#Jurassic Park x you

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I would DIE to see you write more stuff for Ian. He's definitely one of my favorites.

A/n: I CAN GIVE YOU THAT! If you want more please let me know

Chaos and Cooing that is what your life now consisted off.

The night is quiet—eerily so, considering that in this house, quiet is as rare as a perfectly functioning dinosaur park. Ian Malcolm leans back against the couch, his infamous black shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up as he cradles a chubby, giggling baby in his arms.

“Ah, well, now this is unexpected,” he murmurs, bouncing the baby on his knee, who responds with a delighted shriek and a kick of pudgy legs. “The real chaos theory at work—not in the form of dinosaurs, no, but in the genetic masterpiece that is my son.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Clearly, he takes after me.”

Across the room, you, his very tired but still stunning wife, groan from where you’re curled up in the armchair. One hand grips a cup of lukewarm coffee, the other rubs circles into your temple. “Ian, for the last time, he’s giggling because you keep making ridiculous faces at him, not because he understands chaos theory.”

“Ah, ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Ian counters, pressing a noisy kiss to the baby’s round cheek. The baby gurgles in response, drool dripping onto Ian’s wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You see, my dear, chaos theory states that small changes in initial conditions lead to vastly different outcomes—case in point, had we slept last night, we wouldn’t be in this state of delirium. But! Because our son, this delightful little agent of chaos, decided sleep was, ah, unnecessary, here we are.” He gestures vaguely to your exhausted form and his own slightly disheveled one.

Your eyes narrow as you sip your coffee. “Are you seriously trying to lecture me on chaos theory using our son’s sleep schedule as proof?”

“I lecture because I love,” Ian replies smoothly, shifting the baby in his arms as he gazes down at him with something absurdly soft in his dark eyes. “And because I haven’t slept in three nights, and my brain has officially left the metaphorical building.”

You sigh, watching as Ian continues his one-man performance, making exaggerated faces that send your son into another round of belly laughs. The sound is so sweet, so impossibly joyful, that despite your exhaustion, you feel your heart melt.

For all his dramatics, Ian is an incredible father—dotingly attentive, full of boundless energy (somehow), and completely enamored with the little miracle you both created. It’s a sight you never tire of: your eccentric, brilliant, sometimes infuriating husband wrapped around the tiny, chubby fingers of your son.

The baby coos, reaching up to grab a fistful of Ian’s dark curls, and Ian winces but lets him. “Ah, yes, son, excellent grip already proving Darwin’s theory of natural selection. If you can cling to my hair with such tenacity, surely you will thrive in this chaotic world.”

“Or he’s just a baby, Ian.”

“Ah, ah, but is he just a baby?” Ian lifts a dramatic finger. “Or is he the next great scientist, the next disruptor of the status quo, a bringer of groundbreaking, world-altering change?”

The baby sneezes.

Ian nods solemnly. “I rest my case.”

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head as you set your coffee down and push yourself up from the chair. Walking over, you press a kiss to your son’s soft, round cheek before meeting Ian’s gaze. “You know, for all your rambling, you’re really just a big sap.”

Ian gasps, feigning offense. “Me? A sap? I’ll have you know, darling, I am a man of science, a man of logic, of reason.” He pauses, looking down at the baby, who is now sleepily sucking on his fist. Ian’s voice softens as he gently rocks him. “But… if loving my son so much that it defies logic makes me a sap, well… I suppose I can live with that.”

Your heart clenches, and you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, at least one of us is still functional,” you murmur, feeling your own exhaustion creep back in.

Ian chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, my love, that implies I was ever functional to begin with.”

A scoff left your lips yet a smile remained and with that, the baby sighs, nestling against his father’s chest, and finally...finally...falls asleep.

Chaos has, at last, taken mercy on you.

For now.

As your eyes drifted closed, Ian's fingers running through your hair gently.

[mlmxreader]

Not a Clue | Ian Malcolm x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ What do you think of 98. “I need to snuggle.” “Why?” “Cold.” ? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Malcolm goes to see his partner whilst they're at work, even if it's just for a bit of a chat.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, arachnids, snakes (specifically my babies <3)

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Dr Bashar to evacuate his family from Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You stretched as you read through the previous day's log; everything had been fed, except for the scorpions. You rolled your eyes, of course no one fed them - it was always down to you to make sure that they were kept properly, as everyone else was too scared to bother.

The perk of being the only ecologist in your team who actually knew the key signs of aggression and defensive behaviour to look for; the perk of being the only one in your team who actually liked arachnids.

You nodded to yourself, deciding that they should be fed first, and started to make your way over to where the crickets, locusts, mealworms, waxworms, earthworms, snails, and both kinds of roaches were kept - but you stopped when you heard the door open, and you raised a brow.

The familiar scent of recently cleaned leather bit you in the nose, and you relaxed immediately.

"Doctor Malcolm," you hummed. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Ian shrugged as he leaned against the table and rubbed his hands together; his knuckles were red and raw from the cold, and his fingers weren't as quick as they should have been. "It's, uh, it's always warm in here, isn't it? How'd you manage?"

You grabbed the tank of locusts and brought it to the table. "Plents of heat mats, UVB bulbs, and never opening the window. How else?"

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y'know, all these, uh, creepy crawlies - you'd think that InGen would've hired you."

You scoffed as you glared at him and grabbed a pair of rubber tipped tongs. "You really think, after everything, that they give a single solitary fuck about ecology? When they practically destroyed several ecosystems?"

Ian hummed, watching with only slight discomfort as you grabbed a locust and opened one of the scorpion tanks; it was a big bugger. At least the length of his hand from the tip of his middle finger, with thick armoured pincers and a prominent, hairy, stinger; a blueish hue, the arachnid looked like something from a shitty monster film.

He cringed as he watched it grab the locust between two giant claws, and smash its venomous stinger right into the middle, nearly splitting the thing in half.

"You actually like these things?"

You grinned as you closed the tank and locked it, watching with fascination at it began to munch on its prey. "I think they're wonderful, Malcolm, you know that... saying that, actually, did you feed ours?"

He shook his head as he threw his hands up. "Oh no! I, uh, I thought we agreed, baby, that uh, you could have them - but you feed them."

You rolled your eyes fondly at him. "They're not that bad."

"One of them nearly took my finger off," he pointed out. "I've gone toe to toe with dinosaurs, I don't need an... a, uh, eight legged snipping machine to chase me."

You wanted to laugh as you brought out the next locust and dropped it into the second tank; Ian didn't mind that one. It was smaller, a uniform shiny black colour with a bit of a brown shine, and a yellowish stinger. It still looked like some sort of monster, though.

"Y'know, Malcolm, Grant came to see me the other day," you explained, "he didn't mind the scorps - he actually helped me."

Ian grimaced slightly; he liked and respected Grant, even considered him a friend, but that wouldn't change his mind. "That won't work on me, you know that."

"So did Sattler," you hummed, locking the second tank and opening the third.

The smallest of the three, it was almost impossible to see with the naked eye; dark brown amongst darker substrate, it was so small that you had to crush the locust's mouth parts before serving it to the little thing. It was, in a way, cute with its small pincers and even smaller stinger.

"Please tell me you're finished," he hummed, and once you had put the tanks and live food back, you nodded. "Did you, uh, did you speak to Sattler recently?"

You nodded as you dusted your hands off and opened one the other tanks; inside it sat a large snake, which hissed in protest for a moment before pressing its mouth to your hand.

It stopped hissing, and laid its head on your thumb; it was an impressive size, with dark brown and black scales alongside yellow and orange markings. It looked perpetually as if it was pissed off. Just looking at its light brown head and black tongue, Ian could see that it was longer than he was tall.

"Yeah," you hummed, gently coaxing the snake out and letting it sit around your shoulders. "Remember? She called me about an interview or something she was doing."

"Oh, right!" He nodded, snapping his fingers. "I, uh, I forgot about that."

You gently placed the snake on the table and started to check over its body; mumbling to yourself about its eyes being clear and none of its scales being damaged. "Why?"

Ian rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for you to put the animal back before he dared to sneak up behind you, his hands resting on your stomach as he pulled your back to his chest. "Well, uh, a little birdie came and told me that someone told the press about us."

You turned around, your hands resting on the lapels of his jacket as you tilted your head to the side. "That may have been me."

"Uh-huh... and what did you say?"

"Nothing much, to be honest," you admitted with a shrug. "Sattler called me and said that people had been asking why you were here so often and what my opinions on InGen were, so I told her."

He nodded slowly. "So you didn't tell about us liv-"

"No," you shook your head. "We agreed. The fact can be public, but not the detail... except the jacket, I told her about you buying me that fancy leather jacket."

Ian nodded back at you for a moment before coaxing you to sit on the table, he stood between your legs and pressed his forehead to your shoulder. "I need to snuggle."

"Why?"

"Cold." He huffed out, practically trying to wrap himself around you.

With a quiet laugh, you pushed him away, daring to kiss his nose. "I have work to be done - unless you have the population density chart of javanimetrus cyaneus in Borneo compared to the Philippines and Indonesia and how it's changed since last year?"

Ian had no fucking clue what any of that meant, so he just smiled. Chaos theory was easy for him, mathematics in general was easy for him - but practical stuff like using those funny little grids and taking samples and collecting specimens to study their relationship to the environment?

He didn't have a clue.

But just as you could listen to him waffle on about his latest theory or whatever, he could listen to you waffle on about how the population of animals like scorpions, spiders, snakes and roaches could determine how healthy a local environment was.

He still didn't know what the fuck a biome was, even though you had explained it thousands of times.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Now I have to ask- WHY do you hate Pacific Rim?

Okay, fair warning, this is about as bitter and salty and small-minded as day-old caviar. But. My bitter, salty (probably fishy) opinion:

Pacific Rim is only a good movie because it's a well-written story about robots punching monsters.

That's it. That's all there is to the movie.

I started out merely disappointed by Pacific Rim. We went gaga for the preview materials that promised these unique well-rounded character pairs and trios with these idiosyncratic robots from all these different Pacific nations... And then the movie itself is about some bland white American guy who pilots a robot named a racial slur, the second most fleshed-out team is bland white Australian guys, and the Chinese team is there, kind of, in the background, but don't worry they're going to die first. The "character-driven story" turned out to be "various characters take turns punching aliens" but, sure, whatever, I love the MCU so why not.

The day I went from "Pacific Rim is overrated" to "Pacific Rim is the worst thing that has ever happened to human civilization, I'm extremely normal about this" was the day I saw a Tumblr post suggesting we replace the Bechdel test with the Mako Mori test. Because Mako Mori has her own plot and doesn't kiss North Carolina at the end, making her a whole new type of feminist icon.

To which I was like:

We are talking about the same movie here, right? The Pacific Rim that can't even pass the Bechdel test? The Pacific Rim that's all about might-makes-right, the Pacific Rim that has ONE speaking role for ONE female character in its (from IMDB) 50-person cast? The Pacific Rim that repeatedly puts its only female character in danger and has her rescued by first Idris Elba then North Carolina? THAT Pacific Rim?

Is there a different Mako Mori I haven't met? Because the one I've seen a) has a character arc driven by deciding whether to obey her father or follow her heart, which is as inoffensive and stale as an unblessed communion wafer, b) does nothing that Ellen Ripley didn't do 30 years earlier, but with about 5% of the character depth Ripley got, and c) stands there in silence looking sad as two men punch each other over the question of her virtue.

Any post assuming this movie invented the idea of "small Asian woman kicks monster ass" needs to learn its damn history. Especially the ones acting like her being physically small is somehow a feminist bonus. There's something embarrassingly ahistorical about the whole thing.

And look. I get how we got here. I know how easily Tumblr backs you into a rhetorical corner of "calling a story Good can never mean merely 'enjoyable'; calling a story Good must mean 'virtuous'". Until next thing you know you're arguing that actually, shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is a net good for all of society, because gay divorced middle-aged tyrants who use supplemental oxygen and murdered their exes in a custody dispute over the one kid (out of two) they actually care about deserve to see themselves in sci fi too! You only end up in that corner because half the time you're arguing against someone who says that shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is literally the same thing as supporting father-son incest, so your real reasons for shipping them (1. foe yay, 2. old man yaoi) seem wildly insufficient.

Much of what I see about Pacific Rim seems neck-deep in the "it's not allowed to be a Good Movie unless it single-handedly dismantles the patriarchy" fallacy. There's nothing progressive about shipping two dudes best known for chopping off each other's body parts with laser swords. And there's nothing progressive about a movie having its only female character hug the male protagonist at the end instead of kissing him. You're allowed to like a thing just because it's well-made, without acting like a bog-standard normatively-broey action flick somehow invented a new form of feminism. Anyway, "Pacific Rim is a perfectly fine movie" is the hill I will die upon, heretical though it may be.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

escape from isla nublar

words: 2.6k

warnings: jurassic world alternate universe, dinosaurs, violence, brief mentions of gore (but not detailed), illusions of sex but not actually written out, established relationship, soft!rafe, death tw, proposal, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks

a/n: im having a lot of fun with writing aus, so here! take another one!

“thank you so much for bringing me here, rafe.” you coo out, getting onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

rafes arm slides around your waist, keeping you tugged in close as the boat approaches the dock of the island. you squeal along with all the children gathered around impatient and ready to jump off the boat and explore.

“welcome to isla nublar!” the voice of a friendly sounding woman says over the speakers. “please disembark slowly and carefully and enjoy your stay in jurassic park!”

“baby, can i just say-” rafe begins as the crowd shuffles forward, most with bags in their hands or suitcases being wheeled behind them, but rafe has already arranged to have them brought to your room so you can get right to exploring. 

“mhm.” you hum, encouraging him to continue.

“that you've been so chill this entire trip so far. proud of you.” it might sound weird to anyone else, but you've always gotten nervous when leaving your home for too long, worried something bad would happen. rafe saw it on your first trip he took you on where you tried and very much failed to hide your anxiety.

“im so excited there's like no room for nerves.” you giggle as you walk down the gangway. “and the fact that you let me plan everything. you know how much i love a schedule.”

“we are so different.” rafe shakes his head, hand squeezing yours as you step into the concrete, turning away from the crowds heading to the resort and towards the main street and the iconic innovation center.

“opposites attract.” you state, and it couldn't be more true, but rafe loves you more than he could ever envision caring about someone.

as you round the lagoon, trying to see if you're able to catch a glimpse of the giant mosasaurs in its depths, you feel your excitement levels only elevate more.

“oh my gosh, there's the petting zoo entrance.” you turn and pout to rafe.

“isn't that mostly for kids?” he raises a singular eyebrow.

“i mean yeah, but you also get to pet baby dinosaurs. totally worth it.” you tug him towards the entrance.

--

“okay.” you sigh, placing your hands on your hips. “i guess we should slow down so we have things to do for the rest of the trip.” 

“im already exhausted.” rafe chuckles. “how about dinner then to the hotel?”

as tired as rafe is, he's certainly not going to complain about being run around isla nublar when he gets to see the gleaming smile on your face every time he looks at you.

“sounds good… we could go to winstons steak house,” you point in one direction, then the other “jurassic cafe, or the brachiosaurus restaurant.”

“how about whatever is closest.” rafe rubs his hand over his face.

“okay steak house it is.” it's your turn to take rafes hand. 

he barely manages to stay awake through dinner, and by the time you're back at the hotel, he's passed out on the bed before he can change into his pajamas.

--

“what would you like to do today?” you ask rafe. “anything but that hang gliding, you know how i feel about heights.”

“the gyrospheres look fun.” rafe shrugs and looks at the map pulled up on your phone. “or kayaking.”

“why not both.” you toss your phone to the side and cup rafes cheek, bringing your lips together in a kiss.

“you're the best boyfriend ever.”

rafe places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you down onto the mattress, laying you back.

“we can wait a little bit though, right?” the smirk on his face gives him away.

“i think that would be fine.” you giggle, pulling rafes shirt off over his head.

--

“that was actually so fun.” you hum out.

“it was when you let me drive and we could finally go fast.” rafe says. you were halfway through the gyrosphere tour when you handed the controls over to rafe, allowing him to speed through the ankylosaurus herds.

“but we will not be doing that on the kayak.” you hold your finger up.

“yes ma’am.” rafe says, slipping the attendant a $20 bill to move you to the front of the line, not wanting you to have to wait.

“life vest.” rafe says, slipping it over your head while he just grabs his and throws it into the kayak, not planning on putting it on unless something happens.

rafe helps you step down into the kayak, grabbing the paddle knowing he's going to sit in the back and do all the work.

--

“this is so beautiful.” you say, leaning back into your seat as you look at the stegosaurus and it's long neck reaching up to grab the leaves, his feet submerged in the water as you paddle past.

“this might be even better than the velociraptors.” rafe says.

“wait-” you sit up. “whats that sound? is that a radio?”

it takes a second for rafes ears to pick it up, but he can hear the frantic static of voices over a walkie talkie.

rafe continues to paddle, realizing suddenly that you've separated from all the other kayaks and can't see anyone. he brings the kayak closer to the side when he hears the radio as you reach out to pick it up from the muddy bank.

you turn the volume knob up as you try to make out what the voice is saying through the water logged speaker.

“we sent the containment unit out with nonlethal force and they're all dead! immediate evacuation, get everyone inside and back to the hotel!”

“rafe…” you turn towards him, eyes widening in fear.

“im sure it's just some kid pulling a prank.” rafe takes the radio, finding the speech button and pressing it. “what is going on?”

“who is that? this is an authorized channel.” one voice says before another cuts it out.

“whoever you are, seek shelter immediately. the indominus rex is on the loose, currently heading towards-” the radio sparks and then dies out.

“shit.” rafe hits it against his thigh, but it's clearly no use.

“rafe.” your voice is already shaking. “the indominus rex. i don't know what it is, but it doesn't sound good.”

“okay.” rafe stands up and steps out of the kayak, pulling it onto the bank before helping you out. “baby-” he places his hands on your shoulders. “i need you to stay calm. you know this island like the back of your hand. where are we?”

“we-” you take a deep, shaking breath. “we are halfway through the kayak adventure. we should head just west and find the road to the aviary.”

“okay.” rafe presses a kiss to your forehead. “let's go quickly and quietly. im sure they've already contained whatever dinosaur escaped.”

“yeah.” you nod, gulping, not so sure.

rafes steady hand stays in yours, helping you over bushes and downed trees.

“shouldn't be much farther.” you bite your lip, hoping you didn't get the direction wrong.

“hang on.” rafe whispers, placing a finger over his lips. 

before you can fully comprehend what's happening, he's tugging you down under a giant tropical plant, the leaves hiding you as you hear whatever rafe did, the pounding footsteps of dinosaurs.

“that's the stegosaurus we saw earlier.” you remember the distinct marking along its side.

“get over here.” rafe pulls you in tighter, not allowing you to see as he presses you against the stem of the large plant, covering your body with his own.

“it's okay, it's a herbivore.” you say, when you hear the second set of dinosaur footsteps following it. you tense up, and you can feel a panic attack setting in as you pick your head up to see some sort of giant rex running after it.

you both stay still and silent until it's clearly far enough away.

“rafe.” you tremble as you turn into your back, his body still hovering over yours, protecting you, willing to put himself in the line of danger if he needs to.

“it's okay.” his voice is betraying how scared he is as well, but he's going to try his best to not let you see it. “let's just get to the aviary.”

“i-i can't.” you shake your head. “im fucking terrified.” 

“me too, baby.” he says. “but we gotta get under cover somewhere before that thing catches up to the stegosaurus and comes back for us.”

you swallow deeply, eyes closing for a brief minute, gaining all your courage you possibly can.

“okay.” you're up and moving quickly, running towards the aviary. your steps are no longer balanced and cautious, moving quickly through the jungle until you make it through the trees to the grassy plane.

“the aviary!” you point at the large glass dome, just in time to see a helicopter careening into it, smashing a hole that instantly has pterodactyls flying out.

“shit!” rafe shouts, tugging you back into the treeline.

“we're gonna die.” you sob out, not able to hold back your tears as you crumple to the ground.

“no.” rafe says firmly. “i will not lose you.”

he knows he needs to move, especially as the pterodactyls come closer, and he doesn't have time to console you enough to get you ready to move.

rafe reaches down and pulls you into his arms, hugging your shaking form against his chest as he follows the same path of disturbed leaves and muddy footprints back to the river.

“i need you to paddle.” rafe says, glad your kayak is still in the same space. “i know you're scared, but you need to help me here. we need to go fast.”

you sniffle and look up at rafe, your big eyes filled with tears causing his heart to pang out in pain. “okay.”

rafe bends down, pressing your lips together in a soft and caressing kiss before climbing onto the back of the kayak.

you both immediately begin to paddle hastily, not knowing where the next meat eating dinosaur could be.

“the river goes underground then should let us off near main street.” you tell rafe, eyes briefly closing to envision the map in your head before putting your entire focus back onto paddling.

“baby, still.” rafe says softly, both of you pausing as you look upwards, seeing pterodactyls wings flapping over, thankfully not seeming to notice you under the treetops, yet you still wait until they pass over before beginning to paddle again.

“there's the cave.” you say, pointing as the river bends and you head underground, lights strung along the cave ceiling as you paddle underground, able to take a deep breath now that you're under cover.

“are there any dinosaurs in this cave?” rafe questions, helping you move back so you're leaned against him. 

“shouldn't be.” you say, eyes closing as your adrenaline drops now that you're mostly safe.

“go ahead and rest.” rafe hums as he paddles, looking down at you in relief.

--

“y/n.” rafe shakes your shoulder and you sit up with a gasp, looking around, waiting to see the indominus rex charging at you.

“it's okay.” rafe says. “we're just leaving the cave.”

“so that wasn't all just a nightmare?” you sit up, knowing you must not have been asleep that long, but already feeling majorly refreshed.

“im afraid not.” rafe sighs as you grab your paddle to help steer.

“so this let's out…”

“near the resort. we should be safe there.” you squint into the dying sunlight as the kayak leaves the caves and enters into the large man-made lake.

you both quickly steer to the side, glad to be out of the kayak and on your own two feet.

“to the resort.” you say, able to tell that there are still people running from main street in that direction.

rafe is about to toss the paddle back into the boat when a screech comes from overhead and you both look up to see a pterodactyl perched over cave entrance.

“run!” rafe yells, not turning his back from the dinosaur to see that you haven't moved an inch, not leaving him.

the pterodactyl lunges forward just as rafe swings his paddle at it, hitting it in the beak, but it only enrages the dinosaur more.

you move quickly to grab your paddle, joining rafe in hitting at it, keeping the snapping beak away from pecking at your skin.

“baby, go.” rafe grunts out.

“no! im not leaving you.” you keep slapping at its beak and head until it gets annoyed and roars before taking off to the sky.

“fuck.” rafe groans. “i hate dinosaurs. sorry baby.”

“that's okay.” you say with a slight laugh. “i don't think i like them that much anymore either.”

you take off towards the resort, keeping your oars held tightly in your hands, just in case any pterodactyls try something.

“onto the ship or into the resort?” you question, seeing people trying to get into both.

rafe opens his mouth to respond when a roar rips through the air.

he looks around quickly, pulling you into taller grass, not having any other close cover.

“some of the gates must be down.” you whisper.

“why?” rafe questions, not doubting you as his eyes search through the field before you point at the crowd of people, even more frantic as you watch from a distance.

“because there's a metriacanthosaurus.”

the name makes rafe blink harshly before he sees it, the dinosaur flinging people around as it takes advantage of the hoards of people trying to get to cover.

“oh my god.” you cover your mouth, watching as the carnivore rips someone in half.

“don't watch.” rafe pulls you further into the grass, tucking you against his chest.

you close your eyes and focus on his arm wrapped around your shoulder instead of the screams.

“i got you.” rafe whispers, free hand tapping his shorts to make sure the box is still there in his pocket.

“i know.” you press your lips into his neck. “i know.”

gunshots ring out and rafe looks out of the grass to see that the dinosaur has finally brought down and everyone is safely inside.

“okay, let's run.” rafe helps you stand, deciding to head towards the boat instead of the hotel, knowing it's just one step closer to getting you safe.

you take off in a run, entering up the gangway you went down just yesterday morning.

“inside the cabin.” one of the staff says quickly, ushering you through the glass doors into the packed hallway of people, but rafe keeps moving, tucking you into him until you're towards the front of the boat, able to move up a level and find a place to sit down.

“we're okay.” you say as you relax into the sofa. “we’re alive.”

“i love you.” rafe says, head dropping to your shoulder. “im never talking you on another vacation like this again, but i love you.”

“and i thought you were protective before.” you chuckle, breathing out heavily.

“really ruined my whole plan though.” rafe knows that you both just experienced a trauma that will no doubt need to be unpacked later, but you're just happy to be safe inside the cruise ship.

“what plan?” you lift your head up.

“not the best time but-” rafe sits up and pulls a box out of his pocket. “i planned to ask you in front of the waterfall, all romantic and sweet. but i don't want to waste a single moment longer.”

rafe flicks the top of the box up to reveal a glimmering ring. “will you marry me?”

you let out a squeal and jump into rafes arms, “yes!”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[yandere-toons]

Yandere: "is that your family?" S/O: "nope, nah-uh, nada. I've never seen those people in my life"

Years of hard data say you're lying, but they're not about to incriminate themselves by revealing so: Huey Duck, Hunter | Golden Guard, Aziraphale, Sheldon J Plankton, Doctor Nefarious, Tenth Doctor, Shang Tsung, Dr Flug, Perry the Platypus, Midoriya Izuku

Suspects the lie but rolls with it: Ian Malcolm, Louie Duck, Anthony J. Crowley, Nick Wilde, Nagito Komaeda, Captain Jack Sparrow, Lightning McQueen, Ratchet, Kaa, Bugs Bunny, Mike Wazowski, Johnny Loughran, Klaus Hargreeves, Sans Undertale, Arataka Reigen, Tyrion Lannister, Legoshi, Rouge the Bat, Wallace Wells, Kendall Roy, Connor Roy, Finnick Odair

Races over to introduce themselves: Toga Himiko, SpongeBob SquarePants, Dewey Duck, Judy Hopps, Kokichi Ouma, Beetlejuice, Celia Mae, Gaston, Mavis Dracula, Undyne, Beast Boy, Deadpool, Alvin Seville, Phil Dunphy

Believes you: Pinkie Pie, Bluey & Bingo, Jataro Kemuri, Chick Hicks, Caligosto Loboto, GIR, Daffy Duck, Bill & Ted, Olaf, Shigeo Kageyama, Starfire, Scott Pilgrim, Ken, Castiel

Laughs at your thin deceptions: Emperor Belos, Bill Cipher, Black Hat, Scar, Shere Khan, Tai Lung, Lord Shen, Pagan Min, Invader ZiM, Shao Kahn, Eleventh Doctor, Rainbow Dash, Shenzi, Randall Boggs, Duncan Pepperidge Anderson, Agent Smith, Doctor Eggman, Han Solo, Alastor, Izaya Orihara, Gideon Graves, Roman Roy, Shiv Roy, Gristol Malik

Alternative interpretation is equally funny — the yandere is pointing out random groups of people and slowly narrowing down their choices.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Ian Malcolm x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Smut, handjob, public sex, healing, hurt.

Surviving Jurassic Park brought you and Ian Malcolm together in ways you never expected. Now, in the quiet of a hospital room, the days stretch on, and his pain lingers. You can't take away his wounds, but you can give him something else—something to chase away the ache, to remind him he’s alive, to prove your love. So, with a slow, deliberate touch, you slip your hand beneath the sheets…

Masterlist

You never thought you would survive something like this. If someone had told you a week ago that you’d be running for your life from dinosaurs, you would have laughed in their face. And yet, here you were—alive, breathing, and somehow still in one piece. It was strange how, when faced with danger, the human body found strength you never knew you had.

Just yesterday, your life had been simple. You were an ethologist, someone who studied animal behavior, and your focus had always been on prehistoric creatures. Dinosaurs fascinated you—their instincts, their intelligence, the way they once ruled the Earth. That passion had led you to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: an early preview tour of Jurassic Park. It had been a dream come true.

Until it turned into a nightmare.

Everything had started so well. The park was breathtaking, unlike anything you had ever seen. The dinosaurs weren’t just fossils in museums or reconstructions in books—they were real. Breathing, moving, living creatures. You had been so excited, so caught up in the wonder of it all, that you never saw the danger coming.

Then the fences failed.

What followed was pure chaos. The T-Rex escaped first, its roar shaking the ground beneath your feet. You would never forget the terror of running through the jungle, hearing its heavy footsteps crashing behind you, knowing that at any moment, it could catch you. And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, there were the raptors. Fast, intelligent, and deadly. If the T-Rex had been terrifying, the raptors were something else entirely. They didn’t just chase—you could see them thinking, planning. Hunting.

You had come so close to dying that night. Too many times to count. The memory of it still clung to you, making your hands tremble as you sat in the quiet hospital room.

But… not everything about that nightmare had been bad.

Your eyes drifted to the hospital bed beside you. Ian Malcolm was fast asleep, his face pale but peaceful. He had been hurt—badly—but he had made it too.

You hadn’t known Ian before all of this. The first time you met him was when you stepped into that helicopter.

He stood out immediately. His messy curls, the black leather, the effortless confidence—it was hard to tell what kind of man he was. He didn’t look like a scientist, at least not the kind you were used to. For a moment, you had wondered what he was even doing there. Then he started talking about chaos theory.

He was strange, but in the best way. Different. And, God, was he attractive.

You hadn’t even realized it at first, but it had been instant—like a spark catching fire before you had time to notice the heat. The constant flirting had kept you on edge in the best way, adding a thrill to an already wild adventure. But in the end, it wasn’t his teasing or that wicked smile that won you over. It was the way he protected you.

When the T-Rex came back, ready to crush everything in its path, Ian had made sure you were safe before thinking of himself. He had pushed you out of harm’s way and then, without hesitation, ran to draw the monster’s attention elsewhere. That decision had nearly cost him his life, leaving him with a deep wound on his leg.

And later, when you had no choice but to leave the safety of the bunker to restore the power, he had tried to stop you. Not because he doubted you, but because he was terrified of losing you. If something happened, he wouldn’t be there to protect you, and that thought alone was unbearable to him.

You could still feel the ghost of his lips against yours, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the way your heart had pounded—not just from fear, but from something new, something deep and consuming.

It had been a kiss full of adrenaline, of fear, of something too fresh to name.

A goodbye.

Or maybe, a promise to find each other again.

Now, you had survived it all, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. You were safe. He was safe. And as you sat beside his hospital bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

The moment the helicopter had touched down in Costa Rica, everything had been a blur of medical teams and urgent voices. You barely had time to process what was happening before Ian was wheeled away on a stretcher, his condition too critical to wait. You had tried to follow, but a nurse had gently stopped you, promising he was in good hands.

You had been taken for examination as well, but in comparison, your injuries were almost laughable—just a sprained ankle, a few cuts, and bruises. Nothing that truly mattered, not after what you had just survived. The worst of your wounds weren’t physical anyway.

With Ian in surgery, there had been nothing you could do but wait. So you did. You let the nurses clean your wounds, you accepted the painkillers for your ankle, you showered, you changed into fresh clothes. But none of it really registered. The only thing that mattered was getting back to him.

And now, finally, you were here.

The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of machines filling the silence. Ian lay still, his face pale against the white sheets, the steady beep of the heart monitor reassuring you that he was, in fact, alive. He looked different like this—quieter, almost vulnerable. It was such a contrast to the man you had met just days ago, the one who spoke in riddles about chaos theory, who flirted with an effortless charm, who had thrown himself in front of danger without a second thought.

When you had first arrived at his bedside, he had been completely unconscious, the lingering effects of anesthesia keeping him deep in sleep. You had just sat there, watching him, waiting, afraid to leave in case he woke up and you weren’t there.

And now, finally, you saw it—a faint twitch in his fingers, the slow shift in his breathing.

He was waking up.

You held your breath, leaning forward in your chair as Ian stirred, his brow twitching slightly as if he were trying to fight his way back to consciousness. His fingers flexed weakly against the sheets, and then, with a slow inhale, his eyelids fluttered open.

At first, his gaze was unfocused, hazy from the lingering anesthesia. His dark eyes darted around the room, brows furrowing slightly as if trying to make sense of his surroundings. Then, as his vision cleared, they finally settled on you.

For a moment, he just looked at you, blinking slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure you were real. Then, in true Ian Malcolm fashion, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Well,” his voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, but still laced with that familiar teasing tone. “Either I’m dead and in heaven, or they have a very good nurse-to-patient ratio here.”

Relief flooded through you so fast it nearly made you dizzy. You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, not sure if you wanted to roll your eyes or cry. Maybe both.

“You’re not dead, Ian.” Your voice was softer than you expected, thick with emotion. “And I’m definitely not your nurse.”

“Pity,” he murmured, his smirk widening just a little. But then his gaze shifted, scanning your face more carefully now, and whatever joke he had been about to make died on his lips. His expression softened. “You’re okay?”

That simple question made your throat tighten.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, though you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Physically, yes. But after everything you had been through—the terror, the near-death experiences, the chaos—you weren’t sure you’d ever truly feel okay again.

Ian must have seen something in your face because his smirk faded completely, replaced by something far more genuine. He shifted slightly, wincing as the pain in his leg caught up with him, but his hand found yours, his fingers weak but warm as they curled around yours.

“You scared me,” you admitted quietly.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles in slow, lazy circles. “Likewise.”

You swallowed hard, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his pulse. It was real. He was real.

The days passed in a quiet rhythm, a stark contrast to the chaos you had survived. You never left Ian’s side, not once, no matter how many times he tried to convince you otherwise.

“Go to the hotel,” he’d say, exasperated but amused. “Get a real bed, take a break.”

Or worse— “You should get on the boat. Go home. No reason for both of us to be stuck in here.”

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Every time, you ignored him. Every time, you stayed.

The first night, you slept in the chair beside his bed, your head resting against your arms on the mattress, his hand never letting go of yours. The second night, after watching you struggle to find a comfortable position, Ian had simply sighed, scooted over in the too-small hospital bed, and patted the space beside him.

“C’mon, I promise I don’t bite,” he had murmured with a lazy grin, though the exhaustion in his eyes was impossible to miss.

You hadn’t hesitated. Carefully, mindful of his healing injury, you had curled up beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. It wasn’t perfect, the bed was narrow, and he still had IV lines in his arm, but it was warm. It was safe.

And it was where you belonged.

In those quiet days of recovery, your relationship shifted, deepened. It had started as a thrill—flirty glances, teasing remarks, an attraction that had burned fast and bright in the middle of chaos. But now, it was something more.

You loved him.

And somehow, impossibly, he loved you more.

He showed it in ways you hadn’t expected. In the way his fingers would seek yours whenever he was awake, idly tracing patterns against your skin. In the way he grumbled every time a nurse forced you to leave for even an hour to get food, only relaxing when you were back in his line of sight. In the way he looked at you, like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—more than chaos theory, more than the universe itself.

By the eighth day, though, Ian was restless.

His wounds were healing, but far too slowly for his liking. The doctors had started lowering his morphine, and today, for the first time since the surgery, you could tell he was in real pain. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets, his usual smirks coming less often.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

His dark eyes flicked to yours, tired but still holding that glint of mischief. “Oh, peachy. Just loving my all-expenses-paid Costa Rican vacation.”

You gave him a look. “Ian.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, alright. Hurts like hell.”

You squeezed his hand, leaning closer. “Do you want me to call the nurse?”

He shook his head immediately. “No. I don’t want more drugs.” He exhaled sharply, shifting against the pillows with a wince. “I just… I just need the pain to go away.”

You hated seeing him like this—so worn down, so unlike himself. Ian was always the one cracking jokes, the one who could make even the worst situations seem lighter. But now, the pain was written all over his face, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. And there was nothing you could do to fix it.

Except…

A thought crossed your mind. A ridiculous, terrible, utterly inappropriate thought.

Ian noticed your hesitation immediately. Even in pain, he didn’t miss a thing. He cracked one eye open, arching a tired but curious brow. “What’s that look for?”

You hesitated again, warmth creeping up your neck. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you murmured, “You know… there’s another way to ease your pain.”

That got his attention. His brows furrowed slightly, intrigued, but still unsure what you meant.

You leaned in just a little, lowering your voice. “Do you trust me?”

There wasn’t a second of doubt in his answer. “Yes.”

Slowly, carefully, you let your hand slip beneath the covers, trailing down his stomach with deliberate slowness until you reached between his legs.

Ian tensed for half a second, his breath hitching as realization dawned. Then, his lips parted in surprise, and that familiar smirk—weak, but still unmistakably Ian—curled at the edges of his mouth.

“Oh,” he breathed, eyes darkening slightly. His voice was still hoarse, but now, for a very different reason.

As you looked at him, your teeth caught your lower lip, hesitating, silently asking for permission with your eyes. Ian’s breath hitched slightly, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. His gaze flickered between your face and where your hand hovered just beneath the sheets.

A slow, lopsided grin curled at the corner of his lips, despite the lingering pain in his expression. “Well,” he murmured, voice husky, “that’s certainly an… interesting way of erasing pain.”

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, your fingers moved, slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, your touch featherlight, testing.

You felt him tense, his muscles tightening beneath your fingertips, but he didn’t stop you. If anything, the way his breath deepened, the way his dark eyes locked onto yours, told you all you needed to know.

And then, as your hand brushed lower, you realized something else—he wasn’t wearing anything beneath the thin fabric.

Your fingers met heated skin, and a quiet sound escaped his throat as his length twitched beneath your palm, reacting to your touch. Slowly, deliberately, you let your fingers explore, feeling him harden against your hand, his body responding to you, despite the ache in his limbs.

Ian watched, quiet and calm, his dark eyes following your movements. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t urging you forward. He was just there, with you, in this moment.

His breath came slow and deep, his chest rising and falling steadily. His gaze flickered from where your hand disappeared beneath the sheet to your face, soft and loving, as if he was memorizing every second.

You started gently, your fingers barely brushing over him at first. The warmth of his body, the smooth skin beneath your touch, sent a quiet thrill through you. Slowly, carefully, you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling his length twitch in response. His body reacted even as he remained still, watching, waiting.

Up and down, your hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, following the natural curve of him. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, a quiet reaction, but he didn’t stop you. His breathing deepened, a small shift in his chest, but he didn’t say a word.

His skin was warm, firm, yet soft in places. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, a steady, strong beat. The heat of him grew as you kept moving, your touch gentle but firm. Every time your fingers glided down, then back up, a quiet hum of tension built in the space between you.

Then, carefully, your fingers moved lower, exploring, feeling the weight of him in your palm. You cupped him gently, rolling your fingers in slow, careful circles. The skin here was softer, sensitive, and you felt the way his body tensed in response.

Ian’s lips parted slightly, a quiet breath slipping free, but still, he didn’t rush you. His hand lifted just enough to rest lightly on your wrist, not stopping you, just feeling you. His thumb brushed against your skin in a slow, absent motion, a silent connection between you.

His eyes found yours again, heavy-lidded, dark, filled with quiet warmth. He didn’t need to say anything. You could feel everything in the way he looked at you.

He was fully hard now, his length warm and rigid beneath your touch. The veins along his shaft stood out subtly, pulsing beneath your fingertips as you traced their path with slow, deliberate movements. Ian let out a quiet breath, his lips barely parting, his body completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Then, he moved—just slightly—leaning in until his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, a tender press of warmth and affection. He didn’t rush, didn’t take more than you offered. Instead, he kissed you like he wanted to memorize the feel of your lips, the softness of your breath mingling with his.

When you pulled back, your hand continued its exploration, sliding up his length with featherlight strokes. Your fingers reached the head, and you paused, letting your touch wander over the sensitive ridge of his crown. The skin there was softer, stretched smooth, and as you traced it with deliberate care, Ian inhaled sharply through his nose.

His hand twitched where it rested on your wrist, not stopping you, just feeling you. His dark eyes flickered open, half-lidded and hazy, watching you with quiet intensity. His lips parted, as if he might speak, but then his breath hitched again when you circled the crown once more, pressing just a little more firmly.

A low, barely audible sound hummed in his throat, almost like a sigh. His hips reacted before he did, shifting slightly, rolling forward in a slow, instinctive motion, following the pace of your touch.

“You’re…” His voice was quiet, a little rough. He swallowed, blinking as if gathering his thoughts. “You’re really taking your time, aren’t you?”

You smiled, just barely, your fingers continuing their slow path over him. “I like watching you like this,” you admitted, voice soft.

Ian exhaled a small, breathy chuckle, though it was cut short when your fingers stroked over the same sensitive spot again. His head tilted back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

His breath came deeper now, through his mouth, each inhale stretching longer than the last. His hips kept moving in slow, rolling motions, matching the steady rhythm of your touch. His body spoke louder than any words—every quiet shift, every deepened breath, every tiny, involuntary twitch beneath your fingers.

After what felt like an eternity to Ian, your fingers shifted, tracing over the smooth, sensitive head of his length. A warm bead of precum had gathered at the slit.

You gathered it with the pad of your thumb, spreading the slickness down his shaft in slow, careful strokes. The added lubrication made your movements easier, smoother, sending a barely restrained shiver through him.

A low, quiet groan rumbled in his throat, his lips barely parting as his chest rose with a deeper inhale. 

You wrapped your hand around him more fully, your fingers pressing into the heated skin, feeling the way his shaft pulsed beneath your touch. Your grip was firm now, encompassing his girth, thumb brushing along the prominent vein that ran along the underside. The warmth of him, the way his skin moved with each stroke, sent a quiet thrill through you.

Ian let out another sound, this time lower, rougher, like the smallest unraveling of restraint. His dark eyes flickered open, heavy-lidded and hazy, finding yours in the dim light.

“You’re…” His voice was thick, quiet, breaking slightly on the word. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re driving me insane.”

You smiled, just barely. “Good.”

Your strokes became more deliberate now, working him from base to tip in slow, steady motions, fingers pressing and gliding over him in a seamless rhythm. You moved with care, learning him, feeling the way his body responded with every shift of your hand.

A sharp inhale escaped him when you twisted your wrist slightly at the top, teasing the sensitive ridge of his crown before dragging your palm back down. His stomach tensed, muscles tightening instinctively, his body following your lead.

His hips lifted just slightly, rolling up to meet each motion, matching the pace you set. His breath came deeper now, drawn through parted lips, each exhale tinged with quiet restraint.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, watching the way his jaw tensed, how his fingers curled against the sheets.

Ian’s lips quirked at the corners, a ghost of a smile even as his brows pinched slightly in pleasure. “Just… feeling,” he admitted, voice hoarse, breathless.

Your fingers squeezed around him just enough to test his reaction, your movements smooth, slow, relentless. A faint tremor ran through him, his stomach twitching, his breath catching ever so slightly.

The sound that slipped from Ian’s lips was quiet, but unmistakable—a low, husky moan, the first real sign that his restraint was beginning to fray. And God, it was sexy as hell. The deep timbre of it sent warmth pooling through you, a thrill curling in your stomach.

You wanted more.

You wanted to watch him unravel, to see the careful control he always carried melt away beneath your touch. Even though you knew someone could hear, even though at any moment someone might walk through the hospital room door, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was him.

Your fingers moved faster, not rough, not hurried—just more. The slow, steady rhythm you’d set became more deliberate, more insistent, coaxing his body toward the edge one stroke at a time. The slick heat of his skin pulsed beneath your touch, the warmth spreading between your fingers as you worked him with quiet precision.

Ian was still calm, still quiet, but you could see it now—the slow unraveling. His breathing had deepened, each inhale drawn sharply through parted lips. His fingers curled tighter against the sheets, his knuckles going white as he fought to hold onto some semblance of control.

His hips moved in tandem with your strokes, meeting your hand with unthinking instinct, his body betraying him even as his expression remained composed. But his eyes—those dark, heavy-lidded eyes—told you everything.

You could see the way they flickered with quiet desperation, the way they clung to you, as if grounding himself in your presence.

You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can let go, you know.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted like he might say something—but instead, he exhaled a sharp, shaky breath as your hand twisted just right, drawing another quiet, needy moan from deep in his chest.

Then another. And another. Each sound came lower, huskier, more frequent, like he was losing the battle to keep quiet.

Your hand kept moving, firm and steady, but you increased your pace just slightly—just enough to push him further, enough to make his body react without hesitation. His hips followed your rhythm, rolling into your touch instinctively, seeking more without a word. 

His length was hot, heavy in your palm, slick with the warmth of his own arousal. With each motion, you let your thumb brush along the prominent vein running along the underside, teasing him in a way that made his stomach tense beneath your touch.

And then, when you twisted your wrist slightly at the top, dragging your fingers back down in a slow, milking stroke, he let out a sharp, breathy moan.

“Y/N…” he groaned, voice rough, strained.

Then, as if the pleasure had become too much, he leaned in, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his lips barely ghosting over your skin as he exhaled. His breath was hot, uneven, each exhale brushing against your collarbone, sending shivers through you. His shoulders were tense, his body wound so tight you could feel the effort it took for him to hold himself together.

God, that was sexy as hell.

You loved seeing him like this—so undone, so raw, so completely lost in the feeling of you.

Your free hand found his lower abdomen, fingers splaying over his tensed muscles. His abs were tight beneath your palm, clenching and unclenching with every stroke, every shaky inhale. The muscles twitched involuntarily, a physical reaction to the way your fingers worked him. You could feel his body straining, his hips jerking slightly, his control slipping with each firm glide of your hand.

Your grip adjusted just slightly, fingers pressing more firmly at the base before dragging up, letting your thumb circle the sensitive ridge of his crown. His body jerked in response, a sharp inhale followed by another moan, higher now, more breathy, more needy. His length twitched against your palm, his body trembling in quiet anticipation.

Ian’s face twisted, his brows pinching together, lips parting as the pleasure took full control of him. His breathing faltered—stopping for a second, his entire body tensing beneath your touch. Every muscle in his abdomen clenched, his thighs tightening, his grip on the sheets going white-knuckled.

And then, as you continued to stroke him, steady and unrelenting, you felt it—his length twitching violently in your palm, the heat pulsing as thick ropes of his release spilled over your fingers, streaking across the sheets in warm, sticky bursts. His body trembled, frozen in place for a moment, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

His orgasm was quiet, but you could feel everything in the way he came undone. His breath stuttered out in short, uneven gasps against your neck, his moans trapped in his throat, coming out as soft, desperate exhalations. His hips jerked slightly, as if he couldn't stop himself, as if his body was chasing every last wave of pleasure even as it overtook him.

Your strokes slowed, gentle now, coaxing him through it, feeling every pulse of his release beneath your fingers. His body twitched with aftershocks, the tension finally melting from his muscles as he slumped slightly against you, breathless, spent.

You let your hand rest lightly against his lower stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath as he came back down, his skin warm and slick with sweat. Ian’s head remained tucked against the crook of your neck, his lips barely brushing against your skin as he exhaled again, this time softer, calmer.

“…Damn,” he finally murmured, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You smiled, pressing a light kiss to his temple, feeling the last shiver run through his body.

Ian’s breath was still uneven, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep gulps of air as he tried to catch up with himself. His body was warm, relaxed, his muscles no longer tense beneath the thin hospital sheets.

You smiled, watching him for a moment before slipping off the bed. His eyes barely cracked open, watching as you padded to the small bathroom attached to the hospital room. You rinsed your hands, washing away the sticky warmth of him with cool water, then grabbed a clean, damp cloth before returning to his side.

Ian’s gaze followed you lazily as you sat beside him again. His body was sprawled in complete relaxation, but his lips curled slightly as he saw the cloth in your hand.

“You take good care of me,” he murmured, voice still hoarse from his quiet moans.

You hummed in response, unfolding the cloth and carefully brushing it over his still-sensitive length, wiping away the remnants of his release. The moment the damp fabric touched him, he flinched, his stomach jerking as he let out a surprised breath.

"Shit—" He jumped slightly, a sudden laugh escaping him as his body instinctively twitched away. “Too soon, too soon,” he chuckled, shaking his head, his face relaxed with a lazy, post-pleasure grin.

You laughed too, shaking your head. "Baby."

"Not my fault," he murmured, breathless but amused, sinking further into the pillows, still buzzing with the warmth of release.

Once he was clean, you tossed the cloth aside, then settled beside him again, curling into the space beneath his arm. He wasted no time in wrapping himself around you, his arms circling you tightly, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let go. His lips found your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your neck, then your cheek, then finally your temple.

His warmth, his scent, his steady heartbeat against your own—it felt like the safest place in the world.

You smiled, letting your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest. “How’s the pain now?” you asked softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

Ian blinked, his expression hazy, as if he’d already forgotten why he was in this hospital bed in the first place. Then, realization flickered briefly across his features before a slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

“What pain?” he murmured, his voice thick with lingering pleasure. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and teasing. “Right now, all I feel is you. And, maybe, the best kind of exhaustion.”

You laughed softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, letting the deep warmth of his embrace wrap around you. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his touch gentle, his presence completely at ease.

Yeah. Mission accomplished.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

[bananafire11]

My art of 2024 lets fucking gooo

[prins-maurice]

Strange Attractors - Ian Malcolm x Reader (smut)

Strange Attractors - The Lost World (4423 words) by WizardToad

Summary: After recovering from the events at Jurassic Park Ian Malcolm signs an NDA, reserving himself to the somewhat quiet life of teaching. When you show up, however, you turn his life upside down. Giving into desires you both know you shouldn't, while a man called Richard Levine keeps pestering him about a so-called Lost World. (Smut in chapter 3)

Chapter 1: That’s Plagiarism, Young Lady

His lips make their way over your shoulder as his hair tickles your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His hands roam freely over your curves. The aroma of his cologne mixed with the coffee on his breath envelops you. He grips your waist and lifts you up, setting you down on his desk. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him flush to your core as your lips meet once again. His hands squeeze your thighs at the sensation. Your hands slide over his black shirt, almost ripping the buttons open-.

You manage to shake out of your chaotician-induced hypnosis just in time to see the one and only Dr. Ian Malcolm squinting at you in the bright sunlight. Shit, the whole auditorium is looking at you, he must’ve asked you a question. He knows he caught you daydreaming and a self-satisfactory grin appears on his face. A single ray of sunshine creeps in through the window, shining right on the man in front of you. Paying attention to Professor Malcolm's lectures was never easy, but the way the golden rays reflect off the stray gray hairs on the side of his head is making it entirely impossible today. You haven't heard a single word the man has said, too sucked up in your daydream.

“If you recall, miss (Y/L/N), we were just talking about the ways in which self-organizing behaviours of complex systems are of interest to the study of evolution.” He gestures with his hand, urging you to continue.

Fuck, you really should’ve been paying attention. You were a good student, you really were, but he had caught you off-guard now. He loved tormenting you like that. Dr. Malcolm had been talking your ear off about this a few nights ago when you were reading some papers from a freshman course. Racking your brain for something to spew out, you remember a bit he said about adaptation and the way complex systems seem to strike a balance between the need for order and the imperative to change, locating themselves at the edge of chaos. He raises his eyebrows and smirks, satisfied with your answer. You mentally wipe the sweat from your forehead as he continues his lecture.

Malcolm’s is the last class on Friday evening so the students practically storm out of the auditorium the second it's over. You, however, still have TA duties to fulfill. You deeply regret agreeing to spend the evening working on some stuff in his office. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you alone. You've had a major crush on your professor ever since you stepped foot in his class. Hell, it's the whole reason you applied to become his TA. But now it just felt silly, and you’d rather be in a bar getting shit-faced with your roommate. 

As the others stampede out like a herd of buffalo, you saunter over to his desk at the front. He’s still packing away his papers.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you copying me word for word. That’s plagiarism young lady” He teases, sending you a lopsided smile 

“Well you did put me on the spot, I had to say something” You lean against his desk, cracking your back. If they’re gonna make people sit in them for two hours, they really should make those damn chairs a bit more comfortable.

“Or maybe you should just pay attention to the lecture next time” He closes his bag and you roll your eyes. He pauses for a minute, thinking. The curiosity kills him, he has to ask. “What were you so preoccupied with?” He comes around the desk and leans next to you, the height difference even more apparent now. 

You feel your ears burning red, recalling the daydream you’d had earlier. You couldn’t tell him the truth, obviously. You scramble for something to say, managing to come up with “Oh, just this assignment for Dr. Thorne’s class. He’s making us solve one of his impossible engineering mysteries again, you know how he is.” You laugh awkwardly, hoping he doesn’t inquire further about the non-existent assignment. He nods “Yeah, typical.” he hums. You let out a soft sigh of relief, he bought it. He swings his bag over his shoulder and ushers you toward his office “C'mon, we've got a lot of work to do tonight.”

As Dr. Malcolm’s TA, you were usually tasked with doing the shitty jobs he didn't want to do. You sometimes wonder why he even has a TA if he barely needs help with anything useful. So now you were stuck in his office, entering research data into the computer on his desk while your roommate was out partying. 

He paces the office with long strides, focused on the papers in his hand. He stares at them with a frown. "Can you believe this shit?" You look up from the computer, finger on the paper in front of you to keep track of the number you were just about to enter. 

"Douchebag" he mutters. 

"Everything okay Dr. Malcolm?"

He looks up at you, a glint in his eyes. He loves it when you call him Dr. Malcolm. He’d never admit it of course, but it made him feel strong and authoritative. For years after the park, he couldn’t go anywhere without his cane. He used to be known as the rock star scientist, and now people just looked at him with pity. Having to rely on others had made him feel weak, the way they looked at him as they helped him up, or held the door open for him, it drove him crazy. Everyone treated him like a sick puppy, except you. You still looked at him with that sense of wonder in your eyes, as if you couldn’t believe that you were standing in front of the great Dr. Malcolm, and he eats it up every time. It makes him feel like his work is still worth something. 

He appreciated that you never asked about this injury either. After the park, everyone involved signed an NDA, forced to keep quiet about what really went down in Costa Rica. Ever since then people haven’t stopped pestering them with their crazy conspiracy theories, some more accurate than others. Regardless, he had to keep to his story, and lie to the masses. Lie to you. His leg had been much better these days, though. He didn’t need his cane anymore, but he felt his reputation had been tarnished anyway.

"Remember that uh- scientist who interrupted my lecture last week? What's his name, uh- Levine. He's convinced there's a real Lost World somewhere." 

The Lost World hypothesis was one of the many theories scientists had come up with to try and answer the never-ending questions regarding the K-T extinction event. The hypothesis states that dinosaurs may never have fully gone extinct and that somewhere in the world, there's an isolated haven where there are still living, breathing dinosaurs. It's absurd, but then again most scientific theories are. 

"What? But that's just a theory. It's a fantasy."

"You don't have to tell me" he runs a hand through his hair sighing. You can tell he's bothered by it, maybe more than he should be, but you decide not to press it. 

"He wants me to help him research it. Find the supposed island, go on an expedition, the whole works. He's been bugging me about this theory all week but I didn't think he'd go this far."

"He's completely nuts." You shake your head.

"He's a pain in the ass is what he is" he grumbles, walking up to the desk and throwing the letter in the trash can. He leans on the back of your chair, hands nearly touching your neck making you shiver from the near-contact. You sigh audibly as you enter in the last data on this page, just seven more to go.

“You know what?” He suddenly exclaims, slapping the back of your chair ”We’ve done enough for tonight. We shouldn’t be holed up here all night. Go on home (Y/N)” You lean back in the chair, tilting your head all the way backward to look at him. “You’re the best, Dr. Malcolm. I think my fingers are about to fall off.” You sigh, your brows knit together. He laughs, turning the chair and shooing you out the door.

“Go on, go out and have fun or whatever young people do. See you Monday.”

“See you Monday Dr. Malcolm.” You wave him goodbye as you walk to your dorm. Your roommate had let you know which bar she was going to, and it was still early enough to quickly change and meet up with her there. Easy peasy, your Friday night could still be saved. 

- Chapter 2 -

[denaliwrites]

Best Behavior

Ian Malcolm x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Behave"

Summary: The way this could've easily been smut.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Excessive use of filler words.

"I really need you to behave, Ian," you said as you made a sharp turn, guiding the two of you deeper into the office building.

"Uh, don't I -- don't I always?" he asked, trying to will his smirk into nonexistence. He wasn't very good at it.

"Do you actually want an answer to that?"

"N-no. No, I, uh, suppose not."

You turned to block his way suddenly, looking over his outfit -- his usual black attire -- and making slight adjustments. A straightening here, a brushing there. You finished by removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket.

He let you fuss over him -- he didn't usually, but this time maybe he understood how important this was to you, how much you really, truly wanted this. Or maybe it was the borderline manic look in your eyes.

"I, uh -- I'll miss you, if you go," he said quietly as you pulled away.

You looked up into his eyes with a small smile. "You could go with me."

"Oh, I don't think that's, uh... wise..."

You shrugged. "The offer is on the table. The guy on the phone said there's a spot for you, too."

With that, you turned and stepped into a meeting room, where two people were already sat waiting. They both stood and greeted the two of you, before motioning for you to sit and taking their own seats.

"Dr. Malcolm," the older gentleman said.

His lawyer interrupted, "Have you changed your mind? Do I need to go make copies?"

You turned to look at Ian, and he turned to look at you. And just like that, all illusions you'd had of him "behaving" shattered. For all his posturing and preaching about chaos and order, he himself was more often than not an agent of chaos -- at least, he had been in your life.

"I, uh... I'd love to see this, uh... this park you're building, Hammond."

You sighed. Of course.

"Can't let you have all the fun, after all," he said to you, winking with a shit-eating grin.

"You and I apparently have very different ideas of fun."

[lovelyfantasia]

Garden of Eden

PAIRING: Ian Malcolm x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Y/n is a transfer student to her new college where her last year is about to start and she needs one more good night out. Going to a bar two towns away changed her fate of the night, having an older man in her arms by the end of it. What she wasn’t expecting is that she would see him a few days later – teaching the class.

WORDCOUNT: 2,417

A/N: I got this idea when I listened to the song Garden of Eden by Lady Gaga and I just had to write it for my first Ian Malcolm imagine. Shoutout to Mother Monster for making yet another banger album to blast in my car this summer.

<><><>

“I’m honestly so excited for tonight. I just know I’m going to be chain locked to the library for the next few weeks, so I need this.” you say as you triple check your small black bag to see if you didn’t forget anything while in the back of the taxi. 

Your childhood best friend, Marina, agrees with you and goes on about how she wants the night to go. You hear her going on about wanting to find at least one cute guy, which drinks she’ll be devouring, toying with the idea of using a fake name with guys, but you’re too focused on finding cash for cover to get in. 

“Fuck- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cut you off, but do you have cash to get in? I completely forgot to grab some. Oh, but I managed to remember to bring a condom in case of anything. Doubtful, but prepared,” you say and you can see the taxi driver look at you kind of surprised through his rearview mirror. 

“Oh yeah, no worries. So, you’re going to be on the prowl tonight?”

“Hardly. Even when I say I will, I never do anything about it. Plus, I can never find a guy that’ll reciprocate the same energy I can give off. It’s a you and me night…unless we manage to get something and in that case, I’ll let you do your thing.” you two laugh and feel the car come to a halt. Marina hands the driver exact change and off you guys were to the bottom door of the bar. 

The line is short, thanking your lucky stars. Lines anywhere drove you insane, especially waiting to get into a bar. You were the kind of person to get to it when you arrived somewhere, but Marina had the patience of a saint. Patience for you was kind of a joke and maybe that had something to do with the fact that you transferred colleges for your last year to come live back home with your family. 

After checking the IDs and handing over the money, Marina and you were off to the races of getting the night started. Music was already going, the place slowly but surely filling up with people of all ages, mainly younger.  

“What can I get for you two?” The very tall, very cute bartender asked.

“Can we please get a dirty Shirley and a tequila soda with a splash of orange juice, double for both? Thank you!” you tell him. 

“You have to be one of the most polite people I’ve ever met when interacting with a bartender.”

“What about it? They have to deal with annoying, drunk people all the time. The worst being the drunk college students who never tip enough.”

“Oh and you think you fall outside of that?”

“Well, I’m not an annoying drunk and I tip well,” Marina laughs at your commentary, but it falls short when she sees a stranger making particular eye contact your way. She finds him quite handsome, but definitely not her cup of tea. He visibly looks older than them and she knows you aren’t afraid of a little bit of an age gap. 

“Now, don’t make it obvious, but there’s a guy across the bar staring right at you. Dark rimmed glasses, curly brown hair, black button down, rings too,” she whispers in your ear. After handing the bartender your card, you casually look over at him and you can feel his gaze burn right back at you. Shamelessly doing so, which for you felt surprising since attention like this doesn’t come your way too often when you make your appearances out. 

You couldn’t deny how drop dead handsome he was to you. Almost like he had the essence of a Greek God, his face trapped in the ancient statues that brighten up The MET. He was even tanned to the Gods, making his hazel eyes pop more under the lighting of the bar even from behind his glasses. 

The usual move for you when you get stared at like this is to look away and ignore it completely, sending the hint that you don’t give a shit. But this stranger in the night has a gravitational pull you’ve never encountered before. 

You just knew he was going to be irresistible if you two cross paths tonight. 

“Jesus Christ, stop the staring contest and go over to him!”

“Wha- no! Oh my God, no. I can’t.”

“Okay…then let's see what happens when you’re left all alone.” she saunters away to the girls bathroom to leave the bait for him to approach you. You saw at least three guys turn their heads when she made her way over and applauded her in your head. She was hot, you always reminded her. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you made out that the guy next to him patted Mr. Greek God on his shoulder and the blondie next to the friend playfully rolled her eyes. Huh, so he didn’t come alone, you thought to yourself. You fully look down into your drink, swirling around the ice with your straw. 

“You know, I saw the bartender have quite a heavy pour of tequila in that. I hope you know what you’re in for tonight,” your head whips to your left, coming face to face with the man who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. 

“And what exactly am I in for?” a smile spreads wide on his face and a laugh finally escapes him. 

To answer your flirtatious question, he reaches out his hand in front of you. 

“I’m Ian.”

“I’m Y/N,” and you two finally introduce yourselves with a proper handshake. You can see his two friends talk close to each other from across the bar while keeping their eyes’ on you two. “Looks like we have an audience,” you guide your eyes over to them and Ian sheepishly laughs. 

“Yeah, uh, those are my colleagues. I apologize for them and their very obvious gossiping.”

You see Marina come out of the bathroom and stop dead in her tracks at the sight of him in front of you. She makes the decision to sit near where Ian was originally to keep an eye on you, for protective purposes. Also, of course she wants to see you succeed with this one if he isn’t a creep. 

“And now there’s a third. Isn’t that the girl you were with when you arrived?”

“Yeah, that’s my best friend. We’re having a girls night out- well, was having one.”

“Did I disrupt your plans?”

You look over at her and a devilish grin sits prettily on her face while she watches the interaction go down. 

“Not exactly. We’re the kind of people who let in unpredictability into our nights. More fun that way, ya know?” you smile at him and take another sip of your cocktail. He looks like he wants to give a remark, but would rather show you instead of letting words do all the work. 

“So like chaos theory?”

“Excuse me?” Ian proceeds to explain it the best way he can, then grabs your cup from your hand to use your beverage as his partner in his best flirting trick he’s ever used. 

Ellie and Alan widen their eyes, knowing exactly what he’s about to do. 

“That son of a bitch,” Ellie says humorously to Alan. Marina overhears and pins that comment for later to tell you. Strike 1, Marina thought to herself.

You put your hand out like a hieroglyphic, as Ian told you to do. The first droplet on your middle knuckle rolls backwards down your wrist and all you could think about were how hot he was and that the orange juice certainly will leave your hand a bit sticky. 

“Now which way do you think the next one will roll?”

“Let’s say the same way,” and Ian put the second droplet on the same knuckle, but it rolls forward. He does a fake surprise gasp.

“You see- uh tiny variations and the orientation of the hairs on your skin as well as imperfections in the skin-”

“Imperfections?” you say with a chuckle.

“Microscopic, no worries. They never repeat and very well affect the outcome. Now what does that sound like to you?” He says as he continues to gently rub the back of your hand. You could see his darken, golden, perfect skin up close and feel how soft it was against your’s. You wondered how those same hands would feel grabbing at your waist on the dancefloor that’s six feet away. 

You lean a bit closer to him and slowly spread a smirk on your lips. “Unpredictability.”

Naivety and you weren’t friends; you were nobody’s fool. But right now, being a fool felt like the best decision you could make that night. 

He grabs your drink yet again and keeps a hold of your hand as he brings you to the dancefloor. Surprised by his bold move, your first instinct was to yank back your hand and walk away, but he set the scene a little too good for you to turn down this role. 

“Whatcha look at this, I unexpectedly brought you here because I couldn’t help but want to dance with you,” he hands you back your drink and you stare at him with a bewildered look in your eye. “Now that’s chaos theory.”

The lights grew dimmer, more people filled the place, and you were already three drinks when Ian finally had the courage to put his hands on you. Ellie miraculously got Alan to dance and when he didn’t enjoy a particular song, Ellie and Marina ended up dancing with one another. 

Loose lips Sattler, a paleobotanist who rarely drinks, befriended Marina in the bathroom while you were giving Ian the attention he was pining for the minute he saw you walk through the door. Marina had questions, Ellie had the answers, and Marina wanted to drag you to a bathroom stall to tell you who exactly you were dealing with. 

You were too busy feeling relaxed and going with the flow of the night. Most nights out you were the one with the social anxiety, interactions with people feeling like a chore and not feeling to dancy. Having someone like Ian right behind you with actual good music to dance to, the night was young and yours for the taking. 

“I don’t mean to be crass, but fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

If he can geek out over his chaos theory, you are ready to use your knowledge as a flirtatious tool too.

“Cubitum eamus?” you say into his ear over the loud music.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that just sounds Greek to me.”

“It’s Latin.”

“What does it mean?” you pull your head back and smile into his eyes. Not a sexy sinister look, no no. One of innocence, one of that you could do no wrong. 

“Wanna find out?” You wink at him and walk over to Marina, who’s at the bar getting another drink for herself.

“There you are! Look, you’re never going to believe what I found out?”

“And you’re never going to believe what I have planned in the next thirty minutes. It’s looking like I’m not going home with you tonight. Before you say anything, this was my doing, not his. He’s not creepy, thank God and he’s smart. Like nerdy smart! It’s perfect," you say in your ecstatic state.

Marina was ready to just spill it all and give you no room to prepare what you were about to hear. But seeing you glow in a way she hasn’t seen in quite a while, she bit her tongue for the sake of you having your needed fun. 

“Please be safe. And you better tell me everything tomorrow!” You make your way back to Ian, but whatever high you managed to capture was turning sour by the second. 

Another girl was trying to dance with him and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back from enjoying himself or rejecting her altogether. 

You could’ve been that girl to admit defeat and give up on the conquest that gave you butterflies when his hands found your hips while dancing. But why let yourself fail on a moment that comes your way so rarely?

Ian sees you walk back up to him and he slides from her smoothly to come face to face with you. 

“Did you find out what it means?”

“No! You’ve stumped me and I don’t get stumped, missy.” you laugh and make his ear lean closer to your lips. 

“If we can get out of here, I can show you a great example on a bed.”

Ian met his match. Someone to beat him at his own game. He was astonished with your forwardness and wasn’t sure if that was the liquid courage helping you out. Either way, game sees game and you two were ready to play each other. 

“Shall we?” he says to you with his hand out for you to take. Ian takes one last look at Ellie and Alan for the night, catching their eyes’ and winking with a smile. 

“Checkmate,” says Alan to Ellie. They watch in disbelief of you two making your way out of the bar and into the thick heat of the summer night. 

Kisses haven’t even been exchanged yet and here you are, being the one to ask to sleep with him. You played it cool inside, but were dying of shock when he happily agreed to go home with you. Not only was he notably older than you, but he wanted you. Not your best friend, not his colleague, not even the girl who was trying to dance with him when you stepped away. You were the object of all his desires for the night and you were willing to give right into them. 

He hauled a taxi with one good whistle. One hand in his mouth to make such a loud noise while the other held your hand. One of the cars waiting to bring someone home safely whips up in front of you two alongside the sidewalk. The moment you entered that vehicle, you knew what you were about to get yourself into. 

“How about we go back to my place? I don’t live too far from here, if that’s fine with you.”

“Sounds good to me,” and with that, the night just began for something you’ve never done before with a stranger in familiar territory.

<><><>

A/N: Part 2 is on the way :)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Alan grant - nodding off

A/n: I hate that tumblr never notifies me.

It wasn’t often that Alan had a chance to rest or take a break, know matter how much you begged the man to do so. So when he came slinking into the office you were a little surprised he didn’t pass out right in front of you.

Instead, he sat down in the seat next to you. A tired sigh escaping his lips.

���Rough day.”

A snort, followed by an exhale was his only response until you notice that he was nodding off.

“Alan.”

The man jolted away only for his body to sway and before you knew it his head was resting on your shoulder, a sloth snore escaping his lips.

Chucking for a moment, you adjusted your body so he would be more comfortable. His arms then snaking around your waist tugging you close.

“Get some sleep Alan, you deserve it.”

[mlmxreader]

Ecologists | Alan Grant x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ I wish to encourage your interests and read about hot men! 60. “You do realise that I knew you had a crush on me, right?” With Dr Alan Grant pretty please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ At Ellie's behest, Grant goes to visit an ecologist who he knows quite well... maybe a little bit too well, actually.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, age gaps, roaches (specifically my baby Riot !!)

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Save Dr. Farhat's family from genocide in Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It wasn't that Grant disliked ecologists, exactly, he actually respected them greatly and everything they did for conservation efforts, but he didn't like how he felt around you, specifically; half his age, you were strikingly handsome, and never failed to make his stomach turn into knots every time you smiled at him.

He was approaching fifty, you probably just saw him as a colleague and little else; his beard was growing thicker and longer, bits of dust constantly stuck between the strands.

Unprofessional and scruffy, Grant had showed up to your office in his usual dig attire - roughed up jeans, a stretched and worn shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and knocked around shoes that had certainly seen past their prime.

He looked around the office with his hands shoved into his pockets after seeing the various tanks and vivariums telling him not to touch; a vicious, large, snake watched him from behind glass panes. He knew the species, it wasn't venomous, but could certainly pack a punch if it wanted to; he had been bitten by one before, and didn't really want to be reminded of that.

The door opened, and Grant turned to look at you as he moved to hold his hat in his hands; idly fiddling with the brim as he watched you wonder around for a moment, a large cockroach perched on your shoulder.

"So," you hummed, laying a thick log book on the table between you both. "What can I help you with, Doctor Grant?"

He shrugged, putting his hat down beside the book and gesturing to the cockroach on your shoulder. "You have, a..."

You nodded, not even flinching. "Yeah, I know. It's fine, he won't bite... so, you called?"

Grant nodded, biting at the inside of his lip for a moment. "I got an invitation yesterday to see Hammond's island."

"I'm not going anywhere that that rich cunt has laid on his hands on," you scowled, and he laughed to himself. "So this isn't a social call?"

You sounded disappointed, but he pushed it from his mind as he shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "Me and Ellie need you there. Need your perspective."

"I dunno," you mused, coaxing the roach onto your hand and letting it sit on the back. Its little padded feet rested on your knuckles as you locked eyes with it. "What do you think?"

The roach didn't make a sound, staring back at you until you nodded and looked back at Grant.

"Sorry, he says I can't."

A smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. "Ian Malcolm is going."

"And?" You scoffed, letting the roach wander up your arm again. "Doctor Grant, between us? I always thought he was a bit of a pillock... I'd rather stick with you and Ellie."

He was trying so hard not to laugh. "Well, we're going to this island tomorrow. You can come with us... and knowing you, you'd probably run off anyway the second you see something... you know, he probably has roaches there. Geckos, too."

You turned to look at your little friend as he clung to your sleeve and looked at you. You sighed, gently trading a finger down his back. "Alright. Fine, but only because you've insisted."

Grant smiled, relief washing over him for a moment; he still hated how he felt around you. His hands shook and his heart raced, his words had to be carefully spoken to prevent him stumbling over them. He hated how he felt. "Thank you, really."

You shrugged, coaxing your small friend onto the table. "You know, this species is fascinating. They're densely armoured and larger than others, but when it comes to males fighting over partners, they don't bite. They just sort of shove each other."

Grant nodded, bending down to get a good look at it. Its orange complexion against dark markings was certainly something to behold. "You know, we have reason to believe that these guys appeared in the Late Jurassic... maybe you should come on a dig with us, you can have a fossilised one if we find out."

"Doctor Grant," you breathed out with a soft laugh. "That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

He froze. He could feel his face heating up and turning pink, and he hated it. His words failed, until you laughed loudly and patted him on the shoulder.

"Did you now know?" He heard you ask.

He shook his head. "Sorry, what?"

"You do realise that I knew you had a crush on my, right?" You cocked a brow, and he shook his head. Watching as you casually let the roach clamber onto your hand. "I'm young, not stupid, Grant. I just wondered when you were gonna ask."

He was still in shock, shaking his head to try and free something, anything, from his tongue. "But... I'm older and..."

"And we are in entirely different fields," you pointed out, grabbing some leaves from your various plants on the windowsill. You held them as the roach ate them from between your fingers. "I'm an expert in mine, and you in yours... besides, if my animals tolerate you... I think I will be fine."

His gaze drifted to the roach eating the leaves from your fingers. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Now, are you gonna look at me like I smacked you all day, or are you gonna come into the back, have a beer, and actually fucking kiss me?"

Grant moved to follow you, turning around and grabbing his hat quickly; he held it against his chest. Maybe he should have called and told Ellie that she was right and inviting you to the island did help him tell you how he felt... sort of. He hated when she was right, but he wouldn't have loved to have anyone else as his best friend in the world.

"So," you gently coaxed the roach back into its tank. "This island... are you hoping to use it as an excuse for a date, or does that come with the invite to your digs?"

Grant shrugged, a bit lost for words. He thought you would have immediately rejected him. "Whichever you prefer."

"I'll take the dig," you told him with a curt nod. "I'll still go to the island, but the dig is a better first date... don't you think?"

[swan2swan]

Deep Blue Sea (1999)

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (2020)

[clonedchaos]

CHAT LET ME COOK 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

THIS SONG EDITED WITH YAZ X SAMMY, ALAN X ELLIE, CLAIRE X OWEN, AND IAN X SARAH

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Not enough people understand the true nature of Jurassic Park methinks. Can it be enjoyed as a dinosaur horror? Absolutely. But I personally think it's much more enjoyable as a biological sci-fi. These aren't dinosaurs, they are biological monsters made in the shape of dinosaurs. They cut corners, they used frog DNA to fill in what they didn't have. John Hammond brought these experts along to see if their reactions would be "Oh my god that's a dinosaur" and then moved along when it was exactly that. But idk, that's just me.

[prins-maurice]

That's- that's Chaos Theory (Ian Malcolm × reader) ⚠️ NSFW +18 ⚠️

...

Sitting in the backseat of the land cruiser, you watch as the Tyrannosaurus rips herself a way through the fence, biting through the electric wires. Gennaro had just run out of the first car, leaving the kids to fend for themselves. "She's not getting electrocuted, why isn't she getting electrocuted?" You say panicked. In the front seats were Dr. Grant and Dr Malcolm, neither of them answering your question because the answer was clear. The power was off, and that included the paddocks’ fences. The rex, and any dinosaur in the park for that matter, had free reign. The three of you froze in fear as the big animal strode toward the first Landcruiser.

The T-Rex stood between the two cars and let out a bellowing roar. Your brain was scrambling to make any sense of the thousands of thoughts flashing through your head. And somehow, for whatever reason, the only thing you managed to sputter out was a tiny "I don't wanna die a virgin". The chaotician couldn't help but snort and raise his eyebrow at your remark.

...