bakerstreet | Fuck or Die

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Fuck or Die

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Virus

Science

Government

Collar

Kidnapped

Cult

blackmail

OOC

the meme

Info

Bakerstreet often puts people into strange scenarios, some that lead to sex. After all, that is the main goal of the place. Still, there's usually a choice; sex doesn't have to be the end product. Sometimes, things don't pan out. People don't click. It happens. There's never been a real punishment for it.

Not now. Now, there is a price for not indulging in sexual escapades: your life. Through a cavalcade of unfortunate events, you've been pushed into a situation where your very existence is on the line, along with the life of another person. This person might not be your type, and you might not have slept with them under any other circumstances, but this is not a normal. You like living, don't you? Then swallow your pride and get to work. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR COMMENT BLANK or it will get deleted.

Virus

The Black Plague. Small Pox. The Zombie Virus. All deadly epidemics, yet not quite as interesting as the virus currently ravaging the hotel. This as of yet unnamed infection passes through the air, moving from person to person with an extreme velocity. The symptoms are just as quick. First, it seems like an extreme case of aphrodisiac. This arousal is Stage 1, and masturbation will give no relief. Stage 2 is the pain. If you don't have sex, you'll experience one of the greatest pains, ripping through every part of your body. The next stage, Stage 3, brings on the mental changes. You'll be irritable, insatiable, almost manic. Stage 4...if your live that long, is the final stage. At this point, you will essentially be a zombie with very little humanity left. The only thing on your mind will be sex, and you will take it from anything, consenting or not.

There is no Stage 5. Only death, if you continue on.

The delicious irony? The person you have sex with will contract the virus, as well. So, if at first they don't seem too keen, they'll eventually give in.

†

Science

Some things must be done for the good of mankind, and this group of scientists is dedicated enough to take the extra step. They've kidnapped test subjects in pairs in order to study sexuality and reproduction, and they will have their results through any means necessary. Drugs, physical punishment, even death for those who don't cooperate are all on the menu. There are also other fun to have, such as tests of new machines and modification of the test subjects' bodies.

†

Government

The day is finally here. Your government, all hail, has decided upon your life mate. The person you meet today is your companion for life, and together, you shall help create the offspring that will mean peace, prosperity, and the freedom from things like choice. First, as is the law, you will have your initial sexual contact in the Copulation Chamber. There, you will serve the glory of our ruler and your bodies will become as one and perhaps, if you are lucky, begin the process of creating a family to serve the state.

Those who refuse are subject to reeducation, where they will learn how much they truly love their life mate as well as our dear ruler. If the reeducation is unsuccessful, they will be deemed a threat to our society and terminated.

†

Collar

The collar you're wearing is not just a shiny new fashion statement. No, my friend, it is much more than that. This sleek, titanium device is a marvel of technology. Notice how you can't take it off? It's merged into your nervous system, and if you try to take it off, it could kill you. Oh, and that blinking light? That will kill you, in a bomb-worthy explosion, if you don't follow the simple rules engraved on the collar.

Have sex with the first person you see.

†

Kidnapped

Some people get off in weird ways, like by watching hookers pop balloons or bathing in mayonnaise or any number of strange acts. Most of these people, though, are utterly harmless. There are a few who aren't, and that's the kind of person you're dealing with now.

The two of you have woken up in a strange house, without a power or a weapon to your name. All you have is your wits, if that. After all, the decor is a little unsettling. You've seen your captor only once or twice, though you've been informed of what to do to earn your freedom.

Have sex.

†

Cult

You should be honored.

Little is known about the Order of the Dark Love, other than that they are a cult obsessed with sex magic. Their goddess, some arcane myth, is no Aphrodite, however. Sex is mixed with violence and the dark arts. The worship services of the cult involve all sorts of sexual acts. That's where you come in.

Perhaps they want to have some kind of new ceremony, or maybe, they need a vessel. It's said that their beliefs involve a messiah of sorts, someone who will be their goddess made flesh. The two of you are to bring this new being to life. And to make sure of it, there will be plenty of potions and concoctions forced into you that promote arousal and fertility. But really, there's no libido increaser quite like the treat of death, and that's here in spades.

â†‘

Blackmail

This is perhaps the most personal, therefore straightforward, scenario. Someone, be it a faceless corporate head or your arch nemesis, has something on the both of you. If this information leaks, it would ruin you, perhaps even bringing about your death. There's only one way to appease them, and that's to make a (possibly mortifying) sex tape.

†

ooc

-An open post! Go ahead and comment using the usual subject format

-The subheadings are suggestions, but you don't have to use them. Come up with your own ideas if you'd like.

-DO NOT LEAVE YOUR COMMENT BLANK or it will get deleted. Use the following form or make up your own info list.

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[ blackmail sex tape works so good with idols, anything is ok ]

[ All of these are good but i science and collar and kidnapped would work great with burnish stuff im open to anything tho!!! ]

( prefer kidnapping, cult, and blackmail scenarios. )

[ less interested in cult, but all the others are okay! kink list here. ]

[ evil magic sex virus or kidnap, who knows what happens in fantasy war ]

( How about kidnap with these two? Don't mind which route, or who is responsible for the kidnapping! )

[ yes!! i’d love to see that with them ]

[OTA canon/cross-canon/au/all media. Prefs for blackmail, collar (oldie but goodie), kidnapped from the given scenarios. Cult is a maybe - talk to me first.]

(ooc: Yes for science, collar, kidnapped, and maybe cult if there's a good idea behind it. Available as futa upon request.)

[ he's a willing participant in the cult scenario. ]

[I’m okay with literally all of the prompts in this.)

[ here for the cult prompt! ]

Character Name: edelgard von hresvelg
Age: 23 (could be swayed to go pre-timeskip instead if you have an idea for it)
Yes: kinks here. open to it being a fertility/breeding ritual or to situations where they're both vessels that will sort of achieve godhood as they fuck. or other ideas - just run them by me!
No: we can go pretty heavy on dubcon with aphro/wine/drugs/the threat of what could happen if they still wanted to escape but I'm more interested in the culty sex and lowered inhibitions than in the noncon aspect.
Short Description of Character: Short axe-wielding ptsd-suffering emperor determined to change her world at any cost, emotionally repressed and sexually inexperienced.

[ Good on everything. ]

[ Snake cult? Snake cult. ]

( m/m preferred, open to all scenarios )

[It sounded like a joke at first.

Prime material for some wisecracks, honestly, all these stories about people getting it on in public places, or videos of folks with tear-filled eyes talking about how they didn't have someone to help them out and couldn't handle it by themselves. He's not even sure if he believes it's real. A horny epidemic. A sex plague. Richie's not a monster, it's not like he doesn't have any sympathy, but it's still fucking funny.

Until it's not.

When Richie first gets sick, he doesn't understand the panic. It sucks, and it's draining (he writes that one down with some question marks next to it, but not as much as i want to be sucked until im draining ???? workshop it) but it has to come to an end at some point, like any other illness. Right? So he waits it out, rather than passing it along to some poor sucker. He avoids Eddie, downgrading their roommates-who-hang-out-a-lot-while-one-pretends-he's-not-in-love status to the much lonelier roommates-who-say-welcome-home-and-otherwise-don't-see-each-other.

The pain comes next, brutal and constant, and now the manic sheen that had hung like a storm cloud over the face of every affected person he'd seen made total fucking sense, because Richie's looking at it in the mirror each day.

He'd already been spending most of his time in his room, but this is where he goes completely off the grid, in completely unlike-Richie fashion. No tweets, no getting papped at the grocery store; nothing but curling up on his bed, shivering desperately in the shower of his adjoined bathroom while he tries for the millionth time to beat the virus out of his dick, (not as fun as it sounds) and waiting for Eddie to go out to order himself food that he requests be left in the hallway of their apartment.

It has to end at some point. It has to. It either ends, or he loses his mind.]

( Eddie isn't worried at first, because he thinks it's the flu. Which is to say he's incredibly worried, he wears a paper mask around the house and sanitises every surface at least three times a day. He makes meals and texts Richie when he's a safe enough distance away for them to be collected. They watch a movie over FaceTime, and Eddie's pleased to find that it's a lot easier to focus on the screen when Richie isn't a physical presence lingering a few inches away from his shoulder and hip and knee.

But Richie's teasing over Eddie's glove and mask set up disappears along with the calls, and the texts stop next. The silence stretches out, and Eddie worries and worries, and it's a sticky wicket of a thing – he's desperate not to overbear, he knows this is a problem area for him. God knows there's been more than a few frantic phone calls to his therapist, trying to find a balance between concern and suffocation.

It's too much though, in the end. He can't go on like this, staring frantically at Richie's doorknob and waiting for some kind of a response. He could be seriously ill in there. He could be dying. )

Richie? Open up, come on.

( A few sharp knocks follow on Richie's door, and Eddie takes a few steely breaths before he twists the knob. Unlocked, thank christ, and he pushes the door open to a mostly dark room. He's wearing the mask again, but he's trying hard not to be paranoid and left the rest of his get up off today.

Eddie steps in, peers around and frowns. The room is musty and sweaty, and he itches to open a window. He has his priorities though, namely addressing a sweaty and frantic-looking Richie with his best attempt at a calm voice and open palmed approach. )

What's going on? You've gone pretty quiet, do you need a doctor?

( And it's right around here where the dots connect, and Eddie makes the connection between Richie's glassy-eyed condition and that mysterious sickness that's apparently cutting through the community. Eddie had deliberately avoided the details, desperate not to find something new to spiral over. Now he's racking his mind for any detail, because Richie's very clearly not okay, and there's–

well.

There's some symptoms here that definitely aren't the flu. )

Rich?

[He's so out of it at this point that Richie barely notices Eddie calling out to him, or the knock at his door. It could just be his mind playing tricks on him, or he could be hearing the TV in the other room, or it could really genuinely be Eddie, but he doesn't have the space in his brain to work out which is the truth. Everything he has is wasted on the totally consuming pain and arousal that are duking it out for control of his body. Right this second, arousal is winning, but that's certainly not any kind of relief.

When Eddie's voice sounds again, this time closer and clearer (albeit still muffled by a mask, and even frenzied as he is, Richie feels a twinge of fondness and guilt, because Eddie was right, this whole time) it's easier for him to identify that yes, this is real, and his glassy eyes do their best to focus on Eddie. He gapes dumbly and turns the question over in his mind; does he need a doctor? How would a doctor even help, with, with-]

Uh, no. No.

[God, he can hear the sound of himself panting, it's stupidly loud in his gross, dark room, but Richie's past even feeling embarrassed. He does nothing to disguise the constant twitching of his hips, the sweat that curls down his neck, or the obvious line of his dick, wet and stiff under his boxers. Richie can't remember the last time he wore pants.]

Listen, you- hh- you should probably bounce. [He winces through another wave of everything, a nasty pounding in his head and a bolt of pleasure in his gut.]

I'm- I think I'm. Uh. Sick.

No shit you're sick.

( Eddie snaps out a response before he even has a chance to think about it, and immediately feels guilty. Normally he wouldn't even think twice about it, but there's something about Richie out of it and clearly unwell that makes it feel like a cheap shot. It's not the time to mask his concern with barbed words.

It's not the time to stare either though, but he's doing that. He'd expected all sorts of unpleasant sights after Richie had quarantined himself away like this, but this hadn't possibly crossed his mind. Jesus, Eddie can see how hard he is, and it's so much more obscene for being covered by clinging material. He shouldn't stare, he knows he shouldn't. It's fucked up.

So he shakes his head quickly, averts his eyes – Richie's cheeks are flushed and it's doing nothing to rid Eddie's mind of the images of Richie's dick – and takes another couple of steps in. )

Don't be an idiot, I'm not just going to sit around doing jack shit while you're burning up in here. Let me help you.

( The air is stifling. Already Eddie's starting to feel hot under the collar, itchy under the mask. Another few steps in the room, and it's no wonder Richie's sweating in a room like this, Eddie's only been in here a few minutes and he already has to pause to strip off his sweater.

Later it'll occur to him that this should have been a massive warning sign, given that the weather has been just short of freezing for days now and their heating system isn't that good, but for now he just wedges his sweater under his arm and adjusts his mask back to the correct position. )

What's your temperature, have you checked?

( Eddie could check it for him. )

[Richie doesn't take offence.

He does something way worse. The sound of Eddie snapping at him has always been a thing, and when he whines a little in response, he immediately follows it up with a panicked bark of laughter. God, he needs to leave.

(Richie really doesn't want him to. And that's exactly why he should.)

Eddie's response- help him?- has Richie sputtering, his heartbeat jumping up a couple notches as his permanent gutter-brain takes the phrasing and runs an absolute marathon with it.]

I don't think- god, uh-

[Richie's not even capable of bullshitting an adequate excuse right now, and that more than anything else is an indication of how deep in it he is.

He watches the motions of Eddie taking off his sweater with a desert parched throat, mouth still hanging open, and shakes his head dumbly.]

I don't know. No idea. Have I?

Richie, focus.

( Ever the absolute bitch, Eddie snaps his fingers impatiently. There's clearly no relying on Richie for a reliable answer though, so Eddie carefully places the folded item at the end of the bed and approaches with a scowl, clearly visible even with half his face covered.

He hasn't got a thermometer, seeing as how Eddie hadn't planned on getting within ten feet of Richie, but now it's vitally important that he does. By some gift of strength Eddie didn't know he had, his eyes don't stray from Richie's face once he gets to the side of the bed. They don't even stray to his twitching hips in his peripherals, and once Eddie is close enough he presses the back of his cool hand to Richie's sweaty forehead.

Unsurprisingly, he's on fire. )

Jesus Christ, you're hot.

( The words leave his mouth unplanned again, and this time he looks faintly embarrassed about it. He's getting all kinds of distracted at the worst possible time, and to make it worse Eddie looks again, and holy shit it's so much more obscene up close.

Eddie's pretty sure he can see a wet patch. He's also pretty sure he wants to taste it.

What? )

Shit– um. This is weird. Do you need a drink? I think I need a drink.

( jesus fucking christ eddie stop staring at his dick )

[Eddie doesn't leave. Instead, Eddie gets even closer, until the bland, clean smell of his shampoo goes to Richie's head as if it's the strongest of perfumes. There's nothing in it, the barest hint of eucalyptus, but right now it's the most appealing thing ever, because it means Eddie.

Richie doesn't even think about it, just pushes his head up into Eddie's hand when it presses against his forehead, and the cool, soft touch, the only fucking human contact he's had in days- weeks, probably- makes the air rush out of his lungs. He just about swallows his tongue, and this time the noise he makes probably can't be mistaken for one of pain.

He doesn't even fucking laugh at Eddie's words, even if a distant part of his brain registers the joke. Instead he just stares at the outline of him, eyes lidded and pupils blown wide.]

Yeah. Yeah, it's hot.

[-in here. Hot in here, he means.

If Eddie is still staring, then he'll get a front row seat to watch as Richie reaches down unthinkingly to press his palm sharply to his dick, his head swimming with the need for some relief.]

( He needs to leave. Things are getting weirder by the second and Richie's making...sounds that are probably going to haunt Eddie for the rest of his life, and he needs to turn around and walk out before things get any stranger, before he gets to the point where he's never able to look Richie in the eye again without picturing this.

He still had his hand pressed to Richie's forehead.

There's this crackling current running through him, under his skin and the only place that has any relief is the back of his hand pressed to Richie's sweat-slick forehead. Which really suggests that more contact would only provide more relief for the itching that's currently spreading through his limbs, but before he has the chance to process that thought at all Richie's hand snakes down his body.

Any hope of Eddie looking away dies along with the sight of Richie palming himself right in front of Eddie like that. )

I think you're really sick.

( It's basically a whisper at this point. Suddenly his mouth is dry, and Eddie is distantly aware that he's hard under his sweatpants. He almost moves his other hand to do something - adjust himself, touch himself like Richie is doing – but instead his hand flexes into a fist and he sucks in a deep breath of air like he's been holding it. )

God, Richie...I want to–

( Eddie doesn't know if he can finish that sentence. )

[Now that he's started, Richie can't stop. His hips roll forward more insistently into his hand, and drool collects in his open mouth, which utters startled little noises of pleasure, as if he can't believe what he's doing, because the distantly aware part of his brain really cant. This will fuck things up forever. It has to.

And yet... the way Eddie's looking at him, just watching, his hand still on Richie's skin, makes him prickle all over with want, something he knows is deeper than the fevered arousal he was already dealing with. It's worse, or maybe better, and when Eddie's hand makes an abortive motion towards something, Richie follows it with his eyes and swallows thickly at the sight of Eddie's dick, unmistakably hard under his sweats.

He thinks he might be crying a little, oversensitive and aching. Where he would normally shy away, read a negative spin on Eddie's words or reflexively hide what he wants, Richie is instead readily nodding, open and encouraging.]

I want you to. Eddie. Anything you want to. God, please.

( It's like the air sucks out of his lungs, and suddenly he feels like he's choking. A little frantic in the movements, Eddie fumbles the mask off of his face and tosses it to the side, instantly forgotten.

It doesn't help.

He's still pulling in deep breaths that feel like they're doing nothing, and it's probably the lack of oxygen that's got his head spinning like this. Something in that thought pings the back of his mind, enough that he makes the stellar decision to sit heavily on the edge of the bed. Right next to Richie. )

You can't– you can't just say that shit.

( Because he wants so much, now but also all the time, and right now he wants so bad that he just might scream. But Richie's sick, and Eddie's...got something going wrong, and if he gives in then he might as well drop a grenade in the house, the fallout would be an easier recovery.

That doesn't stop his hand from skittering away from him though, clasping too tight just below Richie's knee. Even that has Eddie inhale sharp through his nose, and by the time his palm slides up to Richie's kneecap his eyes have fluttered closed. )

Will it help? Richie. Listen, focus. Richie. ( He opens his eyes, gasps again just at the sight of Richie, and tries to tamp his breathing just enough to ask a question without panting.

Ridiculous. ) Will. It. Help?

[Eddie's so close and still barely touching him, and Richie thinks he might go mad with it. The hand on his knee is a contradiction, steadying and right in some indiscernible way, as if his body is trying to tell him that Eddie touching him is exactly what he needs- but it's also poker-hot and driving him to complete distraction. His other leg jolts out and writhes against the bed sheets, toes curling, while Richie struggles to still the one that's in Eddie's grasp, hungry for his fingers to climb higher, past his knee, over his thigh.

But it doesn't move, and Richie hears himself sob, overtaken and hurting. His hand, the same one he'd been grinding into, circles Eddie's wrist and starts trying to tug him upwards. Richie's grip is weak, his fingers shaking, but the intent is obvious.

Later, he'll realise what this was. Realise that he made Eddie sick. That he wasn't in his right mind, and that he's doing something so very Eddie and putting his concern for Richie over his own comfort, helped along by the encouragement of the fever spreading in his veins, the same one that's eating Richie alive.

But right now, Richie just nods, reaches for him, and pleads with his eyes.]

I think so. It feels like- I think it will.

( The grip on his wrist is barely there, Richie's palm is clammy, he could break away with barely any effort at all. Eddie could stop his hand from moving easily, if he were so inclined. And yet he watches as Richie slowly encourages it further up, until Eddie's hand settles on his thigh with his fingers spread wide across the skin.

His thumb grazes the hem of Richie's boxers. It's all sweaty here too, and normally that might make Eddie recoil and complain, but today his jaw just hangs loose as he looks.

...God. He's really about to ruin his life, huh. )

Alright.

( Eddie is so much more quiet than his red face would suggest when he responds, and just like that he's moving forward. Kneeling on the bed, hand still spread out on Richie's upper thigh, and now that he's next to him fully Eddie takes the opportunity to rub his other hand across Richie's stomach, right through the dark spread of hair low between his hips.

Eddie's nowhere near as gone as Richie, but a simple touch is still enough to get his breath hitching, his voice hoarse as he clears his throat. )

You have to– uh...you have to tell me if this is okay. Okay? Okay.

( Like he's psyching himself up, almost. )

[He feels the climb of fingers up his leg, dragging where Richie leads them until they halt at the edge of his boxers, and the sigh he drags out is heavy with anticipation. Distantly he's aware of how he must look, legs spreading at Eddie's touch, wet and shaking, but it doesn't feel shameful. Having Eddie's attention just feels good.]

Jesus, thank god.

[Richie laughs, and it's bordering on manic, his eyes wide for a second as he pauses from squinting at Eddie to really sink himself into the hilarity of the question being asked. Like there's any chance of him not wanting Eddie to touch him, not just now, but ever.]

You don't- you don't have to worry about that. Trust me.

[He just wants to be used. He just wants Eddie to fuck him and fill him and to feel good. They can both feel good.]

Alright.

( He wonders if there's a dishonesty in not confessing– certain things before he walks his fingers up Richie's leg, until he finds the waistband of the boxers. He wonders if Richie will feel betrayed later, when he learns that Eddie has thought about this scenario more or less constantly since they moved in together. Since Derry.

Earlier, if he's really honest.

The problem is logical thinking has been slipping away faster and faster with each passing moment, so even as Eddie guiltily thinks about the inevitable fallout of this decision, there's a stronger urge pushing him for more, more, more. And it's pretty obvious which one he's going to listen to, because he's already nudging Richie's legs further apart so that he can kneel between them instead.

Eddie presses his lips to the inside of his leg, right up near his knee and so soft that it's completely chaste, and then he follows it up with something far dirtier when he leans in until he can press his tongue against the spreading wet patch at the front of Richie's boxers. God, he can feel the head of his cock under his tongue and Eddie whines with it. Just like that something snaps and he's tugging the boxers down, a little frantic as he scrabbles to get Richie naked as quick as possible. He only fumbles a little, and then the boxers are tossed aside without thought and Eddie gets both his hands on Richie's thighs, spreads them wide and lies on the bed between them. )

Fuck, Richie, you're so fucking hot. ( There's no way he means the temperature now. He leans in until he can push his mouth up against that tendon right between his leg and his groin, digging his teeth in gently before speaking right against his skin. ) Do you have lube?

[At the promise of all this touching only getting better, Richie's brain has melted like an ice cream hitting the pavement in Summer. The knowledge that he feels things towards Eddie that friends typically don't feel isn't weighing on him with any guilt, because it's taken a backseat, forever present as it's always been, but hardly driving the truck.

All he's thinking about, right this second, is how good Eddie's lips feel against his skin, and then Eddie's tongue presses over his dick, only a thin layer of fabric between them, and he's not thinking about anything at all, just riding out the sudden burst of pleasure, a better feeling than anything he's been able to give himself this entire time. He feels like if Eddie stayed there a few seconds longer, he'd already be coming in his boxers like a teenager.

Christ, he's not even really touching him yet.

Richie's in just as much of a rush, fumbling his shirt off as Eddie tugs at his boxers, and Richie probably almost kicks him in his hurry to help get them off, but it's forgotten immediately at the searing grip of Eddie's fingers on his thighs. His mouth is so fucking dry, and Richie has to drag his tongue over his lips before he can even answer, feeling crazy.]

Yeah, right, yeah.

[It's a miracle he even registers the question, let alone has the brains to reach up under his pillow- shut up it's been a rough week- and pass the bottle over.]

You probably don't need to- I mean, I'm already- you could just fuck me. If you want, you could just fuck me.

[It's an exaggeration, but not something Richie gives a shit about right now. He's fucked himself with his fingers enough times over the past few days alone to know he needs more than that.]

( his hand goes clumsy as he reaches for the lube, fumbling against richie's fingers until he can get a grip on the bottle, but once he does he makes up for it by sucking a dark bruise into the skin about as close as he can get to where the dark curls of his pubic hair really start. high up enough on his thigh that eddie's nose presses under richie's balls to get his teeth in there too. he lets out a soft little sigh of relief before he releases the skin there, soothes the bruise with a gentle little lick, and then turns his head to shamelessly nuzzle into his crotch more blatantly this time.

it's like the contact is breaking his fever, which makes no sense, but he's clearly holding it together better than richie because eddie just snorts at his words, hitching richie's thigh up onto his shoulder with one hand as he pops the cap on the lube with the other. )

I'm going to, okay? I'm going to. ( it's quiet, like he's soothing a wild animal. he might as well be, honestly, considering the state they're in. with richie's leg slung over his shoulder he can use the leverage to spread his legs a little more, and he pushes the other thigh out – they're not flexible enough for this anymore, he thinks distantly, but richie goes easily and he ignores the thought as easily as all the other rational ones. spreads too much lube on his fingers, and slowly pushes just one finger in as he runs the flat of his tongue across the head of richie's cock.

when he speaks again, he doesn't even bother pulling his lips away from where they're pressed up against the shaft. he might well be speaking directly to richie's dick. ) Just let me do this first.

Edited 2020-08-30 13:59 (UTC)

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Fuck or Die

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gekokujou hana ( mhik:limited ) f/f

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felix hugo fraldarius | fire emblem: three houses | m/m

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Masaomi Kida | Durarara!! | M/F

Ishaani | Dungeons & Dragons OC | OTA

eddie kaspbrak | it

virus

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