i rewatched hellboy (2004) recently and was reminded of how much i love the guy, so you guys get nearly 2k worth of smut. yay! based on the prompt aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face and eyes from this list. enjoy!
MINORS DNI
a bright match, a heat wave (hellboy x gender neutral!reader, hellboy)
He catches you as you’re leaving the library - quite literally, in fact, scooping you into his arms so quickly you barely have time to react.
“Red!” You try for a stern tone, but there’s no disguising the exasperated fondness creeping in on the fringes of your voice. You cradle your bounty from the library against your chest and wish you had a hand free to poke at the demon’s chest - not the most effective method of attack against someone like Red, but at least it would get your disapproval across. “Don’t you think this is a bit of an overreaction? I can carry a few books.”
“And I can carry you,” Hellboy returns, lips quirked. He’s careful about not jostling your arm or the bulky cast it’s currently housed in, and whatever annoyance you might have felt at his coddling fizzles away. Ah well. The books were a little heavy.
It had only been a few days since you’d been more or less suspended from active duty, left to ride a desk until your arm healed, and already the boredom was setting in, leaving you feeling listless and more than a little stir-crazy.
You wouldn’t mind a little company. Wouldn’t mind Red’s company, in fact. Not that you’ll give him the satisfaction of confirming that thought aloud - it would go straight to the brash demon’s head, you knew.
He already seemed far too smug for your liking, no doubt enjoying the looks the other agents were sending the two of you before quickly dispersing from your path.
As he takes a swift left, the corridors quickly growing more deserted, you shoot him a knowing glance that does little to break his stride. “This isn’t the way to my room, Hellboy.”
Hellboy hums thoughtfully. “Isn’t it?”
You huff a laugh. “Red - “
“Alright, alright.” He shoots you a glance, though there’s little guilt to be found there even after getting caught in a ruse. “Your place is too cramped for me and somebody needs to keep an eye on you. The way I see it, I’m killin’ two birds with one stone.”
Your face warms. From anyone else, you’d take the words as a jab against your competence, but from Hellboy, you knew them for what they really were. Concern.
“And that somebody has to be you, I take it?” you tease him, only to be met by the slanted smirk you publicly bristle at but secretly love so much.
“Damn straight, sweetheart,” he gruffs, hefting you further into his arms. You hide your smile against his chest, and hold on for the ride.
*
The clock ticks over from 11:59 to midnight. You idly turn a page in your book, trying to focus on the next passage, but it’s a lost cause with Hellboy tucked between your legs, hands wrapped loosely around your thighs and squeezing in time with your breaths.
You glance up, and that’s when you see it - Hellboy watching you, his eyes - usually blazing with bravado or cocky surety - dark with concern. Worry, for you.
He had hovered over you all night, making certain that you didn’t lift a finger unless absolutely necessary, and lingering over your shoulder even then. You found it sweet, if a little overbearing, how dearly he seemed to need the reassurance that you were alright. You knew you would be in the same position - had been in the same position - if the demon were injured.
“Red,” you murmur, drawing those yellow eyes to yours. Your lips curl into a gentle smile, book forgotten on your chest. “It’s just a broken arm.”
“I know,” Hellboy assures you, though his attempt at nonchalance is ruined by the firming of his grip around your thighs. “Coulda been worse,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, but the expression on his face betrays how often the thought must have crossed his mind.
“Coulda been,” you agree, because you both know the risks involved in the work you do. You reach up to touch his jaw with your uninjured hand, fingertips grazing his skin. “Come here.”
It’s all the coaxing Hellboy needs, and your sigh as his chest settles against yours is a deep one. He’s careful not to crush you or touch your injured arm, just as you knew he’d be, and you smile. “See?” you tease gently, palm warm against his chiseled jaw. “All good. All in one piece.”
“Says you,” Hellboy grunts, slumping into your hold, tail twining around your calf. The grip around your thighs never falters, both his human and stone hand wrapped securely around you, alternating between squeezing your flesh and sinking rough, red fingertips into your skin. It soothes him, to have his hands full of you, to feel for himself the truth of your existence, the warm give of your skin, the soft catch of your breath. Soothes you, too.
“Don’t believe me?” You push lightly against his hold, letting him feel the heat of you, the firmness and pressure of warm, living flesh. Watching his eyes go dark and hearing the sharp breath that hisses through his teeth kicks your own pulse up a notch.
“You tryin’ to start something?” There’s a deliberate nonchalance to his voice, but it’s ruined by the way his fingers twitch against your thighs and his tail winds just a little tighter around your calf.
“It has been a while,” you tease him. A necessary evil, back when you’d first gotten injured, and certainly not helped by Red’s stubborn refusal to engage in any activity that might threaten your recovery.
Hellboy huffs, gently knocking your forehead with his. “Don’t want to hurt ya,” he admits, his tail squeezing at your thigh. He can’t quite meet your eye when he says it, not until you wrap your hand around his jaw and guide his gaze to yours.
He’s always been better at doing rather than saying, his brash attitude a smokescreen that he tends to hide behind when any sort of deep emotion comes into play.
Easier to hide behind cocksure remarks and pithy jokes when your heart’s on the line, you think fondly.
But there’s no denying the depth of his feelings here, not with that tender, aching expression on his face, the desire darkening his eyes to a smoky amber.
“We’ll go slow,” you tell him, and the smoke in his eyes sparks into a flame. You wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, feeling the chords flex as you pull him closer, sharing breath. “Yeah?”
Hellboy shudders, his chest hitching against yours, and pushes a hard kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breath huffs through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a short, sharp moment before they open again in search of yours. In the dim glow of his television screens, his gaze seems to burn. “Yeah.”
It’s easy, then, easy to allow Hellboy to press you down into the mattress, mouth hot against yours and heavy palms slipping beneath your shirt, easing it over your chest and free of your shoulders. Your sleep pants and underwear follow, until you’re left nude, legs shuffling restlessly along the mattress.
“You too,” you mumble, and Hellboy smirks as he reaches for the zip of his leather pants. You help him with what little coordination remains to you with only one working arm, and then you’re both finally, blessedly bare.
Hellboy’s cock stands at stiff attention, a bead of precome already wetting the tip and as scorchingly red as the rest of him. You curl eager fingers around the base and nearly weep at the familiar, heavy weight of him, dragging the circle of your fist up the length and spreading slick on your way back down.
“Fuck,” Red rumbles, yellow eyes burning. He ruts shallowly into your palm once, twice, three times before he forces his hips to still and gently tugs your hand away from his length, reaching for a pillow to tuck beneath your hips.
Your breath catches, knowing what’s coming, and before his head disappears between your thighs, you catch the cocky curl of Hellboy’s lips, knowing he heard your reaction and is relishing in it.
You’re glad Hellboy’s room is so far removed from the rest of the Bureau, if only because it’s impossible to muffle your moans as Hellboy works you open, first with his tongue, dragging achingly slow along your entrance, and then with lube-slick fingers, easing between your legs and pressing inside until you’re fit to bursting, burning, aching, and so full.
And then he’s tugging you up and into his arms, wrapping a heavy stone hand around your hip to help guide you onto his length. You hiss as the tip bumps against your entrance, leaking precome and burning hot, and then beginning the arduous task of easing inside.
Your gasp of pleasure coincides with Hellboy’s rumbling groan as you sink onto his cock, inch after inch disappearing within soft, snug heat. You’ll never grow used to the fullness, you think dazedly, or the ache, and you keen softly when Hellboy finally bottoms out, the length of his cock fully encased within you, his hands squeezing at your hips in time with the pulse of his heart.
“Red.” His name is little more than a moan on your tongue. You hook your good arm around his neck, the other tucked protectively between your chests, and press a desperate kiss to his jaw, his chin, his mouth. “Oh god, Red - “
“I know, I know.” His human hand cups the back of your head, his tongue swiping at the swell of your lips, kissing you deep. “I’ve gotcha, sweetheart. I’ve gotcha.”
His stone hand guides your hips, easing you up along the length of his cock before gently tugging you back down. You cry out at the drag of it, the heat of it, the girth of it, and dig your fingers into the corded length of his neck for purchase.
He keeps his thrusts slow, falling into an aching rhythm that is all at once too much and not enough. Your lips meet in almost lazy kisses, unhurried but deep, and the brash demon curses softly whenever you take it upon yourself to drag your teeth along his bottom lip.
His stone hand spans the length of your back, rough but gloriously warm whenever it strokes along your spine or wraps around the curve of your hip. You feel the flex of his thighs as he thrusts up into you, the thick muscle bunching and extending with each slow drag of his cock inside you.
You want him to cum in you. The thought hits you like a gut punch, driving the air from your lungs and making each kiss after a desperate, clawing thing.
“Inside,” you gasp, driving your hips harder into every thrust, the slick slap of skin against skin beginning to fill the room. Already your core is throbbing, your body creeping closer to the edge. You press your lips to Hellboy’s jaw and beg him to, “Cum inside me, Red - “
“Fuck!” It’s nearly a shout, and then Hellboy’s eyes are blazing, both of his hands wrapping around your hips and his thrusts becoming harder, faster.
You keen, the air filling with the slick sounds of your joining and the smell of sex, and soon after, the garbled cry of release, ripping first from your throat and then from the demon driving into you so fervently.
You slump against Hellboy’s chest in the aftermath, limbs useless and limp, your cheek smushed against his collarbone.
“You arm?” His voice is barely more than a rumble, and you tilt your head against his shoulder, a sweet and sated smile curling your lips.
“Perfect,” you tell him, your good arm curling around his waist in a gentle embrace. Even with your injury and the bulky cast you’re forced to wear, you finally feel whole again. “Everything is perfect.”
