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No preview for this one because no line is sfw lmao. Dimitri belongs to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump
Contains: smut smut smut, praise kink, gender realizations, Bigender oc
“So handsome.” Was all it took to push her over the edge. She gripped the sheets tightly, trembling in every limb as he fucked her through her orgasm.
“C-call me… call me a good–good–”
“A good boy?” Dimitri asked, fangs clear in the smile in his voice. He slammed his hips into her, keeping himself flush against her as he rolled his hips. “Oh you are a good boy. You are such a gooood fucking boy.”
He pulled a high, wavering moan from her, and as she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her noises, he was quick to pull her back by her hair and keep her from doing anything but.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She just let her mouth hang open as pleasure overtook every part of her body.
“Good boy.” Dimitri purred, and Aldercy trembled and tightened around him.
“Good boy.” He said, and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth.
“Good boy.” He growled, reaching forward to take her wrist and pin it behind her back.
Her moans muffled into the mattress, she let Dimitri guide her through the peak of her orgasm, down into each trembling aftershock beneath him.
“That’s it,” He said, slowing his hips as the tremors died down. “That what you needed?”
Aldercy nodded, melting into the mattress as soon as he pulled out. She could practically feel his smiling eyes watching her.
With a hand on his shoulder, he flipped her onto her back. He swung a leg over her, straddling her chest as she caught her breath. His hand found her jaw, and he watched her for permission.
She nodded, and his smile grew wider. He settled into place, his cock in his hand as his hand slipped into her hair.
“If you shoot me,” He said, his voice wavering, “There won’t be anyone left to patch you up.”
“Then we’ll both bleed out.”
Contains: Guns, Blood, Injuries
The doctor’s office was a faint orange glow of candlelight at the opposite end of town. Night had long since fallen, and without the heat of the sun against the sand it was unbearably cold. At least the cover of night was useful; Aldercy could barely keep herself upright as she limped through the town square, but at least she wasn’t attracting any attention to herself.
And if the wanted posters of her caravan plastered at the center of town were any indication, extra attention wasn’t something she could afford.
Aldercy pulled her poster off the wall and studied it beneath the light of the lantern hanging overhead. She had always been diligent about keeping her face covered, and her hair hidden beneath her hat--no matter how much Ray had insisted it wasn’t necessary--so the portrait was only a vague approximation of her likeness. Aside from the eyes and the description of her height, it barely looked anything like her.
But still, the eyes. If she covered the lower half of its face, then it was just her eyes peeking out from beneath the brim of her hat, and it did look like her. She crumpled up the paper and shoved it into the pocket of her vest beneath her poncho. She took her hat off, kept her gaze down, and continued onward.
The railing along the doctor’s porch steps was a godsend. Through the haze of darkness and her own blurring vision, She could see a name plate hanging beside the door, letters and words she couldn’t make out. She didn’t care, all she needed to know that the stranger behind the door was someone willing to help her. She let one hand fall heavy onto the door handle and prayed it was unlocked. The door swung open as she leaned into it, and she was only barely able to catch herself as she crashed into warm air and candlelight.
Staring at the floor as she struggled to keep herself upright, she was only partially aware of the man who had jumped to his feet the moment she’d stumbled in. All she could hear was a dizzy, swimming mess of noises: a chair clattering to the floor, the distant, frantic words of someone only a few inches away, a rushed apology as their hand fell on her stomach and she gasped at the pain that bloomed from the fresh wound beneath her clothes.
“Ma’am, please I’m trying to help you, you need to--” The stranger’s rambling faded into her consciousness, and she realized she was fighting against him as he tried to guide her further inside. She shook her head and tried to motion him away with a vague wave of her hand, and for a moment he compiled. He released her, only for her to nearly crumble to the floor without his support. Steady arms slipped around her middle once again, and this time she cooperated as he led her to a chair at the opposite end of the room.
He sat her down as gently as he could, but she dropped herself heavily into the seat as soon as she could. Frantic, steady hands pushed her poncho aside; blood soaked through the ripped fabric of her shirt underneath. He winced in sympathy, and his touch lingered along the edge of the wound.
“Okay, this doesn’t look good, but it’s not a death sentence.” He assured her, “You’re in good hands, My name is Dr. Marshall Lewis. I studied medicine with--”
Pain shot through Aldercy’s core as he prodded at the wound, and she interrupted him, knocking his hands away. “I don’t care what your fucking name is!” She said, “Can you help me or not?”
His attention snapped up to her as she spoke, and almost immediately there was a spark of something in his eyes: recognition, probably, but definitely fear. She could see him sizing her up, connecting the dots, weighing his options. She thought back to the wanted poster that’d been hanging in the town square, to the eyes beneath the brim of her hat that’d been the only accurate part of her likeness. She stared right back at the doctor with a tired, resolute glare.
“Right, right, of course.” He nodded, raising himself quickly off the floor and walking to his desk on the other side of the room. He set a bag of medical supplies on the table, an opaque bottle of what she could only assume to be alcohol, and then he hesitated. One hand hovered over his doctor’s bag, and the other reached slowly, subtly beneath his desk.
She whipped her gun from the holster on her hip and took aim. “That’s far enough.” She said, clutching her stomach with her free hand as she stared him down. Marshall froze. Silence hung in the air.
“If you shoot me,” He said, his voice wavering, “There won’t be anyone left to patch you up.”
“Then we’ll both bleed out.”
He didn’t respond. He stared down at his hands, still hovering over his medical supplies and some unseen something beneath his desk.
Aldercy held her aim steady with a terrifying certainty.
“Put your hands up, and come here.”
Slowly, Marshall raised his hands above his head. He swallowed hard, and stayed at his desk, staring down at his supplies.
“I said come here.” Aldercy repeated.
Marshall flinched at the bite in her voice, and his breath shook as he opened his mouth to respond:
“I-- I need to pick up the bag if I’m going to treat you.”
“Then pick up the fucking bag,” She shouted, “Keep your hands where I can see them, and come. here.”
Marshall quickly snatched the bag from his desk, gathering his other supplies into his arms as he made his way to her again. He kneeled at her side, and she lifted the fabric of her shirt without being asked. Once again he winced at the sight of the wound. He took a clean cloth from his medical supplies and pressed it firm against her stomach.
“Can you tell me how this happened?”
“I can.” She answered, “I’m not going to.”
“I’m not trying to get you to confess to anything. I just--” He shook his head and pulled the rag away, there was a fair amount of blood soaking the fabric from what she could see, but he didn’t seem worried. “If I know how it happened, I can know how you need to be treated.”
She huffed and dropped her head back to look at the ceiling, dizzy at the sight of her own blood, and frustrated at his constant talking. This is exactly the reason she didn’t want to go to a doctor. Too rigid. Too many questions. She sighed and looked back down at him.
“I got grazed by a bullet and I fell off my horse.”
“You fell off your horse?” He looked affronted, as if she should have led with that instead of the gaping wound across her stomach. “Ma’am if you fell off your horse you could be badly hurt. Did you hit your head? Do you feel dizzy? Faint? How fast were you--”
He looked up to her as he spoke, and froze when he still found himself staring down the barrel of her gun. His face fell, and all at once she could tell he had all at once been reminded of the dire situation he was in. He looked back down to the rag pressed against her stomach, suddenly silent again. She didn’t have time to feel guilty, she just needed him to cooperate.
She could see the way his hands trembled when he finally pulled them away, and the way he hesitated as he shakily poured the contents of the bottle into another clean rag.
Marshall placed the soaked fabric against her skin and she hissed in pain. The barrel of her gun pushed hard against his temple out of reflex, and as she felt him start to violently finch away, she snapped her free hand around his wrist and held him in place. Marshall sat, gun to his head and unable to pull back as Aldercy forced his hand firm against her stomach.
Aldercy kept her eyes closed, kept her hand tight around his wrist. She could hear his shaking breath, and she could feel the way he occasionally tried to pull his hand away. Eventually he broke the silence with a quiet, whispered, “Miss...”
“Shut up.” She interrupted, ‘I’ll let you go in a second, just let me get used to this.”
“No, I need you to put the gun away.”
Aldercy gave one short, cruel laugh.
“Please, I’m serious.” Marshall insisted, “If you’re reacting like this just from me cleaning it. I don’t trust you not to accidentally pull the trigger when I have to give you stitches. My hands are already shaking. This would hurt even if they weren’t, and...” He stopped, reeling himself in for a moment. “I need you to put the gun away. I can’t do this.”
Aldercy looked down at him. He was shaking, refusing to meet her eyes. He was terrified, and from the looks of things he wasn’t in any state to try anything. If worse came to worst, she could probably take him in a fight.
She pulled his wrist closer to pull herself forward; the barrel of her gun pressed harder against his temple, and she could hear the way his breath broke out in something close to a fearful sob. The hand that had been keeping him in place moved to pat him down, searching wherever she could reach for any sign of a weapon concealed under his clothes. She could feel him against her, stock still and barely breathing through his fear, but he wasn’t armed. She sat back and pushed her gun back into its holster.
omg who is anwir what's their deal? Did you ever post an explainer anywhere for your dnd character?
EEE NO but im so excited to yap about her because its all still a secret to my party members!! Some stuff from her write up:
Aldercy (Hand of Mercy monk, with plans to dual class as a wizard) grew up on the streets as an orphan, doing odd jobs in exchange for essentials. However it was very hard for her at first. No one offers food in exchange for heavy lifting to six year old girls, they don’t play cards for money with someone who doesn’t even have shoes, and they won’t offer shelter from a storm if you look too sick and dirty. She learned very early on that the way you appear to people influences how they treat you. She always knew what she needed for an interaction to go her way, but almost never had it, until this unintentionally started to change with her desire. (the dm and I understand this as mastery of the disguise person spell)
This catches the attention of the myriad, more specifically The Gentleman, who takes her under the crime syndicates wing as a spy and thief for many years until one last job for them reveals a greater mission that she can’t stomach. She runs away from the only family she’s ever known, along with a very important item shes certain they’ll do anything to get back, and “kills off” Aldercy for good.
She’s been on the run since then, living under different faces as long as she can get away with before she skips town and tries again. She’s lived as Anwir for a little over 2 years and it’s the identity her party knows her as. She was whisked away from her exotic dancing job due to the circumstances of our campaign.
She’s a master manipulator and borderline compulsive liar who knows exactly what to do to get her way. This could do great evil, if she wanted anything else but to have a life that is her own, and she is so so scared.
THERES LIKE. SOOO MUCH MORE shes the most complicated messy character ive ever written i think i shall put the keyboard down for now
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I don't have as much of my art save on my phone as I'd like, but here's my character Aldercy! The second two sketches are from an au where her attempted murder was successful and she became an angry, vengeful ghost 😊
(with a dislocated arm for the rest of eternity 😔)
