Trey is pragmatic, the ‘big brother’ type, yet under that calm lies a quiet fear of loss.
At first, he’d tell himself it was an accident. That he’ll find a way to fix it. He would stay outwardly composed, reassuring you that “It’s fine, don’t panic, I’ll find a way.”
But eventually Trey’s steady composure would crack in isolation. He’s someone who values stability, and knowing he single-handedly severed his beloved from their home would gnaw at him like guilt-ridden rot.
He’d cling tighter, baking treats, keeping you busy, anything to make this unnatural permanence feel normal. But beneath every smile is the knowledge: you didn’t choose to stay. He forced it.
Cater Diamond
Cater thrives on connection but fears being forgotten, abandoned, or left behind. Breaking the mirror would be half-impulse, half-desperation.
For a fleeting second, he’d smile: “Guess that’s one less thing to worry about, right?” trying to disguise possessiveness as lightheartedness.
But once the adrenaline fades, Cater’s insecurities bloom. He’d obsess over whether his beloved resents him for it. Would you secretly hate him? Would you leave him anyway, in other ways?
His desperation for validation would deepen. He’d flood you with attention, social facades slipping into cracks of paranoia. He broke the mirror because he couldn’t stand being left behind, but now he has to live with the silence of knowing you might never forgive him.
Leona Kingscholar
Leona is prideful, cynical, and simmering with unspoken yearning. Breaking the mirror would be intentional.
He’d justify it as “Why bother going back? Everything you need is right here.” To him, if something precious is within reach, he’ll keep it, no matter how selfish.
But the mirror’s shards would taunt him: proof that he had no faith in your choice to stay willingly. Deep down, he knows he trapped you.
Over time, Leona’s paranoia would grow corrosive. Every look, every sigh from you would become a test. Did you mean it when you smiled? Or are you dreaming of escape? His love becomes a cage, built of both possessiveness and fear of losing the one person who might have loved him freely.
Vil Schoenheit
Vil’s obsession with control, beauty, and perfection would manifest in a chilling way.
Breaking the mirror would be deliberate, disguised as care: “That world didn’t deserve you. You belong somewhere you’ll be truly seen.”
But in Vil’s mind, the destruction of the mirror is not a sin, but a necessity, like trimming away flaws. He’d recast your imprisonment as salvation.
His love would turn suffocating, framed as cultivation. He’d refine you, dress you, mold you. If you were stolen from him once, never again.
Yet every now and then, when your eyes linger too long on the horizon, Vil would feel a quiet terror: the shards of the mirror cutting into his conscience, whispering that perfection built on force is only ruin.
Rook Hunt
Rook would shatter the mirror with romantic fervor.
He’d frame it as a declaration: “Now, mon cœr, you are forever entwined with this world. With me.”
His devotion would be terrifyingly sincere. He’d adore you, paint your captivity as destiny, and make even the horror sound beautiful.
But beneath his poetic mask, he knows he committed a crime of selfishness. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d watch you with vigilance. His love, half worship, half predator’s hunger, would never let you forget that the choice was stolen.
To Rook, its tragedy made divine: your bond sealed not by love alone, but by irreversible destruction.
Idia Shroud
Idia’s insecurity runs deep, but so does his desperation for control in a world where he feels powerless. Breaking the mirror would be labeled as an accident — even when deep down it was in fact a conscious choice, born of fear and obsession.
At first, he’d whisper rationalizations to himself, voice low but laced with intensity: “If she goes back, she’ll forget me. She’ll leave me. She’ll move on, just like everyone else. That’s not fair. Not when I finally got someone to choose me.”
When he smashes the mirror, it’s deliberate. His hands might shake, but his eyes would be bright, feverish — the kind of manic fire when his ego surges for seconds before dying down. In that moment, he’s not the stuttering recluse. He’s the one with the upper hand, the one rewriting the rules.
To his beloved, he’d frame it like an inevitability: “You were never gonna go back, right? Heh. I just… made sure of it. No big deal. Game over, bad ending for them — happy ending for us.” He’d speak with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, masking terror with bravado.
Over time, though, the cracks would show. He’d oscillate, one moment smug, reveling in the fact that now you’d be his forever, and the next moment plagued by paranoia that you resent him. His mind would cast the situation as a save he can’t reload, a route he can’t undo. That would both thrill and terrify him.
His possessiveness would sharpen into something unyielding. He’d monitor you, rationalize surveillance as “just in case,” and dismiss your protests with a bite of sarcasm: “Oh, so now I’m the villain? Weren’t you crying the other day, telling me how the other world made you lonely? I’m not saying you should be thanking me–D-don’t look at me like that… J-just tell me you’ll stay.”
Idia breaking the mirror is the strike of someone who knows he can’t risk losing the only thing anchoring him. It’s calculated, selfish, and terrifyingly lucid. The act of someone who embraces his own hypocrisy because it’s the only way to keep what he wants.
Malleus Draconia
Malleus, centenarian, lonely and aching for companionship, would see breaking the mirror as a fateful act.
His reasoning would be solemn: “This world has denied me too much. I will not let it take you as well.”
Unlike others, he wouldn’t see it as theft, but justice. The mirror is merely another cruel gatekeeper between him and happiness.
Yet his beloved’s quiet sadness would wound him deeply. He loves fiercely, with possessive longing, but also with a child’s fragility. If you mourn your lost home, he would rage against the unfairness of fate, destroying himself with guilt even as he insists: “Stay. Please. I cannot be alone again.”
For Malleus, breaking the mirror would be the most selfish and most vulnerable act of his life, binding you to him in both love and tragedy.
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia, mischievous yet wise, would break the mirror with a smile, even while the weight beneath would be devastating.
He’d joke lightly: “Oops. Looks like you’re stuck with me~” but the laughter hides a hollow ring.
Unlike most of them, Lilia knows exactly what he’s done and what it means. He’s lived centuries, he understands that ripping someone from their world is monstrous.
His charm would cover guilt, but it would eat at him in quiet moments. He’d become overly doting, almost suffocating in his attempts to keep his beloved happy, as if he could erase your loss with tenderness.
Yet he’d know, deep down, that time cannot erase the truth: he chained someone’s fate to his own. And time is all he has.
Chenya
Chenya, whimsical and chaotic, would shatter the mirror playfully. The consequences would only weigh in strange ways.
To him, it might feel like a game at first: “Well, no going back now! Ain’t that curious?” He thrives on madness, but beneath it lies awareness.
As the reality sinks in, his smile would twist, still playful, but more desperate. Chaos distracts from loneliness, yes. Now, he’s tied someone to that chaos forever, you won’t be lonely anymore.
He’d flit in and out, unpredictable, never letting you feel secure. Part of him would fear you’ll hate him, so he keeps everything off balance, as though confusion itself could keep you close.
For Chenya, the broken mirror isn’t tragedy or romance, it’s the whim of a mad boy. And his beloved is now bound to dance in it with him.
Rollo Flamme
Rollo, hypocritical and obsessive, would shatter the mirror with fire in his eyes.
To him, it would be holy: “That world was corrupt more so than this one. Here, you can at least be pure. I have saved you from its poison.”
You regret ever telling him about your world.
He’d recast the act as salvation, trapping you in his suffocating ideals. Every protest would be met with sermons: “In time, you will thank me. You will see the truth.”
But even as he cloaks it in righteousness, the truth is much more simple: he couldn’t bear to lose you. He destroyed your freedom to soothe his own obsession.
His love would be a pyre devouring, sanctimonious, and utterly inescapable. He would never see himself as cruel, but as savior. Which, in many ways, is the most terrifying form of imprisonment.
Synopsis: How they react when inappropriate thoughts of you engulf them, the desire for you in bed not leaving them alone.
Part 1 Part 2
TW: Very suggestive/mature, implications of sex, impure thoughts, mentions of insecurities, mentions of guilt, religious language (Rollo), metaphors, mentions of blood/violence (in metaphors), lots of yearning (Fluffy but spicy)
Part 3 (Separate): Rollo Flamme, Skully J. Graves, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech
ᥫ᭡. Rollo Flamme ᥫ᭡.
Holy light seems to bathe you whenever his teal eyes spot you, like a chapel itself opening for your entrance. You're a deity, meant to be worshiped and prayed to. You're a sanctuary, one he'll bring offerings if to only earn your gaze for a moment. He years for a simple word from your mouth, the honeyed feeling too addictive to let go off.
You won't believe how his heart wrenched in glee when you kissed him for the first time - even such an inappropriate gesture was like bathing in holy water when it came from you.
He's sure the angels sent you to him for a good deed he must've committed in his last life. Beauty conforms to you and everything that you do. He's sure he sees flowers blooming wherever you step, life bursting and frolicking from your mere presence. Your actions seem to mesmerize him with the elegance you hold, the grace you present yourself with. The feeling of seeing you blossom is such a pure emotion that his heart races at even the smallest actions you do.
You're divine in every form. You may not agree, but he couldn't disagree more. You are seraphic, the utter definition of an idol. He can only kneel at your altar, tense with the illusive thoughts circling his mind. It's like the magic of that beast, Malleus - thorns seem to wrap around his heart in red rage. Thorns of lust.
After all, he is still man. He is bound to sin.
He feels nothing but disgust towards himself for thinking of you in such a manner. The one he sees as a divine being - his god, his deity - is the one he wants to rob off purity. He repents day and night, hoping for that tainted image to leave his mind but he cannot help it - the way in which you contort in pleasure in his mind - it's such a blissful view. The maggots in his brain simply feed off his lust and rebrand that sin. The sin that is you.
It's a lust for your being, your very vassal that holds all your thoughts and consceince. He's merely one of the many devotees you must have. He's been given the graciously chance to be your servant - the one overseeing your heart. You choose to call him your lover, but to accept such a fantasy? Shades of fuchsia embrace his face and specks of heat crawl from inside his skin. The feeling of fluster leaves him shy like a virgin maiden. The thought seems too audacious, how could someone like him ever be your lover?
But then again, comes the ideal that someone else - an inferior degenerate, laying his hands on you - blisters his very core. At those moments he ponders lighting the world on fire, watching it all burn if only to keep you safe from monsters. Someone like you needs protection from those sinful creatures, those mages. Though he wields such evil magic himself, he's the only one qualified to have you. The only one who can keep you and your dear smile safe.
Yet it's that very energy which forces these roles in his mind that represses him. He sees you as untouchable, a superior - the purest in this world. Then you say and accept him into your heart? Despite the demons in his mind? Despite how lowly he is? You're too benevolent. Would you still think the same way if you knew what he wanted to do to you? What he wanted to do with you?
He wants to harmonize his body with yours, the the melody of a choir. The sweaty slapping of skin would be holy if it came from you - anything for your pleasure. But even he knows his thoughts are selfish, he's no better than those degenerates.
Do you not see what you're doing? The way his vassal begins to tremble, warmth creeping from the underworld of his mind. It whispers to him, you know? To bed you, to devour your - to worship you in the most unholy ways. To fulfill your needs and to maybe, if you'd allow him, pleasure himself with the mere image of your body. Just a glimpse is enough, he swears - but deep inside he knows nothing could ever satiate his hunger for you. The devil inside him knows it isn't enough. He wants more, he wants you whole - he wants your lust, to see arousal in your eyes, if only to know that he isn't going mad. That you want him just as much he wants you. That you accept him despite his flaws, that you want to be ruined. He's not like this, he tells himself. This is wrong.
You are meant to be cherished, not ruined.
Ah, but the thought of having you under him exhilarates him. He's breathless just thinking about it. Especially when you lay on your bed. You're teasing him, toying with his heart - watching him try and keep his resolve. He swears he will, he won't lay a hand on you. No matter how you tantalize him. He will prove to you just how disciplined he is.
But when you beckon him closer, how is he supposed to remain calm? How is he meant to keep his hands to himself without touching you when you're so near? You tell him how much you love him, how much you adore him and all he can think of is undressing you. He's a fiend and he deserves to rot and repent in hell for eternity.
He would call you temptation but how could someone so sweet trick him? Surely he's the one in the wrong. Though, even if you are the devil in disguise he has no desire to leave - he's far too deep to leave this haven you've created.
But then you're pulling him much closer and pulling him into the sweetest kiss. All he wants to do is hold this angel underneath him - pin you to the mattress and watch as it creaks from your weight. He wants to ruin a part of you, only for it to make you so much more angelic in his eyes.
He wants to feel seraphic bliss turn unholy as he sins.
Truly, your kindness has no bounds as you let him make love to you. Holding you down as he prays to the altar that is your body. Pleasuring you underneath you, only to fuse into the feeling of sin.
Yes, you're truly a deity. His god, the one he prays to in your chambers. The one he praises for purity, the one he devours till there's nothing left to consume. He'll go as long as you'll allow him, to feel the blessing of your body accumulate and simmer into his own. He is your only sin, and you are his only virtue.
So let him indulge this once, that's what he says every nightfall.
ᥫ᭡. Skully J. Graves ᥫ᭡.
You're an anomaly, really you are. Every action of yours captivates him just as Halloween does. He truly feels as though you're his missing piece - The Sally to his Jack perhaps? It's not unusual for him to be in one's personal space and the same applies to you, even more so. It's like he can't stay away, not from you. Like a moth to flame he will linger, just to burn into you. He will observe with those pumpkin eyes of his, the ends of his mouth curving into an unruly skeletal smile.
You're hauntingly beautiful.
Just as much he loves Halloween, he loves you the same. You're fascinating, can you blame him for wanting you all to himself? He wants you under him, above him - anywhere, as long as you're next to him. And just as his ideals for Halloween are, he wants to feel the adrenaline of love with you. He wants be be alone with you and he refuses to share. You're his and will only ever be his, just he will remain yours for dreadful eternity.
But it's those moments in the night that have him red all over. It's the physical aspect that gets him reeling. Seeing you unwind for the day, doing absolutely nothing. And trust him, he's as gentlemanly one can be. Keen on kissing your hand and bowing to you - but, he can't help but indulge when with you.
His eyes will linger in places they shouldn't, his hands will wander everywhere at once. All he wants is to feel your heartbeat against his skin, won't you let him?
So don't mind when he kisses up your arm, and when you let him he'll be left hot all over. It's this inviting part of you that bewitches him. The times when your lips part to whisper sweet nothings to him, how you love him so. Only, he's imagining how much he wants your lips to kiss his skin while he dissolves into you.
Skully is sophisticated, surely he can't kiss you with no words - so he asks, he pleads for you to let him kiss you. He's not sure why he's so nervous, jittery around you - like a ball of energy that shakes until you release it. He wants - no needs - to hear you say it, how much you want him and only then can he let himself be gone.
Feral could be a way to describe what he is in these moments, the time's where he's pinned you with hands by your sides. The part where his magnificent eyes give you a look that tells you he's crazy for you. The way he stops everything to look at you - into your eyes and then down your whole body.
He's so in love that it's ridiculous.
He's not rude, he swears. But the manner in which he wants your clothes off is impatient, it's needy. He's pouty as he leaves marks all over you and he's untamed in the way he moves. He wants you whole, so much so that he wants to feed on you. He wants to eat your heart, so that you're solely his. He wants proof on your skin, to see evidence of the nights you've shared.
All boundaries must be crossed as he meets your gaze. It's a need to pull you close, to feel you deep in his mind as he ruthlessly ruts into you.
He wants to be so close so he can hear your touch in his mind, feel you inside his heart, and have your taste in his mouth for eternity. Once isn't enough, he must have you at all moments.
ᥫ᭡. Floyd Leech ᥫ᭡.
Fickle. That's what Floyd's interest is. His attention on something lands only for a while as it captivates him. One could come back to check after only a moment and he's already lost the interest. It's like seeing a spoiled child find a new toy only to demand for something better. His moods are no different - he's hot and cold. He'll break someone's bones for looking at him wrong or he might hug someone in delight for that same look. It doesn't matter what you do, he'll do what he wants and when he wants.
However, the thought that he's mental isn't right.
But that's merely the surface level of things. He isn't as senseless as people assume, in fact he knows what he does is wrong. He's not heartless either but he's certainly no saint. And no matter what you may offer, he'll leave it soon enough.
Wrong.
That's what he used to think but you changed his ideal. He hates how corny it is, how someone as silly as his Shrimpy could keep him on a leesh.
A creature as sick as you should be put down.
Every time he'd leave, he'd only return more interested. But interest wasn't the right word either. Sure, it started with mere amusement at your expression maybe some mockery too. It changed soon enough and he'd figured that the heat on his skin wasn't from anger but sappy love.
Yuck. He'd gone all soft.
But there was this part of him that couldn't hide the giddy smile on his lips when you were around. That predatory feeling in his mind only extended into his heart. Rather than hunting you to break your bones, he hunted you to squeeze - to place his face in the crook of your neck and let the scent of your shampoo hit his nose.
This sappy feeling wasn't all bad when someone so cute was involved.
He wasn't gonna fight it, not when he had his Shrimpy all to himself. Not when he could cling to you all he wanted. Not when both your walls had gone down and certainly not when he felt so free. It was nice having someone to hug at night, someone who didn't get him all upset in a short span of time.
Someone he wanted to hear mewl and shriek from how rough he could be.
As touchy as he was, the thought of actually fucking? That didn't hit him until later. Not at all really. But when it did, he couldn't ignore it. Once he'd figured out that the this red hot feeling under his clothes, and this mind fogging urge wasn't the need to bloody his knuckles.
It clicked.
Why he was so jumpy and lax at the same time? The reason he wanted to see someone limp under him - not in the manner in which he treated other fishies where they'd be knocked out and bleedin' by the time he was done.
This was different.
It clicked so stupidly too. Seeing you scrolling on your phone in his room, on his bed. The fact that you were there on a silver platter, all for him. The way your hair fell in front of your eyes and the manner in which you'd occasionally stretch. You wanted him just as bad, didn't ya?
Especially when you had the gall to open your mouth all wide n' big, not even making eye contact. Don't blame him.
Were these thoughts wrong? He wasn't sure. It made him feel nervous, sure. But he didn't think it was wrong. Who wouldn't feel this way looking at you? However, the thought that others had the same picture of you that he had - the one where you were all squeaky under him as he rutted with animalistic passion - ticked him off.
So best make sure no one even dares, right?
It starts with a hug - lanky arms wrapping at your body from behind as he pushes you skintight against him. Not even a needle could pass between the two of you. The embrace is tight and his breathing is heavy. He'll make it so clear what he wants, not an ounce of shame in his voice once you're this close.
You'll be blushing by the time he's don telling you exactly what he wants to do you and what he's gonna make you do to him.
Before you know it, he's nibbling your neck with your hands pinned down. His licking that one spot in your neck, his jagged teeth teasing the area but not biting just yet. He wants to feel you squirm from how good you're feeling.
It's your fault really, actin' all tempting and gasping in surprise. How's he supposed to resist your cute reactions when he's such a bad bad guy?
You knew what you were getting into when you kissed him for the first time.
He'll treat you real nice, tough you up a bit - but it's nothing you'll be complaining about once you're done. Not that you'll be speaking much with how sore your throat is, and how he's still energized to for another round.
His one demand is that you let him mark you up all purple in hickeys, so those little fishes don't go takin' what's his.
ᥫ᭡. Jade Leech ᥫ᭡.
Calm, calculating, and composed. That is the persona that Jade maintains at all times - you'll never catch him off guard in that sense. He won't let anyone do so.
He didn't think he'd take those words back. He wasn't one for things like love, but it caught him off guard. That feeling had him realize how stupid love makes a person, how it creeps inside his mind like a leech.
He wanted to get rid of that feeling and he made it hard for you to love him, at first. That was until he realized just how careful you have to be with the one you care for. When he realized this feeling wasn't sick amusement. He never knew how your pain could become his and that was what truly hammered the realization that he'd fallen. Hard.
Though, it wasn't knowing he loved you that made him distraught. It was the desperation that came with it, the utter feeling of being depraved. It lay in the moments of silence at night, the times where he said nothing and merely observed.
He can't help himself, he needs something raw and beastial.
It was in those moments that he found his cheeks were rosy and his body warm. It was that feeling in his gut, the kind that ate at his guts. It whispered in his mind to consume you when you'd look up at him. The times where you'd simply be doing nothing and everything - the simple little show of skin was enough.
It made him want to do horrible things, just to feel you whine against his chest.
It was hard to be gentlemanly around someone teasing him like this. It was worse that you did so unknowingly while he simmered in his need for you. He hated it.
How could you be so composed when he felt like a dog, like he was in heat.
It was the feeling that gnawed at him to take you, to pin you underneath him and hear the way you'd cry from sweet relief. The little swinging of your legs when you'd sit in a chair or the way you massaged your neck from fatigue, it all made him want to hammer into you.
The sweaty joining of bodies in a symphony of grunts and pants. The sinful feeling of you clawing at his back as he tasted you over and over again. He craved it.
And when he finally had you? It was pure bliss.
The manner in which you fit in his embrace as he kissed you. The way he lost his composure at how you'd look at him. How impatient you made him, it was so amusing. It made him gleeful the way you had him in the palm of your hand.
He'd play as your little needy puppet as long as you acted like his. It was only fair.
He wanted to make you feel just as helpless yet just as ecstatic. he wanted to see you writhe underneath him as he crumbled on top of you. He wanted you to be his freak show and watch you locked up in his arms until he'd had his fill.
By the end of it all, your voice would hoarse from calling his name and body sore with bite marks all over. He'll merely smile before pulling you in once more.
You wouldn't be going anywhere until you felt the brunt of his need.
Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!
Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!
Note 3: I really hope you guys are still enjoying this, I'm trying my best to make more parts with even more characters!! It would deffo help if you had some char reccs <3
