#mr. reca hsr

[kazucee]

TO CAUSE A SCENE !

PAIRINGS: gn! Reader x Mr Reca (from the hit game HSR!) Modern AU where Reca is a hotshot director and reader is a rising super star.

SYNOPSIS: Not so secret dating AU (they become public in the end) + tooth rotting fluff + SMAU (if you squint, like heavily squint. No there's only one so you can't even consider it as so but hey it's there TT) + not proofread (apologies for the mistakes) WC: 1.6k

BREAKING NEWS: Famous play director Mr. Reca caught in arms with his latest acquisition?

JUST IN: Who is this Mystery Person? Hearsays and gossip are bubbling to the surface as the newest photos of award winning Mr. Reca and his newest prize leaked online.

RUMORED TO BE: The Famous rising star—?!

“This is madness.” Your agent mutters for the nth time in a row clearly panicking. It was quite comical to see him pacing back and forth looking like he's about to have a heart attack right then and there.

What was even more comical was the fact that across from his frantic state was you, hands properly poised on your lap, an easy smile drawn, and chin tilted upwards as the make-up artist busied themselves with your face.

“It is a misunderstanding” You replied, glancing at the multiple tabloids placed on the quaint mahogany coffee table, your voice taking a light tone as your lips curl into a smile that could be plastered on every billboard in this damned city.

“It is reckless. You both were reckless. You told me you both were going somewhere private- oh this is a disaster.” A huffed laugh escaped your lips.

“You. How are you so calm about this entire ordeal?” As the make-up artist finishes up the final touches she grins back at you to which you return. As she tidies up the different shades of rogues and eyeshadow palettes you finally turn to meet your worrywart of an agent.

“Because these are measly tabloids and those are all just rumors” a shrug as you stare at the blurry photos of you and your ‘assumed’ lover.

“The photos-”

“-Don't even look like me. Firstly whoever took it chose such an unflattering angle—” The photos were clearly taken by some amateur, it was all blurred lines and unfocused blotches of colors and the lighting was horrid. “If they were going to expose something, could they not have taken it somewhere with more light? I look—”

“Your entire career is hanging by a loose thread and you're worrying about the tabloid photos and the lighting?!” Your agent thinks back to the times where he wasn't assigned to you, the times where the most stress he's ever had was a wrong coffee order.

Sure he loves you to death but the reason for all his headaches came in a conveniently wrapped you-shaped package and now it apparently comes with a buy one take one deal.

“My career is fine. The photos are terrible. And it's precisely why we can just deny I have anything to do with this entire conundrum” You say pointing to the blurry blob that is supposed to represent ‘you’.

“just keep denying it, say it was photoshopped by some fan, you know scandals come and go quickly” But the truth is. A part of you didn't want to deny it, the small selfish part of you wanted to just confirm all the rumors and gossip by clicking on the simple heart-react to any one of the endless tabloids on social media.

“And knowing Mr. Reca he'll probably get another rumored lover in a span of a couple days—” your words tasted bitter as they left your tongue even if it came off as a joke to ease up your agents anxiety.

“Is that really what you think of me, my darling star?” A new voice joined in the fray and you jumped when you felt two arms circle easily around your waist and the smell of old parchment paper and leather surrounded your senses.

“Mr. Reca.” Your agent lets out an exhausted sigh at his presence, as if the director being here added an additional load on his shoulders. The newest load that was currently taking solace in nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck.

“Dearest?” Your voice came next—pleasantly surprised, shouldn't he be at his filming site right now?—and you can almost physically feel how the other melted against your figure, arms tightening gently and bringing you into a back hug.

“What's this about me getting a new lover in a few days?” He mumbles softly, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout and you can feel it touch the thin skin of your neck making your heartbeat pick up its pace ever so slightly.

“Well…” you drawl out as you try to detach yourself from him but that only results in him squeezing you tighter against him, his face still against your neck (which was now growing hot at the constant contact)

“You aren't Penacony’s most eligible bachelor for no reason” a small jab disguised as a tease. You can't help it, the small pinch of jealousy that seeds itself in your very very patient heart.

He was a celebrity, he was stupidly handsome, stupidly charming, and that meant that he had everybody fawning and bending over backwards for him. Not that he paid attention to any of those frivolities always rudely turning the other cheek. It still didn't help the rumor mill from cooking up another theory about him dating some random celebrity figure and it didn't help that sour feeling you get whenever you read about it online.

Although It did help that you were dating the real thing, Penacony's darling director. Wrapped tightly around your fingertips.

It helped very much to know that most of his films were love letters directed at you. Directed for you. In which his films would always start off with a cursive ‘for my darling muse’—it was his signature tell and something that was known by almost everyone in Penacony.

There were endless theories that surrounded those four sudden words that appeared in his recent best selling films.

You spent hours sifting through all the comments with a small knowing smile. You were there throughout the entire process (saved for the parts that required you to actually be seen with him) so you knew the genius that was him, how he somehow managed to turn the films into an allegory about the two of you. Delivered with flowery words, plot twists, and breathtaking cinematography.

“I'm the most eligible bachelor?” He mused with a faint smirk before pressing a soft chaste kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, pulling away slightly to allow your heart to return back to its normal rhythm. His carmine eyes full of mirth and arrogance at the title. You are sure he's seen those words and his name written in tandem to each other multiple times, to him it's just words written by some amateurs but hearing it from you turned them into ammunition he can use.

“The most annoying one too” a small huff leaves your lips making him let out a chuckle, the rumble of his chest felt against your back. You see your agent suppress an eyeroll, gathering the tabloids before making up some random excuse to allow the two of you some allotted alone time.

“I take it you saw the news?” His tone was lofty as if he was enthralled by the whole prospect of getting found out by the public. With his hands positioned on either side of your waist he turns you around so that he's able to scrutinize your facial expressions, holding you close to him as sways you both to an imaginary beat. The action softens your heart and you follow along with him.

A scoff. “I'd hardly call it news. Just the usual chatter amongst the tabloids” His eyes search your own sincerely as if trying to gouge out every individual thought you have conjured up in that complicated brain of yours.

“I wouldn't call it chatter if it's true.” He says with a small smug grin and your eyes roll back, both of you are smiling fondly at each other, swaying in each other's arms.

‘I wouldn't call it true if we're hiding it.’ the sentence that hung with the few pin pricks of silence.

“I'm sure it'll blow over soon” and he hums in acknowledgement at your statement, the small furrow of his brow an indication of his disapproval. He holds your hand in his bringing it up to press a kiss against your knuckles.

“I don't want it too” he mumbles against your skin, pressing another fleeting kiss. Your brow raised curiously at his words, carefully mulling it over before asking-

“You're implying-”

“We go public about it. About us.” and boy did his eyes light up at the idea, similar to a fuse sparking before escalating and eventually causing a dramatic explosion. You always have admired that look of his, a sort of crazed expression that made every fibre of your being tingle like a thousand firecrackers and soon you found himself sharing his excitement at the prospect.

He smiles, presses one last kiss against your knuckles and moves to twirl you around, a small laugh bubbles out of you as you adhere to the director's movements. You could see him grinning again before finally ending this silent waltz of his with a stolen kiss from you.

“We'll cause quite the scene” his tender lips pull away from yours with that telltale smirk.

“A scene? Why not a whole blockbuster while we're at it?”

BREAKING NEWS: From Secret Rendezvous to Sharing Clothing? What does this entail?

JUST IN: Our Rising star spotted wearing a shirt a size big for them? A shirt that we've seen the famous director wear multiple times?!

HOT TOPIC: “it's not that we actively wanted people to know about us, we just stopped trying to hide it” — Mr. Reca [his latest interview]

AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE !! STARTING OFF STRONG WITH A RECA KISSER FIC WOOPIEE + He's been on my mind (koue can confirm) + it's actually shocking how I'm posting left and right, watch this disappear when school comes back ⚰️+ cooking up another Reca fic as we speak + HAVING A CONSISTENT WRITING STYL IS HARD GRGRGRG+ I'm still tryna figure out this writing bit (I hope this wasn't too all over the place ?) but I hope y'all enjoyed it^^ reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated 𐙚

[leev-draws-stuff]

Mr. Reca expression practice ✨

[aventurineswife]

mr reca fluff?

“You're the real star”

Summary: In a rare moment of vulnerability, Mr. Reca invites you into his creative process, seeking your genuine presence to help him craft a film that truly matters. The normally cynical director reveals a softer side, showing his admiration for your authenticity and inspiring a heartfelt connection that blurs the lines between his harsh critiques and personal affection.

Tags: Mr. Reca x Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Mutual Admiration, Vulnerable, Creative Collaboration, Tender Moments.

You find yourself sitting on the worn leather couch in Mr. Reca's private studio, the hum of old film equipment filling the room. The walls are lined with posters from his past works—each one telling a story, each one a glimpse into his mind. His mechanical frog assistant clicks away in the corner, adjusting the camera's angle for some unknown shot.

Mr. Reca himself sits at the desk, scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal. His expression is one of deep concentration, his furrowed brow betraying the subtle frustrations he often feels. Despite his usually biting nature, there's a warmth to the silence between you, a comfortable understanding that transcends words.

After a few moments, he glances up at you, his sharp eyes softening. "You know," he begins, his voice carrying that familiar cynical edge, "you're the only one who seems to get it. Everyone else is just following some scripted performance, but you... you're real." He sets his pen down, the glint of genuine respect hidden behind his usual jaded demeanor.

You smile, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "I don't know about that," you reply softly. "I just try to be myself."

A rare, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "That's what I like about you. You don’t play the game. You don’t pretend."

His eyes flicker to the frog assistant, as if considering something, then he stands up and walks over to you. The camera frog dutifully follows, its mechanical movements almost comical.

"Come on," he says, offering you his hand. "I’ve been working on something, and I need a partner in crime. You in?"

You take his hand, standing up with him, feeling the warmth of his touch despite the icy air of the studio. "What are we working on?" you ask, intrigued.

Mr. Reca lets out a low, almost nostalgic sigh. "A film. One that matters. One that captures the truth. No commercial fluff. No sponsors. Just raw, unfiltered emotion." His voice is softer now, almost vulnerable in its sincerity.

"You really think we can pull it off?" you ask, your heart racing with excitement.

He turns his gaze toward you, and for a moment, it's as if time itself slows. "With you? I know we can. After all, you're the real star here."

Your heart skips a beat. Mr. Reca, the brilliant but harsh director, the man who had so often criticized others for their lack of depth, is looking at you like you're the one thing that matters in his world. And for once, it feels like the script has changed. Maybe, just maybe, this time, the story is about you.

"You think so?" you whisper, barely able to hide the warmth creeping into your voice.

He nods, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips. "I know so."

[xczyzux]

─ ❝ Lights, Camera, Acción... Love ❞ ─

Mr. Reca x OC

✎ᝰ student x teacher

Marzianna, a young artist, transfers to a new city for her final year at a prestigious art university. With her best friends Selkie and Floryan, she dreams of making their rock band famous, but past struggles and self-doubt hold her back.

On her first day, she clashes with Mr. Reca, a renowned film director and strict lecturer. Uninterested in film studies, Marzianna becomes his target for tough questions and tasks. Yet, over time, Reca notices her musical talent and takes an unexpected interest in her dreams.

As they learn more about each other’s pasts, an unusual bond begins to form. With music, ambition, and hidden wounds shaping their journey, Marzianna and Reca must confront their growing connection and the fears that keep them from moving forward. Will she achieve her dream? And will he finally find peace?

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow they react to a child wooing you

pairings. various (hsr + genshin impact) x gn! reader

warnings. fluff, mentions of jealousy, established relationship

a/n. i find men getting jealous over a little kid so funny, never fails to crack me up.

wordcount. 2.4k

synopsis. how they react to seeing you getting wooed by a child

you’re casually minding your business when a bold little kid struts up to you with a flower they picked from who-knows-where. "you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen!" they declare, face as bright as their words.

"awww, thank you sweetie!"

"...."

the jealous one (despite their big age)

the moment the child runs up to you with wide eyes and a flower clutched in their tiny hand, you can practically feel the temperature shift around you.

whether he's subtle about it or blatantly obvious, as they watch this scene unfold, he is most definitely NOT thrilled. he can not believe his eyes right now.

he doesn’t mean to react the way he does—it’s not like a child could ever be serious competition—but something about the moment sends a spark of possessiveness through him. his entire demeanor changes. his arms cross over his chest, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the scene unfold.

just what in tarnation is this stupid kid doing?!!?!?

he’s not angry at the child, but the audacity of it throws him off. really? even kids are lining up now? he thinks to himself, feeling his pride take an unexpected hit. as you crouch down to accept the flower with that sweet smile of yours, he can’t help but bristle. there’s a tug at the corner of his mouth that he tries to suppress, but the faint scowl is hard to miss

he crosses his arms, as if the whole situation is beneath their concern, but his sharp eyes never leave the child. he visibly stiffen, his body going tense as they quietly seethe.

when the child boldly proclaims their affection for you, offering their flower with the confidence only a child could muster, you suddenly hear a quiet scoff under his breath, muttering something like, “ridiculous,” before he speaks up, eyes trained on the poor child.

“a bold move, kid, but maybe aim for someone your own size next time.” his tone is teasing (is it really??), but there’s an unmistakable edge to his words, his presence looming protectively by your side.

after the child scurries off, his chest puffed up with pride at his bravery, the jealous one steps in almost immediately, closing the distance between you as if to reclaim his territory.

“so,” he starts, his tone casual but laced with pointed sarcasm, “should i be worried? do i need to watch my back now?” his eyes search yours, and though he’s trying to play it cool, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze—a silent plea for reassurance.

if you laugh and tease him about being jealous, his cheeks darken slightly, and he huffs, looking away. “i’m not jealous,” he insists, though the way his arms cross tighter over his chest says otherwise.

“it’s just… what kind of guy lets someone else give his girl flowers without saying something?” his voice trails off, grumbly and defensive, but you can tell he’s mostly embarrassed by his own reaction.

later, he finds ways to reassert his place by your side, subtle but deliberate. maybe it’s the way he holds your hand a little tighter or slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re out together. he doesn’t need to say it outright, but his actions make it clear: you’re mine.

there’s a faint air of possessiveness to their actions, whether it’s the way they guide you away from the scene with a hand on the small of your back or the way they glance over their shoulder to make sure the child is gone.

if you call him out on their jealousy, the reactions are just as varied. he will deny it outright, scoffing, “jealous? of a kid? don’t flatter yourself.” but their lingering glances and subtle protectiveness give them away.

he simply shrugs, his calm voices betraying none of his innerturmoil: “it’s only natural. beauty like yours is bound to attract attention, even if it’s… unconventional.”

for the rest of the day, you’ll notice small shifts in his behaviour. he'll stand closer, touch you more often—whether it’s a hand on your arm, your waist, or your shoulder—and find little ways to remind you of their presence.

his jealousy, as amusing as it is, only serves to highlight one thing: he want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's the only one who deserves your attention.

— CHILDE, SAMPO, WANDERER, BLADE, aventurine, MOZE, DR. RATIO, jiaoqiu, gorou, lyney, XIAO

the (soft) supporter

when the child shyly approaches you, clutching a flower with trembling hands and nervously stammering out a confession, his reaction is immediate but far from possessive. instead of jealousy or annoyance, he watches with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he takes in the innocence of the moment.

his first thought isn’t to interrupt or overshadow but to appreciate the sincerity of the child’s feelings and your gentle response to it.

he watches the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his heart swelling as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. he doesn’t see the child as a rival or a nuisance—far from it. instead, he’s struck by how earnest and brave the little boy is for approaching you with such sincerity.

he knows how kind and patient you are, and seeing you respond with such gentle affection only reminds him of why he adores you.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, thanking the child with a kind smile, he can’t help but admire you even more. there’s a tenderness in the way you interact with the child that makes his heart ache in the best way possible.

he doesn’t feel threatened by the situation—in fact, he finds it endearing. if anything, it reminds him of how natural it is for people to be drawn to you, no matter their age.

standing just a step behind you, he chuckles softly to himself, murmuring under his breath, “well, that’s brave of him.” his voice carries a note of amused admiration, but he doesn’t feel the need to insert himself into the moment.

instead, he stands by as a quiet presence, ready to step in if the child needs a little encouragement but content to let you handle it.

if the child looks nervous or unsure, he might step closer and kneel down to meet the boy’s eye level, his tone kind and reassuring. “that’s a beautiful flower you’ve got there,” he’d say with a small smile. “you chose well.” he has no intention of stealing the spotlight or intimidating the child; he just wants to make the situation feel a little easier for everyone.

his gentle demeanor leaves no room for misunderstanding—he’s here to support you, not compete for attention.

after the child scampers off, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement, he turns to you with a soft laugh. “you’ve got quite the admirer,” he says, his tone light and teasing but laced with genuine affection. there’s no jealousy in his voice, just quiet amusement and warmth.

he even suggests preserving the flower as a keepsake, offering to press it in a book or find a small vase for it later. to him, it’s a sweet moment worth cherishing.

you thank him for being so calm about the situation, he simply shrugs, his smile soft and unassuming. “he’s just a kid,” he says, his voice full of understanding. “and honestly, it’s sweet. how could anyone not fall for you?” the sincerity in his words is undeniable, and the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long tells you everything you need to know about how he feels.

later, he might bring it up again in passing, unable to resist a little playful teasing. “so, should i be worried?” he asks with a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “seems like you’ve got admirers lining up these days.”

despite the joke, his actions remain steady and reassuring—he never leaves your side for long and finds subtle ways to remind you of how much you mean to him. whether it’s brushing his hand against yours, standing a little closer than usual, or simply looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, his quiet support is unwavering.

for him, the moment wasn’t about competition or insecurity. it was just another reminder of how incredible you are, and how lucky he feels to be the one by your side.

— KAZUHA, ZHONGLI, WELT, GEPARD, ARGENTI, LUKA, SUNDAY, LUOCHA, JING YUAN, tighnari, THOMA, DILUC, BAIZHU

the dramatic ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with all the sincerity in the world, the dramatic one immediately acts as if the universe itself has betrayed him. his eyes widen in exaggerated shock, a hand flying to his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with mock offense. he takes a step back, looking between you and the child with theatrical disbelief, as though he’s stumbled into the climax of some tragic love story.

as the child nervously stammers out his confession, the dramatic one groans, running a hand through his hair as if trying to collect himself. “really? really? even kids now?” he mutters under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear. his tone is less genuine frustration and more exaggerated exasperation, the kind that begs for your attention.

when you smile at the child and crouch down to accept the flower, his reaction shifts into full-blown melodrama. “a flower? oh no, not a flower!” he gasps, pretending to stagger backward as if this tiny gesture has dealt him a mortal wound.

“this is how it starts! next thing i know, he’ll be writing you love letters and stealing your heart!” he places a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with a long-suffering sigh, as though the betrayal is simply too much to bear.

if the child dares to glance his way, he leans in slightly, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “you’re bold, kid. i’ll give you that,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “but do you have what it takes to keep them happy? hmm? flowers are just the beginning, you know.” despite his words, there’s no real malice—he’s just playing up the moment, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

when the child finally scampers off, proud of his bravery, the dramatic one steps closer to you, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “unbelievable. i leave you alone for one second, and this is what happens?” he grumbles, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “what’s next? a line of admirers waiting around the corner?”

if you laugh at his antics, it only fuels his performance. “don’t laugh! this is serious!” he says, though his voice is far from convincing. he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “tell me the truth—did he win you over? do i have competition now? should i be worried?” his eyes glimmer with playful mischief, his entire demeanor practically begging you to reassure him.

later, he won’t let you forget it. “do you remember earlier? that kid? yeah, i’m still recovering,” he teases, his voice full of faux indignation. “i mean, who does that? confessing right in front of me? bold move, i’ll give him that.” he’ll recount the story to anyone willing to listen, embellishing every detail to make it sound even more dramatic.

“i had to stand there and watch my partner get swept off their feet by a four-foot-tall rival. you have no idea the pain i endured.”

despite all the dramatics, his actions make it clear that it’s all in good fun. he doesn’t actually feel threatened—in fact, he enjoys watching you smile and laugh at his antics. the entire situation only gives him another excuse to shower you with playful affection and remind you in his own ridiculous way just how much you mean to him.

— KAVEH, SAMPO, venti, luka, BOOTHILL, JING YUAN, ITTO, CYNO, kaeya, lyney, BAIZHU, MR. RECA, wriothesley

the quiet ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with trembling hands and a nervous confession, he is instantly at a loss. his breath catches, and he freezes in place, wide-eyed as he tries to process what’s happening. for a moment, he just stands there, completely still, as though moving might draw attention to himself. his hands awkwardly hover near his sides, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

his gaze darts between you and the child, his face rapidly turning pink as he realizes how sweetly you’re smiling at the little boy. the warmth and gentleness in your voice as you thank the child make his heart ache in the best way possible. he swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how soft and kind you are, and it only makes his cheeks burn hotter.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, he glances away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or brushing through his hair in a nervous attempt to compose himself. it’s not that he’s jealous—no, he wouldn’t even know how to be jealous in this situation—it’s just that seeing someone else, even a child, shower you with admiration leaves him tongue-tied and painfully aware of his own feelings.

he mumbles something under his breath, barely audible, like, “that’s… bold of him.” but the moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes internally, wondering why he couldn’t come up with something better. instead of saying more, he stays rooted in place, trying to appear calm even as the tips of his ears betray him with their deep blush.

when the child looks at him, perhaps seeking approval, he manages a small, awkward smile and a quiet, “good choice.” his voice is soft, almost shy, and there’s a hesitant nod to go along with it. he wants to be encouraging after all, this is a child.

still, he’s not upset—he’s impressed by the child’s courage and, more than anything, endeared by how naturally you handle the situation.

after the child runs off, proud of his brave confession, the flustered quiet one exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally allows himself to relax. he hesitates before speaking, his voice low and slightly uneven. “that was… something,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dares to meet your eyes.

if you tease him, his blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not flustered,” he insists, though his tone is far from convincing. he might even add, “it’s just… surprising, that’s all.” his attempt to downplay his reaction only makes him seem more endearing, his bashful demeanor a clear giveaway of how much the moment affected him.

for the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual, replaying the scene in his mind and feeling his heart skip all over again. when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up, it’s in the form of a shy, almost hesitant comment.

“he was pretty brave, you know,” he says softly, his gaze flickering to you before quickly looking away. “but, uh… i hope you know that… well, i admire you too. a lot.”

his words are sincere, even if his voice is barely above a whisper. while he may not be as bold as the child who approached you, his quiet admiration and the way he lingers close to you for the rest of the day speak volumes.

— CAELUS, IMBIBITOR LUNAE/DAN HENG, gallagher, GEPARD, XIAO, DILUC, DAINSLEIF, ALBEDO, ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE

note: got hit w baby fever sadly

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

[smolmilkyways]

the way i’d never pay attention in class… 😳

did some scribbles for fun cuz i need this duo to be a thing

[harmonysanreads]

Thinking about hand-kisses, actually.

Aventurine would like to believe he's flighty enough to not make it obvious, which he is to an interesting degree — that the pulse at the juncture of your wrist soothes his soul. To him, nothing else is more intimate. For, through this, he cherishes the very symbol of your existence. By acknowledging that rhythm, he's blessed.

Sunday's lips always linger when he kisses your hand. His fingers flex in uncertainty, strength waning and waxing before the struggle — to grasp or, to cherish? To hold, or constrict? Alas, the anticipation of decorum always leaves these questions to perpetual vacillation.

Dr Ratio inclines to kiss the crater of your palm, burrowing as deep as the lines would allow. He huffs as if its an inconvenience — perhaps, bearing the weight of such adoration is an inconvenience, even for a brilliant scholar. You wouldn't know though, that his apparent fixation with your palm is but an excuse to hide the blood that rushes to his cheeks whenever he concedes before your altar.

Mr Reca always makes a show out of it. A kiss to your pinky, another barely touching the tip of your fingernail, a teasing whisper over your knuckles. Close, but never enough. Just when you're drunk and sunk in his ploys, will he strike.

Mydei leans towards your hand just the same, but the expected kiss is always replaced with a nip, or a bite to your wrist or finger. The dumbfounded blinks, flustered fluttering of your lashes and indignant protests are far too delightful to not exploit.

Phainon, ever so graceful, is a mess in the palms of your hands. His lips cannot settle for one spot, he must kiss every fingertip, every knuckle, every phantom of a vein and every crease that marks your being. It's a waste holding back, his salvation is in embracing the fall.

Anaxa who bows before none, always kneels first before kissing your hand. It does not matter when or where, he will always lower himself to one knee and peer up at your radiance. His prayers are never verbal, but his gaze is parched enough to appeal to your heart and grant him his solace every time. But, would you still remain so merciful, if you knew the unrelenting pace of his greed?

[paonsin]

Hello, I'm not dead, just artblock

[toffi-fi]

outfit swap

[s-e-re-ni-t-y]

[etoilua]

Fresh batch of cat cakes

[leev-draws-stuff]

✨️ What a mess ✨️ (hands belong to an oc of mine)

[aventurineswife]

Poly requests? I must've been a good girl this year to have received such a wonderful surprise!

My poly ship is a crack ship and it's Mr Reca/Reader/Argenti.

A Dance Between Art and Beauty

Summary: You find yourself caught between two contrasting personalities: the cynical Memokeeper and film director, Mr. Reca, and the idealistic knight of Beauty, Argenti. As they clash over the meaning of art and beauty, you inadvertently become the muse for an absurd and chaotic film project that blends their vastly different visions. Amid the cosmic drama, philosophical debates, and mechanical frogs, you begin to question what it truly means to live as both art and memory collide.

Tags: Mr. Reca x Reader x Argenti, Crackfic, Humor, Chaos, Philosophy of Art, Mechanical Frog Shenanigans, Beauty vs. Cynicism, Found Family(?).

Warnings: Excessive philosophical musings, Over-the-top melodrama, Slight existential dread, Mild chaotic absurdity.

A/N: hehe 🤭

You stood on the edge of a cosmic cliff, gazing out at the swirling void of the nebula, the colors of distant stars reflecting in your eyes. Your hand gripped the soft fabric of your jacket, feeling the weight of the moment as Mr. Reca, the infamous Memokeeper and film director, muttered under his breath about "lighting" and "dramatic angles." Beside him, Argenti, the paragon Knight of Beauty, polished his silver breastplate, occasionally glancing at you with a look that could only be described as intense… like he was considering whether your soul could withstand the sheer radiance of his own beauty.

“Do you even understand art?” Mr. Reca asked you, not looking up from his camera (or rather, his mechanical frog assistant), which was currently trying to catch a perfect shot of your contemplative expression.

You blinked. “Uh, I think so?”

Argenti’s sharp eyes glinted. “Beauty is not just a concept to be understood, it must be experienced.” He stepped closer, his armor gleaming in the starlight. “You must let it consume you. Let the world fall away, until nothing but the purity of your soul remains."

"Are you two seriously having a conversation about beauty right now?" Mr. Reca deadpanned. "I'm trying to film a scene, not host a metaphysical debate. What are you two even doing?"

Argenti raised an eyebrow. “I am instructing them in the sacred tenets of Beauty.”

“Just get out of the shot,” Mr. Reca snapped. “I’ve got a limited budget here, and I’m dealing with dream-warping nonsense, not this. Do you see what I’m working with here? These stars are too perfect to be real!"

You sighed and turned back to Mr. Reca, watching his mechanical frog try to climb up your leg. “You know, for someone who manipulates memories, you’d think you’d have a better grasp on reality.”

“Oh, please,” Mr. Reca sneered, “Reality’s a joke. A bad film script no one bothered to rewrite. I can do better by distorting it.”

Argenti suddenly straightened, as if struck by an epiphany. “Wait. Memories? You manipulate memories?”

“That’s what I said,” Mr. Reca growled, adjusting the frog to capture a different angle of the cliff. “I’m a Memokeeper. I preserve and alter memories. I make life more... interesting.”

Argenti blinked. “Then... why not preserve the purest memory? One that will never fade: the moment Beauty is realized in its highest form?”

You stared at Argenti, utterly confused. “You want me to remember beauty forever?”

“No,” Argenti replied, his voice unyielding. “I want you to experience it. Truly. Let Beauty transcend the memory. Let it be more than an imprint in time.”

Mr. Reca let out an exasperated groan, clearly annoyed at how his profound philosophical statement about memory had turned into a bizarre conversation about some ethereal "Beauty" nonsense. He motioned to you as if you were a prop. “Please, do not encourage him. He’s been on this Beauty trip for centuries.”

But you could already feel yourself drawn to Argenti’s words. There was something about them, some pure essence that seemed to be calling to you, pulling you deeper into this strange triangle of conflicting passions. You looked at both of them, one cynical and jaded, the other painfully idealistic. You were caught between Mr. Reca’s artistic drive and Argenti’s unwavering belief in perfection.

In a moment of sheer spontaneity, you found yourself stepping closer to both men, a smirk playing at the edge of your lips.

“Why don’t we make a film about this?” you said, eyes gleaming. “A film that blends beauty with the harshness of reality. One where the purity of art clashes with the grimness of memory.”

Mr. Reca shot you a skeptical look. “Now you’re talking my language... but the lighting’s still off, and we’ll need at least four more frogs.”

Argenti raised his sword dramatically, pointing it toward the heavens as his voice rang out. “Yes! Together, we shall create a masterpiece! One that will capture the very soul of Beauty in this universe!”

As the mechanical frogs scrambled to adjust the scene, you stood between the two men, caught in a collision of ideals and egos. The stars above shimmered with the potential of a film that could be equal parts magnificent and absurd.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d finally uncover what it meant to live through art… or perhaps to be art.

The next few hours passed in a haze of absurdity. Mr. Reca was constantly complaining about the budget, the lighting, and the mechanical frogs not capturing "the emotional depth" of the scene. Argenti, meanwhile, insisted that every shot had to reflect the ideal of Beauty, even if that meant holding your gaze for what felt like hours.

“Focus,” Argenti insisted, his armor gleaming under the starry sky. “This is the moment of transformation. This is when your inner Beauty will shine through.”

You exchanged a glance with Mr. Reca, who just sighed in resignation. “Yeah, sure. Let’s call it ‘transformation.’”

You stared at Argenti, his voice commanding and his body shimmering like a living statue. But as you looked back at Mr. Reca, the sharp cynicism in his eyes made your heart flutter in a different way.

It was a game of contrasts. Of passion versus apathy. Of beauty versus reality. And as absurd as the whole situation was, you found yourself enjoying the chaos... and maybe even a little curious about how it would all end.

After all, what is life without a bit of madness—and a good film to remember it by?

The End... Or is it?

[sodainto]

is this anything

[b1adie]

Finally, all preparations leading up to the climax are in place. Let us welcome, the beatific final act!

[thedeerus]

bruh look at my examiner