#hassel x you

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Can I please have 46 with Hassel from Pokémon SV?

A/n: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE.

A kiss…out of jealousy.

The logical part of his brain was screaming at him that he had no reason to be jealous. He had the utter most faith in you. But him, how could he when the guy was all over you half the time but it’s not like it meant he was jealous.

Clearing out his throat he stepped closer to you, a smile on his face as he grasped your hand gently. His thumb gliding over your hand once you face him with a bright smile on your face. The man you were talking to was waiting, waiting for something but Hassel was not about to let you go before he made sure the man knew that you were with him.

Arms wrapping around in your waist he then nuzzled your neck for a moment, a giggle escaping your lips until he placed his own lips against yours. Holding your close you pressed closer to his chest, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

Breaking the kiss felt your cheeks grew warm once your realized you had an audience, glancing over your shoulder you muttered a quick apology as your grasped Hassel’s hand tugging him away.

Holding his head up high, Hessel could help but smile as he walked with you. He might have been jealous of him for getting you attention every now and then but he always knew by the end of the day you would return to him.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

summary: Declan introduces you to a friend.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x afab!reader / Rupert Campbell Black

warnings: 18+ mdni. filth. unspecified age gap. oral sex (m). Declan calls the shots. fingering. edging. no m/m. slight anal play. dirty talk. squirting. rough sex. Rupert pushing the boundaries aka he’s a menace. cuckhold of sorts. male masturbation. cream pie. light, barely there after care. ep 8 spoilers. w.c: 2.4k

author’s note: i'm a Declan girlie but I had to write something feat. Rupert.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Soft golden rays bleed through the aged windows of the O'Hara estate. Its owner, Declan, sits comfortably on a worn chair in the middle of his study. Books and papers litter the room, even on the small sofa adjacent to the chair. As the fireplace crackles, the bright orange flames warm your skin as you kneel naked between your employer's thighs.

Declan groans as he feeds you his cock. His thighs widen, as much as his unzipped trousers will allow, on the tattered chair, giving you more room to swallow him down. His heart beats steadily under his lush brown sweater as you suckle his cock while looking up at him under your lashes.

Declan enjoyed times like these when the house was empty, and he got you all to himself. With Maud gone, leaving everything to Taggie was unfair, so he caved and hired a housekeeper. Little did he realize he'd fall head over heels for you.

You both took your time dancing around one another like nervous teenagers at a school dance. Harmless flirting and late-night conversations over the meals you'd cook for him led to Declan taking matters into his own hands.

He was used to control. He enjoyed it, really. The power felt comfortable, and he had no issue wielding it.

Declan was still on edge one day after a trifling day at Coriniuim. His usual soak and cig in the tub wasn't helping. The radio was blasting ear-aching songs, and the water was getting too cold too fast, but that all changed when you walked in on him with an armful of fresh towels.

He took a chance, one that could've ended with him locked up, but you didn't run. You followed his dubious commands and let him exert his dominance, allowing him to reign over you.

Since then, you two have been inseparable.

"Ah, right on time," Declan notes, looking at the clock perched on the mantle in his study as the large front door creaks open.

Declan mentioned inviting a friend over earlier in the day, but you didn't think he meant now.

The sight of your wide doe eyes makes his gut fervently twist. He's always appreciated someone yearning after what was his, especially an individual so well-loved by the women of Rutshire.

"Don' stop, Love," Declan instructs. His Irish accent dips low as he curls a solid hand around your head when you start to draw back. Your wary, garbled sounds vibrate Declan's cock eliciting a hiss from his lips. He sends you a pensive look and keeps you locked as the steps draw near. "You know I like people ta watch, but I wan' to try somethin' new."

Your heart lodges in your throat. Declan had divulged this kink not long after the two of you began dating. It was harmless fun flirting with other men while Declan observed from the shadows like a deviant; the journalist grew feral until he could no longer hold himself back, scurrying off with you in his arms, leaving the poor target in a stupor.

No one could ever come close to Declan; you never want them to.

"I seem to have come at a rather inconvenient time, have I not?" A pondering English baritone fills the room.

Rupert Campbell Black.

With arms crossed, the affluent man leans on the rustic doorframe. He catches your uneasy gaze with a cheeky smile, prompting a wildfire in your belly.

Declan shakes his head, his thick mustache ticking excitedly, "Not at all. Come in."

You try to move again, but Declan doesn't budge an inch. Your brows knot in confusion as your hands fly to cover your exposed bits as best you can.

"Say hello, ta Rupert, Swee'heart," Declan instructs, his dark chestnut eyes alight with devilry.

Your gaze trails from the man's supple leather loafers and pressed lined slacks to the sepia colored dress shirt that exposes a svelte chest as the top two buttons are undone. Rupert oozes high society and overt confidence, the kind of man you'd go dumb even looking at.

"My, my, where has Declan been hiding you?" Rupert croons. His azure orbs fixate with dark intrigue at your naked, shivering form.

As you greet Declan's neighbor, a slight garbled noise barely registers to the men. Tauntingly, Rupert leans over and puts a hand behind his ear, "Sorry, Angel. What was that?"

Your belly flips, and butterflies flutter carelessly in the wake of being so degraded. Still, your cunt produces a wave of arousal and clenches around nothing.

Knowing he doesn't have much patience, you chance another look at Declan and wish you hadn't. His white teeth bared, and his lips pulled back into a light sneer, like a wolf facing down prey, waiting for you to heed his command.

Declan bites back a moan at the hedonic sensation of you stringing together a messy greeting for the affluent man.

Rupert snickers. "Aren't you cute."

"Thatta' girl." He praises before thrusting his length into your throat and cutting off your air.

He waits for a beat, relishing in the watery glaze that coats your eyes and how your chest heaves. Fidgety hands dig into his darkened slacks, knocking the loose ends of his belt. Drool spills down your chin and settles at the base of his cock.

"Ya know ya waited too long ta give Rupert a warm welcome." He fumes, his expression twisting lightly with displeasure.   

With a soft growl, Declan eases his grip. You fall back on your heels, a blight, coughing up spittle and trying to suck down fresh air at the same time.

"Might I say, you've got a real treasure here," Rupert leers down at your messy face and spit-soaked breasts that make your nipples shine in the light. "Lovely to meet your acquaintance."

"Though' you migh' like a taste." Declan offers, looking up at Rupert like you weren't perched at their feet, anxiously awaiting their next move.

"Would I ever." A Cheshire grin tugs at Rupert's lips. He makes a show of folding his button-down sleeves over his muscular forearms as he stalks around you.

Declan beckons you with the tilt of his head, "C'mere, Love. I ain't done wit' your mouth."

You sniffle before taking your place between his knees once more. Declan can sense your worry as Rupert traces a finger down your spine while he crouches behind you. "Don' worry abou' him. He won' do anythin' out of line."

Declan taps his bulbous crown against your swollen lips, drawing your attention away from the blue-eyed beau. His sturdy thighs are a protective shield, enveloping you like a fortress from harm.

As curious fingers tickle your sticky thighs, your lips part with a gasp, allowing Declan to thrust into your warm, wet mouth.

"Jesus Christ, she's soaked." Rupert husks as he softly skims your glistening folds. Your cunt throbs from his unfamiliar touch, coursing a frightening spark of arousal up your spine.

"She's not 'ad much experience." Declan hisses as his crown breaches the tight confines of your throat. Your hand tugs at the thick base that's peppered with dark curls, fingers barely overlapping, pumping in time with his languid thrusts across your tongue.

"You don't say." The Englishman trails off, no doubt thinking of all the crude ways he could defile you.

As you start a slow rhythm, bouncing your head up and down Declan's cock, making the older man unashamedly moan, Rupert swipes his fingers across your seam and gathers all your shiny slick, drawing it up to your clit before lazily circling the tender bud.

Bright lights erupt under your eyelids. Blood rushes south, pooling in your core, heightening your suffocating lust as your body bends to his will.

"Ah ah, Angel." Rupert tsks, grabbing hold of your wriggling hips. His grasp keeps you stock still, unable to evade his voracious touch.

The pads of Declan's fingers press into your scalp as a soft warning. "Be good ta Rupert."

Being pushed and pulled between the two older men was agony of the luscious kind. You only knew of Declan's touch, the succulent highs and lows. The amorous sublime.

A gentle hand glides over your ass before massaging the plump cheek. Your frantic cries are a mumbled mess as you're pushed higher and higher into the pleasurable abyss from Rupert's caress.

He winds two fingers into your core, cursing from your tightness, and splays his dexterous digits along your walls. His thumb lands square on your clit, swiping back and forth with prowess. "So sweet and responsive. Such a good girl." he curls his fingers along your walls, drawing pathetic noises from your chest.

Your body rolls like waves, back and forth between the two men. Rupert's teeth sink into the tender skin of your ass before a gentle tongue soothes the marks and trails down the valley of your cheeks, causing you to choke around Declan's cock.

A wad of spit lands directly on your rosebud just before a wicked tongue ravishes the tight, untouched hole.

Your belly drops at his vulgar touch. No one ever touched you there before. A heavy wave of arousal slips from your cunt as you fight the urgent need for release. Rupert moans hungrily as he laps the rim of your ass.

Your incessant wriggling alerts Declan to Rupert's perverted actions.

"What'd I say, ya daft cunt?" Declan fumes. His mustache twitches as he shoots daggers at the man posed behind you.

Rupert swirls his tongue one final time before leaving your rosebud with a loud pop. "Sorry, chap. I forgot you haven't filled all her holes yet." The tug of his lips says otherwise.

Declan mumbles under his breath and leans back in his chair, focusing on you. "What'a fuckin' sight," he grunts, yanking your tear-coated face off his girth. His large hand completely cups the side of your face, making you feel like a doll with glossy, swollen lips as he stares at you like a man possessed.

Rupert twists his wrist, and your eyes grow wide as saucers. The need to come moves to the forefront of your mind. Declan can tell you're fighting, doing everything you can to hold back as you're slowly dragged to the edge.

Your jaw goes slack, and eyelids flutter; you're willing to endure any repercussions for coming without approval, but then Declan stamps your orgasm out just as quickly as it started.

"No, no, no. Don' be greedy," he tsks, shoving your dumbstruck face back down onto his length.

With Declan's cock stretching your lips and drooling pre cum over your taste buds and Rupert curling his fingers into the spongy spot behind your clit, your nerves scream for release.

The insides of your thighs are soaked, slick from want and a need held so close yet so far away. A soft cry falls from your spit-stained lips as Declan snatches your head off his cock and curves a large hand under your chin, holding you like a precious piece of art.

His opaque orbs sweep across your face, wild and feral; he's on the edge of breaking but holds steady like the stubborn man he is.

"Come on, Declan, let the girl come," Rupert implores to the stoic man holding captive your utmost pleasure.

The corner of Declan's lips tilts. He knows what'll happen. He can see it in your face, how truly gone you are, how nearly close the dam is to breaking.

"Go on, show 'im what he's missin', Swee'heart." Declan encourages, finally allowing you the taste you've wanted all this time.

Your body writhes in their combined hold with unkempt ecstasy as a ravenous cry fills the large study. You come like a geyser, locking like a vice around Rupert's fingers, forcing a curse from his lips as you coat his wrist and trousers with your creamy release.

"Jesus-" Rupert moans, dark and depraved, watching with rabid fascination as your core pulses in time to the beat of his heart.

Declan gathers you into his arms, away from the still man, propping your knees on either side of his thighs. "Sit on the couch and watch," he orders a dumbstruck Rupert before easing you down on his swollen cock.

A whimper catches in your throat from the obscene stretch as his girth widens your channel for the first time that day. Declan grabs your ass and steadily bounces you on his length, helping you rise and fall since your legs have turned to jelly.

"Gone so dumb, ya can' even move," Declan mocks. Coarse whiskers chafe your skin as he nibbles your chin, pouring filthy praises against your jaw, "Still so tight. Maybe two cocks'll do the trick," he drives his girth into your exhausted body. "Wan' your pretty cunt gapin' fa' me."

The seam of his brown sweater grazes your clit on every thrust; the fibers are soft yet overstimulating, your body boils, on the verge of combusting, and there's nothing you can do.  

A low moan catches your attention, dragging you from your frenzied state. As you turn your head to find the strange noise, you see Rupert with his swollen cock in his hand, barely out of his trousers. His cock weeps, the bulbous tip pulsing red, while he sucks your juices off his glistening fingers like a man starved for days.

His animalistic gaze bores into where you and Declan connect. You can imagine how obscene it is. Declan's sticky balls thwap immorally against your ass. Sticky sounds bounce off the walls as he draws more slick from your core, staining the base of his cock in a creamy ring.

Rupert's eyes flit to yours. You silently mouth his name, playing with the man who's used the women of Rutshire like a kid with infinite toys. The subtle action pushes the posh man over the edge.

Biting his knuckles, Rupert spills over his other set with a ragged string of grunts. The image sets off a chain reaction. You follow suit, crying as you come around Declan's cock, and dragging your other half with you. Declan's thick brows furrow, groaning his ecstasy as he fills you with ropes of white.

The three of you gradually come down from the hedonistic scene. Your hearts beat to their natural rhythm as the birds outside sing a dusk setting song.

"T'was lovely to meet you, Angel," Rupert flirts, cleaning his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself into his trousers. "Hope to see you again real soon."

"Fuck off, Rupert," Declan quips, jutting his chin toward the door.

Rupert sends you a wink before rounding the couch and exits with the fattest smile you've ever seen.

Declan mumbles under his breath and curls his arms around you. He tucks your head under his chin, letting you unwind comfortably before the crackling fire.

"Was that okay, Swee'heart?" Declan's asks with softened eyes.

With a satisfied sigh, you snuggle deeper into his hold, seeking the warmth and protective embrace he can only give. "More than."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[nualaofthefaerie]

"You're exceptional, Taggie..."

Rivals (s1.ep3)

AngelBlack (Taggie O'Hara x Rupert Campbell-Black)

[jam3sacaster]

“Don’t waste your time with him.” PT 1.

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by my sweet heart anon 🫶🏽 / Your uncle, Freddie Jones, introduces you to his new business partners, and you end up wishing he didn’t…

18+ FANFIC / SMUTTY, angsty, hot, in love. Longer than usual so I apologise and hope you don’t take a nap halfway through. Reader character aged 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my asks 💋

Desperate to escape the exhausting bustle of London, it had been agreed some weeks ago that you were to stay at your uncle, Freddie Jones’, Manor House in Rutshire. He had mentioned, vaguely, over the phone about his new business idea and that your expertise in marketing would provide a real asset. Pulling into the extravagant driveway at 8am sharp, you slam your car door shut and pull three substantial cases from the boot. “Darlin!” The familiar accent chimed as your moustached uncle threw open his front door, walking towards you with outstretched arms. Dropping your cases to the floor, you ran to meet him, embracing in a tight, meaningful hug. “I’m so glad you see you.” You exhaled, already feeling the stresses of London melting away. You had always been incredibly close to your uncle, but his newfound wealth and social status and upheaved him from his family and everyday life and plunged him into Rutshire. “Leave the cases. Someone will bring them up for you.” He nodded, taking your hand and leading you into his remarkable home.

“Hello, darlin!” Your auntie Valerie peeped from the doorway, momentarily giving you an uncomfortable, cramped hug. “You’ll have to excuse Fred Fred for an hour, he’s having a business meeting.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. Embarrassed, Freddie looked down at his feet, but still mustered a smile for you. “Don’t worry about that, come in and meet them. I can tell you all about our new business plan, it’s fuckin’ incredible.” He spoke, beaming to himself now as Val pottered her way outside into her lavish garden. Opening the door to his office, Freddie ushered you in and boomed to the two men standing inside. “Gents, this is my beautiful niece, she’s staying with me for a while and she was an absolute marketing genius down in London. Darlin, this is Rupert-Campbell Black, Minister for Sport, and Declan O’Hara, former star of Declan on Corinium.” He introduced you. Declan tutted at the very mention of the C-word.

“Hello.” You spoke gently, awkwardly glancing between the two men. They quickly exchanged the necessary response to you, and gathered Freddie round the table, mumbling statistics that were far beyond understanding. “Sit, sit.” Freddie tapped the seat beside you, and you hesitantly obliged. Scanning your eyes over their scrawled out business plans, Rupert took the seat beside you, leaning over you slightly to point at some arbitrary on the paper. The potent, saccharine aroma of his aftershave wafting into your nostrils. As he retreated his hand, it brushed across yours softly, making your jump gently in shock. “Sorry.” He muttered, looking up at you and presenting you with a faint smile. Time stood still for a moment as your eyes interlocked contact — Rupert’s eyes softening in lust, yours in affection. “So,” Freddie’s hands slapped against the wooden desk, “We’ll have lunch, a couple of drinks and then get back to it.” He rubbed your shoulder and grinned at you, mouthing shortly after ‘You okay?’, to which you nodded.

Standing up from your chair and making your way into the garden, you breathed in the soft fragrance from the luxurious assemblage of flowers — Soft, pastelled hydrangeas, electric primroses, and properly preened roses of scarlet red and crisp white. You wrapped your soft, knitted lavender cardigan around your torso and squinted slightly under the subtle early morning sun. “London then, eh? Whereabouts?” An aristocratic voice sounded from behind you, cigarette smoke clouding the aroma from the flowers. “Kensington. I worked for a marketing agency, but they ended up thinking I was some kind of businesswoman so I ended up marketing a few television shows.” You reply, turning around slightly to see Rupert Campbell-Black stood, top button of his pastel blue shirt undone.

“Hmm. You’ll be a great asset to the team then. We could use your expertise.” He internally rolled his eyes as he spoke. There was nothing more dull and droning than boring a beautiful young lady with business. “Declan seems nice.” You reply, cheeks delicately glowing a rosy hue. To this, Rupert raised an arched eyebrow — appearing confused but a painful tinge of jealousy coursing through his veins. “Don’t waste your time with him. He’s… emotionally unavailable. His wife just fucked off back to London.” He chuckles abruptly, taking a long puff of his cigarette. Your supple lips pouted, feeling a rather strong wave of sympathy for Declan — partly for his wife leaving, partly for Rupert divulging such personal information to you. “I’m up at Penscombe Court, should you ever need to visit. To talk business and such. Or maybe more.” He winked, and you snickered, shaking your head softly. “Thank you. I’ll-umm… remember that.” You respond, making your way back inside.

Back in the office, Freddie was pacing up and down on his mobile, hand struggling to clasp around the thickened brick of a phone, and the antenna wafting around after him. Declan, muttering to himself under his breath, was sat at the desk, scribbling on an a5 piece of paper. “Drink?” You ask him, and he takes a moment to respond. “Sorry, love. Umm… yes, please. Just a soft one.” He replies, curling his bottom lip into an awkward smile. Temporarily migrating to the kitchen and walking back with a teeming jug of lemonade, laden with ice cubes and slices of fresh lemon, alongside four glasses. Pouring one out for everyone, Declan thanked you as you sat bedside him. “Sooo… what are you working on?” You ask, leaning into him to look over his shoulder. “Just a few pitch docs, jus’ throwin’ some ideas around.” Declan replied, but placed his pen back onto the table and sat back in his chair. “How old are ya?”

“21.” You meekly squeak, his presence intimidating. “And you’re already a marketin’ expert? Ya’ must be really good.” A reassuring smile plastered across his face as he spoke, and took a quick swig of his lemonade. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think Uncle Fred has made me seem a lot better than I actually am.” Freddie looks as you as you speak, smiling through his tedious phone conversation. “I’ve been propositioned already by Mr Campbell-Black.” You sigh, to which Declan shakes his head in disbelief. “Honestly, that man. There’s not a woman on the planet that he wouldn’t ride. Don’t waste your time with him.”

As the evening grew piercingly cold, the budding Venturer team roamed to the living room — television on, fire crackling and tumblers of amber whiskey flowing. You felt small amongst the room of men, talking too loudly and laughing too obnoxiously. Freddie was talking Rupert’s ear off, and that now familiar look of disinterest on Rupert’s face gave it all away. You grinned at him with twinkling eyes as he screwed his face up jokingly towards you at your uncle’s surely riveting conversation. “Whenever ya’ free, and ya’ wanna talk strategies, let me know and we can call a meeting.” Declan spoke, now drunk and stumbling over his words. “This isn’t your way of trying to flirt is it?” You ask, rolling your eyes and pouring yourself an offensively large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “Trust me, darlin’, you’d know if I was trying to flirt.” All of a sudden, it wasn’t a joke anymore. His tone was low and gruff, and his eyes sharpened. “Maybe we should talk business now?” You suggest, inching your voice towards his. Without responding, Declan rose from the sofa and entered the office. To avoid arising suspicion, you get up a few moments later, with a half-arsed excuse about needing to use the bathroom. Barely waiting for you to close the office door behind you, Declan crashed his lips into yours, pinning you to the wall as the sounds of your colliding lips fought for dominance over your passionate groans.

•

Sliding his hand under your blue floral frock, Declan rubbed his thumb over your slit, the friction of your pants sending a jolt through your body. “Wet for me already?” He asked into your ear, before pulling your pants to the side and gliding two fingers inside you. You yelped in pleasure as his fingers immediately curled towards your g-spot. The frantic passion of the seductive man increased your groans, as you brought your hand down to rub his growing cock over his jeans. “Do you want me on my knees?” You asked with a smirk. Declan opened his mouth to speak, but —

The doorknob turned, and you both desperately panicked to straighten yourselves out. Smoothing down your dress as Declan turned around, in attempt to hide his hard-on from whoever was to enter the room. “Darlin?” Your uncle asked, and you perked your head up innocently. “You okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Freddie. Declan was just… picking my brains.” You chime, turning around slightly to check for his reaction. He suppressed a smirk, and nodded in agreement towards Freddie. Unsuspecting as always, Freddie smiled in contentment and closed the door behind him. “Fuck, that was close. Jesus feckin’ Christ, you turned me into an animal.” Declan wheezed into laughter. You stepped towards him and lifted his hand, sucking his brutish fingers that were, moments ago, inside of you. “Fuck.” He growled in response, running a course hand over his hair. You opened the office door and stepped out, Declan following close behind and giving you a playful snack on your behind that made you yelp. Freddie stood by the door, phone to his ear and speaking nonsense to a pretend caller. He was watching, and keeping a close eye.

•

“Cigarette?” Rupert’s voice spoke from the kitchen towards Declan. You hear Declan decline, and make your way into the kitchen to refill your drink. “You?” He asks, and you nod your head in response as you take a few, very-needed sips of wine. Pulling your uncle Freddie’s lighter from the countertop, you follow the suited man into the garden, taking a quick seat on the frosted wooden bench as Rupert stood above you. He lit his cigarette, and leant down to your level, lighting yours with the blaze within his.

“Finding us insufferable already?” He teased, taking a step back. Shaking your head and puffing your cigarette, your mind could barely muster a response as you envisioned the sound of Declan’s groans and the way his fingers hooked inside of you. “Umm… no. You’re both very nice, actually.”

“Hmm. Declan’s a bit of a cunt but we fair well for ourselves. Think any more about my offer?” He asks, sitting beside you now. “Not yet. How do I know you’re not some chauvinistic Casanova that wants to add me to your long list of conquests?” Raising an arched eyebrow as you speak. Rupert raises his hands in defeat, chuckling to himself that he’d been completely rumbled. You chuckle half-heartedly, semi-believing your own joke. “Well, let’s forget business. I don’t believe in waiting for something you desire. You’re a beautiful girl, and I’d like to take you to dinner.” He declared, taking a long drag of his cigarette and rubbing his thumb over your silky cheek. Taken aback by his rather attractive forwardness and gently biting your lip, you tilt your head upwards at the gentleness of his touch. The bitter evening silence in the garden was comforting — solemnly tranquil, interrupted only by autumn leaves tumbling in the wind and the occasional croaking of a frog in the grass. Even more beautiful still, the heavens opened up to unleash a downpour of of rain. Luckily, the bench was tucked under the porch, but one could still admire the serene display of nature.

Keeping your head tilted towards him, he ran his thumb from your cheek to your lips, lining the top lip, and then the bottom. So enamoured with desire, you could barely breath. He gently pushed his thumb into your mouth, making contact with your tongue. Keeping it there for a moment, he paused and spoke .. “You are magnificent.”

“Darlin’? Are you comin’ in? It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there.” Freddie’s voice beckoned you from the kitchen window, catching a slight glimpse of the scene unfolding on his garden porch. Taking his time, Rupert removed his thumb from your mouth and stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall. “You know where I am, angel. Don’t hesitate.” He expressed solemnly, as you collected yourself and went to join your uncle.

“Be careful, darlin’. You’re playing with fire.” Your uncle Freddie warned.

[snowslugs]

he would later get into an argument with a random viewer over if gible feels rough or smooth

[celestialholz]

Today in Gay People: Hassel.

There's something I've noticed about our resident art teacher, and that's... well, Flapple. I mean, we all know how gay the whole Applin deal is, but... well, it's where it is that's particularly interesting.

This is Steven Stone's team.

This is Cynthia's team...

This is Wallace's team...

I could go on. (And yes, I'm using champions because, like Hassel, they're important, powerful NPCs with a proper team, and let's be real here, Hassel is five minutes, that Tournament Dragonite and a fuck to give away from kicking Geeta out of his office.)

But the point here is... well, that penultimate slot. The fifth slot in a champion's team - or fourth, in Hassel's case - is reserved for the vice-captain role. It's the Pokemon hardest to take down before the ace, meant to weaken you up - the secondary signature mon. We see here with Milotic - defence for days, Marvel Scale, offensive too. And we see it with Armaldo - excellent attack, difficult type. And then we see it with Gyrados - Dragon Dance, Earthquake, power. Utility. That second-to-last slot is designed to weaken you up for the finale, the real powerhouse of the squad. Leon does it too - his fifth slot is the starter strong against yours, the one you may not have a counter to if your team-building isn't on point.

... And then we have Hassel.

... Now, there's a few things to note here.

Flapple shares the same quad weakness as Noivern, which leads. That's, er... different.

Flapple, statistically, is the weakest Pokemon here. Not by a lot - Dragalge is only ten points or so better, but it's a defensive Pokemon. It's meant to fill that role, as well as being a counter to Fairies.

Flapple isn't the utility mon most penultimate-slot mons are.

... And yet, here it is. Now, I could draw upon Hassel's six-mon Tournament team here, which adds Dragonite into this slot instead, but the Tournament is Hassel fucking about. He's been chilling in the staffroom and someone's gone "oh, that champion-rank kid's up, get out here." The Elite Test line-up is him at work. He's specifically chosen to leave a pseudo-legendary at home... for Flapple.

And why would he do that? @edgeanescence pointed out on the EphemeralArt Discord that the penultimate slot is meant to represent the trainer; the personality and the heart of them, as well as acting as vice-captain. And, well...

Cynthia's is a Milotic. Grace, beauty, the defence of Sinnoh against Cyrus.

Steven's is an Armaldo. A fossil, a Rock-type, the strongest of all fossils at the time - perfect sentiments for him.

Wallace's is a Gyrados. Power, controlled by a former eighth gym slot; ferocity in water.

... And Hassel's is a Flapple. Like him, she has power, but what she represents as a Grass/Dragon is much more important to him than raw offence or defence. She is his softness; she is his tears, and pride in his students; she is part-Brassius. Whether Brassius gave him the Flapple or not is irrelevant, though it's pretty compelling that he did - this man takes a representation of his heart and of his love into battle over the Dragonite, who has 120 more points of stats. By rights, even if he's leaving the Dragonite at home, Haxorus should be here if this is about power, not Flapple.

And you can tell me that it's about game balance as much as you like, but oh look:

Brassius's rematch team, everyone, and look at that penultimate slot.

Look at that Arboliva sculpture, with Brass's own spikiness and Dragon-type purple-tinged blue.

Brassius is not like Appletun, the obvious counterpoint here. Brassius is drama; Brassius is a man formerly weak, much like Smoliv; Brassius is not home comforts, apple pies, yet he's surprisingly kind and encouraging. Reminding you of anything?

... Ah, yes. Arboliva, depending on mood. And, if you're not already convinced...

That's Flapple, in the Violet dex. Strong, and covered in clay. Like a fucking artist, or a man who loves a sculptor.

When the chips are down, when they show up to work, when they have important, key battles, Hassel and Brassius don't just take their Pokemon to the arena.

They take themselves, and they take each other.

[souenkun]

Brassius, Hassel, and Look Back by Tatsuko Fujimoto.

[drawnbinary]

You gotta project on your faves sometimes (I use a rollator)

[fangirling-mess]

Rupert & Taggie (Rivals) | Close to You

[r0-boat]

How to Break a Dragon's Heart

Yan!Dragon Hassel x Gn!reader

Sfw, Shitty Angst, confession and rejection.

Cw:yandere, kidnapping, killing your entire village just quirky Dragon things

This was the same dragon that kidnapped you? The same dragon that was feared by all, whose mighty roar haunts their nightmares, even for the strongest of knights who's shaking fear when your father even utters his name.

The same dragon that is now hiding behind a "big" rock, its golden eyes watching you closely with awe as if you do not see its pitiful attempts at hiding his large body and how his tail thumps at the ground with each powerful slam, causing the ground around him to shake.

Before you were tense and alert, thinking that he might eat you or torture you, but now, since death has never come and this is the first time that the dragon has made direct eye contact with you, only for him to look…f-flustered? you're just confused…. Hassel watched you a distance; however, when he noticed you were walking toward him, he felt his heart leap out of his chest.

"Human, what are you doing?" his voice bellowing deep and rumbling, but there was a hint of nervousness that you had picked up, giving you more confidence. "What is your plan with me, dragon?" You ask, glaring up at the Beast staring into pools of gold. Its eyes Pierce through your soul; you can see the dragon fangs poking from its maw, sharp like knives built for tearing through soft flesh. Your bravery was one of the many things Hassel loved you for; despite what he was known for, although you're more unsavory opinion of him, you still give him a chance to answer bravely and politely. Realizing that it would be better to talk to you in a more comforting form, a bright light surrounds the figure of the lizard as he shrinks from quadruped to bipedal one, his paws turned into more human hands, though his nails are still sharp like claws. His reptilian maw disappeared completely in favor of a human face. And you dare say, handsome, those same golden eyes that struck fear in the hearts of many knights were now on the face of an older man with a gentle smile. His golden scales disappeared completely in favor of golden locks of hair instead of a low, scratchy, growly voice. His human form sounded smoother and husky. You're he would have captured the hearts of women in your village if he wasn't the same dragon that attacked said village.

"I mean you no harm, little one, I promise."

Even now, in this human form, he still towers over you; small and aggressive like a little firecracker, the way you tense up and bear your teeth at him, the way you stand your ground, narrowly reminding him of a hissing kitten. Hassel, that's all back to his urge to hold you in his arms and nuzzle his face into your neck.

"Lies! You have taken me from my family, holding me in your nest. Tell me the truth, Dragon!"

Hassel sighs, scratching his head with a finger, hoping he could avoid telling you why he had come to your home, setting many people in a blaze to carry you delicately into his claws. He could feel heat rush to his face, his heart starting to beat with nervousness, setting trying to find his words.

"I- I'm in love with you. I wish to court you."

Those words hit you harder than a cart going down a hill at full speed. You expected many things, but a confession from the most terrifying dragon in all the legends was not one of them. And even now, Hassel stands before you, fidgeting with his fingers, eyes looking nervously at the ground, waiting for an answer, which is struggling even to be a concept in your mind.

Your hesitation is apparent to him; perhaps he owes you an explanation. He gives you a soft look full of love, approaching you; you stand before him, still frozen and dumbfounded; it hadn't fully occurred to you when fingers gently caress the side of your face, looking deep into your eyes. An arm snakes slowly around your waist, pulling you slightly closer to his body. His voice, low and husky, lowers it even more to a whisper. To tell you something only he wants you to know

"I've been watching you with every chance I get, whether it be perched upon high cliffs or in my human disguise. Your kindness warms my heart; your smile is brighter than the sun despite your kind, greedy, and nasty tendencies; you still bless them with your love, giving things up to the less fortunate and working hard alongside your fellow man. Your soft heart is something I rarely see in my kind. I can't help but be attracted to you."

The dragon poured his heart out to you. You hate to admit it, but his confession was cute. You had almost forgotten that he'd burned down half your village just to kidnap you.

Your face flushed as embarrassment slowly turned into anger, pushing him away. Hassle's eyes widen, filling with her as he stepped back from you when you escaped from his arms.

"I-I don't love you, and I never will take me back! If you truly loved me and brought me back to my Village to my home!"

You practically scream, your voice raising at the sick monster that claimed who loved You after killing half of those you cared about and burning down your home. Hassel chokes up, heartbroken, and it hurts to no end. He could feel his body shake; his chest tightened so much it was hard to breathe. It hurts being rejected by someone he loved quietly for years, conscious teeth trying to fight back the tears, studying his breath; he wanted to escape into his den to cry. But he didn't want to lose you years of pining just to be yelled at? No, he needed you. His heart hurts, but he can't let you go. Those golden eyes that looked at you with love lost their shine, darkening as he walked closer. Suddenly, the air has changed, feeling more hostile. Instinctively, you step back, which only makes him stalk closer. His voice was no longer gentle; it was direct and commanding as he growled. "I apologize, but I can't do that." This is when you realize he was much stronger than you, grabbing you and yanking you back into his arms with ease. Like you were a mere rag doll, was he only humoring how weak you actually are compared to him? Maybe, just maybe, if he keeps you, perhaps you'll fall for him. To love him just as profoundly as he left you. Only time can tell, and unfortunately for you, he has an eternity.

[soyrisotto]

“Dance with me, dear”

[thatone-churro]

if i had a nickel for every consecutive pokemon game that had implications/vibes of a wlw relationship between a teacher(esque) figure and a gym leader, i’d have two nickels, which is a lot to me

[eufezco]

more declan smut!! posting tomorrow or this weekend idk yet!! if yall have any declan or rupert requests send them 🗣️🗣️

[charcadett]

Soooooo I noticed you like Hassel and your boi's got daddy issues. So how about some headcanons of Hassel being someones father figure? Student or not whatever's easier for you please and thank you!

I got two asks about Hassel as a father figure in the same day as each other and that’s so funny to me. He just exudes dad energy huh? I’m going with a teenage student in this one rather than a young kid, though I can definitely be persuaded to do a different Hassel dad scenario! Um, I did end up getting a little project-y here, sorry about that. Oops- Hope you enjoy :D

CW: Absent father, implied bad mother, and feelings regarding that

Hassel As A Father Figure

- It’s easy to get attached to Hassel, especially if you’re a young teenager lacking praise or affection. Your own father is distant at best, and not in the picture at worst. You don’t let it bother you. Whenever one of your peers gives you their sympathy, you shrug it off. He hasn’t been in your life for a long time. How can you miss something you’ve never had? That is until an innocuous compliment from your art teacher makes you tear up. You manage to hide it behind your paper, but you know that your eyes sting and your heart simultaneously aches and soars inside the confines of your ribs. It’s hard not to feel ashamed. You thought you were beyond this, that whatever wound your father left closed up a long time ago. Evidently, you were wrong.

- Hassel notices. Of course, he does. Teenagers are never as good at hiding things as they think they are. Out of respect for your privacy, he doesn’t mention it. He does keep a closer eye on you, though. When you find yourself at his desk, nervously showing him what you’ve been working on, along with a heaping of praise, he adds that his door is always open if you need to talk.

- It takes you a while to take him up on his offer. During your lunch, Hassel happens to have a free period, and you’re too busy fidgeting with your lunchbox, wondering if you’re a weirdo for even showing up, to notice Hassel approaching you. He waves, invites you inside, and asks what you need. You shrug. “I don’t really have anyone to eat lunch with and I feel stupid just sitting at a table alone. Can I eat in here?”

- Hassel, of course, says yes. The art room is open to anyone for whatever reason. Would you prefer to eat in silence or talk? You decide on silence. He takes it in stride, offering you a smile before he sits down and works on his lesson plan. It takes you even longer to talk to him. Every so often, you’ll blurt out a question you had in class but were too shy to share. Hassel’s answers are never concise. The rest of your lunch is spent slowly working through your sandwich while he rambles.

- It’s during one of your lunch visits that Hassel’s cousin drops by, and he steps into the hall to give them a piece of his mind. You can’t help but listen. They’re right outside after all, and you can’t deny your curiosity. His situation isn’t the same as yours, but you can’t help but feel a bit of solidarity. His dad is far away, and though that is his choice, you want to know if there’s any common ground. Your dad left you. It was out of your control. How can you make yourself feel like you wanted that? That you were the one that left him. Would you go back to normal? You never felt like this before. Why now?

- Hassel steps back into the room, running an exhausted hand down his face, and starts to offer you an apology. Before he can speak, you beat him to it. “Do you ever miss your dad?”

- Not the most elegant way to start a conversation. You immediately recognize you may have shoved your foot in your mouth with an embarrassed blush. He’s caught off guard for a moment but recenters himself after a few seconds. “I do occassionally, but I am far happier here than I would have ever been at home.”

- “How do I, um.” You fidget with the strap of your lunchbox. “How do I stop? Missing him, I mean.”

- Hassel doesn’t have an answer for you. He does, however, decide at that very moment that you need someone. A strong guiding force to help you get through this. While there may be no easy solution, he knows that at your age, he would have appreciated support more than anything. His own relationship with his family is rocky. There was no one to foster his talent or interest outside of what was expected of him. There was no helping hand through that brief and lonely period right after he left home. No one to help him navigate his admittedly large emotions. If you ever need anything, no matter how big or small, you are welcome to ask. The same offer he gave you before, though, this time, there was a new weight to it.

- As usual, you start off small. Popping by during his free period to ask for advice on making friends, or whether he knows of any instance that Raifort allows late work. (She doesn’t) Eventually, you go a little deeper. You had a fight with your mom, and you know she’s wrong, but she made you feel childish and small. Hassel frowns and gently tells you that you’re right. She shouldn’t talk to you like that. For some reason, that makes you cry. Which you feel ashamed of because you shouldn’t be crying anymore. That fight was hours ago. You aren’t even mad anymore, so why are you crying? Hassel consoles you and tells you that it’s normal. It’s better to let it all out than keep it in. As he rubs your back, you end up sobbing even harder. He’s right, though. You do feel better after.

- On one of the lunches you spend with Hassel, Brassius happens to drop by. When he sees you, you’re almost taken aback by his grin. He always looks so serious on the billboards of Levincia, not to mention how intense he can be when he’s a guest speaker in class.

- “You must be that student Hass speaks so highly of.” He crosses his arms as he throws a glance at Hassel over his shoulder. “I am honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to pull out adoption papers yet.”

- There is a part of you that worries your attachment to Hassel is one-sided. You’ve accepted that you see him as a surrogate father, but you’ve also accepted that it’s likely he only sees you as a particularly friendly student. Maybe he pities you or something equally awful. Hearing Hassel’s scolding “Brassie!” and Brassius’ snort makes you realize how wrong you are. Even if you want to turn into a Slugma and hide in the vents for a little while.

[k-chips]

Hassel with scars on his back>>>>>

Brassius with little scars on his hands>>>>

[lazy-sketcher]

Thanks to Twitter user @/BIZKITBUMPURR and their gold mine of a thread "draw your babygirl like this", I was able to create this yesterday: pathetic lovestruck babygirl Hassel🍊

And as if it wasn't already homosexual enough...🍊🌻

These old men managed to totally fuck up my already affected mental stability. It's incredible.