#manager reader

you hover near the doorway with the bento boxes stacked neatly in your arms.

you’d helped make all of them this morning. rice measured carefully, portions adjusted, names written in neat marker on the lids. everything uniform, everything practical.

except one.

you swallow and glance down at the box resting on top.

tsukishima kei’s name is written just like the others, clean and simple. it’s what’s inside that’s different. you’d told yourself you wouldn’t do it. you’d stood in the kitchen this morning, hands hovering over the ingredients, heart racing as if someone might burst in and catch you in the act.

but then you’d thought about him.

about how he always stood a little apart, glasses slipping down his nose as he observed everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze. about the way his teasing was precise, almost gentle when it was aimed at you. about how he always thanked you for small things, quietly, like it mattered.

so you’d done it.

you pass out the bentos one by one, keeping your smile small, your movements efficient. a few of the boys cheer when they get theirs, hinata already trying to pry his open before anyone tells him to wash his hands. you laugh softly, relieved. normal. everything feels normal.

then there’s only one left.

you take a breath that’s a little too deep and walk toward him.

tsukishima is sitting against the wall, towel around his neck, phone in his hand. he looks up when your shadow falls over him, brow lifting slightly.

“oh,” he says. “thanks.”

you hold out the bento with both hands. “um. here. tsukishima.”

your fingers brush when he takes it.

it’s brief. barely anything. but it’s enough to make your heart stumble.

you don’t wait.

the moment the box leaves your hands, you turn on your heel, already mumbling something about needing to help clean up, already pretending to be very invested in reorganizing a stack of water bottles that absolutely does not need reorganizing.

behind you, tsukishima watches you go, lips pressing into a thin line.

he opens the box a few minutes later, expecting the usual.

rice. protein. vegetables. functional. thoughtful in a practical way.

instead, he freezes.

the rice is shaped into a neat heart, edges carefully pressed. the side dishes mirror it, tiny hearts cut with a precision that had clearly taken time. even the egg has been folded just so, rounded and soft.

it’s… undeniably cute.

he glances around.

hinata is inhaling his lunch. nishinoya is trying to steal tanaka’s. no one else seems to have noticed anything unusual.

tsukishima looks back down at his bento.

then, slowly, his ears turn pink.

he eats every bite.

when lunch ends, you think you’ve gotten away with it.

you’re wiping down a table, shoulders relaxing just a little now that the worst part is over, when a shadow falls beside you again.

“hey.”

you jump.

tsukishima is standing there, bento box in hand. it’s empty. clean. neatly closed.

your stomach drops.

“i, um—” you start, panic flaring hot and fast. “was there something wrong with—”

“why,” he interrupts calmly, “was mine the only one like that?”

you freeze.

your brain scrambles for an excuse. a joke. anything. but he’s watching you too closely, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable behind his glasses.

you can feel your face heating up.

“i just—” you fidget with the cloth in your hands, voice shrinking. “i thought… it’d be nice.”

there’s a beat of silence.

then tsukishima sighs.

you brace yourself.

instead of teasing, instead of that familiar dry remark you’re half-expecting, he reaches out and gently sets the bento on the table between you.

“i liked it,” he says. “a lot.”

you look up, startled.

his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. still composed, still tsukishima, but there’s something warm there now, something careful.

“you didn’t have to run away,” he adds. “i wasn’t going to laugh.”

“i didn’t think you would,” you admit quietly. “i just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

he huffs, almost amused. “you made it obvious.”

your heart leaps. “obvious bad or—”

“obvious cute,” he corrects.

you stare at him, stunned.

tsukishima adjusts his glasses, gaze flicking away for half a second before returning to you. “if that was your way of telling me you like me,” he says, “then i guess i should respond properly.”

he nudges the bento toward you. “i’ll bring it back tomorrow. maybe with something in it this time.”

you blink. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” he says simply.

your lips curve into a shy smile before you can stop them.

“…okay.”

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

(Y/n) was perfection in human form. Always three steps ahead, prepared, unshakeable. Nothing could stop her during a race weekend and that is exactly what four time world champion Max Verstappen needed. Someone who could keep up with him, who kept her head down and worked. That's why they worked.

It was nearing the end of the season and the two of them had been working together for about eight months now. There was a quiet routine in the way they moved about the weekend. A water bottle on the table, a protein bar in his hand. Silent moments where she looked out for him, in the quiet way only she could manage.

So when she trailed a few feet behind him in the paddock, it wasn't unusual. She was there, within reach. It wasn't unusual when the media called his name. When they pushed against the barriers and pushed the limits of what was acceptable behavior.

What was unusual, is when security slipped. When the media were able to get just a step closer and in turn stepped on (Y/n)'s foot. When she stumbled and yanked herself away, when no one noticed.

This didn't upset her. Not really. She winced but kept walking. Escorted Max to where he needed to be, got him checked in with the interviewer. She gave him some notes on what to say, then slipped away with practiced ease. The last thing she needed was Max noticing something was off- he had enough on his plate without his manager becoming a liability.

Once she made it to the med tent, she sank into a chair and finally let her shoulders drop as she tugged her shoe off. The nurse said her ankle was sprained- tender to the touch. It was nothing she couldn't handle. Ice, elevation and she'd be fine. But she should be easy on it- the nurse insisted. It wouldn't heal as quick if she was running around the paddock for the rest of the weekend.

(Y/n) smiled and agreed, checking out of the tent with a practiced charm and ease. Once she was out of sight, however, the speed walking to get back to Max continued. She showed up just as he was wrapping, prepared to guide him to the next event. Tight smile, on point. Nothing was amiss. Not really.

Later that night, Max was scrolling through his phone while lying restless in a hotel bed. He was about to give up, finding it more beneficial to stare blankly at the ceiling rather than continue to consume mindless content on TikTok. That is, until a video of him in the paddock appeared. Except, the focus didn't stay on him. It zoomed in on (Y/n), two steps behind him, just as a security officer slipped.

He watched it. Again. And again. How the media swelled and pushed, how someone landed on (Y/n)'s foot, how she had to yank herself away and stumble forward. How no one noticed or helped. How he didn't even glance back. The comments were filled with outrage- anger that the media was so pushy, that the security couldn't do their job. But some, some took on a different tone.

user2846: imagine your whole job and life is consumed by taking care of this guy and he doesn't even turn around to check if you're okay in a crowd swell... user5798: awh the photos of her in the wrap... poor girl. so scary user6928: Like- logically I know he is focused and whatever. But she is literally the only one walking with him, and considerably shorter than everyone in this crowd. Can someone just- keep an eye out for her? user4298: legit this would scare me so bad omg.

It made Max uncomfortable. Not because they were wrong.. but because they were right. And the way that he felt when he saw the video... the way his heart dropped. The adrenaline pulsing through his veins like he was there. The concern, the need to swipe to his messages and press send on something to (Y/n). Instead, the blinking of a hotel alarm clocking reading 1:22am was enough to convince him to leave it for tonight. The new reason he couldn't sleep though- now that was something he would have to confront another day.

Luckily for him, the next morning was technically another day. He arrived to the paddock extra early, when he knew she would be there to beat the crowd and get settled. He walked into the hospitality unit and saw her, leg propped up on a chair, icing her ankle while nursing a cup of coffee and looking over what he presumed was the schedule for the day.

She glanced up and noticed him, instinctively going to shift her leg off of the chair. "Oh- Max! What are you doing here- you're early."

His eyes darkened in response, going to her ankle. "Don't."

"What?" came her confused response.

"Don't- don't take the ice off of your ankle," he said with a tone laced with something she couldn't quite place.

"Oh- oh. No, I'm fine. It's nothing."

"No, it's not. It's not nothing. You nearly got trampled in a crowd and I didn't even notice-" This response was tighter. Like it pained him to say, like there was a barely controlled anger.

"You saw the TikTok, didn't you?" was her soft response.

"Yes, and I hated it! I hate that I didn't notice sooner- I mean- (Y/n). You are the best manager I've ever had, you keep my life on track." He pauses only to run his hand through his hair. "You know what I need before I do, I never have to worry. And, and all this time- I should've been worried about you!"

(Y/n)'s face flashed with something too quick to name. "I didn't want this to be a thing. I took care of it- I got it looked at. I'm fine."

"Maybe- but what if you weren't? What if you needed me? I should've noticed-"

"I'm used to taking care of myself, Max. I'm used to not being noticed. It isn't your job to do that, okay?"

"But- but that's the thing. I do notice. I noticed that you order a white mocha with blonde shots and whip cream every day, I noticed you ask for your salads to not have onions on them, I noticed you always wear sunglasses and hats because you burn easy. I notice you! And yet I still failed to look for you-" The increased agitation in his voice left the following silence heavy, the unspoken things now being voiced hung between them.

Finally, he moved closer. Kneeled next to her chair to be on her level, voice quieter now. "I rely on you more than I let on. You know that, right?"

"I know." There's a pause. "But you forget sometimes."

"I don't mean to."

"I know that too."

He looks down at her ankle, then back to her face. His fingers twitch at his side like he wants to reach for her but he isn't sure if he's allowed to.

(Y/n) exhaled. "It really is just a sprain, Max."

"I know." he murmurs. "But it shouldn't have taken a TikTok to tell me." Something shifted in his expression, a tight jawline, a clip in his pride perhaps. "I'm sorry," he continued.

"It's okay, Max."

He glances away, then stands up and looks back at her. "I made some calls on the way here. Security is going to be increased for the rest of the weekend. I'm also talking to Laurent about getting some additional personnel that travels with us. You'll have two interns until you're healed. One you can have escort me around, and the other can fetch things and run errands for you. I don't want you injuring yourself more. Okay?"

(Y/n)'s face softens. "Max- that wasn't necessary."

"Yeah. It was. I'm gonna be back to have lunch with you, and I want the full report on how ridiculous these interns are, okay?"

She smiles softly this time. "Yeah, okay. I can do that." A smile of his own mirrors her, the first of the morning and boyish in nature. Feeling satisfied that he had finally done something right, he turned and slipped away into the crowd of mechanics and engineers arriving to start the day.

Later, an intern came up to Max and handed him an envelope labeled "High Importance: Mr. Verstappen". In a squeaky voice he explained that, "Ms. (L/n) said to give this to you- that you would know what to do with it," before scurrying away. Max opened it up and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Max-

The caterers are making those wraps you like for lunch.

I hope you're glad to know this urgent message,

(Y/n)

P.S. I hope the intern was adequately scared and concerned whilst delivering this letter. I might've told him it was the most important thing he would do all year.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  

The practice room is nearly empty, save for a few stray water bottles and the low hum of a vending machine in the hallway. The clock on the wall blinks 11:47 PM in tired red digits. Jeongin sits cross-legged in front of the upright piano, a battered lyric sheet balanced on his knee, headphones askew. His lips move silently, tracing the shape of high notes he’s determined to master before tomorrow’s vocal check.

You pause in the doorway, half-hidden by the frame, a paper cup of convenience store coffee warming your hands. You know you should be home, or at least pretending to sleep in the manager’s lounge. But Jeongin is here, so you are too.

The new vocal coach—Mr. Yoon, all starched shirts and smugness, leans against the mirrored wall, scrolling through his phone. He hasn’t looked up in ten minutes. Jeongin clears his throat, tentative. “Um, Coach? Can I try the bridge again? I think I figured out the—”

Mr. Yoon sighs, not bothering to mask his impatience. “Why bother?” he drawls, eyes still glued to his screen. “Seungmin can just cover your parts. He’s got the range. Don’t stress yourself, kid.”

Jeongin’s mouth snaps shut. For a second, he just sits there, blinking, as if the words haven’t quite landed. Then his shoulders curl in, chin tucked down—a turtle retreating into its shell. You see the way his fingers twist in his hoodie sleeve, knuckles whitening.

Mr. Yoon isn’t finished. “Honestly, you should focus on dancing. Leave the high notes to the main vocals. That’s what the team needs, right?”

The silence that follows is thick and ugly. Jeongin’s eyes are fixed on the lyric sheet, but you can see the shimmer at their corners. He swallows hard and tries to shrink himself.

You step fully into the room, your footsteps echoing on the linoleum. The coach glances up, startled, then offers a half-hearted nod. “Manager-nim. Just giving some advice.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak yet. Instead, you set your coffee on the piano, the cup making a soft thud. Your grip is tight enough that the cardboard creaks.

Jeongin glances up at you, hope flickering and then dimming just as quickly. You force a smile, gentle, and brush a stray hair from his forehead. “You’re still here, Jeongin-ah?” Your voice is soft, but there’s steel beneath it.

He nods, voice barely above a whisper. “Just wanted to get it right.”

You crouch beside him, ignoring the coach entirely. “You always do,” you say quietly, just for him. “And you will. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Mr. Yoon clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I was just saying—”

You stand, turning to face him, your expression polite but unyielding. “Thank you, Coach Yoon. I’ll take it from here.”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he mutters, gathering his things. As he leaves, he tosses a final glance at Jeongin, eyebrows raised in a silent, mocking question.

The door clicks shut. The room is quiet again, save for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

You sit beside Jeongin, letting the silence settle. He wipes his eyes quickly, pretending he’s just tired. You don’t call him out. Instead, you nudge his lyric sheet closer. “Want to try the bridge again? Just us this time.”

He nods, and you see it—the tiniest spark of determination, still alive beneath the hurt. You squeeze his shoulder, gently but firmly.

“Good. Because you’re not ‘just’ anything, Yang Jeongin. And tomorrow, we start making sure everyone knows it.”

And for the first time that night, Jeongin almost smiles.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  　

The company’s smallest practice room is a shoebox with scuffed floors and a single, battered upright piano. The overhead lights flicker, but the space feels safe, hidden from the bustle of trainees and the scrutiny of staff. It’s just you and Jeongin, the world outside reduced to muffled echoes.

Jeongin sits on the piano bench, posture stiff, clutching his lyric sheet like a lifeline. You set your phone on the music stand, queuing up the instrumental for their comeback track. Your own coffee sits forgotten on the windowsill, gone cold hours ago.

You slide onto the bench beside him, close but not crowding. “Let’s try the bridge,” you say, voice gentle but expectant. “No pressure. Just us.”

He nods, drawing a shaky breath. He sings the first line, voice clear but thin, the high note wobbling at the end. He winces, shoulders tensing.

You hum the melody back, soft and steady. “You’re pushing too hard,” you say, tapping your chest. “It’s not about volume. It’s about support. Here—” You place a hand lightly on his back, just below his ribs. “Breathe from here, not your throat.”

Jeongin tries again, following your lead. The note steadies, just a little.

You grin. “Better! Now, imagine you’re telling a secret. High notes don’t have to be loud—they just have to be honest.”

He laughs, shy but grateful. “You make it sound easy, Noona.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “It’s not easy. But it’s possible.” You glance at the piano, fingers tracing the worn keys. “Want to know a secret?”

He perks up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What?”

You play a gentle chord, letting the sound linger. “I used to sing. A lot, actually. Since I was younger than you are now.”

Jeongin’s eyes widen. “Really? Why’d you stop?”

You shrug, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Life. Work. I got busy helping other people chase their dreams. But I still sing, sometimes. In the car. In the shower.” You wink. “And, apparently, in secret practice rooms with stubborn maknaes.”

He grins, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Sing with me, then?”

You hesitate, but his hopeful gaze is impossible to refuse. You play the opening chords, and together you sing the bridge—your voice warm and steady, his growing stronger with each note. The harmonies blend, filling the tiny room with something bright and unbreakable.

When the song ends, Jeongin beams at you, cheeks flushed. “You’re really good, Noona.”

You ruffle his hair, laughing. “You’re not so bad yourself, Jeongin-ah. Now, let’s work on that breath control. Try singing while lying on your back—if your stomach rises, you’re doing it right.”

He flops onto the floor, giggling, and you coach him through the exercise, counting out beats and correcting his posture. Each time he gets it right, you cheer, over-the-top and dramatic, until he’s laughing so hard he can barely sing.

You spend the next hour running scales, experimenting with falsetto, and practicing tricky runs. You share little tricks—imagining the note as a color, visualizing the sound traveling up and out, not just forward.

Between takes, you share stories: your first school talent show, the nerves and the thrill, the teacher who told you “Girls shouldn’t be loud.” Jeongin listens, wide-eyed, soaking up every word.

“You know,” you say, as the clock creeps toward midnight, “singing isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being brave enough to let people hear you.”

Jeongin nods, determination shining in his eyes. “Then I’ll be brave. I promise.”

You smile, pride swelling in your chest. “That’s my boy.”

And as you gather your things, Jeongin hums the bridge under his breath—stronger, steadier, and just a little bit braver than before.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  　

It’s late, again. The city outside the dorm windows glows with neon, but inside, the world is hushed—just the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant laughter of the older members down the hall. You and Jeongin sit cross-legged on the living room floor, a half-eaten convenience store sandwich between you, lyric sheets and practice notes scattered like fallen leaves.

Jeongin is quieter than usual, picking at the crust of his sandwich. He glances at you, then away, then back again. “Noona,” he says, voice small. “What if… what if people think I’m rude? If I talk back?”

You set your coffee down, hands folded in your lap. “Jeongin-ah, do you remember what happened in the practice room last night?”

He nods, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “I just… froze. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking—what if I make it worse? What if everyone thinks I’m just a brat?”

You shift closer, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “Standing up for yourself isn’t the same as being rude. There’s a difference between defending your worth and disrespecting someone else. You don’t have to shout. You don’t have to fight. But you do have the right to say, ‘That’s not okay.’ Especially when someone crosses the line.”

He looks up, searching your face for any sign of doubt. “But… I’m the youngest. I’m supposed to listen, right?”

You reach out, gently squeezing his hand. “Being the youngest doesn’t mean you’re invisible. It doesn’t mean you have to swallow every hurtful word. You have a voice, Jeongin. And you have every right to use it—especially when someone tries to make you feel small.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes shining. “Were you ever scared? When you started working here?”

The question catches you off guard. Memories flicker—your first days as the only woman in a room full of men twice your age, the way your ideas were dismissed, the times you forced yourself to smile when you wanted to scream. You nod, voice thick. “Every single day. But I learned—slowly—that the only way people would listen was if I made them. Not by yelling, but by standing my ground. By showing them I believed in myself, even when I was shaking inside.”

Jeongin’s hand tightens in yours. “How did you do it?”

You smile, bittersweet. “I practiced. In the mirror. With friends. I wrote down what I wanted to say, over and over, until it felt real. And every time I spoke up, even a little, it got easier.”

You let go of his hand and sit up straighter, voice gentle but firm. “Let’s practice now. I’ll be the rude coach. You be you. Tell me what you wish you’d said.”

He hesitates, then draws a shaky breath. “Um… ‘I’m trying my best. Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You nod, encouraging. “Good. Again—louder. Mean it.”

He tries again, stronger this time. “I’m working hard. I deserve respect, too.”

You grin, pride warming your chest. “That’s it. You don’t have to be perfect. Just honest. And if your voice shakes, that’s okay. It means you care.”

He laughs, wiping at his eyes. “You’re really good at this, Noona.”

You nudge his shoulder, teasing. “I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn idols.” Your eyes flicker towards Chan, who has just entered the room, smirking.

He laughs, the sound lighter now, and you know he’s ready. Not just to sing, but to be heard.

As the city lights flicker outside, you sit together in the quiet—two voices, stronger together, ready to take on the world.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  　

The conference room is packed, buzzing with the nervous energy of a comeback countdown. The members sprawl around the long table—Chan with his notebook, Han doodling in the margins, Felix bouncing his leg under the table. You stand at the back, arms crossed, watching over your boys. Jeongin sits near the end, his lyric sheet folded and refolded in his lap, knuckles white.

The new vocal coach, Mr. Yoon, is at the front, running through the setlist with a laser pointer and a stack of critiques. Every time Jeongin’s name comes up, the coach’s lips twitch with barely-concealed disdain.

“And for the bridge in track four,” Mr. Yoon says, “I think we should have Seungmin cover those high notes. It’s more reliable.”

Jeongin looks up, mouth opening, then closing. You see the old uncertainty flicker in his eyes—but then, he glances at you. You give him the smallest nod, a silent promise: I believe in you.

Chan glances at Jeongin, then at the coach. “Actually, Jeongin’s been working really hard on those lines—”

Mr. Yoon cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “Cute, but let the real artists talk. We don’t have time for childish experiments.”

The room freezes. The words hang heavy in the air, sharp as knives. Han’s pen stops moving. Seungmin’s jaw tightens. Even Hyunjin, usually quick with a joke, goes silent.

You feel your heart hammering, but you don’t move. This is Jeongin’s moment.

Jeongin’s hands tremble, but he lifts his head. His voice is quiet, but steady. “Hyungs asked for my opinion,” he says, eyes locked on Mr. Yoon. “Unless you’ve secretly debuted, maybe you should sit down.”

The silence is absolute. The coach blinks, stunned, mouth opening and closing like a fish. For a heartbeat, no one moves.

Then Chan lets out a low whistle. Han’s eyes go wide, then crinkle with a grin. Felix’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes shining. Changbin thumps the table, a bark of laughter escaping before he can stop it. Even Lee Know looks up from his phone, eyebrows raised in grudging approval.

Mr. Yoon recovers, bristling. “Excuse me?”

Jeongin doesn’t flinch. “I’ve practiced those lines for weeks. I want a chance to show what I can do. Isn’t that what practice is for?”

The coach sputters, but Chan steps in, voice cool. “We’ll decide as a team. Thanks, Coach Yoon.”

You catch Jeongin’s eye, pride swelling in your chest. He looks back at you, a little breathless, but standing tall. You give him a tiny, proud smile—one only he can see.

The meeting continues, but the energy has shifted. The members glance at Jeongin with new respect, quiet but unmistakable. Han slides him a note under the table: “Maknae ON TOP!!!” Felix squeezes his hand, tears brimming in his eyes. Changbin leans over, whispering, “That’s my boy.”

You watch as Jeongin sits a little straighter, his voice steady as he gives his input for the next song. He’s not just the maknae anymore—he’s an artist, and everyone in the room knows it.

And as the meeting ends, you catch Jeongin’s eye once more. He mouths, “Thank you,” and you shake your head, smiling.

“You did that, Jeongin-ah,” you whisper, so only he can hear. “All by yourself.”

And for the first time, you see him believe it.

The conference room empties slowly, the energy still buzzing from Jeongin’s stand. The members file out in twos and threes, tossing him proud grins and shoulder pats. Mr. Yoon is the last to leave, his expression sour, but you barely notice—your focus is on Jeongin, who lingers at the table, hands still pressed flat against the wood as if grounding himself.

You walk over quietly, letting the door swing shut behind you. The room feels suddenly too big, the echoes of laughter and tension fading into a hush. Jeongin sits down, shoulders slumping, the bravado of a few minutes ago melting away. He stares at his hands, twisting his fingers together.

You pull up a chair beside him, close enough for comfort but giving him space. “Hey,” you say softly.

He doesn’t look up right away. “Was I… too harsh?” His voice is small, almost lost in the empty room. “I didn’t want to be rude. I just—I couldn’t take it anymore, Noona. I thought my heart was going to explode.”

You reach over, covering his fidgeting hands with yours. “You weren’t rude, Jeongin. You were honest. And brave. There’s a difference.”

He finally looks at you, eyes shining with a mix of relief and leftover fear. “I was so scared. My voice was shaking. I thought I’d mess it up and everyone would hate me for making a scene.”

You squeeze his hands, steady and warm. “You didn’t make a scene. You made yourself heard. And that’s something to be proud of. I am—so, so proud of you.”

He laughs, a little watery, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I kept thinking about what you said. About how it’s okay to speak up. Even if you’re scared.”

You smile, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “It’s more than okay. It’s necessary. And you did it, Jeongin. You did it.”

He lets out a shaky breath, the tension finally draining from his posture. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, Noona. You always know what to say.”

You shake your head, gentle. “You did this yourself. I just reminded you of what you already had.”

Before he can reply, the door bursts open and the members flood in, unable to contain their excitement any longer. Changbin sweeps Jeongin up in a bear hug, spinning him around until he squeals. Felix, teary-eyed, throws his arms around both of you, nearly knocking over a chair. Han waves a makeshift “Maknae Power!” sign, grinning from ear to ear. Even Lee Know gives Jeongin a rare, approving nod.

Chan claps a hand on your shoulder, his voice warm. “He really did it, huh?”

You nod, pride swelling in your chest. “He really did it.”

Jeongin laughs, the sound bright and unburdened, and for a moment, he’s just a kid again—surrounded by his found family, loved and celebrated for exactly who he is.

Later, when the chaos dies down, Jeongin slips you a small, handmade coupon book, the cover decorated with doodles and glittery stickers. In neat handwriting, it reads: “1 Free Hug (No Complaining).” You laugh, pulling him into a hug he pretends to protest but doesn’t let go of.

And as the night winds down, you watch Jeongin—stronger, braver, and finally, truly seen—surrounded by the people who love him most.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  

The arena pulsed with the deep, thunderous beat of the music, the bass vibrating through Leviathan's bones. Strobe lights sliced through the crowd, tracing electric patterns across thousands of ecstatic faces. The air was alive with a frenzied energy, as banners bearing the name HUNTR/X scattered across the intense glow of the massive stage rigging and the overzealous fans.

And on that stage - three idols stood like statues of otherworldly grace, their movements sharp enough to pierce the air. Ethereal, sparkling, alluring - every dance step a precise weapon, every note from their voices imbued with a strange sensation. Their performance was a mesmerizing display of raw, unrestrained talent and power.

In the last row of VIP seats, where the shadows swallowed any who dared to hide, Leviathan was vibrating with awe.

"Ruri-chain's grace incarnate!" He whispered, clutching a signed lightstick as though it were a lifeline to some distant, unreachable realm. His voice cracked with the excitement of a true fan.

Levi wasn't supposed to be here, though.

He knew this. Lord Diavolo had made it abundantly clear to all the demon brothers: Stay low during the International Dimensional Cultural Summit. The Human Realm was crowded with representatives from the Devildom, the Celestial Realm, and every other border province, and the last thing anyone needed was for a powerful demon lord to be mistaken for a rabid fangirl and carted off by moral security.

But how could Levi not go?

HUNTR/X was no ordinary group. They weren't just idols - they were a force, a phenomenon, a masterclass in spellbinding vocals and performance art. And ever since Y/N had started working as the assistant manager for their rivals, the enigmatic K-pop group Saja Boys, a boy band with some seriously suspicious demonic ties, Levi had found himself obsessively curious. Somehow more so for the girls than Y/N's group.

His legs bounced restlessly under his seat as though in sync to a rhythm game, each twitch a very voluntary reaction to the pulse of the music. He had kept to the shadows all night, his demon form cloaked and his aura suppressed, just as Lucifer taught him so many years ago. He had even cast a low-level illusion spell over himself to make his appearance more...human. Everything was going perfectly.

That is, until he felt a familiar presence.

Not in the audience.

Not on stage.

Backstage.

Y/N.

Levi's breath caught in his throat. His pulse skipped a beat as a camera zoomed past and panned to the staff area for the final fanfare. And there, barely visible through a labyrinth of cables and curtains and crew members, was the one person he'd traveled all the way to the Human Realm to not see.

You were shouting something to the stage crew, a clipboard clutched in one hand, a sparkling drink in the other. Your headset was slightly askew, and your hair (tousled from hours of frantic activity) still managed to look so effortlessly perfect. You were radiant. You were gorgeous. You were probably going to kill him.

Levi froze mid-squeal, panic flooding his veins.

She's gonna kill me if she finds out I'm here.

He tried to slink out of his row, crouching low, slipping beneath a pair of waving fans, but his scarf snagged on a purse. He yelped, stumbling over his own feet, and with a final, mortifying thud, he fell headlong into the staff-only corridor behind the VIP floor.

"Security!"

The shout sliced through the air, but it was already too late.

A blur of pink and silver heels came at him, impossibly fast. Before Levi could even register what was happening, he was slammed against a corridor wall. One of the HUNTR/X idols - tall, with a long braid of purple hair - had him pinned by the throat, the reinforced heel of her boot digging into his skin. Another idol, much shorter, with cute buns - had his arm twisted behind his back with a brutal precision that sent a tiny jolt of pain straight to his spine. If it weren't for the situation, and it were all in a game, Levi felt this would surely have been some hidden route that he unlocked.

"I told you I sensed something off," Mira (Levi's bias) said, her voice sugary sweet, but dripping with danger. Her icy gaze never left his face. "You're leaking demon energy like a broken faucet."

Levi scrambled for words, his breath hitching in his chest - "I-I'm just a fan! Just a fan! I swear I didn't enchant anything! I even bought merch legally, see?" He fumbled for his lightstick, waving it wildly like a small child with a toy, hoping to prove his innocence.

Zoey's (Levi's bias wrecker) eyes narrowed, her irises shifting like molten chocolate. "A demon? Creeping around backstage after hours? That sounds more like an assassin than a fan to me."

Levi swallowed hard, his throat tightening under her hold. "N-No! I love your choreography! And your vocals! You're like the ultimate boss battle in human pop culture! I just wanted to see the magic in person, I swear!"

They didn't let him go.

Mira glanced over her shoulder at Rumi, her voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. "What should we do?"

Rumi (Levi's ultimate bias) glared at his form harshly.

Levi winced, his stomach flipping with dread as he began to murmur to himself, "Please, please, please, please don't tell Y/N-"

At those words, the idols tilted their head in confusion.

Zoey, still squatting at his level, tilted her head as though studying a particularly elusive puzzle. "Y/N? Why does that name sound familiar?" She asked, her voice suddenly sharp with renewed interest. The shift in her gaze felt like a predator locking onto its prey.

Levi's heart stuttered, his mind racing. "I-uh...she manages the Saja Boys, right? I-I've just heard of her!" The words spilled from his mouth, his voice trembling in a desperate attempt to deflect suspicion.

But the idols weren't convinced.

Rumi adjusted her earpiece and put away her sword, her voice a low hum. "We'll take him into our room. We'll interrogate him there."

Levi's stomach plummeted yet again. "I'm so dead..."

As the idols of HUNTR/X exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them, Levi knew there was no escaping now. He had just made the worst mistake of his existence.

Leviathan was not used to being at the mercy of anyone, let alone a group of his favorite K-pop idols. But here he was, trembling in a dimly lit room filled with the faint scent of hairspray and glitter. His hands were bound tightly to the chair, and he could feel the warmth of his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Mira's frost glare was locked on him, the pressure of her boot against his neck still fresh in his mind. Zoey and Rumi stood beside her, their expressions equally distrustful.

"You know, you've got some nerve sneaking around here, demon," Zoey purred, her molten chocolate eyes flicking to his lightstick, which he had still somehow clutched in his hand, even while tied up.

Levi whimpered. His usually smooth and confident tone was nowhere to be found. "I-I swear I wasn't planning anything bad! I just...I'm a fan! You don't understand! I've seen every one of your performances, your choreo, your vocals-" His voice broke. You're...you're....so cool!" And with that, Levi burst into tears and heart eyes (somehow at the same time).

Rumi raised a brow, inspecting him with an unsettlingly cool detachment. "I'm not sure if 'fangirl' is an adequate excuse for being a demon in our domain."

"I'm just a fangirl, please let me go-" Levi nearly screamed, then winced at how high-pitched his voice sounded. His whole body was shaking now, but not just from fear - something else was happening as well.

Mira, sensing his discomfort, leaned in closer. "You're leaking energy again. Demons don't usually give off such strong energy unless they're desperate. And you're acting desperate."

Levi was seconds away from hyperventilating (even more than he already was, that is), and that's when it happened. He felt his connection with you. He felt the channel vibrate with energy. He felt the link snap into place with the subtlety of a lightning bolt, and his entire body froze, his breath caught in his throat.

You.

You were feeling the waves of panic that he was sending through the pact.

His mind flashed to the last few weeks, to the way you'd always been there for him, how you struggled to fit into the Devildom when you first arrived, and how you'd never failed to sense his distress (especially after forming a pact with him). That would be his worst-case scenario. You finding out. You'd be furious.

He didn't even realize he was muttering aloud, "Please don't tell Y/N, please don't-"

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey exchanged glances. Rumi's expression grew sharper.

"Seriously, that name sounds so familiar-" Zoey said. "Why can't we tell her? What would happen if we did?"

Before Levi could respond, he felt the thudding pulse of anxiety and anger from across the venue. His eyes widened. You were definitely starting to feel it. He knew that you felt it. There's no way you didn't. And with how strong the connection felt, Levi knew that it was just a matter of time before you found him. It was impossible to hide from you.

The air in the HUNTR/X trailer was tense enough to cut with a blade.

Literally.

There were plenty of blades around (one of which was currently dangerously close to Leviathan's trembling cheek).

The trailer lights flickered, probably more from the ambient magic leaking out of Levi's body than from faulty wiring.

And then...

SLAM.

The trailer door burst open with the force of a thousand fans.

You stood in the doorway, eyes wide, fury radiating from you like a second skin. Your breathing was heavy, headset still clinging to one ear, clipboard clutched in a death grip.

"There you are!" You snapped, eyes locking immediately onto Levi's, who perked up like a puppy seeing its owner - if said puppy was tied to a chair and leaking supernatural fear sweat.

"Y-Y/N!" Levi wailed, tears doubling in speed. "It's not what it looks like!"

"Are you kidding me right now?" You barked, storming into the room. "Levi, what the hell!? I TOLD you NOT to come during the summit!"

"I know! I know!" He sobbed. "But they were performing Golden! With the pyro effects and the Rumi solo and-"

Mira stepped between you and Levi with a hard expression. "Hold on. You're Y/N!"

You froze. "...Yeah? Why does everyone keep saying that like I'm a cursed scroll?"

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "You're the manager for the Saja Boys."

You sighed. "Yes. Unfortunately, yes."

Zoey's brows drew together, and her voice was low. "You're the one who was crying about? The one we weren't supposed to tell? A freaking manager?"

You rubbed your temples, deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this exact moment. "Because he's an idiot who sneaks into places he shouldn't be. Levi is harmless. Mostly. I mean, he once destroyed a server because he lost in a gacha pull, but generally harmless."

Mira stared at you. "I don't sense demonic energy from you. But why are you here?"

You gave a weak laugh, gesturing at Levi. "Just a pact. Long story. Don't worry, I'm not a demon. I'm just chronically overworked and magically adjacent. I haven't slept in three days."

Zoey winced.

Rumi's eyes flicked to Levi. "None of this makes sense. First, a demon bulldozes his way into our concert-"

"He actually just wanted to watch you perform." You interrupted.

Glaring at you, Rumi continued, "and then he doesn't even try to fight back-"

"Like I said, completely harmless."

"And then you show, claiming that you're not a demon."

"Yup."

The girls looked at you, flabbergasted. You don't necessarily blame them. It was a weird ass pill to swallow.

"I assure you that I'm not here for any trouble, and neither is the guy you've got bound to that chair. Sure, he's a demon. And sure, he's one of the seven Demon Lords of the Devildom, and sure-"

"Wait, wait, wait-" Zoey cut in. "He's a Demon Lord? From the Devildom? Is that like below the Honmoon?"

"Uhhhh, yeah, sure, let's call it that." You said. "He's just the Avatar of Envy. Gamer extraordinaire. Simp for all things fictional."

Levi nodded, still weeping. "Can confirm."

Mira slashed her Weol-do forward, uncertainty and anger tainting her features. "If he really is all that, then why isn't he fighting back?"

You threw your clipboard onto the makeup table, where it landed with a clack. "Because he's a fan. He came here to see you. Not start a war. He wouldn't hurt you."

"He broke into a secure concert zone," Mira noted.

Increduously, you asked Levi, "Did you actually break in!?"

"No! I paid with human world cash for the concert tickets and the lightstick! I bought it legally! Look, it has the holographic authenticity sticker!"

The three HUNTR/X girls exchanged bewildered glances, clearly unsure what to make of this sobbing, nerdy disaster of a demon and this exhausted human who happened to be the manager of a wildly successful K-pop group (who also happened to be demons).

Rumi was the first to recover. "Still, he could be a threat."

"I'm not a threat!" Levi wailed. "You are! You almost shattered my spinal column!"

"You landed in a restricted area!"

"Because my scarf got stuck on a purse and I tripped-"

BOOM.

The door flew open for the second time that night.

This time, it was the Saja Boys.

All five of them.

Their stage gear was still on, glittering faintly in the dim trailer light. Jinu was at the front, fists clenched, and eyes blazing with the kind of fury reserved for Gwi Ma (though he would never express it to the being, of course).

"What the hell is going on!?" He shouted, scanning the room.

Romance immediately moved to your side, "Are you hurt?"

You waved him off, stunned (and tired). "No, I'm fine, but-wait, how did you know where I was?"

We felt your energy spike," Abby, the tallest of the group, said. "Also, you weren't responding in the group chat."

"Oh. Right."

"Baby, the youngest, pointed at Levi. "Who's that and why is he tied to a chair crying?"

"Long story," You said through a long sigh.

Mystery sidled up to you to pat your head.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey all drew back at once, clearly alarmed by the sudden arrival of five more demons.

Mira hissed, "Why the hell are you demons here!?"

The tension spiked.

Baby stuck his tongue out at them. Abby and Jinu were too busy glaring to notice Mystery growling at the demon hunters. Romance was ready to whisk you away at the slightest hint of a fight.

The energy in the room transformed violently as Rumi darted to conjure her Sa-in-geom and Zoey curled her fingers around Daesinkal. Mira's heels scraped the floor as she positioned herself between them and Levi (and the Saja Boys).

Levi, for his part, looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole.

"NO, NO, NO-" You hollered, waving your arms. "Nobody is fighting anyone!"

"Back off, Y/N..." Mira warned.

"Oh, you're not laying a hand on a single HAIR on our manager, crazy pink ass punk," Baby declared.

"Oh hell no, you did not insult my bestie like that, you ragtag wannabe maknae-" Zoey raged as she threw her weapons at the boys.

"Can everyone please stop and shut the fuck up for like two seconds!?" You screeched, officially done with anything supernatural in a 50-mile radius.

Dead silence fell.

You sighed, rubbing your face.

"Okay. Summary: Levi snuck in to see HUNTR/X perform. Got caught. Because he's a dunderhead-"

"Hey!"

"HE'S just obsessed with your group. I know. I don't get it either-"

"HEY, we've got great music!"

"Not what I meant, Zoey, now hush it. Anways. HUNTR/X girls assumed he was dangerous, which, fair, he is a demon after all. But he's not. I felt his panic through our pact. That's why I'm here."

Looking at the Saja Boys, you continued, "Levi is an old friend of mine. From the Devildom. Long story, definitely not getting into it now." Looking back at the girls, you gestured at the boys, "They were wondering where the hell I was and tracked me down. Now they're here."

Everyone stared.

"So that's everyone caught up."

Levi sniffled. "I was just gonna see the encore and leave...I even memorized the choreography for How It's Done. It's so catchy and addicting-"

"Levi. Not helping," You hissed.

Zoey was the first to crack. "You don't get paid enough for this, do you?"

"I really don't."

Author's Note: So, I was already mulling over this idea and how exactly I can execute it, when I saw a (post) made by @l3viat8an about wanting to see an Obey Me x Kpop Demon Hunters crossover. So, of course, I immediately started writing down what I had in my brain so far, and boy, did I have a lot of fun with this. It was definitely a little difficult to write, because I had like 6 different Saja Boys drafts that I was working on interchangeably (now 5 drafts), and so things were starting to go over my head a little.

I genuinely think there's so much that I can do with this crossover, because I feel like it gives me a chance to actually explore the ill tendencies of demons. Obey Me sort of desensitizes you to the fact that demons do evil shit, so it's a great opportunity to delve into that with this crossover. There's also a bunch of stuff that I've got planned for future chapters, and if you have any ideas, please comment or send in a request!

Manager reader who was completely dazzled and shocked, watching Nekoma VS Karasuno match.

She was extremely shocked by Hinata and Kageyama's rapid attack.

Manager reader , loving when Lev joined the team.

Manager reader , who has Taketora and Lev sleeping on her on the bus during the training camp.

That was a photo taken by the team after falling asleep too.

Manager reader , who spends almost all of her time with the other managers , especially Kiyoko and Yachi.

Manager reader , who always trains with the boys and brings them their favorite food after a match.

Manager reader , being constantly teased by Fukurodani managers .

Manager reader , going to the beach with nekoma and the other volleyball teams during summer training camp.

Manager reader , who gets insecure when seeing the others managers in their bikinis.

Kenma notices the manager reader hiding in her t-shirt , and calls the others out.

Manager reader , that was sad , but then happy after they try to comfort her , bursting in laughter.

Manager reader , spending the day , playing beach volleyball  with the managers and Bokuto.(he was wearing a bikini top)

Manager reader , who gets harassed by an Ichibayashi student , during the spring high tournament.

Kuroo and Yaku scaring the boy away , after noticing her discomfort . 

Manager reader , gaining two private bodyguards named Taketora and Lev , after the harassment.

Yaku scolding them to go get ready to play , after they refuse to leave your side .(I can see coach Nekomata laughing in the back)

Manager reader , cheering loudly for the boys.

Manager reader , even when Nekoma lost to Karasuno , knows how to console them ,telling them she’s proud of them.

Manager reader , that is the favorite person and the mother of the team.

Kuroo is called the dad , and takes advantage of that , by flirting with the manager reader.

Chan helps everybody.

He takes care of everybody, his members, stylists, managers, make-up artists.

But there’s this one manager.

Specifically his manager.

You.

You’re calm even in the most hurried and frustrating situations.

Something goes wrong? You handle it.

Something needs fixing? You fix it.

Behind schedule? You rearrange everything without complaining.

Overall you have your shit together.

He admires that.

Not only do you handle his things, but if any of his boys need something, done.

the other staff needs something? done. 

You have this authority on you, you’re older, your words matter.

Chan first met you in the survival show, you were in the management team.

He noticed how you always made sure everyone was okay.

You didn’t speak much, but there was kindness to you.

This warmth that made people comfortable around you.

When they debuted, and got their own managers, you became his.

Even after seven years, you are still here.

As his manager.

You’ve grown comfortable around each other. You kept it professional even when he showed interest in the early years before he gave up when he didn’t get an answer.

You’re the noona who handles herself, a person in the room keeping cool in tough situations.

He doesn’t get to make sure you’re okay, like he does for everybody else.

You’re always making sure he’s okay, everybody else is okay but for god sakes if he tries to make sure you’re okay the answer is always ‘I can handle myself’, ‘you shouldn’t worry for me’. So, he has made his life mission of trying to get through the wall you build and take care of you even when he shouldn’t. For example, standing between you and the fans at the airport, sure there’s bodyguards but he’s always making sure you’re not close to the fans.

One time he pulled you from the side too close to him so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd, sure, you scolded him for it after but he took it with a grin.

-------

Chan groans, leaning his head back against a wall.

He’s in the studio with Han and Changbin, they’re preparing for a comeback, but he just seems to not get this track as he wants it to, He hasn’t slept well nor has he eaten lunch yet.

He’s been more stressed for this comeback than usual. He’s been snapping at his members a lot, getting annoyed for no reason. The other two were in the middle of discussing the title track when he decided to take a break, to get some fresh air.

He rose from his seat and made his way into the cafeteria, when he pumped into you.

“Oh great, I was just coming to find you”, you said, looking down into your phone where his schedule was. “Remember that you have-”

“I know my schedule, thanks”, he interrupted you.

Your eyes snapped up from your phone to him. Well somebody’s in bad mood today

“Okay, well just wanted to remind you”

“Don’t need it, but thanks”, he tried to walk past you but you got in his way before he could make his escape.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to cance-”

“No, I’m fine!”, he snapped.

“Alright, well…go on then..”, I step out of his way.

—------

Later that day

Chan has an interview in 20 minutes.

His hair is done, make up is done, outfit on.

Except the minimalist choker was too tight.

The stylers already left, in the room was only him and you anymore.

Not only was he already having a bad day, but the peace of accessory was for some reason irritating him. He tried to loosen it but it was closed tight and he let out an audible annoyed huff, causing you to turn your attention to him.

“You need help?”

“No”

You got up anyway and walked over to him. 

“I said-”

“Let me help”

Chan sighed as you got closer, trying to loosen the choker for him.

As you worked on the choker, he stared at you, his face expressionless, except his eyes flickered to your lips and back to your eyes several times.

You succeeded in loosening the choker, and looked up just when he leaned his face closer.

“Don’t”, you sternly let out.

“Don’t what?”, he answered, he’s now straight up staring at your lips.

“Don’t do whatever you’re thinking right now..”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking”, Chan stated.

“So you’re not thinking about kissing me?”

A smirk grew on his face, “No, oh no, I’m thinking about doing much more than that..”

Much more than WHAT? You blinked fast a few times, before saying “you what now?”

He steps closer, and for some reason you don’t back up.

“I’m thinking about doing much more than kissing you…”, his hand is now on your hip, but it’s not rough, it’s like he’s holding you.

“Well you shouldn’t,..and you definitely shouldn’t be coming closer”

“You’re not stopping me,...go on, say ‘stop it’ and I step away..”

You know you should, You’re his manager, this shouldn’t be happening.

But no words leave your mouth.

No movement was made to stop him from bringing his lips to yours.

No resistance was made when his lips started moving against yours and you matched it.

It wasn’t sweet, it was burning, like something long ago burned out lighted inside you, And all the professionalism was out the window.

Your lips weren’t like puzzle pieces finally locking into place. They were like gasoline to fire, lighting up something dangerous.

“Chan…”, you breathed out, against his lips “the interview..”

“We have time…”, he led you to the couch in the corner, pushing you to lay down on it, getting on top of you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tittling your head back letting him trail his lips down your neck.

His lips were close to your ear and he placed a kiss on your earlobe before whispering “if you let me ofc…”

You look at him for a moment, “...please”

You let out a shaky breath when he opened your jeans zipper, and his hand found its way to your cunt, only for you to realize how wet you were.

“Look at that,...dripping already?”, his middle finger circled the sensitive bud when you looked away from him causing you to gasp. “Keep your eyes on me..”

You bring your eyes back to him, breathing growing heavy.

“You always take care of everyone,..refusing someone to take care of you..”, he tsk’s and that somehow made you even wetter. “Now you let me take care of you, yeah?”, he continued to draw circles with his middle finger, making you moan as you nod.

“Good”

Chan slowly pushes his index finger in you, and starts thrusting it.

You slap your hand over your mouth to hide the whine that got out.

He chuckled a little before adding his middle finger and you moaned into your hand.

He continues to thrust those two fingers in you, while rubbing your clit with his thumb.

An orgasm was quickly approaching you, letting your eyes fall close as your head dipped back. Chan watching your reactions quickly picked up on that and added a third finger.

A whimper got through your hand, and your thighs tensed as you let out a high pitched moan, cumming on his fingers.

Chan let you ride out the orgasms before pulling his fingers out and shamelessly cleaning them with his tongue, groaning at the taste. You watch in disbelief as he lick his fingers up,...holy fuck. Your eyes dropped to his obvious bulge in his pants, but he got up.

“Wait,..but you..”, you try to get words out.

“It’s fine,..I’ll sort myself out after the interview”, He said, walking towards the door, already a few minutes late.

As the door closed after him, you leaned back against the couch.

That was probably the quickest you ever cummed. And it was only his fingers.

Not to mention an idol,...who’s manager you are.

fuck

----------------