#winterxyou

Aespa GF HC

✰When you first meet her, she’s got that soft-spoken, mysterious vibe. Big eyes, Gentle voice, Quiet Giggle. You question if she’s an angel

Synopsis: You’re in Brazil for Nationals, supposed to be resting, but volleyball’s your life. When a stray ball nearly hits Minjeong, a carefree traveler with a camera, your worlds collide. She’s spontaneous, you’re all about routine, but somehow, you find yourself drawn to her. For a week and a half, you step out of your comfort zone, sharing laughs, street food, and moments that feel like they could last forever—until reality pulls you back, and she’s gone.

Minjeong x Male reader !!

Word Count: 3,108

Is he a robot?” one of the bystanders muttered, eyes locked on you as you launched into another brutal spike across the sand.

It was supposed to be your rest day—no drills, no pressure. Just sun, ocean breeze, and time off during the team’s trip to Brazil for Nationals. But you? You couldn’t stop. Volleyball wasn’t just a sport—it was your pulse. Even on an off-day, you were diving for saves, jumping like gravity didn’t apply to you, playing like there was still a medal on the line.

A small crowd had formed along the edge of the beach court, tourists and locals alike drawn in by your movements—quick, clean, powerful. The ball barely touched the sand when it was your turn to hit.

“No doubt about it, he’s stupidly good at volleyball.”

“You haven’t heard of him, have you?” one asked, eyes still tracking your form.

“Not really. Why? Is he famous or something?”

The group huddled closer, curiosity piqued.

“That’s Y/N—Division 1 player from Korea,” someone said, tone half in awe.

“He’s the number one candidate for the Olympic team this year. A beastly outside hitter. Been carrying games since he was in high school

She weaves between the courts, unaware of the game happening just a few feet away. You’re so focused, eyes locked on the ball mid-air, setting up for the perfect spike.

But the ball doesn’t land where you expect. With a quick whoosh, it’s heading straight for her—too fast for her to notice.

“Look out!” someone shouts.

Before she can react, the ball’s almost upon her. But you’re quicker. You move in, your hand extending to catch it mid-flight.

She stumbles, eyes wide with surprise, her balance thrown off. But just in time, you reach out, grabbing her wrist with ease, steadying her before she can fall.

Her eyes meet yours, startled but grateful.

Minjeong (laughing lightly, eyes bright):“Whoa, that was close. You could’ve knocked me out with that thing

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to go that far,” you say, lifting her gently, trying to mask the awkwardness of the situation. There’s a moment of quiet between you two as you both linger for a second longer than needed, the connection feeling a little more charged than it should.

“It’s alright,” she replies with a soft smile, brushing off the situation with an easygoing laugh. Her eyes light up with curiosity as she looks at you. “What’s your name?” Her tone is warm, relaxed, inviting you into the conversation with no pressure.

“Y/N,” you answer, a little unsure, still adjusting to her lighthearted energy.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Minjeong! Kim Minjeong,” she says, extending her hand with a bright grin, clearly enjoying the moment. She’s playful, not bothered by the unexpected encounter at all.

Before you can reach for her hand, the sounds of your teammates approaching fill the air. They’re clearly excited, and you can already hear the teasing in their voices.

The team arrives in full gear, but they notice you standing away from the court and immediately start whispering and glancing in your direction. They can’t help but be curious about why you’re not still playing.

Seojin noticed you and Minjeong, and calls out teasingly, “Oh, look at Mr. Robot here, finally taking a break from his perfect game to make some friends!” His tone is playful, mocking you lightly as he and the others close the gap.

Teammate #2 laughs, nudging you with a smirk, “We didn’t know you were training off the court too, huh? Who’s this?” He’s clearly trying to provoke a reaction, but his voice carries a touch of amusement.

Teammate #3, acting overly surprised, chimes in with a mock gasp, “Wait, wait, what’s going on here? Is our star player turning into a social butterfly?” The teasing is relentless, but it’s all in good fun.

You can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up, but you try to keep your cool, rolling your eyes at the playful banter. Minjeong, however, laughs along, clearly enjoying the teasing. It’s not uncomfortable for her; she seems genuinely entertained, her bright smile showing she’s not fazed by your teammates’ curiosity.

“I was just about to ask him the same thing,” she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “He’s a beast on the court but seems pretty quiet off it.” There’s a teasing edge in her voice, but it’s lighthearted, almost as if she’s discovering something new about you. She’s completely unbothered, making it feel like less of a big deal than it should be.—

—You try to shake off the teasing, a small grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I… don’t usually take breaks,” you admit, glancing at your teammates with a resigned sigh. “But apparently, they think I need a few lessons in having fun.” You shrug, accepting the joke, but you’re also secretly relieved that Minjeong’s there to keep the mood from getting too awkward.

“Well, Minjeong, if you’re sticking around, you better teach him how to relax,” Seojin says with a teasing grin, his voice light and fun. “We’ve been trying for months!” His words are full of humor, but there’s a genuine note of affection behind the teasing—like he wants to see you loosen up for once.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at Seojin’s comment, but you smile, knowing he means well. Minjeong, on the other hand, seems perfectly at ease in this moment. Her gaze softens as she looks at you, clearly amused but also understanding

After that encounter, you found yourself back on the sand, volleyball in full swing with your teammates. Minjeong lingered on the sidelines for a bit, camera in hand, casually watching. She seemed more amused than impressed, maybe just enjoying the scene.

“Didn’t expect to find a whole tournament here,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You guys are actually good.”

You just gave a small nod, wiping sweat from your brow.

The crowd around the court only grew after that. People were drawn in by the fast-paced plays and the sharp chemistry your team had. It wasn’t long before the matches turned into a full-on wager. Seojin, of course, was behind it—he always was. Betting on your team became routine, and more often than not, you walked away with your pockets heavier.

Another day, another handful of bills. The sky began to dim, and the matches ended with quiet handshakes and tired laughs.

After the match, as your team caught their breath and collected another round of winnings, Minjeong approached you with her usual bright smile.

“Hey, Y/N!” she called out, waving a little. “I’m gonna go now—there’s still so many foods I have to taste and sceneries I need to capture.” You just nodded, watching her adjust the strap of her camera before she turned around and melted into the crowd. A fleeting presence—just a quick conversation, the kind that happens once and doesn’t return. And just like that, she was gone. The sun dipped lower, painting gold over the sand, and the game carried on.

It was around 8PM when the aftermath of your little “money-making scheme” finally caught up to you.

You and your teammates were lined up in the hallway of the inn, backs straight, faces to the wall. Classic punishment pose. Apparently, word got around that your volleyball matches had turned into full-blown gambling events, and your coach wasn’t exactly thrilled. Seojin, of course, didn’t help—he somehow managed to rope the whole team into taking the fall with him.

Some guys were laughing, joking about how ridiculous it was. Others? Not so much. Time was ticking, and standing there felt more like a waste than discipline.

Then, you spotted her.

Minjeong. Just passing through the corridor, camera slung around her neck, a bag of street food in one hand. She looked surprised to see you standing like that, and you couldn’t help it—you peeled off from the wall, slipping away like it was nothing.

“Hey!” one of your teammates hissed. “Y/N, come back here! Don’t make coach lengthen the time we have to stand here!” But you were already walking toward her.

You made your way through the dimly lit hallway, the buzz of vending machines and distant chatter echoing behind you—until someone jumped out from the corner.

“Were you following me, creep?” Minjeong teased, her voice light, smile mischievous. “Didn’t know you’d be staying here.”

You didn’t even flinch, just blinked at her. “Yeah. A week and a half. You?”

She grinned, eyes sparkling under the warm light. “No way. Same. A week and a half too.”

“What room?”

“112. You?”

You tilted your head. “113. Seriously?”

She laughed, nudging your chest gently. “Guess the universe has some plans for us.”

“Stop that,” you muttered, though the corner of your lips tugged into a smile. “What’s that in your hands?”

“Street food,” she said, holding up a paper bag that was warm and slightly greasy. The scent of grilled meat and spices hit you immediately. “Saw a stall on the way here. Want some? Let’s go in my room.”

You hesitated. “I’m not going into a stranger’s room…”

She raised an eyebrow. “What can a 5’5 girl do to a 6’6 guy? Plus, your room’s across the hall.”

“…Fair enough.”

You followed her inside.

Her room was a mess. Not in a gross way—but in a way that felt lived-in. A hoodie tossed on the chair. Travel brochures poking out of an open backpack. Shoes by the door, mismatched socks. A couple wrappers by the nightstand. And yet… it smelled clean. Soft. Like sunlight through cotton curtains. Like citrus shampoo and something warm you couldn’t name.

Minjeong plopped down on the edge of the bed, tossing you a skewer from the bag. “Careful, it’s still hot.”

You sat across from her on the floor, legs stretched out, the food resting between you. Her camera was nearby, a few Polaroids scattered beside it—shots of sunsets, beaches, alleys lit with fairy lights, a blurry photo of a laughing stranger.

You took a bite. It was spicy, sweet, smoky. “Okay, you were right.”

“I always am,” she said casually, reaching for another bite. “So, volleyball star, huh?”

You shrugged. “I play. I jump. I sweat. Rinse and repeat.”

She giggled, soft and genuine. “That’s one way to describe it. You’re good though—I saw you earlier.”

You glanced at her. “Were you watching?”

She gave you a knowing look. “Hard not to.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just still.

The kind of quiet that settled in like a soft blanket.

You ended up talking for hours. About your teammates. About her trips. About how she wanted to try everything once, even things that scared her. You found yourself telling her things you didn’t normally say out loud. And she listened. Really listened. Like your words had weight.

And when you looked at her—really looked—she wasn’t just the girl who jumped you in the hallway. She was a memory waiting to happen.

And in that messy little room, with your fingers sticky from sauce and laughter still clinging to the walls, something unfamiliar but warm bloomed in your chest

After that night, things just… kept happening.

She’d knock on your door at random times, always with something new in her hands—a bag of snacks, a weird souvenir, a half-watched movie on her tablet. “Let’s chill,” she’d say with that grin, already tugging at your sleeve before you could even answer.

Sometimes, you’d drag your feet and pretend you didn’t care. Other times, she’d pull you into her room like it was routine. It kind of was, now.

One night, she opened a small, worn case on her bed. Inside, pinned with delicate care, was a collection of butterflies—vibrant wings frozen in mid-flight, labeled with tiny handwriting. “I found these during an expedition in the Amazon,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly over the case. Her eyes lit up as she talked—about the humid air, the noise of the jungle, how long it took her to spot a rare blue morpho.

You took a step back.

“What?” she asked, catching the shift in your expression.

“I, uh… don’t do bugs.”

That became her favorite thing about you.

From then on, she teased you mercilessly—holding the case a little too close, pretending to chase you around the room with one of the paper tags. “Big volleyball guy scared of little wings? Pathetic.”

You’d scowl, but she’d laugh so hard she’d snort, and somehow that made it worth it.

Sometimes, she’d hand you her portable console. “I suck at this game. Your turn.”

It was a volleyball game—of course.

And somehow, for someone who hadn’t touched a console in her life, she still talked trash with full confidence. You’d whoop her every time. She blamed your “unfair advantage,” yelling things like, “You’ve literally lived this!” while trying to block your spike with the wrong button.

You never denied it. You just smirked, that stupid, growing smile of yours hiding behind the controller.

But it wasn’t just about the wins or the teasing.

It was the way time moved differently when you were with her. The hours felt shorter. Her room felt warmer. And your chest? A little lighter

The end of the week and a half was creeping in like the last few rays of sunset. Both of you felt it, even if neither of you said it out loud.

So when Minjeong asked if you wanted to eat at this one restaurant she’d been dying to try, you didn’t hesitate—well, except when it came to your coach. The man was known to be stricter than concrete, but to your surprise, he gave a nod and said, “Don’t be late.”

It almost felt like he knew. Like he saw something.

Your teammates did, too—judging by the endless teasing and not-so-subtle smirks as you left in your casual jacket and joggers. Minjeong, in her light summer outfit, lilac skin catching the golden hue of the Brazilian dusk, looked like she walked out of a memory you didn’t even know you had.

The night was warm. Alive.

You strolled through the streets, soaked in the buzz of the city, stopping when people recognized you—mostly fans who asked for pictures, and Minjeong, without a word, would always be the one holding the camera. She didn’t mind. In fact, she smiled brighter than the flash. She looked proud.

You caught yourself thinking—this is nice. Different. Refreshing. Being out of your routine was rare, but being with someone who lived to wander made it feel… right.

The food was great. The conversation better.

And by the time you both returned, standing in front of your neighboring doors with fingers naturally intertwined, the moment was already bittersweet.

“Well… it was short,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “but I enjoyed it.”

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s keep in touch, Y/N.”

You nodded, and for a second, the idea of staying crossed both your minds.

But reality sat between you.

She had her skies.

You had your court.

Neither of you could give those up—not even for each other.

The next morning, her door was closed. Quiet. Empty.

She was gone.

You stared at it for a little too long, heart dipped in silence. The day dragged on. Even your teammates noticed the mood shift. On the bus, on the bench, even when you won nationals—your biggest high—it felt strangely… muted.

But she kept her promise.

You’d get messages—photos from Peru, Morocco, Nepal. Her grin in every frame. Sometimes blurry, sometimes stunning. Sometimes? Just a bug she thought would gross you out.

You never said it, but you smiled every time.

You’d send her training videos, sweaty and tired, captioned with things like “Guess who aced 10 straight serves today?”

And she’d always reply, “Proud of you, volleyball boy. Don’t forget to stretch.”

It was the finals. The locker room buzzed with tension and energy, mostly thanks to Seojin yelling like he’d already won the championship. “We’re on fire, bro! Five in a row, let’s make it six!” His voice echoed against the cold tiles, shaking off whatever nerves were left.

You were calm—but focused. The crowd outside was roaring. Thousands packed in, all screaming your name. Signs, chants, camera flashes. The air felt heavy with expectation.

First set? You lit it up—3 out of the first 5 points were yours, and Seojin slammed in the other two. 25–17. Easy.

Second set? You went off. Every touch, every swing—clean. 15 points in a single set. It didn’t even feel real. Final score? 25–11. Some of the opposing players shook their heads like the game was rigged. Maybe it was. Maybe it was just you.

Third set rolled in and the energy peaked. You stepped back for a serve, locked in—and then… a flicker.

Blonde hair in the crowd.

Your hand hesitated just enough for the ball to hit the net. A rare miss. Some boos. Some gasps. But you didn’t care—not really.

You scanned the stands, heart suddenly racing—not from the game, but from the maybe. And there she was. Row 3. Blonde tied back in a low ponytail, cap pulled halfway down. But you knew that face anywhere.

Minjeong.

After that? You were unstoppable. Whatever weight was on your shoulders lifted. You crushed the last few points, and with a final block at the net, the gym exploded. You’d done it. Won the match. Secured the national spot.

But the noise around you faded.

You saw her pushing through the crowd, soft and steady, cutting through the chaos like the world made space for her.

You didn’t even think.

You ran.

Right into her.

And when you hugged her, tight, sweat and adrenaline still fresh on your skin—everything went quiet for a second.

Like home wasn’t a place.

Aespa GF HC