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brighteststar707 · 1 month

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To Disappear Under the Sun

✦ Character: 707

✦ Words: 3062

This is me expanding on this call from day 6 of 707's route! Warning: agent angst ahead.

“Status check, Agent 707?”

“All clear, Agent. Withdrawing now.”

“Time estimate?”

“Ten minutes at most. You have permission to withdraw.”

“Copy.” The little voice crackles then cuts out completely in Seven’s earpiece and he is left in silence. It’s hasty for Seven to send him out, but this mission has been going so smoothly, he sees no reason to have him out there any longer.

He is deep in the basement of a corporate building, a cockroach scurrying under the polished shoes of the oblivious corporate workers upstairs. So far, the mission has been going suspiciously well. He managed to slip into the office of his target unnoticed, steal all the information he needed, and get out again without alerting a single person. Though, none of this has done anything to ease the tension he has felt since entering the basement. With its fluorescent lighting and nearly-unnatural silence, the whole place has a liminal feeling that Seven is keen to be rid of.

And he’s close now. He can feel his heart thrumming in his chest and a strange buzz in his fingers that tells him that his adrenaline rush is wearing off. He is more than ready to get out of here.

One turn. Through another doorway, careful to stay out of view of the cameras he knows are positioned there. Another turn.

As he moves down one of countless dark hallways, he hears the little voice in his earpiece confirm that they have gotten out safely. He’s the last one left. Only a few more minutes and he’ll join them. He has the route memorized. He just needs to go up a staircase, through the door to the basement, and out of the back entrance. Vanderwood should be waiting there with the car to get them out of there.

He is about to start climbing the stairs when the door at the top of the staircase opens and he comes face-to-face with someone who definitely shouldn't have been there. It was supposed to be guarded – was guarded up until a few minutes ago – by another agent. Seven curses under his breath. There is a moment of silence, each of them weighing the options. Then, Seven makes his second mistake: he runs back into the basement, the way he came.

He hears shouts from behind him, the person calling for backup, and the thundering of steps on his heels.

But he is faster. He always is.

He works his way back down the hall, mind working through possible escapes at breakneck speed. There is no way past them. Anyone who could have helped him is gone. He tries anyway to call out the emergency code over his earpiece, but he gets no reply.

Three turns and through two more doors, and he comes across a door with a heavy-looking handle and a big warning sign on the outside.

KEEP OUT

AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY

Based on Seven’s experience, doors like this usually come with heavy-duty locks. And, if anything, the sign might convince his pursuers to look elsewhere. Either way, he’s running out of time. He tugs it open and quickly disappears inside.

The room is noticeably a few degrees hotter than the hallway outside. As his eyes adjust to the light, he can see why: he has found his way into the building’s boiler room. All around him there are pipes leading up into the rest of the building and against the back wall, there are three big boilers.

A piece of good news: the machines are making enough noise to cover up anything he says or does.

He takes this opportunity to test out his radio. He tries reaching Vanderwood, but he doesn’t receive a reply. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have any signal this far down or because they’re all gone, he can’t know.

Well then, he will just have to wait.

His eyes adjust to the darkness and he takes in his surroundings. The room itself is small, with nothing more than the boilers and pipes to take up the space. The pipes run across every wall in the room, hot to the touch, and he does his best to stay away from them.

The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and he is starting to feel the injuries he must have sustained during the chase. His lungs ache from running and somewhere on his leg a cut smarts. But he’s alive.

Already, the heat in the room is starting to weigh on him. He is panting from the chase, but breathing does not bring him relief. There is a stubborn tightness in his chest that doesn’t ease and his heart is still racing, even though enough time should have passed for him to calm down. Despite the room being big enough for him to walk around in, he is feeling claustrophobic. He has to fight the urge to throw the door back open and run out into the hallway. Luckily, he is still rational enough to know that it would be suicide.

Instead, he raises his arms over his head and stretches, trying to force more air into his lungs, holding each breath for a few seconds before releasing. It’s a struggle at first, his mind fighting furiously against his body’s urges, but he eventually manages to slow his breathing down.

He can still hear the footsteps of his pursuers roving up and down the hall. Despite still being too antsy to relax, he forces himself to sit down. It won’t do him any good to exert more energy than he has to in this state. He leans back against the wall, tilts his head back, and shuts his eyes. Sweat beads on his upper lip. The back of his neck is damp. He is already thirsty. But he does not think about it.

He waits.

⋆ * ✩ * ⋆

He idly stares at the wall opposite him and allows his mind to wander. He has paced the room back and forth (and found himself worryingly tired after a few laps). He has counted each of the pipes, even attempted to touch them a few times just out of curiosity (they’re terribly hot). This is far from his first time staking out like this. Every hour or so, he tries to reach the agents outside, but he never receives a reply.

He listens to the voices outside as they come and go. It sounds like the building’s regular security patrol was called in. However, if his target is as paranoid as he seemed to be during Seven’s research, they won’t be the only people on guard.

Time drags by, painfully slowly, and Seven focuses on his breathing. He still feels the urge to run out of the room; he has the odd sense that he’s being cooked from the inside out. Once or twice, he gets up and goes to the door, he finds himself with his hand on the handle before forcing himself to step away. There is no way out of this basement with so many people on guard. Even he isn’t that good.

He has to wait.

⋆ * ✩ * ⋆

Isolation is a strange thing to endure. Seven is no stranger to spending time alone, but this is a different beast all together. He is cut off from the outside world, slowly losing track of the stakes and all things that might have existed outside the door and its bright safety label. While he is very used to his own company (and often prefers it), his is a presence he’d do anything to escape right now.

He is painfully aware of just how dry his mouth is. It takes immense mental strength to not think about his fridge back home, fully stocked with crisp cold Dr. Pepper cans and water bottles. His whole body, by contrast, is uncomfortably damp. His clothes cling to his body in the most frustrating way, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he has given up on pushing it out of the way. He can feel as sweat rolls down his skin and can do nothing to make it stop.

It is still hard to breathe. Each breath has the opposite effect and reminds him just how humid the room is. He imagines water filling his lungs with every breath, imagines drowning while dying of thirst. It’d be terribly ironic.

He makes a conscious effort to take deep breaths, but he can’t keep it up for more than a few minutes before he forgets. There is a dull throb starting in his head that he knows is just another sign of dehydration.

It has been around 24 hours since he first got into the boiler room, and it is starting to mess with his mind. Whether it’s the darkness, the heat, or both, he is starting to lose his grip on reality. With nothing else to distract him, his mind turns worryingly dark.

Seven’s identity and existence in daily life are tenuous at best. He is wrapped in so many lies and elaborate facades that he’s not there there’s anything left underneath it all. In this basement, cocooned in concrete, he is completely severed from the outside world. It is easy to imagine that he doesn’t exist at all.

Easier still when he can still hear the frustrated voices of the second round of security guards called in to search for him. They’re starting to doubt whether there was anyone ever there to begin with. It’s starting to sound more and more convincing even to him.

He’s too scared to let himself sleep, but as the hours pass, exhaustion starts to creep up on him.

⋆ * ✩ * ⋆

He startles awake. A quick glance at his watch tells him he has only been unconscious for two minutes, but his heart is racing like he’s been dreaming for far longer. His eyes shoot to the door out of pure habit. This has been happening every few minutes. It’s extremely exhausting: he exists in this terrifying delirium where he is constantly on the brink of death with no way of escaping.

Nothing feels real. Not the outside, not the threat of being caught, not the work he finished. All that exists are these four walls and the oppressive heat that is pushing hard on his chest. Each breath is strained. In between dreaming of being caught, he dreams of deserts. Sand that’s hot to the touch, beautiful mirages that slip away before he can touch them. He dreams of slipping out of his skin just to feel the cold air again… his head lolls downwards as he drifts off again.

His eyes snap open. Nobody has burst through the doors yet. He is leaning to the side, neck at a painful angle, face dangerously close to one of the exposed heating pipes. He’s one wrong move away from a nasty burn. He pulls himself back upright and shakes his head, as if to throw off the exhaustion. His mind runs in increasingly frustrating circles.

He must not fall asleep. They will eventually find him if he is not vigilant, and God knows what they’ll do to him if they get their hands on him now. Nobody would ever hear from him again. Worse; he’d be a failure. He’ll never see Saeran again. He must not fall asleep.

Then again, if Saeyoung vanishes off the map today, who would mourn him? Sure, his friends might worry for the caricature he created, but what do they know of the person he is underneath it all? There is no name attached to the work he has done for the agency; nobody will ever know what he did. Nobody will know who he died for.

His head pounds.

He must not fall asleep.

He mutters an incoherent prayer, words slurring together until they’re just a stream of consciousness like water, Saeran, please… eyelids already halfway closed again. His head lolls down again…

His cheek hits the pipe.

He lets out a startled cry and leaps to his feet, still half asleep, narrowly missing bashing his head on another pipe. He immediately presses his palm to his mouth, as if to undo the noise he just made, but it’s too late. His outburst has caused some commotion outside. He can hear feet pounding up and down the hallway, the voices of men shouting to each other to search every corner of the basement.

Luckily, the noise of the boiler room has covered up the exact source of Seven’s voice, but it has put them all back onto high alert.

He wobbles, dizzy and uncertain of what to do. His hand probes his cheek to check if the pipe left any lasting damage. His skin is sore, but he’s hoping it’s nothing more serious than that. The last thing he needs right now is a burn to worry about.

He clumsily lowers himself back to the floor – the sudden exertion of him jumping to his feet has made his headache significantly worse – and plants his head firmly between his knees. Sweat drips off his forehead onto the concrete floor. The shock has sent a wave of nausea through him and his limbs are too shaky to be of any use. He has never felt cool in his life. If the guards ever give up searching for him, he doubts he’d have the energy to get up and leave. Maybe he will just sit here until the dehydration or heatstroke take him. Nobody would ever know what happened to him.

It’s almost a relief. He has tried to be invisible for most of his life. It feels like a final gift that he might just disappear from the earth without anybody having to know.

⋆ * ✩ * ⋆

Sand, as far as the eye can see. Saeyoung, wobbly on his feet, head pounding. A crackly voice in his earpiece, calling his name.

“Status check, Agent Seven?”

His throat is too dry to speak.

“Remember your task. You have ten minutes.”

“Copy.” His voice comes out as a rasp.

The sun overhead, unforgiving and blindingly hot. His hands shaky, a feeling of dread in his gut. He knows he isn’t going to make it out on time.

He isn’t sure where he’s supposed to go, where to find the office that he knows has the information he needs. There isn’t a single building in sight. He stumbles a few steps forward, but moving makes the world spin dangerously under his feet. He is too dizzy to do more than shuffle a few steps forward at a time, the sand only hindering him.

His body aches, and he's sure he can hear footsteps around him somewhere, though there's nobody around to make them. He mutters a prayer under his breath. Whether to escape or to just be put out of this misery, even he isn't sure.

He only manages a few steps before he stumbles and falls. His skin stings where it hit the sand, but he doesn’t have time to recover. He needs shelter, and he needs it fast. He starts to crawl forwards again, desperate for something, anything.

He can't find purchase in the sand. It starts to pull him down deeper, like quicksand. The heat in his body is unbearable. He sinks into the sand, palms then wrists then forearms being swallowed up by the heat.

There is no escape.

He looks up to the sky desperately, when suddenly a shadow is cast over his face. Someone is looking down on him, and he can’t muster up the strength to tell them to get out while they still can. He waits for his eyes to adjust, sun in his eyes, and then gasps.

It’s Saeran staring back at him. A face remarkably similar to his, hair lying just a bit flatter on his head (Seven’s hair has always been more unruly), though just as vibrant as his own. The only thing that surprises Seven is the look of disappointment in Saeran’s face. It's a look he has never seen, and would do anything to never see again. He looks down at Seven like he has already failed him.

“Wake up,” he says. His voice is strangely deep, familiar somehow.

“What?”

“Wake up. Is this what you left me to do? To die all alone? It's pathetic.”

“No- I…”

Saeran leans down so his face is close to Seven’s. He enunciates every word slowly so that Seven’s addled brain can keep up.

“Then. Wake. Up.”

Seven puts all his energy into opening his eyes. It’s the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

“Ah, thank God you’re not dead. C’mon, wake up.”

“Huh?”

Vanderwood stands crouched over him in the boiler room and is shaking his shoulder. Already, there is sweat beading on their forehead.

“I’m getting you out. You want to die here?”

“You found me.” His voice is as hoarse as it was in his dream.

“Obviously. You think I want to deal with the boss yelling at me for losing his best agent?”

Seven can barely keep up. He’s sure he’s hallucinating.

“Huh.” Is all he can say.

“Ugh. Come on.”

Vanderwood heaves Seven off the floor while Seven can do little more than groan at the pounding in his head.

The only thing that somewhat revives him is the first taste of air outside the boiler room. He takes his first full breath in three days. Slowly, Vanderwood half-carries him up the stairs and out of the building and loads him into the car.

Seven is barely conscious (Vanderwood won't let him sleep again) but it hits him: he survived. He exists outside the confines of the concrete and desperate, suffocating heat.

Saeran's dream words come to him again in his delirious state. Is this what you left me to do? To die all alone?

It had never occurred to him before. The agency work had always been vaguely for Saeran's sake. But this was not how it was supposed to end; dying alone and nameless without ever being able to get word back to his brother. He knows this now, suspects that he has always hoped so.

Despite how badly he may wish to disappear back into the earth, it seems that something bigger is awaiting him still.

#my writing #mystic messenger #mystic messenger 707 #mystic messenger Saeyoung #mystic messenger Saeyoung choi #mystic messenger luciel choi #mystic messenger luciel #mystic messenger seven #mysme seven #mysme 707 #mysme saeyoung #mysme saeyoung choi #if you see any changes appear later no you didn't

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bunnidollz · 1 year

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I HAVE A TYPE

I have a obvious type, these men 💀 idk something about the binary code text has me giggling 💀

#mystic messenger luciel #707 #mystic messenger #micah yujin #error143 micah #error143 #mystic messenger 707 #mysmes #mysme luciel #mysmes 707 #saeyoung

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stormflypirateskin · 1 year

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hiii! i’ve been reading your lasts works and they’re so lovely i wanted to request something (‘: would you mind doing overworked 707 falling asleep on readers’s arms? thank youu ♡

Overworked Saeyoung Falling Asleep On Reader's Arms!

Ahhh, a request!! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you like this! I had fun making it! Tell me if there was something you didn't like and I can rewrite it.^^

I'm still a bit sick currently but I have the energy to start writing again~

You knew that Saeyoung wasn't exactly the type that rests, especially when he is overworking himself.

He had gotten a new job on Jumin's company, mostly the security or other work which some of them he worked at home.

Thankfully he tended to finish his work quite fast so he was always by your side through the rest of the day. But this was the first time he had a big task and was overworking himself in his room!

You tried constantly to get him to take breaks and even bringing him food and water so he doesn't collapse right there and he would only give you a smile and tell you that he would finish soon.

Not really liking that, you wanted to try once again, last time you saw him, he was already looking like he hasn't taken a break in months now. It made you feel sad that he wasn't taking care of himself.

A sigh left your lips as you went inside the room and found him hunched over at his desk. Slowly, you made your way towards him and rested your hand on his shoulder, which made him jump slightly before relaxing as he saw you.

"Ahh, Y/N! What brings my special angel here~?" It was cute how he was attempting to flirt but you could see how tired he was close enough. Even though he was exhausted, he still made your heart skip a beat.

"You. You need to take a break, Saeyoung." You said immediately, your soft eyes were enough to get his heart racing and his face blushing. "I know you have a lot of work but seeing you so overworked worries me." You had grabbed one of his hands as spoke.

He let out a soft exhale as he looked down, quite embarrassed. You were right, if he continued on with how he was currently, he won't be able to get off his chair from exhaustion.

"Please? Even for a while?" Your pleading eyes made his face the same color as his hair. "G-Gahh..!! T-Too cute.. alright alright!! I surrender..!! I can't resist you.. haha.." He let out a shaky laugh as he let himself get dragged out of his chair by you.

The redhead didn't even realize himself how bad his back had gotten, he couldn't help but stretch, eyes widening a bit as he realized how much time had passed. Focusing back on you, he felt warm as you laid down on the bed and gestured to him to lay down as well.

Saeyoung slowly climbed over you before lowering himself and laying fully on top of you, trying his best not to hurt you or anything. Thanks to how soft and warm you were, he was able to relax his muscles some more. Taking off his glasses before his head was exactly over where he hears your heartbeat, making him blush some more.

"You're so waaaaaarmmm.. and cuteeee.. and pretttttyyyyyy.." He smiled as he nuzzled his head on you, smiling wider now that you are so close to him. Just being here with him is enough to make him feel so soft and warm and so comfortable like this.

His muscles were starting to rest and Saeyoung completely melted when you reached out and gently rubbed his shoulders, making him let out a sigh of relief as he literally started to purr like a real cat.

"You are so good at.. this.." He closed his eyes slowly as he let you do your magic. His purring slowing down as you felt his breathing and him staying still. He felt like he was on cloud nine as he rested in your arms. You are the only one who makes him feel so nice, so warm.

It wasn't long before you heard a soft snore coming from him and you melted right there completely. He had fallen asleep! On you! He really deserved the rest after all the work he did and you couldn't be happier than seeing him get the rest he needs.

He also looks so cute while he sleeps. You reached a hand out to stroke his curly hair gently, not wanting to wake him up. It made you grin happily as he nuzzled more into you.

You loved this man so much and you knew that he loved you back, too. It was cute how you made each other feel like this and you two couldn't be happier.

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spicy-jmh · 9 months

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Maybe more for poll winner ;)))

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asterjennifer · 1 year

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I read your Suit SaeranxMC ask where MC was almost kidnapped and Suit lost his shit and was wondering: we know Seven has enemies, hell his own father wants him dead

What would happen if MC was in a similar situation but Seven saved her at the last second?

🎀 Interesting take on, my dear! 🎀

Hands down

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: 707 x Reader

Category: Angst (Fluff)

Warnings: Attempt Kidnapping

Word count: 1579

Summary: Cold shoulder doesn't imply no rescue when it comes down to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His sweat was running; his hands burned the metal he'd taken from the back of his car after arriving in more than a hurry. He'd told you to stay in the apartment for your own safety, considering there's not only the face of his brother being part of the opponent group who guided you to the RFA. Ever since leaving behind Vanderwood at his bunker, Saeyoung had been standing on hot coals with their wellbeing. So why couldn't you simply listen when telling you're in great danger? Even more so than before?

Was it curiosity, perhaps it's anticipation to cope with the fact of him snapping at you. And there you disobeyed either way; leaving the walls once he's out in order to gather needed equipment for his research. It's no surprise as he should've known you're owning a talent for causing problems by now. However, he'd not figured you're that tired of life by discharging his warnings. The moment he realized that the car in front of the apartment was not just familiar in brand, but also one he's well acquainted with ever since joining the agency unwillingly, the panic set in. With speed of light he chased down the stairs, knowing exactly what would happen if he's incapable of rescuing you.

These hackers knew even less fun than most of his place. It's his luck for having not only his gun, the taser was hanging at his left side of the belt. Like this he was confident of beating at least five people if managing the defense well. He pushed the doors open, only to be greeted by covered faces that all stared back at the nosie. The shot rang through his ears like a tinnitus; catching too much attention. One of the three guys still holding your unconscious body, ready to be thrown into the trunk. Saeyoung couldn't think; all he's able to see was red and feel the fire that's usually kept in place burn down his body. He lifted the gun, pointing it at the unknown man holding you up.

“You better buckle up and give her back if you wanna walk away alive from this godforsaken place!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

You've woken up with a pounding headache. Growling low in the back of your throat as the light from above burned through your eyelids, forcing you to turn around to the side. Your body ached and it let you hiss out in pain. Not sure what's going on; you blinked reluctantly until you're making out the color of the walls belonging to the former RFA leader. Seems you're back at the apartment already. You pulled your legs higher while grabbing harder at the soft blankets.

You couldn't remember anything, the last thing flashing into your mind had been how you checked your pockets to ensure you've put your phone away. Ready to leave and get something to eat for Saeoyung and yourself after his hard work. Depsite him treating you coldly, you're not about to let him starve the whole day. Least of all when still feeling painful for his situation, you understood he's pained and needed time to recover and process everything that took place in such a short period of time.

“Ngh… Ugh.”

You sighed annoyed at the scratching pain inside your brain. Frowing your brows together, you turned to the other side and find the surroundings mostly empty. Regardless, Saeyoung stood with the back to you at the kitchen counter, his body crouched a little with his eyes focusing onto he sink. What's with that posture, you thought as suspicions began creeping up your spine. You licked your dry lips; eyes snapping open wide by the taste of blood. You immediately lifted your index finger to the skin, and indeed, your lip must've split.

“Saeyoung…?”

Scared of the thick and gloomy air, you called out for the redhead. His shoulders stiffened up and he grazed your eyes briefly over his shoulder before going back to whatever he's doing over at the other side of the room.

“Don't. Just be quiet.”

The bitter tone left guilt laying heavy in your stomach, twisting your guts until the bed's uncomfortable under your weight. You didn't know what to say since you're unaware what happened, did you fell down and ended up unconscious? Have you perhaps fainted from the lack of exercise? Almost impossible, you're in good shape lately, thus simply blacking out made no sense. You shook your head unaware.

“What happened…?”

He exhaled sharp through his nose; now it's confirmed to you. He was angry. Or maybe even more pissed, for that matter.

“I told you not to leave the damn apartment!”

He hissed back, pulling a white fabric higher and lowering it back down out of your sight. A silent gasp escaped you; it's a bandage.

“I… Did you got hurt?”

You asked worried for his condition. Saeyoung never made the impression of caring for his own health, now you were concerned something injured him instead. The hacker glossed over the question by using the silent treatment at you. Your fingers scratched at the mattress restlessly; what now? Should you keep prying or rather leave him be until he's talking voluntarily? No, you closed your eyes once your world started spinning. It's very likely he's not going to enlighten you by himself. Therefore you cleared your dry throat.

“Have I done something, Saeyoung? It's scary not knowing what happened… Can you please tell me?”

It sounded like pleading in your own ears, not that you would bring the effort to care. The redhead then finally turned back around, his arms covered by the thick jacket again. Letting you continue speculate if he got hurt or not. He carried a glass of water and a plate with selfmade sandwich over, much to your surprise.

“You don't remember?”

He asked while placing food and water down at the nightstand. Seeing you shake your head helplessly.

“Good. Then you don't need to know.”

Not even remotely the answer you've been praying for. You sat up slowly because your body didn't allow you going any faster, unless you would've wanted stringing pain to cruise through your veins.

“Saeyoung… What are you talking about?”

“I told you I have enemies and you're absolutely not safe with me.”

He lectured you for the countless time; amber eyes grounded and hard when looking at you.

“Let this be a lesson, for fuck's sake… You're so damn lucky I noticed early enough.”

Your frown grew deeper as you're not sure what he's referring to. With the back to the wall, you placed both hands next to your mushy body. His expression stayed emotionless; lips pressed into a thin line and only his forehead wrinkled lightly to show his frustration. You titled your head.

“I don't know what happened but… I'm sorry.”

You then turned away your head, facing the floor.

“I didn't mean to cause problems again. But I hope you know that's not your fault.”

For a moment silence filled the air until the hot water rose into the corners of your irritated eyes.

“I like you and I don't want to be a burden. But I also don't wanna leave you.”

The shift of the mattress caught you off guard, jerking up your arm in reflex. He sat at edge while rubbing his face with both hands. The lump blocking the access to the already uneasy air didn't help staying calm.

“You still don't get it. What am I supposed to do.”

The regretful tone of his normally powerful voice caused the tears to run down your cheeks. First hesitant, your hand reached out and came to lay at his shoulder. Thankfully he didn't slap it away or anything, on the contrary. When paying close attention you noticed he unconsciously leaned into your touch.

“Please just… let me be with you. I'm not scared of anything that could happen. I know you protect me, Saeyoung.”

You tried again to convince him about your loyalty. It's the truth anyway, you did want to stay by his side no matter what pain or truth would occur; nothing could change your mind about being close to him. You simply desired for him to finally accept the stubborn albeit determined decision you'd made a while ago. You squeezed his shoulder gently and he stood up shortly afterwards.

“Eat and drink something, please.”

He pointed to the food.

“What about you?”

“I took care already. Start worrying about yourself first…!”

You hummed softly, watching him pull his jacket tighter as he's seeking your eyes again. And this time you saw the entire worry glittering over them.

“If you still think this way after everything is over… Maybe I'm willing to share what happened. For now you need to recover so stop asking questions and rest.”

With that he went back to the space on the floor he'd taken the first day he arrived in order to finish the remanding parts of the job. You pulled the blankets once more; gazing at the many wrinkles it brought. There's not much else to do for now, best would be listening to his words and eat. Although feel stomach's still a little heavy, you did felt hungry.

“Okay. Thank you Saeyoung.”

Your words made him look up when placing the big headphones over his head. His features softened due to your kindhearted gratitude, you both knew.

“Yeah… Whatever. Just don't leave this place without me again.”

“I promise.”

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m-ieleeh · 2 years

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Trigger warning [Blood] + SPOILER: SAERAN AFTER ENDING. (Day 1)

« I know chopsticks make more than a handy tool for you. »

I finally farmed enough hourglasses to get Saeran’s after ending and I came across this story mode where Saeyoung talk with his boss and I CANNOT let this kind of small detail be unused. I mean… that man is so strong and powerful that he can use chopsticks as weapons!

This man is Smart, Strong, Skilled and Sexy, he is the equivalent of the 4P in marketing, he is the whole package for a good sell. He’s just too much for my heart 😭💗💗💗

I drew it with a reference for the arm but looks like I draw anatomy better when I don’t have a reference 😂

Bonus: it made me remember Yor from Spy x Family with her needles haha so here I present you our chopsticks prince 🥢 (Since Seven is also a spy, can we say he is the whole package?)

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lenniahkaks · 2 years

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-slap-

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wendy-606 · 1 year

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Happy Late Christmas everyone!

Yes I'm alive!

I was busy the whole December, hence I'm posting it now! And the New Year's post is coming up soon ;)

Btw the CMC here is @lusree 's ^^ <33

Tap on the image for higher quality

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #mystic messenger 707 #luciel choi #fanart #mysme 707 #mysticmessenger fanart.#707 #mystic messenger saeyoung #saeyoung #mystic messenger luciel #707 x mc #707 x reader #saeyoung x mc #saeyoung x reader #mystic messenger 707 x mc

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cloudiilink · 1 year

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Bet you didn’t expect Mystic Messenger stuff from me in 2023 lolol

But I downloaded mystic messenger again recently and. Seven is so funny okay.

I tried something new with this and. I really love how it turned out. Maybe I'll draw the other characters like this in the following weeks? Idk

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger 707 #luciel choi #mystic messenger luciel #fanart #Mystic messenger fanart #link doodles #707 fanart #procreate #art #artist #mysme #mysme luciel #mysme seven #mysme 707

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coolbies · 1 year

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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.

#mystic messenger #mysme saeyoung #saeyoungmysticmessenger #saeyoung choi #saeyoung fanart #707 mm #god 707 #707 fanart #agent 707 #luciel choi #mystic messenger luciel #mystic messenger fanart #fan comic #fanart #art #chibi art #silly

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just-mysme-headshots · 1 year

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H5 for Saeyoung? :D

#jmh art #mysme #mm #mystic messenger #sketch #rough color #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #mysme 707 #mm 707 #mystic messenger 707 #mysme luciel #mm luciel #mystic messenger luciel #mysme saeyoung #mm saeyoung #mystic messenger saeyoung

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brighteststar707 · 7 months

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Turn It All Back

Part Three of Don't Say My Name

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist | Read on AO3 (Registered users only)

✦ Saeyoung x gn!Reader

✦ Words: 3407

✦ TW: Death mention, destructive anger

“And… what brought you here?” As if he doesn’t know. He can read it off your face. You were there with him at the funeral, were the one to give him the news. You have been watching him with those same eyes since the day he woke up. “I’m worried about you.” The real question is how much do you know? What do you see when you look into his eyes? He can’t bear to look at you and find out.

Saeyoung sits at his desk and absentmindedly watches the screens in front of him. One of the monitors is broken, a web of cracks and multicoloured pixels is all that’s left on the screen. He can’t remember the outburst that caused it, only the sick feeling he got when he realised what he had done. He pretends it’s not broken, though, and keeps flitting his eyes from screen to screen, as if he's anticipating a mission that is never coming.

This has been an increasingly common occurrence over the past few days as the anger inside him has swelled up, taken up all the remaining space in his body, leaving room for little else. It has resulted in small, isolated outbursts like the one that caused him to break the screen. Manifestations of momentary frustration that he cannot contain.

He feels like a time bomb about to go off, the pressure between his ribs threatening to break him at any moment. The funeral was the last straw. When he is not at the hospital, mask all the way up, putting his only real energy into trying to help Saeran, he loses hours to sitting motionlessly, holding himself tense so he doesn’t do something stupid. In the waiting room seats, in the car, at his desk. Even at the funeral.

He has caught himself fantasising about revenge lately. It is temptingly easy. He'd go quiet for a few days, abduct Rika before she can be sent anywhere out of reach. He would finally be able to ask her all the questions that had been raging in him for so long. He'd deliver justice. Then, he'd finally be free. Or so he tries to believe.

With everyone at fault gone or out of reach, he is the only one his anger has left to hurt. This is the closest thing to catharsis he can picture.

He had seen her at the funeral today. Intentional or otherwise, there was always someone standing between them, keeping them a safe distance apart. He wonders if it was your doing, or perhaps Jumin had been more attentive than Saeyoung had given him credit for. She had been staring at V's picture, oblivious to everyone around her. In a world of her own grief.

It doesn’t take long before his fantasies are interrupted by the more rational side of him that knows that revenge in this form really won’t make things any better. Even if she spoke to him, he doubts anything she would say could make any difference. Killing her would just put more blood on his hands, make him feel more like a monster than he already does.

The robotic voice of his security system suddenly announces a visitor, pulling him from his train of thought. He doesn't care enough to get up. Whoever managed to get through the front gate will just have to come find him themselves if they really want to. It's probably Vanderwood anyway, here to pick up something he forgot.

He was not expecting your voice to ring through the house.

“Saeyoung?”

He straightens up suddenly, wincing when he jostles his arm the wrong way. He scrabbles for the alarm remote to turn it off. Gingerly, he gets up from his chair and rolls out his shoulders, as if it’s going to do anything to ease the tension there. He is equal parts thrilled to see you and anxious to keep you away from him as much as possible.

“I’m here,” he says as he comes out into the living room. It’s a mess. Besides going without Vanderwood’s regular cleanings (Saeyoung does not have the presence of mind to attempt it himself yet), there is more proof of his declining mental state here too. A broken figurine, the robo-dog looking worse for wear after getting in his way. Old takeout containers sitting by the front door. He hopes you won’t see any more of these traces through the house before he can set them right.

You’re already there, waiting for him in the middle of the room. There is a strange dissonance in seeing you here under the fluorescents. He has come to associate you with warmth and comfort, starry skies and sun coming in through the windows. The real, the beautiful. There is nothing in this house that is real (not in the way that it relates to him), much less beautiful.

You take him in slowly. For the first time, he feels self-conscious of how poorly he has been taking care of himself. His clothes are crumpled (he hasn’t gotten changed since getting back from the funeral), his hair is a mess. He knows he has dark circles and he can’t remember the last real meal he ate. Belatedly, he notices he is still holding the remote.

“How did you get in?” He asks to try and deflect your attention away from him.

“Vanderwood lent me their dictionary. Turns out my Arabic isn’t too bad.”

He assumes that Vanderwood also gave you the address. Traitor.

“I’m worried about you.”

The real question is how much do you know? What do you see when you look into his eyes? He can’t bear to look at you and find out. He does what he knows best instead.

“Oh, this?” He gestures vaguely to himself and the space around them, “It’s better than it looks, I promise. It’s just with Saeran… ah… you know how I get.”

“Saeyoung.”

“Please,” and now his voice is pleading. More desperate than he wanted it to sound. Please let it go, he thinks, I can’t talk about it or I’ll shatter. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” You echo. His pupils are big and dark, all but swallowing up his irises. He looks possessed. “I thought we promised that we’d tell each other the truth.”

The memory hurts. It’s bright, coloured in a happiness that seems almost unreachable to him now. He will be the first to admit that he has fallen into old habits, keeping you just out of reach for your own safety. And he hates it. Now that he has grown used to the comfort you bring, he hates to be apart from you. It’s just that lately he has been afraid of exploding and hurting everyone around him. His roughest edges are out on show, and he is barely keeping them contained. He'd rather he be the only person he hurts.

So, he deflects again.

“You… don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Bullshit.”

He looks surprised. You’ve never spoken to him this way before. But this isn’t the time for delicate approaches. He will take any out you give him.

You know full well that the funeral was the last drop in the bucket that was on the brink of overflowing. You had caught the sharpness to his words, the way he kept his hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking earlier today. And that terrible stillness. That’s the biggest tell. As if someone has robbed him of his essence and left behind an eerie impostor.

Opposite you, his demeanour has shifted. He has squared off his shoulders as if he is preparing for an attack. “Fine. I don’t want you to know. It’s… ugly,” he says.

“That excuse has never worked on me before. I want to know what you’re feeling and thinking, regardless of how bad it is. How am I supposed to support you if you won’t let me in?”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you stubbornly.

More softly, you add, “you know I’m not going to think less of you for what you’re thinking, right?”

In theory, he does. He has come to trust you completely. It’s still hard to believe in practice, though. Being in his own head so much lately has made it hard to imagine that you wouldn’t be disappointed in him, or worse, repulsed by what he has become. He doesn’t know what will become of him if he ever lets go of his building anger completely.

God, does he wants to, though. There is a part of him that wants to put himself in your hands and trust that you’ll know how to help him. It’s almost a relief that you were stubborn enough to come and find him yourself . He loves and hates that you would chase him down just to break down his walls, over and over again.

He knows just by looking at you that you’re not going to give up. And in that moment, he has to trust that you are as strong as you have proven to be so far. That you will catch him if he crumbles.

“What… do you want to know?” He finally says. His posture relaxes slightly, his eyes not empty but fearful, as if even he doesn’t know what is coming next.

“What are you thinking?”

“I… I don’t –” It dies in his throat. It’s nothing coherent. A hot, restless fury, fantasies of blood and revenge and the inescapable reality of the damage that has been inflicted.

“Okay, then let’s talk about Saeran instead. How is his treatment going?”

He deflates a little bit. You know him too well. The details of Saeran’s care are imprinted on his brain, and they start to tumble out of his mouth without needing any more prompting.

"It's not. He is resisting treatment; the doctors don't know what to do with him. He won't talk to me and he- " his breath catches when he thinks about how broken he looked the last time he saw him. Not just physically, but mentally too. The emptiness in his eyes as he watches the clouds passing by his window. “The doctors say that his condition indicates years of drug use.” He grits his teeth. “Years.”

The anger that had temporarily subsided in your presence flares up again. It fills his lungs and burns his throat as the memories come all at once. That list of chemicals, the blue substance they discovered after raiding the Mint Eye compound. The side effects, the withdrawal symptoms. The testimonies of former cult members coming out every day – the ceremonies and the punishments. His brother’s eyes, icy mint where they were once warm amber.

He instinctively wants to put it out, change the subject before he can’t breathe anymore and his heart starts to hammer too hard. At the back of his throat, it all builds up, begging to be let out. It's too much.

You’re looking at him encouragingly, urging him to push through it. So, he lets the spark catch. The more painful realisations start to come out, and these hurt more to say.

“They forced that stuff on him for years and put him through hell. They lied to me, sent me those pictures to keep me quiet while they abused him! It was never supposed to be this way!”

His voice is already getting louder, but you don’t flinch, so he doesn’t try to stop it. He hasn’t said any of this out loud yet, and in a way, this feels more like a way for him to untangle the mess in his mind than it is to answer your question. You let him talk regardless.

“V spoke to me almost every day and he never told me how bad things were! He told me to defend the RFA against the hacker! He knew who I was fighting and did it anyway! How DARE he!” Every time he says V’s name, it’s with venom. "I might have made things worse for Saeran by just-" His voice gives out before he can finish.

He doesn't fight against the memories that resurface.

Saeran’s skills at hacking, the years it must have taken, the toll it took on his health. That keyboard at the compound, the letters on the keys long since rubbed away from use. The list of injuries he sustained, old scars and new bruises, the chronic malnutrition and lack of sleep, and – somehow the most offensive – the extensive scarring around his wrists and ankles from being physically restrained.

Blood is pounding in his ears. He wants to scream, to sob for every second Saeran had to endure in that place. It is impossible to think clearly when all he can hear is his heart racing and all he can see when he closes his eyes is the pain and regret in V’s eyes when they were back in that cell. It wasn’t enough, and it is all he will ever get.

“This was supposed to be the beginning. We were supposed to be free. But how am I supposed to live with his fingerprints on everything in our lives? I go into Saeran’s hospital room every single day and he threatens to kill me. How am I supposed to move on?” He says that last part mockingly, echoing what one of his doctors had told him before he was discharged. “He let Saeran be tortured! Who gave him the right to meddle in our lives? We were kids!”

In that moment, his fury feels inescapable. Embedded in his flesh, impossible to separate from himself without turning into a bloodied wreck.

“You asked me what I have been thinking recently? I wish I was the one to kill him. I wish I could have ruined him exactly how he ruined us. I wish I could show him what any father of mine truly deserves.”

It’s all too much, it needs to get out out out before it chokes him.

He hears the plastic of the remote cracking against the floor and then feels it under his heel as he grinds it into the tiles. It takes a second for his mind to catch up.

He looks back to you suddenly, expecting the worst, shame already clawing at his insides. He is already looking for any trace of disgust on your face, or worse, fear. But you only look mildly surprised.

“Saeyoung, you’re crying.”

He touches a hand to his cheek to find that it’s wet. How long has he been crying for? He isn’t sure. You reach out to cup his cheek. The tenderness in your eyes makes him feel brittle, on the brink of shattering.

He takes a ragged breath and then says, “That boy… in the pictures… that was who Saeran was supposed to be. Happy, in the sun. Carefree. Now, he might never -” he doesn't want to finish that thought. Shakily, he continues, "I was the one supposed to suffer for us. He should never have known this kind of life even existed."

You intervene, meaning to stop him before he can follow that line of thinking further. You clasp his hand in yours, try to straighten out his fingers, warm them up in your own (they're uncharacteristically cold).

"The responsibility of saving yourself and your brother should not have fallen solely on you. They should have protected you too," you continue.

He goes cold. Your statement tugs at something in him. A feeling so old it is etched into his bones, remembering it sends a dull ache through his body. It’s more instinctive than a clear memory he can define.

When he was young, there must have been a moment where he had wished that he didn’t have to hurt so much to keep Saeran safe. But that thought might as well have been sacrilege. He quickly repressed it, put it somewhere far out of reach, and grew around it.

But the way you've put it, so matter-of-factly, without any space for doubt, has unearthed that feeling, brought it back with a renewed strength, made it impossible to ignore.

His anger so far has felt overwhelming, too complicated to handle. This anger is simple. Childlike, almost.

He is Luciel, naming himself after the devil, and nobody intervenes. He is told that he has to do work - commit crimes - to earn money (he would only learn of V's personal riches later on in life and never connect the dots). He brings down international servers at the age of fourteen, because he'd rather be a criminal than watch his brother go hungry again. Nobody intervenes.

He is Agent 707, aged sixteen, fresh out of agency training, body aching and mind wiped blank. He is breaking codes he didn't know he had until it was too late, crossing lines that he never had the luxury of setting. Killing someone for the first time, taking on assignments without knowing who he is serving. Begging V and Rika, the only people he trusts in the world, for any indication that he is doing this for something greater than himself, because the concept of himself as a person is fading further every day.

He had always taken these struggles as a necessity, the sacrifices he has to make to keep his brother safe. He trusted V and Rika to guide him in the right direction, to know better than he did. They told him the agency was his best option, so he took it without question.

It’s only in hindsight that he realises just how much of himself he lost to that decision.

It’s in the knowledge that, despite being unconscious at the time, he can picture exactly how Saeran felt on that fateful day at Mint Eye. The cold metal, clasped in his hands. The shot, the recoil, the ringing in his ears. That momentary sense of relief, because he had bought himself more time, immediately followed by the sick seeping sense of guilt at what he’d done. He has been there many times himself. It is a feeling he’d do anything to take off of Saeran’s hands.

Again, more muted this time, he feels that surge of anger through his body, wishing he could pull V out of hell now and squeeze the life out of him himself and save Saeran that pain, at least.

There is a child in him, begging to be heard, wondering if he really was deserving of better. For the first time, he listens.

He inhales sharply through his teeth. "If I believe that then..."

"Then everything else falls apart," you finish.

If, he said. But it has already taken a hold in his head. The belated frustration he is feeling on his own behalf, the way his past memories are being tainted. And, yes, it all falls apart.

His voice is fragile, the question devastating in its simplicity. “Why? What did we do?”

The fight has left him. The anger has forced its way out and has left him raw and tired. With no defensive buffer, there is only the pain left to feel. You reach for his other hand and guide him to the sofa with you. He sinks into it warily and melts at your touch.

You give his hands a squeeze. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“There’s so much… where do I put it all? I can’t get away from it… I can’t let it go. It’s ruining me.”

“I don't know. There isn't an easy way out. But allowing yourself to feel the things you're feeling is better than the alternative. You can’t hurt yourself forever. I won’t let you.”

He lets that sink in. You wrap your arms around him and he allows himself to feel small for a moment. He can feel the breath you take before you speak again.

“You know I’m always here to catch you, right?”

And for the first time, he does completely.

You comb your fingers through his hair. He takes a breath, then another. Each one hurts, but it feels good to focus his energy on one action.

You both know that this isn’t the end. That this isn’t the last time this conversation will have to happen, but he feels a certain relief in knowing that he made it through this one. That you will be here to hold him through the next one and the one after that. Maybe it won’t kill him and maybe he doesn’t have to become a monster consumed by it.

He can only hang on for a day when he isn’t ruined by everything he has lost and suffered.

#Oh the time i have spent writing and rewriting this one #Don't say my name #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeyoung #mystic messenger Saeyoung Choi #mystic messenger 707 #mystic messenger Luciel choi #Mystic messenger luciel #saeyoung choi #mysme seven #mysme 707 #mysme saeyoung #my writing

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