"I wonder if life smokes after it fucks me."

xavier ⭐️

he doesn’t initially understand why people stage elaborate photographs of plushies. he googles it for like half an hour then takes one look at plush-you “so i just take pictures of you doing things with me?” and then because he’s xavier, he somehow becomes terrifyingly committed and very very good at it

his photos are quiet little slices of life:

plush-you tucked beneath his bedsheets

sitting beside his plate at breakfast

peeking out of his hunter uniform pocket

on a windowsill with sunlight shining over your tiny head

on the balcony with puffball, fatso, and alarm clock

he takes you on missions too. he’d place you somewhere safe before combat, then afterwards snaps a pic of you sitting near a chunk of smoking wanderer remnants captioned “#1 partner” that’s it. xavier has never used more words than necessary in his life

you’d also become his designated nap buddy. he’d tuck you under his chin or against his chest and wake up three hours later with your plushie body a little smooshed.

and he is secretly very particular about your physical wellbeing. if someone (probably isaiah) grabs you by the head? 

“don’t hold them like that.”

“you know it’s a plushie, right?”

“…yes” stares in xavier “give them back”

his camera roll eventually contains soooo many photographs of you, but half of them look almost identical because they’re basically plushie + sunlight + xavier thinking you look cute

there would also be suspiciously couple-y photos where your plush is posed beside another plush that uncannily resembles him. he insists it’s not just a lumiere plush with its mask off??? sir u are not fooling anyone!!

zayne ❄️

zayne initially thinks nuidori sounds ridiculous. ffwd to three weeks later he totally owns a dedicated plush carrying case

inevitable because his love language is already meticulous practical care. plush-you will NOT be shoved into a briefcase!! he has decorum so instead, you have:

protective pouch

lint roller

tiny comb

emergency stain removal pen

miniature rain cape

probably silica packets somewhere

he inspects you before outings “there’s dust on your sleeve” brush brush “there” then carries on as though he didn’t just lint roll a fictional character plush with the concentration of a cardiac surgeon

zayne’s nuidori aesthetic is tiny tasteful dates:

plush-you beside his coffee.

staring at his dessert

sitting beside whatever medical paper he’s reading

photographed against snowy windows

his sweetest habit happens during overnight shifts at the hospital. plush-you lives on the corner of his desk. when he’s bored, he’ll occasionally glance over at you “…you’re still awake?” silence. of course you are and continues typing

he also buys tiny seasonal outfits while pretending they’re practical “this coat prevents the fabric from becoming dirty” it’s a tiny sherpa coat with teddy bear ears, doctor zayne !

rafayel 🐟

he sees nuidori photos online “that’s it?? they just put their plushie beside some food...”

…that’s… generally the idea my guy

some time later he has created a mini seashell oasis. your shoots involve:

hand-painted backdrops

real shells

custom lighting

tiny easels

silk scraps

miniature jewelry

flowers according to your character symbolism

he makes your clothes HIMSELF because obv and then he makes you a tiny mermaid tail. and because rafayel is rafayel, plush-you develops expressions despite possessing one (1) embroidered face “this one’s clearly annoyed” they look exactly the same “no no. look at them” rafayel bffr….“they’re sulking!” THEIR MOUTH IS EMBROIDERY THREAD RAFAYEL!!!

he’d photograph you at the beach constantly:

plush-you sitting beside shells

watching the sunset

beside his sketchbook

“helping” him paint

his social media followers begin asking who this plush character is because you’ve appeared in eight consecutive posts. rafayel turns off all the comments

also, he definitely kisses your forehead before putting you back on the shelf (but u didn’t hear that from me)

sylus 🐦‍⬛

sylus thinks your plush is hilarious. not stupid, don’t get him twisted!! hilarious. he picks you up between two fingers. five minutes later you are sitting on his shoulder. and because he clearly has a soft spot for vulnerable creatures, this tiny version of you becoming one of his protected “strays” is on brand asf

his camera roll now contains:

plush-you on his motorcycle

beside a tray of his luxury watches

in the passenger seat of an absurdly expensive car

sitting on a poker table beside a mountain of chips

riding mephisto

luke and kieran eventually discover this. they stage photographs of plush-you being kidnapped

sylus receives:

BOSS-MAN! WE HAVE THE HOSTAGE! with a picture of you tied to a miniature chair

he responds:

you have ten minutes

he can hear them laughing from a room down the hall. eight minutes later he has mephisto steal the plush back

sylus also commissions custom accessories for you but somehow makes them ludicrously expensive. you now possess a miniature leather jacket. authentic leather. custom hardware. perfect tailoring. bougie lil shoes

he’d occasionally carry you inside his coat pocket so only your head sticks out. and, like zayne, he totally talks to plush-you while working.

“don’t look at me like that.”

you: ಠ_ಠ

“i already said i won’t use more force than necessary, sweetie.”

also you: ಠ_ಠ

“…fine”

congratulations, a tiny polyester version of you has defeated the leader of onychinus.

caleb 🍎

caleb understands nuidori immediately “oh, so i take you places?” and you’re off!

his nuidori photos feel like some college dude’s instagram stories:

plush-you wearing sunglasses

sitting in a shopping cart

strapped into the passenger seat

holding an apple

staring dramatically through an aircraft window

and his captions are obnoxiously affectionate:

took the little troublemaker sightseeing

someone demanded dessert

passenger princess refused to navigate again

he invents an entire personality for you. you are apparently picky, dislike mornings, demand snacks, have opinions about his driving

meanwhile you are literally stuffed cotton

he goes crazy for matching accessories:

caleb: baseball cap of his favourite basketball team

you: microscopic baseball cap of his favourite basketball team

caleb: flight jacket

you: TINY. FLIGHT. JACKET.

and because he’s caleb, your plush gets treated surprisingly gently despite all the clownery

if your seam starts coming loose? he immediately learns how to repair it. the stitches are almost perfect, and he’s super proud afterward. “there. good as new” then he pats your tiny head.

his favourite photos aren’t actually the goofy ones. they’re the quiet ones where you’re placed somewhere associated with his childhood or someplace meaningful to him. those stay private 🥲

valko 🐺

his first interaction with plush-you is probably:

*sniff*

you ಠ_ಠ

another sniff “…so that’s what you smell like” brother that is the smell of polyester straight from a chinese factory

plush-you gets treated like a tiny pack member. he just carries you around in his jacket pocket, pants pocket, hood, shoulder, under one arm

eventually he discovers nuidori from one of his cousins. instead of setting you down and posing you, valko tends to photograph you in his hand. because that’s apparently where you belong. tiny plush in enormous hand. 

plush-you looking at mossy rocks

observing various moon phases 

making s’mores

on hiking trips

wrapped safely inside his coat when it rains

“drinking” his awoo milk 

balanced on the pile it up tower

at the research facility, you have your own replica of his office chair to sit on top of his desk

his cousin diys a wolf ear headband for you and it’s a game changer. he immediately attaches it to your head with absurd delicacy

In the soft glow of a boutique window on a bustling street of the city at night, a gorgeous wedding dress glimmers in the light. The fabric is white, the tiny gemstones stitched neatly along the sleeves and neckline like stars sparkling across the vast, snowy expanse. The skirt is flowing and free, like silk scarves fluttering in the breeze. Sylus sees the dress and he stops, turning to face the window, eyes drifting across the needlework as he pictures it on you. White veil like a crown of clouds on your head, smooth fabric gliding over your skin like milk, crystal clear diamonds adorning you like flowers. Your eyes like summer as you reach your out toward him. Interlocked fingers, golden rings glinting next to each other. Your hand held in his. Never letting go for the rest of your lives. Your precious smile always in his line of sight.

What would you think? he wonders. Would it be to your taste? Would you be willing to share those vows with him, to have him stay by your side? Would you trust him to to trust you, to take care of you, to support and love and choose you again and again and again, everyday for the rest of your lives?

What would it be like, he wonders, to wake up as your husband in the morning, and kiss you, his wife, goodnight before falling asleep?

Do you think of him like he thinks of you?

Sylus stands there and stares for a long while—until the passersby dwindle, until the snow piles on his coat and in his hair like frigid slopes, until the light disappears, drowning the store in darkness as the shop's owner steps out to lock the door and head home.

"If you want to shop here with your fiancée, you'll have to come back tomorrow," the store owner says, tucking his keys into his pocket.

Sylus looks at the owner, then turns away, feeling a little bit like a child with his hand caught inside the cookie jar. He walks away without a word, past twinkling fairy lights strung between the empty trees.

Maybe you'd hate the dress. Maybe you'd want to wear a suit instead. Maybe you wouldn't want a ceremony at all. Maybe none of it is in the cards for you—

Whatever you want, whatever you need—Sylus hopes he can at least be a part of your desires, a piece of your heart.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees your contact photo on his screen. He swipes to pick up on the first ring, lifting his phone to his ear in one breathless motion, his eyes twinkling like the fairy lights beside him.

"Hey."

Your voice is a quiet murmur in the night, sweet and a little shaky. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"Disturbing me?" The tremble in Sylus' voice is more than just amusement—it's like sparklers burning in the dark, almost giddy despite his efforts to hide it. "I'm usually awake at this hour."

"Right," you laugh, and the sound is like sunshine Sylus wants to bottle up in a jar, grasping in his hands to hold it close to his chest. "Right…"

He can hear the heaviness in your words, the weight of unknown burdens weighing down your cadence. "Can't sleep?"

"Mm…" you hum, low and noncommittal. "Tell me about your day."

"Does the sound of my voice soothe you?" Sylus murmurs, his voice rich and decadent like hot cup of chocolate on a snowy day.

"Yeah," you reply. He can hear you shuffling around a bit in your bed, the mattress creaking slightly as it dips underneath your body. "Are you going to make fun of me for it?"

"No, I…"

The streets are empty now. A car passes by. The whole world is silent, save for the two of you. Sylus listens to the soft, steady pace of your breath, your presence over the phone patiently awaiting his answer.

"While I was out today, I saw something that made me think of you."

There's momentary pause, a held breath at his answer. His breath is held with yours, as if he can't move or breathe without you, without making sure you can do so first.

Sylus can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

"You know what's funny?" you say. "I saw something and thought of you too."

His heart is like a caged bird, battering its wings against his ribs, desperate to break free. "What was it?"

"Hm…Tell me yours first."

His heart leaps up to his throat. "It's a secret."

"Then mine's a secret too," you reply coyly.

Ah, Sylus wants to see you. He wants to see your smug smile. He wants to lay down with you and hold you tightly to his chest. He wants to wipe away your tears on bad days and spin you around in a hug on good days. He wants to share a space with you, wants to see your possessions mixed with his. He wants his treasures to become your treasures, and for you to be his treasure until the end of time. He wants your hopes, your dreams, your time, your affection, your trust, your love. He wants, he wants, he wants, he wants.

"Then I might just hang up," Sylus says, lying through his teeth.

"Oh no, we can't have that," you reply, seeing right through his little lie. "I guess I have to tell you now."

"Please," Sylus says, a hint of earnestness tinging his words with hope.

"It was a red tie," you say. "It was pricey and I thought about buying it for you, but, well, you can buy it yourself if you really want it, right? And it's not like it's a holiday or anything, and I wasn't sure if it'd be suited to your taste, and you probably already have a lot of ties, right…?"

You answer has devolved into rambling, but Sylus hangs off every single word, anticipation building in his chest like fireworks about to burst. "What about it made you think of me?"

"The color." The clarity of your voice changes, as if you've shifted your phone a bit closer. It seems like your head tilted down, resting on something. "It was a beautiful red. It reminded me of your eyes. Something about them…" Your words trail off into a soft yawn. "They just…make me feel…safe…"

"I'm glad," Sylus whispers. Reverence pales in comparison to his adoration for you. "Goodnight, kitten."

Your breath evens out, slow and steady as you sleep. Sylus cradles his phone closely to his ear, listening to the gentle sound all the home.

✧ it's fucking 4 AM why do i do this to myself dsfjhlkghldj ok anyways i hope u enjoyed reading i'll proofread tomorrow sorry im so fucking tired but i wanted to post aaaaaa also this fic was inspired by the pic i put on this post it's an edit

✧ masterlist

✧ BLESS! ଘ(ᴗ͈ᴗ͈)ഒ♡

Zayne

Xavier

Sylus

Rafayel

Valko

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likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 lots of love, chuu!