#mysme agent

[sapphireicecream]

🔫🛸

[coolbies]

Hiii this was my first comic I made in this format! I thought these two had silly chemistry.

[usui-zero]

[awesomepaste]

Silly lil Seven and Vanderwood memo pad i made years ago that I found in a box while cleaning/sorting for a move.

[40lions]

when i replayed mm I made a different picrew icon for each route and ended up getting very attached to the gal i made for 707′s playthrough.. please enjoy my accidental oc her name is ashley she likes mobile games and constantly falls for internet scams

[anne-chloe]

Agent 666

Mystic Messenger

Seven/707 x F!Agent!Reader

WIP | Summary : Agent 707 made himself infamous in the Intelligence Agency by being the youngest and most successful hacker, being able to complete tasks set to him in half the amount of time expected. However, Seven finds himself in a difficult position when a newcomer joins, posing as his biggest rival yet. Agent 666.

Alternative Title: Rival

“Agent 707.”

Seven tugged off his headphones and swivelled round in his seat, a look of curiosity upon his round face as he engaged his superior face-to-face. He wasn’t so concerned with the fact that his superior was speaking with him, but more so that it was in person rather than through a senior colleague.

“Yes, sir?” Seven asked awkwardly, clearing his throat as it cracked on a few syllables. Having not spoken for a few hours, his throat was feeling somewhat dry and uncomfortable.

However, Seven’s attention then diverted to the young girl standing at his superiors side. She looked to be about his age, with long [hair colour] hair and piercing [eye colour] eyes. The girl seemed distracted as she glanced around the room, which happened to be full of computer monitors and various other agents busy with their assignments. There wasn’t much noise other than the tapping of keys.

“I’d like to introduce you to Agent 666,” the man said coolly, gesturing politely to the young girl at his side. Seven straightened in his chair, confused and curious all at the same time. He stuck out his hand and watched as the girl hesitated in shaking it; she eyed him skeptically before accepting the friendly gesture. “Agent 666 has joined our ranks and will be within the same unit as you. Seeing as you are both of similar age…”

Seven raised a brow in question, urging his superior to continue. But his superior stopped and cleared his throat, then stepping back and patting Agent 666’s shoulder in encouragement. “Agent Vanderwood will be around shortly to hand you off some assignments. In the meantime, allow Agent 707 to keep you company.”

Bewildered with the fact that he was being lumped with a newcomer, Seven continued to stare at Agent 707 with the deepest set of confusion. It wasn’t uncommon for new starters to randomly appear, but it was most unlikely for someone of his age to appear like this.

Agent 666 fiddled awkwardly with the sleeves of her shirt, shifting on the spot and avoiding Seven’s eye. They both remained quiet like this for a while, with nothing but the sound of clicking keys and tapping noises to accompany them. There were a few questions on the end of Seven’s tongue: Why was she here? How old is she? Where did she learn to hack? Is she good at hacking? What was her backstory?

Seven knew a lot of these were personal questions, and everyone at the agency had hidden secrets. Nobody knew one another’s true identities for the sake of keeping themselves safe from a life they ran away from. The work at the Intelligence Agency was extremely dangerous, and nobody wanted their personal life tied in with that. Seven had a lot of secrets too, many that he wanted to forget about but couldn’t.

But he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Luciel, I see you’ve met our newbie already.” Agent Vanderwood approached from behind, smirking arrogantly. In his hands he held a stack of documents, which Seven knew to be case files based on the coloured wallet placed on top. “Agent six-six-six,” Vanderwood said slowly, coming to a stop in front of the new agent. He extended his arms and the girl took the documents in a very robotic motion. “Did you both get to know each other?”

Seven shook his head slowly. “No…”

Vanderwood chuckled, proceeding to nudge Seven’s shoulder in a playful manner. Seven tensed at the action and tried to play it off, but he was just as awkward as the new girl, if not more so. Considering Seven had been at the agency now for a couple years, he should have settled in better, but in reality he hadn’t. It was a life he struggled to adjust to.

“Never mind. Come along Agent 666,” Vanderwood called, gesturing for the new girl to follow him.

Seven caught Agent 666’s gaze before she walked away, leaving Seven to watch in slight discomfort.

…

“Did you hear?”

“About what?”

“Agent 666—she’s incredible! She brought down that black market in seconds! Our team was struggling with that one for weeks…”

After returning from a quick toilet break, Seven found himself eavesdropping on someone’s conversation. It was a group of middle aged men, all of them experienced agents and talented with hacking. However, their gossiping caused Seven to pause by the water fountain, where he found his eyes widening in surprise at the new girl’s abilities.

The case involving the black market had been something the Intelligence Agency were tasked with bringing down months ago. The case had swapped hands multiple times, with each agent involved explaining that the assignment was too deep rooted to get into. Seven wasn’t given the chance to even look at the document itself, which he found surprising.

“Excuse me.”

Seven flinched as a small voice called out from behind him. Turning around on his heel, Seven felt his heart hammer at the sight of Agent 666 standing there rather awkwardly. Her shoulders were squared and she looked uncomfortably stiff; her eyes were ducked downwards as she spoke, as if she didn’t want to make eye contact with Seven at all.

“Oh, you…” Seven mumbled, feeling himself fluster with nerves. He couldn’t understand why his heart was beating so strangely, nor why his cheeks were burning up like this. Seven cleared his throat, his hand flying up and scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh… I heard about your success in bringing down one of the black market assignments… congratulations.”

Agent 666 peered up shyly. She then quickly looked away as Seven caught her eye. “Um… thank you…”

Silence consumed them both. Seven took this opportunity to properly look at her. She wore a large black hoodie, which was definitely several sizes too big on her, and a pair of worn looking leggings with a small hole in one of the knees. Her hair was long and looked like it hadn’t been brushed, so there were knots and tangles.

It seemed as though that Agent 666 had been brought straight to the agency from wherever she had lived before. The neglect of her was glaring, and it reminded Seven of how him and Saeran used to look to others before he joined the Intelligence Agency—before Jihyun and Rika helped him escape from his home.

Seven blinked slowly at Agent 666. She was still standing in front of him, looking awkward and nervous and rather fidgety. Seven couldn’t understand why she had approached him like this if she wasn’t about to maintain a conversation—because isn’t that what she’s supposed to do if she approached him first?

“Are you… are you getting water?” She finally asked after stuttering so much. Agent 666 pointed at the water fountain behind Seven.

Seven’s mouth dropped slightly in surprise, and then embarrassment consumed him. Agent 666 hadn’t wanted to speak with him at all, she just wanted some water. It was then that Seven spotted the empty bottle on her hand, and suddenly he felt like a complete idiot.

“I… no, I’m not, sorry,” Seven mumbled, stepping out the way. Agent 666 said nothing else as she finally began filling her bottle, and once that was done she made a swift exit without even glancing at him. Seven could only contain the urge to bang his head against the wall.

“She’s really good, you know?”

Seven scowled slightly as Vanderwood appeared from behind, now leaning against the wall and grinning mischievously at him. “You’d better watch out seven-oh-seven, she’s coming for your title.”

Seven stiffened at the very idea. “What?”

Vanderwood, pleased that he caught his attention with such bait, merely hummed. “Nervous?”

Seven straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest, suddenly feeling protective of his position as the youngest and most talented amongst the agency. This was the beginning of rivalry, whether Agent 666 knew it or not, and Seven wasn’t about to relinquish his title to some mysterious girl.

“No,” Seven declared through gritted teeth. “Not at all.”

[fishsticksloser]

I forgot that you can see when you joined the RFA....

2,372 days ago... Wow... And I don't have all the endings yet. I'd love to see how long you all have been playing and how many endings you have!

I have 20/49 endings.

[kisielzmozgu]

had a dream like this and decided to make it real

[heyheydidjaknow]

wake up babe heyheydidja let their creative brain juices flow and posted a fic

And on that note here’s another fic— longer this time— about another character I have written for exactly once. This time for the otome game! It’s been sitting in my drive for 2+ months and now it’s going to see the light of day. We’re breaking down fanfiction author stereotypes this week.

Existential Horror

Luciel had been introduced to horror as a genre fairly early on all things considered. He had never been partial to classic literature— he was not really partial to literature in general once he fell into the rhythm of his new life and allowed himself to enjoy the World Wide Web and all its associated horrors— but in those early days spent waiting on bated breath for instruction from above, he had spent his time— rather, the time that was not spent worrying about his brother— reading whatever books his handler happened to have picked up and tossed aside. Vanderwood’s tastes rubbed off on him to an extent; by the time he had enough regular work to keep himself too busy to sit down and read a book, Seven had a thorough appreciation for the genre. But they did not enjoy their novels in the same way; when Vanderwood would ask Seven about them to break the suffocating silence that hung around him like a heavy fog back then, he was completely unable to engage in meaningful conversation with him about books they had both read. Luciel attributed this to Vanderwood’s lack of connection to the text. Vanderwood enjoyed the books, as far as he could tell, because he got a kick out of interacting with stories about people losing their minds to things beyond their control. Luciel was too close to it, the words too intimate and personal for him to see as anything but a perfectly rational articulation of a feeling he had always felt, would always feel. It was comforting, knowing that someone else— fictional as they may be— understood him.

It was still a challenge, years later, to articulate how he had been informed of his position. He imagined it would be a bit like a child trying to explain gravity; the mechanics were beyond him, but the truth of the matter was indubitable. He supposed it was in his programming to understand only in this most basic sense. He supposed it would be problematic if he understood more than he did. He doubted knowing beyond what he did would do him much good.

Your arrival— your avatar’s arrival— made things make sense. He knew as soon as he saw her face what her role was, and understood intrinsically who she was to him, to the world. A remarkably unremarkable yet decidedly beautiful woman so naive as to follow the words of a stranger on the internet to Rika’s apartment: she played her role as a stand-in beautifully and shined in all her hazy glory. Her words were perfectly intelligible yet decidedly lacked character, her visage was without distinguishable quality and was yet undeniably appealing, her voice stuck in the mind only in the same way the characters in books’ voices did and she did very little outside of sit, answer emails and make simple conversation. As she was destined to do, she caught the attention of every single member of the RFA— himself included. She would shower the members in praise and affection for the eleven days they had together, enter a relationship with them, enjoy domestic bliss for a nebulous period of time— he had given up trying to nail down numbers a long time ago— before the memories they had formed together gently disintegrated. All traces of her would be scrubbed from their lives and she would be reintroduced as a fresh face for the group to fawn over once again. When she was with Seven there would occasionally be a longer grace period in which he was allowed to reunite with his brother for a time before the cycle repeated itself but the ending stayed the same regardless of who she attached herself to.

Oddly enough, he did not mind the routine itself. It was hard to hate something so inherently sweet, something that felt— despite the objective reality of the situation— so simple and innocent. You— the nebulous you he knew to exist— were not acting maliciously. You were playing a game that he and everyone else happened to be a part of, and you had not, in your play, acted maliciously. You had made mistakes and encouraged behaviors that he and the other members of the RFA should not have engaged in, but you were never cruel. It was hard to hate you not only because of his position but also because you were genuinely hard to dislike, and while that was sometimes more frustrating than just hating you outright he could not help but continue to be drawn to you and your replacement by proxy.

He had memories of you. They were distant, but he swore had them. They were near indistinguishable from his memories of your proxy– which, themselves, were hardly concrete– but if he stayed up until his eyes could barely take it he could swear to know the echo of your smile, your voice, your fingers.

He tried not to think of you much. He liked to think he had more important things to worry about.

The night it started was normal enough. Everyone was in the RFA chat room late at night— odd in general but standard for the beginning of a route— and a stranger entered the chat room. There was general distress around the stranger’s arrival, Seven pretended to do a background check on the stranger— he had stopped bothering the third time through— and everyone else introduced themselves. The beats played themselves out, words flying by at the same pace they always did as the stranger explained their position and what they were doing in an allegedly dead woman’s apartment. Jokes were made, hits replayed, and everyone went to bed or back to whatever it was they had been doing before the stranger appeared. He had seen every single combination of words that she could send in response to the various threats and propositions you received; he barely bothered to read the wall of text that flew by. Nothing happened on the first day; no need to reread events already decidedly set in stone.

His first tip that something was up was when he went to text her. After her admission into the RFA, she was always a bit nervous– understandable, given the circumstances– so he always made the move to message her, to make her feel more comfortable even though it did not matter much in practice.

He introduced himself. He asked for any updates regarding the hacker. He welcomed her.

Her response was new.

‘It’s a pleasure, Seven. Sorry for freaking everyone out; hope I haven’t given you too much work lol’

He took his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt. He took a deep breath, put them back on, and reread the text.

It was the same as it had been a second ago. He reread it again.

Again.

The text did not change.

“You planning on staring at your phone all night?”

He sat straight up as though shaken awake, head snapping back to look at an otherwise undisturbed Vanderwood.

He did not bother to look up from the file on his lap. “If you’ve got time to dick around on your phone you have time to work. You know the deadline you were given wasn’t a suggestion, right?”

The laugh that came from Seven sounded forced even to him. “What, seriously?” He set his phone down on his desk face down, wiping his shaky hands off on his jeans. “I could have sworn I read somewhere time is relative.”

“For as high as you seem to be half the time you’re not orbiting the Earth yet.” He crossed one of his legs over the other. “Your tone isn't inspiring confidence either. Something happen?”

His heart was pounding in his throat. “Nothing,” he smiled brightly. “RFA got hacked is all.”

Vanderwood whistled.

“Right?” He swallowed. “I guess it serves me right not checking my work; guess that’s what I get for not having a good work-life balance!” He shrugged. “But it’s nothing serious; I’ll find who did it after I’m done with this.”

He reached down to grab his coffee. “You’re awfully chipper.”

Seven looked back at his computer. “You sound surprised.”

“For as much as you freak out about that server, I am.” He took a sip, setting it back down by his feet. “You lose your mind over the emotes not working but a security breach is no big deal?”

“Security breach, shemcurity breach.” He waved it off, fingers typing away at the keyboard. “If you stress everything that goes wrong you’ll never have time to live.”

“Those would be wise words coming from someone else’s mouth.”

Seven leaned back in his chair, beaming at his handler. “I have my moments.” He sat back up straight, grabbing his phone from the desk and shoving it into his pocket. “I’m going on a soda run. Want anything?”

“Bought some earlier.”

He stood up, kicking his chair back into place. “Then I’m grabbing dinner. Do you want anything?”

“You don’t eat dinner.”

He grabbed his keys. “Then I’m going to an undisclosed location for an undisclosed amount of time where snacks and food will be available, my true intentions known only to me. Do you want anything?”

Vanderwood looked up at him, giving him the same once-over he supposed most parents gave their older children. It had been a while since he had that look on his face, mild concern mixed with justified suspicion; the last time had been when he was still a kid.

Seven broke eye contact first. “I won’t be long,” he promised begrudgingly. “Three hours, tops. Just been inside too long is all.”

There was a long pause.

He sighed, looking back down at his file. “Bring back cream; I forgot some while I was out.”

Luciel was on the main road. The nearest gas station was an hour out. Luciel was not going to the nearest gas station. Luciel was going to the little grocery store an hour or so out from where she was. Luciel was also taking the long way and following all posted and implied traffic laws. Luciel wanted this to be a long trip. Luciel wanted it to be light out by the time he got back.

Twenty minutes in, he pulled over. Alone on a dark road in his silent cat, he pulled out his phone again and reread the message.

It had not changed. It was real.

Saeyoung knew she knew her position. He did not know if she knew the same way that he did what her role was, but he knew that she knew at least what she was meant to do. She acted the way she was meant to every time like clockwork, had said the same two things every time he had sent that first message. It had felt right every time. He knew in his bones that she had said exactly what she had been meant to every time from the very first reset. He knew how she texted. That was not her.

The original chatroom had been deleted. For whatever reason the first one always was. The profile of the new member was the same as it always was. A quick review of the CCTV footage— the same brief, unbothered look he always gave the footage at the beginning— showed that she was at Rika’s apartment. The person on the other end of the line, in theory, was her. All the same, he knew she was not.

He was meant to call now, at this time. He always did after she was done talking with Yoosung about LOLOL and his barely disguised predator-prey kink. He was never nervous to make the call— it was a stupid call, a joke call that did not and should not matter— but the thought of it going to you— not the woman sitting in his apartment but you, the real you— made him lightheaded. He barely knew how to process the idea that you might have access to the messenger. He could not even begin to comprehend how you could access the messenger directly considering your position; the idea was so far-fetched it bordered on unbelievable. But if you had…

He let his head fall against the steering wheel. The issue had gone from an abstract, quiet horror to a pressing matter of real consequence. You were not God, but you were closer to it than he was; you may not have created the universe, but your proxy and her presence did have a profound impact on their world. It was hard not to be taken aback by the prospect of interacting with a higher power. He barely knew how to process the confirmation of your existence— if this was a confirmation— let alone wrap his head around the mechanics of someone like you interacting with someone like him. You operated on a completely different plane than him. None of this should have been possible in the first place. How could he possibly—

Your profile picture showed up on his phone. You were calling him.

His thumb hovered over the accept button, fingers tingling. It was late. You should have been asleep. He should have been able to call you and not have you pick up. He should have been able to think this through further, to come up with a game plan.

He sank in his seat, pulling his headphones over his ears. He held his breath. He answered the call.

“Hello?”

Saeyoung had received his first pair of glasses eight years before. For most of his life, he had been largely unable to see anything further than his hand stretched out in front of him. He had been reluctant to see an optometrist when V had suggested it, had barely even noticed that he was unable to see because he had no other frame of reference. His brother, he had insisted, just had exceptionally good eyes; he could function perfectly fine without going through the trouble. V had insisted and had offered to pay for a sturdy pair out of pocket, and after much resistance, Saeyoung had agreed to it. Getting medical confirmation that he could not see was something of a shock, but not totally surprising. To see the world the way it was in pictures, on the other hand, to really know— to know in the basic sense as opposed to the intrinsic one— that trees were composed of intertwining limbs and leaves you could count as opposed to big masses of color had been revelatory. He had known what things looked like. He could point at a tree before he got glasses and identify it as such. But that was nothing compared to what he had when he could finally see.

It was about the same with you. He had known intrinsically what your voice was in the same way he knew that trees had leaves and branches: common sense mixed with grounded assumptions. He assumed— correctly— that your voice vaguely sounded like hers, that there was some element of you in her that attracted him. Your voice was not hers, though. It was similar in the way that all sweets taste sweet; her voice was so indistinct that your voice was similar by default. Your voice, to him, was what he had liked about her voice in a concentrated form, distinctly you and decided in its identity, and this concentrated dose of you— not the watered-down shit he got through her, but you, the person he was born to be in love with— was almost more than he could take.

You were talking. You were speaking English, mumbling obscenities about a button not working and how he must not be able to understand you because of the linguistic difference. “Maybe if I hang up—“

The words were out of his mouth before he could think what he was saying. “I speak English.”

Your laugh— nervous as it was— was yours and it was perfect. He had never really heard her laugh so he had little to compare it to, but the sound seemed to soothe an ache he had not known existed. “Holy— wow, that is good.” You cleared your throat. “You know, I wasn’t sure what you’d sound like, but you sound almost the same as you did before. It’s totally cool.”

A grin spread across his face. You liked his voice. You had told him that you liked his voice. “Thank you,” he said lamely. “I’m glad you like it.”

“That’s good. That you like that I like it, I mean.” You were cute. “I would be a bit bummed if you— well, not bummed, but I don’t know how I’d react if you disliked that I like your voice.”

At least you were nervous too. He had no idea why you of all people were nervous, but it made him feel less pathetic for being so on edge. “I don't know that I’ve ever been complimented on my voice before,” he admitted, trying to fall back into his usual rhythm. “But I don’t think many people would mind someone saying they like their voice.”

“I hope not.” There’s a cracking sound on your end. “It would be totally awkward if I called you something out of left field.”

He relaxed in his seat. As the shock of the situation wore off his brain kicked back into gear, the gaps in his mind beginning to fill themselves with this new information. He had never really considered the idea of meeting you, but he was unsurprised to find himself more comfortable like this– talking to you– than he had been speaking with the woman he had asked to be his wife in some distant memory. “Don’t worry; Vanderwood’s given me a thick skin over the years.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, not pointing out his slip up to his relief. “How long have you known her?”

He considered it. “Five, six years?”

“That’s a while.”

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “That’s twenty-five-point-two percent of my life give or take; in the grand scheme of things, that isn’t all that long.”

“In all fairness,” you point out, “it’s a bit unfair to count a few of those years; nobody remembers the first couple.”

He tutted. “Gotta disagree with you there. Just because I don’t have very many memories from when I was little doesn’t mean they shouldn’t count in the total.”

“Why not?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” He fiddled with the string of his hoodie. “I mean, just because someone gets blackout drunk doesn’t mean the time they spent blackout drunk didn't happen, right? And even if I don’t remember some stuff that’s happened,” he continued, a lump forming in his throat, “or I don’t have a good grasp of when things happened, they still happened, didn’t they? My memory can’t be the only thing that determines whether something’s happened, right?”

“Sure it is.” You did not seem to catch onto his mood switch; he was thankful for that. “I mean, photos can be doctored and videos can be faked and records altered; not to get philosophical on you, but what else can we trust besides our memories?” You sighed. “But then again, memories aren’t tangible and the human brain is famously unreliable, so maybe we’re all fucked and doomed to try to hold onto false memories and will them into being.”

He took a slow, deep breath. “Fair point.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “I wish I took more photos; I should ask V to show me how.” His eyes softened as he tried to swallow the bad taste in his mouth. “At least if I have physical photos they’d be harder to alter, right? It’d be nice to have confirmation that my memories are trustworthy.”

“I guess if you have a place to keep them safe.”

He had tried taking pictures a few reboots in on a polaroid camera he ordered online. He had taken a photo of her and Jaehee and kept it in his phone case. It had disappeared when she reintroduced herself a while later.

You cleared your throat. “What do I call you? Seven? Luciel? Or would you rather something else?”

‘Do you remember?’ That was the question you meant to ask, whether you and he held the same bond as he did with her. In truth, the memories he had of his time with her were only a bit more tangible than you had been. They were recollections of dreams he knew to be true, fantasies played out by another version of himself. He had little idea of what their relationship– the one between him and her and her and you– meant to you, but he felt as strange about her calling him Saeyoung as he did about you doing the same.

“Seven’s fine.” He forced himself to relax, smiling into the receiver. “Or Seven O’ Seven. Or Supreme Defender of Justice Seven Zero Seven if you want to show your reverence.”

Your smile sounded more natural than his. “How humble of you.”

“One of my many virtues.” He twisted his headphone cord around his finger, stopped. “What should I call you?”

You told him your name.

He tried to compare it to her name in his head. He did not know if he had forgotten it or if he had never known it in the first place. He repeated it back to you, committing it to memory.

You moved your mouth closer to the receiver, signing heavily into it. “How’d you come up with your name? Seven Zero Seven, I mean; what’s its significance?”

“Oh, loads of things.” He looked out the windshield into the night sky. “It’s an area code, an error code, an angel number, a pop culture reference– it’s got layers.”

It sounded like you were on a bed. “Walk me through them.”

He sat up a bit in his seat. “Seven Zero Seven is the area code for the northwesternmost part of California, which was where I stayed to learn English before I started school. Seven Zero Seven is also an uncommon error code that I struggled to get down, which I thought was funny because the code itself is an error code for partial data retrieval.” He swallowed. “Seven Zero Seven in numerology is supposed to be symbolic of spiritual awakening– you can guess why I liked that– and seeing it a lot means you’re supposed to take time to focus on yourself instead of your relationships with other people, which was…” He trailed off. “Well, you can guess.” He cleared his throat. “And Seven O’ Seven is a play on Double O Seven, aka James Bond, which is also pretty cool.”

Your voice was soft. “You thought of all that?”

“I had a very long car ride.”

You snorted.

“It’s true!” He crisscrossed his legs on the seat. “I was in a ‘93 Oldsmobile Cutlass with a broken air conditioner in late September; I was going nuts sitting in the car so long so I told myself to finally decide on a name before we got to San Mateo for something to do and all the pieces just sort of fell together.”

“I’m not doubting that it happened,” you insisted. “I’m just– it’s really in character, you know? Like, it’s such a you thing to do.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Not at all.” You sounded sincere. “I really like you; I like learning more about you.”

His cheeks warmed. “Don’t get too used to it,” he warned, half joking. “I’m a very secretive person.”

You were a dream. “It’s funny; I feel like I know you so well already.”

“Maybe you did in a past life.” He closed his eyes, trying and failing to picture you, to make you real in his head. “Maybe you do know me and I just don’t know you.”

“Do you want to know me?”

His heart ached. “More than anything.”

“You have my permission, if you’re looking for it.” You swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m worth knowing, but you’re more than welcome to if you want.”

“You are.” He hoped he did not sound as earnest as he was. “I promise, you are.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

Your answer was polite, if nervous. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

His sighed. “You don’t believe me.”

“Not because I don’t trust you,” you insisted quickly. “I just don’t know how you’d make that call, you know?”

“I have good intuition,” he insisted.

You laughed. “Nobody’s intuition’s that good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do. Besides–” You caught yourself, scrambled to recover. “Well, in any case, I don’t know how well your intuition can work if you can only talk to someone through a phone.”

“You’d be surprised.” He sat up straighter. “I bet I can tell loads about you from your online presence.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Lay it on me, then.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re… lonely,” he decided. “That’s why you showed up in our lives, why you haven’t left yet. Maybe not all the time, maybe not around people, but in some capacity, you feel alone or felt alone and you feel better being here than dealing with your own loneliness.” He swallowed. “But you’re kind. You care about things and people even when their problems don’t directly affect you. You have a good sense of right and wrong and try to make do with the choices you’re given, even if they aren’t great.”

A pause, then, “You make me sound like a better person than I am.”

He smiled. “I have a feeling you’ll have more options than you’re used to this time around,” he teased. “If I’m right– which, not to brag, but I usually am– that means you’ll have plenty of opportunity to prove me wrong if you want.”

“I guess so.” Your voice sounded softer now. “I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.”

“You won’t. You aren’t.” He checked the time. “Are you falling asleep?”

“A little.” You yawned. “But I’ve got to pay every time I make a phone call so I want to keep this going as long as possible.”

He rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep,” he urged. “If it’s that much trouble, I’ll call you, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“But then you need to pay for the call.”

“I could stop working today and never have to work a day in my life; I can afford to call you.”

It was hard to tell if the worry he heard was real or not. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart.” He fixed his glasses. “Before I leave, though, can you understand what we type alright? I think I might have installed a translator a while ago for Yoosung to use to study but I don’t remember if it actually worked all that well.”

You hummed contentedly. “Works like a dream,” you promised sleepily. “Google Translate can eat its heart out.”

He chuckled. “Good, good.” He picked his phone back up, thumb hovering over the call button. “Well,” he supposed, “this is where I leave you.”

“So it is.”

A pause. His finger stayed where it was.

You snorted. “You are so you.” There was a rustling of blankets on your end. “Goodnight, Seven.”

“You too. Oh,” he started, “and one last thing?”

“Yeah?”

His face flushed. “Thank you,” he said. “For showing up, I mean. It means a lot.”

He hoped he did not imagine the affection he heard in your voice. “It means more to me, I promise.”

You hung up.

It took him a second to get back on the road.

A while ago, Luciel had taken the time to sit down and really, objectively consider his situation. He had come to the conclusion that if he were to assign a genre to his life he would call it an existential horror. You were an entity greater than himself whose whims he was held victim and whose intentions were barely understood. His limited understanding nearly crippled him, leaving him alone and stuck in a constant haze of half-formed memories he had no way of grounding. In any other life, he would have hated you. In any other circumstance, with any other person, he probably would wished for your death so he could at least have the chance to hold onto something permanent.

But he was not alone anymore.

You remembered. He had you.

And if the price of having you in any capacity was for him to live the way he did, he would.

[kal0ps1aa]

i think sevens the only character I willingly render for fun whoopsie daisy 🧍

shading reds nd oranges >>>>>>

[coolbies]

Hi this is based on that one call in sevens route I found silly and cute but I added mc getting mad cause I think she would lol.

[m0ldyc0ffee]

I'm doing sevens route for the first time and .... 💀

I wanted to cry when I saw this but it was like 7 am so. But this is so sad.

[40lions]

I replayed mystic messenger recently and you know what I gotta do (draw 707 constantly)

[anne-chloe]

Agent 666

Mystic Messenger

707/Seven x F!Agent!Reader

WIP | Summary : Beloved Agent 707 is struggling to finish his case assignment on time, so he approaches his rival for help!

Alternative Title : Make A Joke

“This is impossible.”

Seven had finally hit a brick wall. In all his years of hacking and infiltration, he had never come across something that had stumped him this hard. He was seriously beginning to question his abilities at this stage as he stared at the coded screen in despair.

How many days did he have left to gather the information he needed? Seven checked the assignment log that rested on his desk, and he felt the colour physically drain from his face.

One day.

Seven couldn’t prevent himself from dropping his head forwards onto the desk. His forehead slammed into the keyboard, causing a bunch of error codes to fly up on the screen. The young teen groaned in pain before sitting up straight again, rubbing his hand tenderly at the spot where a mark had appeared.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Seven peeked around the room to check if anyone had witnessed his moment of weakness. Luckily, everyone seemed too focused on their own tasks to notice the awkward reaction from Seven.

And that’s when he accidentally locked eyes with Agent 666 from across the room. She had glanced up from her computer at that very moment, as if she had somehow known that Seven was going to look at her. Seven felt his face burn a bright red and he instantly looked away. If this were a cartoon, Seven was sure steam would be blowing from his ears.

Agent 666 had joined the agency three months prior. Already she had taken the Intelligence Agency by storm, impressing all the superiors with her talents for the hacking world. She joined multiple projects and brought statistics up fast, just like Seven had done when he joined a couple years prior.

Seven wasn’t jealous. No, he wasn’t jealous at all. Why would Seven be jealous of another agent’s achievements? It didn’t make sense to be. But, Seven couldn’t help but constantly check on Agent 666’s progress, knowing that she was always busy and swamped with work, just to see how she coped with the pressure of it all.

Would Agent 666 crumble under the pressure of this assignment?

Seven involuntarily groaned aloud at the very thought. He tilted his head back and shot a small glare of frustration at the air vents in the ceiling, wanting to blame something for his difficulty in completing this case. Truthfully, there wasn’t anyone else to blame but himself—clearly he wasn’t as good as he thought himself to be.

‘I need help…’ Seven thought, finally admitting defeat on himself. ‘Maybe I should speak with Vanderwood about this?’

But that seemed like a stupid idea. Agent Vanderwood loved to tease Seven at any given opportunity. He was an annoying pest that always hovered over his shoulder to check his progress, and he always had some sort of smart ass comment to make. If Seven were to admit to Vanderwood that he was struggling, Vanderwood would no doubt make his life a living hell with jokes.

Though, who else could Seven request help from? The senior agents were far too intimidating to approach, and they sometimes had a snarky attitude when it came to Seven due to his age. They would also think less of Seven if they heard him asking for help on a case that they found tricky. Seven didn’t want that.

Then, an idea came to mind.

‘Would Agent 666 be willing to help me?’

There hadn’t been many conversations between Seven and Agent 666. It wasn’t that Seven didn’t have the chance to speak with her, but rather the fact that he didn’t know what to speak about with her. She was very reserved and kept herself distant from everyone; she had yet to smile or laugh, and she just seemed plain miserable despite being an expert at her job. Seven knew he could relate with Agent 666 somewhat, especially seeing as they were both of the same age, but how was he supposed to strike up a conversation?

Seven pushed aside his doubts and opened a private messaging system between himself and Agent 666. It only took a few minutes to do, but it would be effective and could easily maintain his dignity in case she rejected his request. If that were the case, Seven could easily destroy all evidence of him even asking.

707 : i have a question

Seven nervously leaned back from the monitor and began playing with his hands. He watched eagerly for a message to appear, and he nearly fell out of his chair with excitement as a response appeared.

666 : what’s your question?

707 : I’m struggling with my assignment. I can’t infiltrate the system properly without being located. Are you able to take a look?

666 : …

Seven held his breath.

Would she reject him?

666 : okay.

Seven couldn’t help but grin widely as he began sending over the details for Agent 666 to look at. As soon as he hit send, he discreetly glanced over his shoulder to gauge her reaction, and he was in awe to see how focused she appeared while reading the uploaded documents.

30 minutes later, Agent 666 replied to the private log again.

666 : the code is *** ** ***** * ***. you’ll have less than 5 minutes to retrieve the information before the server resets and kicks you out. the algorithm changes every 15 minutes.

Seven clapped his hands together and wasted no time in diving back into the assignment. He typed as fast as his fingers would allow him to, and only briefly stopped to adjust his headphones back onto his head. Once into the server, Seven began downloading files from every section possible, ensuring that nothing was left untouched.

The last file finished downloading before the server became corrupted and forced Seven out. However, Seven was deeply satisfied and set to immediate work in decrypting the files he had stolen. Within 15 minutes, Seven had required all the information, plus extras, to complete his assignment. Everything was sent over to his supervisor, and if it could be wrapped in a neat little bow then that’s what Seven would have done.

707 : thanks for your help, I really appreciate it

666 : it’s no problem… I was surprised that you even asked for my help to begin with, I thought it was a joke

A joke? Seven frowned.

707 : jokes can cost us our lives here, I would never joke about something so dangerously important

666 : I see… then would I perish if I made a joke now?

707 : what joke is it?

666 : well…

666 : they call you the God of hacking…

666 : … so I must be the Devil

666 : 😈

Seven felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smile. He chuckled humorously. Seven turned his head in Agent 666’s direction, and he smiled even wider upon seeing that she was already looking back at him. She gave a small, shy wave, which encouraged Seven to wave back in a similar manner.

God, why was his heart beating so fast? Seven concluded that it must have been the adrenaline rush from completing the assignment on time. He was cutting the deadline rather close, after all.

707 : haha, you’re funny 😁

[fishsticksloser]

TikToks

RFA & Minor Duo

Warnings: cringy content, possible swearing, links added

A/N: I just got bored. Some of these are pretty old, I've been collecting them

Zen

He's on theatre kid TikTok, of course

He sends you videos of people singing, ones that made him get goosebumps

He sends you dancing videos as well, sometimes goofy ones

Examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Yoosung

Gaming things

Funny clips from streamers he does and doesn't watch

Sometimes game release dates.

Snapcube dub complications

Examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link

Jaehee

Those videos where they make pages dedicated to one thing/color

ASMR videos (kind of go hand in hand with the above)

Coffee videos

Examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Jumin

Conspiracies he thinks are real (because he believes pretty much everything in the internet)

Cat videos

I don't know how to describe some these so here are just some examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Seven

Memes.

That's it... Just memes...

Examples (there's a lot):

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link

V

Art

Any kind

Photography, pottery, paint, whatever

Examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Saeran

Cooking videos.

Ones with soft music

Mostly pastries and desserts

Examples:

Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

[undercover707]

Instead of card’s maybe I’ll try making a tower out of chips……..