#phmdrabs

maybe you're making him tell you about his astrophage research in the middle, questioning all his conclusions so he has to defend them while actively falling apart. he's letting out some grunts here and there, but he's determined to give you the right answers. then, once you suddenly stop, he has to force his eyes open and thinks he got something wrong. he tries to remember what he just said, but gets distracted very quickly by the sudden writing right below his nipple.

first it's entirely clothed. not very sexual, but also not completely devoid of it. he's laying in bed, and you tie the thin knots around his limbs in the most comfortable position he can hold. they're all connected to one; if you undo that, the rest will pull apart with just a tug. his hands are on his chest, and he tests out words like stop and wait while you're trying him up to know he's safe, to know that his decisions will matter and be respected.

he thinks he feels some vague arousal, but it's far overshadowed by the safety. you sit next to him and help him breathe, stroking his hair calmly, until he asks to be let go after about half an hour. he sinks into the bed when he's free, heart still hammering in his chest, but he knows he's okay now.

next he lets you control the position. it's still comfortable, of course, but his hands aren't protecting his chest anymore. he asks for more breaks now, but lasts longer in the end. you're still next to him and talking him through it, saying how he's so brave, telling him to breathe with you like he remembers telling his students to tens of times.

it slowly turns into more. knots that take longer to undo, tighter ropes, more unnatural positions, to you sitting somewhere in front of him, back to him, and making him directly talk about and ask for things he might want or need. sometimes he'll stay there for an hour or two, sometimes twenty minutes. you praise him all the same.

eventually you've got him on his stomach, hands behind his back, mostly naked. his glasses are safely tucked away and his head is laying on a soft pillow. it's slow. you ask him where you're allowed to touch him, what you can do to him, and force out his desires with sweet words and reassurances.

also. praising him till he falls apart. hes wayyy too under confident like omg dude have some self worth. make friends PEOPLE LIKE U. calling him pretty and sweet and good and cute and good again till he can't shake his head anymore cause he's busy sniffling and getting his pretty tears wiped. rocky having u both test it out on him during the day and listening to ry's bodily reactions like heartbeat and blood flow :) until he's like ok fuck now we HAVE to get this scientist who makes disgusting but intriguing noises into bed

i'd reallyy just like to spank him till he cries. maybe even with a ruler or his own belt. making him hold his head up and count each one, then asking if he's ready to apologize, and he'll say he's got nothing to apologize for so, alright, we'll keep going until he says sorry and really means it.

eva stratt x gn! reader

summary ; ms. stratt always gets her way.

cws ; collars & petplay

PLS let this minific be my apology before the full eva fic !!!! i got carried away w/writing all of the before the smut parts.... a full ver of this fic may exist, too, if i feel like writing allat.. which i do want to do !!

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you're in a bit of a strange position, honestly.

well, less strange and more just embarrassing. but it doesn't matter; the director gets what she wants. if it is you, kneeling with your hands behind you that she wants, then that is the position you will take. with grace and poise, you sit at her feet awaiting further instructions.

the director, strict as ever, sits on her bed while eyeing your posture. as always, she finds no faults. you are obedient to your very core, after all. it's her favourite quality of yours. always ready to please her, no matter in what way.

if she is a maestro, then you are her violin's strings, which she bends and strokes perfectly to create the melody she's looking for.

her voice is the only bow she needs to play you.

“neck.” she commands.

you lift your head to let her hands creep around your throat, and sit up on your knees. she slowly wraps a collar around your neck and clicks it closed. the leash isn't forgotten; she links it to the collar and wraps the end around her hand once.

you sit back down. your hands clasp each other, half for insurance that they'll stay where she wants them and half to have something to grip in order to calm your breathing. you've been at this for a while, now, after all. you think of glancing at the clock, but forego it when the director beckons you closer.

like any good dog, you crawl right to your owner.

she pulls on the end of the leash, towards her lap.