Work Text:
You hate eye contact.
Sure, you understand that it's the social norm but it doesnt make it any less uncomfortable. Looking into someone's eyes – and them looking into yours – feels like they're trying to peer inside you. Trying to read your thoughts and analyse every single micro-expression on your face. It makes you hyper-aware of how you're positioning your hands or the tone of your voice.
Is your posture straight? Does your voice sound monotone? How long do you need to hold eye contact for? Do you look away from time to time? Should you put your hands in your pockets or by your side? Oh my god, you've been fidgeting with your shirt the whole time.
How embarrassing.
Every social interaction feels like a humiliation ritual just because you don't know how to act and eye contact feels like torture. What, are you 12? By this age you should've learnt proper social etiquette.
At least some of your friends don't mind. They understand that you're a little different. Just because you're not always looking at them doesn't mean you're not fully engaged in a conversation.
Wesker doesn't tolerate it, though.
"Eyes up here," he'd say.
Holding a conversation with him was the worst. Not only is he tall and imposing, but he's intimidating simply by the way he carries himself. His posture, his sharp features, his speech. Anybody who took a glance at him knew he meant business.
And those fucking glasses.
You'd think holding eye contact with him would be easier if you couldn't actually see his eyes. This couldn't be further from the truth. Staring into those glasses feels like falling into a void. You're aware his eyes are scrutinising you from behind the lenses, and you wouldn't be able to tell. You aren't able to pick a point on his face to look at when speaking to him. The most frustrating part is you can tell he's aware of your struggle. Maybe he even takes some glee in it.
Wesker doesn't allow you to avert your gaze anyway.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," he would say.
God, he was so condescending about it too. Chastising you as if you were a child. Correcting your posture and commenting on how animated your hands become when you have to hold eye contact for more than five seconds. How humilating. You really can't help it, it's something you do subconsciously. It was a way for you to self-regulate.
"Don't look away, dear heart."
The hardest times are when his fingers are buried deep in your cunt. When his fingers curl and rub against that spot inside of you that makes you go weak in the knees. When his thumb rubs tight circles around your clit. When you're panting and your face feels hot.
No, he won't let you look away.
The moment you do his other hand grabs your face so he can turn it back towards him. It's because he wants to see every little expression of yours as he takes you apart on his fingers. He tells you as much. The way your mouth falls upon, the furrow of your brow, your half-lidded eyes fighting to stay open because he told you to.
No matter how much you whimper and whine, he doesn't let your eyes leave his gaze. And all you see is the reflection of your wrecked face in his glasses. Any more attempts to turn your head away only makes him snicker. Any time you plea and beg he shushes and coos at you.
He loves to whisper sweet nothings into your ear and feel your face grow hot in his hand. Praises and compliments you when you do what he says.
"Doing so good for me. Taking my fingers so well," he'd mutter. "Keep looking."
The most exciting part for him is when you come. Oh, how he loves watching you struggle to keep your eyes open. Those moments when it feels so good your eyes start to roll back, he lives for it. He'd make you come again and again just so he could see it.
"You looked away that time, we'll go again."
And then his fingers are curling inside you again, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit. Even when you twitch and buck away he doesn't slow down. He won't stop until he's broken this bad habit of yours.
Even then, you despise eye contact. It was so humiliating.