admire every angle.
Immediately grabs his phone: “I need a picture. No—five pictures. Wait—let me fix your hair first!”
Wraps an arm around you and insists you both take selfies because he’s so proud to show you off.
Gets ridiculously sentimental out of nowhere: “You know… it means a lot that you’d wear my clothes. Like… wow.”
Doesn’t stop complimenting you for the entire day.
At night, while holding you, he whispers softly (for once, genuinely): “I love seeing you in something that’s mine. Makes me feel… close to you.”
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Ralph Dibny
Whistles the second he sees you, flashing that mischievous grin: “Well, hello gorgeous.”
“Is that my shirt or are you just trying to kill me?” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows.
Immediately starts teasing: “Looks way better on you. Should we just burn the rest of my wardrobe?”
Wraps an arm around you dramatically: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is peak fashion—exclusive Dibny Collection.”
Later, when it’s just you two, the jokes stop for a moment—he pulls you close and murmurs: “Seriously though… you look perfect.”
Loves it so much he starts “forgetting” shirts at your place on purpose.
Will brag to the team (in his own Ralph way): “Guess who makes my clothes look like a million bucks?”
Secretly thinks about it for days because it makes him feel connected to you.
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Cisco Ramon
The moment he sees you, he freezes mid-sentence and just… stares.
“Is that—wait—IS THAT MY HOODIE?” he blurts out, practically squeaking.
His grin is instant and huge, like a kid on Christmas: “Oh my God. Oh my God. You look… AMAZING.”
Runs up to you, tugging lightly at the sleeve with this goofy, lovesick smile.
“You’re literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Ever. In life.”
Immediately starts calling you things like “my hoodie model” or “Mrs. Ramon Couture.”
Hugs you tightly, burying his face in your neck and muttering something like: “I’m never washing that hoodie again. It’s yours now.”
Will brag about it later to the team in a nerdy way: “Did you guys know this one looks better in my clothes than I do?”
At night, he confesses quietly: “It makes me feel… safe, like you’re mine and I’m yours.”
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Wally West
Walks into the room and stops dead in his tracks—eyes going wide before breaking into the biggest grin.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold up… are you wearing my shirt?” he says, voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.
Zooms over in less than a second, circling you like: “Okay, that’s officially the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Wraps his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling your neck: “You’re not allowed to take this off. Ever.”
Playfully tugs the hem, teasing: “Careful, you’re making it really hard for me to concentrate on anything else.”
Immediately takes a picture for himself, grinning like an idiot, then sets it as his lock screen without asking.
Jokes: “Guess I’ll have to wear your clothes now to make it fair,” and 100% follows through.
Later, when it’s just the two of you, he kisses you—slow at first, then playful—and murmurs against your lips: “God, you look so good in my stuff.”
Secretly starts leaving extra hoodies at your place on purpose, because he loves seeing you in them.
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Julian Albert
Walks in and immediately stiffens, blinking like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.
“Is that… my sweater?” he asks, voice slightly clipped but laced with something deeper.
Stares for a moment too long, then clears his throat and looks away, pretending to be unaffected—but his ears are bright red.
After a beat, mutters softly, almost to himself: “Blimey, you look… stunning.”
Steps closer, adjusting the collar gently like it’s an excuse to touch you, whispering: “It suits you.”
Gets protective without realizing it—pulling you close when anyone else walks by, as if silently claiming you.
Later, while making tea or sitting together, admits quietly: “There’s something about seeing you like that… something that feels… right.”
When you try to give it back, he shakes his head firmly: “No. Keep it. It’s yours now.”
From then on, you’ll notice him lending you more and more of his clothes—like he secretly wants you to wear them.
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Leonard Snart
Notices instantly the second you walk into the room—his ice-cold eyes flick up and down before meeting yours.
A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his lips as he leans back casually: “Well, well, well… someone’s been playing dress-up.”
His voice drops lower when he steps closer: “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
Fingers graze the edge of the fabric in a subtle, teasing touch as he murmurs: “You planning on giving this back… or should I assume it’s yours now?”
When you shrug and smile innocently, he chuckles darkly: “That’s what I thought.”
Pulls you close with a firm hand on your waist, murmuring in that quiet, commanding tone: “You know what that says, right? It says you’re mine.”
In private, he kisses you—slow, claiming, leaving you breathless—before whispering against your lips: “Don’t let anyone else see you like this. That’s for me.”
After that, he starts “forgetting” his coats or shirts at your place… and smirks every time you put them on.
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Hunter Zolomon
The second he sees you in his clothes, something primal flickers in his eyes.
Doesn’t say a word at first—just stares, intense and unblinking, like he’s burning the image into his mind.
Walks over slowly, every step deliberate, until he’s towering over you.
Voice is low, gravelly, almost a growl when he finally speaks: “Mine.”
Fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer, his other hand brushing the hem possessively.
“You wearing this… do you know what it does to me?” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot and ragged.
Doesn’t let go for a long moment, kissing your neck roughly before pressing his forehead to yours.
Keeps repeating in a husky whisper: “Mine. Always mine.”
Later, after things have calmed down, he wraps you up in his arms and mutters, softer this time: “Never take it off. Ever.”
From that day forward, he makes sure his clothes stay in your space—because to him, that’s a claim.
꒦´ཀ`꒦
Savitar (Dark Barry Allen)
When he sees you in his jacket, his entire demeanor changes—his smirk grows feral, predatory.
“You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, voice dripping with dark amusement.
Walks up slowly, circling you like prey, fingers brushing along the fabric in a deliberate tease.
“Do you even realize what that means?” His voice lowers as he leans in close, lips brushing your ear: “It means you belong to me.”
Grabs your chin gently but firmly, making you meet his glowing eyes: “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
When you do, his smile deepens into something wicked and possessive.
Kisses you hard—rough, desperate, and claiming—like he’s marking territory.
Pulls back just long enough to whisper: “You’re never taking this off. Ever.”
Later, he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder: “You look perfect like this. Like you were made to wear me.”
Starts intentionally leaving pieces of his armor or gear for you—because nothing makes him feel more powerful than seeing you in them.
UGHHH I am nervous I have never made a req before but could you do fluffy Harry Wells.....idk that is all I have
A/N: Oh don't you worry your pretty little head I've been waiting for a request like this. Enjoy your meal!
NOT Jealous
Summary: Cisco's teasing pushes Harry's jealousy to the surface after a late-night spat over data.
It’s nearly midnight at S.T.A.R. Labs, and the lights in the cortex hum a dim gold, flickering over blueprints scattered across the main table.
You and Harry have been going back and forth for hours—debating stabilizer configurations for the particle core.
The argument started logical. It turned personal somewhere between “your math is wrong” and “you’re infuriatingly smug.”
“Smug?” Harry snaps, glancing up from the schematic. “I’m confident. There’s a difference.”
“Sure,” you mutter, scribbling on your tablet, “confidence with a side of condescension.”
He sets his stylus down, voice sharp. “You know, if you actually listened instead of improvising, we might have solved this an hour ago.”
You glance up, unbothered. “And if you tried not to micromanage every molecule that moves, maybe you’d see I’m right.”
He blinks at you—slowly, like he’s recalculating. Then he exhales through his nose, “You are so—”
“—brilliant?” you interrupt with a grin.
He gives a short laugh despite himself, muttering something about “arrogance” as he turns back to his monitor.
It’s quieter for a moment. The sound of typing fills the room. The air hums between you—an unspoken rhythm you’ve fallen into over the past few weeks: argue, solve, argue again, somehow end up respecting each other more than before.
You sneak a glance at him. He looks tired. His shoulders are tense, his dark hair messy from running his hands through it too many times. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up, veins visible where he grips the table edge.
You shouldn’t stare. You do anyway.
A voice cuts through the silence, “Wow. The tension in here could power the Speed Force.”
You both turn. Cisco’s leaning in the doorway, tablet tucked under his arm, grin way too smug for this hour.
Harry groans. “Ramon.”
Cisco steps closer, eyes flicking from you to Harry. “You two been at this all night? Because the air’s thick with—what’s the word—unresolved something.”
You roll your eyes, but laugh, “Just working.”
“Right. Working,” Cisco says, drawing out the word, then looking towards you, “So, I was actually coming to ask if you wanted to help me recalibrate the holo-sim tomorrow. Could use someone who actually listens to my ideas.”
Harry’s head snaps up,“She’s busy.”
You blink, “I am?”
“Yes,” he says shortly, “with our stabilizer test.”
Cisco raises a brow, “I thought that was done.”
Harry glares, “It’s not.”
“Mmhm,” Cisco hums, clearly enjoying this. “Or maybe you just don’t like sharing.”
Harry’s tone drops dangerously low. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
You jump in, trying to diffuse. “Cisco, I’ll check the schedule tomorrow, okay?”
Cisco’s grin widens. “Oh, sure. Don’t let me interrupt your lab date.”
Harry’s glare could fry a satellite. “Ramon—”
Cisco just laughs, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. Message received. You two have fun doing… science.”
He winks—winks—at you before strolling out.
You’re left staring after him, face hot, when Harry cuts in, “He’s insufferable.”
You turn to him, crossing your arms. “You could just say you were jealous, you know.”
His head jerks up, eyes flashing. “Jealous? Don’t flatter yourself.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You literally barked at him for asking a work question.”
“That wasn’t—” He stumbles for words, visibly thrown. “I wasn’t— It’s about efficiency. He distracts you.”
You grin. “Oh, so now you notice when I’m distracted.”
He looks like he wants to argue but can’t. His lips part, close again. He finally mutters, “You’re impossible.”
“Thanks,” you say sweetly, turning back to your tablet.
The next half hour is quiet—except for the occasional sigh or muttered curse from Harry’s corner.
Your energy dips. The numbers blur. You press your palm against your temple, fighting the wave of exhaustion.
Harry speaks suddenly, his voice gentle, “You should go home.”
You shake your head. “Still finishing the resonance model.”
“You’re half-asleep.”
“So are you,” you murmur.
“I handle it better.”
You snort softly. “That’s debatable.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but the words never come—because when he looks over again, your head has dipped forward, your tablet sliding from your grip onto the desk with a soft thud.
Harry freezes.
You’re out cold—cheek resting on your folded arms, hair falling into your face. Completely still except for the slow rise and fall of your shoulders.
He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”
Still, he crosses the room. Gently, he lifts your tablet out of the way and sets it aside. His fingers hover, uncertain, before he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
The smell of his cologne fills the air—faint spice and coffee grounds and something sharper, cleaner.
He hesitates again, eyes lingering on you—how your hand is curled under your chin, how the tension in your face finally looks gone.
“Stubborn girl,” he mutters softly, almost fondly.
He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear before sitting down beside you. His eyes flick to the screens, pretending he’s checking data, but he doesn’t look away from you for long.
He doesn’t notice Cisco leaning in the doorway again until the man whistles quietly.
“Ohhh, busted,” Cisco says under his breath.
Harry jerks up, startled. “Ramon, I swear to God—”
Cisco grins. “You know, for a guy who says he’s not jealous and not soft, you’re really bad at proving either.”
Harry growls low in his throat. “Get. Out.”
“Fine, fine,” Cisco says, backing up. “But she’s gonna know you like her when she wakes up wearing your jacket, man. Just saying.”
He leaves before Harry can throw something.
The silence returns, heavy but strangely peaceful.
Harry glances at you again. Your lips twitch faintly in your sleep—like you heard some of that.
He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “You drive me insane,” he says quietly. “And I can’t even bring myself to mind.”
You wake a little while later, groggy and disoriented, warmth pressing against your shoulders. You blink down at the jacket, then up at the man sitting a few feet away, typing furiously, pretending you don’t exist.
“You stayed,” you mumble, voice rough from sleep.
He doesn’t look up. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t drool on the prototype.”
You smile faintly. “Thanks… for the jacket.”
“It was that or a hypothermic corpse,” he says without missing a beat.
You chuckle softly. “You could just admit you care.”
His typing slows. He glances at you, expression unreadable. “You’re persistent”
“Mm. You like that about me.”
A pause. The faintest curve tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Go home.”
You stand, still wrapped in his jacket. “I will. But I’m keeping this. At least until tomorrow.”
He raises a brow. “You will not—”
“Too late,” you say, heading for the door.
He calls after you, “That’s a limited-edition Earth-2 leather composite—”
You grin, half-turning. “Guess you’ll have to come get it.”
For a moment, something unguarded flashes in his eyes—equal parts exasperation and fondness.
Then he mutters, “God help me,” under his breath as you disappear down the hall, your laughter echoing softly behind you.
