Jurassic World One Shot

A/N: Hello! I'm back with another one shot. These are just easier for me to do I suppose. They're relatively fast to write and personally, a lot more fun. So! Saying that, I sincerely apologize for how much this sucks. I just..my writing skills have turned to shit over the past couple of years. Or maybe I just wasn't good to begin with…I'm sorry…on with the crappy story!

Character: Owen Grady x stubborn reader

Warnings: There will most definitely…always be language in my prompts…9/10 times…I just have a natural potty mouth…sexual implications as well.

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You hacked into your pitiful excuse of a Kleenex for what seemed like the 50th time that morning. Your throat ached from all of the hacking you were doing, you were sweating bullets, your nose was running like a freakin' waterfall, and your head was beating to the tune of your own pulse.

Even with all of that stuff though, you were convincing yourself, quite pathetically, that you were most definitely, NOT sick. You most definitely did NOT feel like death, and you were sure as hell NOT going to let your long time, cocky ass boyfriend Owen rub it in your face that you were sick. Because you weren't.

You thought about your conversation from that morning. "You're definitely sick," Owen started, shaking his head at you as you struggled to tie your boot. "You look like shit, babe. You really shouldn't be coming in to work." Sweat was running down your forehead as you bent down to your boot, and he had to grab you arm when you started to tip over. You scoffed at him, shoving his arm away from you. "Excuse you, jerk," you sniffled haughtily, "I resent that comment." You shoved your sweaty (y/h/c) bangs out of your face. "I am perfectly fine. I feel as cool as a cucumber." Owen looked at you with a disbelieving face, his perfect eyebrow raised in a disbelieving arch. "Seriously Owen, I feel fine."

Without realizing it, you began fanning yourself, and panting. Panting?! "I would feel even better if it wasn't so hot in here! Why in the hell is it so hot in here?!" you exclaimed, looking at Owen, your eyes wide. Owen looked at you half amused, half worried. "Yeah, ok, you're totally not sick." You squinted your eyes in what was supposed to be an intimidating look. "Is that look supposed to be scaring me?" he taunted. "You look like a pissed off kitten," he smirked. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, and he rolled his eyes, putting a hand on your back, pushing you towards the door. "C'mon miss perfectly fine, we're gonna be late."

Now here you were, three hours later..dying. You were DYING. You felt like absolute shit. You were pretty sure you were high off of ibuprofen and Dayquil, and you were sniffing Vicks like it was your drug fix. Used tissues were piled high in the trashcan, and three more boxes were sitting on your desk ready for use. You groaned, laying your head tiredly on your desk. I just need to take a small nap….

Just as you began drifting off, your pocket vibrated, making you jump. "Hello?" you answered stuffily. "Hey babe, just checkin in," Owen started. "You uh..you doin okay over there?" "Yeah Owen, I'm fine. I feel great!" As soon as you said that, a giant cough threatened to overpower you, and you hurriedly took the phone away from your ear. You coughed painfully for what seemed like five minutes, and slowly put the phone back to your ear. "I feel…I feel great," you finished weakly.

Owen sighed over the phone. "Look, it's almost lunch. Lemme just feed the girls and I'll be over there, okay?" He hesitated for a second. "..I love you."

You paused, your voice catching. "I..I love you too." The phone clicked, and you took it away from your ear slowly. It took you a really long time to say the L word. You weren't exactly..'feeling' friendly, and when Owen said it the first time, it took you quite a while to respond back. Even though the two of you had been saying it for a while now, it still wasn't something you threw around lightly. You were raised to think that emotions made you weak, and it was something that stuck with you even into adulthood.

Lunch came around and Owen showed up, Barry right behind him. Owen was carrying a plastic container full of something and a Styrofoam cup. You smiled when you saw him, and stood up slowly from the desk. You started walking towards them when a dizzy spell hit you. You heard what sounded like a curse in the distance, and then felt your body falling downwards. You hurriedly attempted to throw your arms out, trying to catch yourself, but your limbs felt ridiculously heavy. Right before you hit the ground, strong but gentle arms wrapped around you, catching you. "Babe are you okay?" Owen said, his voice full of concern. You groaned, leaning in to his chest. You felt him place a hand against your forehead, and heard him draw in a sharp breath. "(Y/n), you're seriously burning up. Your fever has gotten worse. I knew I shouldn't have listened to you this morning," he said accusingly. You didn't answer; your head was pounding too much. You just wanted to cuddle up to the warmth his body was providing at that moment.

"Alright, you're going home," he concluded. "Barry do you mind driving us to the bungalow?" "No problem," he answered, his voice concerned. Suddenly, you were picked up and placed securely against Owen's chest. You snuggled against him absentmindedly, placing your nose against his throat. You felt Owen place you in the backseat and him sitting beside you, placing his hand against your forehead again. "You're so damn stubborn," he whispered. You looked at him, your eyes slightly glazed over. "I just didn't want you to worry," you replied, feeling guilty. "Well I am worried," he answered disapprovingly. "You have to tell me these things, (y/n). You can't lie to me just because you don't want me to worry." "I'm sorry, Owen," you sniffed pathetically. He didn't answer; he just sighed and kissed your forehead, pushing you up against him. You cuddled all the way back to the bungalow.

You finally made it back to yours and Owen's home, Owen thanking Barry and him wishing you better. As soon as you made it into the house Owen was heading to the bathroom. "Owen where are we going?" you asked, lifting your head off of his shoulder. "Your fever is too high. It could get really bad if we don't get it down some," he answered. He gently set you down against the wall, making sure you weren't going to fall over, and started the bath. He checked it making sure it was the right temperature, and started stripping you. Normally you would've been blushing like crazy. Even after all of this time you were still shy around Owen. At this point though, you didn't have the energy to care.

He finished stripping you, gently picking you up again and slowly placed you in the bath. You leaned your head against the wall, looking at him half lidded as he filled a cup with water, and began pouring it over your body.

"I love you, Owen," you started, your voice low. "I love you too baby," he replied, not looking up from washing you. "No, like I really love you." Your voice grew desperate, and you reached out and grabbed his arm. He finally looked up at you, noting the seriousness in your voice. "I…I know I don't say it a lot, and I'm sorry for that. I just..don't do emotions, ya know? But I want to for you. I want to be mushy and girly and tell you I love you every five seconds. It'll take me a little bit but I'll get there, I promise." "Baby," he started, his green eyes (A/N: I guess he has green eyes?) looking up at you adoringly. "You don't have to be like that. I love YOU. I want you to be exactly who you are. You don't have to tell me every five seconds that you love me. I know that you love me." He rubbed his thumb soothingly over your hand. "And you know that I love you, right?" You nodded, smiling sweetly. He smirked back at you saying, "Now, let's get this fever down and get you feeling better so you can really show me how much you love me."

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Uhmmm yeah..so..I'm really sorry for how much this sucked. I'm sorry to those of you who actually started reading this with high expectations and then you were let down. This is not my best work..What this is, is forced work. I haven't been writing..I just..stopped, and I'm trying to reclaim my skills. My professors always told me to write every day; it didn't matter what you were writing, just write. Just get your juices flowing. I haven't been doing that, and it's obvious that my juices are pretty much at a standstill. I apologize for this crappiness lol. But anyone who actually did manage to read this, thank you. You don't realize how much you just reading my crap means to me. :)

batman out.