Pokemon Paparazzi Novels & Stories

He asks, “This is Evette, my right-wing woman, “ she chuckles at her little joke. Parker looks at me, then shakes my hand, and as he touches my hand, his eyes widen, and his grip starts to tighten; I pull my hand away, “Okay….” He shakes his head then smiles, “I’m sorry, sometimes I don’t know my strength,” he chuckles, lightening the mood. I double-blink, “What exactly do you do here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Parker slightly picks up his camera, “I’m the new Forensic Photographer, and you are?”

The language of clients: aesthetics and engagement. My phone buzzed beside the keyboard. Javier. I opened the message. First photo: Poppy on an orange plastic chair in Condamine, her blue dress bearing a mysterious stain on the skirt, lace socks sliding down. In her hand, a half-eaten barbagiuan. Oily lips, green eyes squinting in the sun, crown askew. On the table, a paper plate with crumbs and a cup of orange juice full of pulp. Second photo: Poppy at the promenade railing, leaning forward, hand stretched out to a crowd of birds gathered like they were holding a press conference. Javier stood a few steps behind her, one hand ready to hook her collar if she leaned too far.

Summer nodded with a beaming face. Meanwhile, Louis took a deep breath. He never knew a toddler could speak so fluently and without a pause. "Please don't misunderstand. I moved you here not because we're close, but because I'm a good person. I can't abandon a child. If the paparazzi recorded me, my good name would be ruined." "What's a parapazi?" Summer asked through her pursed lips. “Paparazzi,” Louis corrected. “People who take photos secretly to share through the media. They usually aim their cameras at famous people. The people they photograph can suffer.”

Marco, Achilles, and even Lars had mentioned them during past conversations. Lara once explained that there are different types of paparazzi, and these particular ones are infamous. They’re known for their persistence and probing questions, capable of driving anyone to frustration. “Their faces are everywhere online,” Lara had said. I’d checked them out that day, and now I recognize about 30-40% of those standing before me. As they draw closer, I notice some of them appear to be streaming live, likely on platforms like F******k. Strangely, I feel a surge of confidence—something I’ve lacked all morning. It’s as if my inner wolf had intentionally made me feel weak earlier, only to build me up

Maxim flipped through the pictures he had taken and grinned. There were plenty of good shots showing both their faces. “Man, I am so good at this! Maybe I should put this on the market too… The paparazzi would be more than eager to pay me good money to have pictures of the Crown Princess and her little bodyguard fucking in the garden, where everyone could see them…” His grin became even wider.

The paparazzi standing behind a flimsy barrier erupt in a frenzy as cameras lift in unison. "Kieran Westfield!" "Over here, Kieran!" "This way!" “Love you, Kieran Westfield.” “I’m willing to be your whore or maid. Please take me with you!” "Is there a special woman in your life?" Their voices blend into a desperate chorus. Lenses point at him from every angle, capturing his descent in high-definition greed. Tomorrow these images will splash across tabloids, websites, social media. The Westfield heir returns home. The prodigal son. The cold-blooded corporate shark

~Bailey’s Point of View~ Paparazzi. Photogs. Paps. PPZ. Whatever. Assholes. “But they’re just doing their job.” What a fucked up kind of job. I mean, I was very small when all that shit happened to Britney Spears but I have You Tube. I’ve seen the videos. They completely fucked up her life and drove her to the brink.

The paparazzo trembled and handed over his precious camera. Tony grabbed the camera and handed it to Sean, but his gaze was fixed on the paparazzo on the ground. Sean took the camera to inspect it. Sean's own figure was also inside, as the paparazzo stated. Sean's expression darkened suddenly. Tony was well aware that his boss despises being photographed the most. Tony asked the paparazzo on the ground, "What are those photos for?" "I'm not sure. I'm only doing it for the money. I'm completely clueless." The paparazzo shook his head. He provides no helpful information.

Was this the paparazzi? She stopped picking them, glancing up at the individual. Her eyes widened in suprise before morphing into a confused frown. "Photo guy? " she scowled. "The name's Josh. Nice to meet you too April.” he smirked. April scoffed, standing up straight to narrow her eyes at him, "tell me you weren't stalking me." "I wasn't." She rolled her eyes, "yeah why else would I run into you here?" He gathered his camera and other stuffs before averting his attention to her "I'm working on a project. Aren't you supposed to like do a cover up since you're celebrity and people would most likely run into you?"

“-but the guy’s clean. No shady tax havens, no NDAs, no exes dragging him on TikTok. He even recycles. Publicly. Paparazzi caught him sorting compost in SoHo last summer.” “Sounds like something he’d do for good publicity,” I mutter. “I know, right?” Jamie grins. “Only he told nobody. Some passerby recognized him and snapped a pic. So maybe he’s just a breath of fresh air.” I stare at the wine in my glass for a second. “So you think I should go for it?”