#saur

[rosachae]

blood money | manon x reader

Part Five previous -- next

Soundtrack:  listen while reading on Spotify →  Genre: AU Warnings: some mentions of criminal behavior, maybe some curt language here and there. overall, nothing major i can think of.

Synopsis:

"Manon was a lot of things: cold, mysterious, casually nonchalant in the most infuriating way possible. Y/N just didn't expect this to all be a byproduct of the duffle bag stashed away in her bedroom, filled to the brim with blood money and bearer bonds. When the CEO of a large pharmaceutical conglomerate is reported murdered and that over a million dollars had been stolen, Y/N is left trying to connect the dots between the crime and her new roommate."

05

y/n had always loved the sound of rain. white noise while she tried to sleep in the dead of night, a bodiless companion while she poured hours of herself into textbooks. it was comforting in its own cold, wet way. but ever since manon had moved in, this fondness was starting to rot. pain, resentment, doubt—emotions that’d plagued y/n these past two weeks. it was raining the night she came home to find the tall swiss woman already waiting. it was raining when she confided in sophia in the school library, airing grievances she hadn’t even known how to name. it was raining when they tore away from the hideout, sirens hot on their heels. now, instead of comfort, all y/n felt was omen. the rain was a warning. a promise. it always came before something terrible. she’d learned that lesson the hard way.

the truck peeled around another corner, the wheels skimming dangerously over the flooded asphalt. y/n gripped the steering wheel tighter, heart battering against her ribs, breath coming fast and thin. the city bled past the windshield in neon smears. behind them, distant sirens still howled, faint but alive. the feds were out there, hunting. they hadn’t gotten away. they’d just bought a few breaths of borrowed time.

beside her, manon slumped low in the seat, one hand clamped tight over her shoulder. the bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. her jaw was clenched, her profile hard in the passing light. she didn’t speak. she didn’t need to. she was still scanning the side streets, the mirrors, the rearview. calculating. surviving.

y/n swallowed hard and swung them off the main road. the motel came into view—the same one they'd slept in before everything cracked open. across the street, the diner buzzed sickly against the rain, its neon light pooling across the pavement in limp, broken puddles. the building looked different now. smaller. exhausted. like it knew it was sheltering fugitives.

she cut the headlights and coasted down a narrow alley beside the motel, tucking the truck deep into the shadows. just before the beams died, she caught a glimpse of the motorcycle they’d abandoned not even a day ago, fallen onto its side in the mud. pathetic. almost funny, if anything could still be funny.

the truck rumbled low under them. rain drummed against the roof, loud and constant, rattling through the cab like static. manon shifted, a rough sound tearing from her throat. her voice came a moment later, hoarse and clipped. "supplies. back of the truck. canvas bag under the tarp."

y/n nodded, breath misting in the cold. she shoved the door open and slipped out into the rain, the cold biting through her hoodie in an instant. she sprinted to the bed of the truck, yanking back the tarp with wet, shaking hands. the canvas bag was there, wedged deep against the frame, heavier than she expected. she nearly lost her footing hauling it free, the alley a mess of mud and pooling water. she caught herself on the bumper and staggered back toward the cab, her sneakers splashing through filthy puddles.

the passenger door creaked under her grip. manon had unbuckled herself, but she hadn’t moved otherwise. her mouth was a thin, tight line. her hoodie clung to her, soaked and stained dark at the shoulder. grief hovered around her like a second skin, sharp and silent. y/n said nothing. she just ducked under manon’s good arm and helped her up, feeling the solid weight of her pressed against her side. manon was still strong. still solid. but there was a tremor running through her that wasn’t from the cold.

they moved quickly, heads low, slipping through the side entrance of the motel. part of y/n almost panicked the second the motel door shut behind them heavily under the weight of the wind, but that panic immediately evaporates when she remembers the cold, disinterested clerk behind the front counter. she doubted she heard, and even if she had, she just as strongly doubted she cared. 

the hallways smelled like wet carpet and stale smoke. every step felt too loud. the second they stumbled up to their room door– a large ‘6’ engraved into its wood– y/n set into action. she fumbled, fishing the keys out of manon's left pocket. she fumbled just as hard in kicking the door shut behind themselves, and near collapsed under their shared weight when a particular misstep almost sent them tumbling down. but, she forced herself to stay standing. she had to see this through.

inside the room, it was even worse than the hallway. the air was heavy, damp, the windows fogged up from the humidity outside. the blinds were half-closed, bleeding weak light from the diner’s flickering sign across the grimy carpet. the bed looked smaller than y/n remembered, rumpled from when she'd slept against it the night before.

y/n eased manon down onto the mattress, setting the canvas bag at her feet. she didn’t miss the way manon’s body sagged slightly once she let go, like the tension holding her upright had frayed.

y/n crouched low, unzipping the bag fast. gauze. bandages. a sealed syringe of antibiotics. alcohol. a switchblade and a spare hoodie rolled tight like a makeshift pillow. no hospital trips. no doctors. just survival packed into canvas and trust.

"we need to get your hoodie off," y/n said, voice low. steady, but not as steady as she wanted it to be.

for possibly the first time, manon doesn’t bother guarding her emotions. they filter across her face in the fastest nanosecond. grief, sadness, shock, anger– before eventually it settled on doubt. it was fleeting. so fast that y/n could’ve sworn she didn’t see it. but, alas, she did. 

manon hesitated. just a beat. her gaze slid over y/n’s face, weighing something small and dark  in the deepest depth of her mind. and then, she nodded. 

she never looked so small than she did in this moment now.

y/n swallowed. the small consenting nod was all she needed to reach out slowly, fingers brushing against manon’s sleeves. the fabric was soaked through, clinging to her skin. y/n worked carefully, peeling the hoodie up, avoiding the wound. her hands skated over manon’s ribs, over the long lines of her back, feeling the way she shivered under the cold air. manon moved with her, patient, silent, letting herself be handled in a way that would’ve felt unthinkable days ago.

the hoodie peeled free with a wet, heavy sound. y/n tossed it aside without looking. manon’s skin beneath was bruised and battered, but solid. the bullet wound was ugly but clean, an angry red hole punching through the muscle of her shoulder. 

y/n’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t let it show. she grabbed gauze and alcohol, pouring it slow over the wound. manon flinched, her body jerking once, but she didn’t pull away.

"you’re lucky," y/n muttered, focusing on the bleeding. "clean shot. no bone."

"lucky," manon gave a rough hollow sound akin to a broken, humorless laugh. her voice echoes, like she didn’t know what the word meant anymore.

manon's shoulders sagged, her body leaning heavier against the thin mattress. her face was turned toward the ceiling, her mouth drawn tight, her expression stripped bare by exhaustion. her chest rose and fell slowly as she took in deep breaths, centering herself as well as she could in a situation like this one. 

the silence between them thickened, stretched, until it was almost unbearable. then, manon spoke, so quietly y/n almost missed it.

“you should have left me.”

y/n’s breath caught in her chest. her fingers gripped the canvas bag so tight they ached, the words cutting through the tension between them like a knife.

“shut up,” she snapped, the sharpness of it surprising even her. “not even a ‘thank you’ for saving your ass?”

y/n pressed the gauze in a little rougher than she needed to.

"you know what?" she muttered, voice tight. "fuck you."

manon blinked, startled. but she has no time to respond before y/n continues, frustration clear in her voice. 

"you sit there bleeding out, looking like death, and you still act like this is some kind of inconvenience. like i should be sorry for helping you."

"i didn’t ask you to—"

"no, you didn’t," y/n snapped, cutting her off. "you never ask. you just give orders. or act like you’re doing me a favor by not saying anything at all."

she again poured alcohol over the wound, maybe slower than necessary, not cruel but not gentle either. manon flinched, a hiss slipping through her teeth, but she didn’t pull away.

"you’ve been impossible since day one," y/n continued, her hands working, her voice getting sharper. "ever since you moved in with me and daniela. you always looked like you were somewhere else. like being around us was... beneath you. or painful. i couldn’t tell which."

"i never meant—"

"then what did you mean?" y/n’s voice cracked, raw and fed-up. "because you cuffed us together, manon. you set us on this whole fucked-up path, and then spent the entire time acting like you hated me for being there."

manon didn’t respond right away. just stared down at her lap, breath shallow, jaw clenched. her shoulder trembled beneath y/n’s hands, and y/n didn’t know if it was from pain or guilt or both.

"i didn’t hate you," manon finally said. quiet. like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

"could’ve fooled me," y/n muttered. she grabbed fresh gauze and started wrapping it, faster now. the adrenaline had nowhere to go but her fingers and her voice.

y/n wrapped the gauze tight, tying it off with fingers that still trembled from adrenaline. outside, the rain slammed against the windows, a constant drumbeat. the sirens were fainter now, but not gone. they wouldn't be gone for a long time. when she was done, she stayed where she was: perched on the side of the bed staring at the bloody scraps of gauze littering the bed, looking anywhere but at manon’s body. now wasn’t the time.

"you know what?" she muttered. "forget it."

she moved like she was about to get up, to put space between them, but manon caught her wrist. not rough. not hard. just enough to make her freeze.

"wait," manon said. her voice was raw, splintering at the edges.

y/n slowly turned back around. unlike the cold metal of the cuffs which once kept her tethered, now it was manon’s warm, soft hand. she squeezed firmly as if reaching for something tangible, trying to gently tug her back. manon stared back at her with the same deep brown eyes that once had her blood running cold. hard, tantalizing. closed windows that were jammed shut and locked with a long forgotten key, guarding her soul from being laid bare before another person. she looked back at y/n in that moment with a peculiar emotion fluttering across her face. she was pleading.

 "you deserve the truth."

of all the things y/n expected her to say, that was the least of them. she settles back down, perching herself on the edge of the bed beside manon’s resting frame. 

"why now?" y/n asked, voice low. not angry, not forgiving– just tired and confused.

manon didn’t answer right away. her eyes traced y/n’s face, slow and unguarded, like she was memorizing her. like she was looking for a reason not to say whatever was on her mind. y/n’s eyes stared back at her in a silent dare. manon sucked in a shaky breath, like dragging the words out of herself was going to kill her.

“at this point, what else do i have to lose?”

and she meant it. wholeheartedly. manon grimaced slightly when she shifted, the gauze doing little to numb the pain in her shoulder. despite her previous sarcasm, she knew she was lucky that the bullet had went straight through. she hums after a moment when she knows she has y/n’s full attention, mulling over her thoughts, silently searching for the right words. and then, she sighs.

"i used to be normal," she said, barely above the rain hammering the windows. "before all this."

y/n’s eyes snapped up to her face. no walls. no lies. just manon, stripped down to the bone.

"i was a private investigator. boring cases. missing persons. cheaters. nothing that mattered." her lips twisted, bitter. "i had a sister. she reminded me of daniela. stubborn. loud. good."

y/n said nothing. just listened, holding herself still. the very mention of the latina’s name had a pang of longing striking through her. she missed her best friend. for all she knew, daniela could be locked up in a cell right now as they talked– being probed and pressed for answers about a crime she had nothing to do with. some part of y/n couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaving her behind. she shakes her head, ridding herself of her thoughts. right now, what mattered was manon. she focuses her attention on the girl, the way her eyes glaze over as if reminiscing on memories only she was privy to. 

"then she got sick," manon continued, the words dragging out of her like glass. she swallowed. "something rare. a neurodegenerative disease. incurable. i was watching it all play out, you know? it started small. she started forgetting little things. the time, birthdays. and then things got bad.” 

manon shook her head, biting back whatever bile she could feel rising in the back of her throat. y/n could only watch, awed. she’d never been able to get so much as a single sentence out of the tall girl, never been able to detect a minute emotion in her voice when they’d talked. the tides had shifted.

manon continues. “then geffen corp came along. said they had a solution. a trial." a hollow laugh slipped from her mouth. "we were desperate. we believed them."

she swallowed hard. her shoulders sagged like the weight of it all was finally catching up to her.

"they used her," she said. "ran experiments on her until there was nothing left to save. killed her and called it natural causes."

y/n’s stomach twisted. she didn’t even realize she’d reached out until her fingers grazed manon’s knee and offered a comforting squeeze. if the girl was bothered by her contact, she didn’t show it– too caught up in her own thoughts.

"i dug until i found her file," manon whispered. "she’s on that usb. proof of what they did. her and dozens of others."

the rain battered the motel harder, but neither of them moved.

"after she died, my dad fell apart. i almost did too. and that’s when the others found me. the ones trying to bring geffen down. they needed someone who could get close without raising alarms. someone who already had nothing left to lose."

y/n thought about the way manon always moved. always ready to run. it made brutal sense now.

"it was supposed to be simple. find the proof. expose them. but the ceo ended up dead. and suddenly i wasn’t just an investigator anymore. i was an accomplice. a fugitive."

manon’s voice cracked on the last word, breaking something open between them.

"sunghoon..." she breathed his name like a wound. "we worked together. he was my friend. he didn’t deserve any of this. i dragged him into it. and now he’s gone."

the guilt in her voice was a living, bleeding thing.  manon’s eyes fluttered shut, like the fight had finally drained out of her.

y/n squeezed her knee tighter. just once. just enough to say i hear you. i’m still here. nonetheless, her next question falls from her lips before she can stop it.

“and… daniela? how does she fit into all of this?”

manon’s face twisted, guilt flashing sharp across her features.

"she found out what her parents were funding," manon said after a moment. "geffen corp. they’re one of the biggest private backers. they keep the experiments running. the labs. everything."

y/n stared at her, stunned. she couldn’t make the words fit. daniela—her best friend, the girl who'd once called her family her 'biggest embarrassment' with a crooked grin—was tied to this nightmare by blood?

"she overheard her father talking about it," manon continued. "plans to expand the trials. to go public. to scale it all up. it made her sick. she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know."

"so they—?"

"they cut her off," manon said simply. "froze her out. tried to threaten her into silence."

y/n blinked, the memory slotting into place. y/n’s throat closed up. she remembered how heartbroken daniela seemed after her parents came up from atlanta. remembered the sad, disturbed, defeated look on her face when she walked back into the apartment after they left. the way she laughed bitterly, excused being cut off as being a byproduct of her dropping out of uni. it was the perfect cover up. the perfect lie. the calls home had stopped. she'd started avoiding any talk about her family at all. guilt gnawed at y/n’s ribs. why didn’t she just tell her?

"we met by accident," manon said eventually, her voice low, almost lost beneath the rain hammering the windows. "coincidence. bad timing. whatever you want to call it."

y/n stayed silent, letting the words settle, each one carving deeper into the hollow space inside her.

"but she didn’t hesitate," manon continued, a fierce edge to her voice. "when she found out what geffen was doing, she chose to fight. i didn’t force her into anything."

she shifted slightly, grimacing at the pull of her wound, but pushed through.

"she even let me crash at your apartment," manon said, almost bitter. "until i could get in contact with my people. it wasn’t supposed to be permanent. just a stopgap. but... i guess that doesn’t matter now."

outside, the sign across the street sputtered and buzzed in the storm, casting a sickly red light through the fogged windows. it painted manon’s face in flickering shades of pink and crimson, like a wound that refused to heal.

"she’s a good person," manon said, her voice cracking for the first time, so raw that y/n felt it in her own chest. "better than me."

for a moment, neither of them moved. neither of them breathed. then, almost too quietly to hear, manon whispered, "i’m sorry."

and for the first time, y/n believed her.

…

hours later, the rain still hadn’t stopped. the motel room felt smaller now, like the walls had inched closer while they slept—or tried to. manon was a faint shape in the dark, her breathing shallow but even. y/n wasn’t quite sure when she moved to sit beside her, back pressed against the headboard, knees pulled up just enough to rest her arms on them.

it was almost ironic, how the tables had turned. just a night before, their roles were reversed: y/n curled on top of stiff sheets, half-safe in uneasy dreams, while manon sat alert beside her, quiet and tense and ready to spring at the first hint of trouble. now it was y/n’s turn to watch. to wait. to think. she hadn’t looked away from the window in over an hour. the city beyond was a wet, shimmering blur. she couldn’t bring herself to.

until she did.

her eyes drifted slowly down toward manon.

her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of exhaustion, deep and slow. her lips parted slightly, relaxed in a way y/n had never seen before. the hard edges that had defined her—jagged words, clenched fists, narrowed eyes—had softened in sleep. her brow was smooth. her shoulders slack. the storm outside didn’t touch her here. at least for now.

y/n let her gaze linger longer than she used to allow herself. back before she knew the truth, any stolen glance at manon had always come with a sharp edge of guilt. how could she look at someone like that—someone who might’ve had blood on their hands? who wore secrets like armor and moved like they were always one step from disappearing? it had felt wrong. indulgent. dangerous.

but now… now she knew. manon wasn’t a villain. she wasn’t even a soldier. she was a girl. a sister. a survivor with too much grief under her skin and too many ghosts at her back, doing everything she could not to fall apart.

and god, she was beautiful.

not just in the way that made y/n’s stomach flip when manon met her eyes. not just in the slant of her cheekbones or the way her hair curled damp against her neck. but in the quiet of her. in the strength she carried without asking anyone to notice.

y/n didn’t feel nervous admitting that anymore. not even to herself. she looked at manon now, and all she felt was awe. she didn’t reach out. didn’t touch. just sat there, watching her breathe. memorizing her while she could. because when morning came, they’d have to move. 

a soft sound broke the stillness. a quiet breath. y/n didn’t bother to tear her eyes away when she noticed manon stirring, her body moving sluggishly beneath the thin blanket. she winced as she sat up, one hand ghosting toward her bandaged shoulder, but she caught herself before touching it directly. her eyes found y/n in the dark. still bleary with sleep, still rimmed with exhaustion—but alert, even now.

"you okay?" manon asked, voice rough, barely more than a whisper.

y/n almost laughed. not because it was funny—nothing about tonight was funny—but because of the sheer absurdity of the question. you’re the one who got shot, she wanted to say. you’re the one bleeding and stitched together with gauze.

but manon was watching her, waiting, in that careful way she had, like she already expected the worst. so, y/n just nodded. slow. certain.

"yeah," she said. and for the first time since everything went to hell, she meant it.

she had come to terms with it—the blood, the betrayals, the secrets. the weight of what they had to do. it was all still there, heavy in her chest, but it didn’t crush her like it had before. she could breathe under it now. she could carry it.

manon’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, as if that one word had let some invisible tension unwind inside her. gingerly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, hissing through her teeth as she moved. y/n watched as manon reached for the canvas bag at their feet, fingers clumsy but determined. she fished out the spare hoodie sunghoon had packed alongside the medical supplies—a dark gray thing, worn soft from use.

manon shrugged it carefully over her head, biting back another grimace when the fabric brushed her wound. it was too big on her, the sleeves hanging over her hands, but it swallowed the bloodstains and sharp angles of her body, made her look smaller somehow. softer, despite everything. she sat there for a moment, letting the hoodie settle against her skin, then looked over at y/n again. there was still steel in her eyes—there always would be—but something had eased. just a little. the edges weren’t as sharp as they’d been before. 

"you didn’t sleep," manon said. not a question, but a statement: a quiet observation.

y/n shrugged. "didn’t want to miss your snoring."

the smallest flicker of a smile ghosted across manon’s lips, so fast it was gone in a blink. she rubbed at her face with the sleeve of sunghoon’s hoodie, then leaned back against the headboard besides y/n with a groan that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in her bones. they sat shoulder to shoulder now, so close to each other that y/n could see the exhaustion settling into her again. only this time, she wasn’t trying to hide it. 

"we should talk," manon said after a beat, staring up at the cracked ceiling. "we still have the usb."

"i know." y/n nodded, her throat tight.

manon hesitated then, her fingers curling into the too-long sleeves of the hoodie. she glanced down at her hands, then back toward the window. her voice, when it came again, was quieter. not fragile—but careful.

"we could disappear."

y/n blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the statement. 

"just... walk away?" y/n asked.

manon nodded slowly. "find daniela. get out of the city. maybe farther than that. different names. different lives. no more running. just... quiet."

the silence between them thickened.

y/n didn’t respond right away. she couldn’t. because her brain was still trying to wrap itself around what was actually being said here. manon wasn’t just talking about safety. she was talking about future. about them, in a way she never had before.

"why are you saying this now?" y/n asked, her voice softer than she intended.

manon looked over at her again. and this time, she didn’t look away.

"because for the first time in a long time, i’m not sure what i’m fighting for anymore," she said. "everyone’s gone. sunghoon. my sister. anyone else who gives a damn about the truth. it’s just us now."

y/n swallowed hard, a sharp ache blooming in her chest. manon wasn’t saying she wanted a life with her—not exactly. but she was saying something else. something quieter. something braver. what if there was more than this? more than blood and running and grief? and the fact that it was manon asking—manon of all people—that meant something.

y/n wasn’t sure what thoughts manon had simmered in during sleep, what corners of herself she’d made peace with after the confessions she’d laid bare hours earlier. but this—this—wasn’t what she expected. not in the slightest.

and yet, despite everything, she found herself wanting to say yes.

she thought—fleetingly, foolishly—about what their lives might have looked like in a different world. a quieter one. maybe they would’ve met by accident in a bookstore or a train station. maybe they’d be friends. maybe more. a soft flush crept across her cheeks before she could stop it. the idea felt ridiculous, impossible—and still, it clung to her.

if manon had asked her this a week ago, the answer would’ve been easy. a hard no. but now... with the truth out in the open, with y/n looking into her eyes and seeing not a threat but a person—a wounded, trying, terrified person—that answer didn’t come so quickly.

she watched the clench of manon’s jaw, the tight set of her shoulders, the way she held herself like someone already bracing for rejection. and for a moment, y/n wanted to give in—just to ease that tension, to offer manon one thing that didn’t hurt.

but she couldn’t. not like this.

so instead, she frowned. shook her head.

"but if we walk away... what happens to the people they hurt? what happens to your sister?"

she saw it then—the way manon’s mouth tightened, the flicker in her eyes that looked too much like shame. her gaze dropped, and she bit the inside of her cheek like the words had hit harder than they should’ve.

"i don’t know," manon said, barely above a whisper. "i just… wanted to know if you’d come with me."

y/n’s breath caught.

"and then what?" she asked, voice soft.

"then nothing," manon replied, gaze sliding away like she couldn’t stand to be looked at. her voice stayed steady, but it was thinner now—emptier. "no more hiding. no more ghosts. we burn the usb, and we move on."

the space between them shifted—tightened—like the air itself had drawn closer.

this wasn’t logistics. it wasn’t about options. this was manon reaching across the distance between them, the only way she knew how. not with warmth. not with hope. just with the barest, trembling thread of want.

y/n stared at her. for a long moment, she didn’t speak. didn’t move. because she could see it now—the truth behind the cold: manon was asking her a question she didn’t know how to say aloud.

would you stay? if there was nothing left but me?

and suddenly, none of this felt hypothetical anymore.

 just… stay. 

“i’m here,” y/n said, her voice steady now. manon turned to look at her, eyes dark and searching, as if trying to catch the truth between the syllables. y/n held her gaze, then added, quieter this time, “but we both know we can’t run from this. hell, i have a family back home. responsibilities. we can finish this—expose them—and maybe then, we get to try for something close to normal. don’t you think your sister would’ve wanted that?”

the silence that followed wasn’t surprise. it was confirmation.

y/n felt it the moment the words landed. not like a blow—but like a door quietly closing.

manon didn’t argue. didn’t flinch. didn’t let anything break across her face except for the faintest shift in her expression, so subtle it was almost nothing. a blink too slow. a breath held too long. but it was there.

wrong answer.

she didn’t nod right away. instead, she looked past y/n, toward the window, where the rain still clung in rivulets. and when she finally did nod, it was slow. deliberate. like someone accepting terms they hadn’t agreed to.

something in her seemed to dim—not collapse, but retreat. she folded the moment up like a letter she’d never send, then tucked it away where y/n couldn’t follow.

still, she didn’t push. didn’t press. only a quiet exhale left her lips, a sigh that sounded more like surrender than agreement.

after a long beat, manon looked back at her. the weight of the night—of all their shared confessions—settled again across her shoulders like a coat she’d never be able to shrug off.

and then, with a quietness that wasn’t defeat but something far more practiced, she said:

“then here’s what we do.”

previous -- next

[punkitt-is-here]

shoutouts to the time i was playing birth by sleep and made a fucking monkey noise

[elirium]

baby boy baby

[jordanraye47]

are you guys seeing my vision

brigette

noah

izzy

gwen

courtney

[janeprentissashes]

not even to promote myself on here, but simply because i want people to argue with me: my probably deeply controversial dimension 20 main cast pc tier list!!

[jjcocker]

this is just the ROUGH rough sketch

[glueboy-19]

leigh whannell brainrot is so real today this man is the same age as my mother and im twirling my hair and giggling at him on google images after twirling my hair and giggling at him on the big screen on halloween teehee !!

[dreadfuldevotee]

dilemma: volunteer in community theaters costume department to keep my hands busy and to also talk to literally anyone face to face But (big kicker) experience excruciating pain over not being in the actual shows themselves

[rosachae]

blood money | manon x reader

Part Four previous -- next

Soundtrack:  listen while reading on Spotify →  Genre: AU Warnings: heavy mention of criminal behavior. unlike other chapters, this one has heavy mention of blood. please read with discretion.

Synopsis:

"Manon was a lot of things: cold, mysterious, casually nonchalant in the most infuriating way possible. Y/N just didn't expect this to all be a byproduct of the duffle bag stashed away in her bedroom, filled to the brim with blood money and bearer bonds. When the CEO of a large pharmaceutical conglomerate is reported murdered and that over a million dollars had been stolen, Y/N is left trying to connect the dots between the crime and her new roommate."

04

y/n wasn’t sure what woke her up. maybe it was the feeling of cold metal around her wrist, softly digging into her skin when she shifted. the chain ratted with a low, metallic sound. maybe it was the feeling of the old blanket she laid on top of scratching against her skin uncomfortably.  maybe it was even the feeling of something small– a hoodie– slipping off her shoulders and bunching up around her hips, exposing her to the motel room’s cool air. the cold from the night seeped into her bones, a stubborn, aching chill she couldn't shake.

or maybe it was just her. 

outside, the first blue-gray light of morning leaked through the cracked blinds, making everything inside the room look washed-out and grainy. the cheap furniture, the battered walls, the thin carpet—it all felt distant, like she was looking at it through a dirty window. like she wasn't really here.

for a moment, she thought she was alone. then the tug on her wrist gave again, sharp and insistent, and when she turned her head, she saw her. manon was still sitting where she had been—propped against the headboard, legs drawn up slightly, back pressed against the wood like she needed something solid to keep her anchored. her right arm was loose across her knee, the cuff connecting her to y/n’s left wrist like a quiet, undeniable truth. she hadn't moved. hadn't slept. just... stayed. watching.

y/n blinked, groggy. her wrist throbbed under the metal, but there was something between it now—a thin gauze, carefully wrapped. not tight enough to restrict, just enough to shield the rawness from yesterday’s tugging. she flexed her fingers, testing it. the chain clinked softly, and manon’s eyes flickered down to it. then back up to her face.

still silent. still unreadable.

she hadn’t woken her. hadn’t shoved her off. y/n realized, with a weird, delayed kind of embarrassment, that she must’ve slept half the night slumped against manon’s legs, breathing against her jeans, mouth probably open. perfect. exactly the kind of pathetic she needed to be right now.

she rolled onto her side slowly, muscles stiff, careful not to yank at the cuff too hard.

"cool," y/n muttered under her breath. "love waking up in the middle of a hostage situation."

manon didn’t smile. didn’t blink. her expression didn’t shift at all, like she was carved out of stone. her braids framed her face like a loose curtain, a few strands falling free around her collarbone. the gold chain around her neck caught a stray thread of light and flashed once, sharp and sudden, before disappearing again.

y/n pulled herself upright into a sitting position, her shoulder brushing manon’s knee in the cramped space. y/n swallowed against the scratchy dryness in her throat.

"this is seriously giving twilight," she mumbled, dragging the sleeve of her hoodie across her face. "next thing you’re gonna tell me is you watch me sleep for fun."

this time, manon’s mouth twitched—barely. a ghost of something that might’ve been amusement.

"you talk too much," manon says, voice low and rough with fatigue.

"yeah, well," y/n muttered, folding her arms and pulling her legs up defensively, "shoot me."

the words echoed too much in the tiny room. there was no tv hum, no passing car sounds—just the creak of the old building settling, the occasional clink of the chain between them whenever y/n shifted.

up close, manon looked worse than she had last night. not just tired. drained. the dark circles under her eyes cut deep, and her shoulders had sagged a little, like the weight she carried had finally started to crush her now that she thought no one was looking. and still, she’d bothered to find gauze. still, she’d sat awake while y/n drooled on her lap. still, y/n couldn’t help but also acknowledge the beauty behind her eyes despite it all.

y/n tugged lightly at the cuff, feeling the bandage flex underneath. 

"thanks," she said, barely above a whisper. the word felt too small. too stupid.

manon made a low, noncommittal sound, barely a grunt. and yet, her intentions were clear. don’t mention it, she screamed silently. 

for a moment the duo sat, manon’s eyes for the first time that morning glancing away and studying the wall across from them with newfound interest. some part of y/n couldn’t help but feel disappointed by this. despite all that's happened, all the secrecy– having manon’s cold, tantalizing eyes follow her… it made her feel seen. at least, in some twisted way.

and then, y/n shakes her head. 

no. no,this isn’t right. she shouldn’t be sitting here besides the swiss girl, enamored. she should be furious. she should be asking questions. demanding answers. with a renewed sense of vigour, she frowns.

"you’re a hell of a kidnapper," she said, trying to keep her voice light, but it cracked anyway. "but i gotta ask—what the hell even happened yesterday?"

manon visibly stiffened. she’d clearly expected y/n’s questioning, but perhaps she thought she’d have more time. with the flip of a switch, manon hardened. the softness in her gaze was replaced by seriousness as she turned from the wall and back to y/n. but still, she didn’t answer.

y/n pushed, voice gaining urgency. "we barely made it out of there. one minute you and dani are leaving the apartment doing god knows what, and the next i’m getting hauled across town on a death bike like a sack of potatoes. explain. any of that. please."

the ‘please’ sounded bitter even to her own ears. for a long moment, manon just stared at her. something flickered across her face—guilt, maybe. regret. maybe even fear. it was gone too fast to catch.

"you’re alive," manon said finally, voice low. "that’s the only part you need to know."

"no," y/n said, sharper now. "wrong. that’s a shitty answer. i’m cuffed to you. i deserve to know what the hell you dragged me into."

the chain between them rattled faintly as y/n shifted, heart pounding harder now, frustration clawing up her ribs.

manon’s jaw flexed, like she was biting back words. then, with visible effort, she looked away—toward the cracked window, toward the strip of gray morning bleeding into the city beyond.

"if you want to live long enough to keep complaining," she muttered, "we need to move."

y/n stilled, following her gaze. outside, the street was waking up—half-dead neon signs buzzing back to life, the occasional buzz of a moped or the low rumble of a delivery truck.

at some point in the night, manon must’ve gotten up to crack the curtain just a hair, just enough to watch without being seen. y/n hadn’t noticed. hadn’t woken.

she frowned. if manon really wanted to ditch her, it would’ve been easy. she had the keys. she could’ve taken the usb and left y/n cuffed to the radiator like an idiot.

but she hadn’t.

why?

y/n shoved the question down, trying to stay focused.

"where are we going?" she asked, voice tighter than she meant.

"neutral ground," manon said, shifting the cuff to give them both a little more slack. "there’s a diner across the street."

y/n stared at her. "seriously? pancakes and fugitive confessions?"

manon shrugged like it made perfect sense.

"better than getting shot in your sleep," she said, already standing up and moving toward the door.

the chain snapped taut between them as y/n stumbled after her, sneakers scuffing the thin carpet when she’s practically dragged out of the bed. either manon was incredibly strong for a woman of her stature, or y/n was embarrassingly weak. as her stomach growls faintly, she figured it was a little bit of both. she was hungry. tired. on top of everything, something itched under her skin. the way manon was playing it cool. the way she kept dodging. the way she refused to explain why everything had gone to hell so fast.

"and you’re seriously gonna tell me you have nothing else planned?" y/n called after her, frustration bleeding through, sharp and real now.

manon paused, hand on the doorframe. she glanced back over her shoulder. for a second, her expression cracked—just a sliver. softer. sadder.

"let’s just get through today," manon said quietly. "then maybe you’ll get the answers you want."

maybe. the word landed in y/n’s stomach like a stone.

she followed anyway.

...

the diner looked like it hadn’t changed since the seventies. it was the kind of place that smelled permanently like burnt coffee and melted butter. everything was sticky—floors, tables, the air itself. the smell of burnt grease hung heavy, clinging to y/n’s hoodie like smoke. it was mostly empty, just a few old men scattered in booths, nursing mugs like it was their last tether to life.

y/n followed manon through the narrow aisle between tables, the chain between them dragging against her wrist with every step. manon guided her to a booth near the back, keeping her cuffed wrist tucked close like she wasn’t about to trust anyone in the room. her fingers brushed against y/n’s by accident once—light, barely there—but it sent a stupid, electric shiver up y/n’s arm anyway. a few early-morning regulars glanced up from their mugs, bored and half-asleep, but no one gave them a second look. just another pair of fucked-up kids in a fucked-up city.

they slid into the booth awkwardly, the cuffs forcing them closer than either of them wanted. or maybe just closer than manon wanted. y/n didn’t know anymore. she could feel the warmth radiating off her. smell the faint, clean scent of her skin—soap and something colder underneath, metallic, dangerous. she hated how her stomach flipped at it.

y/n pressed herself into the corner of the booth as much as she could, but there was no real space to escape. their thighs brushed under the table when manon shifted, and y/n sucked in a breath she tried to pretend she didn’t take.

the waitress came by with two chipped mugs of coffee, didn’t even ask if they wanted it. just slammed them down and wandered off. manon didn’t touch her cup. just sat there, eyes scanning the diner like she was cataloging every face, every threat. her jaw tight, her posture tense.

y/n wrapped her hands around her mug, trying to hide the tremor in her fingers.

"so," she said, voice too loud in the dead diner air. "this your idea of a date?"

manon didn’t even look at her. y/n bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed, angry at herself for making a joke when everything inside her was screaming for answers.

"seriously," she said, quieter now. "are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on, or what?"

manon shifted slightly. the chain between them clinked when she moved, brushing her knee against y/n’s again, and this time she didn’t pull away.

"no," manon said, voice low.

just that. no explanation. no apology. y/n stared at her, heat rising in her chest. frustration. fear. something uglier underneath, something that looked too much like wanting.

"you dragged me into this," y/n hissed. "you cuffed me to you. you—"

"i didn’t have a choice," manon snapped, cutting her off.

their eyes locked across the shitty little table.

for the first time, y/n saw something crack through manon’s cool mask. not fear. not anger. something worse. something like regret. y/n leaned back, breathing hard, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"you had a choice," she said, softer now. "you still do."

manon’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. she stared out the window, jaw tight, and said nothing.

y/n looked at her then, really looked at her—the sharp line of her profile, the way her braids caught the morning light, the faint scar running across her knuckles. beautiful. dangerous. a slow, burning storm in a small, breakable body.

and here she was, chained to her like it meant something.

"why are you protecting me?" y/n asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

manon flinched so subtly y/n almost missed it.

"i’m not," she said, but it was too fast, too defensive.

y/n let out a dry, humorless laugh. "sure. right. that's why you stayed all night instead of leaving me handcuffed to a bedpost."

manon didn’t answer. didn’t deny it. and maybe that was answer enough.

for a second, y/n thought she might actually ignore her. then, finally, manon spoke.

"it wasn’t supposed to go down like that," she said. her voice was rough, like she hadn’t used it in hours. "we left to meet with someone. someone who would help me."

"we," y/n repeated slowly. "as in... you and daniela?"

manon’s jaw tightened. she traced the rim of her coffee cup with her free hand, slow and distracted.

"someone sold us out," manon said.

"it wasn’t me," y/n said quickly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

but then y/n felt something deflate inside her. she slumped slightly into her side of the booth. if manon noticed the tug on the cuff, she didn’t show it. she thought about sophia, sitting across from her that night in the university library. the soft concern in her voice when she asked y/n what was wrong. how easily y/n had answered. how easily sophia listened. 

the guilt gnawed at her, sharp and sudden.

manon didn’t say anything, but somehow, it was like she already knew. she just sighed—quiet, resigned—and took a slow sip from her chipped mug. 

for a moment y/n simply sat there, juggling her thoughts in her own mind. her thoughts cycled between guilt, confusion, and fear, before they finally settled on the girl with ombre hair. her questions fall from her lips before she can fully process them.

"daniela knew," y/n whispered. "she knew something. she promised she’d tell me if something happened. but she didn’t. why?"

her voice cracked on the last word.

"was she in on it too? was she there when you killed—"

"she didn’t know everything," manon said sharply, cutting her off, her eyes flicking quickly around the diner. when no one looked over, she continues. "but she knew enough."

y/n’s chest twisted painfully.

she thought about daniela’s laugh, bright and obnoxious. the way she always joked like nothing could touch them. maybe it was unfair to think badly of her now. but someone had died, and y/n didn’t know whose hands were bloodied anymore. lowering her voice to almost a whisper, she asks the question that’d haunted her sleep the night before.

"and the ceo?"

manon’s expression didn’t change.

"it wasn’t me," she said.

relief slammed into y/n’s chest so hard she almost sagged in her seat.

"so… there’s more of you?" she asked, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat.

manon opened her mouth to answer, but something outside caught her attention. her body tensed all at once.

outside, a car backfired as it pulled into the diners parking lot. a black ford, windows tinted. the chain between them rattled as manon shifted, reaching into her pocket. for a second, y/n tensed too—half-expecting a gun, a knife, something worse.

instead, manon pulled out a crumpled napkin. on it was a name and a time, scrawled hastily in messy handwriting.

"who’s that?" y/n asked, voice low and suspicious.

"someone i called," manon said.

before y/n could press, the bell above the diner door jingled weakly. a boy stepped inside—tall, sharp-featured, dark hair falling into his eyes. he wore a black jacket zipped up to his throat, moving with an easy confidence that made him look older, harder. he scanned the diner once, found them immediately, and made his way over in a few long, purposeful strides.

he slid into the booth across from manon without hesitation, barely glancing at the cuffs between them like it didn’t surprise him. he kept his gaze trained ahead with the same calculated precision that manon demonstrated since the moment y/n met her. despite not looking directly at her, it was clear he was talking to manon. he speaks under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear. 

"you got it?" 

manon nodded, slow. cautious.

"who the hell is this?" y/n muttered. she stared at him openly. the sharp cut of his jawline, the quiet calculation in his eyes. 

the guy raised an eyebrow, hearing her anyway. he looks y/n up and down as if sizing her up. y/n doesn’t miss the way manon seems to inadvertently tug her closer by the wrist beneath the table– doesn’t miss the slight clench of her jaw. instinctively, y/n leaned closer, drawn without thinking.

“sunghoon…” manon drawls silently. if y/n didn’t know any better, she’d have thought it sounded like a warning. but she was far too distracted, pleased to finally place a name to his face. 

sunghoon tilts his head, levelling manon with a curious gaze. he turns back to y/n.

"someone who can get you out of this alive.” he corrects manon, his voice tighter now. his eyes flicked to the napkin still tucked in manon’s hand, then back to her face.

"we don’t have time to sit around. they’re already sweeping this side of town."

manon nodded silently.  she tucked the napkin back into her pocket and moved to stand, tugging gently at the chain.

"come on," she murmured under her breath, just for y/n.

y/n hesitated, heart pounding against her ribs. she didn’t trust this. didn’t trust any of it. but she couldn’t stay here either. with one last look at the broken little diner, she stood and followed them.

she didn’t know where they were going. she didn’t know what waited for her around the next corner. maybe it was death. maybe it was worse.

but when manon lead her along by the cuff, protective even now, she found herself inching closer anyway.

the hideout wasn’t much from the outside. just another abandoned building sagging against the skyline, hidden behind a scrapyard fence and a lot full of rusted cars. the kind of place no one looked at twice. inside, it was worse. the air stank of oil and mildew. old floodlights buzzed against the high ceiling, throwing long, crooked shadows across the cracked concrete floor. people milled around in small clusters, talking low and fast, eyeing the newcomers like stray dogs sizing each other up. none of them looked friendly. y/n stayed close to manon, the cuff between them pulling tight every few steps. sunghoon led the way, his jacket dark against the pale flicker of light, his steps unhurried but sharp, like he didn’t trust the walls to stay still around him.

they stopped in front of a makeshift table—an old crate flipped upside down, papers and maps spread across it. a man stood behind it, arms folded. older. not old, but worn down by a thousand little wars. his skin was weathered, his hair buzzed short and silvering at the edges. a scar carved through his right eyebrow, and his boots were caked in dried mud. he was tall, wiry, with sharp features and hair that fell into his eyes in loose, messy strands. not polished. not clean. there was something feral about him, something restless, like every second he spent standing still was a second wasted. he didn’t look rich. didn’t look like he cared about anything as stupid as money. he looked tired. dangerous. ready to die for something if he had to.

he straightened when he saw them. his gaze landed on manon first, sharp and heavy. he didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes flicked down to the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. but when he spoke, his voice was steady. worn rough, but steady.

"manon. you made it," he said. not grateful. just stating a fact. his gaze swept over manon first, sharp and measuring. he nods curtly at sunghoon when their eyes locked for the briefest of seconds. when his eyes slid to y/n, however, they lingered. there was something old in his eyes. recognition maybe, or regret. like he’d seen a hundred kids like her get chewed up and spit out. like he hated seeing another.

oddly, y/n didn’t feel uncomfortable under his gaze. he gave her a peculiar look– one that didn’t look menacing, but rather sympathetic. as if he knew the world she’d stepped into was one she might not be able to step back out of. he looked like he wouldn’t wish such a fate upon anybody. but alas, here they both were.

he took in the cuff around her wrist, the way manon’s hand tightened instinctively on the chain. his mouth twitched, something bitter curling at the edge of it. but he didn’t say anything. he just turned away, waving them forward.

"did anyone follow?" manon shook her head once, no words. the leader exhaled through his nose. not quite relief. something heavier. he gestured to the table beside him.

"put it there," he said.

manon stepped forward, moving like every muscle hurt. she dropped the duffel onto the table with a solid thud. the others around the room stirred at the sound. the smell of damp cash and old leather spilled into the air.

"i don't want any part of it," manon said, her voice flat, detached. like she was cutting the weight of it off her soul along with the bag itself. "whatever’s inside. it’s not mine."

the leader crouched, unzipping the bag. he pulled out a stack of bills, flipped through it with calloused fingers. the way his hand moved was mechanical, almost bored. like money was the least interesting thing in the room.

it’s only then does y/n notice the occasional red stain tinging the corners of the money. blood. she looked away.

the older man looked up at manon again, his voice low, understanding. "this money won’t fix what they’ve done. but it’ll help make sure they can’t do it again."

y/n felt something loosen slightly in her chest. the way he said it—there was no greed there. no hunger. just the flat, ugly truth of someone who knew how broken the world was and still hadn’t quit fighting. she couldn’t help but frown. whatever they were talking about, whatever geffen corp did... she had no clue. her heart kicked against her ribs anyway. instinct told her it was worse than anything she could imagine.

her confusion doesn’t go unchecked.

the leader turns to look at y/n directly, lowering the wads he plucked back into the dark bag. he hums.

“you did not tell the girl?”

“no.” manon is quick to deadpan, perhaps the quickest she’d ever been. “she doesn’t know anything. keep her out of this.”

the man gives manon a pointed look.

"the less she knows, the more vulnerable she is. you should’ve known better than to bring her here, manon."

manon stayed silent. her face was carved from stone. her jaw clenches in silent acknowledgement of the man's words. she stands stiffly beside y/n, refusing to look her way. y/n felt it—the silent apology that manon would never say aloud. the way her fingers flexed once against the chain. the guilt bleeding through all that stubbornness.

she knew better. she knew there was truth behind his words. that everything would’ve been simpler if she left her at the motel. but she didn’t. her silence is all the man needed to hum. he turns to y/n fully.

"geffen corp isn’t just a pharmaceutical company. they’re a machine built on blood. they fund chemical warfare. they test experimental drugs on civilians—refugees, prisoners, anyone who can’t fight back. they bury the bodies under paperwork. they hide the atrocities behind boardroom doors."

he straightened, his eyes burning in the bad light.

"this isn’t about money. it’s about survival. if this gets out, geffen burns. if it doesn't..." he trailed off, his mouth twisting.

for a moment, no one spoke. the room breathed around them—quiet, heavy. the others around the room stirred, restless. there was something uneasy in the air, something that tasted like static before a storm. manon’s head lifted sharply. her gaze swept the room once. a slow scan. a predator’s scan. something wasn’t right.

manon shifted beside her, the cuff between them clinking softly. y/n opened her mouth—she didn’t even know what she was going to say—but manon’s fingers brushed against hers, quick and sharp. a warning. stay quiet. stay small.

the man watched them both for a beat longer. then he straightened, raking a hand through his hair. he turned to the table, grabbing a battered radio off the surface.

"we'll move tonight," he said, speaking half to himself, half to them. "split up. send copies of the files to every outlet that’ll touch them. if we can get ahead of this, we have a shot."

he glanced at manon again.

"but we can’t do it without that drive. the usb you have... it’s proof. it’s not just names and numbers. it’s receipts. photos. video. everything they never thought they’d have to answer for. do you have the drive?"

the words hovered heavy between them.

manon shifted, and for the first time, real uncertainty flickered across her face. she didn’t answer immediately. her eyes stayed locked on the shifting bodies across the room. the way one guy near the door kept fingering the hem of his jacket. the way another girl wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

she nodded once, tight.

y/n reached for the usb—slow, careful. her fingers brushed the cool metal tucked against her side. the room quieted around them. people shifted closer, pretending not to watch, but their eyes said otherwise.y/n’s skin prickled. just when her fingers curl around the cold metal in her pocket, however, manon’s hand slam down over hers, stopping her.

"wait," manon said, low, almost inaudible.

the leader raised an eyebrow.

"problem?" he asked, voice light but sharp underneath.

manon didn’t move her hand. didn’t blink. the tension snapped taut between them, vibrating in y/n’s teeth.  and then it happened. one of the people standing off to the side—a girl with short red hair, hands shoved deep into her jacket—moved. too fast. y/n caught the flash of silver too late.

a gunshot.

the leader staggered, a neat hole blooming red at the center of his forehead, and dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

chaos erupted. y/n ducked instinctively as more shots cracked through the air. people screamed. the ring of bodies broke apart, everyone scrambling for cover or pulling weapons from hidden holsters. manon shoved y/n hard toward a stack of crates, her own body twisting to shield her.

the warehouse doors burst open a second later. black-clad agents flooded in, guns up, shouting orders. feds.

someone knew they would be here with the duffel bag and the usb. someone tipped them off. one minute y/n was seconds away from being free– or as free as she could be– and the next here she was, smack dab in the middle of a raid. y/n’s heart slammed against her ribs. she scrambled back, dragging manon with her, the cuff chain pulling taut between them. sunghoon had already disappeared into the fray, moving fast, ducking low.

their moment of reprieve soon vanishes, however, when someone—one of the agents—spotted them.

y/n caught the shift out of the corner of her eye—an agent peeling away from the others, weapon swinging up. the glint of the gun barrel found her first, then the flat black eye of it, cold and unblinking.

before she could even flinch, manon moved.

she slammed into y/n with enough force to tear the breath from her lungs, sending them both crashing sideways away from the crates. the gunshot split the air a heartbeat later, a sound so loud it felt like the world cracked open around them.

y/n hit the ground hard besides manon, the taller girl having pushed her out of the way and just behind a scuffed concrete wall for cover. her palms scraped raw against the concrete, the impact jarring up her spine. but she doesn’t dwell on the sudden pain for long. her attention is drawn to manon, the girl crouched beside her with her teeth gritted together. manon staggered, one hand clutching at her shoulder, dark blood already spilling through the fabric of her hoodie.

"manon!" y/n choked out, scrambling closer. the last thing on her mind right now was the painful tug of metal digging into her wrist. y/n couldn’t even begin to explain in words what she felt in this moment now. for all they’d bickered, all of the secrecy and mistrust– she couldn’t deny that manon was just trying to protect her.

she saved her.

manon breathed shallow, each exhale edged with something ragged. she groaned as she fished into her pocket with her bloodied hand, reaching for the cuff keys. she holds them out for y/n to take before clutching at her chest once again.

"take the usb," she rasped, voice rough and urgent. "you run. now."

y/n’s hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the keys, her palm staining red from manon’s blood. she fumbled with the lock, the metal cold and slick under her fingers. the cuff clicked open. the chain dropped between them with a hollow clink that felt heavier than any shackle.

y/n shook her head, the panic rising so fast it made her dizzy. "not without you."

manon shook her head. she peers around the wall just to fling herself back when another bullet flies by. she grimaces. "they need the proof. not me."

"i'm not leaving you." y/n said, voice breaking. 

manon hesitated. real hesitation, the kind that cracked right through her mask.

for a moment, all the chaos around them seemed to mute—the gunfire, the screaming, the pounding boots—and there was only this: the two of them, the blood, the shaking key in manon’s hand.

"please," y/n said, barely more than a whisper.

manon cursed under her breath, before finally nodding, resigned.

sunghoon was suddenly there, sharp and focused, blood streaking the side of his face.

"there’s a service exit," he said tightly, jerking his chin toward the back left corner. " go when i say. not before."

manon nodded once, blood dripping from her fingers onto the concrete, leaving a trail behind her.

sunghoon’s fingers twitched once.

"now."

y/n grabbed manon’s good arm, dragging her forward. manon stumbled but moved, her steps unsteady, her body listing into y/n’s side. sunghoon cut ahead of them like a blade—sharp, brutal, clearing a path with elbows and knees and quick, vicious hits.

gunfire tore through the air behind them. shouts. the electric whine of tasers discharging. the lights above swung wildly, turning the warehouse into a strobe of terror and noise. they almost made it.

almost.

sunghoon spun to cover their backs—just for a second, just to buy them space—and the shot caught him dead-center.

he jerked back like a puppet yanked by invisible strings. blood exploded across his chest, staining the front of his jacket dark. he staggered once, trying to find his footing, but it was too late. he hit the ground hard.

manon twisted mid-step, her whole body straining toward him, a raw look of pure shock etching across her face. the most emotion y/n had ever seen from the stoic girl.

y/n didn’t give her any chance to truly react. she yanked manon harder, forcing her through the half-open door just as another bullet splintered the frame beside them.

the last thing y/n saw as the door slammed shut was sunghoon’s face—wide eyes, mouth trying to form words that wouldn’t come, the helpless twist of his features as he collapsed.

the alley outside was wet and black and freezing. the rain from earlier clung to the asphalt in shallow pools, reflecting the distant stutter of red and blue lights.

y/n didn’t stop to think. she wrapped her arm tighter around manon’s waist, half-dragging, half-carrying her toward the back of the alley. every step felt like pulling a deadweight through water. there—sunghoon’s truck. tucked behind a dumpster, low and waiting, its black paint dull under the cloudy sky.

y/n fumbled with the door, fingers slipping, heart hammering so hard she thought it might break through her ribs. she shoved manon inside, the girl slumping hard into the seat, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

y/n climbed in after her, jammed the keys into the ignition. the truck roared to life.

she hit the gas without thinking, tires skidding against the slick pavement. the warehouse—and everything burning inside it—fell away in the rearview mirror. they didn’t look back, even as blacked out police suvs forced entry through the hideouts scrapyard gates. even as a helicopter's search lights shone down on the building, searching. y/n couldn’t even bring herself to watch the mayhem unfold.

her attention stayed solely on the road ahead of them, slipping away through a backroad, and the bleeding girl in the passenger seat beside her.

previous -- next

[punkitt-is-here]

ever wanted to watch MLP with punkitt???????????? we're forcing one of my best friends who's never seen to watch an episode :)

[elirium]

dummes aber süßes bild von red und seinem team

[jetbluebishop]

Raffle prizes i finished yesterday

[theftshrubbery]

i’ve always been scared to post etsy stuff here but i might do it more is that ok :p

[hyeosi]

watched the little mermaid yesterday 🤭

[2knightt]

why have other fandoms to write for if you mainly write about the outsiders? i don’t mean for this to be rude, i’m just curious. if you only get asks and only write about the outsiders, why leave the rest of the fandoms on your pinned post? again, not trying to be rude, just curious, since, politely, it seems rather useless lol

cuz i know eventually i'll get bored of the outsiders and turn to my other interests lol

if i had a blog where it was for an interest i fell out of and i continued to write for it, i'd be miserable and i'd hate writing. which i would not want to happen, i enjoy writing. plus, i wouldnt want to abandon my blog.

i'd just rather write about other stuff i enjoy. u feel me?

[transgenderboobs]

snow day i Guess?