#clawen fanfic

[aut-with-tism]

Zia Rodriguez is the first official member of the DPG.

She’s young. Passionate. The enquiry email she receives shows as much, with an equally impressive résumé attached. She’s quick to email back, arranging to meet in person and further discuss details.

She walks away from that meeting feeling the most hope she’s felt in a year.

Zia reminds her of Zara, in a way; eager to do what she can to help whilst all too aware of limitations preventing such. Impressionable, not malleable.

(Weeks later, when they’re blindly stumbling through her apartment, she’ll be reminded of Zara, again. Breathless kisses and burning shame. If she whimpers the wrong name as she comes apart, clawing at the sheets, Zia doesn’t correct her. She never does.)

But then there’s the lingering touches - a hand on her thigh, in her hair. There's watching her when she thinks she’s not looking, followed by shameless grins when she’s caught in the act. Or cocky retorts to make her smile. Catching her eyes to be met with caring concern. Silent questions and unspoken answers.

Those remind her of Owen.

It’s just her and Zia, the first couple months. Which probably should disappoint her, but doesn’t.

(Not when she wakes to a head between her thighs and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Not when low hums of praise and tentative but precise fingers help chase the nightmares away.)

Those first few months are theirs and theirs alone.

It works out best, that way. By the time her inbox slowly fills up with interest, everything’s in its right place. Their following soon grows, as does their team.

It doesn’t surprise her when the vast majority happen to be past employees and interns at Jurassic World, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. It sends her reeling; doubled over, eyes burning.

They lost their jobs - and those who didn’t lost their lives - all because of her. Her. And yet, they still want to help.

They’re better people than she’ll ever be. But she can try.

She is trying.

Come summer’s end, their website is up and running and they have steady followings across multiple social media accounts. She finds herself obsessing over numbers and statistics once more, escaping through work. But by no means is it the park. There’s no control room - no control. No ‘Miss Dearing’ or ‘Ma’am’. Just Claire. Claire and her team.

It’s beautiful.

She and Zia have built this beautiful thing together from nothing and she couldn’t be more proud. And yet, she has the sudden urge to flee. To run and watch from the sidelines in fear she’ll ruin it.

Maybe she will. After all, that’s what she does best, is it not? Maybe it’s some twisted tale of misfortune. Her warped destiny.

She explains such, one night. All these worries and insecurities that plague her. How she was born damned and has spent every day of her pathetic life sealing that fate. And all she can do is watch. Observe.

It gave her life meaning, once. Looking down from above and watching everyone go about their lives as though they were something - someone - in the world.

But she knows better, now. Knows better than to believe she could belong.

Somewhere between passing the bottle of Jack Daniel’s between them and her (drunkenly - it wouldn’t have happened, otherwise) pouring her heart out, Zia leans in to kiss her. Slowly. Carefully.

Lovingly.

And then it’s not just the whiskey burning a trail up from her stomach to her chest.

Then the fullness within is resultant of more than alcohol and Chinese takeout, alone.

She just told Zia she doesn’t belong. But, right now, it feels as though maybe, just maybe, she could. And that scares her. Terrifies her, even.

It’s all too new. Too sudden. Unexpected and unexplainable; strange.

The word ‘love’ comes to mind once more and she thinks about Zia, about Owen, about Zara. The look in their eyes, all too familiar and yet oh so foreign. She wants it. God, she wants it so badly but she can’t.

She’s quick to scramble up off the couch, tripping over herself until she’s hunched over the toilet bowl. Heaving up dinner and spitting out the shame burning her skin.

This is wrong. It’s unnatural.

Her father made sure she knew that when she was twelve and he caught her kissing the pastor’s niece behind the shed at church camp. How he hit her to the ground and didn’t stop until she thought she thought she’d end up six feet under it. How he refused to look her in the eyes until she was ‘fixed’ weeks later.

(She was damned in more ways than one, when it happened. When the same thing that seemingly fixed her in his eyes left her broken in hers.)

A sob escapes her lips. She lets it.

Eventually, cool fingers brush through damp curls, lifting them up off her neck and out of her face. Someone hushes her until sobs turn to whimpers turn to shallow breaths. Gentle reassurances whispered in her ear, gentler hands rubbing circles on her back. A comfort undeserved.

Her first coherent thought is Owen. But it’s not him. It’s not Owen and it’s not Zara and she knows she’s screwed. Knows it’s too late. She’s too far gone to be saved.

So, she leaves.

It’s become a routine of its own, in a way; love them and leave them.

(Leaving’s the easy part.)

Some things never change. Or, rather, she never changes - she doesn’t think she knows how to.

But she always comes crawling back. Too scared of change, of being alone, of having nothing in this world and no place in it, either. It’s inadvertently selfish of her, but she has bigger sins.

Zia doesn’t - wouldn’t - understand. She can’t. Not when she promises she’s fine not being loved by her if it means she’ll love herself, but Zia doesn’t get that she doesn’t know how to do either.

All she knows is she’s tired and she doesn’t want to be alone anymore. She doesn’t have to be.

So long as she gets better. So long as she can do better and be better.

It’s an unspoken ultimatum she gave herself the night she tore apart her living room in the midst of a breakdown. The night Zia had to pick the lock to her apartment because she’d called her to say sorry and ended up saying goodbye. The night she drank until she stopped recognising herself and saw her dad, instead.

She stops drinking that night.

Her first fumbling step in the right direction. It shouldn’t feel like an achievement and it doesn’t, not really, but she can’t help the way she feels it bubble up inside when Zia says how proud she is.

She shows it, too. Pushing her back onto the bed with a tender force that makes her head spin. Leaving her melting under every touch and with every kiss.

For something so wrong, it couldn’t feel more right.

She packs in smoking as well, eventually. Six weeks away from the second anniversary; two weeks after Zach’s eighteenth birthday.

Karen had made a comment about how much better she looked, before asking if she and Owen were back together. As if the man’s absence wasn’t answer enough. All she could do was shake her head in response. It felt like a trap. Be shamed for her joy, or be shamed for her seeming lack thereof. Whichever’s worse, she supposes.

It didn’t mean anything, but it stuck with her. Like all minor things in her life, building up until they became something more in her mind that she just couldn’t let go.

It stuck with her when she went back home.

It stuck with her when she’d look in the mirror and notice the lessened bags under her eyes and the roundness returning to her face once more.

It stuck with her when she did all she could to avoid Zia without making it obvious that’s what she was doing.

Which wasn’t fair - god, she knows how wrong it was - but it seemed less wrong to throw herself fully into her work when reports of volcanic activity from Mount Sibo hit the news.

For the first time in nearly two years, dinosaurs stopped being monsters and went back to animals, instead.

There’s fundraising events. Peaceful protests. Social media tags. The DPG blows up to the point it’s no longer suitable to continue working from home, anymore. So, she uses her severance pay to rent an office space in the city.

Let something good come out of the bad, Zia reminds her. But for something good, there’s more bad. It never seems to end.

(And it reminds her of the park, now. Sweet-talking potential investors and sponsors. Long days, longer nights. Always busy but never quite enough to shut her brain off.

By the February time, she feels like she’s back where she started.

For every step forwards, there’s three steps back.

One step back is to Jurassic World. One step back to control room Claire. One step back to the pitiful child that nobody can save. Born damned; damned to die that way, too.

One night she leaves work and finds herself at a dive bar downtown. Shot of tequila sat in front of her, head in her hands - she must look pathetic. Dry drowning her sorrows in a vain attempt to hold back the memories of teeth, blood, screams that have crept up on her, again. She thinks she’s hallucinating when she sees Owen. But the look on his face when he sits down beside her is something she can’t make up. It must mirror her own.

“You finally found a diet that allows tequila?”

She slides the shot glass across to him, watching as he throws it back and shudders at the taste. He faces her with a curiosity she can’t comprehend, tilting his head like one of his raptors.

“What do you say we get the hell out of here?”

And so, they do. He takes her hand and leads her through the crowd until they’re outside. Even then, he doesn’t let go.

How they got to his van, she doesn’t remember. All she can recall is pushing him up against the door and kissing him until her lungs burned and her chest ached. Whimpering into his mouth as he pulled her impossibly closer. Crying out his name and clawing at his back.

He falls asleep with his arms wrapped tight around her and she tries not to cry as the shame of it all hits her.

She’s gone from leading on one person to sleeping with another and it’s not fair on either person. They’ve given her their all and this is how she returns the favour? By cheating them both?

Trembling hands peel away Owen’s arms and search for her clothes in the dark. A routine she’s done before.

She doesn’t cry until she’s outside and the weight of her guilt crushes her.

She doesn’t stop crying until she falls asleep in her car.

When she wakes up cold and aching, it feels like a righteous punishment. The least she deserves after it all. Phone dead, head pounding, she drives to the office and refuses to acknowledge anyone all day. Just…stays at her desk until everyone’s gone home for the night. Well, almost everyone.

“What happened?” Zia asks, sitting on top of her desk. She flinches. It’s not accusatory, just too much kindness for her to handle. Too much concern. “Claire?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Claire, talk to me.”

Still, nothing.

It takes too long for Zia to sigh and leave. It takes even longer for her to whisper an apology as she watches her walk away. Not that it matters; it could never be enough. She could never be enough.

[enchanted--realm]

But It’s An Animal Hospital

Prompt by @jurassicsickfics 1: Intense Isla Nublar/Sorna heat causing nausea. Thanks for keeping the fandom alive!

Tags: Clawen, Sickfic, One Shot, Jurassic world, Pre-Jurassic World (2015), Claire Dearing/Owen Grady, Owen Grady takes care of Claire Dearing, heat exhaustion, pov descriptions of feeling sick

Summary: Claire suffers from mild heat exhaustion and Owen takes care of her, cuteness ensues.  Clawen one shot sickfic.

Content warning, pov descriptions of feeling sick.

Notes: Personally, I'm not a big fan of reading about stomach upset and think it's really gross, so the descriptions of nausea are pretty mild.  No one actually ends up v*miting.  So, sorry if that's your thing??  To each their own though.

Happy Jurassic June everyone!  Clawenafterdark on twitter, shout out to you!

Also, this is the first Clawen fic I've ever written and I've been obsessing over another fandom lately so this may read a little out of character, I'm not really sure.  I tried my best.  Thank you so much for reading! < 3

Keep reading under cut

Link to work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47698048

_________

The sun was beating down on Claire all day, and the humidity felt like it was trying to choke her. It was the hottest day of the year yet, and of course today was the day that Claire's schedule had her running all over the park.

Her usual morning meetings had been replaced by an investors tour which she had been giving around the outdoor paddock of one of their newest attractions. She had answered question after question in the ninety degree heat, trying to look composed while brushing sweat off her brow, and it wasn't even noon then.

She'd known she'd be outside for the majority of the day, and so she had dressed accordingly in her loosest and lightest business attire, but given it was only morning when she started to tire from the heat, she knew she had a brutal day ahead of her.

After the investors tour, which had unfortunately gone overtime, Claire had driven across the park to see about new developments for one of the resorts. Another outdoor meeting. Her car had felt like an oven on the way there with the air conditioning still not working since she kept forgetting to call the auto shop. She had to have all the windows down just so she could breathe. Of course by that time her water had gone warm and did nothing to cool her down.

When she had parked at the resort, she ripped open an instant cooling pack. Over the years of living on the island, she learned to keep them on hand for hot days like this. She hardly had the time to use it though if she wanted to get to her meeting on time, so she had tossed it in the glove compartment after a minute of use.

By the time Claire had gotten back to her car from meeting with the designers she was suffering from a small headache. The meeting had gone well enough, but it was a complete waste of time. All Claire did was nod her head in approval basically. She hated meetings like those. There were a million other things she could have been doing. She supposed the only reason she had been there was to instill fear into the staff and remind them of the standards they had to live up to. They never detoured inside the resort like she had hoped, so that was another sweltering, wasted 40 minutes of her life.

She had looked forward to driving back to her office to enjoy lunch indoors when she had gotten a phone call from one of the directors. There was a major brief happening later that day with Jurassic World's top veterinarian, and one of the directors working on the brief called her to come early, as they were dealing with an emergency that needed her input. She had stayed on the phone with the team as she drove over, and they queued her in on the scenario. She was basically approving the matter over the phone but she still needed to be there in person to see the situation through. By the time their little emergency had been taken care of, it was almost two hours past the matter, and it was now time for the regular scheduled briefing to occur.

This is how Claire found herself now at the main outdoor paddock, standing in the hot sun once again, not having had any break from the heat for the entire five hours she had been at work.

She was hungry, she had a headache, and God it was hot out.

She squinted as she looked around the paddock where herself, the vice president, top directors, the entire veterinarian department, head staff animal handlers, and a few select fellows, were meeting. Zara spotted her near the front of the group and came to stand by her side. Claire smiled at her in greeting and listened as Zara talked about her morning. Claire couldn't remember a word of what her assistant was saying, though. Claire kept zoning in and out of the conversation, tired from the morning she had. Though Claire lived on the island for about a decade now and was used to the Central American heat, she normally spent her work day indoors and wasn't used to spending long hours in the sun like this. It didn't help that she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Her stomach grumbled a little then, and she tried to ignore the empty concave of her stomach and instead focus on the head veterinarian as he called the briefing to a start.

The brief began outdoors of the paddock, the sun still high in the sky and the heat peaking at the hottest hours of the day. It must have been well over a hundred degrees by now and the humidity was still suffocating. They thankfully moved indoors as they walked through the animal hospital, though the air was stuffy and warm from all the bodies in the room. That's when she noticed Owen Grady in their small crowd. He was standing near a few people she recognized to be animal handlers. He walked with that confident swagger he usually wears, and Claire felt her stomach somersault at the sight of him. She inwardly groaned as the butterflies in her stomach and added flush in her cheeks did nothing to help her feel any better in handling the heat. Her bangs were starting to stick to her forehead. She hoped she didn't look too much of a mess. Immediately, she scolded herself in her thoughts for being worried about what she looked like in front of Owen Grady of all people. She was not going to give that meat-head, scoundrel of a man anymore attention, no matter how handsome he was, nor how his voice dipped when he talked to her. Her stomach flipped again and she cursed in her thoughts. She most certainly did not give any attention to his backside as he followed the group out of the room, most certainly not. She took a deep breath as she followed everyone outside to another paddock. Being one of the last few people to exit the hospital, she ended up standing in the unwanted spot directly in the sun, the rays beating atop her head, most likely making her skin burn as well. She couldn't remember the last time she reapplied her sunblock.

Squinting against the sun, she tried to focus on what the veterinarian was saying but just had to pretend by this point. Gosh, the heat was so strong she was starting to feel lightheaded, she thought. Good thing Zara was taking notes. Claire took another deep breath, resisting the urge to fan herself and willed her mind to stay awake and focused. The briefing was allotted two hours in her calendar. She already felt like they'd been there for five, so it couldn't last much longer. She told herself she just had to keep it together until the meeting was over, and then she could go back to her air conditioned office in peace.

Unconsciously, Claire smacked her lips together, tasting the dryness of her mouth. Her stomach was starting to feel uncomfortably empty, she noticed. If she had some privacy she could let herself falter, she thought, but she couldn't let the staff see her in this state. Sure, Claire was only human like the rest of them, but she didn't want the image of her stumbling away lightheaded living in anyone's mind, especially the staff she commanded. She needed people to respect her.

She swallowed again, her mouth feeling pasty, and then her stomach cramped. She stilled, her breath hitching, until her muscles released and then she took a relieving breath. This could not be happening now, she thought. Perhaps she should find someplace to sit down, but she hesitated at the idea. This briefing was important and she had to be here. Breaking her from her thoughts, she caught some movement in her peripheral vision. Her eyes widened at recognizing Owen Grady standing at her right. She quickly collected her facial expression, hoping he didn't notice her surprise. Was he standing next to her the entire time, she thought? She spared another glimpse his way and tried not to notice the way his hand rested on his hip, or the way his other hand smoothed over his scruff, or how his musky scent drifted over from where he stood. Her cheeks flushed then, and heat swelled through her entire body. A wave of lightheadedness went through her again, and she wasn't sure if she swayed in her footing or if it only felt like she did. She spared a glance at Owen again and he seemed closer to her than before. Did she do that or did he, she wondered. Gosh, her stomach felt awful.

She tested her tongue in her mouth again, detecting a funny taste building up. She had no idea what the head veterinarian was talking about anymore. All she could focus on was the feeling of the sun beating down on her skin, and the beads of sweat trickling down her hairline, making her bangs stick to her forehead. Hot. She felt so hot. She briefly registered Zara's voice and then suddenly a shadow blocked the glaring sun from her eyes. Staring straight ahead, it took her a second to realize Owen Grady stood in her vision. She looked around to see the small crowd dispersing. She hadn't even realized the brief ended.

She heard Owen say her name then, and she turned back to him, finding it difficult to look up into his eyes.

"You okay?" Owen asked. He sounded a little fuzzy in her ears, though she recognized the concern in his voice even if she couldn't see his face.

Another wave of lightheadedness made her delay in response. "Fine," was all she was able to breathe out. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to hold onto his arm to steady herself and started to step towards the animal hospital. Her head instantly felt like it was trying to float away as she walked too quickly. Owen's hand pressed hot to her back, keeping her balanced.

He said something she didn't register and she found it comforting, but at the same time his warm breath was on the skin of her cheek and it made her stomach coil even more than it already was.

She didn't realize he was guiding her inside the animal hospital until the door closed behind them.

"The heat," she managed to breath out as she followed him to where she knew there was a private break room. Owen walked them too fast for her liking, though she knew they were walking slowly anyhow, and she feared she would faint on the way there, tightening her grip on his hand that she was apparently holding. The moment Owen opened the door to the small break room the cold air hit her face and she felt instant relief. She stepped through the door and breathed in the cold like she was gulping down ice water. She stumbled immediately into a chair at the small round table in the center of the room and rested her head in her hands, closing her eyes. One of her hands quickly moved to her stomach when she felt it tighten with another wave of nausea. She couldn't help the small cry that escaped her lips at the feeling.

"Claire." Owen pushed her hair out of her face. His strong voice helped her focus her mind.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," she panted, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt Owen brush her hair once more before leaving her side and heard him rumbling through the cabinets of the kitchenette. Claire continued to breathe in the cool air and felt her head steady to a slightly less floating sensation.  It calmed her down a little and her heartbeat started to regulate.

"Drink this." She heard Owen's rough voice and then something thumped onto the table. She blinked her eyes open to half-lidded and saw an opened bottle of water in front of her.

She just stared at it for a moment, not having the strength to move right away. Then she lifted the hand from her stomach and reached for the water, raising her head just enough so she could take a drink. Owen sat to her right, fumbling with whatever else he brought over to the table, she didn't know what. Her stomach churned as she brought the water closer, but she knew she should at least try to drink something. She brought the bottle to her lips and took the smallest sip. When she swallowed she felt another wave of nausea, and she scrunched her face, turning away and setting the bottle back on the table.

"Try to drink some more," he prompted her softly.

"Mm." She shook head, still scrunching her eyes closed. "Nauseous," she explained, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her head on her hand again. She panted lightly as she gazed mindlessly in front of her, her heartbeat picking up again.

She heard Owen move something plastic around. "Here. This will help," he said.

She gasped as an icy cold sensation landed between her shoulder blades and then quickly relaxed, almost groaning at how pleasurable it felt. A shiver ran through her body and she sighed as she relaxed more, leaning her elbows further and sinking into the table. Her head slid in her hand as she tilted to look sideways, meeting Owen's eyes for the first time since being in the room. She just blinked at him as he stared at her, and then she closed her eyes again, too tired to focus on anything.

She relaxed like that for a minute before she felt Owen moving the ice pack up to the back of her neck. She breathed deeply again in relief.

"How are you feeling?" Owen asked softly.

Claire's head was still floating and her stomach a little sick, but she could feel her mind starting to come back to her at least. She sat up the slightest bit, still propping her head up by her chin.

Claire licked her lip before speaking. "A little better," she admitted, her voice slightly hoarse so she cleared it. She blinked at him, finally able to hold her focus on Owen clearly. His gaze was soft and there was a pretty shine in his eyes, she thought. Her stomach somersaulted for non-sick-related reasons, and she had to break eye contact with him in order to steady herself. She couldn't find the strength to lift her head from her hand, so she held the weight of it as she stared at the first aid kit Owen found, seeing the open wrapper of an instant cooling pack, not unlike one of the ones she used earlier today.  "Mmm...I'm a little lightheaded. And nauseous still," she informed him. She lifted her free hand to grasp at the ice pack Owen held to her neck, and he argued with her not to bother. She grasped around his fingers anyway, noticing how cool his hand felt in comparison to hers, and told him she wanted the pack at her forehead, in which case he gave way and let her move it to where she wanted.

She held the pack against her head, closing her eyes as she absorbed the cold, glad to have the heat disappearing from the palm of her hand as well. It felt like her mind was waking up more with every passing minute, which she was grateful for. She heard Owen shuffle in his seat, then.

"Did you eat today?" His voice was tender still.

"Just breakfast," she responded honestly, and she heard the creak of the chair as he got up and rummaged around the kitchenet.

Her hands finally started feeling a normal temperature as she moved the ice pack to her left hand and leaned her temple into the pack, reveling in the cold soaking straight into her pulse point. She took in another deep breath and opened her eyes. She couldn't see Owen, just the empty chair he sat in before. She looked to her right using just her eyes, too tired to turn her head, and saw the blurry image of Owen in the corner of her vision, standing over the counter.  The refrigerator hummed annoyingly in the background.  She couldn't tell what Owen was doing, but she liked that she got to gaze at him, even in this blurry state. His shape came into focus as she followed him with her eyes as he returned to her. He placed a sports drink on the table, along with an opened box of crackers. She followed a drop of condensation with her eyes as it rolled down the length of the bottle when she heard his voice again.

"I know your stomach isn't feeling well, but you should try to get something in your system," he urged mildly, and she turned her gaze to his face.

His hazel eyes stared back at her, waiting. She inhaled as she looked back to the sports drink. She felt like she was coming back to her senses enough. She could try again at holding down a drink, she thought. Lifting her head from her hand for the first time since she came into the room, she let the ice pack slide from her temple down to her neck and held it there until she had to use both her hands to open the drink. She tried to unscrew the cap but it was sealed tight, and she didn't have the grip strength to try harder. Owen took the bottle immediately from her hands and opened it without effort, before placing it back in front of her and mumbling an apology.

"Thanks." Claire suppressed a smile. Gingerly, she lifted the drink to her lips and paused before taking a sip of the artificially bright yellow liquid. The moment the ice-cold drink filled her mouth her mind instantly woke up, her eyes widening as she pursed her lips at the strong sugary, citrus flavor before gulping it down. She blinked a few times and felt herself straighten up a little in her chair.

"There she is!" Owen's voice boomed throughout the small room and almost made her jump in her seat.

She turned towards him and saw the grin on his face that she knew would be there, the smile reaching his eyes and making them twinkle a certain way that she tried desperately not to find adorable.

She sat still for a moment, gauging the cool feeling in her throat and the way the cold liquid settled in her stomach. Her nausea didn't feel any worse, so she chanced another drink. It felt good.

She slouched in her chair again, resting her head on her hand as she held the ice pack behind her ear and looked at Owen. Her head was no longer floating, instead feeling a little heavy now, like a pressure headache had built up from her brain having melted in the sun. She took another drink, feeling the cold liquid settle in her stomach. She finally processed the whole of what happened here, and suddenly, she felt very intimate with Owen Grady. He was still looking at her with a smile in his eyes, and her heartbeat picked back up.

"You're looking better," he stated. "Your color’s gone back to normal."

She felt herself wanting to hide her face at his notice of her color, instead just faltering her gaze before looking back at him.

"Thank you,” she started, “but you didn't have to do this." Claire felt the urge to deflect his attention, hardly getting out the sentence before Owen started protesting.

"I had to make sure you were okay, Claire," he interrupted her, but she spoke on top of him, saying she would have been fine on her own to which his facial expression immediately objected.

"You were p-practically fainting, Claire. I couldn't ignore that. I had to make sure you were alright." He cut himself off then, and she wondered how strong his worry for her was. She thought his face said it enough, with his intense stare and the way he shook his head like he couldn't think of words to say. She noticed how his chest puffed as he breathed deeply and recalled how sharp his voice was just now. She thought she'd go easy on him and just accept his concern.

"Thank you," she gave honestly. She had to admit, it was sweet of him to stay with her and care for her in the first place. It was nice knowing someone cared. Or at least she let herself be hopeful enough or delusional enough, she wasn't sure which, to think he really cared, not just about the safety of a person, because she knew Owen would help anyone who needed it, but that he cared about her.

"I'm okay, now, Owen. Thank you, honest, but you don't have to stay," she regretted saying the words as soon they came out of her mouth, not wanting him to leave and more than that, seeing the way his eyes shifted away from hers. She didn't want him to think she wanted him to leave so she quickly added, "I mean, you're welcome to stay, but...you don't need to. I don’t want to hold you up." She fisted her hand in her lap. She couldn't understand how she could be commanding a boardroom one minute, and then when it came to this man she could hardly look him in the eye. Her stomach flipped and it made her nausea act up a little, a sour taste coming into her mouth. She cleared her throat and took another sip of the sports drink to bring a pleasant taste back.

"You're not holding me up." A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, and she was glad to have said something right. His gaze quickly changed as he looked her over. "I'll leave, though, if you want to be alone," he hesitated and started to rise from his seat, and before she knew it she'd blurted out for him to stay.

Owen immediately froze, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Stay," she said again more clearly, processing her words this time. "I want you to...if you want to," she finished, finding it hard to keep eye contact with him. Her heart beat harder, and she felt the repercussions of it in her pounding headache.

Owen relaxed back into his seat, keeping his gaze locked on Claire.

"I want to," he replied softly. She noticed his eyes doing that twinkling thing again, and she had to look away. She scolded herself internally for her weakness.

"Then it’s settled," she ended, composing her thoughts and shifting the pack against her other temple.

Claire's stomach dropped when she saw a cheeky grin spread across his face.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day Claire Dearing admits she wants me around," he said, leaning into her space with his elbows on the table, and she instantly regretted making him feel comfortable in this situation. She ignored the musky scent that filled her space and rolled her eyes halfheartedly, her head feeling funny when her eyes went too far back.

"Don't make me regret asking you to stay," she warned, turning her head away from him and leaning against her other hand. "Can't imagine what would make me ask you to stay in the first place," she continued despite herself. "Oh, yeah, maybe the delusion from having my brain fried in the sun," she finished her statement by giving him a pointed look before turning back around. She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to roll them when she heard him chuckling behind her.

"Yep. You must be feeling better if you're already picking a fight with me," he laughed.

Shifting in her seat, she attempted to kick him under the table.

Owen scoffed.  "Ms. Dearing, that is the most unprofessional behavior I've ever witnessed." Owen faked offense.

"Then good thing no one's here to witness," she replied easily without any strength behind the statement.  She turned back to face front, eyes blinking before falling inevitably closed, her headache still evident.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to take this up with the boss," he continued.

She turned to Owen this time and opened her eyes, half-lidded, and smiled slightly.

"Lucky for me, then, I'm the boss." She held his stare and her smile grew when he cracked a toothy grin. Only then did she twist back front to rest.

There was a moment’s pause between them and then Owen spoke up again.

"Is that still cool enough for you?" he asked.

"Mm, 's fine," she hummed and continued resting. She took another drink from the bottle and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Claire dozing off with her eyes closed and Owen just watching her. She felt the table move under her arms and could tell Owen leaned more into the table top. She heard his soft sigh.

"Do you need anything?" Owen asked gently, his voice so deep and so low and so close to her that it did things to her insides.

"Mm, no," Claire hummed in response, blinking her eyes a few times before giving back into her fatigue. "Thank you."

Owen's "OK" in response was so quiet she almost didn't hear it.

She let herself fall back into their comfortable silence, content to relax in his presence.

A couple of minutes had passed when Claire suddenly felt a tickle near her bangs. Her eyelids flinched at the sensation but she never opened them. She figured that was Owen touching her hair. She didn't mind exactly and allowed him to move the invisible strand of hair from her face, sighing lightly at his delicate touch. She wasn't sure what to make of the action or the fact that she let it happen, but it felt nice all the same.

He didn't touch her again after that and sat there with her silently for the next few minutes. After some time, Claire finally started to feel more like herself, her stomach mostly settled, fatigue wearing off, and headache greatly lessened.

She blinked her eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the light of the room. Lifting her head from her hands, she turned to see Owen sitting up straight.

She supposed she should feel a little embarrassed right now about the whole situation but she didn't.

"You feeling better?" He looked her up and down once.

"Much better, yes." She nodded lightly and slowly made to stand up out of her seat. Owen followed suit and stood tall in front of her.

She tilted her head slightly to meet his eyes. She liked being able to actually look up at his face when she spoke this time.

"I should be getting back to my office," she noted regrettably, and Owen nodded in response.

"Do you need me to drive you back?" he offered, but she assured him she would be fine driving herself.

She didn't want to leave just yet, so she kept talking. "I had been outside all day," she explained, and he looked into her eyes and waited for her to continue. "My meetings had all taken place outside, and then something unexpected came up which distracted me from lunch. Of course all this happened on the day it decided to be over 100 degrees," she finished, looking up at him and he nodded still. She couldn't look away from his stare. His hazel eyes looked brighter than she remembered, maybe from all the sun they've been getting this week.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Owen finally spoke, his voice coming out tight, and suddenly she felt their close proximity, unsure of who even closed the gap between them.

Claire cleared her throat and broke eye contact first, taking a step back. "Well, thank you, Owen." She couldn't possibly call him Mr. Grady like she usually did, not after the way he looked after her just now. She hoped the look in her eye conveyed how much she appreciated his care.

"You're welcome, Claire," he replied softly, and she met his eyes once more before turning to move towards the door. Placing her hand on the knob, she spared him one last glance, keeping the image of him smiling softly at her in her mind as she left the room.  She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she closed the door behind her and let it out.

She managed to get back to her office safely and spent the rest of the day inside, only half paying attention to her work, one, because she was still recovering from heat exhaustion, and two, if she were honest, mainly because she kept remembering Owen Grady. After the way he cared for her and stayed with her it was difficult not to let herself indulge in those thoughts just a little bit. She couldn't get the image of his stare out of her mind and pondered if she should finally give in to the urge to go on a date with him. She let her mind wander in out of those thoughts as she worked and by the end of the day, realized she didn't get nearly as much work done as she should have. If anyone asked she'd blame it on the heat, but she knew to blame it on Owen Grady.

[freakrenaissance]

Gahhhh! The perfect clawen fic!

If You Love Me Right

Pairing: Claire Dearing/Owen Grady

Word count: 15, 880

Rating: explicit 

A/N: Basically I wanted to write a lot of smut for these two. I was going to get this beta read, and then I didn’t bc I got too excited to post it. 

Summary: AU in which Owen and Claire become friends with benefits prior to the events of Jurassic World. Includes pre, post and during Jurassic World scenes. (Assume everything in JW is the same, just under the lens of they’ve been sleeping together all along)

In the future Owen would say that it was love at first sight we he saw Claire. Truthfully it was an instant ‘Yes, fucking please,’

The women was gorgeous no doubt about it, she was harsh lines from her hair to her dress, from her cheekbones to shoes, from her shoulders to her nose. There was no part of her that screamed, or even whispered, soft.

She was stunning, magnetic even from across a room. He couldn’t take her eyes off her even if he wanted to. And he definitely didn’t want to.

He had no idea then just how much she’d change his life, he merely thought she was a beautiful women, a mistake so many had made before him. However, Owen would realise this far sooner than the others.

Keep reading on ao3

@ the people who said they wanted it

dearingdreams dealingdreams books-have-the-power mellie-dearing shadowdemigodtribute theelderwanda brycedearings sugarbubbleslove @all-things-sydney @aliaserwarth claire-motherfucking-dearing that-is-sophia sopiya oliver-smoakie tinafeyfey @racheleishab notsofictionalboys allthesongsmakesense savannahjones395 prattasauruses @notyourraptor cherrytothecola

[amelia-mariee]

Is there any kind of active Jurassic park/world fandom on here? I feel like there should be and I've seen some good fanart but im not really seeing any blogs that are kinda centered around it like with other fandoms. If that is you, please step forward, i am fixating all alone. This is like the tumblr equivalent of me sending out smoke signals here

[violetvrataski]

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

𝘩𝘪! 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘖3 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴! 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢!

𝙠𝙚𝙮: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧/𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 = 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 & 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 = 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥

𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢/𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢/𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘺/𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 & 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢 & 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵

𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵/𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 & 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘷𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪/𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦

𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳/𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘰𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘴/𝘢𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘴𝘢

𝘢𝘮𝘺 / 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦

𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰 / 𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢

𝘳𝘰𝘯 & 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 & 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 & 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

so, yeah! that's about it! please do message me for any inquires!

[freakrenaissance]

Yassss! I've been dying for some clawen fics, & this is so perfect! Loved it

held on as tightly as you held onto me

Owen attempts to figure out what exactly is going on with Claire while he once again is faced with a prehistoric playground.

i don’t know what came over me but this second part just appeared in my brain???

continuation from part one AKA claire’s point of view

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR JW: DOMINION

Something is off.

Blue stares at Claire too long, Claire stares at Blue like she knows why.

And as much as he wants to figure it out, Owen can’t tell what the woman he loves and the raptor were telling each other.

+

Claire looks terrified of the dinosaurs in the black market.

Well, more terrified than she usually would be of them.

She’s done so many search and rescue missions and helped so many of these creatures in the past few years that Owen was half expecting her to run through the black market and open all the cages.

Instead she walks slightly behind him and watches the world around her with trepidation.

He does not look at the dinosaurs, and try as he might he does not keep his eyes on Barry.

Owen’s eyes are on Claire trying to piece together what the hell is happening with her.

+

When he and Barry trap the atrociraptors he thinks he has it all figured out.

The look in Barry’s eyes, the terror at the thought that one of these monsters could kill him if moved too slow, is clear on his face.

Claire is simply scared.

And she has every right to be.

They’re up against prehistoric animals once again and now Maisie is missing.

(It doesn’t help either that she’ll still wake up screaming every once in awhile, Isla Nublar still haunting her.)

So, Owen figures, it makes perfect sense that Claire is scared.

Because he’s scared too.

+

Owen has done a lot of stupid shit in his life.

Like a lot.

But driving down an airport tarmac on a glorified dirt bike while genetically fucked up velociraptors chase him feels pretty high up there.

He barely makes it onto the plane, his footing shaky as Claire holds onto him for dear life. He takes a stilted breath, his hands holding her tight to his chest.

She’s scared. And so is he.

They can be scared together. For survival, right?

+

She needs to go. She needs to go and save Maisie, even if he won’t follow.

“You have to be the one to get her. You’re her mom.”

He tries to convince himself that that’s why he’s sending her. Not because he’s not sure he’ll make it out of this plane alive.

If Claire doesn’t make it, he and Maisie would both crumble. But Claire? She could handle life with her and Maisie.

Claire nods, barely. Her cheeks are stained with tears as he leans down and kisses her. It’s shorter than he wants, but it’s all he can spare.

“I’ll see you again.”

He prays he’s right.

And then, the words he was so scared to say for the longest time.

The ones he’d whispered to her under the dark of night when the world seemed to be caving in around them.

The ones he said before she did.

“I love you.”

The assurance that they meant something.

She closes her eyes and he waits.

She opens her eyes and he’s confused.

“Owen.”

There’s one breath between his name and the moment his life changes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Before he can say anything, before he can react, before he can stop her or urge her on or anything she’s gone.

Claire has flown out of a plane from a fucking eject seat with their baby growing in her belly.

“Watts, you get us out of this alive.”

+

When he falls through the ice he sees everything.

His mom and dad, his childhood best friend Patrick, his eight grade ice hockey team, the girl he made out with in the back of his pickup truck junior year, his mothers funeral, his fathers funeral, his Navy buddy O’Reilly, the open sea, O’Reilly’s funeral, Simon Masrani, that prick Hoskins, Blue and her pack, Gray and Zach, Claire.

Claire tying her shirt up, Claire running with a flare in hand through Jurassic World, Claire in an airport hanger holding his hand, Claire showing up and dragging him to a bar, Claire’s perfect skin, Claire and Maisie.

Maisie flashes through a few more times and while he loves the girl his mind keeps taking him back to Claire.

Claire, who loves him.

Claire, who’s raising a moody teenager with him.

Claire, who’s pregnant with his baby.

Watts pulls him up and it’s not until they’re in the service elevator that he breathes steadily again.

+

When Owen pulls the Dilophosaurus off of Claire he wonders for a moment how his life has gotten to this point.

Instead of pondering the thought he pulls Claire into him and breathes a sigh of relief.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

At least for the moment he can rest knowing Claire is okay, that their baby is okay, and that he had them in his arms.

“I got you.”

He’s not sure what compels him to place his hand over Claire’s belly, sending her into full fledged sobs, but he can’t resist the comfort that the action brings him.

+

He wants to talk to her, to ask a million questions and give her reassurances, but they need to find Maisie.

Find Maisie, then talk.

+

Maisie finds them.

It’s not lost on Owen how Claire knows their daughters screams before they can see her.

He wraps both of his girls up in his arms and holds them longer than he usually does.

They’re okay, at least for now.

+

He can’t breathe.

He watches as Claire is pulled across the floor and out the window and he can’t fucking breathe.

His body works on auto pilot, grabbing the rope and pulling Claire back to him.

He doesn’t care that there’s a room full of people around them, he holds her until his lungs inflate again and he’s sure she’s real and there and against his chest.

+

If he closes his eyes for a moment too long all he sees is Maisie trapped on the ladder and Claire falling out the window.

He doesn’t think he’ll sleep ever again.

+

“You’re acting weird.”

Maisie doesn’t say anything until her and Grant and him are heading back to the control room.

“Well kid we’re in a prehistoric playground and you were M.I.A. for the better part of two days and your mom almost got eaten by a dinosaur so cut me some slack.”

Alan chuckles as Owen lets out a breath.

Fucking teenagers.

+

He almost loses it in the rain. He almost pushes Claire and Maisie into the helicopter and lets the t-rex eat him if it means they’re safe.

But everyone is safely inside and everyone is going home.

He breathes out easily, one arm wrapping around Claire while he brings his hand down to press against their baby.

Holy shit. Their kid just survived Jurassic Park 3.0.

+

“Claire, what in the damn hell were you thinking?”

He means for it to come out softer, but the further away they’ve gotten from Biosyn the more he can’t figure out what the hell she was thinking.

“Owen please-“

“You could’ve died! You went out there, knowing you were-“

And it’s true. Claire clearly knew before they left that she was pregnant and still went.

Owen stutters, remembering Blue’s curious look at Claire.

Blue knew too.

“I did what I had to do!”

“You put yourself at risk and that baby and-“

“I had to save our daughter! I couldn’t not save her!”

He knows she’s right, the same maternal instinct coursed through both her and Blue telling them to protect their babies.

Raptors and humans aren’t all that different.

“I couldn’t let you go alone, I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just sit here. So I’m sorry but-“

He knows she couldn’t let him go alone. She couldn’t sit at home wondering if Maisie was okay, if he was okay.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He tries to convince himself and Claire of the matter. She’s here and he’s here and Maisie is here and their child stills rests in Claire’s belly and they’re going to be okay.

+

His son sounds like a velociraptor.

He thinks it’s karma, Claire laughs at him.

[freakrenaissance]

Sloooooowly realizing that I can't find any of my favorite clawen fics because they're all so awesome, they're being turned into novels 😍 😭 😏 ::sigh:: bittersweet fangirl problems

Any insights or links are much appreciated! 😆

Update! I found a bunch! Search clawen on my page here 😍 back on the hunt this weekend!

[gwendolyngreene]

For Survival and Something More

Chapter 11: Coffee, Extra Cream

Rated E (Explicit)

Description: Claire adds a ~special ingredient~ to her coffee when she wakes up after a night spent at Owen's bungalow.

-----

Claire felt the bed shift as Owen leaned toward her, and she felt a rough stubbly kiss on her neck as she began to wake. His hand trailed down her side, making her skin tingle as she stretched and pressed herself back into his warm body.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty.” Owen placed another kiss on her cheek as she smiled. The memory of last night, hot and sweaty, was fresh on her mind as Owen pulled back and climbed out of bed. He was still buck naked as he padded forward into the little kitchenette of his small bungalow. Claire paused, letting her teeth burrow into her lower lip as she watched and enjoyed the view. Her fingers danced idly over the light cotton sheet she held against her body. She was just as naked herself, and began to wonder where her clothing had landed the night before. Claire had to get to work.

Claire was sure Owen was hiding things on her at this point, and she’d learned long ago to bring a change of clothes when she stayed the night because there was no getting out of here with enough time to return to her own apartment before she had to be back at her duties. She did make an effort to hunt down her belongings, but by the time the smell of fresh coffee wafted through the bungalow she was fully dressed with most of her things collected.

She wrapped a hand around Owen’s waist as she approached him in the kitchen, holding a piece of toast, and she reached up to place a kiss on the edge of his jaw.

“Brewin’ a fresh pot for you now,” Owen said, leaning against the counter and placing his free hand around her, “I know you gotta get goin’.”

Claire smirked, breathing in slowly. “I’ve got a few minutes…”

...

Keep Reading (AO3)

(please note previous chapter numbers have changed since I recently removed some that no longer meet my standards)

[irishlight13]

New One-Shot up!

Missing scene between Zia taking the bullet out of Blue and Owen waking up later on the ship.

[freakrenaissance]

Ahhh! The perfect little clawen fic! Such a rare find, & this was absolutely lovely 😌

Prompt - Maisie introduces Clair and Owen as her mom and dad

Bah! Sorry this took so long. Stupid actual life obligations. Hope it’s worth the wait! Enjoy!

They had a routine now. The cabin was finally finished, and though Claire still needed to be in the city some days, most days she could work remotely from the small office that Owen built for her in the back of the cabin. Authorities had, with both Claire and Owen’s help, tracked down the majority of the dinosaurs that were roaming free (although what kept Claire up was all of the ones that were sold before they could stop it, all the predators in the hands of dangerous people and all of the damage they could do). They enrolled Maisie in a local school, and they had settled into something resembling a normal life. Claire would finish working close to when Maisie’s bus came, and she and Owen would walk down their long driveway, hands tangled together, to where the bus dropped the nine-year-old off. Claire loved those lazy walks, hips bumping together as they talked about everything and nothing (as it turned out, another close encounter with death was all they needed to be able to figure their shit out. “I don’t ever want to be without you again,” Owen told her that first night, when Maisie’s deep breathing could be heard across the small motel room. His hands had roamed, quietly, insistently, and she had to bite back moans to not wake up the sleeping girl. “When I think about how close I was to losing you…” He shuddered, remembering her in the gyrosphere, watching her sink, her eyes wide in panic and her hands splayed across the glass. He tugged her closer, his grip just shy of painfully tight, careful not to jostle her injured leg. “I know, I know,” Claire murmured into his skin. His lips were warm on hers as he breathed in her ear, “love you, Claire, love you.” There had been no more discussion about their status as a couple when they woke up, limbs intertwined. This time, when Owen said they would stick together for survival, it was a promise and not a suggestion).

Keep reading

[aut-with-tism]

So…I wrote a thing

It takes seven weeks for the press to move on.

At first, it seemed it would never end. Relentless. Brutal. Owen likened them to the pterosaurs let loose on Main Street. She’d laughed at first - some foreign, high-pitched and breathy squawk - before she realised. They both fell silent.

Eventually, though, there’s a new story. A new disaster. New people whose lives have been turned upside down to hunt and prey on, tearing into them at the first sign of vulnerability.

She’s seen dinosaurs with more mercy.

It takes seven weeks before she can leave the hotel without being swarmed, seven weeks before she can finally breathe again.

The first few days are once, almost. She goes out, picks up groceries - hell, takes a fucking walk - without a leering crowd waiting for the right moment to go in for the kill. Owen, too, takes advantage of their newfound freedom; running a few miles every morning.

She gets it.

She wakes up to the memories of teeth, blood, screams. The crushing heaviness on her chest is the weight of all the lives lost because of her and all she wants to do is run. Run as far and as fast as she can. Run like she did at eighteen and never look back.

But look where that got her.

It takes eight weeks for the reality of the situation to hit her, full force.

It comes out of nowhere; an Indominus-Rex lurking in the forest, camouflaged and waiting. Only this isn’t over as quickly.

At first, she thinks she’s losing her mind. And maybe she is. Maybe she already has, because why else would she do the things she did? Why else would she so carelessly, stupidly, endanger the lives of thousands? Who even does that? Her. If she isn’t insane, she must be incredibly ignorant. Or both.

It’s little things, to start.

Like brushing her teeth in the morning and being so certain she can hear the heavy stomp of dinosaur footsteps in the distance.

Or falling asleep with Owen curled around her, waking up thinking the harsh breathing against her neck is that of a hybrid and not a human.

Then, she’s almost certain that she catches a glimpse of red eyes and bloodied teeth, taunting her in the dark.

The more time passes, the more it affects her. The worse it gets. She has to clamp her eyes shut to wash her hands, because if she opens them, she sees blood. It stains her skin. It tints the water. The blood on her hands is no longer a metaphor, it’s real; it’s real and the word ‘murderer’ echoes through the deafening silence in her mind. She’ll never be clean. But she can come clean.

That night, she releases a statement admitting fault in it all. Explaining her part in the events and how it was her who signed the paperwork authorising the creation of Indominus, how it was her who exploited the animals for money, how it was her who was to blame. She lists the names of every life lost that dreaded day, and in the days that followed. She lists the causes of their deaths.

Her. All because of her.

She deletes all her social media, after, shutting off her phone and throwing it hard off the balcony. It forms a pile of broken pieces on the ground below. For a moment, she contemplates joining it, doing the same to herself as she did her mobile.

It wouldn’t be punishment enough.

Instead, she steps silently back into the room, putting the leather notebook of deaths back into its place at the bottom of the nightstand. She made it a few weeks back, after the guilt started to be too much. Not that she needed it. By week five, she’d already memorised the names of everybody who had been killed. The names of those whose lives had been taken from them far too soon.

The names and faces will haunt her as long as she lives. She supposes, maybe that is her punishment. To never live a life free from them. To never live a life free from herself.

She slips back into bed, facing away from Owen. Staring at the wall in front of her and waiting for him to wake up, because sleep doesn’t come easy these days. Not that it did, before.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before he stirs. Truthfully. It could be minutes, it could be hours; it all feels the same these days.

The mattress dips behind her as he rolls towards her, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder that have her stomach rolling and the nausea creeping up her throat. She doesn’t deserve this, him, his kindness. Doesn’t deserve anything.

By week twelve, the nausea has grown and the ability to keep meals down has gone. Though that’s nothing new, she supposes. She looks in the mirror after throwing up and sees her twelve year old self. Drained. Alone. It comes to little surprise; it was about time for the ghosts of her past to rear their ugly heads, again.

A part of her has missed this.

She’s mostly surprised that she’s made it this far without it. But, then again, she’d been relying on the routine of it all to get through. And Owen routinely made sure they had three meals a day, minimum.

Speaking of, he notices the change in her behaviour. Of course he does. He’s an animal behaviourist - it's his job to notice these sorts of things - and she’s lost all rights to humanity. He must notice her rushing off to the bathroom during or shortly after mealtimes. Must notice the sound of spittle and spew hitting the toilet bowl.

For a moment, she thinks he gets it. Until he catches her with her fingers jammed down her throat and loses his shit.

He holds her tightly, that night, whispers soft words and apologies into her ear that make her want to curl up into herself and cry. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She doesn’t deserve his kindness and she reminds herself of that by digging her nails into her thighs, leaving red scratches in their wake. Reminiscent of raptor claws. Perhaps that’s the only reason Owen loves her.

(She’s considered it, before. Contemplated the way he looks in her eyes as if she’s a scared animal that needs reassurance, or the surge of pride he gets when she seems to be doing well, before the sadness glosses over. She’s never been what everyone’s needed of her. Never been right.)

He drifts off, some point between midnight and the early hours of the morning. She peels his arms off of her waist and paces around the kitchen, until he wakes up and starts off his morning routine.

Breakfast is awkward. She doesn’t know what to do, but she thinks he doesn’t, either.

It’s the first time she realises it’s his first time experiencing all this, too.

The guilt swirls around her stomach, creeping its way up her throat and into her mouth. The bitterness lingers on her tongue. Thick, heavy, warm. Like the jungle air back on Isla Nublar - the air that still suffocates her fifteen weeks after.

It takes sixteen weeks for her to tell Owen this.

She’s tired. She’s so tired and the exhaustion is deep within her, settled in her core. Maybe it’s a part of her.

He comes home from his job interview at the zoo to find her pressed into the corner of the closet, hyperventilating and on the verge of passing out. There’s blood staining her skin and it’s on the walls, it’s on the floor, it’s everywhere. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams. All her fault. Her. Teeth, blood, screams. Stop. Make it stop. Teeth, blood, screams. Her.

She’s tired. Too tired to protest when they manage to even out her breathing, too tired to say anything when he makes the decision to scoop her up and carry her out of the closet. Too tired to think about the fact that she feels six, again, being cradled and comforted by her sister after their dad had too much to drink and lashed out. Too tired to tell Owen this.

She hasn’t told him anything about her dad, yet.

There’s parts of her he doesn’t understand. But there’s also parts of her she refuses to let him see.

They slept together, the first night. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing, but she doesn’t regret it. Knows he doesn’t, either. But still, he would never understand her need for control, for the lights to be off, for the chance to run away in the middle of the night.

He sees her every day, but he’s never seen her. Not the way that she sees herself.

It takes nineteen weeks for their first argument.

Well, not really. There’s been many before now; it’s just usually hot-headed and stubborn and snappy. Quick. Like the two of them.

But this is different.

This has been brewing for weeks - a hurricane building up and building up and ready to hit land. Katrina, all over again.

She’s lost weight. She’s lost too much weight and she can’t eat and she can’t sleep, but she can muster up the energy to scream at him for four hours. Maybe more. He’s worried and she pushes him away because she’s suffocating, and why can’t he just see that?

He goes out the next morning, earlier than usual. No morning kiss on her shoulder. No standing in the doorway, watching her sleep. (Not that she does - they both know better than to think that.)

She’s long gone by the time he gets back.

It’s week twenty by the time she returns.

Five days since their argument and four since she left, she knocks awkwardly on the door to their hotel room. He opens it quickly - too quickly, as though he was standing on the other side of the door - and she pushes that thought aside as he steps away to let her in.

They don’t even manage five minutes before his lips are on hers, her hands are pulling at his shirt and they’re stumbling in the direction of the bedroom.

She hears him moan and it makes her close her eyes.

Teeth, blood, screams. All over again.

Just like the first night, they fall asleep in the dark; a mess of tangled limbs and sweat. Too exhausted for the nightmares to reach them.

It takes everything within her not to cry when she wakes.

He sleeps longer than she does, heavier, the weight of her leaving pulling him down and running him to the ground. There’s bags under his eyes that liken her own. For a moment, she looks at him and sees herself.

But then she blinks and he’s there, breathing deeply as he stirs and reaches out for her. His hands are warm against her skin. It makes her flinch.

He asks how she slept and for once, she doesn’t have to lie. He breaks out into the biggest, brightest grin, and she has to try not to cry again at his purity. Her resolve crumbles. He’s warmth and light and rough but gentle hands guiding her away from the darkness pulling her down. For a second, she thinks he’s saving her. Until she realises that he can only save one of them, and she’s been pulling him down with her since the moment she showed up at his bungalow.

He doesn’t deserve this.

And she doesn’t deserve him.

They make an agreement to get the hell out of the hotel that afternoon, when he sees her curled up on the stool in front of the kitchen counter. Curled around herself. Protecting herself. Protecting him.

They don’t have to keep running, but maybe they should never have stopped.

So, run they do. All the way back to America. They start in California, where Owen purchases a beat-up van with their ‘severance pay’. Hush money, he calls it.

Blood money.

Stained by the lives lost at the park. She funded this. She funded them. Her.

They go on a road trip, of sorts, travelling from state to state with the rough plan of spending a few weeks in Wisconsin and seeing her sister and nephews. They have weekly phone calls now, but it’s been too long since she saw them last.

It’s only been four months since they spent the weekend around their house. The old Claire would’ve thought that to be days. The Claire that remains understands that you never know which day will be your last. (She always hopes for tomorrow.)

It takes twenty-three weeks for her to wrap her arms around her nephews and, for the first time in years, not comment on how much they’ve grown since she saw them last.

Still, Gray is very much almost as tall as her, especially without her heels on. (She briefly thinks about the fact she went twelve years wearing a pair every day, to simply…not.) He bounds up to her with too much excitement and it makes her heart pang. He’s always been a child. He was even younger than this at the park, when he could’ve died.

Because of her. Her.

It takes everything within her not to ask how he still has that childlike joy. She didn’t, at his age. But, then again, they aren’t anything alike. They grew up completely differently, which gives her hope for him; for them both.

Zach, on the other hand, is exactly the same as he was last. Quiet. Angry.

Disapproving.

Her sister tries her best to fill the time with various days out and family activities - Karen has always been a mother, in that sense - but it never seems right. It suffocates her, being in that house.

It takes twenty-four weeks until they’re on the road again.

Owen is quieter, too, now. It makes her worry. Worry that he’s finally had enough of her, worry that he’s finally starting to see through the haze and realise that all of this is her fault. She doesn’t sleep. Can’t sleep. Scared that she’ll close her eyes and he’ll disappear forever. Or maybe she will.

They stop in a motel on the outskirts of Augusta, Maine. He doesn’t know her dad lives here now and she doesn’t tell him.

She’s not sure what to think of it, anyway.

He falls asleep before his head hits the pillow and she paces the small room until she worries about the neighbours complaining to reception. She stops. But the thoughts don’t and the quiet of the night only seems to amplify them.

For the first time in years, she isn’t alone anymore. But god, she’s never been so lonely.

She lays next to Owen, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She counts the number of stains and marks on the peeling, ivory paint. She mentally traces the outline of the areas the paint is missing. But then, she’s counting the number of people who died because of her, and she traces the outline of their lifeless bodies and the teeth of the Indominus. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams.

They visit a nearby diner in the morning for breakfast and she gags at the sight of raspberry jelly smeared across a piece of toast. For a moment, the bite marks in the corner aren’t human. And, for another moment, the toast bitten into isn’t bread.

Teeth, blood, screams.

Owen squeezes her hand gently, pulling her attention back towards him. They only got seated moments before - he hasn’t had the time to order coffee, yet - but she looks up at him and begs to leave. They do.

He doesn’t ask anything in the car but he doesn’t have to. He already knows. He always does.

They carry on into the city and she spends most of the drive looking out of the window, wondering if any of the houses they pass are her father’s. Wondering if he looks out the window, too, in search of her. Wondering if he feels ashamed of all he did. Of all he didn’t do.

Would he even recognise her, now?

She doesn’t recognise herself.

Once they’ve reached the beach, it seems to hit her. Again. Everything, everywhere, all at once. The water laps around her ankles and she’s drowning, she can’t breathe; the world spins and her head feels all fuzzy and she’s gonna die. She deserves to die.

She’s fifteen again and the world is ending. She’s fifteen and she can’t find an escape, so she makes her own. She’s fifteen and she’s dying, and she’s never felt happier.

But then, there’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and she’s not dying anymore. Someone speaks to her so softly that her head spins more, stomach lurching as she turns slightly to the side and coughs up the meagre contents inside.

“I’ve got you, Claire. I’ve got you.”

[dearinglovebot]

the funniest thing about jurassic world extended content is you will randomly find clawen anywhere. like why are they doing THIS in some random mobile game. who at universal is instructing the mobile game developers to write canon divergent clawen fanfic 100k word slow burn "park isnt destroyed au"

[hiraeth-doux]

idk if u still write clawen but if u do, imagine a secret relationship au set during JW (no incident) and Claire introduced Owen to the boys for the first time (cue ur future uncle?)

Hi, I appreciate you sending this in! Unfortunately, I haven't been writing Jurassic World fanfic in quite some time now and I don't think I ever will again. If you're interested, you're welcome to check some of my other fics and prompts on AO3 if that's your thing. I would also recommend you checking out my friend's stories, she's not active on tumblr but she's a great writer! Hope you'll find some stuff that you enjoy :)

[freakrenaissance]

Found some clawen goodness!! 😍 I love this sexy lil claire & owen moment 🤤 I can totally see this making him feral lol

For smut ideas how about Claire wearing one of Owen's too big of shirts (like the one he wore during the movie) maybe even the vest too.

A/N: Okay, so I might have gone really gay for this cause as soon as I got this I was like ‘holy fucking shit i would have sex with claire if she wore that shirt’. Like imagine little Claire in that big shirt and - oh wait, you don’t have to, cause the fic is right here. This also turned out to be Dominant!Owen and I had to just sit back and relax for a moment cause damn (if i do say so myself)  enjoy xx

Claire had the most relaxing shower of her life. It was the right amount of warm and soothing. She jumped out of the shower, drying her hair with a towel and finding one of Owen’s shirt. She thought to herself in the moment ‘what’s the harm?’. She put it on lazily, buttoning up the last few buttons of the show, letting her chest breath. She wanted something loose to wear, and Owen’s big shirts were always a go to. He never knew about this, however, because Claire thought it was better that he kept his clean shirts.

Keep reading

[llewtalehcar]

Sunday, June 9th, 10:36PM

Tô reassistindo a trilogia de Jurassic world né, (tenho um milhão de trabalhos pra fazer, that's why) e cara eu AMO CLAWEN NUM NÍVEL SABE.

.

Só que eu detesto como o roteiro sempre empurra a Claire pra ser a típica buzzkill esteriótipo da mulher chata e controladora, só pra fazer do Owen um galã melhor e mais divertido.

E eu amo o galã clichê que o Owen é, mas desde que reparei que 90% do gancho dele vem do contraste com a Claire eu só consigo reparar nisso. Acho super injusto pois a Claire é uma personagem bem mais legal que ele porque tem bem mais camadas aparentes.

.

Isso não atrapalha a dinâmica do casal de jeito nenhum, mas uma coisa que fiquei desejando foi que a Claire e Maisie tivessem recebido mais aprofundamento.

Tudo bem que eu simplesmente amo o fato da Maisie ser a garotinha do papai desde sempre, mas eu queria ter visto elas mais próximas no terceiro filme, sabe?

.

Agora tô querendo ler uma fanfic onde eles exploram o fato da Claire perceber que não é a favorita da filha e ver como ela lida com isso.

Vou cavar o AO3 agora.

.

(tô tentando escrever um trabalho hahahahaha)

(Deus me ajude)

[clawen-forsurvival]

held on as tightly as you held onto me

Claire goes through the events of Dominion with a secret weighing heavy on her heart.

yes well… here we are. post dominion. life ruined, as we knew it would be. enjoy my brain rot. don’t know how i’ve never written for them before.

CONTAINS JW: DOMINION SPOILERS

There’s a moment. When Blue is looking between her and Owen, there’s a moment.

She’s not used to this, sharing stolen glances with a fucking dinosaur, but she clocks the moment Blue’s eyes go from her face to her stomach.

Before she can truly process it the raptor is gone again and Claire has only herself to carry her secret now.

+

She has a plan to tell him around the fire pit after Maisie has gone to bed. She’ll make him a s’more, snuggle in close, and whisper the words to him.

The thought is cliche, a little cheesy, but she figures some normalcy is needed.

She does not get normalcy.

(When has she ever?)

When Owen comes back and tells her that Maisie is gone she almost throws up.

Instead she swallows back the bile rising in her throat, lets Owen run out the front door, and takes a moment for herself. Her eyes shut and she places one hand against her still taught stomach.

“It’s going to be okay, everything will be okay.”

+

Everything is not okay.

Maisie is gone and they’re on a plane to France for some god forsaken reason.

As she sits, stomach churning with the minor turbulence and anxiety and what she assumes is the beginnings of morning sickness, she’s overcome with the want to tell Owen.

They don’t keep secrets, not anymore.

Not after what they’ve been through.

But this?

Claire’s eyes watch the clouds passing by and she feels Owen’s hand cover hers.

They’re crossing international borders to rescue their pseudo daughter. There will be peril and injuries and near death incidents and…

And dinosaurs.

There will definitely be dinosaurs.

She’s throwing up into the motion sickness bag as visions of a humid junglescape and her nephews and fire cloud her vision.

Owen’s hand is immediately on her back, rubbing small circles as she continues to hurl the meager breakfast she had this morning into the bag.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna find her.”

Claire is thankful, if just for a moment, that Owen doesn’t see through her.

+

The black market scares her.

It’s not the people that scare her, it’s the dinosaurs.

(It’s just the beginning, she will later realize.)

Each time one of them looks at her, turns their head sideways or stares at her a moment too long, she has to fight the urge to jump behind Owen. To whisper to him her secret, to beg him to protect her.

Now is not the time for her to be selfish though, not when Maisie is on the line.

Not when her daughter, very real and larger than a poppy seed, is on the line.

(She makes a deal with herself then. If she is going to bargain her children's lives, Maisie is her first priority.)

She doesn’t vomit until Owen has left with Barry and she has a moment to herself.

She will make it through this trip.

Owen will make it through this trip.

Maisie will make it through this trip.

Her hand splays across her stomach.

You too. You’ll make it too.

+

In the back of the pickup truck, as Kayla navigates them through the city, she prays.

Claire Dearing has never prayed before.

+

She watches Owen drive the motorcycle down the runway and she hopes against all hope that he will be there.

She hopes he will once again hold Maisie to his chest as they laugh around the fire pit.

She hopes he will be there to critique her cooking skills, as he usually does.

She hopes that he will hold their child and rock them to sleep.

When she’s in his arms again, she can’t help

the tears that wet his shirt as he holds them both upright, his lips pressing against her hair.

+

“You have to be the one to get her. You’re her mom.”

The words still Claire, her tears stopping if only for a moment.

Tell him.

She meets Owen's eyes and she almost does it, almost pushes the words out.

I’m pregnant.

She doesn’t know if the words will stop him or push him harder to let her go. Blue against green, the way he looks at her tells her everything she needs to know.

Three years ago he would’ve left it at that. But this was not three years ago.

“I’ll see you again. I love ya.”

He steps back.

She closes her eyes.

Say it!

She opens her eyes, meeting his. He’s confused, waiting for her to go.

Claire isn’t sure if they’ll both survive this, so she takes her chance.

“Owen, I’m pregnant.”

She presses the button.

His blank expression is the last thing she sees.

+

She thinks of Blue as she crawls across the ground, quick and quiet breaths leaving her as she tries not to attract the attention of the dinosaur above her.

Outside the cabin Blue had a look in her eyes that Claire had never seen before. While she wasn’t as in tune with the raptor as Owen, she knew the look meant something, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Now, she knew she wore the same expression.

Fear. Love. Protectiveness.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the baby in her womb would not have anything to worry about.

She wouldn’t let them.

Owen wouldn’t let them.

She thinks of Owen as she sinks beneath the water, one hand pressed to her stomach as she wishes for his presence.

+

She’s going to die.

These damn giant lizards are going to kill her.

Her mind flashes back to Simon Masrani and the day she accepted his job offer to help open a brand new theme park.

While she knows that she wouldn’t take it back, her family having haphazardly been pieced together because of her job at Jurassic World, she wonders if she would feel at peace had she not accepted.

She wonders how many times she would’ve feared for her life had she not accepted.

(It’s a low number, much lower than her current count.)

There’s a squeal and she can no longer feel the hot breath of the dinosaur above her.

She doesn’t think she even opens her eyes as she throws herself into Owens arms, sobs escaping her.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

His hand slips to her stomach and she lets out another sob as he supports her full weight.

“I got you.”

The words are heavier now.

+

They don’t have time to talk, they’re still in a forest full of fucking dinosaurs and their daughter is still missing.

She fights back the urge to vomit.

+

Her and Owen watch the car, a sense of dread and urgency floating between them. They don’t know if the occupants are friends or foes.

Then she hears the screams.

The screams she hears past midnight that tell her that Maisie has woken up from another nightmare.

(She wonders if hers sound the same, but never dates to ask Owen.)

She’s running towards the vehicle before Owen can stop her, his protests sounding out behind her.

And then Maisie is in her arms.

Claire can’t tell you the last time she cried this much.

(Isla Nublar, 2015)

She holds Maisie to her chest as Owen wraps both of them in his arms. For a second she can forget about the dinosaurs and the fire and the anxiety coursing through her chest.

For a second, things are normal.

+

She can see the panic in Owen's eyes as she gets dragged out the broken window.

She’s seen a variety of scared, worried, and shocked expressions on his face through the years.

Not this.

This is terrified.

This is survival mode.

She lets him hold her close when he finally frees her.

+

He barely lets her leave his sight. In fact his eyes haven’t left her since they reunited.

They haven’t had a chance to talk but his eyes say everything.

He doesn’t want her to go alone, not when there are so many threats looming above them.

Not when she carries their secret beneath her trembling hands.

It’s only when Doctor Sattler volunteers to come with her that his shoulders relax.

Before she leaves he pulls her in, lips pressed to her forehead. He takes a deep breath and she knows their embrace is more for his benefit than hers.

“Come back.”

We won’t survive if you don’t.

He meets her eyes.

“I always come back.”

I’m not leaving you. Either of you. All three of you. Ever.

+

She doesn’t mean to tell Ellie.

And, she reasons, she never did actually tell her.

As soon as the locusts begin to swarm Claire’s hand falls to her stomach and she drops to the floor. She watches Ellie fight off the locusts and is thankful to her.

They get the ADS online and exit the room.

Claire vomits in the hallway.

“You’ve got nerves of steel.”

Claire’s eyes dart up to Ellie from her bent over position.

“I don’t think my heart could take being in your position. Not here.”

Not in this hell scape.

+

The door to the helicopter closes shut and Claire feels herself breathe, well and truly breathe, for the first time in almost three days.

Maisie is in front of her and Owen is to her left.

Her family is safe.

Owen’s arm wraps around her shoulders and he pulls her against his chest.

His hand wanders down, pressing against where their child lay completely unaware of the chaos they’d just survived.

+

“Claire, what in the damn hell were you thinking?”

They’ve been home for two hours, Maisie collapsing into bed from exhaustion not even ten minutes earlier. Her snores echo through the small cabin as Claire sets about making a cup of tea.

“Owen please-“

“You could’ve died! You went out there, knowing you were-“

“I did what I had to do!”

“You put yourself at risk and that baby and-“

“I had to save our daughter! I couldn’t not save her!”

They stand across from each other, both with watery eyes. Claire’s chest is heaving and Owen is trying his best to keep his tears from falling.

“I couldn’t let you go alone, I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just sit here. So I’m sorry but-“

He doesn’t let her finish, his arms around her shoulders as she sobs. She thinks he knows that this was harder on her than him, knows that the past few days have worn her down.

So while his heart might be hurting, he pushes it aside to hold her and help her own bleeding heart.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

+

Liam James Grady’s first breath entails a scream that would envy any velociraptor late the next spring.

Claire could almost laugh if Owen wasn’t clicking his tongue and moving his hands to attract the newborns attention.

“C’mon Claire, how different is a baby and a velociraptor anyways?”

PART TWO