Hi. I love your writing and cannot get enough. I saw this artwork a while ago (I cannot find it again for the life of me 🥲) but it was a man and woman on a motorcycle, he was wearing a helmet and she was using her lipstick to write ‘mine’ on the visor. I immediately thought of Bucky when I saw it. It could be a helmet, or maybe even his vibranium arm. I dunno. Maybe there’s an alley involved. Maybe this isn’t as hot as I imagined it being and I just think about Bucky too often 🫣😂
i think you think about bucky just enough
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The bike still trembles beneath him when he kills the engine—hot metal ticking, low growl fading into the city’s heartbeat.
You swing your leg off and stretch, the hem of your skirt riding up just enough to make him groan behind the tinted visor.
“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he says, voice muffled through the helmet, “and I’ll forget this was supposed to be a ride, not a crime scene.”
You smile over your shoulder, teasing, mouth still buzzing from the wind. “Who says it can’t be both?”
He dismounts, gloves squeaking as he pulls them off finger by finger, movements slow enough to drag heat right up your spine. The alley beside the bar is dark, half-lit by the orange halo of a streetlamp. A puddle reflects the neon sign—cracked letters spelling SINNERS.
He pushes the helmet up, keeping it on but unlatched, eyes gleaming through the half-lifted visor. That stupid smirk could start wars.
You step closer, heels echoing on wet pavement. “You know, I used to think the bike was your favorite toy,” you murmur, running a hand up the leather of his jacket. “But I’m starting to think it’s this thing.”
You tap a manicured finger against the side of his helmet.
He tilts his head, teasing. “This thing keeps me alive, doll.”
“So do I.”
That earns you a low laugh, the kind that vibrates right against your skin. His gloved hand catches your waist and pulls you flush against him. The air shifts—no longer teasing, just thick and electric.
“Yeah,” he says softly, eyes burning blue behind the visor. “You do.”
You reach into your bag. He raises a brow when you pull out a crimson lipstick.
“Don’t move.”
“Doll—”
“Don’t.”
You twist the tube slowly, the scent of vanilla blooming between you. He watches you swipe the color onto your lips—slow, deliberate, sinful. It’s the shade he bought you in Paris last year, the one he can’t look at without remembering you on your knees.
You smile and, before he can stop you, lean up on your toes and drag that same red across his visor. The squeak of pigment on plastic cuts through the silence. One letter. Then another.
M
I
N
E
He doesn’t breathe until you pull back.
The lipstick glows under the streetlight—crooked, messy, perfect.
“Now everyone knows,” you whisper, eyes flicking between his visor and his mouth, “exactly who you belong to.”
He exhales a shaky laugh, and when he lifts the visor the mark catches the air, splitting into two ghosted reflections of the word.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, metal fingers curling under your chin, “that’s dangerous.”
“So are you.”
“Not like you are.”
He pulls you into the shadow of the alley, crowding you against the brick wall. The night smells like rain and engine oil and the faint cherry scent of your lipstick. His mouth finds your throat first, hot breath trailing up to your jaw.
“You think paintin’ me in your color’s gonna keep people off me?” he whispers against your skin.
“No,” you sigh, nails scraping down his chest. “But it’ll make them think twice.”
He chuckles, the sound dark. “You wanna mark me up, doll? Shoulda just said so.”
You grin, fingers curling into the strap of his helmet. “Maybe I wanted to make it pretty.”
“Pretty?” He huffs a laugh, grabbing your hand and guiding it to his vibranium arm. “This piece of me ain’t exactly what people call pretty.”
But you trace your thumb along the seam of metal and flesh like it’s holy. “It’s mine, though.”
His composure fractures. He stares at you—really stares—like he’s seeing something he doesn’t think he deserves. Then, without warning, he drags your lipstick from your hand, twists it out, and scrawls a new word across one of the silver plates.
YOURS.
The crimson looks obscene against the dark alloy, a shock of warmth against cold perfection.
“Happy now?” he mutters, voice rough.
You nod, dizzy from it all. “Ecstatic.”
He drops the lipstick, lets it roll somewhere into the dark, and presses his forehead to yours.
“You make me crazy,” he admits. “You know that?”
“Mm. That’s why you love me.”
He kisses you then—hard, filthy, open-mouthed. His teeth catch your lower lip and smear the red between you. You taste metal and heat and his quiet, unspoken worship. The world outside the alley could burn and he wouldn’t stop.
When you finally pull back, breathless, you swipe your thumb over the corner of his mouth, painting him even more red. “You look better like this.”
He hums, eyes half-lidded. “Gonna ride back lookin’ like your masterpiece, huh?”
“That’s the point.”
He laughs, low and genuine this time, then steps aside and gestures toward the bike. “Get on, trouble.”
You swing your leg over and settle in front of him this time, your back against his chest. He slips the helmet back on—it still says MINE, a declaration glinting under the streetlight.
His metal arm circles your waist. “You realize people are gonna stare.”
“Good,” you say, turning your head just enough that your lips brush the edge of his jaw. “Let them see what devotion looks like.”
He groans again, starting the engine. The roar fills the alley, bouncing off brick and glass.
When he leans forward to whisper in your ear, his voice is all gravel. “You ever do that again in public, doll, and I’m takin’ you right where you stand.”
You smirk, glancing down at the red word smudged across his arm. “Promises, promises.”
The bike lurches forward, out of the alley and into the blur of lights, and the last thing you catch in the mirror is that bold red scrawl—MINE—streaked but still there, glowing like it was written in fire.
And maybe it was.
Because Bucky rides like a man marked by sin and salvation both, one gloved hand steady on the throttle, the other—a shining promise—resting possessively on your thigh.
Every red light, every flash of neon catches it: the evidence of you.
He can feel your smile through the wind when you glance back at him.
And when he gets you home, he’ll remind you just how true the word is.
fop4fop…… sitting in the lap of another and kissing each other silly…. Lipstick on his chin and smudged on his lips and across his nose and cheeks…… and we kiss for hours and grope each other and whatever.
hucklerobby drabble - thinking about Dennis in lipstick
nsfw under the cut
Dennis is late for work, he’s running around the house like a mad man trying to will his clothes to dry faster in the dryer. His lips are chapped, he can’t find his vaseline and thinks the skin of his lips is about to crack. It’s bordering on painful. Trinity is out of the house so he calls her to ask if she has a spare or anything he can borrow.
She tells him to look through her makeup bag in her room. He rummages around and grabs something like a chapstick and quickly applies some before running out of the house.
He makes it to the PTMC on time, barely, and slides into the locker room without anyone noticing his almost-tardiness. Everyone else is already on the floor, so he hasn’t said good morning to anyone yet.
It’s only when he makes it into the floor does he start to feel like he’s being watched. strange looks from patients aren’t uncommon but it feels like more than that. When he rounds the corner, lost in his thoughts, he bumps into Robby.
He stutters out an apology but is interrupted by Robby’s awe struck face. Eyebrows reaching his hairline, cheeks quickly reddening. Dennis isn’t sure what to do when Robby’s fingers reach up and like he’s about to touch his face. Dennis recoils on instinct and Robby seems to come back to himself.
“Trying something different?” Robby coughs out, rubbing his beard. Dennis tilts his head quizzically, looking at his outfit. The same old scrubs (until this pair gets ruined and he needs to grab a new pair), same raggedy sneakers… he wracks his brain for what it could be. He hasn’t even gotten a new haircut in god knows how long.
“What do you mean, sir?”
The honorific makes Robby flinch, eyes squeezing together as if it was painful to look at Dennis.
Robby’s eyes open, flicking down to Dennis’ lips. Dennis reaches up to touch them, bringing his fingers down to see bright red.
Oh. God.
In the dark of the early morning, in his rush to get out of the house, he had put on lipstick. Dark, cherry red lipstick. Instead of a sensible lip balm. Or ointment. No. He picked up a dangerous shade of red and slathered it on his lips before heading into the hospital for a day of work.
He wants the earth to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. His face heats up from the tips of his ears down to his chest. His vision gets blurry and there’s a blood rush in his ears. He looks up to Robby with wobbly lips and big, wet eyes.
Robby, sensing his embarrassment (and trying to keep himself together at the same time) puts a grounding hand on the kids shoulder, guiding him to the nearest one stall bathroom without letting anyone else see his face. Shielded by his broad shoulders the entire way.
Once the door is locked, Dennis takes a moment to breathe. He can’t look Robby in the eyes so he decides to look at himself in the mirror. It’s a hack job. The lipstick a little smudged in the corners from doing it in a rush (not that cares about how good it looks or not) The sight of himself shocks him a bit. Then he catches Robby’s eye in the mirror. His eyes are dark and unreadable. He watches Robby come up to him from behind. He spins around and watches Robby grab a paper towel and get it damp from the sink.
“Here,” he’s saying, lifting the towel to his lips and beginning to wipe off the offending makeup.
Dennis would’ve done it himself. His hands are still frozen mid air, they were on their way to grab the paper towel from Robby. But he lets Robby do this. He isn’t completely sure why.
They sit in silence. Only their breaths and the occcasinal rattle of a pipe through the walls.
He lets Robby hold his chin with two fingers to keep his face still. Robby is concentrating on his task, so Dennis allows himself the pleasure of looking at Robby. Really looking at him. At the crows feet in the corners of his eyes, the freckles that spot across his nose, his lips, his scratchy beard, his lips again.
And then Robby is stepping away. And he’s cold. He’s tossing the now stained paper towel away and Dennis looks at himself in the mirror again. His lips are chafed from the scrubbing of the scratchy hospital paper towel and there’s still a stain of red but - it’s better than whatever he had going on before.
“Thank you” Dennis’ voice is small and Robby doesn’t respond, just squeezes his shoulder and leaves him alone in the bathroom.
—
That night Robby, the dirty fuck he is, goes to the nearest corner store and buys the cheapest red lipstick he can find. He sets it on his bedside table. Maybe it’ll come in handy. Who knows.
He fists his cock fast and hard, picturing Dennis’ lipstick coated lips wrapped around him instead of his own hand.
He comes harder than he has in years.
He’s so fucked.
—
He’s fucked when, after a get-together at a bar near the hospital, Robby offers Dennis a ride home.
Dennis isn’t drunk. Maybe a little tipsy. His skin buzzes with anticipation when he gets into Robby’s car. But he justifies this. Robby is just being nice, making sure he’s safe. He would do this for anyone else.
But Robby isn’t in his right mind. Is he? Because he asks Dennis if he would like to go back to his place. For a friendly, not at all weird, nightcap with his boss.
Of course Dennis agrees. He’s giddy. He bounces his knee, watching Robby white knuckle the steering wheel and refuse to look at Dennis.
Robby can’t take his eyes off of Dennis’ lips the entire time they talk at his kitchen island. He imagines them covered in red. Smudged across his cheeks from kissing him. The feeling of it rubbing on his own lips. The ring of red that would appear around his cock.
Robby leans in before he can decide if this is a bad idea or not. Dennis takes it willingly. Eagerly. Robby has his hands on either side of Dennis, bracketing him against the countertop. He kisses him like he needs it more than air.
They part, Robby doesn’t let him go far. He rubs the pad of his thumb across Dennis’ spit slicked lips. He pushes further, putting pressure on his tongue. Dennis opens up beautifully.
“Bedroom?” Robby asks, Dennis can only around his finger. He adds another finger, holding his jaw open like a fish out of water.
They stumble to the bedroom, Dennis falls back onto the bed and Robby follows behind. They kiss languidly. Dennis’ hands find their way up Robby’s shirt, blunt nails scratching down his back.
Robby grinds down, their cocks rubbing together deliciously.
“Been thinkin about this, about you,” Robby whispers onto Dennis’ lips. Dennis can only moan in response, canting his hips up to meet Robby.
Clothes are torn off, they attach themselves to each other as quickly as they left. Mouths hot and open, licking into each other.
Robby drags Dennis into his lap, Dennis grinding their hips together and leaving Robby gasping for air.
“Can you do something for me? Will you be a good boy for me?” Robby asks. Dennis hums an approval against his lips.
Robby sits up, admiring how Dennis follows him up desperately.
He leans over to the nightstand shakily and grabs the lipstick. Will he do this for him? Dennis doesn’t notice, making him busy with pawing at Robby’s cock.
Robby puts the tube between them and Dennis turns as red as the lipstick.
“Will you put this on? Be a pretty boy for me?” Robby gives Dennis a sweet kiss, Dennis nodding against him.
He’s too horny to be embarrassed. And he has to. He wants to. The need to please Robby is overbearing.
He looks up at him through wet eyelashes, “Yeah. Yeah I want to be good for you.”
He applies it with shaky hands, and he worries he’s not doing it right, that he looks ridiculous. But Robby is there, caressing his thighs and whispering to him. How beautiful he looks, how good he’s being, how he can’t wait to have those lips wrapped around his cock.
When he’s finished, Robby throws the lipstick somewhere to be lost in the sheets. Robby touches his fingers to his lips lightly, smearing it into the corner of his lips. Dennis moans into it, trying in vain to get Robby’s fingers further into his mouth.
“Ah ah,” Robby tuts, “you have more important things to focus on.” and Dennis groans, eager to have any part of Robby in his mouth.
Robby flips them over, laying on his back with Dennis over him. Dennis leans down to kiss him sweetly, and Robby lets him, revels in it. They kiss watley and messily, and when Dennis sits up and sees the lipstick spread across Robby’s lips too, he keens.
Robby searches the sheets for the lipstick, bringing it to Dennis’ lips and applying it messily. Dennis whines against it, the dry sticky feeling mixing with the drool slipping past his lips. The stain barely sticks to his spit slicked lips.
Dennis leans down, kissing Robby’s chin, moving down his neck and biting lightly. He looks up each time, appreciating the red kiss marks that litter his skin. He kisses down Robby’s stomach, the juncture of his hip and his groin, the inside of his thigh. Robby sneaks a glance and has to squeeze his eyes shut, overcome by the visual evidence of Dennis marking him.
Dennis presses a chaste kiss to the tip of Robby’s cock, darkening it when the cherry stain. Robby groans almost painfully, so hard he feels like he might pass out. His cock twitches torturously as Dennis pumps him in his much smaller hands.
“Need you, baby. Please.” Robby has resorted to begging, those plump lips inviting and already addicting. He’s so fucked.
Dennis nods, nuzzling into Robby’s pubes and taking a large sniff before licking a long stripe up his shaft.
Dennis moans at the smell and the taste. It’s so very Robby. He’s all musk and woody, smokyness, sterile ethel alcohol and aftershave. Dennis wants to bottle it and spray it all over his pillows at home.
He pops the head of Robby’s cock into his mouth, watching Robby for a reaction, for validation. Robby’s hand comes down to Dennis’ head and pats it appreciatively, slight pressure to coax him further. Dennis obliges
He takes as much of Robby as he can, swallowing around him as Robby praises him from above.
“You take me so well, sweetheart.” And Dennis keens, feeding off of the praise. He humps Robby’s leg beneath him pitifully, cock dripping a ridiculous amount of precome.
Dennis lifts up, looking at the red ring he’s left around Robby. He whimpers, cock drooling at the sight. Robby sneaks a glance down and moans so loud Dennis is afraid he hurt him.
“Shit kid, you’re so beautiful.” Robby grabs Dennis by his cheeks and guides his mouth back onto his cock.
Dennis takes the rest of Robby in, swallowing around his cock and forcing the head to the back of his throat. Robby croaks out a moan, hands squeezing the sides of his head. Dennis takes a deep breath and lets Robby take control. He continues to grind against Robby’s leg like a puppy. Accepting the praise. Being a good boy.
His good boy.
“Fuck you’re so hot. You were built for this huh?” Robby asks, and Dennis can’t even begin to answer, tears forming in his eyes and balls tightening up painfully.
His moans vintage up Robby’s cock, and another sinful swallow around the head from Dennis sends him over the edge. He holds Dennis there and, like the good boy he is, Dennis stays put, swallowing everything Robby has to offer him.
He stays there, and if Robby were a little more coherent he would’ve felt Dennis finish on his leg as he felt his stomach fill with Robby’s spend.
Robby lifts him off of his cock carefully, cradling Dennis’ head in his hands. He drags the boy upward, kissing him on his ruined mouth. Red lipstick barely there anymore, spread across his lips and cheeks. They kiss, open mouthed. Robby tastes the wax of the lipstick and his own cum. They moan together and Dennis is boneless in his arms.
“So good for me. You’re perfect.” Robby gives him one last kiss to his forehead and Dennis slumps against his chest.
“Shower?” Robby asks, feeling sweaty and sticky. He’s sure Dennis feels the same.
Dennis grumbles something like an agremeent, so he lifts the boy up and the wobble to the bathroom.
He soaps Dennis up, washing his body and hair. He wipes at those red lips with a warm washcloth, cleaning him fully.
He places one last kiss to those chafed, used lips and Dennis leans into it.
Robby didn’t have it in him to remove the lipstick kisses from his own body. His cock twitched painfully.
When they fall into bed, and Dennis promptly falls asleep in his arms- he knows there’s no going back. No getting rid of him. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep the kid captive. Never let anyone else see him. He’s his. His pretty boy.
So Shawn had a major lipstick kink according to Sunny
I think (reportedly) Shawn had a lot of kinks and wasn't necessarily shy about bringing them up, even with strangers. I guess that's the "shoot your shot" mentality!
Bright red lips were such a part of fashion back then....I can definitely see him being into it. I think it's interesting more hasn't been said of Sunny, but maybe she does more damage to herself than anyone else could 🤷♀️
diego always liked the way the pigmentation of lipstick has the chance to somewhat "stain" your skin and face, specially one with a red tone.
the first time he notices it, it's when he's a kid, and grace kisses his cheek after a mission. he sees the colour of the lipstick and doesn't bothers to get it off, as he saw it as a "trace of affection".
being someone that didn't really recieved much parental and/or fratenal affection, he keeps it for somedays, until the time that reginald notices it, and demands him to clean his face.
klaus, even as a kid, always liked makeup. sometimes, when reginald was distracted, in his office or even did not bother to pay too much attention, he would ask grace to her do his makeup.
it always didn't passed from a mascara here and there and a touch of reddish lipstick. but it was okay, as he always would kiss diego's cheeks, and diego would bother to get soft with him.
the years pass by, and klaus didn't forgot about it. so, everytime he did makeup, he would kiss diego's in every trace of his face; forehead, nose, cheeks, and finally, lips.
diego never washed the lipstick traces after it. never.
