#like it's not a real diagnosis yet

[smallidarityfan]

GEM CLICKBAITED SMALLIDARITY GGHAAHAAAHSHSBSB IM DYINGGGG HAVE WE REALLY REACHED THAT POINT BROTHERS.......?

[je-doute-donc-je-suis]

ARE WE FACETS OR FRAGMENTS

ARE WE POLYFRAGMENTED OR MEDIAN. THESE ARE OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE SPECTRUM HOW CAN WE NOT TELL

Being mostly one main emotion that grew an identity, "a specific trait or emotion". Yeah that's exactly how all of us are, except we don't have that "core" alter, all of us are floating around without a "center" we're based on. Unless you can count our shared childhood memories as that "core". fableing is also extremely accurate, especially for one/two we are still wondering if they're not veritbond too

But none of those have the "are temporary people and fade away" like with fragments. But we can't find a single type of system where it's all temporary fragments and we all have a lifespan of 10 hours or less before we fucking disappear forever

What the hell are we. Are our blackouts not from something else, but real secret full alters taking over without us knowing ? Making us a regular system with fragments and full alters? But we're clearly out the most with those blackouts being rare and only a very few times a month for like, 2 hours max. How could a cloud of fragments have full monopoly of the consciousness and body

(we genuinely see ourselves as a cloud where sometimes, a vague silhouette or pair of hands/paws reaches out and take control. and rarer, sometimes they even fully step out of the fog, and pretty much check themself over, discovering their identity. before suddenly getting dragged back to the depth of our cloud, identity stripped away and erased, assimilated back to our one consciousness fog. yet none of us want that [unless there's some weird "alter outside our "hivemind" we're not aware of that's messing stuff up with us" stuff going on. which i doubt, but who knows])

What the hell do we do, what the hell are we, what is going on and how do we stop us from disappearing and make everyone else come back. We're monoconscious, we share memories, objectively, we may not be full people at first, but in those once in a blue moon event, we do become one. Over the hours we grow a species, name, taste in pronouns and hobbies, we become someone. And then we/they pretty much fucking die a few hours later, back to being no one, with only the memories of them, and maybe their barebone simplyplural profile; if they had the time to make one and customise it before the fucking invisible timer ran out; left of them, like a fucking tombstone

We're so done with this, figuring out a sense of self was always such a good feeling, but now we completely gave up and ignore it every time the feeling of figuring ourselves out show up, because what's the point? We'll die in just a few hours anyway. Our lifespans are shorter than a damn fly

But gods damn it we don't want that, WE WANT TO LIVE

Even online we can't find anything or anyone...

[1eeminho]

.

[daz4i]

everyone send me strength i have to wake up at like 5:30 am tomorrow to do some medical test.

[anti-ao3]

when people say "narcissist" i'm always like, "self-centered", "egotistical", "vain", "self-absorbed", et cetera are right there, and that's what you actually mean. use those. but using "narcissist" lets people pathologize and feel intellectual about things 🙄

i used to watch a youtuber who had spoken before about the demonization of various mental disorders, but then she used the phrase "narcissistic abuse" and i made a very polite comment, assuming the best, and was like "hey that's a really harmful phrase to use, especially when what you're describing has an actual correct term, emotional / psychological abuse, you wouldn't call something 'anxiety abuse' or 'autism abuse', would you?" and she then doubled down and said "well sometimes mental health professionals use it so it can't be ableist". as if no one in the history of psychiatry was ever ableist like?

ironic because she had also made multiple videos where she discussed people who used dated or incorrect language, were politely corrected by a fan, and then doubled down instead of examining themselves. and here she was doing the same thing :-/

Wow, that's very hypocritical of her. You can't call out ableist language and stigma, and then use a very ableist term. Worst part is, she didn't even apologize or recognize her mistake. Mental health professionals can be ableist, indeed.

I think that's what pisses me off the most about the stigma around NPD, even "progressive" people use narcissists as scapegoats. And very few mental health professionals DON'T demonize narcissists. Literally every time there's a discussion about abuse, people always bring up "narcissistic abuse". And it's like you said, they act like they're intellectual, "oh have you heard about narcissistic abuse?", and they pretend they know what they're talking about because they read it somewhere. And apparently everyone forgets that NPD, just like other Cluster B disorders, tend to develop due to childhood trauma.

I remember going to a partial hospitalization program, where they said "oh no judgment here, everyone is welcome". But then people were demonizing narcissists. I remember only ONE therapist there pointing out "hey you know NPD is a personality disorder and no one is evil for having it, right". But I'm pretty sure that was forgotten.

I may not have NPD, but I deeply sympathize with everyone who has it. We really need more people and spaces who treat NPD right, considering all the misinformation online (ESPECIALLY on TikTok).

[the-acid-pear]

Mental illness is insane I'm just having dinner w my father eating this a little too spicy pasta enjoying the Yeowch on my throat and the silence and suddenly I'm like yeah I'd kill myself.

[skrunksthatwunk]

im finally going to replay y0...

[thatdude-noah]

it's weird because. everything about my mental state is getting worse except my depression. and i don't know what to do about that!!! my intrusive thoughts are worse, my paranoia is worse, my feeling unreal is worse, but i am not sad. i emotionally feel fine. but everything in my brain is worse. i don't know what that means.

[screambirdscreaming]

This is very well articulated and true to many people's experiences, BUT with the diagnostic landscape as it stands, I think its really dangerous to assume that children who *do* get diagnosed are treated any more kindly.

Many kids who are diagnosed are not actually given words to explain their experiences. Their needs are simply dismissed as "symptoms" they have to "work on" and "get past".

Some kids are actually diagnosed with "Oppositional Defiant Disorder" - whereupon ANY need they express - even those which would be treated as reasonable from undiagnosed or neurotypical children! - is pathologized as "defiance". And yes, this diagnosis is highly racialized.

Honestly, knowing that ODD exists as a diagnosis really forces a person to challenge their perspective on what diagnosis is and means. Yes, diagnosis *can* be a tool of understanding, a way of banding together around shared struggles and generating shared language, tools, and resources. But it can also be a tool of opression and social control. And it *is*, currently for many people, a tool which is used to opress them. Even if it is also currently, in other people's experience, a tool of solidarity and support.

I think people who have experienced adult diagnosis as a relief, a breakthrough, a finding of community and tools of understanding - are sometimes prone to projecting this experience onto an imagined experience of childhood diagnosis, without looking into what childhood diagnosis actually entails.

It shouldn't be surprising, given the way children are dismissed, corralled, managed, and expected to conform to adult expectations at all times - that childhood diagnosis lacks the experience of autonomy, self-realization, and support found by those seeking diagnosis on their own terms as adults.

And it's understandable for people to say, "I wish I'd had this experience [of finding a diagnosis as an adult] as a child." But you can't just say, "I wish I'd been diagnosed as a child", and expect it to mean that - without MAKING childhood diagnosis mean something completely different than it currently does.

And I do absolutely think that it's crucial to change childhood diagnosis to mean eduction *of parents and caregivers* about the diagnosis, to mean kids are given tools and resources to express their needs and to process their experiences, to mean kids are given access to the same sort of supportive community that adults find through diagnosis.

But I actually don't think that's the first step. I think the first step is to create a cultural shift where we LISTEN TO CHILDREN WHEN THEY EXPRESS THEIR NEEDS, IN THEIR OWN WAYS, ON THEIR OWN TERMS. In general. For all children.

Where adults take seriously kids who are upset over problems adults find absurd. Where adults are willing to make accommodations that kids request even if they don't understand why it matters. Where kids aren't ridiculed or shut down for asking for things that don't make sense. Where kids who say they're in pain are treated as if they're in pain, not as if they're trying to get out of something. Where kids who say they need to sit something out are allowed to sit something out. Where adults make an effort to understand what kids are trying to communicate, even if they cant "use their words".

It turns out that having been dismissed by adults over something that really mattered to you as a kid is a near universal experience. And I'm not saying it's not *worse* for neurodivergent kids. I'm just saying that it's treated as bizarrely normalized in childcare that kids won't come to adults with really serious issues, like abuse. That they'll try to hide it. Why? Because they've learned that adults don't really understand them, and won't try to understand them. That adults don't really listen.

And it's hard, actually - as an adult working with kids, they'll come to you with a concern that seems absolutely ridiculous. Like, their classmate was bragging about how he's going to borrow his uncle's helicopter and fly to the north pole to meet santa. And THEY know santa isn't real and that the north pole is very dangerous - but they think it's absolutely credible that the kid could steal the helicopter, and they're terrified he's gonna get hurt. And you can't laugh! Not even a tiny little bit! You have to treat absolutely seriously their concern, and work it through with them. Because to them it's not ridiculous. They don't have the perspective you do, about what's real and possible and plausible and what isn't. All they'll see is that you've dismissed their real fear - and after that, why would they come to you with anything else they're scared of?

So you have to meet them where they are. You have to treat their experiences and perspectives as genuine, even when they don't make sense to you. You have to work towards understanding their reality, and what they're trying to convey to you, and what they want you to do for them in response. Even if they don't know what they want you to do! They're coming to you as an adult who will fix a problem for them, but if you fix the problem your way and it turns out that's not actually what they wanted, they *still* learn that adults don't understand them and can't help them. You have to learn to unpack all your concepts of what goes on in kids heads, and really meet them where they are. As complex individuals whose ways of thinking and being are probably totally different from your own, regardless of whether they - or you - are neurodivergent.

And this unpacking goes beyond kids. Not only do we need to take kids seriously, we need to take each other seriously. We need to build a world where people are able to understand and respect that other people are different from them without having to know Why and How. Where you don't NEED a diagnosis to be allowed to exist in a way that is different from other people.

anyway I don't mean to detract from the conversation about how alienating and destructive it is to your ability to relate to yourself, to grow up neurodivergent and having your own experiences constantly denied to you. I just think that while we're at it, we may as well address the problem at the root.

[pesky--dust]

the "diagnosis" Chilton gave Will during his trial was the one closest to the truth ("Will Graham has never been diagnosed. He won't allow anyone to test him. He has carefully constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world. He wears it so well, even Jack Crawford couldn't see past it. (...) There is not yet a name for whatever Will Graham is.")

unlike Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, he saw what a manipulator Will was and that in front of them he played a poor, confused, wounded bird ("(...) A particularly-manipulative one at that. Poor, confused, wounded bird for Agent Crawford and Doctors Lecter and Bloom. And for me, well, I get the psychopath's triumvirate: charm, focus and ruthlessness. The charm, of course, being debateable.")

he believed Will that Hannibal may be the Chesapeake Ripper and said Jack Crawford: "Hannibal once served me tongue and made a joke about eating mine. It's hard not to at least consider it.". Jack ignored him. (I think Jack was already planning some large-scale action against Hannibal, but that's a topic for another post)

he called Dr Lecter "Hannibal the Cannibal"

he understood that Will Graham was alive because Hannibal Lecter liked him that way

criticized Jack for letting Will and Hannibal get closer to each other and then leaving Will alone ("You dangle Will Graham and now you cut bait. You are letting Hannibal have him hook, line and sinker.")

when Jack expressed hope that the relationship between Hannibal and Will was one of those friendships that ends after the disemboweling, Chilton told him: "I would argue, with these two, that's tantamount to flirtation. Will is going to lead you right to him." and let's be real, he was right.

[plaguedarts]

THE DOODLVERSE!

So this is basically just a collection of my personal designs/headcanons for the digital circus main cast :]

+ More headcanon info under Read More & a little life update at the end!

Okay headcanon info dump lets go!!!

Pomni: The circus's newest and squeakiest jester. She's incredibly good with numbers because her special interest is math. She's been diagnosed with Autism since she was young, but pursued an ADHD diagnosis as an adult. (Headcanon based on @bluepandadraws-log's comics). She's pansexual but doesn't really like to tell people about it unless they're close. Her tail seems to move of its own accord, and Pomni has very little control of it.

Ragatha: A dolly that's a lot tougher than she looks, with a complex for taking care of everybody except herself. Ragatha has many unaddressed "issues" that make her see herself as damaged and too far gone to be saved. She's never sought a diagnosis or therapy for any of it while she was still in the real world, so she isn't even aware that she shows symptoms of OCD. (Headcanon based on ‪@fridgevespidae comics). She's adapted to life at the circus but is by no means comfortable in it. Jax and Ragatha dated in the early days, but Ragatha wasn't all that attached to the relationship. She cared about Jax and still cares about him, but she just didn't LOVE him. She still isn't really sure if she likes guys, but liking girls is something she isn't ready to address yet.

Jax: A rabbitoid who entertains himself by any means possible (usually involving cartoonish violence). Despite how jerky he can be, deep down he cares about everyone else in the circus, especially Ragatha in particular. He's still not over his feelings for her even after all this time, and he's not sure how to cope with them. He's not sure how to cope with most things really. He definitely projects his own insecurities onto people, and he's got a fear of being alone with his thoughts. Can't be with people, can't be alone.

Kinger: The eldest of the group, a king piece who's largely lost his mind. He walks around with a hunch, yet his character model is still the tallest! He has a pet caterpillar toy named "Bug," and it's always crawling around somewhere on him. He may not always be of sound mind, but he only means well.

Gangle: A sweetheart with a mask as fragile as her feelings. Gangle remembers the anime shows she grew up watching more than her own life. She knew very early on that she was different from most people, and thought she had herself mostly figured out until she started questioning her gender identity and sexuality, not to mention being diagnosed with autism as an adult. She likes the label "pansexual," but still doesn't have a solid answer on her gender. For now, they call themselves a "demigirl." Zooble and Gangle are greatly able to relate to each other's struggles, making their bond even stronger. Gangle also has full control over her ribbon tail, often using it as a second appendage.

Zooble: Our local amalgamation of parts that really really doesn't want to be here! Zooble has tried to make the best out of their new body, but can't still can't find something that just feels like THEM. Though certain parts like the fox tail and cat leg seem to put them a bit more at ease. Without Gangle, they might have already gone insane. She's the only one that Zooble truly trusts. (Zooble is also in love with Gangle but in complete denial over it).

Okay now for the life update!

Soooooo I've been gone for quite a bit, and some of you might be curious as to why. I'm still alive as I can be, rest assured. I was just busy focusing on college since this was my final semester leading up to my graduation! It sucked and it burnt me out but I MADE IT!!!

I'm taking these next couple weeks to be lazy, but now I can focus a lot more on my art and stuff!

If you read this far give me a "🐛" because bugs are cool

[transmutationisms]

forgive me if I'm being obtuse, but isn't every medical diagnosis an artifact of human taxonomic schemes? I know I'm not treading new ground here and that diseases/medical conditions aren't like, drawn from thin air in the way a lot of psychiatric conditions are i suppose it just confuses me a bit

no, & this is ancillary in some ways to what i'm actually criticising about psychiatry. it's true there are non-psychiatric medical diagnoses that work analogously to psychiatric ones: think ME/CFS, hEDS, fibromyalgia, most things that have 'idiopathic' in the name. these are names given to clusters of symptoms, like the way that psychiatric labels are just names for a certain set of behaviours. we don't know what causes these issues, though people have various theories and there is (a varying amount of) research ongoing that aims to find the etiologies.

however, that's not the case for all non-psychiatric diagnoses. think about a viral or bacterial infection, a torn ACL, or Down syndrome. these are diagnoses that do refer to specific infectious agents, anatomical problems, genetic variants, and so forth. that doesn't mean the diagnosis is always easy to make, or that it's always made correctly, but it does mean that when you are diagnosed with one of these problems, a specific cause is being identified (& sometimes they might even be right). it's not just a convenient shorthand name for a group of symptoms, even though of course, most things that are diagnosed are done so because they cause and are associated with symptoms. (most but not all lol.)

psychiatry is distinct as a discipline in that all of its diagnoses function the first way i described. they are not referring to disease entities or processes; there is no credible hypothesis for a biological etiology. why? fundamentally, because the psychiatric diagnoses generally exist to pathologise socially unwanted behaviour: the taxonomy is a reflection of a political agenda and the priorities of clinicians. it's not even really an adequate framework for grouping patients together, because you get placed in a category based only on, again, external manifestations (behaviours). who says any two people who hallucinate or cut themselves are doing it for the exact same reasons? well, no one, because again, even getting the same psych diagnosis doesn't indicate anything about an actual etiology or underlying biological process or anything. there is no referent; the psychiatric diagnosis is only defined heuristically and circularly.

many people are confused by this because, in both popular and professional discourse, psychiatric diagnoses are consistently spoken about as though they DO refer to an underlying discoverable disease or disease process. despite hundreds of years of looking for such things, psychiatrists are yet to find any, and if they did, the condition in question would be reassigned to the relevant medical specialty, because psychiatrists also cannot treat infectious agents, anatomical problems, harmful genetic variants, and so on. (when i worked as a bibliographer we used to have extremely funny arguments over whether materials pertaining to the psychiatric search for biological disease processes should be categorised under psychiatry, neuroscience, medicine general, philosophy of medicine, 'science and society,' or just 'controversies and disputes' with no real subject label.)

to be clear, when i say psychiatric diagnoses aren't referring to known or discoverable disease processes, that's not a moral indictment. it's not an inherently bad diagnostic process, provided the patient understands that is what the process actually is. sometimes we just don't know yet what we're dealing with; sometimes a heuristic diagnostic label is just a way of billing insurance for a treatment that we know helps some similar patients, even if we don't know why.

however, with psychiatric diagnoses, evidence for such efficacy is widely lacking and often even negative; this is fundamentally because psychiatric diagnoses are not formulated on the basis of patient needs but on the basis of employer and state needs to cultivate a productive workforce and by corollary enforce a notion of mental 'normality.' all medicine under capitalism has a biopolitical remit; psychiatry has only a biopolitical remit. it has never at any point succeeded in making diagnoses that refer to demonstrable disease processes, because that's definitionally not even under its purview. these diagnoses have never been satisfactorily shown to be related to any disease process—and why should we expect that? historically, that's not what they exist for; it's not the problem they were invented to solve. they are social technologies; they're not illnesses.

[lysaisland]

live like it’s your last

roommate!kuroo who likes to help you. a jar of jam too difficult to open? not a problem!! he’ll bang the edge of it on the corner of a counter, struggle opening it himself, and then hand it back over to you unopened. when you finally open the damned thing, he’ll cackle and say that he loosened it up for you. his volleyball hands were not just for show, he’ll tell you for free with a cheeky smile glued on his face. stuck on an essay? he would know half a coherent sentence on the topic, but still would dedicate his weekend to proofreading, and bouncing off creatively, inane ideas for you, for your essay. he likes the quiet weekends where you two study in your shared living room, on the coffee table with too many stains to count. it’s all too easy to chuck a piece of motivational chocolate at your face. he would watch you, with crinkled eyes, as you roll your own eyes at him, yet follow in his actions, hurling bullets of chocolate straight back. he likes it, he likes it a lot.

roommate!osamu who is so hot, all the time. literally, figuratively and everything in between. you have never ever seen this man wear anything long sleeved, ever. his glorious biceps were world treasures constantly exposed to the unworthy. your roommate would always complain about how the air con was utterly useless, never cool enough, always too warm. all you would ever do, whenever he complained, was absentmindedly nod along, and admire the sight with half-quiet appreciation. you are certain he knows exactly what he’s doing, when he waltzes around the kitchen with an apron on, in place of a t-shirt. the morning sun hits his bare back just right, and the smell of breakfast is nothing less than a slice of heaven. when he turns to you, brown eyes a little wide, but with a smile nevertheless, you swear you died on the spot. he offers you a plate, and tells you to ‘help ya’self’ and that ‘there’s plenty more of where that came from!’. you nod fervently, and gift him a smile, which has his own eyes refusing to leave you, and lingering occasionally as you ate. no harm in looking, hot guy cooking.

roommate!tsukishima who was a weirdo — not in a malicious way, or in the way where he is a creep. your roommate was just not normal. exhibit a, he was seen folding laundry at two in the morning, at the kitchen table of all places. every wednesday morning, he would be there in the dark, fumbling his way through fresh hoodies and dress pants. how do you know this? once, you wanted a cup of water before succumbing to the wonders of sleep, and saw a six foot something beanpole just standing there in the kitchen. burglar? demon? an alien? no, it was just your roommate with odd habits. the smell of pine disinfectant was odd in the air, and his reasoning? he needed to wipe down the table before organising his clothes all over the place, just like how any other regular person would do. makes sense, but was this the most appropriate of times to be doing laundry? another thing, which made your diagnosis of weirdo all the stronger, was the time he made you watch through all the jurassic park world dinosaur thing movies. it wouldn’t have warranted an eyebrow raise on its own, but after the dinosaur movies, the two of you started watching horror. it left you clinging on to the armrest, and your roomie napping peacefully between scenes, entirely unphased, and laughing at how stupid the characters were. yeah. he was just a bit of a goof — especially when he sleeps clung to you like a koala to a tree. it seems ludicrous just thinking about it, but the way your heart pounds in your throat when he squeezes you around the waist, makes it all too real.

um this was in the drafts for a while enjoy el oh ellllllll

masterlist

[horreurscopes]

the whole adhd going trendy thing that's now being discussed in, like, npr podcasts (insofar as tiktok is an extension of "the mainstream") is fascinating because that was basically a stage of self actualization that tumblr went through, like, at least three or four years ago. y'know; that's not a symptom of adhd, that's a common human experience. everyone forgets to eat produce in the fridge sometimes. everyone's mind occasionally wanders during a conversation, and so on.

but at least in circles of tumblr with critical thinking skills this has led to better insights, "culturally" (as in - people here don't have to go looking themselves for anti-psychiatry literature to encounter these ideas; it is something that can be absorbed via osmosis if one is interested in social justice and sees relevant topics on the dashboard, which i think is generally a good thing), about the systems of oppression that lead people to attach themselves to these medicalized labels; why, for example, a diagnosis that means "there is something broken in my biological make-up that makes me ontologically unable to complete tasks, and therefore it is not my fault, nor a moral reflection of my character, if i am unable to work myself to exhaustion" might be so appealing to so many people in a society where creating capital for the ruling class via wage slavery is a sign of virtue; and what incentives the psychiatric institution may have to both diagnose and medicate people to fix "can't work" syndrome.

(and yes, people here still debate to exhaustion what "actually adhd" vs, lets say, "culturally adhd" means; but that's not what this post is about. to me it is very similar to the chemical imbalance model of depression: is it likely there are certain individuals who one day, simply and for no reason, experience their ability to feel joy "turning off"; or even individuals who are more genetically vulnerable to becoming depressed when faced with adverse circumstances [the way a tendency towards alcoholism can be inherited]; but these are a small number in comparison to the great majority of depression sufferers who would not be labelled "mentally ill", were it not for the systemic circumstances one is unable to escape, and consequently, cope with.)

and yet now that this conversation has reached the "mainstream", it boggles the mind that the conclusion even the most liberal cultural outlets reach all basically amount to "we need better, more accurate diagnostic tools" and a call for more nuance in psychiatry, so as to better distinguish those "real" sufferers of broken brain disease, who are then allowed to use stimulant drugs to be shaped back into the rank and file (aka, people who have a magical brain that reacts in a special, morally acceptable way to stimulant drugs as long as they are not used recreationally), from the "fakers", who need to grit their teeth through their personal failure to make themselves do shit they would not choose to do were it not for the threat of starvation, homelessness and death, and pull themselves up by their bootstraps (aka, people who have normal non-magical brains which respond to stimulant drugs in dirty, hedonistic, cheating-the-system ways).

and not, you know, the fact that "working yourself to death doing dull boring punishing work" culture might be the biggest cause for people identifying with "really struggle to work myself to death doing dull boring punishing work" syndrome, or than an institution founded on categorizing people via their inability to conform to a set of social norms that do not exist in an apolitical vacuum, might have an incentive to create a label for it.

[mercurial-chuckles]

is smutober still open? if yes can i ask for stucky x f!reader + 17. "seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remember how it got there in the first place"? i thought maybe steve or bucky seeing the marks the other left on reader? or even better, steve or buck seeing the marks reader left on them. anyway, up to you, i love all of your stucky works, you make their relationship feel so real and i love how you don't focus solely on the boys with reader but on bucky and steve and their love for each other as well.

Wanton Affairs

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader Warnings: Overloaded Fluff Galore | Domestic Supersoldiers | Poly relation | Language | THE SMUT galore | Threesome | Fingering | Littleshit supersoldiers on the loose | Irresistible Bucky | One torn bra | Supersoldier Sandwich | Soft!dom Steve | Soft!dom Bucky | ~6k of fluffy n filthy goodness | I've broken the fic into three parts with breaks if you wish to stop and continue later | Unedited. If you find any errors (you will), please kindly ignore them for the moment. I typed as I went. I'm too disoriented to edit, but I will as soon as I can | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: My first threesome. I mean, first time writing a threesome. I'm already whimpering in dread. So, be gentle with me. Treat me tenderly, and some validation would really ease me. Thank you for sending in the ask for SMUT-BER FEST. My apologies for how--embarrassingly--long it's taken to get to your ask. I hope you enjoy reading it, my sweet anon! And thank you for your kind words. This is also my submission for Stucky Bingo | Prompt: Napping | @stuckybingo Most importantly, I've added a small dialogue prompt inspired by Trick or Treat wheel of potential doom. @yenzys-lucky-charm I'm sorry this thought has been marinating in my head for so long, love. I'm way past the due date, and this isn't technically my submission. Since you mentioned how excited you were about this prompt, and now that I've FINALLY gotten inspired, I wanted to tag you. Please feel free to ignore it if any elements of this fic aren't your forte ✨ Hope I did it justice 🩷 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider made by me. Picture credits to internet! Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Bucky gets what he wants, even if it means seducing fighting an annoyed Steve Rogers

Bucky, as per Steve's entirely unqualified yet riveting diagnosis, was a little shit with a severe case of cuteness aggression.

Why, you ask?

Well, it was 2 p.m., and Bucky had just returned home from the compound. And when he walked in and saw you peacefully napping, he absolutely couldn't resist his joy.

Despite Steve's firm warning that you needed rest after pulling an all-nighter, Bucky just couldn't help himself. He'd missed you terribly all day--too many hours apart.

So, like the true, needy mess that he was, he decided to be obnoxiously loud, hoping you'd stir awake, give him a warm smile that would relax him in no seconds, and let him curl up next to you.

Those were the hopes of the brunette man.

But his other love--the too-practical, too-Captainy--was already dousing his plans in cold water.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't understand the importance of your sleep--he did. He knew you'd been putting in extra hours, working on the analysis of some foil, and you hardly slept the last few days and that you didn't sleep at all last night.

Stupid Project!

But you, in all your serene, angelic glory, just looked so irresistible lying there.

Not to be too dramatic but he was desperate and downright itching for you to hold him.

Last night had been miserable. He'd tossed and turned all night, and with Steve holed up at the compound, there was no one to hold him while he slept. Which, of course, meant sleep was out of the question. Steve had tried convincing him to come over, mumbling something about hologram testing and training updates--like that was supposed to be enticing.

A bunch of lies, if you asked Bucky.

Steve was a really needy puppy. The man could hardly stand being away from you for too long without either of them keeping watch. And sure, the offer had been tempting, but Bucky had backed off, figuring he'd crash on the couch with some trash TV instead. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Tony along with his sizable ego and the others when he was in a mood. Not that he disliked any of them--he just wasn't in the headspace for socializing. So, he let Steve play the responsible Captain at the Compound while you worked and he decided to stay back and suffer in peace.

In the early hours that morning, he went to his scheduled training session, running on barely any sleep. You had texted saying you'd be home in the evening, but when he saw you both back earlier than expected, he just couldn't resist, could he?

Thus, he proceeded with his noisy campaign to wake you up, much to Steve's horror.

"Bucky," Steve hissed from across the room as Bucky slammed the bathroom door.

"Stop that," he warned, half-amused by the exaggeratedly loud noises Bucky had been making since the moment he arrived home. Steve's enhanced hearing only made it worse, amplifying the noise tenfold. But Bucky had the same enhanced hearing, and Steve knew how stealthy his lover could be. That meant Bucky was intentionally making a racket to wake you up--and that annoyed Steve.

"Stop what?" Bucky huffed, raising an eyebrow as he marched toward Steve, intentionally stomping every step.

Though it had plenty of closet space, the walk-in closet attached to the bedroom was far too small for the two of them. Steve had dimmed the lights to avoid disturbing you and even drew the curtains in the bedroom to block out the intense afternoon light pouring through the windows.

"Shh... she's sleeping," Steve shushed, flinging a shirt he was folding toward Bucky in an attempt to get him to stop. But Bucky caught it mid-air, tossed it back into the laundry bin with a grin, and, without missing a beat, yanked Steve toward him by the collar of his undershirt.

Bucky cradled Steve's jaw with an exaggerated air of seriousness, murmuring lowly, "Ya know, I just saw a picture of a grumpy cat online that looked exactly like you."

Bucky's grin widened.

Steve's frown deepened, and the playful glint in Bucky's eyes only intensified.

Rolling his eyes, Steve swatted Bucky's hands away from his cheeks and snorted in amusement. "You sure it wasn't you?" he deadpanned, picking up clothes one by one and sorting them into fold piles and hangers.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled Steve by the neck, his lips nearly grazing Steve's.

Poor Stevie couldn't resist now, could he? Because Bucky looked irresistibly handsome, and he was a weak man when it came to Bucky or you.

Steve felt his resolve slip, and before he knew it, his lips were gravitating toward Bucky's as Bucky leaned in for a soft, teasing kiss. A low moan escaped Steve, and before he could deepen the kiss, Bucky pulled away, leaving Steve with nothing but a rush of warmth and utter annoyance.

Steve groaned, rubbing his face. "You're such a jerk," he muttered, irritated by the half-assed kiss and desperate for more.

Bucky's grin widened wickedly. "What? Do you need me, punk? All you gotta do is ask," he teased, "Nicely," he added, his voice thick with amusement, before leaning in again--this time intently, pushing Steve against the tiny space of empty wall beside the door. Their lips collided, groaning at the taste, deepening the kiss as they moved closer, instinctively pulling each other tighter. The arousing kiss continued, building and building until…

The unmistakable tear was heard.

Both of them exchanged a look.

"Oh, shit!" Bucky laughed, pulling away just enough to look down.

Steve followed Bucky's gaze and froze, his face going pale. There, in Steve's hand, were the torn remains of your favorite bra. It was a cute piece, too, with little dinosaurs and cacti prints. You looked adorable wearing it.

"Son of a bitch, that's her comfy one," Steve muttered in exasperation, turning it in his large hands to see if it was remotely salvageable, but the fabric was in tatters.

"Eh…" Bucky hummed, plucking the fabric from Steve's hands, and inspected the shredded piece with little sympathy, "I hate these traps," he muttered.

"Nope, gotta say goodbye," Bucky sniggered, putting the ripped fabric back into Steve's hands. Steve groaned in defeat.

Bucky patted him on the shoulder with exaggerated pity, and taking advantage of Steve's guilty reminiscence, he slipped out of the closet and into the bedroom, leaving Steve standing there, still processing the carnage.

Bucky plopped himself on the bed with zero resistance from Steve whatsoever. He quickly discarded his joggers, cursing himself for deciding to put them on after the shower. He threw them, aiming for the chair, but Steve caught them mid-air, a frown returning to his face.

Bucky's smile widened at the sound of Steve's angry grunts, whispered under his breath. Ignoring all of Steve's warnings, Bucky turned his focus entirely to you, snuggling comfortably beside you, and wondering how best to announce his arrival.

Steve seemed to read his thoughts because he snapped, nearly shouting, "James, get your ass over here and fold the laundry with me if you're so bored!"

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm not bored, Steven. I'm sleepy," he declared, finger traced gently down your cheek, and you made a soft noise in your sleep.

Steve's patience ebbed away all at once. He cast one last look at your peaceful, slumbering form, Steve had just managed to help you fall asleep, and he wasn't about to let Bucky mess it all up.

With a determined stride, Steve marched over, grabbed Bucky by the waist, and hauled him off the bed without warning. Bucky let out a surprised laugh, but Steve anticipated the noise, quickly pressing his hand to Bucky's mouth to silence him as he began marching him out of the room.

"What the hell?" Bucky grumbled, his brain catching up.

Steve only made it two steps into the living room before Bucky, like a reflex, tackled him to the ground with a booming laugh.

"You're really not listening. Let her sleep," Steve hissed, his voice strained from holding back his irritation and laughter.

"I wasn't doing anything," Bucky guffawed, straddling Steve and pinning him to the floor.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Bucky, now the one in control, held both of Steve's wrists to his chest, completely enjoying the struggle.

"GET UP!" Steve grumbled, pretending to be annoyed, but the amused smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"Is that all ya got?" Bucky mocked, raising an eyebrow. "For a man who pulled a helicopter…" He tutted in mock disappointment. "Bad, Stevie. You gotta replenish your big boy energy."

Bucky placed a teasing kiss on Steve's jaw, his breath warm against Steve's skin. "I think you need a nap, too," he whispered.

Steve narrowed his eyes, and as the smug grin on Bucky's face fully registered in his mind, "You look quite energized Buck, and you definitely don't need a nap," Steve remarked flippantly.

Bucky's grin faltered, but only for a second. He kept Steve pinned with his metal arm, his face now just inches from Steve's as he leaned in closer. With a soft chuckle, Bucky pushed off Steve, sliding away from him smoothly and practically leaping off the floor and onto the bed in two long strides, knowing fully well that Steve wouldn't repeat the same mistake of hauling him off the bed a second time.

Bucky mentally counted to five, and sure enough, Steve appeared in the doorway, a frown marring his adorably stupid face.

Steve walked in fully intending to get the rest of the laundry done, however, he glanced at the bed, eyes greedily taking in Bucky's overtly happy and awfully comfortable expression snuggling beside you, and Steve sighed, conceding defeat. With a roll of his eyes, he finally walked over to the bed and carefully settled on the other side.

"You're folding the laundry later," Steve mouthed to Bucky, his voice just above a whisper. He then carefully slid his right arm around your waist, almost instinctively, and settled it over Bucky's side of the bed.

Bucky chuckled proudly, satisfied with himself. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before slowly slipping your hand from beneath your pillow, gently resting it on his own. Your familiar scent filled the space between them, soothing Bucky like the pleasant sound of rain.

Steve peeked at Bucky, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips as he felt your feet worm their way between his legs. Bucky's right arm found Steve's on top of your pillow, and without a second's delay, Steve interlaced his fingers with Bucky's, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction.

"Such a punk," Steve murmured, squeezing Bucky's hand affectionately.

Bucky snorted. His eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the soothing calmness of both you and Steve.

"And no funny business," Steve added softly, his voice almost teasing as he kissed the top of your head, his breath warm on your skin. Bucky smiled to himself, too content to bite back with a reply.

The absolute nerve of Steve to question Bucky's purer, entirely innocent intentions of cuddling and falling asleep peacefully.

****

Steve is sometimes ALWAYS right

Still groggy and barely awake, you blinked open your eyes--only to be met with two bright blue ones and a wide grin. It scared the shit out of you, and you let out an ungraceful squeak.

"Fuck you, Bucky," you mumbled in surprise, but your cry was quickly muffled by his cold metal palm as he hushed you.

You blinked a few more times, adjusting to your surroundings, finally registering the cozy, familiar position you were wrapped in. The warmth of Steve behind you, his face pressed into your shoulder blade, his nose tickling your skin as the unmistakable sound of his snoring reverberated through your back.

"Stevie's snoring? Aww." You cooed, a sleepy, contented pout pulling at your lips. Bucky grinned beside you, nodding.

It was rare for either of them to snore--what with the serum taking most of the brunt of their bodies--but once in a while, exhaustion got the better of them.

"I recorded it, too," Bucky told you proudly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You sighed happily, licking your lips--his kiss felt like the sun's warmth on a cold winter day.

"Of course you did," you chuckled, a yawn slipping out before you could stop it.

Just as expected, Bucky tried to slip his fingers into your mouth mid-yawn, but you swatted his hand away before he could pull his usual antics. He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that charming, divinely gorgeous way that always made your heart flutter.

"What's the time?" you murmured, tugging at his t-shirt. Bucky slid closer, effortlessly molding against you as you hooked a leg over his hip, his thigh slotting between yours. His warmth, his scent--you savored every bit of him.

God, you'd missed him. Missed them.

"4:15," he whispered, voice low and soothing. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his metal fingers brushing your cheek, tucking away a few stray strands. At some point, your braid must have loosened in your sleep.

"How was training?" you asked, voice drowsy. Bucky grunted in response, lips trailing lazy kisses along your skin. You hummed, fingers idly playing with the fabric of his t-shirt, knowing exactly what that grunt meant. Training without Steve usually had him in a mood.

Bucky shifted just an inch away, his eyes locked on yours. And you smiled at him, watching his eyes twinkle with love. Unable to resist, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his chin. A comfortable silence settled. Bucky and you got lost in each other's touches, eyes blinking slowly.

"You really haven't been sleeping much, have you?" Bucky murmured, his brows twitching into a concerned frown.

You reached up, smoothing your fingers over the crease between them, watching as the tension melted from his face. He sighed under your touch, and you only shrugged slightly, a small pout tugging at your lips.

"I guess," you whispered, your fingers drifting down to gently massage his jaw. Bucky let out a low, satisfied hum, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

It was during these rare silences--filled with unspoken love you pondered how far you had come. You were so grateful. So unbelievably proud of the choices you had all made, of the life you had built together.

Bucky's expression softened even more as he grumbled, "I'm sorry." His lower lip jutted out just enough to make you want to suckle on it--so you did.

He let out a pleased hum, pressing a soft peck to your lips, his warm breath tickling your senses as he continued, "For trying to wake you up while you were sleeping. I'm such a jerk sometimes."

You let out a quiet laugh but quickly stilled when you felt Steve shift behind you, his forehead pressing snugly against the column of your neck as he instinctively pulled you closer. You waited, holding your breath to see if he would wake. When he didn't, you relaxed and turned your attention back to Bucky, your fingers trailing along his cheek, savoring the contrast between his soft skin and the roughness of his stubble.

"You think I even noticed? I was out like a light," you teased, grinning wide. "Besides, nothing to be sorry about… I know you're my Sugarpuss."

Bucky's eyes widened in mock offense as he dramatically gestured toward Steve. "He's Sugarpuss."

"No, he's not. He's the wise and responsible one of us. He keeps us in line. Besides, he'd only ever call you Sugarpuss," you teased, winking.

Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Though… you're more of a sourpuss most of the time," you added with a playful smirk.

Bucky let out a dramatic grunt before suddenly pulling you closer. Steve shifted behind you, now sprawled out on his stomach.

"I'd beat his ass if he ever called me that," Bucky muttered, tossing a leg over you and tugging you flush against him.

"You'd beat my ass too?" you teased, grinning as you pressed soft butterfly kisses along his neck.

Bucky moaned in satisfaction, the deep rumble of his throat vibrating against your lips.

"You're my pretty girl. You can call me any shitty name you want," he murmured, eyes crinkling with affection.

Before you could fawn over that, another snore rumbled from Steve, and Bucky turned his head to glance at him.

Shaking his head in mock disbelief, he huffed, "And he said he didn't need a nap."

"Yeah?" you asked, unable to resist the giggle bubbling up.

"Yeah. Hell-bent on me not lurking around you," Bucky said, shaking his head.

You laughed, snuggling deeper into his warmth.

"Guess what? He came by the lab... Captain mode," you whispered, your fingers threading through Bucky's hair, tugging just the way he liked. He let out a happy sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Really?" Bucky rasped, his voice thick with interest. His hand found the band of your panties, and he snapped them. You squirmed, feeling the warmth bubbling.

"Yeah! He announced that there was a meeting and that I was needed," you continued, chuckling. "Carried me home and put me to sleep."

Bucky hummed his palm kneading slow, lazy circles into your hip. His touch was heavy, possessive. His metal arm slipped underneath your shirt.

"Bucky…" you warned, shaking your head slightly.

But Bucky grinned, squeezing and massaging your tit, flicking your nipple. You squirmed, breath hitching at the sensation.

His smirk was downright sinful. "Put you to sleep, huh?"

Bucky seemed to take pity because he moved his hand away, but only for his fingers now trailing along your collarbone, then down the length of your neck. The cool Vibranium warmed instantly against your skin as he pushed your--Steve's--t-shirt off your shoulder.

"He left marks, didn't he?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, your face reddening up at the memory of Steve taking you apart after you denied that you were not sleepy.

Bucky huffed in mock offense, his fingers ghosting over the faint hickeys. "And he tells me, 'No funny business, Buck.'" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Wise, my ass. I'm the wiser one." The words were more for himself than for you, his lips trailing along the column of your neck.

The way your body responded to him was crazy.

"And I feel absolutely left out," Bucky murmured against your mouth, the warmth of his breath making you shiver.

The need to taste him, to pull him closer, was overwhelming.

"We can't have that, Buck," you whispered.

And then, as if reading each other's minds, you both moved at once. The kiss was passionately satiating yet a consuming hunger overwhelmed you. His tongue trailed inside your mouth, lapping at you hungrily, sucking on your bottom lip.

"You're a goddess, you know that?" he rasped, moaning at the taste, revving you up just right. "Fuck, I missed you so much," Bucky growled lowly. Your dismissive protests of his praise were captured by his mouth, kissing you more while he trailed his metal fingers down your stomach, slipping them into your panties.

Beautiful dilated blues gazed at you, and you arched into him, pulling at the short strands of his hair at the back when he cupped your heat and squeezed it. The moan that escaped you was hungrily captured again, hushing you by kissing.

And Steve shifted behind you, making you still in realization.

"Steve is sleeping," you murmured half-heartedly, feeling Steve shift slightly behind you, but Bucky chuckled, the absolute menace that he was, his fingers prodded at your slick entrance, "Gotta be real quiet then, hmm?" he groaned.

"Buck…" You started, only to be shut off by one finger inching inside, and your breath hitched.

"These are not helping," he groaned, caressing and nipping at the marks Steve left on you earlier.

You gripped onto his back, fingers digging into his skin as retribution for the pleasure he was providing you. Bucky nipped at the skin right under your ear, making you squirm. He pushed his second finger inside, setting a languid pace, and let out a rather low growl.

You moaned into his ear, licking the skin on the side of his neck, nipping. God, he smelled like temptation, and you felt weak.

You cried in delight as you felt his fingers hit the spot he was privy to.

You felt parched, and you needed him.

"I know, I know. Good fucking girl," he rumbled, shifting onto his back and pulling you effortlessly on top of him. You stumbled against his chest, breathless, limbs tangled.

You froze for a second, glancing at Steve, but he was still fast asleep, his steady breathing undisturbed.

When you looked back at Bucky, he was grinning up at you, dazed and smug, his eyes glinting wickedly.

You had a good retort ready, but he curled his fingers, turning the words into a moan, and his other hand weaved into your hair, bringing you close to his mouth and sucking your lower lip.

"Quiet, pretty girl. Don't wanna disturb him. Do we?" You bit onto his jaw, holding back the moans that were trying to escape.

Bucky adjusted you in his arms, pressing you against his strong chest, his fingers fucking your wet and welcoming heat. "Hmm. Fuck, you smell divine," he grunted.

Your teeth grazed his skin, his scent hit you tenfold, and the pleasure made you heady.

"Beautiful," Bucky mumbled, his fingers curled expertly inside, and you teetered on the edge of pleasure, breath caught.

"And mine. Ours," Bucky added, moaning against the corner of your mouth, his hips thrusting up against your thigh. The tickling sensation of his hardness made you squirm, and Bucky's languid thrusts turned faster.

"Bucky," You moaned, and he captured your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

"Yeah? Gonna cum, aren't you? Fuck. My perfect girl," he encouraged, and you nodded, mouth falling open, speechless, while your pussy gripped onto his fingers. The sensation hit you fast, clutching you into the depths of pleasure.

Bucky held you tightly, kissing your jaw as you rode your orgasm. He pulled his fingers out slowly, and you whimpered when he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. His eyes shut for a moment. "Bucky," you breathed. The sight always mortified and did things to you.

"I wanna eat you," he muttered hoarsely, his voice humming through his chest, making your heart flutter.

"But I know you can't keep quiet if I get my mouth on you," he chuckled condescendingly, pushing his boxers down, and your eyes widened, looking at him pointedly.

You shook your head at him, this time more vehemently, but Bucky's smug grin only widened as he adjusted you properly, and your hands held onto him for stability. He nudged you with a wink, giving himself a stroke and slotting his tip at your entrance. Your hesitation vanished with how good it felt.

You both could be quiet, right?

Your breath hitched as he slowly rocked from underneath, and you collapsed onto his broad chest.

"Are you close already?" He cooed, completely sheathed inside you. Bucky gritted his teeth when he felt you clench him.

Your breath caught as your fingers gripped at his t-shirt, and your mouth muffled with bites.

Bucky was making you speechless, wild, and a moaning mess.

A loud guttural groan escaped him, and you hushed him pointedly.

"Fuck, I can't help it," He remarked.

****

When Captain Rogers wakes up. Teehee!

Feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, you nipped at his collarbone. Bucky's palm flexed on your hip, pulling you more into him, and the slight pain it caused made you clench onto him tightly while pleasure rippled through your body.

Bucky hissed, muttering how perfectly you milked him. When his tip kissed your cervix, you moaned.

"Mmm…feels like heaven. Doesn't it?" Bucky hissed, pushing your t-shirt to the side harshly and biting your shoulder. Your nails dug into his biceps, metal and flesh alike, tightly. The contrast urged you on more.

Your t-shirt--Steve's t-shirt--rucked up high with all the thrusting, and you pushed Bucky's t-shirt just a bit up to feel his skin against yours--taut, muscular, soft, scarred, and all yours. "You're so pretty, Buck," You sighed happily, his hardness feeling so full and fulfilling, and you felt the familiar rush as you careened into pleasure.

A sleepy snort broke the moment, followed by a large, steady hand wrapping around your waist, halting your movement. The pleasure that had been building crashed just as fast, leaving you teetering on the edge. You almost wailed in frustration.

You and Bucky turned at the same time, cheek-to-cheek, to face the culprit.

Steve was awake--barely. Propped up on one elbow, his face was adorably scrunched, hair sleep-mussed, eyes narrowed at the two of you with faux disapproval. He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, the sound rolling through your body teasingly, making you squirm against Bucky.

You unknowingly clenched him just a bit, and Bucky groaned, rocking into you.

Bucky's stubble tickled your cheek as he spoke, his chuckle vibrating through his chest.

"Hands off, Steve. We're in the middle of something," Bucky growled, emphasizing his point with a deep thrust. No one could stop the moan coming from you. The pleasure building again.

When Steve tapped your cheek, you opened your eyes to see his amused grin. In the next instant, Steve straddled Bucky, towering over you from behind. His hand tightened around your waist before you were haphazardly lifted off Bucky.

Both you and Bucky hissed at the sudden loss of contact.

You expected Steve to throw you onto the bed, but no. Your eyes widened as you looked at Bucky, who looked back with an expression of both amusement and irritation.

Steve smacked your butt, and you squealed, trying hard to steady yourself on Bucky.

Steve didn't give you time. He pulled you up against his warm chest, discarding your--his--t-shirt and throwing away his to the side. Bucky's gaze shifted to your tits, and he grinned, his both hands coming up to squeeze them.

"Can't help yourself, Buck. Can you?" Steve taunted. Bucky cursed, throwing empty threats at Steve. Steve angled your hips, rubbing his tip against your slick.

Oh, Fuck! Your eyes widened.

You collapsed on Bucky at the sensation, and he steadied you.

"STEVE…Holy…" You gasped as Steve entered you slowly from behind without much resistance, simultaneously bending you onto Bucky.

Bucky was still hard, and he twitched against your tummy, hot and wet.

"Gotta teach him a lesson," Steve said, and honestly, you didn't care. You just want them to stop edging you.

Bucky bared his teeth in sweet agony as he moved to touch himself, but Steve was faster, and he swatted Bucky's hand away.

"Nuh-uh, you're gonna watch while I make our pretty girl feel good," Steve chuckled darkly, his broad frame engulfing you as he nuzzled your neck, placing soft kisses on your shoulder.

"Steve," Bucky gritted in annoyance, trying to squirm away.

"Can't take one order," Steve mocked, riling Bucky up, his hand splayed on the inside of your right thigh and spread you some more, firmly adjusting you on Bucky's torso.

"Fuckkkkk," You cried.

"You're not my boss," Bucky growled challengingly. You could feel him squirm under you both.

"Is that so?" Steve hummed from over your shoulder, too pleased with himself. His hands loosened the grip around you and moved to Bucky's jaw while Steve's other hand held your waist, hoisting you up just a bit. You held onto his forearm with both hands as you felt your knees wobble.

"You're such a punk," Bucky chuckled, his eyes blown in hazy lust. And with a single tap against his lips, Bucky sucked onto his thumb. The sight was hot and was making you delirious with need. You clenched around Steve, and a breathy gasp turned into a moan when Steve pulled out and thrust into you.

Your nails dug into Steve's arm harshly as the pleasure wrecked you.

Bucky pulled you and Steve on top of him and Steve eased you gently onto Bucky and pinned his hands beside him. The angled thrust had you almost coming. Almost.

Their weight and warmth added to your pleasure. Steve adjusted your hips as he pounded you from behind.

Steve nudged against your neck, propping against your shoulder as he leaned toward Bucky.

"I said no funny business. Didn't I?" Steve reminded Bucky, their banter holding nothing back as Steve pounded into you without breaking pace while Bucky kissed your parted mouth.

Bucky winked. "You have no right demanding shit from me, punk." he traced the slightly dark marks on the expanse of your chest, ones that Steve took his time leaving earlier.

Steve's breathless laugh tickled your throat as he pulled Bucky for a kiss, effectively squishing you between them. The angle only made you scream as pleasure shot through you.

"Easy there," Bucky warned Steve.

"FUCKK…" Steve lifted you off Bucky slightly, his one arm wrapping around you carefully, firmly, resting both of your weights on his knees, straddling Bucky.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I aim to please. You know that," Steve said to Bucky while adjusting Bucky's cock directly where you were connected, rubbing it gently on your clit, and you gasped, squirming away from his grip. The sensation was driving you nuts.

All three of you moaned in sync. A litany of curses spewed.

You threw your head onto Steve's shoulder, both hands gripping his forearm as he rocked into you.

"Eyes on me," Bucky demanded, squeezing your tit and pinching your nipple. It felt like a Herculean task to open your eyes, but you did, meeting his darkened blues. He parted his lips, tongue peeking out as he forced you closer. Steve loosened his grip, maneuvering you closer to Bucky.

"You smell so fucking good," Bucky grunted, taking you in a searing kiss.

"Look at you. So needy. Fuck, I could do this all day," Steve moaned, increasing his pace. Despite the pleasure coursing through, both you and Bucky rolled your eyes at him in sync, and a few breathy chuckles escaped you.

"Shut up," Steve exclaimed, chuckling. Steve unwound one of his forearms and trailed it up Bucky's chest, carding through Bucky's short locks as he tugged them.

"OH FUCKKK…" Bucky moaned lewdly, baring his teeth and biting his lower lip.

"Can't take one order now, can you?" Steve hissed as his pace faltered, he was close, fucking sporadically.

Bucky intertwined his fingers with yours with a squeeze that spoke of love amidst the filthy, noisy mess you all were making. Steve placed an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, nipping as his fingers from Bucky's hair moved to place his large palm on his chest, right above Bucky's heart.

Bucky's erection rubbed against you and Steve hard and fast, right where you were joined.

"You're close, aren't you, Buck," Steve grunted as he rolled his hips, pressing you sensually against Bucky.

The manly groans, their scent, and their warmth, added to the sweet sensations…Holy Shitz! You were coming for the second time that day around Steve.

"I love you both. FUCK!" Steve moaned, thrusting a couple more times before you felt the hot white ropes filling you up, and you came tumbling down as white-hot pleasure throbbed your senses as you milked him, clutching onto both of them so tightly that it would have left their bones broken were they not supersoldiers.

"Oh shit!" Bucky groaned as he rocked upwards, cumming all over your front and his.

Your body flailed as you collapsed into Bucky, and so did Steve. Steve's taut, sweaty, muscular chest weighed you down onto Bucky, and his partial weight felt heavenly on you.

"I love you," You breathed, eyes closed as you nuzzled into Bucky's soft t-shirt, the stars still exploding behind your lids.

You felt euphoric!

The three of you laid there for a while.

You didn't--couldn't--open your eyes when you were readjusted, now lying on Steve.

Steve's laughter rumbled against your back as you felt Bucky move over you.

"Open 'em, sweet girl," Bucky cooed against your mouth, and you did. He grinned widely.

"You got one more in you, don't you, doll?" Bucky asked. His cock was hard, tip nudging your slick heat.

You bit your lip, not directly answering, but rocking against his tip. Bucky gave a dazzling smile as he inched inside you.

Oh, you were going to be sore and would need all the rest, but you couldn't deny your man, could you now?

"Good girl," Bucky groaned as he gently adjusted you above Steve.

"I love me some supersoldier sandwich," you managed to utter, your words broken and mostly turning into a moan.

"Oh, we're aware," Steve quirked, placing kisses alongside your neck, spreading your thighs wide, and holding them firmly as Bucky fucked you in missionary on Steve.

"Feels good, Buck? Is my cum warming you up well?" Steve taunted, revving Bucky up a bit more.

Steve moved strands of hair out of your face and brushed Bucky's forehead, and you could feel his hardness poking your hips.

Bucky groaned as he fucked with much more vigor. Dear Heavens! You felt every thrust, and it also made you conscious of your weight pressing into Steve.

A thought, while quite stupid, crept into your fucked out mind unknowingly.

"Hey, hey…too much?" Bucky asked, stalling his movements. You blushed, shaking your head, and tilted behind and looked up at a concerned Steve.

"Are you okay?" You asked him. You saw the look of recognition in his eyes, and his concern etched away.

"I am, sweetheart," Steve sighed, adjusting you more firmly, and you squealed. Bucky tapped your cheek, and you met his gaze reluctantly.

"Buck, love some sense into her, harder," Steve chuckled, placing a kiss on your temple, his hands massing your thighs.

You gasped. "I didn't mean…OH FUCKKKK," You started, but Bucky's thrust cut you off.

"BUCKY," You moaned.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Captain's orders," Bucky chuckled, fucking you maddeningly fast.

"Oh, now you follow his orders." You cried and arched on Steve's naked body.

Steve's hand tugged at Bucky's hair. And Bucky moaned, biting onto your chest. Steve turned your knees, helping you wrap them around Bucky's, and you clutched onto Bucky tightly.

Steve's hand crept between you and Bucky and rubbed your overstimulated clit. It really didn't take long before you felt the orgasm consume you.

"I'm…"

"Cum for me." Bucky breathed against your skin, his stubble rough and sensual against your chest as he sucked on your tit.

You were thankful that your home was far off civilization, completely private, because the way you shouted, you bet people would have surely freaked the fuck out.

"Holy Shit!" Bucky's hips stuttered, and soon he was filling you up, moaning loudly in that deep voice that made your pussy flutter.

~

"I love you," Steve whispered reverently, and you hummed blissfully, unable to form any words in response after those body-shattering orgasms. You fell into a dreamless void almost immediately, ears ringing as your body trembled in the aftermath of pleasure. You had no idea how long you slept.

"Come on, doll, gotta clean you up." You were barely aware of the events that followed, only remembering being carried to the guest bedroom vividly.

"Gotta change the sheets, doll. Sleep here," Steve said as he gently adjusted you on the queen mattress. Steve and Bucky's muffled voices sifted through your foggy mind.

"You're a fucking idiot, Stevie. I love you," you heard Bucky laugh, and you chuckled, mentally agreeing with him, though you weren't entirely sure what they were talking about.

Steve scoffed playfully, muttering something at Bucky that only made him laugh harder. Then, Steve tucked you in with a warm blanket, placing a tender kiss on your cheek.

"Get going, Buck. You promised to finish up with the laundry. I'll make dinner," Steve said.

"I'll help, too," you mumbled into the pillow.

Steve chuckled, peppering your neck with kisses that made you squirm from the sensation. "You're going to sleep and get all the rest. Understood?" he declared.

"Yes, Captain Rogers," you breathed, relaxing as your weight sank into the mattress. Steve's kiss lingered on your cheek long after, and you heard the floorboards creak as he shuffled away. The door groaned softly when he stepped into the living room.

God, one of you seriously needed to oil the door. The croaking was getting creepy.

Moments later, the bed dipped beside you. Bucky's warm fingers slid through your hair, massaging your scalp with slow, gentle strokes.

"Don't make me come in there, Bucky," Steve's voice carried from the living room, laced with warning.

Bucky chuckled against your neck. "He's such a prick sometimes," he groaned, his breath warm against your skin.

"I heard that," Steve's voice was much closer now. You chuckled sleepily.

"Steve tore your favorite bra," Bucky stage-whispered.

"Huh?" you mumbled, confused. You weren't wearing a bra, though. You blinked your eyes open, only to see Bucky being dragged out of the room.

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[auren-zagarra]

I don't know if it would be possible considering how limited info wise we have of Malleus even after book 7 ending, but would it be possible to get an analysis of him?

Malleus Draconia: A Psychological Analysis

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Malleus Draconia, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation.

Malleus Draconia is portrayed as powerful yet profoundly isolated. In canon, his aura and regal demeanor naturally intimidate others, so he seldom forms friendships beyond his guardian Lilia and a few like Silver and Sebek. In Book 7, Malleus' story reaches a breaking point: driven by intense anxiety about losing Lilia, he unleashes his signature magic to put the entire island into an enchanted slumber. He even proclaims a “wonderful future” in dreams - “Give in to slumber, and a thousand years will pass… you’ll become the protagonists of your own fairy tales” – rather than face reality. 

Personality

Malleus presents a study in contrasts. Outwardly he is aloof, reserved, and intensely formal. Descriptions emphasize that he speaks quietly and “doesn’t get too friendly,” even when conversing. His powerful, intimidating aura naturally pushes others away and most students avoid him, and even those who admire him (like Silver or Sebek) find it hard to approach. This suggests low extraversion and high conscientiousness: he is dutiful and poised, but he keeps an emotional distance.

Yet Malleus also has a naive, almost childlike side due to his sheltered upbringing. He grew up isolated in Briar Valley and was only recently exposed to technology and the outside world. As a result he often seems curious and earnest - even amazed by simple modern inventions - and can display genuine warmth once at ease. In short, Malleus embodies both a dignified presence and an innocent curiosity. Despite his fearsome reputation, he is shown to be kind and compassionate, with a strong sense of justice and a protective instinct for those he loves. Psychologically, his traits suggest high conscientiousness and openness (curiosity about new things) but also high neuroticism (anxiety about loss). In Erikson’s terms, Malleus appears to have a well-formed sense of identity and duty, but his extreme isolation implies difficulty with intimacy due isolation - since he struggles to form close bonds.

Coping Mechanism

Malleus copes with stress and loneliness through control, avoidance and fantasy. A telling example is his relationship with his virtual pet “Roaring Drago”: he repeatedly hatches and raises the pet to avoid accepting its limited lifespan. This repetitive behavior - a kind of perseveration on a beloved object - suggests denial of loss. More dramatically, when overwhelmed by Lilia’s declining health, Malleus resorts to his greatest power: he conjures a magical dreamscape to escape reality. He tries to solve his emotional crisis by controlling the world - rather than process grief or fear, he offers everyone a painless future in their dreams.

This reliance on magical or fantasized solutions is akin to Freud’s concept of denial and magical thinking. Malleus literally denies death and change by entering everyone into enchanted sleep. He tells his friends not to be “afraid” but to become “protagonists of your own fairy tales”, effectively encouraging them to live in a childlike fantasy rather than face real loss. In cognitive terms, this is a form of avoidance coping: instead of confronting painful emotions, he displaces the problem into an alternate reality. Bowlby’s Attachment Theory helps explain this: Malleus' anxious attachment (especially to Lilia) makes separation intolerable, so his coping is to fix the situation by force. In effect he behaves like a frightened child himself, using omnipotent-savior tactics. As the lore notes, this protective streak can be maladaptive: it drives him to extremes like the Book 7 slumber spell.

A Lonely Dragon

Malleus' life has been defined by solitude. From birth he knew little besides the company of Lilia. In fact, Lilia spent centuries chanting lullabies and telling him stories as he grew inside his egg. When he finally hatched, that support abruptly ended: “after hatching, Malleus was separated from Lilia, his only source of companionship”. His grandmother and tutors provided etiquette but no warm family environment.

Part of Malleus' loneliness stems from being rejected by others. His immense power and dragon heritage make him seem like a monster to classmates. This persistent social rejection - being feared or even hated - has become a self-fulfilling pattern. He expects that if he reaches out, people will flee, so he keeps distance. This is evident when even friendly students like Silver attempt to befriend him and still “fail to get closer”.

The long-term effect of this isolation is clear in the story. Malleus enjoys being alone, but the wiki explicitly notes he “shows signs of loneliness and a desire to connect”. He is socially inexperienced (often awkward with small children, for example) and emotionally inexperienced. Psychologically, extended solitude hindered his social development: he often acts more innocent or childish than his peers. According to Erik Erikson (I hate his name), lacking close relationships can stall a young adult in the Intimacy vs. Isolation stage; Malleus' narrative indeed portrays him as chronically alone despite craving connection. Bowlby would say that without consistent, responsive caregivers, he likely developed anxious attachment and a fear that others will inevitably leave. In practice, his long-time solitude has made him unusually self-reliant in some ways, but deeply vulnerable in others.

Repeated rejection likely fueled his defensive personality. Freud might interpret his regal aloofness as reaction formation - presenting a proud front opposite to any inner insecurity. Bowlby’s theory again applies: early experiences (his kingdom’s attack, being left in an egg) may have instilled a belief that relationships are unsafe. Psychologists might liken him to having an avoidant attachment style - he avoids intimacy to preempt the pain of being hurt. Over time, Malleus internalizes the stigma of being a “monster,” which may lower his self-esteem or drive perfectionistic safeguards. In short, being routinely shunned or feared has taught him to rely on himself, to the point that he nearly welcomes isolation as protection.

Sleep Well

In Book 7’s climax, Malleus casts a magic field of sleeping thorn vines, across Sage’s Island. Once the spell takes hold, every living creature falls asleep (except Malleus himself). He announces there is no need to be afraid, insisting that eternal slumber will grant everyone their heart’s desires. 

Psychologically, this mass-slumber is a dramatic case of denial and fantasy. Rather than face death or separation, Malleus creates a dreamscape where time (and pain) stops. He frames it as benevolent, invoking the bedtime stories Lilia told him as a child. In Freudian terms, he is using a childlike magical solution to an adult reality problem, a form of wish-fulfillment. From Erikson’s perspective on death and integrity, he refuses the natural cycle, trying to preserve a perfect world. Attachment theory would suggest this is a “protest” behavior in the extreme: instead of letting go, he forcibly tries to fix the situation for everyone.

This coping move also hints at possible delusional thinking: he genuinely believes the eternal-dream plan is a “wonderful future”. The narrative notes his fear, yet he willingly condemns everyone to an indefinite sleep to cope. In sum, by putting others to sleep, Malleus attempts to erase painful reality, illustrating the tragic extremes of his grief and denial.

Possible Diagnosis

His extreme anxiety over attachment suggests traits of a dependent or anxious attachment pattern. For example, his frantic declaration “Not losing you!” indicates panic at abandonment, reminiscent of Dependent Personality features (excessive need to be cared for, fears of separation). His tamagotchi behavior (refusing to let his virtual pet die) also shows compulsive attachment.

The Book 7 episode itself resembles an acute stress reaction or brief psychotic/mania-like episode. Casting a city-wide sleep charm and calmly rationalizing it could be viewed as a delusional coping mechanism. In DSM-5 terms, this might fall under an Adjustment Disorder with mixed disturbance of emotions and conduct (triggered by a known stressor, Lilia’s health). Some might even compare it to Borderline Personality (intense fear of abandonment, idealizing others, drastic emotional swings), though Malleus lacks the typical impulse behavior and identity disturbances of BPD.

Alternatively, one could see elements of trauma-related illness: he endured early-life trauma and this late crisis appears to be a pathological grief reaction. Malleus’ pattern - severe anxiety about loss, followed by an irrational, all-or-nothing solution - suggests an acute grief reaction or even acute stress disorder rather than a stable personality disorder. In any case, the DSM-5 would note his difficulty adjusting to the stress of possibly losing Lilia, manifested in extreme fantasy and avoidance (sleeping everyone). 

Autism?

Yes, it's possible to interpret Malleus as having traits consistent with autism spectrum disorder. That said, there are several behaviors and characteristics that align with known clinical features of ASD, especially in Level 1 presentations.

- Social Communication Differences

Difficulty forming peer relationships: Malleus is canonically described as being feared, avoided, or misunderstood by peers. Even though he wants to connect, few people approach him, and he often doesn’t know how to initiate or maintain typical peer interactions.

Unusual speech or tone: He uses formal, archaic speech that differs from his peers. While some of this is cultural (he’s royalty), it also makes him seem socially “out of sync.”

Struggles with understanding social nuance: Malleus sometimes misinterprets modern slang or jokes and needs others to explain things to him (e.g., technology or social situations). This could indicate challenges with pragmatic language or social inferences, a core trait of ASD.

- Restricted and Repetitive Behaviors or Interests

Special interests: Malleus is deeply interested in gargoyles, and he can talk about them in great detail. The way he focuses on this niche interest is consistent with the "circumscribed interests" often seen in autism.

Routine-oriented behavior: His repetitive habit of raising the same virtual pet (Roaring Drago) again and again could be seen as comforting repetition and difficulty with change or loss.

Literal thinking: He sometimes takes statements or metaphors literally, a trait common in autistic individuals who may struggle with abstract or figurative language.

- However, it’s important to note:

Malleus’s behavior may be explained entirely by his status: he’s royalty, raised in isolation, and feared due to magical power. His social awkwardness and speech may be cultural rather than neurological. 

His symptoms could also be interpreted as trauma responses and a lack of proper socialization. Yes, Chapter 7 could be seen as a meltdown, but it might just as well be his repressed emotions finally surfacing.