What would be each of the ROs (+Blakes) reactions to a Merc who finishes while kissing them, before like the main touching/sex happens between them? Listen Merc is pent up and horny asf and is very... excited about the kissing </3
jax would mock them. immediately. if they continue fucking around, he'd bring it up again and again.
orla would tease them a little before reminding them that she's not done with them yet, demanding they make her finish before she returns the favour.
dante/delilah would see it as a challenge and wring as many orgasms out of merc as possible, silently thinking it hot that merc came from a little petting and kissing.
royal would be surprised but ultimately try to soothe them and then slip into their lap to kiss them breathless until they're ready to go again.
echo would be silently smug about the fact that merc came untouched and would tease them a little as well before containing to rile them up, wanting to see it happen again.
blake has been there before too. they'd ultimately think it's pretty hot and wouldn't let merc stumble out of the bar until they're both fully satisfied.
It was early afternoon and Silas had spent the morning busking so he could make some extra money for tonight. It had been awhile since he and Blake had went out on an actual date that wasn't at her house, so he decided he should make some plans for the two of them. He'd changed into some nicer clothes that he'd left in his van, and was on his way to Blake's house when he sent her a text:
Silas: Get ready. Be there in ten.
Silas: Wear something nice but comfortable
Silas: See you soon 😘
open to all - location: solomon's rest
Blake had claimed a corner table beneath the soft glow of string lights, two coffees sitting in front of him like an indecisive confession. One was hot , steam curling lazily into the air - and the other, a tall iced coffee, beads of condensation racing down the plastic cup. It was a habitual contradiction, the kind he never admitted aloud: he could never decide which one he wanted until both were in front of him, and by then he’d lost interest in choosing. The rooftop garden at Solomon’s Rest was quiet this time of evening, the air damp with the scent of mint from the community planters. He traced one finger along the iced cup, coaxing the droplets into a perfect ring around the bottom, absentmindedly rearranging water molecules simply because it soothed him. Below, karaoke laughter drifted faintly through the stairwell, but up here the city’s chaos softened into something manageable.
He noticed the approach before a word was spoken- the slumped posture, the heavy steps, that telltale strain between the shoulder blades of someone who’d burned too much energy for too long. Blake didn’t bother with small talk. He slid the untouched iced coffee across the table, resting his hand on it just long enough to keep the chill steady. “Here,” he said, voice low but not unkind. “I haven’t touched it yet. And if you want it warm, I can take the ice out and heat it up, no trouble.” His eyes finally lifted, steady and perceptive, reading fatigue as if it were a language he spoke fluently. A small shrug; casual, practiced, the sort of gesture that offered without crowding. “But you should take a break,” he added, softer this time, almost an observation. “You look exhausted.” In that moment, with steam from one cup fading and cold from the other clinging to his fingertips, Blake seemed strangely at peace... a man who couldn’t choose the coffee he wanted, but who knew exactly what someone else needed.
Much like a marionette, the string that held him begins to slowly withdraw, one by one it snaps. All that left was a thin yarn, holding tightly for its life, hanging on the edge.
It started out with a nightmare, a usual one, but with twists and turns, slowly the nightmare itself turns into hell. The scenery around him burst into flames, black as dark as coal surrounds him, burning the ground he stood, and between it all stood three figures.
Cries of agony, screams, and hands reaching out for salvation cannot be withheld. The figures slowly made shape, the look all too familiar; her eyes held sadness as she called out 'why', why did godforsaken her? Why did god leave her and her children to doom? "Blake!" A choke, "Blake!" Suffocating, gasping for air, "Blake! Why?? Why!?" She did not understand, confused, and angered. "I thought you loved me?? Was it all a lie?? Why did you kill us!?"
No, he shouts into the fire, No! No, he loved them. He loved them so much. All he ever wanted was their happiness, to live his life to the fullest. He wanted to die with her, to grow old together. He's crying, ugly sobbing mess, holding onto his head, shaking, and howling.
It echoed and then came the silence. Everything around him became dark, ink dark. Bawling, his eyes puffed reduced red, he couldn't control the hollow emptiness that held between his heart. It ached, it hurt, worse than dying.
"It's your fault." Came a voice, chuckling like a madman, "all your fault, you're weak!" It hissed, crimson blood eyes stared back, and slowly it approached, "it's because of you they're dead! Because you were weak!! You couldn't stood up for them, you couldn't run into that fire to save them, it's your fault!! And this is the sin, the sin you have to carry for what you've done."
A hand reaches out, grabbing onto his throat, choking him, and slamming roughly down on the ground as the figure, no, him, stood above him, looking down upon his helpless features.
"And there is nothing you could do to stop it."
He woke up with a wail of a scream as it shrieked the daylight, stumbling, the cursed one, all but scrambled into the corner, and clearly disoriented. While scrambling he would hit himself, causing a loud thump, a growing pain he felt against his ribs was nothing against the surface of the vision he held.
The shadow laughing at him, he could hear that voice taunting, resonating inside his head.Grabbing hold of his head, he'll keep bellowing, "Please! Please stop!! Go away, please, i can't take it anymore!! Please make it stop!!"
It's his fault. He was a sinner, much like what the priest said, a dirty sinner who would sink into hell.
blake never thought he'd be the guy tying tiny shoes and wiping sticky faces, let alone the man practicing his tie in the mirror for an adoption hearing. yet here he was, smoothing down the navy suit he'd bought just for today and checking his reflection one last time. the silk tie felt stiff against his throat, but he didn’t care. this wasn’t about him. it was about finn—the little boy who had stolen his heart before he even knew it was up for grabs—and astrid, the person who had turned his world inside out and made him want to be better. on his nightstand, the framed photo of the two of them stared back at him. astrid's tired but radiant smile and finn's gummy grin from the day they moved in together seemed to anchor him. he ran his fingers over the edge of the frame before grabbing his watch and turning toward the door. "you ready?" he asked, scooping finn up in one easy motion and planting a kiss on his chubby cheek. the little boy giggled, and blake felt the nerves that had been creeping up his spine settle.
"Alright, I'm going through a conundrum. Life altering shit, you know?" Blake said, a sense of urgency behind his eyes. In reality, it wasn't life altering. Not even remotely close. With a deep breath, he held up two t-shirts that both equally ugly and faded. "I can't decide which one to wear. Which makes me look sexiest? Like, if you saw me walking down the street in one of these, what one would have you starring over like, 'Holy shit, look at that straight up Greek God.' I'm not Greek, by the way, but those are small details," he waved the thought off with his hand. "Anyways, what would you pick?" @vvhimsicals
*The Squad is on a hike*
Strat: It’s beautiful out here.
Valkyrie: And quiet.
Strat: Too quiet.
Valkyrie: Did we lose someone?
*cut to Blake with a bear in a headlock*
