#clawen fanfic

[aut-with-tism]

They don’t do anything for her birthday, when it comes around. It’s just another day of the year. Just like the year before and just like the year before that. Or any of the years before, for that matter. Instead, she spends the day at the office.

It’s become routine, now - to be there from sunrise until late at night. Only going home when the words start to swim on her laptop in front of her or the paperwork she’s making her way through no longer makes any sense.

How she gets home in one piece, she’s not sure.

Except she hopes she doesn’t. Slipping into habits of past; walking alone in the dark, driving home when she can barely keep her eyes open. Whatever it takes.

(It’s still not enough.)

They don’t do anything from her birthday, when it comes around, and by the time she returns to her apartment and puts her phone on charge beside her bed, there’s only thirteen minutes left of the dreaded day. Yet, no acknowledgement of it. No missed call off Karen, mo message from the boys. Not even mention of it from Zia.

Nothing.

Perhaps it’s only fair, she thinks, for all the birthdays of theirs she’s missed or forgotten about. For all she’s done, and all she hasn’t.

Still, she finds herself staring at the blank screen and counting down the minutes that remain.

She sees the end of one day and the start of another - both equally meaningless - and yet, she continues to wait a bit longer. Just in case. In case she had no signal, or had yet to connect to the Wi-Fi. In case she’d actually mixed up her days and gotten herself all worked up over nothing. She has, after all, reverted to bad habits.

Still, nothing.

They don’t do anything for her birthday, when it comes around, and it shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. Eyes burning. All too familiar ache in her chest as she curls up into herself.

She wills herself not to cry. Wills herself to stop. To cease. But the loneliness has long seeped into tired, weary bones. She curls in tighter. Smaller. A pitiful attempt to hold herself.

A singular tear rolls down her face. She makes no effort to swipe it away, undeserving of such comfort.

That night, she doesn’t fall asleep; just sort of lays there for hours, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Not quite in crisis. More…numb. Worn. Ruined, perhaps. (The story of her life.)

Morning comes, eventually. She finds herself going through the motions of it all, again. At the office by dawn. Not leaving until she’s practically asleep at her desk. As expected. What she doesn’t expect, however, is to find Zia waiting for her in the parking lot, arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the hood of her car.

There’s a look on her face akin to anger. Or concern. 

She doesn’t know which is worse.

She debates turning around; stumbling up the stairs and slouching over her desk until tomorrow, or waiting for Zia to give up and go home - whichever comes first. Her plan doesn’t last long, though. Zia spots her before she can do anything and she comes to realise neither were actually options, in the first place.

“Hey, you,” She tries, cringing at the way her voice squeaks, “What are you still doing here?”

“Funny. I was gonna ask you the exact same thing.”

Her flinch is small, but doesn’t go unnoticed. Zia softens, slightly, arms dropping to her sides, instead. It doesn’t make her feel any better.

They stand in silence for what feels like minutes, staring each other down, waiting for the other to give in. She caves first. “I fell asleep.”

They both know it’s a lie. Her last memory of undisturbed sleep is in Zia’s bed - limbs tangled together, away from prying eyes - over a month ago, now. Not even a week later, she threw that all away. She’s avoided her since, and even just admitting that sends the shame rushing back, crawling thickly up her throat.

Zia falters in response, blinking in disbelief. Hurt, almost. All because of her. Her.

More silence.

“At least let me drive you back home. You’re in no state to get behind the wheel,” Zia offers, eventually. Too kindly for her liking. A hand reaches out for her car keys and she hands them over reluctantly, slumping in the passenger seat as they pull out of the lot, “You know, whenever you’re ready to talk to me…as a friend or…I’ll be waiting. I know none of this is easy, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it harder for yourself. I want to be there for you, Claire.”

She remains silent, turning to her side to stare out the window. Blinking back the tears that prick her eyes, pushing down the gnawing guilt.

It’s not that simple, that straightforward. If it was…well, she wouldn’t be here.

March turns to April, turns to May, to June. Nearly two and a half years have passed, and yet, the only thing that’s changed is the length of her hair. Most days, it feels as though she never left the island. And every day, it feels as though she never should’ve left the island.

The day the committee gathers to decide the government’s involvement with Isla Nublar, she contemplates all that’s changed and that which hasn’t. Her whole life is still the park, in a way - but rather than running it as she used to, she finds herself running from it. Haunted by the narrative she wrote for herself.

(It’s almost poetic how she built herself from nothing and destroyed herself the same way, too. A self-fulfilling prophecy.)

The story ends the same. It always does. The dinosaurs all die, be it another dinosaur that kills them or a re-active volcano, she knows the end. Knows it’s all her fault. Knows no one cares.

They never did.

The weight is left to fall on her shoulders, once more; crushing her. She feels her hope deplete her body with a single, strangled breath, leaving her empty. She’s tired. So tired.

Muting the news, she finds herself catching Zia’s eyes. Even now, there’s a foreign fondness in them that she doesn’t know what to make of. She forces that thought aside, though, knowing the room’s attention is on her and her reaction.

She’s reminded of that day…after the Indominus escaped. The tension, the anticipation.

A morbid part of her knew, even then, that there was no happy ending to that story. That what followed was inevitable.

Whatever happens now is inevitable, too.

Death is a part of life and life finds a way. Maybe Malcolm wasn’t entirely wrong when he said that.

They’re going to die. They’re all going to die.

(Teeth, blood, screams.)

Her phone rings from across the room - a welcome distraction. She excuses herself and sighs with relief as murmurs rise and volume grows in response. Hand burning, the weight of her phone likens the flare. Lungs failing, legs aching. It’s not a T-Rex behind her, anymore, but a team of people who’ve gone above and beyond the past year or so.

Maybe it wasn’t enough for the government and maybe it’s not enough to save the dinosaurs, but it was more than she ever could’ve asked for, and certainly more than she deserved.

The T-Rex needed a little help to save them on the island, just like they need something more to save them, now. But maybe more has changed than she initially thought. Maybe there is hope; redemption.

That’s how it feels, standing in front of Benjamin Lockwood the next day. Like a second chance. A do over. An opportunity to finally do the right thing, even if people can’t comprehend such.

People, including Owen.

Eli sends her to fetch him. She leaves, instead, knowing he’ll follow.

She sits across from him at the bar and tells him he can’t run from everything. Yet, it’s all she’s ever done. Run. Run from her responsibility, her family; from those who love her and those she can’t love in return. Run from her guilt and all that plagues her.

She’s a hypocrite who leaves him with a reminder of the flight and an untouched bottle of beer. But he could never understand.

He never did and he never will. She knows that, knows the part they’ve played - the responsibility they feel - is vastly different. But he’s a better man than he thinks he is and even if he can’t understand, he’ll still be there. If not for her, then for Blue.

(Because he, too, is a pack animal at heart. He’s yet to admit it out loud, but him being on the plane speaks for itself.)

The whole flight, she’s on edge. Stuck across from Zia and next to Owen, watching them share stories about their time in service and their personal experience with animals. They’re more alike than she first thought, and she finds that strange. Unnerving.

She distracts herself from the discomfort by staring out of the window, instead. Wringing her wrists and pretending her growing anxiety is solely trauma related. If she pretends hard enough, it is. She sees a pteranodon circling the valley and her shudder is involuntary. Mr Masrani, the helicopter crashing into the aviary…teeth, blood, screams.

And Zara. Zara.

Both Owen and Zia reach for her at the same time - a hand on her knee, another on her shoulder. She’s quick to shrug them off and close her eyes. It doesn’t help.

She thinks of Twinings in her cabinet, or tucked away in a drawer under her desk. Her ever-growing bookshelf and cherry flavoured lip balm. Coconut and camomile. Dark curls. Darker death.

The island gave her everything, and took it away just as easily. It isn’t fair.

Her head spins and the walls start to close in on themselves, leaving her reeling. Panic attack impending. She’s never been more grateful for a plane landing in her life, stumbling over herself to get to the door the moment she can.

Humid air never felt so good. Curls stick to the back of her neck, damp with sweat resultant of both the heat and her discomfort. She grimaces at the thought, remembering part of the reason she kept her so short way back when.

She glances around the area to ground herself, noting more staff than she can count. Hammond clearly wasn’t the only one with the mantra of ‘spare no expense’.

They’re ushered into vehicles and driven through the park. She’s vaguely aware of Zia and Franklin talking about…something, she’s not too sure. Too fixated on the ruin they drive through, the destruction that’s left behind.

She did this. Her.

The vehicles pull to a stop on Main Street, right in the middle of the carnage. The ground shakes, footsteps echoing in the near distance, and she’s taken back to the parking garage at the old park. That momentary relief before the ceiling collapsed down onto them.

But this isn’t that. The Indominus-Rex is dead and it’s over. It’s over.

Zia scrambles out of the car and she notices what the other woman must’ve spotted, quick to follow her. She watches Zia stare at the brachiosaur with an awe she only ever saw directed at herself, and she can’t help but put her arms around her, basking in the moment.

“Look at that. Never thought I’d see one in real life. She’s beautiful.” Zia breathes. She finds herself smiling fondly, understanding just how monumental this is for her. How significant.

This, this is why they did it. The look on Zia’s face. The wonder in her eyes. 

She was nineteen when she saw her first dinosaur, herself. It felt like a miracle - and it truly was, in its own right - one that she didn’t believe at first. But it was real. They are real and they’re going to stay that way.     

They stay like that for a moment, in a world of their own. She continues to watch Zia and wonders if this is how the other woman felt when she looked at her; this warmth in her chest, this intensity.

How could something so foreign feel so familiar, so right?

“Can we…?” Franklin interrupts, making them all turn to him. He points awkwardly to the truck, shuffling back bit by bit until they all move to go back to their seats, the booming of the volcano serving as a reminder of their time constraint.

[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.

[clawenfics]

Does anyone have any clawen fic prompt requests?? Especially post-Dominion. Send via ask and I’ll publish the ask for anyone to fulfill.

Either I’ll try to tackle the prompt or any other author is more than welcome to write it- they can send me the link to their work and I’ll post it or reblog.

And more than one author can write the same prompt, the more the merrier ☺️

ps: it doesn’t have to just be clawen, it can be about Claire+Maisie’s mother/daughter relationship etc.

[clawen-forsurvival]

Prompt: Claire is severely injured after she ejected her seat and Owen finds her nearly dead

of course i started with the angst! why wouldn't I?

I'm planning on working on a few more prompts today as well so keep your eyes out! and as always thanks for all the love!

contains minor spoilers for jw: dominion (takes place during the movie but you don't really need to have seen it)

Claire Dearing doesn’t know a lot about dinosaurs. 

She really doesn’t, despite her involvement in the DPG and her work at Jurassic World she knows startlingly little about the prehistoric creatures. 

But she knows this: Dinosaurs can smell blood, they sniff it out in search of their next meal. 

And Claire is covered in blood. 

Despite being attacked by pteranodons on her way down Claire’s landing had been relatively easy. She’d been able to untangle herself from the straps of the eject seat easily and fell ungracefully to the jungle floor. 

That’s when the pain hits her. 

She has a large gash across her left arm and both of her legs are shredded. She can’t walk, she knows that much, not until she gets bandaged up. 

Despite this Claire begins to hobble between the trees, her body lighting up with pain. She has no idea where she’s going but knows that she needs to move fast. 

And then she hears it. The unmistakable sound of a dinosaur tromping through the forest. 

She drops to her stomach before she can process it, crawling slowly through the wooded area in hopes to stay out of sight.

Claire suddenly remembers Owen explaining why Zach and Gray had made a good choice when they jumped into the waterfall on Isla Nublar. She decides to follow the sound of water in front of her, slowly lowering herself into the river when she gets close enough. 

The water stings every inch of her body and once she lowers her head underneath it she lets a silent scream out. 

The dinosaur passes and Claire barely drags herself up onto the bank of the river. Her body is aching and the cuts on her legs have begun to bleed again. 

She thinks of Owen and Maisie as her eyes slide shut, her body falling limp against the ground. 

+

When Owen finds the eject seat he knows something is deeply wrong. 

The chair is covered in blood, too much blood. 

The ground is covered in blood splatters, a dull red trail that snakes down into the forest. The splatters quickly morph into drag marks and his heart speeds up, his feet moving faster as he scans the perimeter for any sign of Claire. 

He almost yells her name, dinosaurs be damned, but knows that he’ll be of no help to her or to Maisie if he’s dead.

“Owen…”

Kayla’s solemnly pointing to the riverbed across from them and before he can think about it he’s running through the shallow waters and kneeling at Claire’s side.

“Claire? Hey, you gotta get up. Come on baby get up. Claire?”

“She’s banged up, we have to move her.”

“Claire wake up please, come on.”

“Owen we have to move her.”

“Please Claire, I can’t do this without you. You can’t leave me.”

“Owen.”

Kayla’s hand is on his shoulder and he realizes with a start that he’s crying. Claire has been injured before, hell she’s almost been eaten by dinosaurs before, but something about this feels different.

There’s so much more on the line now. 

He pulls himself together quickly, shaking his head and listening as Kayla points to an outpost close by. Owen looks down and gathers Claire in his arms, following Kayla and praying to every god he doesn’t believe in to get them all of this island alive. 

[dearest-alexander]

Living with Wolves- Epilogue- Chapter 21-

A Jurassic World AU. Owen Grady x Claire Dearing

Summary:

If exchanging his heavy and mud-drenched boots for Italian whole cut brogues was torture enough, he was clearly mistaken because there’s something about Claire Dearing’s ability to handle herself that keeps one, former NAVY soldier on his toes.

Read it here!

AO3

FFN

Artwork by the lovely Sara! Check out her other Jurassic World fan art!  https://www.instagram.com/bdh_fanart/

[marychovny]

Choose your favorite Wedding

[emzywritesfic-blog]

Whose Jurisdiction Is It Anyway?

(Originally posted July 4, 2015)

Fandom: Jurassic World

Words: 1,198

Ships: Claire Dearing/Owen Grady

Characters: Claire Dearing, Owen Grady, Zara Young, Barry

Other Tags: Request, cop AU, depictions of murder

Detective Claire Dearing is trying to track down a slippery serial killer, but her job only becomes harder when Special Agent Owen Grady from the NCIS tries to move in on her case.

Claire stood with her face about four inches away from the murder board, flicking the dry erase marker between her fingers.  Three kills in two weeks, all with the same M.O.  A precise kill shot to the head followed by a lot of messy, post mortem slashes to the abdomen, leaving the victim in a substantial pool of blood.  A tax adviser, a night shift nurse, and most recently a former Navy sailor.  Forensics hadn’t been able to pull any prints or DNA from the crime scenes, so detectives were left scratching their heads over the little evidence they could gather from the victims’ personal lives.

“Any sudden insight?” Zara piped up from behind, fresh cup of coffee in her hands.  Claire barely flinched.

“There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

“Yeah.  A suspect.”

“Why these victims?  Why this M.O.?”

“Maybe our guy just has anger issues.”

“Or girl,” Claire corrected, finally turning away from the board long enough to glance at her partner.  “And nobody is that meticulous about leaving evidence behind if it’s just a...spontaneous act.  These were premeditated.”

“Detective Dearing?”

She jumped when she heard her name in an unfamiliar voice, and turned toward the elevator.  Two large men with equally large muscles under their shirts came strutting through like they owned the place.  Claire had never seen either of them in her life.

“Yes.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at them with steely eyes.  “I believe you gentlemen have the advantage.”

Both of them unfolded badges from their pockets, like synchronized robots.  Claire sucked in a breath.  Feds.  She had dealt with them before.  It never ended well.

“Special Agent Grady,” the one on the left answered reflexively.  “This is Special Agent Barry.  NCIS.”

Zara jumped up from her desk as they displayed their credentials and came to stand by Claire’s side.  Battle formation.

“And what is this regarding?”

“We’re taking over your investigation of the serial killer.”

Claire’s stomach lurched.  No.  No no no.  This wasn’t happening.  She had spent too many restless nights trying to break this case open just to have the rug snatched out from under her.  They hadn’t seen those bodies in person, gaunt and sticky from their own blood and left to rot.  She had.

“On whose authority?” she fired back a little too quickly.  The hair at the nape of her neck bristled.

“Our director’s,” the other agent answered calmly.  He pointed toward the photo that was added to the murder board just that morning.  “The Navy officer who was killed is a person of interest.  He was a trusted contact of the NCIS and we suspect he was killed for the information he knew.”

“Well, I’m very sorry for your loss, but he’s not the only victim here.”  Claire could feel her entire body flushing with anger.  The jacket she was wearing had been a bad choice on her part, but there was no way she was slipping out of it at a time like this.

“Detective, I promise--”

“Have you spoken to Captain Masrani about this?” she went on, moving her hands to rest defiantly on her hips.

“We will,” Grady replied coolly, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, before turning to his partner.  “Barry, you go talk with the captain.  I think I’ll have a chat with Detective Dearing here.”

“I’ll show you to his office,” Zara grunted, clearly just as excited about their presence as Claire was.  The two of them held a quick, silent conversation with their eyes before Zara and Agent Barry disappeared down the hall.  And then there were two.

Agent Grady was nearly a head taller than she was, with five o’clock shadow that made him look more “crocodile hunter” than “federal agent.”  Claire was hardly intimidated, but the bullpen was nearly empty besides them and he carried himself with a definite presence.  Confident.  Clever.  Nonchalant.  She really wanted to get out of this jacket.

“We’re not trying to step on your toes, Detective,” he said calmly.  ���Believe me.”

“Then don’t.”

He smiled.  Why was he smiling?  He had no business to be smiling.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”  He slung his thumbs through his belt loops.  “It’s just...if I had known I was meeting such a beautiful woman, I would’ve put on a better shirt this morning.”

Claire scoffed lightly, though she couldn’t help her eyes scanning his shirt to find out why it was so mediocre.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Agent Grady.”

He made a little sound - amusement, perhaps - before lowering his voice to almost a whisper.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.  I actually hate being called ‘Agent Grady.’  Just call me Owen.”

Claire nodded curtly.

“Fine.  Owen.”

“And what can I call you?”

“Detective Dearing,” she pressed, internal walls in their upright, locked positions.  This guy was the opposition.

“So what do your friends call you when you’re off duty?”

“They call me Claire,” she replied dryly, turning back to the murder board.  “But I’m neither your friend nor am I off duty.”

“Touché,” he nodded, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk after a quiet moment.  “You seem like a woman who’s very dedicated to her job.”

“When millions of people depend on you, it’s hard not to be.”  It was the first time since he walked in that her voice let go of its agitated grate.  Slowly turning on her heel, she faced him again.  “Surely you understand that.”

“Of course.  It takes initiative like that to be as good at your job as you are.”

Her skin felt warm for a second.  Not like the flash of anger, but...something else.  She stepped in close, not realizing she was practically in his personal bubble until it was too late, but she stood her ground.

“So why are you trying to get me off?”

Grady raised his eyebrows.  Claire swallowed.

“The case,” she clarified, slightly embarrassed at her choice of words but determined not to show it.  “Get me off the case.”

“Believe me, it’s not my idea.”

“I want you to understand something, Agent,” Claire asserted, nearly overlapping his voice.  “This is my case.  My responsibility.  I won’t just walk away from this willingly.  I can’t.”

He straightened up his posture and took a tiny step closer.  Almost challenging her with his eyes, just to see what she’d do.

“So what do you suggest, Detective?”

Claire tugged on the hem of her jacket, half to get a small current moving through her clothes and half as a sign to prove that she meant business.

“Either we pool our resources and work together, or you take this case away from me and I make your life a living hell.”

His crooked grin didn’t falter, and he looked right in her eyes as she spoke.  Claire couldn’t understand why the hell he was looking at her like that.  Wasn’t this supposed to be an argument?  But he held out his hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Claire took the handshake with her mouth pressed in a line.  Why did she get the feeling that Agent Grady just got exactly what he wanted?

[dealingdreams]

In honor of Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day >> my beloved fics [2/?] | Let’s Break Our Rule Together by @wonderrbat

[its-rosie-d]

HEY Clawen kiddos, you beautiful people that keep me inspired!

So I’m now accepting prompts for Clawen fics.

I used to write quite a bit of fanfiction for a number of different fandoms, but I’ve decided to focus on the gorgeous-ness of our little beautiful Claire and Owen, because let’s face it...they are just life. 

I’m working on a little cheeky prompt right now, which will be posted later, but if there is anything you want me to write, go ahead and ask!

I will go down with this ship

[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]

People who write Jurassic Park/World fanfiction have a lot of patience to deal with the spelling of those dinosaur names. I just read a fic where I'm not even going to try to pronounce nor spell the dinosaur they mentioned twice now. That thing must have been 15 letters long. What even. Like, you really went and researched to write this thing. Your commitment is not going unnoticed. You are amazing and talented and thank you for trying to make things as realistic as you can. Bravo

[minttoy]

Stick Together

Word Count: 7,222

Summary: Claire and Owen decide to stick it out. - Post Jurassic World.

Click here to read on FF.net

“So… what do you think?”

The apartment is small. She guesses maybe just one bathroom, two bedrooms and a kitchen, dining room and living room all lumped together in one space.

They had just left the evacuation site. After getting her injuries checked and her story straight with the government officials, Claire wanted nothing more than to leave. Owen became her ticket out when he offered to let her tag along in his plan to start over in Costa Rica.

Stick Together. For Survival.

Apparently, the former raptor trainer was staying in touch with an apartment manager somewhere in San José. So as soon as they got the green light to go, the two of them left with nothing but the clothes on their back and a few spares in a knapsack. And now, here she stands. Sure, it’s dinky and small, but it’s quaint, not to mention that it is something.

She figures that this apartment is one step closer to normalcy.

“I like it.” She walks over to the kitchen, running a finger over the dusty countertops.

“Really?” Owen pipes up from the entrance door, sounding genuinely surprised. “I mean, I know it isn’t exactly your style, but at least you have your own bedroom.”

She nods her head, still glancing around with a calculative look on her face. “It can work. We can split the rent fifty-fifty.”

He shrugs his shoulders and ambles over to her side. “So I guess we’re roommates now.”

She takes one last glance around the apartment, hanging on to the hope that she made the right decision. “… I guess so.”

The first few days are awkward. Turns out that socialization with Owen isn’t as easy as she thought. He might be easygoing, but she’s not. They can’t talk about anything that doesn’t involve dinosaurs and when they do, it just brings back a flood of memories that she’d rather forget. It hurts. So she avoids the topic altogether.

Karen had offered to take her in, but she couldn’t accept it. She knows her sister would ask questions. Make her talk about it. Somehow find a way to make it all right. She also has the boys to take care of – God knows they’re traumatized enough. Not only that, she’s well-aware that their dealing with familial issues; her arrival will only delay and aggravate it.

So instead, Owen seems like the way to go. He doesn’t ask questions – he doesn’t need to – and he doesn’t crowd, understanding her need for space at this time.

When she turns on the TV, there’s nonstop news about Jurassic World and its fateful shutdown. Owen prefers not to watch, but she feels the need to keep up with the evacuation progress. But when they start listing death counts and missing people, she has to shut it off. She knows now that people – and dinosaurs – aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet. The media can glorify the incident all they want, but all of it will pale in comparison to the real trauma.

The first thing she did when she settled here was open up her savings account. It made her wonder why exactly she stocked up so much money (she took no vacations, had no family and no college funds to save up for), but she’s thankful she did. The next couple of days, she goes out to make necessary purchases and finds her way through the new city.

She admits that it’s a little lonely (turns out she was so invested in the theme park that she didn’t have time for friends) and Owen is hardly home. She doesn’t even know where he goes. They wake up at different times. Mostly, she wakes up first to do some errands, but only to come home to an empty apartment. The rare times that they’re both there, they hardly even speak. He always comes home tired, greets her with an amicable ‘Hello’ and retires to his room where the light is out only minutes later.

They don’t eat together. They don’t make plans together. Heck, they hardly even occupy the same room together. And she wonders if she regrets coming here in the first place.

But at night, when she’s already in bed and she hears his heavy footsteps padding down the hall, it’s a relief to her. Even if they’re not exactly together, she still likes knowing that he’s just in the other room if she needed him. Ever since the incident, she can’t help but feel safer in his company. Like everything will be okay (she holds on to this tiny sliver of hope). But for now… she supposes it will take time for them to be comfortable with each other outside the danger zone.

He gets nightmares sometimes. She’s sure of it, because she gets them too. Sometimes, she hears him mumbling the names of his raptors. Sometimes, his mumblings turn into screams. She’s debated going over to him, perhaps get him to talk about it, but she always decides against it. She’s learned that she’s not very good at that – dealing with feelings and such.

So she stays. She has her own nightmares to bear. The other night, she dreamed of that wretched white monster swallowing her whole.

It scares her though – all these dreams and guilt. It makes her feel trapped somehow, like she’ll never make it out. She’s still in that theme park. Forced to relive it over and over until she’s sick. And because she’s to blame, she’ll never escape. This is her punishment.

It’s a week later and Claire decides that she’s settled enough. She’s already familiarized herself with the city, bought enough household necessities and she’s developed a routine. It’s finally time to do what she’s been itching to do from the start: get a job.

She has no doubt that a job will get her back in shape and allow her feel a sense of normal, maybe even give her a much-needed sense of control in her life. So she does just that. She hands out resumes, sharpens up her Spanish and when she goes to hand in her third resume, she’s offered an interview right away. After thirty minutes, she’s officially the new receptionist at the spa down the street.

It didn’t matter if it was a menial job. Readjusting is still the first priority. Ambition can come later. After all, it’s the first spark of happiness she’s felt since she got here.

Oddly enough, when she opens the door to her shared apartment, Owen is actually home. She’s caught off guard at first, but he’s really there. Eating in the dining room and still in his pajamas.

“Owen?”

Her voice startles him a bit, but he gestures for her to wait there. She also notices that he’s eating his food quicker, which makes her think he waited up for her.

“Claire, hey. I wanted to talk to you,” he starts, confirming her suspicions. She moves to sit on the chair opposite him.

“First of all, I know I haven’t been the best roommate because I was rarely even here this past week, but it’s because I’ve been busy. So to start off, I want to apologize for that.”

She nods her head. “It’s okay. I understand. I’ve been busy too,” she says with completely sincerity, because she really means it.

But he doesn’t let her dismiss it. “I know. I know. But I still have to make it up to you somehow. Since I was the one who invited you here, I have to make sure you don’t feel left out or anything. Otherwise, you’ll leave and I don’t want that.”

She waves a dismissive hand at his comment, trying to convey that she really didn’t mind the solitude this past week. “It’s fine, Owen. Really. I mean, I got a job this morning so I think I’ve been doing fine so far.”

A look of surprise flashes over his face and he pauses momentarily, speechless. “…Wow. That’s amazing, Claire. Congrats. You’re finally picking yourself up, huh?”

She smiles, shyness creeping up on her by his flattery. At the same time, she’s also feeling uncomfortable with the limelight, so she’s quick to return the question back to him.

“So what about you? What have you been up to all this time?”

He seems to run it over in his head for a while, his face appearing in deep thought and contemplation. She arches an eyebrow, trying to figure him out, but he just looks so suspicious. When he finally responds, there’s a large grin on his face. “Hmm… I think it’s better if I show you.”

And unexpectedly, he gets up and beckons her to follow, not even bothering to address the confusion on her face. She follows him out the door, running up to him to keep pace as they make their way downstairs to the first landing. He ignores her questions and protests as they go along, choosing to remain silent until they reach their destination. When they get there, she finally understands what’s kept him so busy.

“The manager let me use this room temporarily to fix this baby up,” he explains, gesturing to the unfinished and rusty motorcycle standing in the middle of the room.

Claire walks around, careful not to meddle with any of the tools and parts on the ground, but there’s a heavy scrutiny in her gaze as she examines the rusty and unfinished bike. “Owen, where did you get this from?”

He shrugs his shoulders, moving to circle around the bike as well. “Well, I got it from a junk yard of a sort, but decided… why not patch it up? I mean, it’s certainly cheaper than buying a new one.”

Claire nods her head. “I see. So you’ve been fixing this up the entire time?”

“Basically. Told myself that when I got here, I needed to have one. Can’t live without one of these anyway,” he says, patting the bike like it’s one his treasures. She gives him a quizzical expression, but he replies with a smirk and a wink in her direction. “Don’t worry Claire. Once I’m finished up here, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

She rolls her eyes, attempting to snub his flirtatious antics, but inside, she’s actually glad that they’re finally talking.

Now that they’ve broken the ice, the atmosphere is more comfortable. The next day, he’s back to being easygoing and breezy, making offhand comments and pushing her buttons whenever he pleases.

Since it’s her first day at work, he thought it’d be appropriate for him to hang back and wish her luck. Turns out though, that he likes to poke around and she ends up having to play his 'fun’ game of twenty questions until she has to go. Some of the questions are appropriate (what’s your favorite color? It’s white), but some are just downright stupid (what’s your take on jelly donuts? They're… good I guess). His next question is somewhere in the middle.

“Are you…” he starts, phrasing the words carefully in his mind. “…still on a tequila-less diet?”

She snorts as she drinks her coffee, remembering both their disastrous first date and awkward encounter at his bungalow. “Well… I’m not a diet anymore. That’s for sure.”

He flashes a toothy grin at this. “All right… that means we can have more fun now,” he says, rubbing his hands together. She rolls her eyes, not wanting to know what he means by that, and glances over to the clock on the wall.

“Okay. Next question.” He pauses briefly, running it over his head for a while. On the other side, Claire observes him carefully, unsure if she’s enjoying this game, and certainly not liking the way he perks up when it looks like he’s come up with another stupid question. When he’s seemingly ready to fire another one, he claps his hands together and smiles widely at her. “Alright, I got a good one. So prepare yourself because I need an honest answer.”

She inhales deeply and readjusts herself on the counter, as if bracing herself, before silently prodding him to continue.

“Would you…” he starts again, his smile a bit too wide for her liking. “…ever go on a second date with me?”

And immediately, Claire almost chokes on her coffee as she sputters up a bit in her mouth. She looks at him incredulously, but he remains unperturbed.

She thinks she has the answer right away, but it surprises her that she second-guesses herself. Before, she would have shut him down flat. But now… after all they’ve been through? He did kiss her back at the park. There’s no forgetting that, not to mention her nephews somehow managed to think that he was her boyfriend. She takes another sip of her coffee and contemplates for a while, but ultimately, she decides that if they were going to live together, some honesty would do them some good.

Much to his surprise – and hers as well – she nods her head. “…I guess I would.”

It takes him aback so much that his jaw drops. And now he’s staring at her so amusedly and smugly that she wants to take back what she said. “Wow. I’m flattered, Claire. Is it safe to say that you’re finally intrigued by me?” he asks teasingly.

She shrugs her shoulders and makes a nonchalant expression. “I don’t know, Mr. Grady. But it doesn’t matter, seeing as you’re way past 20 questions.”

Taking a glance at the clock, she notices it’s exactly eight o'clock on the dot – time to go. She moves to pick up her bag from the kitchen counter and throws him a goodbye glance before he can ask her another question. “Well, I better get going. I’ll see you later.”

A few weeks later, she discovers that there is a vast difference between solitude and loneliness. And she realizes that she hates the latter. Especially come night. It takes about twenty minutes of uselessly pacing back and forth for her to decide. She figures that if she was crazy enough to lure a Tyrannosaurus Rex out of its den, then she should be able to handle this.

Still in her pajamas, she throws on her robe and walks confidently out the door. After the stairs, she takes a familiar left in the hallway to where Owen might be. But the moment she sees that the light is on (he’s there), she feels her confidence quickly dissipating. She doesn’t understand her nervousness, but perhaps it’s because she’s actually seeking him out this time.

After a deep breath, she cautiously pushes the door open and peeks her head in. He’s certainly there, sitting at a footstool, probably working on the engine or doing something she will never understand.

“Hey Owen?” she pipes up quietly.

He turns his head over his shoulder. “Claire? What are you doing here?”

She rehearses the answer in her head once, but it still comes out as awkward and confusing. “Uhh… do you mind if I just… stay here? I don’t mean to trouble you. I can just watch…” she asks, her voice coming out a little shaky that she wants to kick herself for it.

He looks at her a bit incredulously, well aware that the request if highly unusual of her, but nods his head anyway. “Uhh sure. Why not? I don’t mind. The more the merrier, right?”

Nodding, she smiles a quiet thanks to him before making herself comfortable on the only chair in the room. She doesn’t speak after that. She merely watches him work with a faraway and aloof expression on her face and eventually, it becomes clear to him that she’s not here for conversation, but company. And so, they remain in companionable silence for the rest of the night.

When Claire is updated about the divorce, she listens to a distraught Karen for hours straight. It hasn’t been finalized yet, but they’ve told the boys. Of course, no flowery language could hide the bitterness of it.

Claire bites her lip because that’s another layer of distress added to the trauma they already experienced. She can even hear it in their voices when they’re put on the phone. It’s all monotone and there are a few sighs every now and then. But afterwards, Karen talks about how the boys seem closer now, and that puts a small smile on her face.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Owen had come back from work. She didn’t really notice him until he started cooking, but Claire knows he was in good eavesdropping distance to their conversation.

When she finally hangs up the line, she rubs her face in her hands. But when Owen comes over to pat her consolingly on the back and ask how the boys are doing, she answers him with completely honesty.

She’s thankful that he’s a good listener.

She’s been here for almost two months and neither of them has addressed the nightmares that choke them at night. That changes today, because when she arrives home after a late shift, she hears him mumbling restlessly in his sleep again.

It comes as a fight-or-flight response, but she drops her stuff at the front door and hastens to his room. When she bursts the door open, she can see him shaking and sweating in the moonlight. She starts reconsidering her actions again, but when she catches him mumbling something alike to her name (is this nightmare about her?), she gets the motivation to move. She sits herself at the edge of the bed and gently places her hands on his shoulders to give him a shake.

“Owen? Wake up. Come on,” she whispers in the night, desperately hoping that she’s doing the right thing. Her first efforts aren’t rewarded the first time so she shakes a bit harder. This time, she uses one of her hands to pat his cheek softly. “Come on, Owen. Wake up. It’s just a nightmare. Please wake up.”

No response.

Not one to give up, she rattles him even harder and loudens her voice. “Owen. Wake. Up. Please, you have to. Come on, just… please wake up…”

And then she realizes that she’s actually pleading and begging. She doesn’t know how or when it started, but all of a sudden, she’s overcome with a heavy sense of guilt. A part of her is thinking: Is she… responsible for this? All his nightmares and sleepless nights? All his midnight screams and terrors? She supposes that it is plausible for her to take blame. After all, he wouldn’t be shaking and sweating like this if she didn’t allow that thing to happen.

It comes as a stabbing and painful revelation that she actually withdraws her hands. He’s broken now, isn’t he? His raptors are gone. And what does he get? Her? She suddenly feels undeserving. She can’t comfort him. She’s the one that brought this upon him. And now, instead of waking him up, her eyes start tearing up and she’s covering her face and whispering 'I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry…’ as she realizes the consequential weight of her mistake.

It’s embarrassing and disgraceful, but when she feels movement beside her, she freezes up and stops immediately.

“…Claire?”

Glancing away from him, she uses her sleeves to rid of the wet streaks on her face. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m here.”

She feels his legs moving under the covers and scooches to the side to let him sit up. Thankfully, she’s stopped crying and the darkness does a good job of covering up the traces, so she assumes that maybe she got away with it.

She waits as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, but the distance is distracting. They’re so close that she can smell him and trace the features of his face. But she hopes it’s not close enough that he can hear her heartbeat racing.

She swallows hard before whispering, “Are you okay?” He nods his head in response, still massaging the bridge of his nose, and she asks gently again. “… do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head and finally looks up at her, his eyes appearing hazy and glassy. Much to her surprise, he takes one of her hands and wraps it in his. “I’ll be okay. You’re here now.”

They stay like that for a brief moment and her stomach recoils into tight knot. For some reason she can’t explain, she gets that feeling again. The same feeling after she used a gun for the first time and saved his life. Like she’s no longer in control.

It’s not a feeling she can put entirely into words, but she follows it. And it’s telling her to let go. Throw caution into the wind. Find courage.

Taking him completely by surprise, Claire raises her fingertips to his chin and kisses him softly, trying so hard to show him that she’s so sorry and that she admires him, respects him, trusts him and really cares for him. The gesture is chaste and pure, and when she pulls back, she feels lightheaded.

When it sinks in that she actually kissed him, she’s flooded with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. Instinctively, her body moves to leave, but he holds on.

“Claire, please stay.” She doesn’t miss the desperation in his voice. And when she searches his eyes, she sees fear there. Because of this, she slowly settles back down in front of him. Gulping hard and hesitating slightly, she nods her head.

After she’s changed and ready for the night, she doesn’t retire to her room. Instead, she slips underneath Owen’s covers and snuggles close.

That night, she sleeps without a fitful dream.

“Claire, I like your hair like that,” Owen comments randomly over the dinner table one night. “I mean, I’m no expert on hair, but I think it’s very… suitable on you. Very natural.”

She fingers some of her ends and notices that the longest strands now reach past her collarbone. She doesn’t straighten it anymore, opting to let it fall in its natural mused waves, but she didn’t expect him to notice. In the silence that follows, Claire suddenly looks awkward as she glances nervously to the side. Muttering a quiet 'thanks’ to him, she’s hoping the dim light is hiding her flushed face (it doesn’t).

Much to her chagrin, he barks out a laugh.

“Geez Claire. Your face gets red so easily.”

She ignores him, trying to retain as much of her dignity as she replies, “That’s not funny.” But just to peeve her off even more, he throws his head back and continues laughing anyway. She supposes it’s because they’ve gotten somewhat comfortable with each other now.

More times than one, it seems he actually likes annoying her and testing how far he can go until she’s livid with him.

When he doesn’t return to their apartment one night, she admits that she’s a little bit concerned. She knows he’s working on the bike downstairs, but all these hours must be tiring him out. Out of worry, she brings a water bottle for him just in case.

When she opens the door to find him, the sight elicits a strong nostalgia. He’s working on his bike, wearing a familiar white and worn-out Henley shirt. It reminds of her of that reluctant stopover at his bungalow. She allows herself to reminisce just this once and when she notices his baffled expression – apparently, she’s been staring at him this entire time – she snaps back to reality.

Regret sinks in because she fears he might have misinterpreted that. “Claire. You’re blushing again. Is it because you like what you see?”

She rolls her eyes at him and attempts a look of disgust. “Ugh… Get over yourself,” she retorts. He laughs in response and instead of handing him the water bottle, she tosses – more like throws – it to him because she’s annoyed.

“I’m just here to check on you,” she enunciates clearly, even though he won’t believe her if she said she was only reminiscing (she really was).

“Just admit that you like me!” he shouts, but she’s already scurrying back to their apartment in part-embarrassment and part-shame.

Accepting his invitation, she’s opted to sleep on his bed. But tonight won’t afford her a dreamless sleep and she shifts constantly under the covers, forced to relive the incidents over and over again.

This time, they don’t get out. No one makes it out. She watches in horror as Zach is plucked from the ground and chewed into little pieces. On the other side, she hears Gray’s cut-off scream as he’s drowned beneath the water pool. And when she finds Owen, he’s already been ripped to shreds by his own raptors.

She finds no time to grieve because after endlessly running to evacuation, she finds herself face-to-face with the white beast. As if to terrorize her even further, the thing speaks. It comes off as a soft whisper at first, but the words ring louder as she widens the distance between them.

It’s your fault. It’s your fault. This is your fault.

And just when the hybrid finally catches up to her and she stumbles, she wakes up with a hoarse cry and her heartbeat racing. She doesn’t realize that her knuckles are turning white from gripping the sheets so fiercely and that she’s actually crying. She just waits it out, awestruck and stunned because it felt so real. When she feels a hand on her shoulder, she jumps away in alarm.

“Claire, relax. It’s just me. It was only a dream.”

She recognizes Owen’s voice instantly and loosens up a little. Overcome with a messy assortment of fear, guilt, anxiety, and relief, she cowers forward, buries her face in her hands and groans. Eventually, Owen reaches out to stroke her back comfortingly.

“You okay?”

She lets out a big sigh and removes her face from her hands, looking miserable and unwell. “Yeah. Just a bit shaken up.” But then she realizes that she actually feels like shit, because the monster’s words besiege her again, echoing all around. And now she can’t stop thinking about how she’s to blame for this mess.

He forces her to come out with it, details and all, and she speaks with hesitation. What she doesn’t expect is that he actually gets angry. After reassuring her that he’s alive and not rotting away in that island, he gets fired up when telling her that it’s not her fault and she can’t hold herself responsible for what’s happened.

He even has the gall to call it stupid and she finds herself offended by it. Being comforted by him is not at all what she expects. It’s the first time he’s visibly upset with her and she’s confused as to why he’s so hurt by it. But then he tells her upfront.

“Claire, you’re smarter than that. You know better. We all make mistakes. We learn from them. And then we move on,” he explains as simply as he can, and it’s at this point when she finally realizes. She swallows her pride and stops arguing with him. It seems that all her education and honorary degrees couldn’t help her make the conclusion that life happens. And dwelling on your mistakes will only make you vulnerable to more.

How will she make it out of Jurassic World if she’s not trying? Wallowing in guilt and self-blame… she’s been holding on rather than letting go. No wonder she hasn’t made it out yet.

Owen places his hands on her shoulders and forces her to look at him. “I know it’s easy to blame yourself, but we all live with regret. Eventually, it becomes part of who we are. And you know what? That’s okay.”

This time, she doesn’t rebut or argue with him. She just nods. Something about his words seems to be coming from experience. And as she runs it over and over in her head, his words become clearer – she’ll never make it out of Jurassic Park if she keeps going back there.

Sighing in defeat, she runs a hand over her face and nods her head more surely this time, conveying her understanding and acceptance.

When she sees that hint of a smile on his face, she knows now that he’ll let her sleep again. Turns out that his stubbornness was enough to change her mind.

The next morning, she wakes up feeling uneasy about where they stand. But when she goes outside, there’s a box of jelly donuts on the table. She sees him emerging from the kitchen and asks him what’s going on. With a serious expression, he apologizes for being harsh the night before and that the jelly donuts are too lighten the mood.

It’s actually quite charming of him to bring a peace offering so she dismisses his apology, and instead thanks him for getting through her.

They finally go furniture shopping.

At first, she would only sleep on his bed on occasions where he would ask. However, lately that’s beginning to change. Some nights when she would wake up screaming in terror, she would drag her pillow, sneak into his room and hide under his covers. He didn’t seem to mind it, so it eventually became routine. She’s just glad that she doesn’t have to sleep alone now.

Considering this change, they both mutually decided that a new bed and mattress was in order. She also picks out a few things to decorate the apartment so it feels more like home, but she can’t help but think about how fast they’re progressing without even knowing it.

She likes their routine. In the daytime, she would work at the spa while he would take on various construction jobs. Come night, they would prepare dinner together and if she felt like it, she would watch Owen refurbish his bike until it was midnight. This is the closest to normalcy she’s ever felt yet.

But Claire also starts noticing changes. As their relationship progressed, 'I’ problems were gradually turning into 'we’ problems. It’s an artsy way of saying that they’re becoming more dependent on each other, and she didn’t realize the weight of that until they hit their first hardship.

When Owen went to the Doctor for a sore back, he returned with a list of medical treatments that was out of their budget. He tried to be stubborn about it, said he didn’t need to follow through with it, but she put her foot down. She gave him an incredulous look that meant she wasn’t falling for it and reminded him that he has her. He doesn’t have to do it alone.

She pulled out some money from her savings account and forced him to get treated, despite his protests. Of course, it was financially straining to pay for all the appointments, X-rays and scans. They had to subsist on cheap and frozen foods for a while and she had to consistently remind him that she was okay. Apparently, he felt terrible for dragging her into this, but she assured him it was the opposite.

If he was in pain, she didn’t mind preparing heat packs and ice packs. Whenever it was the appropriate time, she reminded him to take his medications. She would even exercise with him because the doctor recommended it. He’s teased her more than once that she’s being very pushy, but she ignores his whining and plays the caregiver role the best she can.

Throughout this entire trial, she overcomes another learning step. She distinctly remembers the time she first came to realize it. They were in their bedroom with Owen already fast asleep when she finally grasped what it was like to care for somebody. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t odd how his problems also felt like hers to bear. She understands now why sometimes, it would seem like she wanted him to get better more than he did. Or how she would research all kinds of home therapies that could help. It makes sense why she’s so willing to take his health into her own hands. Not only is she someone who likes to take control (which he still jokes about), but she’s also doing it because he’s important to her.

He’s become someone to lose. And right now, she would do anything to make him stay. After all, without him, who knows where she would have ended up – probably unhinged, forever groveling in self-pity.

In turn, she also realizes that she’s getting soft – perhaps even becoming more like Karen everyday – but she supposes it’s okay if it means Owen is taken care of.

When the day comes of his last physiotherapy session, she decides to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. Unlike before, she’s no longer a nervous wreck so this time, she’s confident that she won’t blow up like a tomato when he makes his ridiculous comments (maybe).

However, when he steps through the front door and sees his surprise for the first time, she doesn’t get the excited reaction she expects. She’s never taken him for an emotional person, but she watches as he fails to conceal the tears that gloss his eyes. As he wipes his face with his sleeve, he starts thanking her for taking care of him and that’s when she joins him.

In this moment, it feels a lot more natural for her to comfort him, hug him and heck, even kiss him.

Consider all that’s happened, Claire decides that now is the time for ambition. As Owen eventually gets back to his daily routines (how has he not finished that bike yet?), she starts handing out resumes again and aims higher. She figures that if she wants ease any more future hardships, then she should start now.

Being a natural go-getter as she is, she does interview after interview until she finds the one most appropriate. It’s no small feat, but when she finally accepts a job at a business firm, she waits until her last day at the spa to tell him. Just like their problems, it seems that somehow her successes also feel like they’re his too.

When she returns home on that last day, she doesn’t even let him finish greeting her before she blurts out 'I got the job!’.

He’s taken by surprise, but it’s quickly replaced with excitement. And suddenly, she’s lifted off the ground and pressed against him as his lips are find hers in fervent passion. She can feel his smile as she clings on and knows that he shares her joy. When he puts her down, she searches his face and he looks like he might burst at the seams.

She raises an eyebrow when his expression transforms into a suspicious one. His lips upturn to a smirk as he asks, “Does that mean you can buy me a new bike?”

Claire laughs and nudges him away, feeling giddy and jubilant and blessed that she can share this moment with him.

Considering that they live together, go furniture shopping together, eat together, make plans together and have even kissed on more than once occasion, he decides that it’s about time for that second date.

He asks her during dinnertime and she laughs because really, their relationship was due for a second date a long, long time ago. It’s also been ages since that disaster of a first date.

When Friday night rolls by, he picks her up at her new workplace in his motorcycle (he finally finished) and she has to take a moment to examine him.

“Hmm. No board shorts, huh? That’s a surprise, even for you,” she teases.

Owen shrugs and tosses her a helmet as she nears closer. “Aww do you miss them? Do you want me to go back home and change?”

She rolls her eyes and accepts the helmet, hopping on the seat behind him and holding tight.

For a second date, they sure know a lot about each other. There are no awkward moments. No nervous glances. Even their waitress was confused when Owen told her it was just their second date; one would think they were already married.

“Alright. I confess. You want to know the reason why I made a move on you so many years ago? It was because I thought I could show you a good time. I mean, you looked like you needed it,” Owen explains, whilst she looks at him appalled. “So I thought, why not come in board shorts? It was supposed to say 'Hey, I’m a casual and fun guy.’ I thought girls liked that.”

Claire scoffs, remembering those days when all she cared about was work. She likes to think that she’s a new person now, no longer her former, uptight self.

“Okay. You’re up next. Why’d you say yes?” he pipes up, wearing a look of eager anticipation.

She takes a sip of her tequila (yes, tequila) and shrugs her shoulders. At this point, there really is nothing more to hide other than embarrassing memories like these. He already knows her likes and dislikes, pet peeves (unfortunately), fears and even past relationships. She has no other big secrets.

“Hmm… I don’t know. I was younger then. And single. Not to mention that I hadn’t gone on a date for a really long time prior to that. So I guess you can say that I was… desperate?”

She didn’t know that this would be a bomb of a confession because he spits out some of his water, totally aghast.

“You went out with me because you were desperate?” he retorts in utter disbelief, like a little kid who lost his candy.

She shrugs her shoulders, amused at his shock. “Well, your first impression of me was boring. I don’t think that’s any better.”

He barks out a laugh, eventually coming into an agreement with her. “Wow. I guess that’s why our first date was a disaster.”

She smiles and nods her head. “I agree.”

That night, they stumble messily back into their apartment, their lips constantly finding each other in the dark. It’s not attractive or gentle, but both of them are too caught up in the sensual haze to stop. Owen shuts the door with his foot while Claire slowly drags them to their bedroom. They both know where this is heading and despite sleeping in the same room for so long, it’s still their first time with each other.

Before they settle on the bed, he asks her if she’s sure and she nods, knowing she wants him just as much as he wants her. It’s mutual, just as it should be.

They start out shaky, nervous and unpracticed at first, but they eventually get used to each other’s bodies. And by the end of the night when they’re both completely spent, she snuggles beside him and rests her head on his chest. He’s always the first to sleep, but she enjoys listening to his heartbeat, the sound comforting to her.

She hasn’t told him that she’s loved him, but that’s because she hasn’t really dwelled on it (until now). Over these past months, it’s hard to believe how much she’s grown. And she doesn’t know if it’s just a part of growing up or if it’s because of Owen, but she knows she wants to keep this – the stability.

He’s been her anchor this entire time, proving again and again that he’s always beside her. And she knows she’s been helping him too. She takes care of him when he gets reckless, reminds him that he isn’t alone and endures his games and antics because it makes him happy.

All these things they do… maybe there’s no need for them to voice it out loud. Why say it when you could show it? She smiles to herself. If Owen really is the only one who can offer her this kind of happiness, then perhaps it’s worth letting herself fall in love with him.

The sun is out that day and for some reason or another, she’s feeling particularly good.

It’s almost been an entire year since Jurassic World closed down and she can hardly believe how much things have changed; how much she’s changed. Glancing to the side at Owen, who’s busying himself with a newspaper on the couch, she knows she attributes most of the changes to him.

He’s still her anchor up to this day and she’s his refuge as well. Sometimes, she thinks about what it would be like if he was gone and it’s terrifying. Though, she tries not to dwell too much on these thoughts – his overwhelming positivity and exuberance must be rubbing off on her.

Nonetheless, she’s forever grateful.

Walking over to the couch, she sits at his side and perfectly content with resting lazily for the rest of the day. According to her, it finally feels like she’s living a normal life. And she figures that they’ll just stick together from now on because without him, she knows she would have never made it out.

If you made it this far, thanks! I hoped you liked it! Otherwise, I wish you have a dino-mite day :) - MT

[forsurvivals]

A Knight in Dragon Armor: Ch 2

Read on AO3

Icy cold winds whipped violently through Owen's hair as he clung to the mast of the ship, bracing himself for impact as another wave smacked the boat and nearly toppled the flimsy thing over. Salty seawater sprayed overboard. The boat dipped precariously.

The waters were calm earlier that day and there was certainly no storm looming in the horizon. Owen had stuck to the shoreline, to his usual haunts. He was almost finished pulling up all the nets when the storm blew in from nowhere. And there he was, clinging on for dear life, the waves tossing him around like a feather in the wind.

The notion of actually dying alone in the ocean briefly crossed Owen’s mind as the boat nearly rolled over into the freezing waters, but he shrugged it off as quickly as it’d come. Honestly, what would he be leaving behind in this world? His strong hands reached out to catch the ropes flailing wildly in the wind. He had pretty much next to nothing back on the shore—a small shack with few possessions he shared with his elderly, grouchy kiln dragon, Asher. The laughable amount of money he had saved up under a loose floorboard could be distributed between the residents of his fishing village—but Owen was almost positive they wouldn’t notice he was missing until he failed to turn up at the pub on Saturday.

The bottom scraped rock and Owen went headfirst into the planks. Groping something nearby to pull himself back up, he found the side of the boat under his fingers. Squinting his eyes in the rain that continue to pelt his face, Owen stumbled to throw the anchor overboard as quickly as possible. As soon as he felt it hit the shallow seafloor with a thud, he took a flying leap off the rocking boat.

Owen landed on the shorebed with a rolling impact. He pushed himself up and shielded his eyes. The storm got stronger still.

He could see trees in front of him.

Owen hadn’t the slightest clue where he was. Racking his brain as he ducked under the long, trailing branches of a low-hanging pine tree, Owen tried to recall the maps of the shoreline he’d spent hours memorizing as a child. He couldn’t have drifted that far out, right? Still, he was certain that this tiny speck of rock outside kingdom waters didn’t exist on his maps. Maybe nobody had ever found it before, that was entirely a possibility…

The storm was quieter under the forest canopy, the leaves above shielding him from the rain. Owen shivered in his wet clothes as another violent bought of winds passed through the island. He had to get out of the cold before he froze to death.

Sniffling in the chill, he ventured farther into the undergrowth, sweeping aside thorny branches and leaves that whipped at his face. It wasn’t long before he found a clearing in the woods.

There was a jutting piece of black rock situated in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by yellowed weeds and prickly-looking grass. Some of the rock had crumbled into a heap on either side of it. It looked oddly out of place in the middle of a forest. Owen crossed over to it in a few quick strides, leaning down to inspect it.

The rock was smooth, save for a few rough indents on the sides of the surface. It almost looked like a black mirror, reflecting the raindrops as they splattered down from the heavens. Owen ran his hand over the rock. He immediately snatched it back.

The rock was warm.

Owen glanced around suspiciously, his hand reaching into the inside of his jacket for his knife. Had there been someone around recently? A fire nearby, perhaps? From the looks of it, there were no remnants of any fire pits or even any signs of ignition near the rock. Owen reached down and pressed his hand into the soil. There was a fine sand next to the rock, much smoother and powdery compared to the muddied earth of the forest floor. Curious, Owen ran his hand around the rock, creeping down on all fours, following the little trails of sand that surrounded it. Once he’d gone all the way around, he noticed the air around him was getting warmer. Putting his hands against the rock, he followed the source of heat until he discovered a crevice near the bottom of it.

It was a large, yawning hole, with a peculiar warmth wafting out of it, big enough to slide a full-grown man through. Shivering as he felt the heat hit his dampened skin, Owen didn’t think twice about crawling towards it.

The air around it smelled musky, like a cross between dampened hay and a wet dog. It must’ve been a home for some type of animal at one point, but the scent was stale.

Owen stuck his head into the den—what he assumed was a den, and hoped whatever had inhabited it before was long gone. When he was sure his face wasn’t going to get bitten off, he slid into the cavern.

His feet touched a mixture of gravel and softened grasses once he’d gotten inside. The rock was hollow, carved out to be almost like a cave over his head. Huddling against the wall, Owen closed his eyes and listened to the rain thundering on the roof.

The cavern was oddly warm, as if it was impervious to the chilling winds that entered its entrance every so often. Owen was only half-curious to figure out what was creating the heat (he didn’t want to fall down into a lava pit or accidentally run into a man-eating bear, of course). And besides, he was finally out of the rain. Sometimes he just had to leave things as they were and be thankful for what he did have.

— — — —

Owen must’ve fallen asleep at some point. He was thinking about how he was going to get back, praying that his boat survived the storm, trying his best to forget the hunger gnawing in his belly, when he’d completely blacked out and later awoke to a weak filter of sunlight streaming in through the cave entrance.

He shook himself awake, flexing his sore muscles and running a hand through his damp hair. The storm had passed, and the sun was out again. He took in a deep breath and crawled over to the crevice, ready to pull himself out of the rock. That was when he saw a glint of something shiny out of the corner of his eye.

Owen paused for a heartbeat, turning his head around, squinting in the gloom of the cave. The wind moved the tree branches outside just enough to let the sunlight pass through the narrow entrance again.

Another glint.

This time, overpowered by curiosity, Owen turned his back to the entrance and crawled further into the cave. A sense of dread washed over him as he entered a suffocating darkness, and waited.

The thing glinted again, and Owen shot out his hand to reach for it before it disappeared into the dark.

His hand touched a warm, rough surface. He let his fingertips slide over it, puzzling as he discovered it was shaped not unlike an… egg?

It was a gigantic egg, he realized as he scooped the thing up in his palm, weighing it. He was sure it was an egg. It felt like a chicken’s egg, except much, much bigger, with a hard, thick shell that resembled roughened metal.

Gently, he placed the egg on his lap, and reached further into the nest. His hand brushed the top of another egg-shaped thing, and another, and another.

Four? He picked up another one and wiped the dirt and grass off of it, feeling the bumps on the shell as he contemplated his next move.

A stronger beam of sunlight shone into the den and illuminated the dusty atmosphere with a soft glow. Owen squinted his eyes, adjusting to the new lighting.

His suspicions were confirmed. He could see four gigantic eggs lying in an even bigger nest, surrounded by moss and lichen and feathers. What could they possibly be? Owen hugged the one in his lap tightly to his chest. It almost felt like it was pulsating heat against his skin. Could it be that the eggs themselves were creating a heat source?

That must be the case, Owen decided as he crawled forward to fetch the others. He couldn’t see any signs that the adult creature had been here recently. No fur, no feathers, no bones, nothing to indicate that there was anything incubating the eggs. They must be able to hatch by themselves if they were able to keep themselves warm.

Owen brushed aside more of the nesting material. Maybe there was a fifth egg, or maybe—

Owen froze. All his disturbances in the cave had finally revealed something interesting.

A giant footprint was indented in the soft sand of the cave floor. A giant, three-toed footprint with talons extending far past the tip of its toes—

Dragon. Owen’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened in panic. He was in a dragon’s den. There was no dragon here now but…

No, this wasn’t one of the little kiln dragons that lived in the kingdom and happily perched on beside tables while lighting stoves—this was a wild dragon, one that could burn down an entire city with one fiery breath and snap a man clean in two with their razor sharp teeth—

They were elusive, mysterious, magical creatures and Owen knew (somehow he was still able to think about dragons while trying to escape the den) that every part of their existence were highly, highly valued. Some medicine men still swore that dragon bone cured all sickness and dragon blood granted immortality—all fluff and hogwash in Owen’s opinion—but nonetheless, their body parts sold for an unimaginable amount to those who sought them out—

Yes, this could be his way out. Owen paused in the middle of setting the egg down. Who knows how much one dragon egg could sell for in the black market, much less four. He could end up possessing more money than the royals. The king would be feeding him out of a silver spoon. Owen grinned recklessly. His heart soared at the thought of never returning to his run-down fishing village, of actually have a roof over his head that didn’t leak, of being surrounded by people who weren’t drunk all the goddamn time…

Once he’d managed to tuck all the eggs under his vest, praying that he hadn’t squished any of them, Owen wriggled his way out of the cave as quickly as possible.

Careful not to drop any of his precious cargo, Owen fought through the forest’s tangle of brush and branches until he could see the coastline. His little sailboat was bobbing in the water, anchored where he last left it, looking slightly worse for wear but still very usable.

With one fell swoop, Owen hurdled himself into the boat, then set the eggs precariously on an old, raggedy couch in the interior of the sailboat. He went back onto the deck and proceeded to pull up the anchor and unfurl the sails. The wind picked up and he set the course for the mainland.

He watched, anxiously, as the island disappeared into the horizon.

— — — —

My dearest Karen,

Things are just fine back at the kingdom. The kiln dragons are behaving themselves and we’ve had a wonderfully fruitful crop season this year. I’m so glad to hear your pregnancy is going well. I wish I could come see you but I’m afraid I’ve been very busy lately. I know I shouldn’t try to hide anything from you for much longer, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you before this. Dad is not doing well. He wishes for you to come back and see him, but I know with your delicate physical condition right now it won’t be possible. I’m sure you’ve already suspected this was going on.

Dr. Wu says there’s nothing we can do except pray for him. He doesn’t have much time left. He sends his regards and love.

I miss you, my dear Karen, please write back whenever you see fit.

Sincerely yours,

Claire

Claire set down her quill with a heavy sigh. She folded the letter in half and sealed it with a wax impression of her ring.

The Dearing coat of arms. Three stags perched under a knight’s helmet, surrounded by decorative leaves and tassels. It was almost impossible to make out in the messy wax but Claire knew what it was. She’d spent her entire life looking at their coat of arms, after all.

“Karma, you have three seconds to get to your post before I throw you out for good,” Claire snapped as she waved the letter in the air impatiently. The aviary was empty, per usual, as the messenger dragons decided there were better things to do in life than deliver their human counterparts’ letters back and forth.

The messenger dragons looked much like the kiln dragons, small, lizard-like, large wings and talons, with a long, fox-like snout and a row of glinting sharp teeth. They were a sooty gray color instead of brown, and they were twice as light and agile in flight compared to the kiln dragons, who did better snuffling around on the ground.

Karma, one of the newest additions to the aviary, popped her head through the open window. Warbling an apology (she hadn’t learned to give Claire attitude yet, thank God), the little silver dragon took her letter from her hand politely.

“Karen,” Claire told the young dragon with a nod. Karma beat her wings and took off into the sky. “And let’s hope that one doesn’t get lost this time,” Claire muttered under her breath. She exited the aviary as quickly as she’d entered it, her long dress trailing the marbled floors of the palace.

“Your Highness!” came a flustered voice from behind her. Turning, she saw Vivian struggling down the hallway, trying to keep her white robes out of the way as she made her way towards Claire. “Your Highness, if I may. It’s the King, Your Highness, he’s…”

Claire felt a jolt of terror shoot through her chest. “He’s what?” she demanded as she ran to meet Vivian in the middle of the hall. “Is he alright? I’d just seen him earlier this morning…”

Vivian paused to smooth down her blonde curls before nodding breathlessly, “He’s requesting your presence, Your Highness.”

Claire felt a sheen of sweat slide over the palm of her hands. This couldn’t be good.

The young medic led the way towards Liam’s bedchambers, making it painstakingly obvious that she was trying to ignore Claire’s fretful muttering. “I don’t think it’s anything serious?” Vivian suggested, clasping her hands together in a worried fashion.

“Not another peep from you, Vivian,” Claire growled. “I’ll have you and Wu out of this castle faster than you can blink.”

“He’s alive…” Vivian attempted to sound helpful, but the glaring annoyance on Claire’s face shut her up quickly.

Claire pushed open the heavy oak doors to the room where her father had taken up residence since he’d become bedridden. It was a large, drafty room, with plain decorations and a dusty cabinet.

Claire was expecting Dr. Wu to be there, but to her surprise, the room was empty, save for a frail old man in a bed that was entirely too large for him.

Vivian nodded at Claire. “I’ll be out here if you need anything,” she whispered as she closed the door behind them with a soft click. It echoed nonetheless.

Silence.

“Claire,” came a weakened croak from between the bedsheets. “Is that you?”

Claire gripped the sides of her dress. “Yes, Father, it is,” she replied, walking towards the bed slowly. She couldn’t explain why she was dreading this so much. She could feel a certain conversation coming on. One that she did not want to engage in. Claire was not particularly good with conversations about deaths and futures and legacies, namely her own, and she was definitely not good with having it come from her father.

Yet, she arrived at her father’s bedside obediently, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

A/N: "But where is the Clawen?!" you cry, shaking your fists impatiently. I know, I know. Claire and Owen will be meeting soon, hold onto your hats. Thank you for all your interest and lovely feedback on this fic!

[bforeverloverly]

Something Interesting

For Clawen Week - Day 7: Freeform

Owen and Claire discover the lures of social media…and their fan base. Kind of silly, kind of smutty. Yes, I did this. And it was fun. *grins*

* 

Claire looked up from the paper at the sound of Owen’s chuckle. He was still at the desk, leaning over his laptop- the same place he’d been for over an hour.

“What are you doing over there?” Claire asked, neatly folding the paper and making her way over to him.

“Hmm?” Owen blinked up at her before cracking a smile. “Oh, sorry…” he leaned back in the chair and scratched his head. “I was…” He trailed off with a laugh. “Well, you know how you said it was a good idea to Google ourselves to see what the media is saying about the incident?”

“Mmhmm…” Claire nodded and crossed her arms. She’d just been scanning the paper for the same reason. 

“Well,” Owen gestured towards the laptop and moved over so Claire could see. “I found something…interesting…”

Claire eyed him as she leaned over to look at the screen. On it was a blue website with a strange name and posts about…about…

Claire swatted Owen’s hand away from the mouse as she scrolled…and scrolled…and kept scrolling…

Finally she stood, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

“What…what is this?”

Owen scratched the back of his head again with a laugh. “It’s called ‘Tumblr’,” He explained. “It’s a social media blogging site…” he turned back to the screen with a smirk. “Apparently we have quite the fan base.”

Claire placed her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. “But…how did they get those pictures?”

Owen shrugged. “The leaked security footage, same as the others.”

“But…it doesn’t look like the footage I’ve seen.” Claire leaned down again for another look.

Now she could see it was definitely the leaked footage. It was just modified into better resolution and with words and quotes and even song lyrics. Some were still graphics, others were GIFs. Claire watched in awe as Owen continued to scroll.

There were graphics of her, and of Owen, and their kiss.

“This…” Claire searched for words, feeling strangely flattered. “This is…”

“Weird?” Owen supplied.

“Weird, yes…but also…” She laid her hand over his so he stopped scrolling at a photo of their kiss. “These are so well done. It’s really…something…”

Owen smiled at her. “Apparently we’re very popular on here…they ‘ship’ us.”

“Ship?” Claire asked as she started scrolling again.

“Yeah, on here ‘shipping’ means they want us in an intimate and fulfilling relationship with each other.” He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. Claire went without argument, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“What’s ‘Clawen’?” She asked.

Owen stopped nuzzling her neck and laughed. “It’s our ‘ship’ name- our names smushed together…Claire and Owen…Clawen…”

Claire smiled a little, still not looking up from the screen. “I guess that’s kind of cute…”

Owen kissed her hair. “I think you’re kind of cute.”

Claire looked away long enough to peck his lips softly before she continued scrolling.

“What’s this?” She leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “FF: The Aftermath – after the incident at Jurassic World, Claire and Owen clean up and share an intimate moment…” She clicked the link that read “read more” and did just that. She didn’t notice how quiet Owen had gotten.

A few minutes later her head snapped back to look at him. “Owen! What is this?”

She had just read…something…depicting a scene of her and Owen…and a shower…

Her cheeks flared red as Owen smirked at her.

“That is called fanfiction. Like the graphics, it’s our fans expression of how much they love us and what they would like to see happen between us…” He pulled her closer. “And quite honestly, I couldn’t agree more…”

“You mean there’s more?” Claire swallowed and turned back to the screen. “And…and you’ve read them?”

“Some of them,” Owen brushed her hair back so he could kiss her neck and murmur in her ear.  “They’re actually very good…very visual…lots of good ideas…”

But instead of leaning into him as he hoped, Claire leaned towards the laptop.

Owen sighed in defeat and moved so she could sit in the chair.

“I’m gonna go grab a pizza for dinner…the usual?”

Claire didn’t look up, merely made a noise of agreement and waved her hand at him as she continued reading and scrolling.

Owen shook his head with a laugh as he grabbed his keys.

*

That night, Owen leaned against the door frame and squinted at her.

“Claire, it’s almost midnight…come to bed. All of it and more will be there in the morning.”

Claire looked up at him and blinked. She couldn’t believe she’d been on Tumblr all day. It was just all so…whatever the word was Claire still couldn’t find it. It was just…something. It meant something to her that people liked her and Owen and didn't blame her... 

With a sigh, Claire finally logged off and got ready for bed. The two of them lay in the dark for several minutes before-

Owen rolled over to face her, a smirk quirking his lips. “You wanna try that shower thing?”

“Definitely,” Claire said, already up and running to the bathroom.

Owen caught her just inside, pulling her flush against him as he kissed her. They were still fully dressed, but he navigated them into the shower and turned on the water.

The sound of laughter and breathy moans could be heard behind the curtain as wet clothes were discarded and the mirrors began to steam up.  

“We’ll have to thank them somehow,” Claire sighed as Owen pushed her against the wall. She gripped his shoulders, his skin slippery beneath her hands.

“Who?” Owen nipped at her earlobe.

Claire’s head tilted back as his tongue started a trail down her neck towards the valley between her breasts. “Our…our fans.”

“We could always post a sex tape.” Owen smiled against her skin as he took a rosy nipple into his mouth.

Claire let out a huff that was half a laugh and half a moan as he lifted her up and slid inside her in one swift movement.

“Don’t tempt me, Grady.”

[lydia-dearing]

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.

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@ the people who said they wanted it

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