#ian malcolm x you

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I feel like Ian would be the type of partner who goes off on random tangents when he's talking.

I would love to hear him talk about something he's passionate about and just smile as he talks even if I don't understand half of what he's saying.

A/n: -Sobbing- Thank you Anon

You sat on the porch swing with a cup of coffee cradled between your hands as Ian Malcolm paced in front of them, his dark curls catching the golden glow of the setting sun. His hands gestured wildly, his voice rising and falling like a symphony of enthusiasm as he dove into another impromptu lecture.

“Chaos theory, you see, isn’t just about unpredictability—it’s about understanding how small changes in initial conditions can lead to vastly different outcomes,” Ian said, his eyes alight with passion. “Take the butterfly effect, for example. A butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can set off a tornado in Texas. It’s all connected, every little thing, every decision, every action. Isn’t that just… exhilarating?”

You didn’t fully follow what he was saying but you couldn't help but love the way Ian’s mind worked—how he could find fascination in the unpredictable, the strange, and the interconnected. A small smile forming on the edge of your lips as you took a sip of your coffee, eyes twinkling as you watched him animatedly flay his hands around.

“You’re smiling,” Ian paused mid-pace, his dark eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You’re not even listening, are you?” He was teasing you of course, a habit of his.

“I’m listening,” you insisted, setting the coffee aside pushing off the chair. “I just might not understand all of it.” You stated with a small shrug of your shoulders.

Ian folded his arms and tilted his head, a grin playing at his lips. “Ah, so you’re humoring me. I see how it is.” His voice light as he stepped forward letting his arms drape around your waist.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, Ian. I love watching you get excited about these things. Even if I don’t get all the science, I get you. And that’s enough.”

He stared at them for a moment, his expression softening. The swagger he so often wore fell away, replaced by something quieter, more genuine. His head now dipped to crouch down to your level. “You know, sometimes I think you’re the anomaly in all this chaos,” he murmured. “A constant. My constant.”

Reaching your hand, you let your fingers brush a stray curl from his forehead. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, Ian.”

“Impossible,” he said, his grin returning, though softer this time. “Besides, if chaos theory has taught me anything, it’s that the most beautiful things are often the least predictable.”

You let out another soft laugh as you tugged him down to sit beside you on the swing. His hand found yours, you two sitting together, watching the sun dip below the horizon, chaos and constants blending into a quiet, perfect moment.

[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

[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."

[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.

[lovelyfantasia]

Garden of Eden

PAIRING: Ian Malcolm x 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 :)

[clonedchaos]

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

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

[thingscanalwaysgetworse]

Thinking about the Ian/Ellie/Ian reunion through a romantic lens. Spending decades trying to convince themselves that they didn’t miss each other and then they meet up and it’s like?? Alan and Ellie are already gazing at each other like long-lost lovers. When they walk into Ian’s lecture, he pauses and looks like his world has just shifted on its axis. Ellie and Ian always had something going on between them but now Alan’s realizing that his own feelings for Ian are maybe less platonic than he thought. And then later they’re all bickering lovingly like they’ve been married for years. I’m unwell

[run-clever-boy]

Stolen Glances Pt. 1 - Ian Malcolm

@toomanybandstocare - thank you for the wonderful prompt!! Totally taking you up on it [Prompt Here]

Professor!Ian Malcolm x Student of Professor!Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! (Wine?)

Summary: Your father invites his colleague over for dinner and he turns out very different than you expected.

“Dr. Y/L/N!” The man said, walking into the room confidently with a bottle of wine in his hand.

“Professor Malcolm! A grand entrance as always!” You hear your father say from across the hall. You put down your book and walk into the kitchen of your home where your father and- who you were assuming was- Dr. Malcolm pouring wine.

Dr. Malcolm was an interesting man for sure, however his appearance was not what you first noticed. He had a commanding presence, but not threatening. His confidence and charisma radiated off of him. He seemed to know your father well enough to throw out some simple work anecdotes, but nothing of any more substance.

Your father finally noticed your presence in the kitchen and gestured you into the room further.

“My goodness, excuse my manners Ian! This is my daughter, Y/n” Your father says cheerfully. “Y/n, this is Dr. Ian Malcolm, a colleague of mine!”

You reach out and shake his hand firmly and he gives you a small nod. “She happens to be in your particular field of study I believe, Ian!” Your father chimes in.

You turn toward him. “What field of study do you teach, Doctor?”

“I am a man of theoretical mathematics, more specifically… uh.. the amazing possibility of.. um.. chaos theory!” He smiles brightly “Do you happen to be a student of.. uh.. theoretical math Y/n?”

“I’m actually not very familiar with theoretical math, however I am interested in the theories surrounding it. Currently, I’m pursuing the study of general, or to you more practical, mathematics at the university” You reply. “So you study the work of Edward Lorenz?”

He looked stunned for a moment. He had barely known anyone interested in chaos theory in his lifetime, and an undergraduate student was talking about Edward Lorenz, the inventor of the theory he bases his life’s work on. He practically grinned from ear to ear as he looked you up and down to evaluate you.

“See Ian, I told you she was something special” Your father said, beaming with pride. You put on a faux innocent expression and simply said “What?”. Then you made eye contact with the professor.

Just then is when the weight of his appearance hit you. His eyes bored holes in yours, sparkling with curiosity. He was dressed all in black attire, a button down and slacks from work you were assuming, except the top few buttons on his shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. You could see the chain he was wearing around his neck under his shirt and the many rings he had. His dark framed glasses slid down on his nose so you were looking right at him, his dark curly hair hiding none of his face.

Your faux innocence faltered severely, causing a shy smile and a large blush to creep up on your cheeks as you broke eye contact and looked down at your shoes. You heard him chuckle slightly from in front of you and then finally raised your head back up to look at your father.

“So,” you said “what’s for dinner?”

“Steak dinner tonight Y/n, only the best when we have guests over!” He laughed heartily.

“Please, don’t go through trouble for me-“ Malcolm started

“Nonsense!” Your father interrupted. “We have to celebrate anyway, dear Y/n is starting her last year of classes before she is off to graduate school this week as well, it’s no trouble at all!”

“Congratulations!” Professor Malcolm said looking over at you again. “That’s a big achievement to make it this far.”

“Well thank you, Dr. Malcolm. I got my schedule today and I think you will be pleased to hear there may be a theoretical mathematics course on my roster. My father said he wanted to go over it with me anyways tonight.”

He looked you straight in the eyes again and your heart sped up. It was difficult to keep eye contact with him for a long time. He was a man that practically screamed intelligence and power, and for the first time in your life you couldn’t get enough of it. The magnetism alone took you completely by surprise.

“Well don’t just stand there! Dinner’s about ready, why don’t you go get your roster from your room and bring it down here for afterwards.” Your father suggested.

“Happy to, be right back.” You said and you swiftly exited the room.

You went to your room and grabbed the Manila envelope off of your bed. Y/N Y/L/N was printed in big bold letters on the front. You turned and exited your room to walk swiftly through the hallways back to the kitchen. You suddenly saw a shadow round the corner just before you bumped into it and jumped back, startled.

“I’m so sorry, truly, I.. uh.. apologize” You hear, realizing it’s only the professor you nearly walked into.

“No worries at all sir, I just got startled” You say with a breath of relief.

“No need to call me sir, Y/n. Dr. Malcolm is fine, but please just call me Ian, if you’re more uh comfortable with that.” He said with a smirk playing on his lips as he pushed his glasses up.

“Well Dr. Mal- sorry, Ian, thank you for coming.”

“Please is mine. Your father sent me to get wine glasses, do you uh know where those might be?” He asked, leaning against the wall he was next to.

“First cabinet down this hallway, there should be 3 perfectly clean glasses on the left.” You replied.

“Thank you, uh, very much”

You make your way to the kitchen and meet your father’s giddy smile.

“What do you think of him?” Your father says.

“He seems intelligent, good humor I suppose.” You put forward attempt a nonchalant tone. “He’s quite the personality”

“He may be your professor someday Y/n! Wouldn’t that be lovely!” You hear him giggle. Your father was always happy-go-lucky, but he always seemed especially happy when company came over.

“All good things I hope?” You hear from behind you.

You turn to face the voice that rattled you. You discover Ian leaning against the door frame with three glasses in his hands. His glasses slide down his nose and you look into his eyes through them, having to look up to be able to see his tall frame. He flashes you a wink when you linger on him a little too long and your face heats up wildly.

“Always” You hear your father say.

You take the glasses from him and set them on the counter next to the bottle of wine he brought over. You feel heat rise up from behind you as Ian reaches over you to grab the bottle of wine and uncork it. You have seriously never not been able to control your impulses and thoughts, but something about him breaks down every barrier.

~~~▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄~~~

You get through the delicious dinner with nothing more than slight glances over the table and his occasional smirk. You got to discuss some theory with him, which was a great experience. Discussions of the major influences of current mathematics, difference in theoretical vs. practical statistics, other things you had been learning and studying for your many years of university.

You finally got to discuss the schedule for your next year of classes with your father, but he insisted that Dr. Malcolm stay to give you advice for your last semester. It wasn’t a horrible idea in concept, actually you would’ve normally appreciated the opportunity, but the man in question was driving you crazy and you couldn’t understand why. While him leaving meant you would probably never see him again so you could focus, you really wanted him to stay. No one had ever made you blush like he did and you wanted to get to the bottom of why, Even if it involved getting a drink or two with him.

“Euclidean Geometry with a Dr. Hack, Probability in Statistics III with a Dr. Brown, and-“ Your father paused “Application of Chaos Theory with our very own Dr. Ian Malcolm! What a coincidence!” You father beamed out with joy, lightly tapping you on the arm.

“Well you will be one of my most interesting, uh, students, Y/n.” He said, looking you in the eye. “I’ll be seeing more of you then?” He added, leaning in.

“Let’s see where it goes, Dr. Malcolm” You say, bolder than you meant which immediately causes you to shrink back. He gives you an all knowing smile, looking right through you.

For once, you were excited for school to start again.

Tags from the comments of the prompt post: @melonpire @datrie @druigswh0ree

[missmotel6]

The Student Sweetheart

Pairings: Ian Malcolm x reader

Summary: Will something happen with that stupidly dreamy professor you’ve been crushing on, and- let’s be honest, also hating on? Maybe a night out with him outside of school is all it takes.

Warnings: Age gap. Dirty thoughts. Light touching. No smut in this chapter, however, in future parts there will be! 18+ still recommended!

The auditorium was dark. You had begun to drift off as soon as Dr. Ian Malcolm turned off the lights to start his lecture. He was going on and on again about the Chaos Theory before somehow ending up talking about his third divorce. A quiet yawn escapes you. Jesus, you’re exhausted. All because you decided to stay up to study for your literature exam you had earlier today. It probably wasn’t even worth it. The highest mark you’ve ever gotten on a test in that class was a high C. Now you’re dealing with the consequences of a late night by falling asleep during Professor Malcolm’s class. Truth be told, you only took this mathematics class because it’s not your typical math class (math has never been your strong suit), yet it still fulfills the math credits you need. Of course there was the other reason- you found Dr. Malcolm hot. At least you did.

Over the last few months you’ve grown to loathe him. At first it was exciting being in his class, you guys actually had a few flirty encounters. You still remember when he placed his hand on your desk, leaning down just to say you have the most beautiful handwriting out of all his students. Or that time when Malcolm said your eyes always shine, even when the lights are low. One time as you were turning in a paper directly to him, your hands brushed for a few seconds longer than necessary which sent a wave of shivers down your spine. The last interaction like that was weeks ago when he winked at you upon correctly answering a difficult question that two of your other classmates couldn’t get.

Malcolm was just annoying now. The way he constantly licks his lips. How he sticks his hands in his pockets. All of his slutty deep v-neck cut shirts. He is a professor after all, he should dress like it. Not to mention the fact that he’s pushing 45, and he still thinks he’s this hot, hip college kid. In reality he’s an old nerd who just happens to be mildly attractive. Mildly.

You suddenly hear a warm familiar voice, “Miss Chaology.” The voice gets a bit louder, “Miss Chaology.” Your eyes jolt open, and you jump a little bit. Staring right at you from just a few feet away is no other than Dr. Malcolm. Almost instantly you become fully alert, remembering where you are. You roll your eyes at his stupid nickname for you.

During the first day of his class, Malcolm was, to no one’s surprise, going on about the infamous Chaos Theory. He had hoped that his students would want to converse with him as if we were fellow teachers of Chaology. Just entering the class, almost all of us knew very little on the subject Professor Malcolm was so passionate about. When he asked for your thoughts on the matter, you weren't even paying attention. Malcolm's bouncy raven dark curls, his tight black pants, and silver dog tag dangling from his glistening chest were too distracting. All you could manage to get out was that you are a fan of Chaology. Fucking stupid. What does that even mean? A fan of a theory? The only person who would be a fan of a theory is Malcolm- surely not a young college student. Your annoyingly hot professor then coined the name of Miss Chaology for you. It was cute at first. It was something special between the two of you. But now it just gets under your skin. Something about the way he says it is just so frustrating. Miss Chaology.

The auditorium, if you could even call it that, he taught in was one of the smallest at your university. Over the years less and less students have been taking his class. There were only ten rows, but only about two were fully occupied during your hour. The only benefit Malcolm could see from having barely any students was that he knew everyone in his classes. Suddenly, you hear his grating voice again, "Miss Chaology? Are you listening to me?"

As soon as he speaks you get pulled back from your thoughts. Your head turns to glare at him with an unintentional cute pout, “Yes?”

He looks down at you. “Care to summarize this lesson for us all?”

“I don’t care for that actually.” You cover your mouth as you softly yawn, and lean back in your seat.

“Is that so?" Malcolm starts to fiddle with one of his silver rings. "Something more interesting than me huh?”

You scoff, trying your best to not roll your eyes once more at his comment. “I think sleep does qualify as something more important than you.”

Professor Malcolm scoffs with a slight smile, looking down at the ground as he does so. He tucks his left hand into the front of his pants’ pocket, and returns your gaze. “I just hoped you learned something today, Miss Chaology.”

“I don’t need to know anymore about your divorces, thanks.”

Dr. Malcolm chuckles and shakes his head. “At least it’s more interesting than me rambling on about the Chaos Theory for the millionth time.”

“At least you’re self aware.”

Malcom can’t help but to laugh again, turning around as he does so. He glances at the clock on the wall. His hand lifts out of his pocket to point towards the ticking clock. “It seems I’ve kept you all about, uh, five minutes longer than needed. You may go. Have a wonderful evening.” He smiles softly before starting to walk back towards his desk which pisses you off. Smiling all sweetly when he was just annoying the fuck out of you? That's Dr. Malcolm for you.

“Oh!” He snaps his fingers, turning back around while calling your name. You're grabbing your bag to leave, but you look up at him. Your name rolls off his tongue so much better than Miss Chaology ever will. “You weren’t in class Monday, and I handed back everyone's latest essays.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, and walk down the steps to Dr. Malcolm’s desk. “Is this the extinction essay that we turned in a month ago?”

Ian lets out a chortle, shaking his head as he begins to sort through his messy desk for your paper. “Yup, that’s the one.” He opens one of his drawers and pulls out a folder. “Hey, I’m old after all. You can’t, uh, expect me to get through hundreds of papers in a blink of an eye.”

As he goes through the essays he has stored in that folder, he occasionally licks his finger to help him go through the all the papers. You can't help but to stare at the motions. Why was something so simple as licking his finger so entrancing? Malcolm looks up at you, likely catching you staring. Your gaze moves to your feet as you awkwardly adjust your weight, now leaning on your left leg. “Yeah, but a month? I’d just say you’re lazy.”

“Maybe so, but can you blame me?” His fingers stop moving. A paper sticks through the folder about halfway. “Why weren’t you here Monday, sweetheart?" Malcolm finishes pulling out the paper. His giant hand covers nearly half of the page. "If there’s something more interesting than me I would want to know.”

A mix of a chuckle and a scoff escapes you. You hate that you love it when he calls you sweetheart. “Well, since this is an evening class, sometimes better opportunities come along. It was my friend’s birthday. We went out for a couple of drinks to celebrate.”

He continues looking at you through his dark glasses, still holding onto your paper. “How old are you anyways? One would hope you’re drinking legally.”

“It was my friend’s 21st which also happens to be my age.” You adjust your bag strap on your shoulder, and hold out your other hand. “Are you going to give me my paper, or are you going to make me beg for it?”

Your comment elicits a small laugh from Dr. Malcolm. “I suppose I’ve kept you waiting long enough.” He begins to hand over your paper. You grab your essay, although, he still has a firm grip on it. He leans in over his desk just a bit, his eyes meeting yours. “Although…” he licks his lips, “I wouldn’t mind if you begged.”

You try to fight back giggles. His words and appearance have a way of making you all flustered. A small smile creeps up on your lips. “Well, tough luck, Malcolm.”

Without breaking eye contact he lets go of your paper. You glance down and see that you received a 92%. A small smile appears on your face. Lately you've been getting a low B at best on your essays. As you look back up you see that he never stopped looking at you. "Thanks for the A."

"You deserved it." Malcolm’s lips are slightly parted with a small smirk. He takes a step back, retreating from you. “Well then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod and smile politely. Your eyes are locked onto his. Malcolm’s glasses don’t allow you to fully see his dark hazel eyes, but he can see into your deep chocolatey ones with no barrier. “Actually, I’m going out again tonight. Me and two of my close friends were planning on going to that new dive bar that just opened up a minute away from campus. If I’m not too hungover 24 hours later, then I’ll be here.”

Malcolm’s smirk grows wider. “I see you're gonna let your wild side out, huh, sweetheart?” Keeping his eyes on you, he walks around to the side of his desk. He leans on it, and crosses his arms. Even though you’re not standing right next to him, his tall frame is prominent, easily shadowing you. “You know I was planning on checking that out too.” He brings one of his hands to his chin, and starts to scratch it as if he was deep in thought. “I was planning on going alone though. My, uh, fellow old professor friends aren’t too keen on clubbing.”

You scoff, “Okay, it’s not a club first of all, and secondly, then make new friends. I mean, Malcolm, are you really trying to tell me that you’re too much of a nerdy loser that you can’t find friends?”

He looks up at the ceiling chuckling. He loves your bluntness. How you call him Malcolm. “I am not a loser, sweetheart. I’m a well established professor at an outstanding university.” You softly chuckle, loving that he doesn’t deny that he’s a nerd. “And I could make friends. You know, if I actually went out and tried. I’m cooped up here or at home working. Grading your work.”

“Uh huh, I’ve had enough of your excuses. I’m going to stop at my apartment to change, and then I’m heading to that bar. I better see you there too. Socializing. Having fun. Not with your face stuffed in someone's assignment on the butterfly effect, or some other shit you keep talking about.”

Dr. Malcolm shakes his head and laughs. He's surprised you were awake enough to hear his brief lecture on the butterfly effect. “You really care that much about my social life?”

As you reply, you keep your tone playful, “I care about the amount of complaints I’m getting from you about how big of a friendless loser you are.” You tuck your essay in your bag before turning around, starting to head out. After a few steps up to the exit, you turn back to face him once more, still walking. “Who knows, you might find Mrs. Malcolm number four.” You hear a stifled laugh from behind you as you leave your professor’s small auditorium with a warm smile on your face.

The cool night air feels nice compared to Dr. Malcolm’s stuffy auditorium, and to your apartment with the broken AC. God, you really need to move to a better place. Your rundown apartment is barely doing its job. There’s not that many people out tonight. I guess it’s what should be expected on a Thursday. You’re only going out tonight instead of tomorrow because your friend Maren has a late evening class every Friday. When you stopped by your shitty apartment to change, you threw on a mini black dress. It’s one of your favorite pieces in your closet. The neckline highlights your chest. There’s even a small baby pink bow in the center. Now you’re doubting your wardrobe choices. Is this too suggestive for my professor to see me in? As you keep making your way to the dive bar, you fiddle with your silver heart locker around your neck. You glance down at your black ballet flats. At least the shoes are a somewhat classy choice. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to show up for sure.

After a few more minutes of walking, you reach the bar. You glance up, and read the light up sign. The Striped Shot. Interesting name choice. There’s a bouncer at the entrance, so you hand him your driver’s license. He glanced down at your card and up at you a couple times, probably doubting your age. You’re a college student for fuck’s sake. If you wanted to get a drink you could go to any campus party. Why go through the trouble of faking an ID? After what feels like forever, the bouncer hands you your license back, and you head inside.

It’s fairly crowded, although you don’t seem to recognize anyone from school. The majority of people are young, likely in college or freshly graduated, but there are a few older men scattered about. It's unsurprising considering that it’s an old fashioned dive bar right next to a university. Your eyes scan the crowd until you spot your friend, Camila, over by the bar. She waves you over. “Oh my god, you look hot.”

You giggle and take a seat next to her. “Thanks, babes.” You notice she’s already halfway through a drink. “What did you order?”

She takes a sip before responding. “A mango margarita. You want one?”

“I’m not a huge mango girl, but it sounds good. Can I have a taste?”

“Of course, girl.” She scoots the drink to you. You take a small sip, not wanting to take too much of the drink she paid for. The cold, sweet yet salty, fruity flavor floods your mouth. Very refreshing.

You slide the drink back to her. “It’s really good.”

“Right! I could drink this all day, every day.” She takes another sip, this one bigger than her last. “Oh, by the way, Maren isn’t coming because she has this big philosophy paper due tomorrow that she procrastinated.” Camila finishes off the last of her mango margarita before turning to you. “You’re totally going to hate me, but Jesse has work off tonight so he’s coming. He’ll be here in a minute or so.”

“Aw, Camila, I thought this was supposed to be girls night?” You sigh, disappointed that Maren isn’t coming and now Camila will probably just be hanging out with her boyfriend. You sigh, but then smile at her reassuringly. “It’s totally okay, girl. I get it, go hang out with you man!” You tap her thigh encouragingly still smiling, trying to fake your disappointment. You really do get wanting to spend time with your partner especially when it’s hard to in the first place. With Camila in premed, and Jesse also being a student along with having a full time job, they don’t get as much time together as they should.

“Ugh, I love you. Thank you.” You smile at her and nod. “Let me buy you a drink okay?” Camila waves down the bartender, and orders a strawberry daiquiri for a you.

“Thanks, Cami.”

“Always!” Camila’s gaze moves past you. She holds up a hand, waving, and stands up, “Jesse!” Camila looks back at you. “Are you sure if I hang out with Jesse for a bit?”

“Not at all. Go! Have fun!”

“Okay, okay. Thanks, you’re the best.” Camila starts to walk away before abruptly stopping. She crouches down a bit to meet your ear. “That one hot professor is here. The one who you’ve been complaining about lately.”

“What?” You quickly glance back, and see him in the entrance of the bar gauging his surroundings. He glances in your direction. You turn back quick, hoping that he didn’t see you look. While you only saw him for a spilt second, he was wearing the same black jeans and white low cut dress shirt from class today. The only difference was now he had on a black leather jacket.

“Okay, bye, babes.” Camila pats your shoulder, and walks off towards her boyfriend.

You turn your attention back to the bar where you’re sitting. The bartender hands you your drink, and you take a drink. You close your eyes, savoring the flavor. It’s even more refreshing than Camila's drink was. As the alcohol travels down your throat, you can feel it working to soothe some of your nerves about seeing Malcolm outside of class, especially now that you’re all alone.

“Strawberry?”

You jolt your head to the left. Where Camila was sitting is now occupied by Dr. Malcolm. “Um, yeah. Strawberry’s my favorite.”

Malcolm motions for the bartender, and orders himself neat whiskey. Of course he does. Why is he so annoyingly predictable?

Malcolm watches as the bartender pours up his drink. “Surprised. Strawberry is very sweet.”

“Just like me.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and take another sip of your drink.

Dr. Malcolm chuckles, “I really haven’t seen the sweet side of you.”

“That’s because I don’t like you very much, Malcolm.” You lift your drink up to your lips. As the cool sweetly tart liquid travels from the glass to your mouth to your throat, you continue maintaining eye contact with him. His eyes are locked on you.

Malcolm smiles and shakes his head, amused by your response. “I suppose I’ll just have to do a better job at making me more likable, huh, sweetheart?” The bartender gives him his whiskey. He takes a gulp of it. Your eyes naturally watch him as he does so. The way his silver rings clink the glass as he picks it up. His big, veiny hands practically crushing the cup. You watch as his lips make contact with the glass. The malty whiskey pouring into his mouth and down his throat. He sets his drink back down, and you turn your attention to your own drink, hoping that he didn’t notice you staring intently at him. “Since we’re not in class you don’t need to call me Dr. Malcolm. Not that you ever really do. It's always 'Malcolm' with you. But you can call me Ian.”

You finish off your strawberry daiquiri, savoring the taste. You look at him again. “Okay, Ian.” It feels weird to say his first name, but also somehow fitting. “I can’t promise Malcolm might slip out every now and then. Especially if I’m annoyed with you.”

He laughs, “I’ll do my best to not annoy you, how’s that, sweetheart?” He takes another drink of his whiskey. Just like before, you find yourself watching him again. Admiring every small movement he makes. Jesus, this is getting ridiculous. He's just taking a drink.

“If you keep calling me sweetheart I might get annoyed again.” You raise your eyebrows challengingly at him. The truth is, you love it when he calls you that which is why it annoys you. It doesn’t make sense why a simple nickname that ordinarily wouldn’t turn you on does when it comes from his perfect lips.

“Why’s that, sweetheart? Should I just call you, honey?” He snaps his fingers as another idea comes to mind. “How about darling?”

You roll your eyes, frustrated by how you’re staring to get aroused all because your professor said one simple word. “Malcolm, you’re ridiculous.”

He shakes his head. “Ian. Not Malcolm. Ian.”

“Fine, Ian. And why do you insist on being called that?”

He sighs and takes another drink of his whiskey. “It’s simple really. School is Dr. Malcolm, but, uh, outside of school is Ian. It keeps the two separate. Plus, Ian is what I’m usually called. Only students and some other professors use my last name.”

“What does it matter keeping the two separate?”

“Hmm, well, there are certain things- certain rules if you will, within both worlds. This helps, uh, establish the two.”

By now you can definitely feel the alcohol kicking in, and while you’re far from drunk, you’re tipsy. “What rules are you referring to?” You playfully raise your eyebrows, laced with a hint of seductiveness.

Ian laughs and grips the glass in his hand a little harder. “A very big rule is fraternizing with students.” He takes another long drink. You watch as that lucky whiskey makes its way into his mouth. His Adam Apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “You should be with your friends that are nowhere in sight, and not talking to some old, friendless, nerdy loser professor.”

You can’t help but to giggle at his assessment of himself, loving how he included the way you described him earlier. “Maybe I’m just doing charity work.” You bat your eyelashes at him playfully for a few seconds before getting sassy again. “And just so you know, one of my friends has a paper due tomorrow and the other is hanging out with her boyfriend. They both have extremely packed schedules, so they barely have any time together.”

Ian scoffs, and licks his lips before speaking. “Some friends. Ditching you for other shit. Other people.”

“At least I have friends.”

“You got me there. I'm just sayin', sweetheart, I wouldn't do that. If we got plans, we're committed.”

"So you commit to fleeting plans, but not marriages?"

Ian almost chokes on his drink as a laugh vibrates through his chest. "You got me again, Miss Chaology." He finishes off the last of his whiskey, and then turns towards you on his stool so his body is facing you. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the night then? Just hanging around talking to some old yet handsome loser?”

Immediately you scoff, but you there’s a hint of blush creeping up on your cheeks. “You think very highly of yourself.” The stool below you screeches as you adjust yourself how Malcolm did, so your body is also turned towards him.

“Hey, I called myself an old loser.”

“Yeah, but you snuck handsome in there.”

Most people would speak up because of the loud music in the background, but Ian just leans closer to you. He speaks in his usual taunting manner, “Don’t you agree?”

You could’ve moaned at his words right then and there, but you held it in. His smug smirk and his piercing eyes only fueled your need for him. The hunger in your eyes grew. Not wanting to appear weak, you scoff as an attempt to conceal your desire. “You’re average.”

Taking his time, and licking his lips as he does so, he looks you up and down like you were some painting he's going to critique. He meets your gaze again. “Am I? Even if I do… this?” He brushes his hand on your thigh. His touch is firm yet respectful. His big hand gently squeezing your thigh looks better than you could’ve ever imagined, and you definitely have. Not recently, of course. Your hatred streak has been going strong, but when you first started Malcolm’s class it was all you thought about. His lips on yours. His hands undressing you, and wandering all over your body. How he would feel against you. How he would feel inside of you.

You take a breath to pull yourself out of those thoughts. Your eyes shift from his hand on your thigh to his enchanting bronze eyes. Even masked behind his glasses, there's still this twinkle in his eyes you feel compelled to. Both of your eyes lock onto each other. “It helps doesn’t it?” Ian’s hand starts to creep higher up your thigh. His tender yet unwavering touch combined with the cold metal of his rings against your sensitive skin causes you to shiver.

“Do you think touching me is going to make me find you more attractive?” You try your best to hide the fact that you’re melting under his touch, but you call tell he’s not fully buying it.

“So you don’t think I’m good looking then?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. You just keep staring at him, trying not to break your unbothered facade. Fuck. You know you won’t last long if he keeps it up.

Ian’s hand slides up even further, starting to move under your dress. He stops his hand from going any further after reaching just past the hem. Instead he rubs his thumb on the inside of your thigh. You hold your breath, so you don’t let out a soft moan. “This dress is really pretty. You look really pretty, but I still want an answer, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Malcolm is going to make you lose all control. It shouldn’t be this hard to keep yourself in check. Why is this man driving you so insane? “Give me one good reason why I should answer that question.”

Ian snickers, “I can do that, honey.” He leans in even closer to you, your faces now just inches apart. “First off, I need to know that you’re, uh, comfortable with my hand here.”

You can feel a heat rise up from within you. You simply nod, clouded by unholy thoughts of the man before you, your fucking professor for God’s sakes.

“Okay, then.” His thumb continues rubbing the inside of your thigh, a bit firmer than before, but still tenderly. It’s taking everything in you to not grab his hand and push it up higher. “You should tell me if you think I’m handsome, hot, or whatever you want to call it because for one, I’m a middle aged man who would benefit from his ego being fed, but also because I’ll know if you, uh, I guess if we’re a good fit. Don’t you think it’s important for both parties to be attracted to each other?”

Finding it amusing how Ian worded that, your desire fueled haze is momentarily broken as you lean back and giggle. That strawberry daquiri you downed is not helping you keep a straight face. “So you’re saying you find me attractive?” You bite your cheeks so you don't burst out into laughter, but a few giggles still end up escaping.

Ian chuckles and shakes his head as you laugh. He leans forward once more, smiling slyly. “Yes, I, uh, do believe that’s what I’m saying.” Ian moves towards your right ear to speak directly into it. His breath is hot against you, “And is that feeling reciprocated?”

A soft groan escapes you, unable to hold back any longer. Ian’s hand is still gripping your thigh just barely under your dress with his thumb drawing circles around the inside of your delicate thigh. “Yeah, I-I guess it is.”

A little chuckle cascades throughout your ear. Ian pulls back, and looks at you with lustful eyes. “What are we going to do about that?”

“Um…” you shrug, “it’s really up to you.”

Ian slides his hand up just a little bit higher, continuing to trace his thumb against your soft skin. “Oh, come on. You don’t have any ideas in that big brain of yours?”

Feeling a more bold than usual because of the alcohol filtering through your system, you lean in even more, your faces just a couple inches apart. “Nothing that should be shared in public.” With almost no distance between his lips and yours, all you want to do is lean in and kiss him. You need to know what his lips feel like against yours. Against every part of you.

“Let’s get somewhere a little more private then, hm?” Ian retracts his hand from you. The absence of his touch drives you wild. You just want to move into his lap and kiss him while his hands explore every part of your body.

Ian pulls out a ragged wallet from his back pocket jeans. Damn, that wallet is probably as old as him. You watch as he pulls out a few bucks, and places it under his empty glass. After stuffing his wallet back in his pocket, Ian then digs into his jacket pocket, and pulls out car keys. He stands up, and offers his arm to you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

[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.

[trash-gobby]

Ultimate Masterlist

Here is where you will find all the stories I've written along with each fandom as a header. If there are any new or old stories they can be found here. The old inventory system I had is dead. This will be the home of all content I've written or created from now on.

Fandoms

Action/Adventure

🔫 James Bond 🔫

Happiness Is a Warm Gun 🔞

All The Time In The World - *NTTD SPOILERS* 

Dario X GN!Reader - Yandere Headcanons 🔞

Dario X SadisticFem!Reader Headcanons 🔞

Drama

🏏 Heather's 🏏

Jason Dean - Yandere Headcanons 

Veronica Sawyer - Yandere Headcanons 

Horror

👽 Alien Franchise 👽

Bishop Headcanons

Bishop Headcanons - His friendship with the Colonial Marines 

First Snow on Earth 

How They Would Play Sims 2 & 4

Lance Bishop Fluff Alphabet

Dallas & J.M. Lambert Dating Headcanons

Colonial Marines W/ Virgin Reader 🔞

Scott Gorman NSFW Alphabet 🔞

William Hudson NSFW Alphabet 🔞

🎭 Behind The Mask 🎭

Leslie Vernon X GN!S/O who’s Jealous of Taylor

🎄🩸 Black Christmas 🩸🎄

Billy Lenz X Short Gothic GN! S/O

Harry Warden & Billy Lenz X GN!Reader with Short Coiled Hair

Billy Lenz X GN!S/O - Who Hides Gifts Around The House For Him To Find!

Jess Bradford - Fluffy Dating Headcanons w/ Trans Masc!S/O

🚶The Boy 🚶

Brahms X AFAB!Reader who is overly protective of him P1

Brahms X AFAB!Reader who is overly protective of him P2

Dating Brahms Headcanons (Possessive Brahms)

Brahms X GN!Reader - Trying to Leave The House 🔞

🚀 Farscape 🚀

Moya Crew w/ Artistic S/O

🪱 The Faculty 🪱

Zeke Tyler Dating Headcanons

🚑 Flatliners 🚑

Nelson Wright X AFAB!Reader Meet at a House Party

Nelson X GN!Reader - Cuddling For The First Time

🐺 Ginger Snaps 🐺

Ginger X Fem!Reader SFW & NSFW Headcanons 🔞

Ginger Fitzgerald Headcanons 👋

🎃 Halloween 🎃

Michael with a physically & verbally affectionate s/o

Michael Myers GN!S/O with Separation Anxiety

🔥 Hellboy 🔥

Poly!Hellboy & Liz Sherman X GN!Reader Headcanons

A Long Hard Day

Nuada X Agent!Reader Headcanons

⛓️ Hellraiser ⛓️

Pinhead - Hellraiser: Headcanons

💄Jennifer's Body 💄

Jennifer Check X Male!Reader

🦇🩸Lost Boys 🩸🦇

∞ When You’re a Stranger ∞ - Chpt. 1, Chpt. 2

When did Max get Thorn???

David - General Headcanons

David - Fluff Alphabet

Dwayne - Headcanons

Dwayne - Fluff Alphabet

Laddie - Headcanons

Marko - Headcanons

Paul - Headcanons

Descending Angel - part one, part two

♊ Malignant ♊

Gabriel May X GN!S/O - Who Writes Him Gothic Love Poems

🥀⚰️ Mortuary ⚰️🥀

Flowers For a Grave - Paul Andrews X Fem!Reader

❣️My Bloody Valentine ❣️

Harry Warden & Billy Lenz X GN!Reader with Short Coiled Hair

Harry Warden W/ Pregnant S/O

🦇🕶️ Near Dark 🕶️🦇

Severen Van Sickle X Pinup!Reader

Severen Van Sickle NSFW Alphabet🔞

👹 Nightbreed 👹

Dr. Decker X POC Plus Size!Reader Headcanons 🔞

Decker X Plus Size POC!Reader - Darkness Is A Stitch Away

📸 🔪 Scream 🔪 📸

Billy Loomis X Fem!Reader - Comforting her after losing someone close to her

Poly!Ghostface Finding Out Their Girlfriend is Pregnant

🚲 Stranger Things 🚲

Wipe Out

Eddie Munson - Fluff Alphabet

🥩🪝 Texas Chainsaw Massacre 🪝🥩

Christmas dinner with the Sawyer's

🌌 The Thing 🌌

R.J. MacReady NSFW Alphabet 🔞

Assimilation - Palmer X GN!Reader

Palmer - Headcanons

Science Fiction

👽💅 Earth Girls Are Easy 💅👽

Mac - Fluffy Dating Headcanons

🦖 Jurassic Park 🦖

Dating Ian Malcolm Would Include

🌠 Star Wars: The Old Republic 🌠

Two Bounty Hunters Walk Into a Guild Meeting

Superhero

☔ Umbrella Academy ☔

Luther Hargreeves X Fem!Reader - NSFW & Dating Headcanons 🔞

Fantasy

✨ Legend ✨

Wicked Game 🔞

🌊 Legend of Korra 🌊

Korra Dating Kuvira's Sibling Headcanon's

[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.

...

[denaliwrites]

The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

Ian Malcolm x Fem!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Service"

Summary: (18+) You weren't quite sure how the chaotician became famous, but you were starting to see how he got his reputation.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Excessive use of filler words. Oral (f receiving). Age gap (only mentioned).

You were pretty sure, from the moment you first saw him, that Ian Malcolm was famous. Did you know who he was or why he was famous? Of course not. He just had an air of superiority about him that only came from spending an extended period of time in the spotlight.

Well, a spotlight, at least.

You later found out that his claim to fame had something to do with math and chaos -- he'd been all too eager to explain it to you, but to be honest, anything to do with numbers slid right off your brain, and his pretty smile didn't really do your retention capabilities any favors.

You first met him when he brought his perfectly ordinary, if a bit "Hot Rod"-esque, car into your dad's shop to be serviced. While he waited for your dad to finish fixing up the car, the two of you talked.

Well, more accurately, you flirted shamelessly with no parent hovering menacingly over your shoulders.

You rather enjoyed the flirtatious attention of the older man, and you suspected he probably liked the equally flirtatious attention of a younger woman.

The next time you saw him, he had a different car. It was new, but only in the sense of whose hand it'd most recently fallen into. It was certainly older in every other way, maybe as old as Ian himself, though none of the previous owners had taken good care of it. The shell was rusted, parts were damaged or missing, and the seats almost certainly had blood in them.

Fixing it was going to be a multi-visit affair.

And that was how you found yourself being serviced by Ian behind your dad's car service shop.

It'd started like any of his other visits. This was his sixth, overall, and the two of you were emboldened by the idea that your father hadn't caught on yet --

Well, you were emboldened. You were pretty sure Ian didn't need a reason to be, he was just like that naturally.

He'd come to your counter, as he always did, to buy a Surge he never actually drank. He'd flirted, as he always did, and you flirted right back, as you always did.

You mentioned taking a break, and he mentioned needing some air.

His Surge was left forgotten on the counter as he made his way out the back door. You followed behind five minutes later and found him waiting for you in a shaded corner where no one would see the two of you.

His eyes feasted eagerly over your legs, bare but for your upper thighs, though they were shielded only by the loose skirt of your sundress.

"Those, uh, go on for days, don't they?" he asked as he stepped nearer. Before you could respond, he swept you into his arms, and you couldn't help but notice that you seemed to naturally fit together, like puzzle pieces.

"I, uh, always wondered... what your, uh. Legs. Looked like," he continued as you were pressed to the wall and his mouth landed hot and heavy on your bare shoulder. "Could never really, you know, see them. While you were, uh, behind the counter."

You whimpered as his lips trailed down your arm a few inches, his heated breath leaving goosebumps as it dissipated over your skin and left only a cool reminder that he'd been there. "I-Ian," you gasped, a hand reaching up to weave into his curls. You tugged down, and he easily let you pull him away from you.

The smirk he shot you had you all but melting, and the growl that accompanied it had you all but quaking.

"Hey, uh, you're the one in control here," he said, though the smirk he wore made you think maybe he was the one that was really in control, he just happened to not mind much what he ended up doing with you, so he could afford to let you have the illusion of control.

Not that you minded, much. Either way, you were getting yours.

"Do whatever you want," you told him.

His smirk grew just a touch wicked at that. "That's a, uh, dangerous invitation," he said carefully, though you could hear the arousal choking his voice even so, "be careful you don't let any, um... vampires... in."

"Are you a vampire?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered simply, before his lips were back on you, trailing ever downward until he was on his knees before you. "Oh, this is much better."

His breath teased your inner thigh, eliciting another whimper from you. Hearing the effect he had on you only made him do it more, and soon all you could do was whine desperately.

"Pretty, uh, sensitive?" he asked. All you could do was nod in response and gasp as you felt, more than heard, the dark chuckle that emanated from his throat.

He moved on, his hands splaying over your thighs and fingers digging in as his mouth moved over the tender flesh, all but worshipping you as he delicately lifted your left leg up and over his shoulder to lay gracefully across his back.

He had nearly perfect access to you, now, though your panties obscured his view. He didn't seem bothered, though, as his face disappeared under your skirt.

A moment later, you felt a finger gently brushing the cloth aside. You whined as it inevitably made contact with your slit, hips rolling eagerly for more.

"Ah, ah," he tutted, breath dancing over your slit drawing forth a moan. His growling chuckle only made you moan again. "Good girl," he said in amusement, his hands returning to your thighs to rub them comfortingly.

He gave the thick meat of your thighs a squeeze, and then you felt his hot mouth on you -- you choked back a yelp as his tongue teased at your clit, circling it a few times and flicking against it once.

To keep yourself quiet, you bit down on a curled finger, and to keep yourself grounded, you buried your other hand in Ian's curls.

This only seemed to egg him on. His tongue swiped swiftly down your slit and plunged into your cunt. Your teeth sank into your finger and the squeal that would've otherwise sounded instead died in your throat.

A breezy chuckle rolled over your clit as Ian drew back to lave attention on it. Your hips rolled in response, which only made him chuckle more.

You could feel your insides starting to coil, could feel the desperation building. Ian seemed to sense it too, as his ministrations became quicker and more precise. Every breath, every flick of his tongue and touch of his lips, had shifted from teasing to drawing out your orgasm.

You wanted to scream as one last lap of his tongue from hole to clit finally brought you over the edge, but you bit it down, even as his tongue continued to circle your little nub to ease you through the high.

To compensate for your inability to scream your pleasure, you tightened your leg draped over Ian's back, drawing him in deeper to your core. He didn't seem to mind, even as he found his mouth fuller than he anticipated, if the grin you could feel was anything to go by.

Gradually, and with Ian's expert guidance,, you came down. You panted and sagged against the wall once the post-orgasm fog drifted in, and Ian carefully eased your leg down so that he could stand and offer you support.

You could see your slick shimmering on his lips and mindlessly pulled him into a kiss. He eagerly returned it, hands holding you tightly to keep you close.

"Would you, uh... marry me?" Ian asked in a low whisper, his eyes meeting yours.

"Bit quick, isn't it?" you replied, though you were grinning.

He returned the gesture. "I, uh. Never was one for... moderation."

You were about to answer, but then you heard your father calling for you. You shot Ian an amused glance. "Guess you'll have to come back to get my answer."

"I. I, uh. Look forward to it?"

"Maybe you should come back with a ring. Just in case."

[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?"

[finnofamerica]

The Next Future Mrs. Malcolm- Ian Malcolm X reader | Smut

Summary: Reader enjoys a very romantic night out with Dr. Ian Malcolm.

Word Count: 2,234

Date Posted: 03.25.24

Prompt: Could it be a smutty romantic fic of Ian with a GF with a praise kink?

TW: AFAB LANGUAGE USED, Toy use in public, dirty talk, praise, oral (giving)

Note: The toy Used is the Lovense Lush 3. Linked so you can get a visual.

🔞MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞

|| Masterlist || Request Here || Fandoms/ Characters || Req by @melonpire

The package left on your doorstep was a large brown box unceremoniously taped closed. There was no return address, but you suspected you knew who it was from. See, your boyfriend Ian just got back from his book tour, and he loves to surprise you with a romantic night out. 

You opened the box, the true surprise inside. There were several beautifully wrapped boxes of different sizes, each completed with a neatly tied bow. Sitting on the very top of the pile was a note. 

Y/n,

Pamper yourself today. I’ll pick you up at 7:30 for dinner, and your outfit is included in the box. I can’t wait to see you, Beautiful. 

Ian

You did exactly that. You spent the morning in the shower exfoliating, shaving, and doing anything else that you could think of in preparation for your surprise date. Ian had bought you an entirely new outfit—new lingerie that contrasted your skin beautifully and gave you the perfect amount of cleavage. A small box contained a pair of thin, silvery dangling earrings that looked like stars falling from the sky when the light hit them just right, as well as a matching bracelet. A large champagne-colored box contained the dress that hugged your body like a second skin. But there was another box, baby pink, wrapped in a champagne bow. 

Your brows furrowed, and a complete outfit was sitting on your bed in front of you; you couldn’t imagine what was in this box. Gently, you untied the bow and opened the lid, a note falling from it as you did. Inside sat an oddly shaped hot pink silicone device. It was kind of egg-shaped, with a long, thin “tail” extending from one end to a small circle that had a button. 

You inspected the smooth surface of the device before picking up the note. Ian gave you directions to the app to download and instructions on how to share control of the device. Taking it to the bathroom, you gave the device a quick wash with mild soap before setting it on a clean towel to dry and setting an alarm for six-thirty. 

Your heart raced as you stood in front of the mirror, dressed in the gorgeous black body con dress that accentuated your features. The vibrator was surprisingly easy to insert with a little bit of lube, and the shape allowed it to sit inside your vaginal canal without slipping out; it was quite a snug, comfortable fit. The tail sat outside of your body, curling up toward your stomach, held against your skin by the crotchless panties Ian had bought you. 

You inspected your appearance. You looked hot. Ian really knew how to dress you, and telling you what to wear was one of his favorite things. He wasn’t the type of guy who told you what to wear because he didn’t want other men to think you looked sexy. In fact, his intentions were almost the exact opposite. Ian loved buying you clothes and dressing you because he wanted other men to be jealous. He wanted to show you off to the world and show them the gorgeous woman he bagged. 

Seven-thirty on the dot, there was a knock at your door. Ian stood on the other side, towering above your short stature, with a single rose, dethorned, and a mischievous grin on his lips. 

“Hi, Sweetheart,” He scanned your outfit and caressed your cheek, “Don’t you look beautiful.” 

You couldn’t fight the smile on your face as heat rushed to your cheeks. He’d just arrived, and he was already turning you into a melty puddle of girl goo. “Thank you.” 

“Spin so I can get the full view.” 

You obeyed his request, turning slowly as he inspected you. The second your back was fully turned, he landed a swift smack to your ass, making you yelp. 

“Just as I thought,” he mused, “You’re perfect.” 

His praise filled you with warmth and an inexplicable desire to please. You were frozen in place as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “And after dinner, I’m ruining that beautiful makeup of yours.” 

And there it was. A rush of arousal shot through you, making you shiver in anticipation. 

“Are you ready to go?” You asked, swallowing down your nerves and taking his hand. 

“Just waiting on you, Beautiful,” He grinned, leading you downstairs to his car. 

The restaurant wasn’t the fanciest in town, not that that mattered to you. You didn’t care if you went to an Olive Garden as long as you were with Ian. It was a lovely white tablecloth restaurant located on the bay with outdoor seating that overlooked the sea. Once parked, Ian reached underneath your dress and turned on the vibrator, connecting his Bluetooth to it so he could control the vibration. 

The lowest setting was a soft steady rumble that pressed against your G-spot with every step as Ian led you to the host stand. 

“I have a reservation for Dr. Malcolm.” He said suavely. 

“Oh!” The host beamed, “Right this way, we have your private table ready.” 

She led you both outside to the patio seating, half of it blocked off with beautiful flowered hedges on rolling planter boxes. You passed through the deliberate gap in the hedges, your table sitting center in the decorated space. 

“Ian,” You squeezed his hand, nerves crawling up your spine, “This is so fancy.” 

Of course, by fancy, you meant expensive. Expensiveness made you nervous - guilty. You didn’t want to be a financial burden. 

“Hey,” He gave you a comforting smile, “Only the best for my gorgeous girl.” 

You let out a shallow breath, letting him guide you to your chair. He pulls it out for you like a gentleman before scooting you in. 

“Here are your menus,” the host said, placing the hard-covered menu books on the table. “Your server will be by shortly.” 

Every aspect of the dinner was lovely, only heightened by the vibrator buzzing inside you. Throughout dinner, Ian had adjusted the settings, making it difficult for you to sit still, but somehow, you managed. You were more worried about wether or not there would be a wet mark on the butt of your dress from how much you felt like you were soaking. 

The vibrator suddenly stopped, making your brows furrow in confusion. You honestly missed the sensation now.

“Y/n, I often used to make jokes about how I’m always looking for the next future ex-Mrs. Malcolm. But I’ve realized I don’t want another Ex-Mrs. Malcolm.” He paused, and your heart sank. Was he breaking up with you? 

“I just want the next Mrs. Malcolm.” Ian got down on his knee. Your breath caught in your chest. “I want you to be the next Mrs. Malcolm, and I am determined to make it last this time. Will you marry me?” 

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded. You hopped out of your chair and pulled him into a hug. 

“Yes, I will.” You kissed him, refusing to let your tears spill over and ruin your makeup. Ian slipped the beautiful moss agate ring on your finger and kissed your hand. You chuckled, “For a second there, I thought you might be breaking up with me.” 

Ian laughed as he helped you back to your seat, “I don’t want to break up with you ever.” 

Finally, the bill was settled, and the server brought out dessert and two glasses of sparkling wine. 

“Congratulations, you both,” The server, Richard, bid his farewell as you enjoyed the final moments of your meal. 

You were completely filled with warmth as Ian drove you both back to your shared apartment. The second the door clicked shut behind you, Ian’s lips were on yours, and his arms wrapped around you. 

“Ian!” You protested with a giggle, “Can we at least make it to the bedroom first?” 

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,” He growled slightly, “You just look so damn good as my fianceé. I can’t wait to make that makeup run.” 

Arousal rushed through you again, practically making you salivate. You managed to separate yourself from him just long enough to get to your knees, hastily undoing the belt to his sleek dress pants, freeing his thick member. 

Ian let out a groan as you licked him root to tip before taking the head of his cock in your mouth, smudging your recently reapplied lipstick. 

“Fuck you’re good at that,” His hand fell to your hair, pulling the strands away from your face. “I remember we we first got together, you could barely get it in your mouth without gagging.” 

You relaxed your throat, inching your way down his cock until your nose pressed to his groin. 

“Look at you now.” He praised, “Deepthroating like a champ. I’m so fucking proud of you.” 

Ian slowly rocked his hips, gently fucking your mouth as you forced yourself to sit on your hands and relinquish control to him. You loved pleasing him, listening to the string of praise falling from his lips as he fucked your throat until tears spilled from your eyes, and arousal was practically pooling on the floor underneath you. 

“I need to feel you,” He pulled his cock out with a satisfying pop, helping you up from the floor. Ian stripped off his shoes and pants before ushering you to your bedroom, swiping the boxes off the bed. “Be a good girl, and let me strip you.” 

You gave him a grin, turning so he could unzip your dress, letting fall to the floor around your heels. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Ian praised, running his hands over the lacy lingerie that he’d picked out for you. Large, warm palms cupped your breast as he kissed your shoulder, taking his time with you. You let out a satisfied sigh at the feeling, relaxing into his touch. He undid the clasp to your bra, letting that, too, fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but crotchless panties and heels. 

He laid you down on the bed, pulling out the vibrator with a wet pop and tossing it to the side. Your hands fumbled with his shirt buttons as he caressed your pussy. 

“So wet already, Sweetheart?” He teased, making you huff. 

“You’re the one who teased me the entire dinner,” You spat back, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, light glinting off your new ring. 

Ian stroked his cock twice before lining the head with your entrance; you let out a breathy sigh as he slid in with ease. As always, his cock filled you to the brim, making you feel pleasurably stretched out. He kissed down your neck to your shoulder as he slowly pumped in and out, taking his time, allowing the pleasure to build in you. 

“God, you feel so good.” He praised, reaching over to grab the Hitachi wand sitting on the bedside table, slotting it perfectly between the two of you. Even the lowest setting built a wave of pleasure in you, “I missed this pussy on my tour. Next time, I’m bringing you with me so I can have it every night.” 

You rolled your hips up into his, moaning softly. “I’d like that. I love pleasing you.” 

His lips met yours again, moving in unison as each thrust pressed the vibrator harder against your clit. 

“Ian -“ you whined slightly, wanting more from the vibrator between you. 

He turned it up to the next setting, stating his condition, “You’re not allowed to cum until I tell you to.” 

You nodded helplessly, grinding into the vibrator. Ian picked up his pace, clinging to you like you were the last life preserver on a rocky ocean. Each wave builds that pleasurable pressure within you. A hot coil of arousal burning in the pit of your stomach. 

“Ian -“ You moaned, this one like a warning. “Ian, please, I can’t last much longer.” 

He gripped your hips as he leaned up straighter, one hand holding the vibrator in place. “Come for me, Y/n, be a good girl and come for your Finacé.” 

It was like he pulled the ripcord as your building orgasm released and your entire body spasmed around his cock.

“Good girl.” Ian praised. His name fell from your lips, fragmented by moans as he turned up the vibrator again, fucking you stupid. “Good girls get rewarded.” 

It was like you were floating into space as he held the vibrator to your oversensitive clit. Every thought left your mind as you drooled into the pillow, riding out the aftershocks being sent through you. Another orgasm built in your core as he continued to rock into you, washing over you the second it hit its peak, no longer able to maintain control. It was wave after wave of orgasms rolling through your body.  It wasn’t until you hit your fourth that Ian’s hips finally stuttered as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. 

He collapsed on the two of you, turning off the vibrator and removing it. His heart pounded in his chest against yours as you regained your breath and your soul returned to your body. 

Ian peppered kisses to your cheek as he held you close, both of you exhausted from your romp. 

“Good night, future Mrs. Malcolm.” He whispered in your ear as you both drifted off into a very restful night of sleep. 

Tags: @melonpire