Had to jump back on the chaos bus for a minute.

#batman#dc#bruce wayne#dick grayson#dc comics#tim drake#batfamily#batfam#dc fanart



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Had to jump back on the chaos bus for a minute.
Welcome to a guide to all basketball references around Buck's character so far written by the crazy color theory girlie who happens to be a former basketball player and might get too excited writing this!
Okay, first time we encounter a basketball in Buck's journey is actually in 301. The ball is there when Eddie drops Chris off but we do not get an angle of that table in 303, so it's unclear if it's still there.
But I can tell you it's no longer there the next time we see that table. And pretty much every other time we are in that area.
So the ball is only there for the beginning of Buck figuring out he loves Chris like a parent, not enough to create a pattern, BUT, it is the beginning of a major arc for Buck. So something to look out for.
The next time basketball comes up in relation to Buck doesn't really involve Buck. It is during 404 when Chim and Albert are discussing the Daniel secret and the way Buck is unaware of this big secret that shaped his whole life. In the episode he finds that out. So, look, another major event in Buck's life having basketball smacked in the middle.
Once is an instance, twice is a coincidence, so let's keep going.
you ever just sit there at 2am and think about how bucky barnes would absolutely wreck your entire existence if you gave him even half a chance?? like he’s not normal about you. at all. this man would treat your body like it’s his personal obsession, his favorite weapon, his religion.
picture it: you roll your eyes at him once and suddenly you’re pinned to the nearest surface, metal hand around your throat, flesh hand already tugging at your clothes like they’re nothing but wrapping paper keeping him from his prize. he’s muttering filth through clenched teeth, voice low and wrecked: “always mouthing off, doll. let’s see how smart you sound with my cock in you.” and then it’s over. you’re done for.
he doesn’t even pretend to be gentle. he’s mean about it. mean in the way that makes your stomach flip and your thighs clench before he even touches you properly. his grin’s sharp, his eyes gone dark, and all you can think is predator. the kind that doesn’t just hunt, but plays with his food before devouring it.
and the thing is? he’s not satisfied with just one way of ruining you. oh no. bucky’s versatile. he wants you sobbing on his fingers, drooling around his cock, shaking apart on his tongue, collapsing from overstimulation, begging for mercy you know he’ll never give. he’s a collector of your sounds, your broken little cries, the way your body spasms under him.
like imagine him shoving his fingers down your throat while pounding into you, groaning when you gag around them. “look at you, doll. all stuffed full. mouth and pussy both mine. fuckin’ made for me.” your mascara’s ruined, tears streaking your face, and he just keeps going, addicted to watching you choke on him while he ruts into you like he’s trying to break your spine.
and don’t even get me started on how he’d use his metal arm. pinning both your wrists above your head like it takes him no effort, cold vibranium pressed into your skin while he mutters, “fragile little thing. mine to break. mine to fix.” and you’re crying, straining, knowing there’s no way out, and he’s grinning because that’s exactly where he wants you—helpless and ruined beneath him.
he’s obsessed with keeping you messy. spit dripping down your chin when he fucks your mouth. cum leaking down your thighs after he finishes inside you. red marks blooming on your skin from his teeth and hands. you’re not allowed to look untouched. if you can pass a mirror without thinking god, i look like someone’s been at me for hours then he’s failed—and bucky barnes doesn’t fail.
oh, and the breeding thing? forget about it. the moment you so much as hint at wanting his baby, he’s gone. feral. he holds you down, hips grinding brutal, groaning into your ear about how he’s gonna fill you so deep it sticks. “gonna keep you like this, doll. always full. always mine. fuckin’ made to carry me.” every thrust’s a claim, every orgasm another attempt at branding you from the inside out.
he doesn’t stop at one round. not even close. he’ll edge you until you’re sobbing, overstim you until your body’s twitching, drag orgasm after orgasm out of you until your voice is gone. and when you beg him to stop, he just chuckles, kisses your jaw, and murmurs, “you can take it, sweetheart. my pretty little toy was built for this.”
he’s gross about it too. moaning into your cunt like he’s the one being worshiped, rutting against you when he eats you out because he can’t not. whispering “taste so good, can’t fuckin’ quit you” while refusing to let you close your thighs.
and the way he mocks you when you get cockdrunk?? the second you slur your words, eyes glassy, brain offline, he’s gone. grinning like the devil, voice all taunting: “what’s wrong, doll? can’t even remember your name with my cock in you? pathetic.” and you’re crying, clinging to him, because he’s right. you can’t.
he’s the kind of man who’d fuck you in public just to prove he can. dark alleys, bathroom stalls, coat closets at weddings—he’s got a hand up your skirt, his teeth in your neck, muttering, “quiet now, doll. unless you want everyone to know you’re mine.” and you’re trembling, torn between fear of getting caught and the high of being claimed so thoroughly.
bucky’s not just sex. he’s obsession. he’s possession. he’s addiction. he gets off on knowing you’re ruined for anyone else, on hearing you admit it with tears in your eyes. “say it, doll. tell me no one else can fuck you like this. tell me you’re mine.” and you do. every time.
aftercare? oh, he’s mean about that too. he doesn’t coddle. he doesn’t whisper sweet nothings. he smirks at the mess he’s made, presses a lazy kiss to your temple, and mutters, “look at you. wrecked. ruined. perfect. all mine.” and that’s it. that’s the softness. you belong to him, and he’ll remind you of it every single night until your body can’t take it anymore.
and the worst (best) part? you’d let him. every time.
I have no explanation for why I drew this other than I saw this Pokémon card while I was at work and it gave Pomni in the Jax suit vibes… so enjoy I guess lol
Dark, edgy, lacking any whimsy.
Here's my silly animation based on this marvellous tale written in an unhinged round of frantic fantic✨️
Big thank you to Olm, Cherry and Lav for blessing the world with this life changing story, and an extra huge thank you to Cherry for narrating🩷
Surfs up the long walk au....
number 47 cody and number 23 chicken joe i mean what
Man, I don’t think he eats them. I think ciel might be his only contractor too. Im close to thinking they might be married