Hc preferences on RE boys go to sex positions?
NSFW HC Preferences: Resident Evil Boys x Their Favorite Sex Position
P.S I wrote Glenn like ass so watch out 😭😭😭😭
⚠️WARNING: NSFW asf, as you may know⚠️
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Favorite Sex Position: Missionary
“Stay with me… just like this. I’ve got you.”
He keeps his weight balanced on forearms to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with every slow thrust.
Eye contact is non-negotiable; he needs to see every flicker of pleasure in your gaze.
One hand eventually drifts to lace fingers with yours, pinning it gently beside your head.
Hips roll in deliberate, unhurried waves; like he’s savoring a secret only the two of you share.
He’ll pause mid-motion just to kiss your forehead, nose, then lips, whispering your name like a prayer.
Legs hooked over his hips give him deeper access, but he still keeps the pace tender.
Sweat beads at his hairline; he lets it drip onto your collarbone before licking it away.
When you arch, he mirrors the curve, chest flush to yours, heartbeat syncing.
The room fills with soft gasps and the rustle of sheets; no rush, no chaos, just you.
After you come, he stays inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in until the world rights itself.
Favorite Sex Position: Mating Press
“Take every drop, sweetheart. Gonna breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”
He folds you in half with zero hesitation, knees pinned beside your ears, ankles locked behind his shoulders.
Every downward slam rattles the headboard; the bedframe protests like it’s begging for mercy.
His massive frame cages you, biceps flexing as he holds your thighs spread wide.
Growls vibrate against your throat; raw, animal, promising to fill you until you overflow.
One hand splays over your lower belly, feeling himself bulge inside with each brutal thrust.
He watches your face for the moment you break, pupils blown, mouth slack.
Sweat slicks both of you; he licks a stripe up your neck, tasting salt and need.
When you clench, he snarls and doubles his pace, hips pistoning like a machine.
He doesn’t pull out; stays buried, grinding deep, flooding you with heat.
Only when you’re trembling and leaking does he ease your legs down, kissing the ache away.
Favorite Sex Position: Doggystyle
“Look at you; bent and begging. Exactly where you belong.”
He fists your hair, arching your spine into a perfect bow before sliding in to the hilt.
One gloved hand clamps your hip; the leather bites deliciously into skin.
Thrusts are surgical; precise, punishing, angled to hit that spot that whites out your vision.
He leans over, breath hot against your ear, voice a low rasp of superiority.
The mirror across the room is deliberate; he wants you to watch yourself unravel.
Every slap of skin echoes like a claim; mine, mine, mine.
He’ll pause to trace your spine with cool fingertips, then snap his hips hard enough to jolt you forward.
When you push back, he chuckles darkly and yanks you flush against his chest.
Release is controlled; he spills inside with a hiss, holding you impaled until he’s satisfied.
Only then does he release your hair, smoothing it down like nothing happened.
Favorite Sex Position: Spooning
“Shh, I’ve got you, querida. Not letting go; never letting go.”
He molds himself to your back, chest to spine, one arm banded under your breasts.
His cock slips in slow, inch by inch, until your ass nestles against his hips.
Fingers lace with yours over your stomach, guiding your hand lower to feel where you’re joined.
Hips rock in lazy circles, grinding deep, keeping you full without overwhelming.
His beard scrapes your shoulder as he mouths lazy kisses along your nape.
When you shiver, he pulls the blanket higher, cocooning you both in warmth.
Every thrust is accompanied by a soft grunt, muffled against your hair.
He’ll reach around to circle your clit in time with his rhythm, coaxing quiet gasps.
Climax builds like a tide; gentle, then crashing; he holds you through every pulse.
After, he stays inside, peppering your shoulder with kisses, whispering sweet nothings in Portuguese.
Favorite Sex Position: Lotus
“God, I can feel your heart. Don’t ever stop looking at me like that.”
He sits cross-legged, guiding you into his lap until you’re chest-to-chest, legs wrapped around his waist.
Hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he sinks in slow.
Rocking is minimal; just enough friction to spark, not burn.
Foreheads touch; breath mingles; every exhale is shared.
His fingers trace the notches of your spine like he’s memorizing you.
When you roll your hips, he groans softly, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.
He’ll pause to kiss you deep and slow, tongue stroking yours in time with the grind.
Your hands roam his scars; he shivers, pressing closer, deeper.
Release is a quiet quake; bodies trembling in unison, clinging tight.
He doesn’t move after, just holds you, heartbeat thundering against your own.
Favorite Sex Position: Piledriver
“Fuckin’ acrobatics, huh? Bet no one’s ever had you like this.”
He flips you onto your shoulders, ass in the air, ankles by your ears like it’s nothing.
Standing above, he lines up and drives down; his own athleticism doing half the work.
The angle is obscene; he watches himself disappear into you with a smirk.
One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you folded.
Each thrust punches the air from your lungs; the slap of skin is loud and wet.
He’ll spit on where you’re joined, thumb spreading it, grinning at your whine.
When you claw at the sheets, he laughs breathlessly and angles sharper.
Sweat drips from his brow onto your stomach, mixing with your own.
He times his release with yours; pulling out only to paint your thighs, marking territory.
After, he eases your legs down, massaging the stretch, stealing lazy kisses.
Favorite Sex Position: Full Nelson
“Squirm all ya fuckin' want, doll. You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’m done.”
He hauls you up by the thighs, locking your legs back in a V with his forearms.
Your back arches against his chest; his fingers interlace behind your neck, trapping you.
He lowers you onto his cock in one brutal drop; gravity impaling you.
Every bounce is controlled by his grip; you’re weightless, helpless, his.
His breath is hot against your ear, growling filth with each upward thrust.
The stretch in your hamstrings burns; he soothes it with rough bites to your shoulder.
When you sob his name, he tightens the hold, pounding harder.
Your arms flail until he pins them too; total restraint.
He comes with a snarl, hips jerking, filling you while you dangle.
Only when you’re limp does he lower you, cradling your spent body against his.
Favorite Sex Position: Cowgirl
“That’s it, cariño. Ride me like you mean it.”
He lounges back, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes hooded as you straddle him.
Hands settle on your hips, guiding but never forcing; letting you set the pace.
Smoke curls around you both as you sink down, taking him to the root.
He exhales a plume toward the ceiling, smirking when you clench at the sight.
Thumbs trace circles over your hipbones, encouraging every bounce.
When you lean forward, he flicks ash aside to palm your breast, pinching lazily.
His hips buck up to meet you halfway, timing perfect, lazy precision.
He’ll blow smoke against your nipples, watching them pebble harder.
Release hits you first; he follows with a drawn-out groan, hands gripping your ass.
After, he stubs the cigarette, pulling you down for a smoky kiss.
Favorite Sex Position: Reverse Cowgirl
“Efficient. Keep moving, don’t stop until I say so.”
Because your back faces him and had your eyes closed (because he said so), his mask is off, yet sits rigid as you back onto his lap, facing away.
Gloved hands grip your waist, lifting and dropping you onto his length with mechanical force.
The angle lets him watch every inch disappear into you; clinical fascination.
He doesn’t speak, just grunts low when you grind back against him.
One hand snakes around to press two fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
Your reflection in the mirror is all he allows himself; cold, detached, hungry.
When you throw your head back, he yanks your hips flush, burying deeper.
His pace never falters; steady, relentless, like a machine built to ruin.
He comes silently, hips stuttering once before stilling, holding you down.
After, he lifts you off with impersonal care, mask already refastening.
Favorite Sex Position: Pronebone
“Fuckin’ take it. Gonna wreck this pretty little hole till you’re screamin’ my name.”
He shoves you face-down, yanking your hips up just enough to slide in.
Chest to your back, he blankets you; metal scent, sweat, and ozone.
One hand fists the sheets beside your head; the other grips your throat, not squeezing, just claiming.
Hips jackhammer, the slap of flesh deafening in the workshop.
He growls filth against your ear; feral, unhinged, promising to break you.
Sparks fly from his fingertips, static raising goosebumps along your spine.
When you push back, he snarls and pins your wrists above your head.
The angle drags his cock along your front wall with every thrust; relentless.
He comes with a roar, teeth sinking into your shoulder, flooding you hot and deep.
After, he collapses atop you, metal arm curling possessively around your waist.
Favorite Sex Position: Scissoring
“Heh, still in one piece? Good, let’s see what else these old bones can do.”
He twists his limbs into impossible angles, joints popping like old wood.
One leg hooks over yours, the other sliding between, lining you up flush.
Hips grind in experimental circles; testing friction, pressure, leverage.
His coat stays half-on, treasures clinking with every roll.
Fingers; too many knuckles, trace your clit like he’s appraising a gem.
He hums tunelessly, eyes gleaming behind the hood as you shudder.
The stretch is bizarre, intimate; he watches your face for every reaction.
When you gasp, he adjusts the angle, grinding harder, sliding as smoothly as possible, urious.
Release crashes through you both at odd intervals; his laugh rasping out.
After, he untangles slowly, joints creaking, offering a trinket from his pocket.
Favorite Sex Position: Countertop
“Time is money, darling. But for you? I’ll make an exception.”
He sweeps files aside with one arm, lifting you onto the desk in the same motion.
Your back hits cool mahogany; his belt clinks open, pants shoved down just enough.
Legs hooked over his forearms, he spreads you wide and drives in.
Papers crumple beneath you; a pen rolls off and shatters, neither of you care.
One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your throat, thumb over your pulse.
Thrusts are sharp, businesslike; efficient but no less devastating.
He watches your face like he’s memorizing weaknesses, lips curled in a smirk.
When you claw his shoulders, he leans in, teeth grazing your jaw.
He times his release to yours; pulling out to stripe your stomach, marking the deal.
After, he straightens your skirt, smooths his tie, already reaching for his phone.
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