Narratophilia

BY : JujYFru1T
Category: Pokemon > General
Dragon prints: 475
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon GO or any of its characters. I am not making any money by writing and posting this fanfic.

umm, I have a collection of Got3 headcanons on Tumblr, so yeah that's where this came from. Very short, experimental. Originally posted 2016.


They're only words. Black lines on his phone screen, glowing in the dark. Salacious words, to be sure, words that paint a vibrant picture, that flow to his eyes with such elegance...

But they're only words.

And yet-- if he listens carefully enough-- he can almost hear the voice of the one who wrote them. Whispering in his ear, breath warm and soft. Perhaps a hand trailing down his chest, or caressing his cheek.

Would he be as aroused if those words were written by someone else? The thought flits through the lustful haze descending on his mind, and he considers it.

He decides the answer is no.

The others are sleeping. He's quite alone, really. So if, theoretically, his hand inches into his pants as he reads on, if he wraps that hand around himself, if he bites his lips and gasps out that person's name, if he stays quiet while he spills all over himself...

What's the harm?

None at all. Not that he cares; he's past the point of no return. But it's something about those words-- knowing who wrote them, and that that person is asleep just a few doors away, and has no idea that he knows. There's something a bit uncouth about the whole situation. Which is exactly why he can't control himself.

Eventually the situation will lose its luster, or the idea of confessing the naughty things he's done to the person who's caused their doing will be more appealing. For now the secrecy is still tantalizing, something to keep to himself, at least for a while.

Not for long, though. He'll tell Candela later. He usually does. The secret isn't entirely his, but she doesn't let her own exploits be known. Instead she berates him for his, teases him for being naughty. It's all an act, one that turns her on as much as it does him. Whenever they play this game, they're rough and hard and fast with each other.

After, they lie together, and sometimes they're silent, sometimes they talk. They talk about those words, written by the person they both love, the erotic ones and poetic ones. He wishes that he could say what all those words mean to him, wonders if Candela feels the same.

But the price of reading those words is the person who wrote them will never know.

Maybe someday, though. Maybe together, he and Candela can convince that person not to be ashamed by being found out. That having such words read by paramours is a compliment, not something to hide from.

In the dark, now clean, he smiles. The two of them could be muses, in more ways than one. Candela, especially, will like that. She likes eyes on her, and commanding those eyes. A gentle shiver runs through him at the thought.

He'll have to discuss it with her tomorrow.

Sleep comes despite that anticipation, and his dreams are filled with red and blue, a sensuous voice, and deep green eyes.



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