Just wanna say first of all, thank yall so much for all the love and all the requests! I really appreciate it so much <3
While I’m working on these requests (keep them coming yall I’m loving them) I’m gonna write some more fics that have been plaguing my brain and YOU get to vote which ones I do next 😛
I’ll separate the SFW and NSFW (click here for that poll) for yall
Feel free to give suggestions too and feedback or to even just ask questions about the options I’d love to yap with yall
For SFW:
Which x reader fic first? (SFW version)
Picnic on the beach with Guzma
First date with Sycamore
Late night walks with Corbeau
Planning a birthday party for Vinnie’s daughter
Surprising Grisham with homemade goods
Voting ended onApr 4
I deffo have a lot more ideas in the noggin, but these are just a few to put out there :3
(and don’t worry, I have ideas for the lovely ladies too)
YES SOMEONE WHO WRITES FOR SYCAMORE!!! i love that goofy ass professor so much hes one of the biggest reasons i started playing pokemon but hardly anyone writes about him solo/with a reader 😭
can i request some nsfw headcanons for sycamore?? with or without an s/o i dont mind!
(also i dont see any request rules anywhere so let me know if im breaking any!!)
Oh Sycamore the man you are…
i will GLADLY write those headcannons for you :3
(also yeah i should probably write some rules but you’re not breaking any no worries)
feel free to borrow these headcanons, but please just tag me! (for credit and also I wanna see)
Sycamore NSFW Headcannons 💙
(Minors, turn back now)
Certified Waist Grabber
Doesn’t even have to be sexual, he just loves grabbing your waist
But…he also loves it when it’s sexual too
Loves giving AND receiving oral
Giving him head under his lab desk OH MY DAYS
He has a very sensitive neck
Definitely is a switch, at least in my head
Soft when he’s dom
Whiny when he’s sub
Likes it when you’re a little mean to him when he’s sub
When he’s dom tho, get ready for so. much. PRAISE
“You’re doing so well for me, my darling”, “Such a perfect sight”, “Truly a masterpiece”, “You sound so beautiful, my love”
Missionary is definitely his fav position
He loves holding you close while he fucks you, hearing every little sound that you make
Only a bit vocal when he’s dom
Not loud, but he’s definitely letting out some soft moans and whimpers
When he’s sub tho…
He’s BEGGING for it
Wants you to make him feel good so badly
Doesn’t like pain during sex, big no for him
He might dabble in some hair pulling, would definitely leave some hickies on you, but that’s pretty much it
Bro is a LOVE MAKER
He makes LOVE
Takes his time with you, making sure you feel good
Will consistently check in on you
“Are you doing alright, darling? Not too much for you?”
Will fuck you rough if you ask, but he loves just slow, passionate sex
Sleepy morning sex hehehehe
Loves walking up behind you, warming his arms around your body, and pressing his hard-on against you
I’d say he has an average sex drive
But if he doesn’t see you for awhile, let’s say you’re traveling or something
As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s not stopping until he just can’t take it anymore
Would mumble compliments and obscenities in Kalosian under his breath while he pleasures you (mmmm French man)
Whenever he works late, he loves to call you over to his lab…and maybe bend you over his desk
Doesn’t it do it often, but once in a while, if he’s really feeling pent up and he’s held up at the lab, will go in his private office to jerk off to a picture of you he keeps on his desk
I’m surprised there isn’t much content out there for him honestly. But regardless, i love that silly professor man very much
But at least the main part is over. (I am TIRED). I hope you enjoyed this, and hopefully none of ya'll are terribly upset at the ending (again, there IS an epilogue coming)
Anyway, you know the spiel.
Also, I've taken some quotes from the game AND from Pokemon Evolutions: Episode 3 (the TV episodes)
For those new to this series:
Click Here for a Prequel Scene
Click Here for Part 1
Click Here for Part 2
Click Here for Part 3
Click Here for Part 4
Click Here for Part 5
Click Here for Part 6
Click Here for Part 7
You sat on the edge of the bed, the unfamiliar weight of silk and lace pooling around you, Eevee curled warm and solid in your lap. Her ears twitched at every sound, every hum in the walls, but she didn’t move away. She pressed closer instead, as if proximity alone might anchor the both of you.
Hours had passed.
You’d tried to busy yourself at first, opening drawers, checking the wardrobe, but the effort had only left you colder. The clothes inside were wrong. Not just in size, but in time. Clothing that would have fit you once, neatly labeled and carefully stored.
The realization settled heavy in your chest.
He had planned this room long ago. Planned you long ago. But he hadn’t been here recently. Hadn’t updated it. Hadn’t prepared for this version of you.
Hadn’t expected things to move so quickly.
You let out a slow breath and reached up, fingers finding the pins still holding the veil in place. One by one, you pulled them free, the weight lifting as the fabric slid away. You set it aside carefully, then worked your hair loose, letting it fall down your back in quiet defiance of ceremony.
This wasn’t a wedding night.
This was waiting.
The room was too deep beneath the surface for sound to carry. No distant explosions. No shouts. No clash of power. Just the steady hum of reinforced systems doing exactly what they’d been built to do—insulate. Protect. Preserve.
You shifted, one hand resting unconsciously against your bump as Eevee stirred, sensing the tension even if she couldn’t understand it. “It’s okay,” you soothed, unsure who you were trying to reassure.
Your gaze lifted to the television mounted into the wall.
You hadn’t turned it on at first. Some part of you hadn’t wanted to see. But the silence had grown unbearable, pressing in until you needed something—anything—to prove the world was still turning.
The screen flickered to life.
News feeds cycled endlessly. Confusion. Fragmented reports. Rumors spreading faster than facts. Words like evacuation, energy anomaly, unconfirmed source scrolling too fast to cling to. No answers. No certainty.
No mention of a weapon.
You hugged Eevee closer, her warmth grounding as your thoughts spiraled. Serena and Calem. Sycamore. All of them out there, fighting blind, while you sat cocooned in a shelter built to outlast them.
You didn’t know if they were winning.
You didn’t know if they were alive.
And for the first time since this began, you had nothing left to do but wait.
Your thoughts, unmoored without anything immediate to react to, drifted where you hadn’t meant them to go.
To Augustine Sycamore.
Seeing him again—if only for that brief, terrible moment—had shaken something loose inside you. Relief, first. Sharp and almost painful in its intensity. He had been real. He had been there. You hadn’t imagined him.
And then everything that followed.
You remembered the long afternoons spent in his lab, conversations that wandered as easily as they settled. Research bleeding into philosophy. His genuine curiosity—not just about Pokémon, but about people. The way he listened without steering, without assuming he already knew the answer.
And you were still a visitor, not a Kalos native. Still learning its rhythms. And he had never made you feel like an outsider.
There had been no confessions. No promises. Nothing that required naming. Just a mutual fondness that lingered in quiet spaces—the kind that grew without demanding anything of you. You’d wondered, once or twice, what it might become if given time.
Time you hadn’t been allowed.
Your hand tightened slightly against Eevee’s fur, the small motion grounding you as your thoughts grew heavier. Seeing him today—standing there, watching you walk toward another man—had filled you with a complicated ache. Shame, yes. But also, something gentler. Regret, maybe. Or simply grief for a path that had been closed without your consent.
You swallowed and forced yourself back to the present.
The television flickered.
Your attention snapped to it as the broadcast shifted, the tone of the anchor’s voice changing—urgent now. The image cut from studio lights to an outdoor feed.
Rocky terrain. Massive stone structures, long buried, now exposed.
Geosenge Town.
The camera trembled slightly as the reporter spoke, keeping their distance. Speculation poured in beneath the footage—ancient technology, unprecedented energy readings, evacuation zones expanding by the minute.
Then the words you’d been dreading landed.
“Authorities believe this may be connected to Team Flare, and its enigmatic leader, Lysandre.”
Your breath caught.
The feed cut between angles as the weapon loomed in the distance, impossible and terrible, a relic dragged into the present where it did not belong.
Panic spread through the broadcast like wildfire. Voices rose. Questions went unanswered.
Eevee stirred sharply in your lap, ears flattening as though she sensed the shift before you could fully process it.
Your hand found your bump again, instinctive, protective.
This was it.
Whatever happened next would not be contained by reinforced walls or careful planning. The world was waking up to what Lysandre had promised.
==========
The chamber deep within Team Flare’s headquarters shuddered as power surged through ancient conduits carved into the stone itself.
The walls—once hidden beneath layers of earth and secrecy—now glowed with unstable light, the mechanisms of the Ultimate Weapon straining under forces they had never been meant to contain. The air was thick, charged, vibrating with the echo of something awakened too violently, too soon.
The Lysandre Machine throbbed against his spine, its systems screaming in protest as light flared and fractured around him.
Children.
The realization struck him as he staggered, boots scraping against the stone floor. He caught himself just before the momentum carried him down, the weight of defeat pressing harder than the machine ever had.
Children had done this.
Before him stood Calem and Serena, their Pokémon still poised, still standing. Behind them, Xerneas radiated life itself—brilliant and defiant, untouchable by his design.
For a fleeting moment, something like admiration pierced the fracture in his thoughts.
Strength, he acknowledged bitterly. Resolve.
He thought of you then.
Of the life growing within you.
Perhaps, he thought distantly, that child might one day carry the same fire.
“Kalos is beautiful right now,” he said aloud, his voice steady even as the machine trembled. “I can’t stand the thought of the world becoming uglier.”
They did not answer, but recalled their pokemon.
He laughed softly, the sound brittle. “I would make this world unchanging, and eternal.”
Power drained from the chamber in uneven pulses. He could feel it now—how little remained. The machine had never been meant for this. Never meant to be forced into submission.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to his old friend. To Augustine Sycamore.
To the argument they’d never finished.
This world will eventually reach the point of no return. Pokemon, shall no longer exist, Lysandre had said to him while strolling along the riverside.
And Sycamore—ever infuriating in his gentleness—had replied that possibility was not inevitability. That fear was not proof. That the future could not be solved by erasure.
“Yes, that’s one possibility,” Sycamore had told him. “But it doesn’t have to be this way.”
Lysandre closed his eyes.
“I don’t expect that I will ever make you understand how I think and feel,” he murmured now, whether to the children, to Sycamore, or to the world itself, he no longer knew.
The machine shrieked.
“I can only see one future!” he shouted, desperation cracking through at last. “One where selfish, foolish humans think about nothing other than themselves and steal more and more from one another…!”
He stood straighter, even as defeat closed its grip around him.
“The original purpose of this device was to give life, not take it,” he said to Serena and Calem. “There’s not much power left. But there is enough to use it once.”
His thoughts returned to you—alone, waiting in the shelter he had built with such care. He imagined your hands resting over your stomach. Imagined the world he had wanted to give you.
Forgive me, he thought—not for what he was about to do, but for failing to finish it.
“I shall grant you eternal life,” he declared, activating the machine one final time. “I’ll give you the pain of endlessly waiting for a beautiful world to finally be built!”
The machinery screamed in response.
Light flared violently along the chamber walls as ancient systems surged past their limits, power ripping free in unstable waves.
“—No!” Serena shouted.
Calem didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Serena’s arm, already moving, instincts screaming what words couldn’t—that Lysandre hadn’t abandoned his plan. That he meant to take them with him if he could.
“Move—run!” he yelled.
The two of them ran as the chamber began to shudder, alarms blaring as cracks spidered through the stone beneath their feet. Xerneas’s glow flared brighter behind them, shielding their retreat as debris fell and the air filled with heat and sound.
Behind them, Lysandre remained where he stood unmoving, resolute, framed by the dying light of a dream he refused to release.
He had lost.
Not because his vision lacked conviction.
But because the world, stubborn and imperfect, had chosen to keep going without him.
Then the power broke.
Light consumed the chamber.
==========
Sycamore stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed on the television mounted against the far wall of his lab.
The feed from Geosenge Town flickered between wide shots and hurried commentary—Rangers holding the perimeter, ancient stone half-exposed, the weapon looming in pieces of frame that no one dared approach too closely.
The air in the lab felt brittle, charged with the same tension running through the broadcast.
Behind him, Looker paced.
“Dexio and Sina are still trying to free the Pokémon powering the system,” Sycamore said, half to himself. “If they can disrupt the flow, it might buy the Serena and Calem, and the others, more time.”
Looker stopped pacing. “And her?”
Sycamore didn’t turn. “She won’t be there,” he said, more firmly than he felt. “Lysandre wouldn’t put her in harm’s way.”
He believed that. Or needed to.
Looker hummed, unconvinced. “You’re sure this isn’t…personal? Some kind of rivalry?”
Sycamore finally looked at him. “I didn’t think so,” he said honestly. “Not at the time.”
His gaze drifted, unbidden, back into memory.
“There was a conversation,” he said slowly. “Months ago. Lysandre mentioned meeting a young trainer in Lumiose. Said he’d bought her lip gloss—thought it enhanced her beauty.” A faint, rueful smile touched his mouth. “The next day, he watched her challenge Clemont in a gym battle. She won. Cleanly.”
Looker stilled.
“He was…captivated by this trainer. Spoke about her beauty first, then her strength. Her resolve. He’d watched her battle—saw something in her worth admiring.” He chuckled. “He couldn’t stop talking about her that I had to ask who she was and what she looked like.”
Sycamore took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “And when he did…” Sycamore exhaled slowly. “That was when I realized who he meant.”
Looker’s gaze sharpened.
“I told him about her then,” Sycamore went on. “About her travels. Her love of Pokémon. About how she wasn’t from Kalos. About how we’d met.” His voice dropped. “That was when helooked surprised, I supposed.”
The silence that followed was thick.
“At the time,” Sycamore said quietly, “I thought he was simply interested. Curious.”
He looked back at the screen, unease tightening in his chest.
“Now,” Sycamore said quietly, eyes returning to the screen, “I wonder if he saw something else. If that was the moment he decided I was a problem.
“Because you already knew her,” Looker said.
“Yes.” Sycamore exhaled.
The silence stretched.
Looker didn’t respond immediately.
On the television, the image shook as the camera cut to a new angle—energy readings spiking, alarms sounding faintly even through the feed.
Sycamore’s hands clenched at his sides.
“I didn’t see it,” he said, the words heavy with belated understanding. “And by the time I did… it was already too late. He’d already taken her.”
The lab lights flickered.
Looker went very still.
“If he saw you as a threat,” he said slowly, “that changes things.”
Sycamore didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The implication settled between them—quiet, chilling. This hadn’t been random. It hadn’t been opportunistic. It had been deliberate.
Before either of them could say more, the broadcast shifted.
The camera feed from Geosenge Town lurched violently, the image blurring as energy readings spiked beyond anything the reporters could explain. The ground shook even through the screen, ancient stone erupting in light as the Ultimate Weapon finally discharged.
Sycamore’s breath caught.
They watched as power crashed down on the small town, light swallowing everything in its path. The image shook, then fractured—buildings collapsing, the earth giving way—until there was nothing left but a vast, smoking crater where Team Flare’s headquarters had once stood.
The feed cut out.
Silence slammed into the room.
Neither man spoke.
Seconds stretched into something unbearable.
Then—static.
The image snapped back into focus.
The camera found movement at the edge of the devastation. Two figures, running.
“—They’re alive,” Looker said, relief breaking through his professional restraint as Serena and Calem emerged from the ruins, battered but standing.
Sycamore closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“—There,” Looker said quietly.
Tierno, Trevor, and Shauna came into view, shaken but upright, gathering together as Rangers moved in around them. The feed lingered just long enough to confirm what Sycamore had been dreading—and hoping for.
They were alive.
And just behind them—recognizable even through the distortion of the feed—Dexio and Sina, both visibly shaken, but standing.
Alive.
Sycamore’s shoulders sagged, relief finally breaking through the rigid control he’d been holding himself to. He pressed a hand briefly to the edge of the desk, steadying himself.
“No casualties reported,” Looker confirmed, already cross-checking incoming data. “At least not among them.”
For one fragile moment, the world seemed to exhale.
Sycamore nodded, but the relief didn’t reach his eyes.
Because one question remained unanswered.
Then, his phone rang.
The number was blocked.
He hesitated only a moment before answering. “Professor Sycamore.”
The voice on the other end was controlled, sharp-edged, carrying a familiarity he couldn’t quite place. Professional. Precise. Not panicked—but urgent.
“You’ve probably already figured it out,” the woman said. “she isn’t in Geosenge.”
Sycamore straightened. “Who is this?”
“A fellow researcher,” she replied after a beat. “One who has decided it’s time to cooperate. Now listen up, Augustine.”
Looker’s attention snapped to him.
“There’s another facility,” the woman continued. “Hidden. Beneath Café Lysandre. Take the elevator to level 2 and go to the dead end. You won’t get in easily, but perhaps a hyper beam may do the trick.”
Sycamore’s pulse spiked. “Is she alive?”
“And safe,” the voice said. “Look for an elevator key card within the book shelf of the café. If you find that, you’ll also find the entrance.”
The line went dead.
Sycamore stared at the phone for a fraction of a second before looking up at Looker.
“Café Lysandre,” he said.
Looker didn’t ask questions. He was already moving.
Sycamore grabbed his coat and followed, heart pounding—not with fear this time, but with purpose.
Because if the woman had been telling the truth—
Then you were still waiting.
And he wasn’t going to waste another moment.
==========
The image on the screen shook, then steadied.
Smoke still rose from the ruins of Geosenge Town, the ancient stone split open like a wound. Rangers moved carefully through the devastation, voices tight as they relayed updates to the studio. The camera lingered on the crater where Team Flare’s headquarters had once stood.
The reporter’s voice continued, measured but strained.
“—no confirmed casualties at this time. Authorities are still searching for Lysandre, whose whereabouts remain unknown. Some Team Flare members claim he was present at the site when the weapon activated, but there has been no official confirmation.”
No sight of him.
The words echoed hollowly in your chest.
For the first time since this began, you understood what that meant.
You were free.
The realization came quietly—not as triumph, not as joy, but as a sudden absence. The invisible pressure that had shaped every breath you took simply…wasn’t there anymore. No watchful presence. No calculated reassurance. No hand guiding, confining, deciding.
Freedom.
And still—your chest ached.
You didn’t rejoice.
You thought of him instead—not as the man who had caged you, but as the one who had believed so fiercely that destruction was the only answer left. You understood his fear. His disgust with a world that wasted beauty and called it progress.
You just couldn’t forgive the choice he’d made.
If he had chosen differently.
If he had believed—truly believed—that people could change without being erased. If he had pursued you not as proof, not as possession, but as a man reaching for connection rather than control—
Your throat closed.
There could have been another life. A quieter one. One where your child knew their father not as a myth or a cautionary tale, but as a flawed man trying to do better.
Instead—
Your hand slid protectively over your belly, the grief deepening into something raw and unnamable.
Your child would never know their father.
And you would never know who he might have been, if he had let go of the need to win.
The tears came then—silent, shaking, unstoppable.
You cried for the Pokémon who had suffered.
For the people caught in the crossfire.
For the future that had nearly been stolen.
And yes—for Lysandre, too.
Not because he deserved absolution.
But because he had chosen destruction over hope, and that choice had cost everyone—most of all himself.
Eevee whimpered softly, nuzzling closer as you bent over her, pressing your face into her fur and letting the grief run its course.
Time passed.
Not in minutes or seconds, but in the slow, heavy way it did underground—measured by the hum of the lights, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the weight of everything that had already happened.
Then—
BOOM
The sound tore through the room, deep and violent, rattling the walls. You jerked upright, heart slamming into your ribs as your gaze snapped to the far end of the chamber—the smooth stone where the entrance lay hidden.
Eevee leapt from your lap at once, fur bristling, a sharp growl ripping from her chest as she planted herself between you and the wall.
You stumbled backward on instinct, pressing yourself against the opposite side of the room, one hand flying protectively to your stomach.
Another impact struck.
The floor shook beneath your feet. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the stone where the door had been, dust raining down in thin, choking clouds. Eevee snarled, ready to fight whatever came through—
Then she froze.
Her ears twitched.
The growl in her throat faltered, confusion breaking through aggression. She tilted her head, listening—really listening—and the tension in her stance eased just enough to make your breath hitch.
A third BOOM landed.
Stone gave way with a deafening crack as the entrance exploded inward, chunks of wall collapsing in a roar of debris and dust. You cried out, shielding your face as the room filled with grit and smoke, the lights flickering wildly overhead.
For a moment, there was nothing but ringing silence.
Then the dust began to clear.
A massive shape filled the breach—small wings folding carefully as dragonite lowered his head into the room, eyes gentle despite the destruction he’d wrought. Behind him stood Looker, coat dusted with debris, expression sharp with urgency.
And beside him—
Sycamore.
Your breath left you in a soundless rush as your vision blurred, relief and disbelief colliding all at once.
Just beyond them, framed by broken stone and crackling cables, stood AZ, freed from his prison at last, watching you with solemn, knowing eyes.
Eevee’s hesitation broke into motion. She rushed back to you with a cry, skidding to a stop at your feet before looking up at you, tail wagging furiously now—safe, her whole body saying.
You barely registered your dragonite at first—only the familiar shape, the impossible fact that he was here—
But it was Sycamore you ran to.
Your steps faltered halfway, breath hitching, and then you were in his arms—warm, solid, unmistakably real. He caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you just as tightly, one hand bracing between your shoulders as though afraid you might disappear again if he let go.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you were held without expectation. Without possession. Just relief.
“I thought—” he started, voice breaking, then stopped, pulling you closer instead.
You laughed weakly, something wet and breathless, before pulling back just enough to reach for dragonite. He lowered his head eagerly, a joyful sound rumbling from his chest as you stroked the smooth curve of his cheek. His tail swished hard enough to stir the dust still lingering in the air.
Eevee darted forward with a happy chirr, skidding to a stop in front of him before bouncing onto her hind legs, paws pressed against his leg. Dragonite huffed softly, nudging her with his nose in greeting.
You swallowed around the tightness in your throat.
“This is the first time in a long time that he’s been out of his pokeball,” you said. “Lysandre let me have them, but I too worried about…I was afraid…that dragonite would feel everything. That he’d hurt someone trying to get to me.”
Sycamore nodded, understanding flickering across his face. “You protected him,” he said gently. “That matters.”
You drew in a steadying breath. “How did you find me?”
Sycamore hesitated—then gave a small, knowing smile. “I received a call. Anonymous. She identified herself only as a researcher.”
You didn’t hesitate. “Mable.”
He blinked. “You know her?”
“Of course I do,” you said quietly. “But how did you know where my pokemon were?”
Before Sycamore could answer, Looker cleared his throat, gesturing behind him with a thumb.
“We found help,” he said. “Unexpected help.”
Your gaze shifted—and landed on AZ, standing just beyond the broken threshold. Even hunched slightly, he seemed to dwarf everyone else in the room, eyes solemn and ancient.
“When we reached the second level,” Looker continued, “we found him locked up. The power was out—bars weren’t charged anymore. Easy enough to break.”
AZ inclined his head. “I told them where you were.”
Sycamore picked up the thread. “And where your Pokémon were being kept. Mable mentioned that a Hyper Beam might breach the entrance, but…” He glanced sheepishly at Looker. “I don’t exactly have the right Pokémon for that.”
“I suggested you might,” AZ said. “Lysandre once spoke of your Eevee—confined below, in a holding area. Finding it was… not difficult.”
You remembered. It was when he first brought you down here and finally agreed to letting you have her for company. He had been a bit impatient on the phone to whomever he was charging the task with.
Looker grimaced. “Finding your pokemon was easy. Finding your dragonite, however, wasn’t exactly… straightforward. Since we had no idea what pokemon you carried.”
"We had to trial and error our way through them," Sycamore sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The first pokeball we tried had Absol, who was cooperative. The next one had Lucario—very alert, very unhappy, but he seemed to recognize me.”
Your heart gave a small, painful twist at that. Lucario had been with you so long, as a small riolu. Of course he’d remember.
“Then,” Looker continued, “we made a mistake.”
Sycamore winced. “The next pokeball we tried contained…ah, well, your Steelix.”
You laughed despite yourself. “Oh no.”
“He burst out like a siege weapon,” Looker said dryly. “Very offended. Very loud.”
Sycamore added, “It took both Absol and Lucario to convince him we weren’t enemies. Lucario…explained. Once he understood that we were here to help you, he allowed himself to be recalled.”
You shook your head, smiling through the lingering ache in your chest. “That sounds like him.”
“And then,” Sycamore said, glancing fondly at dragonite, “we found this one.”
“Count yourself lucky,” you said, “Zebstrika was my last pokemon, and she’d probably have a bigger fit than Steelix.”
Both Sycamore and Looker shuddered at the thought. Female zebstrika were known to be very feisty and had no problem letting others know their thoughts.
Dragonite let out a proud little chirr, wings lifting slightly.
You reached for Sycamore again—this time slower, steadier—and rested your forehead briefly against his shoulder.
He didn’t pull away. His hand came up almost instinctively, settling at your back as though afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Looker cleared his throat softly.
“I’m going to look around,” he said, already turning away. “See what I can find—records, research. Anything useful.” He paused only long enough to glance back at you, nodding once. Then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the corridor.
AZ lingered a moment longer. His gaze rested on you—quiet, knowing—before shifting toward the open hallway beyond.
“I will continue my search,” he said simply. “There is still something I must find.”
And then he, too, turned away, his long stride disappearing as he made his way back up to the surface.
The space felt different once they were gone. Smaller. Quieter.
Sycamore exhaled slowly, his arms still around you. And then he stiffened.
Not abruptly—just enough for you to feel it.
His eyes dropped, catching on the gentle curve pressed between you. His hand, warm against your back, stilled as understanding dawned. He looked up at you again, concern darkening his expression.
“Did he—” The words faltered, unfinished. He couldn’t bring himself to say them.
You hesitated.
Not because the question was unfair—but because the answer wasn’t simple.
Your gaze fell, fingers curling lightly in the fabric of your skirt. “It… wasn’t like that,” you said quietly. “Not exactly.” A breath. “I wasn’t forced, if that’s what you’re asking. But I didn’t have a choice in the way that mattered, either.”
You paused.
“I had many moments of weakness. And I had no access to any birth control—he certainly didn’t use anything. But he came to me quite frequently so it was just…a matter of time before it happened.”
Shame prickled beneath your skin—not because of what had happened, but because of how tangled it all was. How easily strength could fray under isolation. How loneliness could be mistaken for safety.
Sycamore closed his eyes for a brief moment, relief and sorrow crossing his face in equal measure. When he opened them again, his voice was gentle.
“Lysandre can be…persuasive,” he admitted. “Intense. When he wants something.” His gaze softened. “None of this is on you.”
The knot in your chest loosened just a fraction.
Silence stretched between you before you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “Is it true? About him?”
Sycamore’s expression tightened. “We don’t know,” he said honestly. “There’s no confirmation. They’re still searching.”
Your throat closed. You turned away before the tears could spill, pressing a hand briefly to your mouth.
Sensing the shift, Sycamore didn’t push. Instead, he changed course, his tone steady. “How are you?” he asked. “Really.”
You shook your head faintly. “It’s… a long story.” A tired breath escaped you. “Right now, I just want to get out of this dress. And sleep.”
A small, understanding smile touched his lips. “Of course.” He hesitated, then added, “You can come with me—to my apartment. Or the lab, if you’d rather. There’s a bed there. Somewhere quiet.”
You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was no claim there. No expectation. Just concern. Warmth.
“That sounds… good,” you murmured.
He nodded, as though committing the moment to memory, then drew you back into his arms—slowly and carefully—holding you as if grounding himself in the fact that you were real. That you were here.
The tears came then, unrestrained.
Eevee pressed close against your skirt, soft and insistent, while dragonite stepped nearer, lowering his head protectively. Surrounded, held, safe at last, you let yourself break—knowing that, for the first time in a long while, you didn’t have to hold yourself together alone.
⌚️ To the Kalosian professor – bonds were something deeply important. Those between person to person and pokemon to person. He was utterly fascinated by how they played into Mega Evolution, of course… He had not quite expected to ever find himself so enamoured with another person. You… Someone who had come to him as a trainer with an interest in his studies of evolution. You had brought him many pokemon to study and observe. Nothing felt strange, you were simply a colleague turned friend. Though, something only seemed to fall deeper inside him when you two shared a late evening back and forth over a bottle of wine.
⌚️ His feelings changed. Your smile made his heart race. The professor was not unfamiliar with love. No, not at all. He was a romantic at his core, living up to whatever unwitting stereotypes came around about Kalosians. You were simply beautiful to him. The kind of beauty he felt his old friend would ramble endlessly about. He was desperate, perhaps egged on by said friend's sudden madness and disappearance. (Whatever logic could enter his mind when he considered the rubble survivability went out the window when he concluded the most obvious result.)
⌚️ You were far too precious to him. The horrible loneliness he felt after that event – Something he was too afraid to acknowledge. Many around him found his failure to prevent such a tragedy to be too much to forgive. You stayed, though. Your presence was a constant in his laboratory. The greetings you gave warmed his bleeding heart. He felt so lost. All he wanted to do is apologise over and over again for his failings… Then the turn on his research as others in the community viewed Mega Evolution as cruel to the pokemon afflicted by it. Your support became far too much for him.
⌚️ Everything was fine. You were with him. Your relationship changed. There was acceptance by you to fully embrace the romantic shift. You moved in. He was not alone in the dark of his apartment in the early morning when his thoughts haunted his head. Your body was there beside him. Desperately, he would cling to you and attempt to push the thoughts of his failures from his head – the eerie visage that haunted his mind of Lysandre lying underneath – He had to stop himself. You were there. Everything was fine. He was contented. Your body held against his own was an actor that he so desperately needed to cope with the guilt that suffocated him.
⌚️ Then… it came. You were a trainer. A talented one. A wonderful one. All day and night the professor would sing your praises. Where he lacked, you prospered. Your smile as you spoke about facing hard battles and coming out on top was beautiful to him. Though, it led to disaster. One day, he found you waiting on him to get back from a meeting he had with another researcher. You had caught his hands after he entered the apartment, grinning at him sweetly. You spoke; your words haunting him. An invitation… An invitation to compete in a foreign region's league. You were excited, ready to rise to the challenge. It would only be for the season, but he felt his heart drop. No, no, no… The last thing he wished for was to lose you. Even temporarily. What if something happened while you were over there? What if he was unable to help? What if you met someone…?
⌚️ It was then, he thought of something immediately. Tears welled in his eyes as he hugged you tightly. Desperately, he needed you to stay. You felt like the only thing holding him together. “Dear…” his voice was low, “… I… I was intending this for a better moment, but…” He fell to his knees, “Won't you marry me? I adore you far too much…” You seemed taken aback by his reply to your plans, especially as tears escaped his eyes. Though… You did not seem inclined to deny him. Nodding, he rose up to embrace you again. “… I… I want to get married before you leave… please…”
⌚️ One thing led to another – each time, your plans got delayed further and further until they were not simply feasible. First the wedding, then a proper honeymoon, then needing your help with his research. It all kept coming. You simply turned the offer down to aid your now husband. Though, slowly and patiently, you were finding yourself more and more annoyed with his demands. But, any time you attempted to protest, he would break down. Words about what happened to him and how he felt utterly useless forced down your feelings as you attempted to comfort him.
⌚️ Mentions of foreign leagues dissipated. It was far easier to keep yourself in the Kalosian league, working yourself into whatever position you desired most. Sycamore entirely supported you there, even tagging along to whatever part of Kalos you wandered off too. The memories of his less than stellar moments were forgotten in favour of the happiness of your relationship that was shared. Though, it went unknown just how much the professor truly adored you. Violence was not in his nature, nor was it needed. He wanted you happy, after all. Your happiness could be achieved in Kalos, alongside him.
do you write sycamore? if so, any headcanons on how he'd react to pining for someone (aka the reader lol) thank u!!
Sycamore Pining over Reader
So the professor is an obvious romantic. The kind that blushes rather easily, looking at you in plain sight, and the sort that gushes to his friends for the 5th time on something you did that makes him fawn over you.
Professor Sycamore is definitely eye candy to begin with. He grooms himself to look his best just in case you happen to show up today. When you compliment the cologne he's wearing, he buys it in bulk. You always seem to ease his worries about his gray hairs that show up, making comments of how he's turning into a silver fox that makes him feel happier about his growing age.
Professors in particular are always rather meticulous about their notes and observations as it's part of their job to study Pokemon. So in a sense, he studies you, observing your behaviors towards your likes and dislikes, what you favor between options, and in general what attracts your attention so he can be that prime target of your attention.
He's never the possessive type given his mental maturity, but he does lament quietly when he sees you with potential suitors. Admittedly, it's been a long time since he's pursued someone and with your current established relationship whether it be close or at a distance, it still makes him nervous.
However, given his bad history of past relationships, he's decided to pine in secret longer, to see if you would be the one to admit feelings first. At least until his heart seems to burst, trying to break its cage to be next to yours.
Wow someone who is mentally stable and all around a really mentally healthy and physically healthy person? Well sort of... You see, Augustine Sycamore has a bad case of 'I can fix them.' a lovely charming and sweet man who has never been married because his track record of dating questionable borderline dangerous people and still somehow being the most wholesome person in the universe. He always has crazy ex stories to share and despite everything he rarely ever blames or resents them. It takes a lot for Sycamore to hate a person.
Professor Sycamore is a cheery person who looks on the bright side of everything and everyone around him except for himself despite his good sense of style, his handsome face, and his beautiful attitude, Sycamore is on the humble side, sometimes thinking rather poorly of himself. Any words of affirmation of any kind will make him melt into a shy mess, stumbling over his words as he tries to brush off the compliments.
He's a man that wears his heart on his sleeve He's proud of who he is and he will tell you everything about him rarely does he ever have secrets then when he does he's not very good at keeping them secret, his darting eyes and sweating face and clammy hands will give him away instantly. His carefree and cheerful attitude make him extremely popular with women. But he is extremely oblivious to how great he actually is.
He is a lover that is second to none he'll make you feel like the most important being in his life because you are. You are the apple of his eye and has a sketchbook where he sketches His Pokémon and takes notes However there are an embarrassingly amount of pages where he just sketches you, sometimes naked sometimes in imaginary clothing various poses, sometimes holding Pokémon, Sometimes holding miscellaneous objects. Anything.(He's a very good artist too) All of his drawings of you in his lab notes are wholesome He has another sketchbook of the more sultry drawings of you.
His favorite thing about you is your smile, and he wishes you could always smile. He craves when your lips curve upward, and he'll do anything to make you smile. His heart will stink if Your eyes will up with tears. His voice will get low, and he will gently murmur in a mix of French and English as he tries desperately to make you feel better, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, pepper in your face with kisses.
Another one of his bad habits is clinginess. Sycamore will go anywhere with you, but that's not what you think. Yes, he does love to give you physical affection like hugs or kisses, but most of the time, he's in the same room as you doing work on his laptop, taking notes, or just playing with a baby Pokémon in his arms. Anywhere you go, Even if it's outside in a park, he'll make it work. If not, if you have to go somewhere by yourself or he's stuck in the lab, he'll send you pictures throughout the day ranging from goofy shots of his face, random shots of his laptop or around the lab, or up close shots of Pokémon he's either working with or his own. When he finally gets home, or when you come home, he'll run up to you, hug you, kiss you, and give you cuddles until you both fall asleep.
Unsurprisingly Augustine's of language is physical touch, quality time, and occasionally gift-giving. This man is so in love with you that if he could, he would take you out on weekly dates. All his Pokémon, employees lab partners, acquaintances, and fellow professors know you.
Despite having powerful Pokémon he's not much of a Pokémon battler, He sees it as a fun activity for Pokémon to get exercise. He's very much a lover, not a fighter. Until... Someone his loved ones. Then it's like a switch snapped inside of him.
Knows how to play the guitar but hasn't done it in years and warns you that he's a bad singer before he sings a song for you. (He's voice is like an angel)
If you don't speak French then sycamore's favorite thing to do is speak to you in French because you'll never know what he's saying to you. He could say it the most sweetest nothings and filthiest things and you'll never know.
When he gets caught up in his work He will go many nights without sleeping sometimes he'll even forget meals. So please get on to him about that.
Fine I will do it myself need an ask I will provide part 3 for Sycamore x hisui reader either we get to dominate him or we explore the stone that we found and then dominate him or other way around he dominate us I'm not difficult about it
I do hope I don't sound rude about it sorry if I do just love this tall stick man
Sycamore x Male Hisui Reader Part 3! NSFW below read more
Since this was your first time taking a shower in a modern bathroom, you took your time, scrubbing off as much dirt you had on you. There were these bottles that contained interesting soaps. They all smelled incredible and floral, you wonder how they're made. You hope that the professor doesn't mind you using them.
After a nice hot shower, you feel better. As you dry yourself off with a clean towel and put on your spare clothes, you note that your dirty laundry was still on the ground. You pick them up and step out of the bathroom, steam escaping into the hallway as you peek your head out.
There's an indescribably delicious smell from somewhere. Using your sense of smell, you follow the scent and it takes you to the kitchen. This building is not only Professor Sycamore's laboratory but his personal home as well.
The kitchen is unlike any eatery you've ever seen before. Metal appliances and kitchen accessories are everywhere. It's such a clean environment.
The professor lights up when he sees you, walking over. "Ah, your old clothes? Here allow me," the smaller man takes your clothes and shows you an electric appliance you can wash your clothes in.
You're a bit embarrassed but you ask him what that wonderful smell from the kitchen was. When you went there, you didn't see anything cooking. He explains he was roasting meat and potatoes inside a machine called an oven.
The professor leads you back to the dining room, where he insists you wait for him. You're not sure how else to react but to obey his polite demand.
He comes back moments later with two large plates, plated with a thick cut slice of roasted meat topped with some kind of rich red wine/soy sauce glaze, fingerling potatoes, and brussel sprouts. You sit there dumbfounded as he even offers you wine! You hesitate, expressing that you're simply a commoner, a merchant. This decadent meal, as incredible as it looked and smelled, is more fitting to be served to a ruler! But Sycamore reassures you that this was all complimentary, free for you to enjoy.
He pours two glasses of red wine and you stop to mimic his actions, smelling the wine, swirling it in the glass and taking a small sip. It tastes divine.
You try to eat at a slow pace to not insinuate you're not some ill-mannered beast but you find yourself needing seconds. Never have you ever had a meal this incredible before.
Sycamore then gives you a proposal. He asks politely if he could study you. He's very fascinated by you, expressing interest as to who you are and where you came from.
The dinner goes well from that point, you answer the many questions he has, eventually finishing your plates of food and simply indulging in more cups of wine until...
You kiss the professor hungrily as you press your chest against his, your larger hands cupping his face. He whines at the friction you create as you grind against his crotch. The empty dinner plates are forgotten at the dining table as the two of you somehow find yourselves in his bed.
The professor puppy whines as you stop kissing him, to let yourselves both breathe. You immediately press kisses to the side of his cheek, then his ear, then down to his shoulder as you nibble. The elegant man usually has a well-maintained composure but you're so quickly undoing him.
"Please," he whines as he grips the fabric of the sofa. "S'il te plaît, I need you..." You start undoing his clothes, his freed cock bucks into the air. You press your nose against his crotch, taking a deep smell of the next meal you're about to have. The professor lets out an embarrassed gasp and cries out in pleasure as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, lazily swirling your tongue before sucking.
The professor can't help but to ramble apologies and compliments as you suck him, relaxing your jaw to take more of him. With your other hand, you tease him by pressing your thumb against his hole. He makes you stop for a brief moment, as he quickly fumbles to grab a bottle of lube from a nearby drawer.
You lubricate your finger and start to gradually ease him into relaxing, starting by inserting your index finger. He shakily moans and curls his back as he tries to stay still, with your mouth still around his pretty cock.
He loses composure, cumming into your mouth. You swallow his seed and sit up, before focusing on just preparing him, going from one finger to two, then three.
You strip yourself bare and the slimmer man's eyes dilate in shock. You're much bigger than he remembers... You groan as you fist your cock in your hand, lubricating it. You get off the bed and gently drag the professor by the knees to the edge of the bed. You line up your cock and slowly insert yourself inside of the professor.
He mewls and shudders at the physical contact, crying tears of pleasure, his lips rambling in two languages as he praised you over and over. You take him gently like a romantic lover but he cries out, moaning shouts as you jerk him off in addition to your thrusts. He cums for the second time, his body tensing and clenching on your cock. You fuck him through his orgasm, going faster to reach your own high.
You pull out and jerk your cock off, cumming all over Sycamore. HIs cute petite body painted globs of white. He stares at you with heavy, lust filled eyes, begging for more.
I need to see more Sycamore, Now you got me thinking about this french man just wanting to examine this ancient man from hisui.
I can also see a height difference, Reader is taller and buff in my eyes.
Sycamore sees this hunky ancient man and wants to be snapped in half, I get you.
Sycamore x Hisui Reader Part 2
You were admittedly startled when you first came to Kalos the way you did, falling from the night sky, but you were very fortunate that you came across the professor when you did. When you first appeared, riding on the back of your alpha Garchomp with your head held high, a focused gaze, and well, your muscles, Sycamore is practically rendered speechless. He's never before been so awed by a trainer.
He immediately runs up to you, clapping his hands and giving you praise and asks a million questions all at once. You can't help but to laugh a bit, your chuckle being music to his ears. The professor observes you for a moment as you look at your surroundings, though he was nice, you were starting to feel overwhelmed. There were bright lights, bystanders, and strange contraptions that took up the black ground. Sycamore notices this and offers you to come with him, for safety. You didn't really feel like going with him at first but this world was very different and he was offering. You took it.
You returned your Garchomp to her pokeball and followed the Professor, as he tries to make conversation with you, you can't help but to stare at the strange things everywhere, all at once. The buildings weren't made of wood but rather a material you don't fully recognize. The metal contraptions were noisy and loud, moving at speeds slower than your Garchomp, but still notably dangerous.
The professor wanted you to get adjusted to what was going on and he could see your stress, so he took you to his home. He lived in a gorgeous laboratory and you couldn't help but to stare at its architecture, mistaking it to be a place of worship at first.
He took you inside and paused for a moment, asking if you'd like to bathe first. Running water wasn't a normal commodity during the ancient times of Hisui; in order to make a bath, you had to boil the water with wood. You decided to take up on his offer, rummaging through your backpack to find a change of clothes. Fortunately you still had some of your belongings with you.
The professor guides you to the bathroom and you feel very much out of place. It was very clean and shiny, there were metal knobs that you didn't understand. But the professor was kind to show you how it works and how to turn it off and exits momentarily. He returns a second later, telling you he'll provide you a wonderful dinner right at the moment you took off your clothes, revealing your rugged body, muscular and scarred.
Your thick arms and legs, your broad shoulders, a cute mole that was on your left hip. Not to mention you were well....endowed with a certain organ. The two of you stared at each other and while you paid no mind, (it wasn't that uncommon for you to see other naked men in the Ginkgo Clan), the professor's jaw drops. He immediately clamps his mouth shut with his hand and his face turns a bright red. Never before in all his life had he ever seen another man so handsome. Gorgeous and shaped in all the right ways. You tilt your head curiously at him, not understanding the thoughts going in his head when he suddenly squeaks, rambling apology after apology and disappearing away into the hallway.
This was...new, you thought to yourself. You were still cautious of Sycamore despite his friendly demeanor towards you, which was warranted considering you came from a dangerous time period. You went back to undressing and showered, while a flustered Sycamore tries to compose himself enough to properly peel a potato.
