#red string theory

[secretandpurplememories]

[wistful-cheri]

pt2 of this

pt 3

Satoru, who was the most jealous guy when it came to you, could not bear the thought of you sitting next to other guys—guys who were making you laugh. Oh, he’s sick.

Satoru, who stares them down, sending daggers with his eyes. And why are you laughing? They’re not that funny. Definitely not funnier than him.

He hates how much he can’t sit next to you, can’t be the one making you laugh or teasing you, like, no one else is worthy of hearing your cute laugh.

Satoru, who got into a fight with some guy you were starting to get too close to for his liking. Mind you, the fight happened right in front of you, but you were too busy to even notice.

And when you found out it was Satoru and your crush, you couldn’t believe it. You asked Satoru what happened, and he said, “He didn’t want to let go of the ball.”

But that’s not what everyone else is saying…

Satoru, who loves when you get mad at him for getting into too many fights. It lowkey makes him want to get into more because he loves the attention you give him.

Satoru, who walked into the first day of class and immediately sat next to you. How could he not? There was no way in hell he’d let some nobody sit next to you.

Satoru, who, on a school trip to the beach, saw you walk down to the deck and followed you.

You two sat there for the rest of the night before heading back to the bus.

Satoru, who takes a mental picture, the way the sunlight kisses your face making his chest tighten painfully.

You were perfect. This moment was perfect. And god, did he want to kiss you, wanted to tell you everything he was scared to say.

Satoru, who could not keep his eyes off you the entire ride back. He just couldn’t. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment.

It was intimate. It was just you, him, and the ocean. The way your doe eyes stared at him, like he was the most innocent, precious thing.

And he was. To you, he was.

Satoru, who insisted you be the first one to sign his cast after he broke his arm. He even let you draw cute flowers, never letting anyone else write on it.

Satoru, who knew you didn’t particularly like speaking in public, so just to get you flustered, he’d purposefully pick you during popcorn reading.

Satoru, who always asked you for a pencil, knowing damn well he had like five of them in his backpack. He just loved it when you rolled your eyes, telling him, “Again?”

Satoru, whose eyes never leave you when you walk into the room. His whole demeanor changes as soon as you step foot in class, and his friends just watch and tease him later.

Satoru, who secretly loves when teachers sit him next to you because he’s heard that saying—that teachers know when students like each other. Not that you’d ever like him, he thought, but boy was he wrong.

Satoru, who sent you a DM after it took you two whole days to accept his request.

a/n: he has NOT in fact sent her a dm :( they need to reconnect asap. @lavnder311 @jkslaugh97 pt.2 is up :3

[jsyle]

Do you believe about The Red String theory?

It's a theory that no matter how far you are

or if you with somebody, at the end you will

get back to that person. It can be tangled

but it never brake. Maybe love will not be

the same as your expectation, but i do trust

why this theory is exist because it's a prove

that something 'good' is already be our

destiny even we didn't know or expect it.

The Universe will keep two people

apart until the timing is right.

When you meet, there will be so

many “coincidences" in the timing,

If one thing had fallen out of line,

you would never have crossed paths.

But the universe aligns, and you will

realize that everything that you

went through before you met was

just preparing your heart for them.

[zelpharofficial]

Red String of Fate

[orellazalonia]

Can you write a Bucky x reader fic that has the red string of fate/invisible string soulmates theory? I haven’t seen anyone write these and I think it could be kinda angsty and fluffy

Hello there, dear! I loved this idea, very unique. I think this turned out more angst than fluff, but I can definitely write additional follow ups to include more fluff later on! Hope you enjoy it and thank you for the request! Happy reading!!!

Tangled Threads

Summary: You’ve always felt the red string of fate for better or worse, but when it finally leads you to Bucky Barnes; both of you avoid each other, too afraid of ruining the other. Over time, the unspoken tension wears you both down until a forced confrontation finally brings the truth out. (Soulmate AU! | Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 3.4k+

Main Masterlist

You’d never believed in soulmates.

Not really. Not the way some people did, anyway. Like the ones who walked around with hearts in their eyes and poetry in their throats. The ones who would obsess over the faint, red threads that sometimes coiled around their pinkies like destiny’s leash. Or those who made dating decisions based on whether the string tingled or tugged, like a compass spinning toward fate.

You didn’t have the luxury of romantic idealism. Not when your string had spent the better part of a decade ruining your life.

Every time you tried to date someone or every time you flirted with a guy in a bar, went out for drinks, or even let someone kiss you, the string would pull. Tug. Burn. Like it was punishing you. And worse than the pain, worse than the guilt that bloomed inexplicably in your chest, was how it always ended the same way.

Knots. Tangles. Snaps.

The relationship would basically implode. The person would leave, or you would. One guy had even blamed you for making him feel “haunted.” He said he felt like there was always someone watching him when he was with you. Another girl you tried to date had burst into tears during dinner and said she couldn’t stop thinking about someone else, someone she’d never even met.

You didn’t know who your soulmate was and honestly, you didn’t want to. It wasn’t romantic, this invisible leash tied around your soul. It was exhausting. Unrelenting. And frankly? It made you bitter.

So you stopped dating. You stopped looking entirely and threw yourself into work.

As fate would have it, that’s when you were recruited to work logistics for the Avengers.

It was supposed to be your fresh start. You handled team schedules, mission support, resource allocation, and emergency routing. You kept your head down, did your job, and ignored the fact that the red string on your finger never stopped humming faintly.

But then came James Buchanan Barnes, arriving late on a Thursday, trailing quiet steps and old guilt. You watched his arrival from the corner of the control room, fingers curled around a lukewarm coffee mug. He didn’t smile and he barely spoke. He was all shadow and silence, hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. You tried not to look. Tried not to care.

But the moment he entered the building, your string flared. It was like someone had grabbed it from the other end and yanked.

You had gasped as the mug fell from your hand and shattered on the tile.

Everyone turned toward the sound, but you didn’t see them. Your vision had narrowed to the throb in your finger, to the ache in your chest, to the man who hadn’t even looked your way. A stranger. A storm in a suit. You turned and fled the room before anyone could stop you.

That night, you stared at your ceiling, wide-eyed, red string pulsing faintly under your skin. You knew what it meant. Knew it in your gut. Knew it the way birds know where to fly in winter.

Your soulmate had arrived. However, you told yourself it was just a coincidence.

The red string pulsing against your finger? It was reacting to stress. Nothing more. You’d been tired lately, maybe spent too many long nights in the compound and dealing with too many high-stakes missions on the board. That had to be it.

But that lie didn’t hold when Bucky walked by you for the third time that week in the hallway, his steps heavy, his eyes fixed straight ahead; and still, the string pulled.

And it wasn’t subtle. Not the kind of whispering ache you were used to. No, this was worse. The thread practically yanked toward him like it knew him, like it had been waiting years to be close again. Every time he got near, your body reacted before your brain could stop it. Your heart would race. Your lungs would freeze. And that thread would burn under your skin like fate was trying to dig itself out.

So you kept your distance.

You shifted your schedule. You took your lunch breaks earlier. You stopped using the gym after hours and switched to morning training, even though you hated mornings. You turned the other way when you heard his boots in the hallway, and when you had to be in the same room whether it be for briefings, tech updates, or field intel, you sat at the opposite end of the table. Silent and still.

You didn’t speak to him. You didn’t even look at him. Not that he noticed anyways. Or so you thought.

What you didn’t realize and what you couldn’t see, was that Bucky was avoiding you too.

He had noticed you the moment he arrived, even if he hadn’t looked. Not directly. Not openly. But he’d seen you. You were the one in the back of the room with the broken mug, eyes too wide, mouth set in a line too tight for a casual expression.

And then you’d vanished like a ghost.

He felt… off after that. There was a sensation in his chest he couldn’t name. A quiet wrongness. Something half-forgotten and buried deep.

So he started walking different routes through the compound. Skipping meals he didn’t want just to stay out of the kitchen when you were there. Ducking out of gym sessions early. He didn’t speak to you either. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he felt so tense around you, so hyperaware, but it made him feel cornered.

And afraid.

He’d spent years under control, under programming, under orders. Soulmates were a fairytale. A luxury. Not something made for someone like him, someone HYDRA had hollowed out and filled with blood.

And still… the red string that had dulled during his Winter Soldier days now hummed faintly every time you passed. He refused to look at his hand, refused to follow the string. And maybe you mistook that for indifference. Maybe he mistook your silence for hatred.

So the two of you danced around each other like gravity and defiance, orbiting but never colliding.

But the string? The string never gave up. It tangled tighter. It pulled harder. And it waited for one of you to give in first.

-

When you weren’t avoiding Bucky, you did get to meet a lot of the people you worked with and for. Of course, you weren’t close to many people at the compound.

But Sam?

Sam Wilson had a way of sneaking into your life like sunlight through blinds. He didn’t try to crack you open or ask too many questions. He just showed up.

You bonded over coffee at first. Both of you were early risers, though for very different reasons: you, out of anxious insomnia; Sam, out of habit built in warzones and battles. Eventually, those quiet mornings became more than just caffeine. They became small check-ins. Casual jokes. Breakfasts shared across mission briefings. Banter that made you feel less like background noise and more like a person.

He never pushed. But he noticed. Especially when it came to Bucky.

At first, Sam chalked it up to coincidence.

The way you’d leave a room the moment Bucky entered. The way Bucky’s shoulders would tense whenever he sensed you nearby. How neither of you ever looked at each other, even when seated at the same table. At first, Sam thought maybe something had happened between you like an argument, a disagreement, or maybe even a past mission gone bad.

But then he started noticing the timing.

The way Bucky took the long route to the gym. The way you checked the corridors before turning into them. The way your fingers would twitch toward your covered hand like something itched beneath the skin. The way Bucky kept glancing at his hand when he thought no one was watching.

That was when Sam’s brow started furrowing.

Because he’d seen the red string of fate work before. He’d seen it between two agents back in his SHIELD days, an unspoken bond visible only under certain lights, but always felt. He remembered the tension, the ache, the gravitational pull people fought even as it dragged them closer.

And he saw that same tension between you and Bucky, but worse.

Because you weren’t just soulmates avoiding each other. You were ghosts haunting each other. Two people pretending not to bleed from the same wound.

Even Steve noticed too.

The Captain didn’t say anything outright, he rarely did honestly, but he lingered longer in rooms where you both occupied opposite ends. His gaze flicking subtly between you. He frowned when Bucky avoided eye contact. He narrowed his eyes when you left too quickly, your knuckles white around your clipboard.

Natasha, on the other hand, didn’t bother pretending.

“You’re not subtle,” She told you one evening, arms crossed as you reviewed intel in the common room.

You blinked at her. “About what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “About him.”

You flushed. “I’m not… there’s nothing-“

Nat cut you off with a shrug. “You can lie to yourself. Just don’t expect it to fool anyone else.”

And then she walked off, leaving you burning with the realization that the others weren’t just noticing, they were waiting. Waiting for the moment the string snapped or finally pulled taut enough to bring you both crashing into each other.

However, it was Sam who decided he was done waiting.

You hadn’t noticed how often he brought Bucky into conversations with you. It started off casual at first, asking your opinion on mission tech when Bucky was in the room, suggesting both of you work on the same security drill. You kept dodging it. Sidestepping the awkwardness. Swallowing your discomfort. But Sam wasn’t blind.

One morning over coffee, he finally leaned in across the table and said, “You know… you can’t outrun a red string.”

You stiffened before slowly looking up.

Sam didn’t smile. He just looked at you in a calm and unbothered way, but his expression was knowing.

“Is that what this is?” You asked quietly. “You think he’s…?”

“I don’t think,” Sam said. “I see.”

You looked down at your hand, hidden under your sleeve.

“It’s been burning since the day he arrived,” You whispered.

Sam’s voice gentled. “Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending it’s not there.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

So Sam just nodded once and added, “If you won’t say something, I will.”

You thought he was bluffing so you changed the conversation and let it go.

-

Meanwhile, Bucky was having a considerably hard time as well. He didn’t mean to notice, but he did.

He noticed everything, really. Supersoldier senses, it was a curse he couldn’t shake, a leftover from too many years being trained to sense threats before they moved. But you? You weren’t a threat. Not to anyone but maybe him.

You were the one person he hadn’t been able to read. Not because you were guarded, though you were, but because being near you made something in him short-circuit. Your presence wasn’t like anyone else’s. It was too still. Too loud in a way that had no sound. Like something had been missing in him for years, and you were the reminder of it.

So he continued to avoid you, but he didn’t stop watching.

He noticed how often you sat with Sam in the mornings, how the two of you laughed over quiet jokes and mismatched mugs. He noticed the way you let your shoulders relax around Wilson. Like relax, in a way you never did around Bucky. Not when you saw him. Not when you passed each other in the hall and he kept his eyes on the floor.

You looked safe with Sam.

And it twisted something in Bucky’s chest that he didn’t like to name.

He told himself it was good. Better, even. That you should be around someone like Sam who was someone stable, someone warm. Someone who hadn’t been forged into a deadly weapon like him. You deserved easy mornings and easy friendships. You deserved a soulmate who didn’t have a kill list longer than your entire history. You deserved someone who wasn’t haunted.

He told himself the ache in his ribs every time you laughed with Sam was just guilt. That it wasn’t jealousy. But the thread on his finger tightened every time.

And when he caught the way Sam looked at the space between you and Bucky; the unspoken one, the thread-pulled one, he knew.

Sam knew.

But Bucky still wouldn't do anything about it. Because if he acknowledged it, if he gave in, what then?

What if you hated him for it? What if the string only existed to remind you both that fate was cruel? That the universe thought it was funny to pair a bruised heart like yours with someone who'd broken a hundred others with his bare hands?

So he didn’t speak, didn’t reach out, nor explain why he left every room you were in like it was on fire.

But the rest of the team saw it all. And Bucky could feel the confrontation coming. Like thunder in the distance.

-

It was Sam who finally shattered the stalemate.

You were in the tech wing, running diagnostics on the quinjet for tomorrow’s mission. The lab was quiet, humming with low light and LED glow, and you were just beginning to enjoy the silence when the door hissed open and you heard his voice.

“I thought this hangar was clear.”

Bucky’s voice. Dry, flat, and instinctually distant.

Your head snapped up and there he was. Standing in the doorway, a tablet in one hand, brow furrowed in that perpetually tired way of his. His eyes met yours for half a second before you looked away.

“Sorry,” You muttered. “I’ll finish later.”

You started to pack your tools, but Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t walk in but he didn’t walk out either.

Then, suddenly:

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Both of you turned, just as Sam Wilson stormed through the opposite door.

He looked between you like a fed-up parent catching two stubborn kids refusing to apologize.

“I knew it,” He muttered, pointing a gloved finger between you both. “You two. You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” You asked sharply, far too quickly.

Sam gave you the flattest look imaginable. “That ‘I’m avoiding him but also vibrating like a tuning fork every time he enters the damn room’ thing. You’ve been doing it for weeks.”

“I haven’t-“

“Yes, you have.”

He turned to Bucky. “And you. Man, you’ve been walking the long way around the building just to dodge someone you haven’t even spoken to.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t-“

“Don’t.” Sam cut him off. “You two are tied together like moths to a flame and it’s getting real uncomfortable to watch. Just talk. Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Sam was already stepping out the door. The door closed behind him like a gavel.

Silence followed, thick and immovable. You didn’t dare move as you were still gripping the edge of the diagnostics console like it could anchor you, but it couldn’t stop the sting behind your eyes.

You could feel him.

Even with your back turned, you knew Bucky hadn’t left. You could sense him, feel him, just like always. That subtle magnetic pull low in your gut, the electric hum at the edge of your skin. The red string wasn’t just glowing now.

It was buzzing.

You didn’t need to look to know it arced across the space between you like a live wire. Still, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because you weren’t ready to hear what he might say. That this wasn’t real. That he didn’t want it. That you weren’t enough.

“…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” He said, voice rough.

The sound of it broke something open in you.

Your throat tightened. “You didn’t. I just…” You swallowed, still not turning around. “I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “That’s not it.”

You turned slowly.

He was standing near the wall, not quite meeting your eyes. His shoulders were tense, jaw set like he was bracing for a punch. Your voice came out in a whisper.

“…You feel it too?”

God, your voice. It hit him like a bomb shell.

He nodded slowly. “Since the moment I saw you.”

You flinched, like that was worse. Like it made things harder, not easier.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel it again,” He said quietly. “HYDRA… what they did to me, whatever magic’s in this string, it… it went silent for a long time. I thought it broke. I thought I broke it.”

You stepped closer, the red between you pulsing brighter. Bucky’s chest ached with the way your eyes held sorrow instead of hope.

“It came back when I showed up,” You stated, not a question. A fact.

He nodded again. “And I ran from it. From you.”

“Why?”

He looked away.

Because I don’t deserve a soulmate, he thought. Because I’ve hurt too many people to believe someone could be mine. Because if I touched you and you pulled away, I think it would kill me.

“I thought…” He exhaled shakily. “I thought the universe was playing a joke. Giving me something good just to watch me ruin it.”

Your gaze softened. That pain in your eyes, that was familiar. Too familiar. He saw himself in it. All the years of pretending you didn’t need the thread. All the little heartbreaks you must’ve carried in silence.

“I thought the same thing,” You said quietly.

You stood inches from him now. The string was glowing full-force, twisting gently between you like it had been waiting years for this moment. You could both feel it pulsing like your hearts hammering in your chests.

You lifted your hand. So did he. And then, finally, you both touched.

It wasn’t magic. Not really. There were no sparks or flashes of light. But the moment your fingers brushed in that slow, hesitant, gentle way, everything settled. The ache. The noise. The burning uncertainty.

It went quiet.

The thread between you pulsed once, deeply, and then simply rested as though it had been holding its breath this entire time.

You exhaled. So did he.

“Hi,” You said softly.

His voice broke around the answer. “Hi.”

Neither of you moved at first. Your fingers were gently wrapped around Bucky’s, his calloused palm tentative against yours, like he wasn’t sure if holding you would make the thread vanish or knot tighter. You half-expected to feel overwhelmed. But instead… everything in your chest finally stopped clenching.

Even though you felt peace, still, you hesitated.

“Just because we’re connected…” You began quietly, eyes flickering to the thread that now glowed with an even, steady rhythm between your hands, “…doesn’t mean we have to do anything. We don’t owe it anything… or each other.”

Bucky’s eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. You expected resistance, or maybe guilt. But instead, he gave you the smallest nod.

“I know.”

You blinked. “You do?”

His jaw worked for a moment like he was chewing on the words before speaking them aloud.

“I’ve had enough of people making decisions for me. I’m not gonna do that to you.” He swallowed. “If you want to take it slow—or walk away, I won’t stop you.”

You could see it, feel it in him. That deep, worn-in belief that letting go was the only good thing he had to offer. The way he held your hand like he expected you to pull away at any second.

But you didn’t.

“I don’t want to walk away,” You said. “I just… want to breathe for once. And not feel like I’m ruining something just by existing.”

That caught him off guard. He flinched, not from your words, but from the echo of them.

“Yeah,” He whispered. “Me too.”

And the thread didn’t demand anything. It didn’t pull you closer or tighten like a leash. It just existed as a steady tether, a presence, like the quiet hum of a heart still beating after the worst of it has passed. Still glowing. But content, now. Patient.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” You admitted quietly.

“Me neither.”

You hesitated. “But I’d like to figure it out.”

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. But after a long moment, he held your hand a little tighter almost as a confirmation. You gave him a small smile, finally feeling like you didn’t have to rush toward something. You could just… sit in it. Let the connection exist without a name. Without pressure. Without promises you weren’t ready to make.

The string between you flickered once. Steady and. Not binding. Not demanding. Just waiting. And for the first time, you weren’t afraid to wait with it.

[defnotriri]

"the man who can't be moved"

|| PRO!Katsuki B. x reader

UNEDITED / UNREVISED

pt. 1

A couple days passed before you got a reply back from the number. You were sitting alone in a cafe with your drink. You were waiting for a friend but he got on his train a bit late.

You thought maybe the number was disabled. Or maybe he still has it on a different phone that he doesn't use. No reply meant it just wasn't meant to be. If you reached out in his dms, that would be doing too much.

You took a sip of your coffee and suddenly your phone buzzed. You were shocked when you saw the number.

You sighed, I guess it really was your destiny. Then suddenly a broad figure sat at the empty table near you. He was wearing a jacket and had his hood on which was weird. You also noticed he had one of your favorite pastries.

"Can I use that napkin?" The man asked pointing at your unused napkin. You tell him of course and hand it to him. Then you pointed at his pastry.

"that use to be my favorite while I was dating this guy." You say and smile at the memories. Whenever you guys would go out, Katsuki would always get you one of your favorite things.

"really? what happened to him" The hooded figured asked.

"he finally achieved his dream, I'm so proud of him." You let out a low chuckle.

"and you're just watching from the sidelines?"

"well its all I can do, we're just not to meant to be." You shrug at the question. You wonder if you're a stalker.

"He's engaged but I don't know- I texted his old number. I told myself if he didn't reply or if someone else did, it wasn't meant to be." You sigh taking another sip.

"Wow. what a way to home wreck." The guy chuckled and you noticed he didn't even touch his food yet. You were about to say something when he gave you your tissue back.

You were going to give it back saying you didn't want his used napkin when you saw writing on it. You straightened it a bit to see what it was. It was a bunch of numbers. Was he just talking to you because he was interested?

"Im so sorry, sir. You're really nice but I'm not interested-" You turn your head to look at him and you finally see his face. Bright ruby red eyes staring back at you with blonde peeking from his hood.

"oh sorry, must've got the wrong impression." His face doesn't react. He carries the same yearning face while talking. Your stomach churns and you're unsure of what to do.

"it's arranged, by the way." He breaks the silence and you hear a platter being placed on your table. He's giving you your favorite treat once again.

"what?" You snap out your trance.

"we're only engaged for our families. The hag wanted me to get married and wouldn't stop nagging me. Round face was one of the only people I barely tolerate" He speaks and suddenly your hands are sweating and your throat is dry. The words are stripped from your mouth.

"why'd you leave when I needed you the most." He finally gets to ask the big question after years of wondering.

"I- um.. I guess I just realized I was too weak willed to become a hero." You played with your fingers and looked anywhere but his face. Yet you could still feel those red eyes burning through you.

"I didn't care if you became a hero or not. I just wanted you."

"I don't know- I just thought I was holding you back, Katsuki."

"You were the only thing pushing me forward." He said with more of a begging tone. Like he was desperate for something. Like he was desperate for you. You did the only thing you could imagine and you hugged him.

He hugged you back, a hand around your hip and one behind your head. His grip was tight and he kissed your head. You could feel him shaking, too scared to let go. Worried if he did you would leave him again.

You thought your destiny would be away from each other but no matter what, you two will always find your way back to each other. Like a string connecting you two together.

TAGLIST: @rednicotine @delshmel @rory-52 @itsjustapumpkin @cumsluut @d4rlinxs @ilovesoupp @idontwannatalkrn1 @katsuisbaby @bri-licious08 @raelikesdinosaurs @dragonictales

hi so sorry if I got ur tag wrong or smth im to lazy to double check them or if the link is wrong lol

[kroz-zivot-srcem]

[deadboydoodling]

red string theory

[littlejoyss]

𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 17k

𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 → 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Everyone gets a golden string on their pinkie that connects to their soulmate when they turn 18. After measuring yours and seeing your soulmate was long away, you thought you would never meet them. Until, one day you go to Korea for work as a fashion designer and find out your soulmate is an idol.

Once everyone turned eighteen, a golden thread appeared tied around their pinky. Most people discovered it at dawn, just as the first light spilled over the horizon, when the string is most visible to the owner.

The string shimmered like a captured sunrise. It never tangled and it never dulled. Where the old tales spoke of a red cord, rough and knotted with destiny, this was liquid gold. From the moment it appeared, society revolved around it.

Golden‑mornings. Families gathered for a ceremonial breakfast, slicing warm honey‑cake to celebrate the new thread‑bearer. There was always an extra place set at the table for the unseen soulmate at the string’s far end.

Length‑measuring. Thrumming with nerves, the newly bound stretched their hands skyward, guiding the filament between thumb and forefinger to gauge its reach. Long meant distant, sometimes oceans away, and short could indicate a lover already in the same room.

The First Pull. Sometime within that first year, the thread would tighten and tug. Legends claimed that if you followed the pull immediately, no power on earth could keep you from meeting your counterpart before nightfall. Most people waited for many reasons, but the bold few who obeyed the first pull were said to find love.

When you turned eighteen, your family did all those. You remember the empty cake slice at the table. You were so excited until you measured.

The string was long. Not just long in the hopeful, “maybe they're in another town,” way. It was longer than anyone in your family had seen before. When you tried to gauge its length, holding it between trembling fingers, it didn’t just stretch across the room, it had vanished straight through the open window, catching the light as it disappeared into the sky like it had somewhere urgent to be. Somewhere far.

You remember your mother’s hands pausing mid-slice through the honey-cake, her smile faltering just a little. Your father reached out instinctively, as if he could comfort you through a touch. But no one said it, not then. Not during the rest of breakfast. Not even when the first sunlight faded, and your string still hadn’t settled into a visible direction.

But the message was clear.

Your soulmate was not here. Not in this city. Not in this country. Maybe not even on this continent.

You smiled politely for the photos. For the relatives who squeezed your shoulder and called your string “adventurous,” “romantic,” “rare.” But later that night, when the cake had been cleared and the ceremonial candle had burned low, you stared at the ceiling and whispered the truth into the dark:

“I think they’re too far away to ever find me.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The Incheon International Airport was busy.

Luggage wheels hummed against polished floors. Announcements echoed overhead in three languages. Perfume from duty-free stores mixed with the scent of brewed coffee and nerves. It was loud and alive, and yet somehow, you felt oddly calm.

Then, your pinky tingled.

Not sharply, not like The First Pull. That had only happened once, many years ago. But the thread was awake again, like it had noticed where you were. Maybe because you were finally closer. Finally within reach.

A sliver of gold danced from your finger, glittering faintly under the airport lights as it tied in a bow around your wrist and disappeared into the terminal's ceiling, trailing out into the Seoul skyline beyond. You gave it a glance, then tucked your hand into your coat pocket before you could think about it longer. You were used to hiding it for your own sake.

“I didn’t come to Korea for the string,” you murmured to yourself, more out of habit than certainty. “I came for the job.”

And that was true. Mostly.

You had been working toward this for years. Late nights sewing until your fingers cramped, dragging your fashion portfolio through every audition room you could find. This show in Seoul was everything: a global fashion week showcase, hosted by one of the biggest design houses in Asia. And you made it. You actually made it.

The gold thread hadn’t brought you here. Your work had.

You clutched the strap of your bags a little tighter as the taxi car rolled through the city.

Seoul blurred past the windows in flashes of neon, headlights, and unfamiliar street signs. The driver was quiet, the radio murmuring low in Korean, and you didn’t mind the silence. Your thoughts were loud enough.

Your body ached from the flight, your stomach growled for something more than airport pretzels, and the only thing keeping you upright was the mixture of caffeine, adrenaline, and ambition humming through your veins.

The thread remained quiet. Dormant. But present.

When the car pulled up to your hotel, you blinked.

And blinked again.

“…Is this it?”

It looked like the sort of place a travel site would generously call “rustic” or “budget-friendly.” Faded letters hung from a cracked neon sign, half-lit and flickering. The entrance was tucked between a convenience store and a karaoke bar that was already pulsing with bass-heavy music. A stack of plastic crates leaned dangerously close to the lobby door. A cat lounged on the front steps, staring at you like even it was unimpressed.

You groaned, dragging your suitcase out of the car with one hand and rubbing your face with the other. “Please let this be a mistake.”

But it wasn’t. You double-checked the address on your phone. Triple-checked. This was the place your agency booked for “temporary creative housing,” whatever that meant.

The lobby didn’t improve things. It smelled faintly of old ramen and air freshener. The wallpaper was peeling in one corner, and the only person at the front desk didn’t look up from their phone until you cleared your throat three times.

You signed the guestbook in silence, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this exact moment. The elevator creaked all the way up to the fifth floor and dropped you off in a hallway lit by flickering fluorescent lights.

Room 508. You turned the key.

And promptly groaned again.

The room was tiny. Like, two steps and you hit a wall tiny. The bed sagged in the middle, the window was stuck shut, and the air conditioner made a sound like it was chewing gravel.

You threw your bags down and collapsed face-first onto the bed. “I didn’t come here for a getaway,” you mumbled into the pillow. “I came here for the show. For the job. For the chance.”

The mattress creaked beneath you like it didn’t believe you, either.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The next morning you awoke far too early, with sunlight forcing its way through the stiff curtains and into your poorly rested eyes. You peeled yourself off the mattress with a groan, hair tangled, and joints stiff from the awful bed.

You got ready quickly, smoothing your best blazer over your shoulders, pinning stray strands of hair back, and applying just enough makeup to look like you hadn’t spent the night silently screaming into a questionable motel pillow. Your portfolio was tucked neatly under your arm, along with the tablet holding your designs and notes for the upcoming Seoul Fashion Week showcase.

By the time you stepped outside, the street was already humming with life. You caught a cab and texted your contact.

Bora Kwon. Your Korean liaison, business agent, and the woman who had helped get your foot in the door here. You hadn’t met in person yet, most of your communication had been through late-night emails and voice notes, but she’d seemed efficient, sharp, and unapologetically blunt.

Ten minutes later, you spotted her standing outside a glass-walled café near the fashion district, dressed in a structured beige trench coat over tailored slacks, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She was typing something furiously into her phone until she caught sight of you.

Then she gave you a brief, brisk, but real smile.

“You must be (Y/N),” she said, immediately holding out a hand. Her English was clear, polished. “You look better than I expected, considering the flight and that hotel. Sorry about that, by the way. Budget cuts. You’re not the first person to complain.”

You laughed softly and shook her hand. “It’s, uh… definitely memorable.”

Bora tilted her head, her gaze quick and assessing. “Well, we won’t let a bad mattress ruin your debut, right? Come on. Coffee’s on me. We’ve got a packed day.”

The two of you slid into a booth inside the café, and within minutes, Bora had pulled out a tablet of her own, sliding it across the table between sips of an Americano.

“The Seoul Fashion Week opening showcase is a month from now. You’re in the final segment, headliner’s guest designer. That’s you. Your collection will follow Shin Jiwoo’s spring line, and precede the closer, Rena Takahashi from Japan.”

Your eyes widened. “I’m between Shin Jiwoo and Rena Takahashi?”

“Yes,” Bora said simply. “And you’re expected to match that level. Or better.”

You blinked, heart thudding with equal parts terror and adrenaline.

She tapped her screen, flipping to a schedule. “Tomorrow, we visit the venue. You’ll meet with the stage team and lighting director. Models have already been cast, you’ll get final say after fittings. Your materials will be shipped and stored in your prep studio at the venue. You’ll want to double-check that everything shipped intact.”

You nodded quickly, trying to keep up. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Also,” she added, casually taking a bite of her croissant, “someone from the press will likely approach you after the first fitting. They always go for the international designers. Don’t talk about the string unless they ask. Even then, keep it vague. No one wants a soulmate scandal overshadowing their line.”

You blinked at that, surprised.

“I… hadn’t planned to talk about it,” you said slowly, glancing at your pinky. The thread was quiet today, almost as sleepy as you were.

Bora noticed. Her eyes followed yours.

“They always wake up in this city,” she said, voice quieter now. “Seoul is filled with gold. It hums with it.” Then she sat back and clapped her hands once. “But, you came for the work. And trust me, this is where everything begins.”

You nodded, shoulders squaring slightly.

tag list (comment to be added!): @hwangjoanna

[penvisions]

steel doesn't burn {mini series masterlist}

Pairing: Young Dad! Joel Miller x Firefighter! Reader

Summary: The calls keep rolling in, minor emergencies, big roaring fires. You take all of it in stride, but you begin to notice more than a few are all for the same house. A frantic father to a young girl that you calm down every time. He's so thankful and then one day, he shows up at the firehouse.

Word Count: undetermined

Warnings: canon typical language, younger joel, struggles of single parenting, accidents happen, minor fire emergencies, joel is kinda stressed, instant connection, a bit of the red strong theory in here (hehe), sarah is a little bit of a menace (with good intentions), reader is a trained firefighter / paramedic, mutual attraction, the uniform does something to joel, oral (m and f receiving), protected piv, more to be added!

A/N: this is something i had a vivid dream about last night and here we are!

little sneakie peek ->

"it's getting a little hot in here." joel murmurs with tug of his shirt over his head. his chest is just as tan as the rest of him, freckles highlighting the time he spends outside. you dip down to lick a strip from his collarbone up the column of his neck. his hips jerk up, the bulge in his jeans brushing against you in a delicious way. "well, it's a good thing there's a trained professional here then, isn't it?" you whisper in his ear before you sink your teeth below it, he groans out a beautiful sound as you work a mark into the skin there. his hands move from your hips, fingers trailing up your sides, the ticklish feeling making you giggle into his neck. his resounding chuckle is deep, vibrating through you as he cups your face. you're both smiling when you kiss.

chapter one - first call || chapter two - comes with the territory || chapter three - unexpected visitor || chapter four - strong as steel

[heylorrain]

“ His eyes held a touch of sadness and hope, and her hair was the shade of strawberry lemonade in the sun.”

[masochist-marmot]

TMAGP Theory: Tria Prima

Spoiler alert/disclaimer: Written after The Magnus Protocol episode 34; also spoilers for The Magnus Archives

I don't know if this idea has been properly explored yet, but I have had a weeklong hyperfixation where I've delved into alchemy and tried to figure out the inner workings of TMAGP universe. This theory is half-boiled at best, and I apologise if I've misunderstood any of the basic concepts. It seems like even alchemists never fully agreed on them, so they're contradicting each other a lot. That being said, let's get into it.

Perspective Reset

First of all, I think we are collectively still too hung up on the Fears as entities or powers. It's very tempting to classify things with the same framework we're familiar with (and conditioned to), but I think it's preventing us from seeing the bigger picture. Prior to the end of TMA, it's possible that no entities ever even existed in this universe, but the incidents have been taking place for a long time. The creators have also explicitly said that they wanted to create a new rule set, and I doubt that they'd build it with the same blocks. Because of this, I set out to find a set of rules that has nothing to do with the fears.

Classical Elements (Very Briefly)

I will oversimplify this for my sanity and yours. We have the four classical elements: fire, air, water and earth. In the classical worldview, these make up everything on Earth. Each element has two corresponding properties, as you can see in the figure below (fire is hot and dry etc). The elements are in a constant process of circulating and flowing, breaking apart and coming together (sand into water, water into stone, stone into wood...), but fire and air are considered more active and volatile while water and earth are more passive and stable. The rest of the universe is filled with the fifth element, quintessence or aether. It is considered heavenly and perfect and completely unchangeable.

The Three Principles (Tria Prima)

Later alchemists made the addition of (first two and then) three principles that work on the elements and in conjunction with them. These principles were used to describe the alchemical process and its parts, but they also had more metaphysical implications. These are the foundation of my theory.

Salt 🜔: Aka. Corpus or The Body. Things that are solid and stable but also corruptible. The dust that's left behind after something is burned. Associated with earth, water and the property of coldness. In humans, associated with the physical body and therefore physical health. Salt is also associated with preservation and sometimes even rebirth. It's what's left behind after the alchemical stage of putrefication, and therefore what undergoes purification.

Mercury ☿: Aka. Spiritus or The Mind. Things that are volatile and soluble. The alchemical solvent or the smoke that rises from a fire. Considered the perfect agent because it demonstrates properties of both a liquid and a solid. The principle of flowing freely between elements and perhaps even heaven and earth. Associated with air, water and the property of wetness. In humans, it's the mind, or the intellect, knowledge and rationality of a person. Some seem to consider it the universal, platonic idea of thought, as mercury wouldn't be restricted by an individual body.

Sulphur 🜍: Aka. Anima or The Soul. Things that combust, but also the principle of combustibility. The flame that manifests when something is burned. Associated with fire, air and the property of hotness. With fire and air being the most active elements, sulphur is also the catalyst for change. In humans, associated with the soul, or the consciousness that links the body to the mind. It's the emotions, ambitions and desires that animate the body.

Why have I given you the symbols? Because they're all there on the OIAR logo:

(I also circled aether because I thought I'd talk about it later but decided not to, so you're free to make your own conclusions)

I currently believe that these three principles are omnipresent in the Magnus Protocol universe. They're just part of the makeup of the universe, causing no one harm. At least, when they're in balance.

The Theory - It's All About Balance

There's been a lot of talk about balance by now.

"The institute, alchemy, all of it. "It’s all about balance. Dua prima, four elements, seven planets, it’s all the same. You’ve got to keep things balanced. And if something is missing, if someone is misplaced, the equation doesn’t balance… and that’s when things get bad…" (Celia, episode 30)

Here Celia mentions dua prima, which (as I alluded to before) is an earlier theory surrounding Sulphur and Mercury. Salt was proposed as the third principle in a later theory, but by now the tria prima seem to be more widely accepted.

"Not that anyone cares as long as it all balances, right? Not too much mercury or the world ends, not too much sulfur or we all go mad…" (Colin, episode 19)

Huh.

So, let me lay out the actual theory.

The principles usually strive for balance, because it's their natural state. However, sometimes the balance is skewed by human action or some other unexpected force. This imbalance can happen on an individual level or it can affect objects (which then become "cursed") or locations (which then become "poisoned"). In fact, the Magnus Institute calls such poisoned locations loci (singular "locus"). I also hypothesise that this is how the OIAR categorises their incidents (1. individuals - 2. locations - 3. objects).

When there is an imbalance, the affected person/area/object starts to display an unnatural amount or lack of one principle. For example, if there's an abundance of salt, we may see people or things slow down, become passive, even crystallise. Bodies preserved despite obvious corrosion, infections that putrefy and then purify flesh into a "perfect" form. The clearest example I can think of would be episode 3, where the character quite literally transmutes into a tree. Or episode 23 where a character inserts a piece of coral under her skin and begins to paralyse as it grows out of her. If you absolutely have to compare to TMA, I'd say a lot of Flesh, Corruption or Buried statements would fit under salt. It is associated with earth, water and literal bodies, after all.

Abundance in mercury would manifest as things getting a little weird, unstable and volatile, but in a subtle, flowy way. Changing architecture, people seeming odd, things dissolving into others, time or dimensions being unstable, perhaps the limits of a human psyche being broken. I'm thinking of the liminal spaces from episode 8 or the pier from episode 33. The fog is an especially fitting link, what with fog being a manifestation of air and water. I also think the entire Hill Top Centre has been affected. And now that I started, you could easily make connections to the Stranger, the Lonely, the Spiral and the Eye. Which brings an ironic twist to Colin's statement. Too much "mercury" already ended the world once.

Abundance of sulphur would bring out more abrupt changes, it would twist people's passions into unhealthy obsessions, drive people to anger and senseless bloodlust, give consciousness to the unconscious and animate the inanimate. In fact, in episode 19, the character says of Newton's dog: "such a creature must by all natural law lack that essential and ephemeral anima." Another case of an unexpectedly conscious thing would be Liverpool (episode 32), who is coincidentally also incredibly angry. I also think Ink5oul's tattoos have an element of sulphur, not only because their first stolen design (sun with a dot in the middle) evokes the alchemical symbol for sun. In TMA sulphur would probably be attributed to the Slaughter, the Hunt, the Desolation or the like.

I have noticed that a lot of TMAGP incidents involve an unhealthy desire, passion, obsession or (literal and metaphorical) hunger. It's also noticeable that the symbol for sulphur appears on the OIAR logo four times (once in each corner of the square representing the elements). I don't know if this is a stylistic choice or if it has deeper implications. But it's there. And as Colin implies, it could be bad.

The beautiful part about this framework is that it doesn't set any clear limits between the categories, because the balance can be disrupted in many ways. Lack of salt means abundance of sulphur and mercury, and their distribution may also vary greatly. I also don't know if the OIAR ranks their incidents in these terms. They probably have some needlessly complicated system that's practically undecipherable. (I took a long time trying to figure out the DPHW and I'm no closer to solving it.)

End note

I have some thoughts about what the goals of the OIAR and the Magnus Institute are based on this theory, but this post is too long now. May make a follow-up eventually. Or procrastinate until they just tell us.

Edit: I have now written my theory posts on the OIAR and the Magnus Institute. Go read if you're so inclined.

[sapphoherselz]

hi do you ever wonder if wyamack EVER met the Foxes before their time? I'm talking any age, any time in their lives, especially the ones where they really needed a paternal figure to help them out or get them out of trouble?

like he goes grocery shopping and sees this quiet kid trying to stuff as much food in his pockets wo being noticed? but David of course does and the kid is already taking a step back, looking at him with pure terror in his eyes as if he's seeing just another person that can hurt him but of course that doesn't happen. what does happen is that david offers to pay for anything the kid wants and then starts asking question like that's one nasty bruise you got there, want to tell me what happened? and then out of nowhere the boy's mother appears and starts tugging the kid away in a not very gentle manner and David tries to interfere but they're hurriedly walking away before he can get the words out of his mouth (he has to physically stop himself from going after them because that would just frighten the kid more)(he goes back to the same grocery store at the same hour for an entire month, hoping to find this short kid hiding somewhere and maybe tell his mother exactly where she can put her hands)

or maybe he's walking home late at night and sees this kid sitting on the sidewalk and he approaches cause shouldn't you be at home? wouldn't your parents worry? do you want to give them a call, you could use my phone but the kid tenses so much that David takes several steps back and starts talking about everything under the blue sky trying to get him to calm down. when that eventually happens, they end up sitting (with some comfortable distance) next to the other in utter silence, until the kid goes "I don't want to go home" and David is like. okay. we can stay here for as long as you'd like. the night is young and I have snacks in my pockets. did I tell you already that I'm an exy coach? what do you mean you don't know what exy is- no I'm not making that up, it's a job and I have it! they even pay me for it! (he ends up falling asleep in a sitting position and wakes up alone, the marble next to him having long gone cold) (he doesn't even remember if he had managed to make the kid smile or if his eyes were playing tricks on him) (if he starts walking home later than usual just to sit on a lonely sidewalk for hours then it's his business and no one else's)(and yes he does bring with him all of the snacks he thinks the kid would like) (no he didn't spend minutes choosing them)

like something something the red string theory something something everyone is always connected something something

[aelia-posts]

Have some Rosekiller! :)

[ilovelovewithallmyheart]

The red string of fate.

It tied around your finger and led you to where your soulmate was. Regardless of who you were, everyone had one.

The strings were indicative of what the relationship would be like if the soulmates ever met.

For some, it was frayed and coming apart. For a minority, it was tangled with knots. For the majority, it was thin and barely even there.

But for God’s chosen select spirits, it was smooth and thick, gleaming with a glassy sheen and basically indestructible.

And, Gojo added with distaste as he stared at his ring finger, tied in a little neat bow.

It was no secret that Gojo was God’s favourite. His looks, his inherited curse technique…but having a perfect soulmate story? Really?

Due to his six eyes, he could see the string all the time. He wasn’t like other people, who could make it appear and disappear as they pleased. It was always there. Eating? It was there. Sleeping? It was there.

It could filter through walls and lead you to the direction your soulmate was, the other end of the string being tied to your soulmate’s hands. It could stretch and-

“ow!” Y/n gasped.

-if you tried to cut it, it would send a searing pain to both parties’ hearts.

“He tried to cut it again?” Y/n’s best friend Ichigo sighed. Her head rested on her left hand while her right hand held a giant mug of coffee. “Mhm,” Y/n responded. She was browsing the web for job opportunities at the local cafe. “Ooh! There’s this job offer at a nearby bank.” Y/n turned her laptop so Ichigo could see. Y/n was used to the pain now. At least once a month her soulmate tried to cut their string, to no avail. Y/n learned to be indifferent to this. She could still find love - not everyone ends up with their soulmate.

“Hey, What’s that?” Ichigo pointed a carefully manicured finger at a job proposal on the side of the screen. “Holy crap! It says Jujutsu tech!” 

“NO!” Y/n gasped, disbelief written across her face. She snatched the laptop out of Ichigo’s hands and her eyes traced back and forth the words of the job advertisement.

*Manager Job applications open* Right next to the advertisement was a funny little badge.

And Y/n knew exactly what that badge meant.

This was a job application for Jujutsu Sorcerors.

Unfortunately for Y/n, not everyone with cursed energy was cut out to be a Jujutsu sorceror. But Y/n had experience in corporate workplaces. She would definitely snag this job. 

She would 100% be a manager.

“Hopefully I’m not the manager of some bratty kids.” Y/n sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Wouldn’t it be worse if you were the manager for some snotty Special Grade?”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “God, that would be so terrible. Imagine being at the beck and call of a stuck up prick!”

Little did Y/n know, she wouldn’t have to imagine it for long.

(part 2 here)

[hollowmem]

Two soumlates

GN!Reader x Johhny "Soap" MacTavish x John Price

I decided to take on a 2 week challange that may or may not extent to a month, we will see. I will be posting everyday, a new story with a prompt I will get for that day

Day 10: Red string of fate but with two soulmates instead of 1

The briefing room smelled faintly of coffee and gun oil. They stood at attention just inside the doorway, shoulders squared, heart hammering hard enough that they were sure it could be heard. The gloves on their hands felt too tight and their uniform sleeves too stiff.

They had been through hell to get here. Now, they were standing in front of the most legendary unit in the military — Task Force 141.

Captain John Price leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a critical but not unkind look in his sharp eyes. Beside him, Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish grinned wide enough almost to look mischievous, but there was a spark of curiosity there too.

"New blood?" Soap asked, tilting his head.

"New operator," Price corrected, voice low and steady. He turned his gaze on them, assessing — not harsh, but careful. Measuring.

"They’ve been assigned to us. Impressive record." He nodded once, a slight sign of approval. "We’ll expect nothing less here."

They nodded, keeping their expression neutral, professional. "Understood, sir."

Price stood, offering his hand — and for a moment, they froze. Gloves.

They always wore them. It had become a habit long before today — before they stopped believing in the old stories about fate, red strings, soulmates. Myths, they thought. Fairy tales for people who couldn’t accept being alone.

They shook his hand firmly, relieved that he didn’t seem to notice the way their fingers tensed. Soap stepped forward next, slapping a hand on their shoulder with a friendly grin.

"Welcome to the madhouse," he joked. "Hope you’re ready."

They managed a small smile. "I’ll manage."

Price smirked slightly at that as if he liked the answer.

"Good. You’re dismissed for now. Gear up — we move out at 0600." As they turned to leave, they caught a brief glimpse of Soap tugging off one of his gloves absentmindedly, fingers flexing. They quickly looked away, heart squeezing tight in their chest for reasons they didn’t want to name.

No use looking for strings. No point in hoping for things that weren’t real.

They shoved their hands deeper into their pockets and kept walking.

The first mission had been a blur of gunfire and flashing lights, the usual chaos of a field operation.

Task Force 141 moved like clockwork, their teamwork so fluid that it almost felt rehearsed. But, for all the precision and experience of the team, nothing could have prepared them for the unexpected. Nothing could have prepared them for what would happen when the mission went sideways.

They had been sweeping through a warehouse on the outskirts of a hostile city, clearing rooms and securing intel. Soap, as always, was the first to kick the door open, charging forward with his usual bravado.

But in the chaos of clearing the room, Soap's foot slipped just slightly — a moment of carelessness, an instinctual lunge — and in that instant, everything shifted. They barely had time to react.

One of the enemy combatants, a figure hidden in the shadows, fired a shot. The bullet went through them — enough to send them crashing to the ground, vision blurring as their body hit the cold concrete floor.

Pain shot through them as they gasped for air, eyes wide in panic. Soap’s voice cut through the haze.

"Shit! Stay with me, Y/n!" He was at their side instantly, his hands already working to stop the bleeding, but the world around them was spinning.

Price’s voice came through the comms, steady, commanding. "Soap, get them out of there. Now."

Soap’s eyes were frantic, his hands moving in a blur as he carefully helped them onto their feet, supporting their weight as they staggered. But then, in an act of panic, his gloved hand brushed against theirs — the contact was brief, barely even noticed, but to Soap, it felt… different.

A pull. Something subtle, yet undeniable. He glanced towards their pinkie, where the red string should be but he stopped himself.

But there was no time.

The battle raged around them, the sound of gunfire still echoing through the building as they were moved to safety. Soap didn’t care about the string right now. He just cared about them. About getting them back to base, where they could be fixed.

The next few hours were a blur of pain and exhaustion. The medbay was sterile and quiet, the hum of machines providing a cold backdrop to the aftermath of the mission.

Soap sat at their bedside, hands restless as he watched them, waiting. His own thoughts were a mess, something gnawing at the back of his mind.

Price had been the one to give the orders to rush them to safety, but now, even Price couldn’t mask the concern etched in his expression. He stood by the door, silent and observant as Soap fidgeted with his gloves.

The air was thick with the unsaid.

Finally, Soap couldn’t hold back anymore. He stood, pacing for a moment, before turning to Price, his voice low but urgent.

“Price,” Soap started, his voice tight, “I—I think there’s something… I think they’re my soulmate.”

Price turned to him sharply, eyebrow raised.

Soap's words came out in a rush, the frustration and confusion clear in his tone. “I— I felt something earlier. When I helped them up after the hit. A pull. A tug. I don’t know what it was, but it didn’t feel like an accident, Price.”

Price’s expression was unreadable. He watched Soap carefully, then glanced back to the Y/n, who was still unconscious on the bed. He let out a breath, his gaze flicking back to Soap. “Think you might be right, son. You’re not the only one who noticed something.”

Soap froze, confusion clouding his features. “What do you mean?” Price didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he nodded towards the bed. “Wait until they’re awake. You’re not the only one here feeling something odd.”

After a while, their eyes flickered open slowly, the sterile white lights blinding at first. The pain in their chest was still there, still persistent. Soap was at their bedside instantly, his hands restless as he watched them, waiting. His voice was gentle.

"Hey, easy there," he murmured, his tone low and concerned. "You're alright. You're safe."

They blinked, the world coming into focus as Soap’s face came into view.

"What… what happened?" They asked weakly, trying to sit up but wincing in pain.

"You got hit," Soap replied, the worry in his eyes almost palpable. "But don’t worry. You’re gonna be fine. Just take it easy."

As they looked around, their eyes caught Price standing at the door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. There was something in his gaze — something unreadable.

"How are you feeling?" Price asked, his voice even but laced with something else. Was it concern? Something more? They swallowed, trying to push through the fog in their mind. "I’m okay," they muttered. "Just… just a little dizzy."

A long silence passed before Soap stepped forward, his voice low, his hand moving to the side of their bed. "Listen, I have to ask something," Soap said, trying to steady his nerves. "Can you… can you see the string?"

They blinked, confused. "What?"

Soap’s voice was almost quiet as he asked, "Can you see the red string on my pinkie?"

They furrowed their brows in confusion, the question strange in the moment. But then Soap moved his hand up where his string was. They lifted their gaze slowly to Soap’s pinkie — and there it was, a red thread that shimmered faintly.

And then, as if the world wasn’t already strange enough, they turned to Price. He had his arms crossed, but they could see it. Price’s pinkie was adorned with the same red thread. A wave of disbelief hit them all at once, and they stared at their hands, then at each other. There was no hiding it now.

For a long moment, none of them said anything. They just stared — at the faint threads that connected them, at the way the strings didn’t just stretch between two people… but three.

Price was the first to move, shifting his stance slightly, a deep frown cutting into his features.

"This… isn't supposed to happen," he said lowly, almost to himself. Soap let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a gasp of disbelief. "No shit, mate" he muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. He looked at Y/n again — wounded, still pale, but their eyes were sharp now, sharp and full of the same raw confusion he felt.

They swallowed thickly, voice rough. "I thought—" they started, then stopped, gathering their words. "I thought it was only supposed to be two people. One string. One bond."

Price dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slow and heavy. His gaze was steady when he looked at them both, though there was something wounded deep behind it.

"Some things in life don't follow the rules," he said simply.

"Bloody hell…" Soap muttered, pacing again. "I used to think… if it ever happened — if the string was real — it’d be simple. Just me and one other person. Not… not this." He motioned helplessly between the three of them. "Not… all of us.

Y/n gave a little hollow laugh that hitched in their throat. "Same." Another beat of silence. The tension in the room was thick — but underneath it was something new. Something fragile, and terrifying, and real.

Price moved first, stepping forward and lowering himself carefully into the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Soap. His movements were slow and deliberate, like he was afraid he might spook them all if he moved too fast.

"I don’t know how this happened," he said, voice low. "I don’t know why. But… it's real. You feel it too, don't you?"

Y/n hesitated… then nodded. The tugging sensation of belonging was impossible to ignore now that they were aware of it. It was there, even now, tugging gently at their heart, binding them to the two men who sat by their side.

Soap let out a long, shuddering breath. "Fuck," he said under his breath, looking up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for answers. "So what now? We just… what, accept it? Pretend it doesn't change anything?"

"No pretending," Price said, voice firm. "Not here. Not with this." He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, locking eyes with them — first Y/n, then Soap.

"This changes everything," he admitted. "But it doesn't have to be a weakness. Not if we trust each other."

Soap barked a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trust, right. That’s easy for you to say, old man. You’re good at keepin' your head on straight."

Price smirked slightly, a rare thing — soft, almost fond. "You'll manage, Johnny."

Y/n closed their eyes for a second, trying to slow the frantic beating of their heart. "I… I never thought it could mean more than one person." Their voice was rough around the edges, raw with something they didn’t know how to name.

"Neither did we," Price said immediately, steady as ever. "But that doesn’t change what it is. It’s real." He gave a small nod, like he was reassuring not just them, but himself too. "And we’ll figure it out how to navigate it. Together."

Soap finally sat down, almost like his knees had given out. "You’re stuck with us now, bonnie," he said, with a tired smile that didn’t hide the thick emotion in his voice. "Hope you’re ready for a whole lot of trouble."

Y/n let out a breathless laugh, the first real one since the mission. It hurt — but it also felt good.

"I think," they said, voice trembling but steady, "I've been looking for trouble my whole life."

Price leaned back, studying them both — and for the first time, there was no distance in his gaze. No walls.

"Then it looks like you finally found the right place," he said. And somehow, for the first time in a long time, the cold, sterile med bay didn’t feel so cold anymore.