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💔💔💔 I love Felix 💔💔💔

𐔌 필릭스 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ the forecast said forever.. ౨ৎ

LEE FELIX! ⓘ frog umbrellas. goofing around in the unexpected rain. but it's okay, because you're with him!

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!lixie ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 2700wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, kissing, unfunny jokes, cheesy, rain. ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ trying to consistently post while also studying for 10 hours a day.. anyway!! again, a super short drabble. enjoy !!!! >< happy reading!

you knew the sky had been lying to you all morning.

it had that syrupy sort of brightness that doesn’t feel warm, just suspicious—like the sun was peeking out of cotton clouds only to lull you into a false sense of security. and you, like a fool, believed it. even as the air got denser, heavier, humid like a held breath. even as the wind picked up and whispered, “you forgot your umbrella again.”

but you didn't really listen. you had earbuds in and a boyfriend who always said, "you'll be fine, baby, the sun is out," and when felix says things, they sound like promises. even when they’re just hopeful guesses.

now, as you stand at the edge of campus with your arms hugged tight around your tote bag, staring down a wall of rain like it personally betrayed you, you regret everything.

it’s not a drizzle. no, it’s biblical. thunder is laughing at you somewhere in the distance while your canvas shoes soak through in record time, squelching gently with each annoyed shift of weight.

and then— you hear it. the slapping of fast footsteps. the squish-squish of someone absolutely booking it across campus pavement.

you barely turn before a blur of yellow and frogs barrels toward you.

“baby!” he’s yelling before he’s even halfway across the street, voice bright and sunny and too cheerful for someone getting soaked to the bone. you blink. “why are you running-” and then he’s there.

felix skids to a stop in front of you, panting dramatically, holding the world’s tiniest, most offensively adorable umbrella. it’s lime green. with little frog eyes popping out on top. the handle is curved like a question mark and definitely designed for someone under the age of seven.

he beams. water drips from his golden bangs, his hoodie is soaked through, and his jeans are sticking to his legs like wet napkins. he smells like rain and vanilla lip balm and that weird artificial grape gum he chews when he’s anxious.

you can’t help it. you burst out laughing.

“lixie—” you wheeze, covering your mouth, “what is that?”

“what?” he gasps, scandalized, holding the tiny umbrella above you like it’s sacred. “you don’t like freddie the frog? he’s saved me three times this week.”

“that umbrella is the size of a dinner plate.”

he shifts closer, tucking the umbrella lower, trying to fit you both beneath it, which… barely works. your heads are nearly touching. raindrops slip down your exposed shoulders and trail along the curve of your arm, cold as melted ice.

“you forgot yours again,” he sing-songs, nudging your cheek with his shoulder. “didn’t i tell you it was gonna rain?”

“you also told me i’d pass my stats exam. and that chick-fil-a was open on sundays.”

“i never said that last one,” he grins, eyes creasing like sunshine through rainclouds. “that was wishful thinking. big difference.”

you roll your eyes, still half-laughing, and tilt your face upward to look at him. he’s beautiful in the most inconvenient way—wet hair curled over his forehead, lips pink from the cold, long lashes glinting with raindrops, and still smiling like he just saw a puppy in a window. you adore him. unfortunately.

“i’m freezing,” you mutter, pressing your nose into the sleeve of his drenched hoodie.

“then let’s run.”

“we’ll slip.”

“then let’s slip together.”

you give him the flattest look you can manage through chattering teeth. “you’re insane.”

he grins and shifts the frog umbrella so it’s directly over you, exposing more of his own shoulder to the rain. he leans in close enough that you smell his fabric softener—the honey almond one you picked—and bumps his nose against yours, affectionately.

you feel it in your chest. that achey-sweet sort of i’m so in love with you it hurts to be mad feeling. it crawls up your throat and makes your words softer.

“you didn’t have to come all the way from your apartment, lix.”

he shrugs. “you looked like a sad sock in the group chat. i had to save you.”

you frown. “i didn’t even say anything in the chat.”

“i could tell from your three read receipts.”

you blink. “you track my read receipts?”

he tilts his head, innocent. “i have my ways.”

you squint. “i love you, but you’re terrifying.”

he gasps, pressing a hand to his heart, mock-offended. “that’s not what you said last night when i made you grilled cheese at 1 a.m. and gave you foot rubs.”

“that was love,” you murmur dramatically, “not logic.”

felix giggles—a full, sweet, nose-scrunching sound that feels like fireworks under your ribs. he tucks your damp hair behind your ear and kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your forehead. you swear the rain pauses just for that.

“i love you,” he says simply.

not in a loud way. not like before. this one’s softer. quieter. like it’s meant to curl around your bones and stay there.

you close your eyes. you feel the way his hand slides down your arm, lacing fingers with yours, squeezing just enough to say hey, i’m here, still here, always.

and you smile.

“you’re such a frog,” you murmur.

“you love it.”

you press your face into his chest and sigh. “unfortunately.”

you don’t remember who let go first.

maybe it was you. maybe your fingers slipped from felix’s just slightly when your laughter bubbled up and spilled out of your mouth too fast for you to breathe properly. or maybe it was him—eyes twinkling under frog eyes, hair dripping into his lashes, body humming with too much joy to stay still.

either way, the umbrella falls.

it lands with a dramatic, soggy fwump between you both, tipping on its side like a defeated warrior. a puddle swallows it whole.

and then—

you look up.

and felix is grinning at you like he knows something you don’t.

"don’t even think about it," you say, backing up a step.

"think about what?" he says, all innocent sunshine and soaked denim.

"felix," you warn, lips twitching.

and then he bolts.

straight into the rain, arms out like he’s about to take flight, mouth open in a laughing whoop, kicking water into the air like a chaotic golden retriever.

“oh my god, you’re such a gremlin—” you start, but you’re laughing too hard to finish.

he twirls.

literally twirls. like he's in a musical. a very wet, very frog-themed musical.

“c’mon!” he shouts over the rain, already drenched, hair sticking to his forehead in fluffy strands. “live a little!”

“i am living!” you shout back, clinging to your tote like it’ll save you.

“live more!”

and then he’s running at you again—barefoot now, of course, because felix has no concept of weather-appropriate behavior—and you shriek, trying to dodge, but he catches your wrist like a kid on a playground.

“dance with me,” he says, eyes so wide and happy you swear the sky softens for him.

“i don’t dance in the rain!”

“you do now.”

and before you can argue, he tugs you into him.

you stumble, slip a little—your shoe skids on wet stone and your whole body collides into his chest—but he’s solid and warm despite the rain, and he’s already swaying you side to side like this is a slow song playing in his head.

it’s stupid.

it’s romantic.

it’s the most fun you’ve had all week.

"you're insane," you mutter into his soaked hoodie, your fingers curling instinctively into the soft, damp fabric.

"i'm your insane," he says, and he says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the rain drums all around you, cool and constant, pattering on your shoulders, your arms, the top of your head. the sound fills every space between you, but felix still hums a melody low in his throat—some old r&b tune he always sings when he’s doing the dishes.

you smile against his shoulder. you can feel his heartbeat like a rhythm beneath your palm.

he spins you. like a doofus. like you’re at a ball. you’re soaked. you’re laughing. he steps on your foot and you yelp, but neither of you stop.

you twirl until you're dizzy. until the campus is a blur of grey and green and rain-slick bricks. until your cheeks hurt from grinning and your knees feel like noodles.

and then—he pulls you back in.

not like before.

not goofy this time.

his hands slide down your arms, water trailing after his fingertips like liquid ribbon, and when his fingers lace with yours again, it’s slower. like the moment caught up with him, too.

he steps close.

you tilt your face up.

your lashes are wet, your lips chilled, your clothes soaked through and clinging like second skin. but you don’t feel cold. not when his eyes look at you like that.

“hi,” he whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

he leans in and kisses you—soft, slow, full of rain and sweetness. it tastes like everything you missed about summer. like warm air and sidewalk puddles and first crushes. his lips are plush, careful, his nose bumping yours, your bodies curved like commas into each other.

you kiss him again.

because once isn’t enough.

because nothing with felix ever is.

when you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours. your breath mingles in the tiny space between you, warm and foggy and close.

“did you know,” he murmurs, “that frogs can’t swallow without blinking?”

you blink. “what?”

“it’s true.” he grins. “they push food down their throat by using their eyeballs.”

“that’s disgusting.”

“i’m just saying, freddie the frog is a survivor.”

you laugh again, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably, and felix looks so proud of himself, you swat his chest.

“we are going to get sick,” you groan.

“we’ll get soup,” he says cheerfully.

“you don’t know how to make soup.”

“i’ll learn. for you.”

“soup is boiled water, felix.”

“still counts.”

you’re still holding him when thunder rolls again, rumbling like a sleepy lion in the sky. he hugs you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head, his body all soft warmth and heartbeat.

the world feels far away. like you’re tucked into a pocket of time too gentle to last forever.

but for now—you let it.

you close your eyes.

and just exist. with him. in this puddle. with frog umbrellas. and frogs. and love.

so, by the time you both make it to felix’s apartment, everything you’re wearing is holding onto the rain like a secret.

your shoes squish. your jeans cling. your bag drips a steady rhythm against your thigh. and your boyfriend—golden-haired, sun-souled, walking puddle that he is—has been humming the same tune under his breath for two blocks straight.

he opens the door like a gentleman. then leans against the frame like a flirt. one brow arched. one dimple out.

"you come here often?" he asks, voice low and syrupy.

you pause.

dripping. exhausted. dripping on the doormat.

and you say nothing. just blink at him. slowly.

then.. "only when a frog prince drags me here in the rain."

felix clutches his chest. “eugh.. that one had bite.”

“and yet,” you say, stepping past him into the apartment, shedding your soaked tote bag, “here i am.”

“you just couldn’t resist me.”

“or the frog umbrella.”

he makes a scandalized noise behind you, already tossing his hoodie onto a nearby hook with dramatic flair. the door closes with a soft thud, sealing you both inside a little world of foggy windows and warm lamplight.

the rain outside hasn’t stopped. you can hear it still—soft and constant, pattering against the balcony like applause. but inside? it’s all golden. cozy. safe.

home.

you pad toward the kitchen, shoes squeaking, socks cold and squishy.

felix follows close behind, undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. it peels off with a damp shhhhk, revealing the skin beneath—golden, smooth, lightly flushed from the cold. he’s not showing off. he never does. but you notice anyway.

you always do.

he catches your eyes lingering and smirks.

“like what you see?” he teases, towel-slapping his hair dry.

you give him a once-over, dramatic and slow, then sigh exaggeratedly. “you’ll do.”

“wow.”

“i have standards, lix.”

he tosses the towel at you. you catch it just before it smacks your face.

the next twenty minutes are an adorable circus.

you change into one of his soft tees, while he rummages around the kitchen with vague plans of “soup or something?” you curl into the couch, legs tucked under you, towel over your head like a ghost, just watching.

and giggling.

because felix in the kitchen is like a baby deer learning to walk—enthusiastic, slightly reckless, charmingly unaware that the stove is on the wrong setting.

“what are you doing now?” you ask, watching him squint at the microwave.

“defrosting the peas,” he says with the intensity of a bomb technician.

“that’s… not what you think it is.”

“i can cook, y’know.”

you snort. “you heated up leftovers last week and called it gourmet.”

“because i sprinkled parsley. gourmet.”

he makes two mugs of cocoa in the meantime—using oat milk because he knows it’s your favorite—and brings one over to you like it’s an offering to a deity.

you take it. hold it in both hands. let the heat bloom through your fingers like tiny fireworks.

felix plops beside you, a blanket in one hand and his smile in the other. he throws both over you and tugs you closer. your cold toes immediately tangle with his warmer ones, and your nose buries into his collarbone like it belongs there.

“hi,” you murmur.

“hi,” he echoes.

the cocoa is warm. the couch is softer than it has any right to be. his body is even softer. the blanket slides over your shoulders, and he rubs small circles into your arm, slow and lazy, like there’s nowhere else to be but here.

and maybe there isn’t.

maybe the world outside doesn’t exist anymore. maybe this tiny apartment is all that matters. a little pocket of light and heat and you and him and the smell of chocolate and rain.

your mug rests half-finished on the coffee table now. he’s not drinking his either.

you both just sit there. sinking.

his thumb brushes your jaw.

you glance up.

and he’s already looking.

eyes lidded. half-laughing. half something else. that look. that soft, liquid honey gaze that only he gives you when it’s late and the world’s quiet and you’re close like this.

he doesn’t say anything. he leans in instead.

and kisses you.

longer this time.

it’s not rushed. not even playful. it’s the kind of kiss that feels like a story you’ve read a thousand times but still want to hear again. his lips are warm. slightly chapped. he tastes like cocoa and rain and everything familiar. his hand finds your waist, gentle, slow, resting there like he’s afraid of pulling you too close, too fast.

but you lean in anyway.

you kiss back like you mean it.

because you do.

you shift into his lap, blanket falling halfway to the floor. your fingers curl into his hair, still damp at the roots. he breathes your name against your mouth and it feels like poetry.

then: “your nose is cold,” he mumbles, laughing.

“yours too,” you whisper.

he presses his forehead to yours, noses bumping, your cheeks flushed and glowing.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

your heart softens.

melts.

“i think i already knew,” you say.

he grins. that dimpled, sunshine, heartbreaker grin.

then whispers, “i also think i burnt the soup.”

you blink.

sniff the air.

“oh my god.”

he scrambles off the couch like a cartoon character—slipping, tripping, darting into the kitchen with dramatic gasps and yelps.

you follow, giggling, and catch him trying to save a charred pot that smells suspiciously like betrayal.

there’s a moment of chaos. of smoke and waving towels and the fire alarm chirping once in confusion. and then—

you both end up on the kitchen floor. still laughing. still glowing. still in love.

later.

the rain slows.

you’re back on the couch. wrapped in each other. your cocoa is cold. the soup is ruined. your hair’s a mess. but his hands are warm around yours, and your laughter is echoing in the walls like music.

and when he kisses your forehead one last time, whispering, “thanks for coming over,” with a wink—

you know it’s true.

you’d come here a thousand times. every day. if it means him. if it means this.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

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