Storm Watch
pairing: Lee Felix x Female Reader
wc: 2.2k
cw: noneeee its just fluff
Summary: When a sudden thunderstorm traps you and Felix inside, he turns a gloomy night into the cosiest evening ever. Between hilarious kitchen mishaps, candlelit blanket forts, and a specially curated playlist, the storm outside fades away, replaced by laughter, warmth, and the quiet magic of simply being together.
It started with a low, lazy growl from the sky, the kind that settles in your bones and makes you pause without knowing why. You were standing at your apartment window, mug nestled between your palms, watching as the sky faded from steel-blue to the bruised grey of an incoming storm.
There was something oddly comforting about it. The way the world slowed just before the rain came. The silence between thunderclaps, as if the city was holding its breath.
Then came the sharp ping ping ping of fat raindrops against your window, followed by a steady drumming that quickly became a downpour. You sighed, rubbing your thumb along the rim of your mug. Of course the storm would hit right as you’d started settling into a quiet night alone.
Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Felix 🐥: is the storm bad over there? Felix 🐥: wait nvm i’m on my way
You furrowed your brow. What?
Before you could type a response, there was a knock at the door, firm, insistent, familiar. When you opened it, Felix stood there grinning like the rain wasn’t soaking through the hood of his thin jacket. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and his hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls. In one hand he held a tote bag stuffed full of what looked like groceries. In the other, a closed umbrella that had clearly been abandoned in favour of speed.
“You’re completely soaked,” you said, half amused, half horrified.
Felix just shrugged, stepping inside without hesitation. “Worth it. Your apartment’s got the best windows for storm watching, and I was not about to ride this one out in my shoebox of a place.”
You tried to scowl at him but failed, your lips tugging upward into a smile. He had that effect, chaotic sunshine wrapped in soft boy energy. “So you just… invited yourself over?”
“Technically I warned you,” he said brightly, slipping out of his shoes with a soggy squish. “Also, I brought food. That counts as a formal offering.”
He held up the tote bag like a trophy. A bunch of instant ramen packs poked out the top, along with what appeared to be a mismatched bundle of vegetables and… was that a bottle of wine with a cartoon lizard on the label?
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “That wine is going to taste like regret.”
“Regret with notes of raspberry,” Felix declared proudly.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and a flicker of lightning briefly lit the apartment in white-blue light. You glanced toward the window, where rain now poured in sheets, streaming down the glass like melting ice.
“Well, you’re not going back out in that,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.
Felix flopped onto your couch without invitation, already unzipping his jacket and grabbing one of the throw blankets off the backrest. “Didn’t plan to. I’ve claimed this apartment in the name of storm snacks and poorly cooked dinner.”
You raised a brow. “You do remember the last time you cooked here, right? The microwave fire?”
“That was a learning experience.”
“You put foil in the microwave.”
He pointed at you dramatically. “Learning. Experience.”
You shook your head, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed you. His presence made everything softer. The room, the rain, your mood. Even the storm outside felt like background music now, part of the ambiance.
“Alright,” you said with a sigh, plucking the tote from his lap. “But if you set anything on fire again, you’re eating plain cereal while I call the fire department.”
“Deal,” he grinned. “As long as it’s the cinnamon one.”
The lights flickered just then, a brief stutter in the cosy glow of the lamps. You and Felix both froze, glancing upward.
“…That’s fine,” he said quickly. “Totally fine. Romantic, even. Candles. Vibes.”
You snorted. “We’re not even dating.”
He gave you a small, unreadable smile as he stood, brushing his damp curls back. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have good lighting.”
Your breath caught at the casual softness of it, but before you could respond, he was already heading toward your kitchen like he owned it, opening cabinets, talking to himself about the best way to "elevate" cup noodles. His damp socks squeaked faintly on the tile.
The storm raged on outside, but inside your apartment, with Felix humming off-key to himself and clattering through your cookware, it felt like the eye of it, warm, calm, and just a little bit magic.
You didn’t expect him to be so determined about cooking.
Felix had barely finished towelling off his hair before he was rolling up the sleeves of his soft, oversized hoodie and dramatically announcing, “Tonight, we feast.”
You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “On…?”
“On the finest instant noodles this side of the Pacific,” he declared, pulling open your pantry like he was opening a treasure chest. “But with flair.”
Despite yourself, you grinned and slid up to lean against the counter, watching him rummage through cabinets with the enthusiasm of a child playing house. He gathered ingredients like he was preparing for battle, ramen packets, sesame oil, green onions, eggs, leftover vegetables from the fridge that were questionably fresh but still usable if you squinted. Along with the bag of random convenience store tat he had procured on the way over.
“I feel like this is going to end in a smoke alarm,” you said.
Felix wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s not cooking unless something sizzles aggressively.”
You didn’t stop him. Honestly, you liked seeing him like this, carefree, barefoot in your kitchen, moving with that adorable mix of focus and chaos he always carried. The rain outside had gotten louder, steady sheets sliding down the windows, but it only made everything inside feel cosier.
He moved around the kitchen like it was his stage, narrating everything he did like a Food Network host who’d had one too many energy drinks.
“Now, we sauté the vegetables,” he said, tossing them into the pan with a dramatic flair that sent a carrot chunk flying to the floor. “Ignore that.”
“You’ve already been eliminated from Top Chef,” you teased, biting back a laugh.
He gasped, clutching his chest. “Betrayed. In my own kitchen.”
“That’s my kitchen.”
“Our kitchen,” he corrected smoothly, and your breath caught just a little.
The noodles boiled. The vegetables simmered. The eggs somehow made it out perfectly soft-boiled, which he celebrated with a triumphant shout and a spin in place. You clapped mockingly. He bowed.
Then he tasted the broth, and immediately coughed.
“…Okay, okay, it just needs a bit more flavour,” he wheezed, reaching for the soy sauce like a man possessed.
“A bit?” you echoed, watching him pour with the precision of someone guessing wildly.
But even as things spiralled mildly into chaos, with a pot bubbling over, a nearly dropped egg, and Felix flapping a dishtowel at the smoke detector just in case, you were laughing. He was laughing. And the kitchen, messy and filled with steam, had never felt more alive.
Finally, he served the noodles in your two chipped bowls, carefully placing the eggs on top like a proud artist.
You both sat on the floor at the low coffee table, legs tangled under throw blankets, steam rising from your bowls.
“Moment of truth,” Felix said, slurping a noodle.
He paused. You stared.
“It’s…” He blinked. “Actually edible?”
You took a cautious bite. It was salty. A bit too spicy. The vegetables were uneven. But it was warm, and it was made with so much ridiculous, earnest effort that your chest ached a little.
“It’s perfect,” you said, and you meant it.
Felix gave you the sunniest smile in the world, eyes crinkled, dimple deep.
“I am available for private chef bookings,” he said grandly, before spilling a bit of broth on his hoodie.
You burst into giggles, reaching for a napkin. He let you dab at the spot on his sleeve, eyes soft as he watched you fuss.
Outside, thunder rumbled. The lights flickered for just a second. You both froze, then exchanged a look.
“If the power goes out,” he said solemnly, “we’re eating cold noodles by candlelight.”
“And you’re doing the dishes in the dark.”
“I take it back.”
You leaned into him, letting your shoulder rest against his. He was warm. The room smelled like soup and rain and a little bit of chaos.
“I like this,” you murmured, softer now.
Felix tilted his head. “The noodles?”
“Everything.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, the storm reflected in his eyes.
“Me too,” he said.
And the rain kept falling.
By the time the last dish clattered into the drying rack (and Felix dramatically dried his hands like a surgeon preparing for heart surgery), you’d already claimed the living room floor.
Well, conquered it, really.
Blankets were layered over the rug in an uneven but cosy sprawl. Pillows were stolen from every corner of the apartment, arranged in messy piles around a cocooned little centre space. You even propped a sheet between two chairs in an arch overhead, more symbolic than effective, but it added just the right touch of childish charm.
Felix entered the room, took one look, and held a hand to his chest. “Is this… a fort?”
“It’s Blanket HQ,” you said proudly. “We take storm defence very seriously.”
He walked in slow, reverent steps, like he was stepping into sacred space. “This is beautiful. I feel like I should take my shoes off.”
“You are barefoot.”
“Exactly,” he said, crawling in beside you and flopping dramatically onto a pillow. “Respect.”
You laughed and dropped onto your stomach beside him, elbow-to-elbow, both of you watching the glow of the candles you’d scattered around the room. The thunder outside rumbled softly now, less violent and more like a purring presence somewhere beyond the foggy windows.
Felix reached for his phone. “One last thing. A proper storm calls for proper vibes.”
He fiddled with it for a second, and then low, gentle music filtered out, acoustic guitar, soft vocals, maybe a little lo-fi hum beneath it all. Something about it made the whole room feel slower, safer, as if time had crawled under the blanket fort with you and decided to stay a while.
You turned your head on the pillow to look at him. “Did you… make a playlist?”
He shrugged, suddenly shy. “Maybe. Kinda. Been adding songs to it for a bit. I call it ‘Soft Stuff for Cosy Nights.’”
You blinked. “That’s… actually the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He gave you a tiny smile. “I was waiting for the right night to use it.”
And there it was, that warmth in your chest again. That glowing, slow-spreading feeling that had nothing to do with soup or storms or soft lighting.
Just him.
Just Felix.
The silence between you stretched comfortably. He lay back with a sigh, folding one arm behind his head and holding the blanket up with the other so you could scoot closer. Which you did. Obviously.
Your head found his shoulder. His cheek bumped the top of yours.
“This is nice,” you whispered, eyes half-closed.
“Best storm I’ve ever had,” he murmured back.
Another flicker of lightning lit the room in pale gold. Thunder cracked after it, louder this time. The power buzzed for a second. Then, with an almost apologetic click, the lights went out completely.
You tensed.
“…Hey,” Felix said gently.
You opened your eyes.
He was already holding up the candle he'd brought over earlier, lighting the little flame with a practiced hand. The flickering glow made his freckles dance, warm and soft across his cheeks.
“We’ve got light,” he said. “And blanket HQ. And my incredible playlist.”
You smiled, relaxing back into him.
“You forgot the soup,” you teased.
He chuckled low. “Never forget the soup.”
A beat passed. The candle crackled. Rain drummed on the windows. The music swelled gently in the background.
Then Felix leaned down, just enough for his forehead to brush yours.
“I’m really glad I’m here,” he said, voice quieter than the storm.
Your heart fluttered.
“Me too.”
You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t have to.
Wrapped in warmth and blankets and the hum of soft music, the two of you stayed curled together, quiet and close, as the storm rolled on outside, and everything inside stayed perfectly, impossibly peaceful.
You woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through your curtains, the storm finally spent. The air smelled fresh, clean, and a little like rain-dampened earth.
Felix was still there, curled up beside you, blankets tangled around both of you like a soft cocoon.
His arm draped protectively over your waist, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles that hadn’t stopped even in sleep. His breathing was steady, peaceful, and every now and then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
You reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Hey,” you whispered.
His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with that familiar warm glow.
“Morning,” he murmured.
You smiled back. “So… think you’re up for round two of your ‘gourmet’ cooking tonight?”
He groaned dramatically, but the sparkle in his eyes said yes. “Only if you’re my official taste tester.”
“Deal,” you said, squeezing his hand.
The storm was gone, but the warmth it brought lingered.
And so did he.
