#vanilla fluff

Even though you’re trying to keep it cool, a grin spreads across your face. You can’t help it. She’s just… Liz. Your girlfriend. Your heart. And even though no one around you knows it, your chest swells with pride every time you see her like this — bright, confident, radiant — owning every second of that spotlight.

You sneak glances whenever you can, in between ringing up customers and double-checking stock. And then the interview shifts. The host turns toward her and asks — you read his lips easily — “Is there someone special you’d like to say something to? Someone watching at home, maybe?”

Liz hesitates for a moment. Her lips part. She bites her lower lip. You lean in instinctively, holding your breath. Then—She smiles. And says: “I miss youuuu~”

It hits you like a wave.

You freeze — smile frozen, heart skipping an entire beat — as those words fall from her lips like a private whisper meant only for you. Of course, no one else around you knows. But you know. You know. That was for you.

You let out a breathless laugh, one hand lifting to rub the back of your neck, warmth blooming in your chest like a thousand butterflies. You glance around the store, hoping no one notices the stupidly smitten expression on your face.

God, you miss her too.

You pull out your phone under the counter and type a quick message.

[You]: I saw it. I miss you more. Idiot.

She doesn’t reply right away — probably swarmed backstage with stylists, staff, and members — but you know she’ll read it later. And when she does, you can already imagine her laughing quietly to herself, phone clutched close to her chest.

That kind of love — quiet, secret, but real — is what you live for.

You get off work just past ten. The night air is cool, the city quiet in that magical kind of way — like it's catching its breath. You walk the same route home, sneakers scuffing the pavement, earbuds in. The playlist she made you plays softly in your ears — a mix of acoustic love songs, chill R&B, and random weird tracks she claims “just feel like you.”

Your phone buzzes.

[Liz 💛]: You were watching?? 😭😭😭 I literally wanted to say your name SO BAD [You]: You did. I heard it. Every letter. Even the extra “u”s. [Liz 💛]: UGH you’re so gross (I love you) [You]: I love you more.

You smile like an idiot again, eyes soft.

Back at your apartment, you make ramen. The cheap kind. The one she always complains about when she visits because “you’re going to die eating this,” but then ends up finishing half your bowl anyway.

You scroll through your gallery while it cooks. Photos of her asleep in your hoodie. Her eating ice cream. Her pouting. Her holding your pinky under a blanket at the movie theater. Each photo is a tiny moment — stolen between comeback schedules, fan signs, rehearsals. Hidden from the world, but deeply yours.

You miss her in all the quiet ways.

In the mornings when your alarm goes off and she’s not there to smack your chest and groan. In the little mundane things like brushing your teeth side-by-side or fighting over who gets the last bite of kimbap. In the silence of your room when you roll over and she’s not curled up beside you.

And yeah — she’s famous. She’s busy. You knew what you were signing up for. But still… Missing her is like a dull ache that never fully fades.

She calls you at midnight.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You close your eyes just hearing her voice. “You’re still up,” you say.

“I’m always up for you.”

God. She doesn’t even try. She just says things like that and you melt.

“Your broadcast was amazing,” you tell her. “You looked unreal.”

She sighs. “I was sweating the whole time. You don’t even know. My bangs were stuck to my forehead like—like seaweed.”

You laugh. “Still looked beautiful to me.”

Silence.

Then she whispers, “I wish I could be there right now.”

“Me too.”

“I want to fall asleep in your bed and smell your gross body wash again.”

“…Rude.”

She giggles. You love her laugh more than you can describe.

“I’ll be back in three days,” she murmurs. “As soon as this promo finishes. I’ll sneak out. Even if it’s just for one night.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

That night, you sleep with your phone clutched against your chest, her voice playing faintly in your dreams. And somewhere far away, in a hotel room with blackout curtains and a busy schedule waiting for her, Liz sleeps with the same exact longing — dreaming of you.

Well This is Suprising, You didn’t expect to see her tonight.

It’s almost 2:57 AM. You’ve just come back from a late-night run to the convenience store—instant coffee, microwave pizza, and that one bag of spicy chips she always steals from your snack drawer.

Your apartment is quiet, as usual. That kind of lonely quiet that only amplifies the weight on your chest. The warmth of her voice during that call two nights ago still lingers in your head. It’s always like this, the days before she comes home—you're half-excited, half-anxious, barely able to sleep.

So you don’t.

You stay up scrolling through your phone, watching her fan-cam clips, reading fan posts gushing about her smile, and laughing when they point out the little quirks only you truly understand. “Liz tilting her head again when she doesn’t know what to say 😭😭” someone wrote on X. You grin. She’s always done that—even back when she wasn’t famous, just Liz, your girlfriend, that one girl who always wore mismatched socks and drank banana milk like her life depended on it.

You lie back on your bed, phone dimly lit on your chest, letting sleep pull you under—

And then: three soft knocks at your window.

You jolt upright.

What the—?

You live on the second floor.

The knocks come again. You throw off the blanket, heart racing, shuffle to your window and pull open the curtains.

And there she is.

Liz.

"Miss me?" Liz whispers, her breath warm against your ear as she perches on your windowsill, her hoodie slipping back to reveal strands of her dark hair catching the moonlight.

You don’t even think. You yank open the window, letting the cool night air rush in as she tumbles into your arms, her laughter muffled against your chest. “You’re insane,” you mutter, holding her tighter, like if you let go, she might vanish—a midnight illusion.

“Insane for you,” she murmurs, her voice soft but laced with that teasing tone only she can pull off. Her arms wrap around your neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your skull. “One night. That’s all I could get.”

Your heart clenches. One night. It’s not enough—it’s never enough—but you’ll take it. You’ll take every second she’s willing to give.

“Your manager’s gonna kill me,” you say, pulling back just enough to see her face.

She smirks, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Let them try.”

You laugh, despite the knot in your chest, and brush her bangs out of her face. Her skin is cool from the night air, but her smile is warm, familiar, home. “God, I missed you.”

“I know,” she says, her voice dripping with that shameless confidence you adore. “I saw your tweets.”

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. “You stalk my account?”

“Mm-hm,” she hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m your number one fan.”

You shake your head, but the smile doesn’t leave your face. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

You lead her to the bed, the two of you collapsing onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. She’s on her side, facing you, her hoodie discarded now, leaving her in an oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder. Her eyes are half-lidded, exhaustion etched into her features, but there’s a softness there too—a vulnerability she only ever shows to you.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice low, almost a whisper.

She blinks, her brow furrowing slightly. “Why?”

“You looked dizzy in that rehearsal video.”

She sighs, turning onto her back to stare at the ceiling. “I was. I haven’t eaten real food in like, three days. Just cucumber water and black coffee.”

Your stomach twists. “Liz—”

“I know, I know,” she says, cutting you off with a wave of her hand. “It sucks. But I’m okay. I’m here now.”

You reach out, gently brushing your thumb across her cheek. Her skin is soft beneath your touch. “I hate how they work you.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes soft, almost sad. “Sometimes I hate it too. But I try not to think about it when I’m with you.”

“Then don’t think,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. “Tonight, you’re just mine.”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “Tonight, I’m always just yours.”

You make her ramen at 4 AM, the good kind you’ve been saving for a special occasion. She leans against the kitchen wall, wearing one of your oversized shirts, her hair tied up in a messy bun. Her eyes are half-lidded, exhaustion written all over her face, but there’s a sparkle in her gaze—a secret joy only you get to see.

“This feels illegal,” she murmurs, sipping the broth like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

You shrug, leaning against the counter across from her. “It probably is.”

She grins, her nose scrunching up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “God, I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, stealing your breath. You pause, your heart pounding in your ears. “Say it again.”

She looks up at you, her face lit only by the weak kitchen light. “I love you.”

Again.

“I love you.”

Again.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she says between bites, laughing now, her voice filling the small space between you. “Are you gonna cry?”

You almost do.

Back in bed, with her curled up beside you and the first rays of dawn peeking through the curtains, she mumbles against your chest, her voice heavy with sleep. “You know, I dream about this every night.”

You run your fingers through her hair, your touch gentle. “What?”

“This. Us. You. Not having to hide.”

Your chest tightens, a familiar ache settling in your heart. “I want a world where I can hold your hand in public,” she continues, her voice soft but steady. “Where I can kiss you on the street and not worry about headlines. Where I can tell my fans about you and still have their support.”

You press a kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering for a moment. “We’ll get there,” you whisper. “Even if it takes years.”

She sighs contentedly, her body relaxing against yours. "I love you," she murmurs again, her breath warm against your skin.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your voice barely audible.

And then she’s kissing you, her lips soft and insistent, her hands gripping your shirt as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss her back, your fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you. Her body is warm against yours, her hips pressing into you as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours.

You break apart, both of you breathless, and she looks at you with a mischievous grin. "I want you," she whispers, her voice shaky but certain.

"Liz," you start, but she cuts you off with another kiss, her hands moving to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Her lips are on your neck, her teeth grazing your skin, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.

Her shirt joins yours on the floor, and then she’s straddling you, her hands on your chest, her lips trailing down your body. You groan, your hips arching up to meet her, and she laughs softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

"Relax," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. "Let me take care of you."

And you do. You let her take control, let her lead, let her show you just how much she’s missed you. Her hands are everywhere, her mouth hot and hungry, and you’re lost in her, completely and utterly lost.

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains as she rides you, her body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. Her head tips back, her hair cascading down her back, and she moans your name, the sound sending a wave of euphoria through you. Your hands grip her hips, guiding her, urging her on, and she leans forward, her lips finding yours again in a desperate, feverish kiss.

"Come with me," she whispers against your lips, and you do, the world exploding in a burst of light and heat as you both reach the edge together.

She collapses against you, her body trembling, her breath hot against your skin. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and she buries her face in your neck, her lips brushing against your pulse point.

The room is still shrouded in the soft haze of dawn, the air thick with the scent of sweat and intimacy. Liz lies sprawled across your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. Her breathing has slowed, but her body still hums with the residual energy of what you’ve just shared. You stroke her hair, the strands damp and tangled, and she lets out a contented sigh.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy, “how about a shower? I feel… sticky.”

You chuckle, the sound rumbling through your chest. “Sticky, huh? That’s your fault.”

She lifts her head to look at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And whose fault is it that I couldn’t keep my hands off you?”

“Fair point,” you concede, grinning. “But you’re the one who climbed through my window at 3 AM.”

She smirks, leaning in to brush her lips against yours. “And you’re the one who let me in. So, shower?”

You nod, and she slips off the bed, her movements graceful despite the exhaustion that must be weighing on her. She extends a hand to you, and you take it, letting her pull you to your feet. The two of you make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cool beneath your feet. Liz turns on the shower, the sound of water hitting the tub filling the room. Steam begins to rise, fogging up the mirror and wrapping the space in a warm, humid embrace.

She steps into the shower first, the water cascading over her body, and you watch as her skin glistens under the stream. She turns to you, her hair already plastered to her face, and extends a hand. “Come on,” she says, her voice soft but laced with something urgent.

You step in after her, the water immediately soaking you from head to toe. Liz pulls you close, her body pressing against yours as the warmth envelops you both. Her hands roam over your chest, exploring every inch of you as if she’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin. Her touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat of the water.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Let’s make this day unforgettable,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as her hands glide down your torso, tracing the lines of your muscles. She presses you gently against the cool tiles, her body pinning you in place. Her lips find yours, and the kiss is slow and deep, a languid exploration that leaves you breathless. Her tongue slips into your mouth, tangling with yours, and you groan, your hands gripping her hips.

Liz pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with desire. “I’ve missed this,” she admits, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper, your hands moving to cup her face. “Every damn second.”

She smiles, her lips curving into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Good,” she says, her voice teasing. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Her hands slide lower, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach before she wraps them around you, her touch firm and confident. You gasp, your head tipping back against the tiles as she begins to move her hand, her strokes slow and deliberate. Her lips find your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she nips and sucks, leaving behind a trail of marks that she knows you’ll have to hide later.

“Liz,” you groan, your voice ragged. “You’re going to kill me.”

She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Not yet,” she murmurs. “I’m just getting started.”

Her hand picks up speed, and you feel the tension building, coiling in the pit of your stomach. But before you can tip over the edge, she stops, her grip loosening. You open your eyes to look at her, confusion and frustration written all over your face.

She smirks, her expression wicked. “Patience,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

You let out a strangled laugh, shaking your head. “You’re evil.”

“And you love it,” she counters, her hands sliding up your chest as she leans in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is harder, more demanding, her teeth tugging at your lower lip as she presses herself against you. You can feel her, warm and wet, and the ache in your body intensifies.

She breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your lips. “Turn around,” she instructs, her voice firm.

You hesitate for a moment, but then you do as she says, turning to face the tiles. Liz’s hands are on your back, her fingers tracing the lines of your spine, and then she’s pressing herself against you, her body flush with yours. Her hands move to grip your hips, and she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Relax,” she whispers, her voice soft and soothing.

You feel her shift behind you, and then she’s guiding you into her, the sensation overwhelming as she takes you in, inch by inch. She lets out a soft moan, her hands tightening on your hips as she begins to move, her rhythm slow and deliberate. The water continues to cascade over you both, the sound mingling with the soft, breathy sounds she’s making as she rocks against you.

“Liz,” you groan, your hands splayed against the tiles as she picks up speed, her hips snapping against yours with a force that leaves you gasping. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks that you know will stay with you for days. Her breath is hot against your neck, her moans growing louder, more desperate, as she chases her own release.

“Come with me,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she nears the edge. “Please.”

You don’t need to be told twice. The tension in your body snaps, and you’re lost in the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, her body trembling as she follows you over the edge. She collapses against your back, her breathing ragged, her heart pounding against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the water still streaming down around you, as you catch your breath. Liz finally pulls away, her hands sliding up your back as she turns you to face her. Her eyes are soft, her expression tender as she looks at you.

“I love you,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I say it enough.”

You cup her face, brushing a strand of wet hair out of her eyes. “I love you too,” you whisper back. “And you don’t have to say it. I already know.”

You turn off the shower, the room suddenly quiet except for your ragged breaths. Steam lingers in the air, clinging to your skin as you grab a towel, wrapping it around her. She’s still trembling from the intensity of the moment, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she looks at you with those eyes—those eyes that always seem to see straight through you.

You lift her effortlessly, her arms instinctively wrapping around your neck as you carry her to the bed. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, intimate light over the room, and you lay her down gently, her damp hair fanning out against the pillow. Your body hovers over hers, the towel slipping away as you press her into the mattress.

“I need you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, thick with desire.

Her hands slide up your chest, her fingertips tracing the contours of your muscles as she nods, her breath hitching. “Always,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

You position yourself between her legs, your arousal pressed against her warmth. Slowly, agonizingly so, you slide into her, her body arching to meet yours. Her breath catches, and she lets out a soft moan, her nails digging into your shoulders. You move with her, your bodies perfectly in sync, every thrust deep and deliberate.

Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, closer, until there’s no space between you. Your foreheads press together as you move, your breaths mingling, her lips brushing yours with every ragged exhale. The rhythm builds, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it feels like you might shatter.

“You feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I don’t ever want this to end.”

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you capture her lips in a searing kiss, your tongues tangling as you pour everything into it—every ounce of love, every ounce of need. Her moans are muffled against your mouth, her hands roaming your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

The sound of skin against skin, her soft whimpers, your harsh breaths—it’s all so intoxicating, so raw. You feel her body tightening around you, her walls clenching as she nears the edge. Her nails rake down your back, and she throws her head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck.

“I’m close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “Please… please don’t stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. You push her closer, deeper, harder, until she’s unraveling beneath you, her climax crashing over her in waves. Her body shakes, her back arching off the bed as she cries out your name, her voice raw and desperate.

It’s enough to push you over the edge, your own release following hers. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, your hips stuttering as you spill into her, your body trembling with the force of it.

For a moment, you stay like that—your bodies still joined, your breaths ragged, your hearts pounding in sync. Her hands slide up your back, her touch gentle as she pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I love you,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I say it enough.”

You press a kiss to her collarbone, your lips lingering against her skin. “I love you too,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure. “And you don’t have to say it. I already know.”

She smiles, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “Good,” she says, her voice drowsy. “Because I’m never going to stop loving you.”

You lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside your window forgotten. The silence is comfortable, intimate, broken only by the occasional whisper of affection or the soft hum of contentment.

But then, her phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the moment.

She groans, reaching for it reluctantly. “Ugh, it’s probably my manager.”

You watch as she unlocks the phone, her expression shifting as she reads the message. Her brows furrow, and she bites her lip, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

“What is it?” you ask, propping yourself up on one elbow.

She hesitates, her thumb hovering over the screen. “It’s… nothing. Just some scheduling stuff. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

But you can tell it’s more than that. There’s a tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw that wasn’t there moments ago.

“Are you sure?” you press, your voice gentle but insistent.

She sighs, setting the phone down and turning to face you. “Yeah. I’m sure. I don’t want to think about work right now. I just want to be here with you.”

You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Okay. Then we’ll forget about it for tonight.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Instead, she leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” she murmurs against your lips. “For always being here for me.”

You kiss her back, your hands sliding down her sides, pulling her closer. “Always,” you whisper.

She hums in response, her fingers tangling in your hair as the kiss deepens, the worry momentarily forgotten. Her body arches into yours, her warmth pressing against you as she whispers, “Do that thing again. The thing you did before.”

You smirk, your lips trailing down her neck. “Which thing?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, her hands sliding down your back. “You know exactly what thing.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your lips move lower, your hands exploring every inch of her body as you lose yourself in her once again. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in the quiet intimacy of the night.

But as her moans fill the room, you can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. Something that could change everything.

You wake up to the smell of strawberry milk.

Not coffee. Not toast. But strawberry milk.

Your eyes open slowly, and for a moment, you think you’re still dreaming — because there’s Liz, crouched on the floor in front of the fridge, hoodie sleeves flopping over her hands, humming a cartoon jingle off-key as she struggles to pull the drink from behind the pickles you never moved.

She doesn’t notice you watching at first. She’s too busy doing a little happy dance after finally getting the bottle out, spinning around and bumping the fridge door shut with her hip.

Then she sees you.

“Oh nooo,” she groans playfully, dramatically shielding her face with the milk. “You weren’t supposed to wake up! I was gonna surprise you!”

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. “With what? Warm strawberry milk in bed?”

She grins, padding over with the bottle and two mugs she clearly grabbed without thinking. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

You let her pour the pink drink, both of you sitting cross-legged on the bed as if it’s the most normal breakfast in the world. She hands you a mug with a shy smile — like you haven’t already kissed her a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s kind of our thing now,” she says softly, watching you take a sip.

You raise a brow. “Strawberry milk?”

She nods. “Simple. Sweet. A little weird. But comforting.”

You chuckle. “Like us?”

She beams. “Exactly like us.”

You clink mugs. And for a while, you both just sit there — legs tangled, bed messy, morning sunlight slipping through the blinds — sipping strawberry milk like it’s some kind of sacred ritual.

After breakfast, Liz insists on building a “pillow fort.”

You’re skeptical, but the way she pouts — exaggerated bottom lip, big doe eyes, that high-pitched “pleeease” — you fold instantly.

You gather every blanket and cushion in the apartment, while she giggles and crawls around, making up the “official fort layout” as she goes. You accidentally knock over a pile of pillows and she dramatically fake-dies beneath them.

“I’m trapped,” she groans. “Only true love’s kiss can save me.”

You roll your eyes but crawl over anyway, brushing her hair from her forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins up at you, soft and glowing. “But you love me.”

You kiss her — slow and gentle — just like she likes in the mornings. “Yeah. I really do.”

Inside the fort, the world feels small in the best way.

Your legs are intertwined again, and she’s lying on your chest, doodling hearts with her finger against your shirt.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I wish time would stop.”

You run your hand through her hair. “Then let’s pretend it already has.”

She lets out a dreamy sigh, nuzzling closer. “You’re too good at saying the right things.”

“And you’re too good at making me feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”

She laughs, soft and sleepy. “Then I guess we’re even.”

You spend most of the day inside that blanket fort — playing silly games, watching old cartoons, taking blurry selfies that Liz promises to never post (“but secretly keeps for herself”), and holding each other in every possible position a tangle of limbs can manage.

She teases you when you get emotional during a sad episode. You pretend not to notice when she hums your favorite song into your shoulder. She tries on your shirts, dramatically modeling them like it’s Fashion Week, then collapses laughing when you rate each one with a serious poker face.

It’s not the glamorous life of a K-pop idol.

It’s better.

It’s real.

It’s yours.

That night, you lie in bed with her again, this time on your side, faces inches apart.

Her voice is sleepy but laced with something warm. “You know what I love about you?”

“What?”

“You always treat me like a person first. Not an idol. Not a celebrity. Just… me.”

You brush your thumb along her cheek. “Because you are just you. That’s who I fell in love with.”

She smiles so softly it makes your chest ache. “Promise me we’ll keep being like this. Even if things get busy. Even if we’re apart.”

You link your pinky with hers. “I promise.”

She kisses your hand, then rests it against her heart.

Moments later, she’s asleep — peaceful, safe, warm in your arms.

And for once, there’s no noise, no pressure, no flashing lights.

Just Liz.