Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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177. Owen Grady 3

~You’re standing on the catwalk, looking down into the raptor enclosure, where your sort-of-boss, Owen Grady, is working with a hoard of velociraptors.
You’re supposed to be taking notes, but you’re kind of distracted by the whole thing, because, come on, how often do you really see a human being surrounded by freaking velociraptors and not getting devoured?
The fact that your sort-of-boss is freaking gorgeous doesn’t exactly help, because honestly who isn’t a sucker for a tall, tanned, blue-green-eyed, muscled dreamboat? He’s so arrogant and self-assured too, another major turn on.
Not that you’re stupid enough to flirt with your boss.
Of course, you’re too busy being interested in what’s going on to adhere to proper safety concerns; you’re leaning over the railing to get a better look, despite being told several times by Owen that it’s dangerous to do so.
It only takes a split second – you don’t even see the observers come charging past, barely feel one of them collide into you – your balance goes off, the notebook you’re meant to be writing in falls to the catwalk, and then you’re falling.
You’ve been afraid of this happening since day one; this can’t be happening.
But it is. You’re falling.
Maybe you scream. Maybe someone else does, because the last thing you see before you hit the ground is Owen turning to stare at you, calling something out, but whether it’s to you or his raptors, you’re not sure.
The fall hurts, but you don’t black out. Maybe your wrist is broken from the fall, and your ankle feels sprained, but that’s the least of your concerns.
Four hungry raptors are eyeing you like you’re some kind of tasty treat.
Great. I’m going to die like this?
“Hey?” suddenly Owen is there, in front of you, “oh good, you’re okay. Anything broken?”
“My wrist.” You say, wincing.
“Okay. Just stay still. I’m going to get you out of here,” he turns his attention back to one of the raptors – Delta, you think – who has been inching closer.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it, Delta.” Owen’s got his ‘alpha voice’ on.
Blue inches closer to you, snapping her jaws.
He backs up, repeating the same command: stand down, until he reaches you, effortlessly lifts you into his arms, away from the snapping raptors.
“Open the gate!”
You try to ignore the pain in your wrist and ankle and focus instead on how solid his arms are around you.
You’re dimly aware of the gate slamming down again, separating the two of you from the raptors.
Owen breathes a sigh of relief.
You look up at his handsome face.
“My hero,” you say, before you black out.
When you wake, you’re lying on a reasonably soft bed, a cool cloth on your forehead.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Owen says from where he’s sitting beside you.
Your cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot, I was leaning over the railing again.” You say.
He’s told me at least three times not to lean over the rails. He’s probably really mad at me.
“Doesn’t matter. At least you’re safe.” He looks concerned, “How’s your head? The doctor said I needed to keep an eye on you.”
“There was a doctor?”
“Yeah, you slept through it, he knocked you out to fix up your wrist. It’s only a little fracture, but it’s still all bound up.”
You look down and see that your wrist is, indeed, wrapped in a bandage and plastered up.
“What about my ankle?”
“Just a sprain. You’re damn lucky you weren’t killed by the fall.”
Here it comes.
“I get it, if you’re going to fire me.”
“Fire you?”
“Yeah. I disobeyed you and leaned over the rails again. I risked both our lives.”
To your surprise, Owen smiles.
“What’s life without a little risk? Here, drink this.” He passes you a cup of water. You sit up and accept it, then realise where you are.
“Um… why am I in your house?”
“It was closer than your place.”
“Did you carry me all the way here?”
“Uhh…”
You smile.
“Thank you.”
He returns the smile.
“That’s what heroes do.”
You grimace.
“You heard me?” you duck your head, thoroughly humiliated.
He doesn’t answer, just smiles at you.
“From now on, you’re staying on the ground. No more catwalk for you. Can’t have you getting hurt, then I’d need another assistant, and I’ve gotten rather fond of you.”
“You have?” you ask, suddenly filled with a wooziness that has nothing to do with your fall.
“Absolutely. Now, can you shove over by yourself, or do you need a hand?”
You try to move, but wince at the attempt –your ankle might just be sprained, but hell, it hurts.
“Ummm, I don’t think I can move,” you say, embarrassed.
“No problem,” Owen says with a smile, and he carefully lifts you and places you on the other side of the bed, helping you sit up against a couple of pillows, before sitting down beside you.
“I could probably go home, you know,” you say.
You don’t really want to bother him anymore, and it feels weird being practically cuddled up with him.
“No way. I told the doctor I’d keep an eye on you, in case you have a concussion.”
“I don’t have a concussion,” you say, although you aren’t too sure.
“Yeah well, I don’t really fancy getting my ass handed to me by the doc for letting you go. So. You’re kinda stuck here. I mean that in the least creepy way possible, by the way,” he smiles.
You giggle nervously. You’re bedridden with a twisted ankle and a broken wrist, but you’re bedridden in Owen freaking Grady’s bed, with him sitting rather comfortably beside you.
“You wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“I don’t have anything chicks usually like, unfortunately,” he admits, tossing a pile of DVDs to you.
“Not a movie-date guy, huh?” you ask.
“Not really,” he gives you a sheepish grin then says, “More of the don’t-use-a-blacklight-on-my-couch dude.”
Maybe something in your expression makes him back pedal because he grimaces.
“Sorry. You don’t really want to know that.” He mumbles and disappears into the next room, leaving you with a pile of movies.
Feeling slightly awkward, you paw through the pile one-handed, finally settling on Die Hard.
Owen comes back with a bottle of cold water for you, a beer for himself, and a bowl of popcorn.
“I, uh, thought you might be hungry but I’m not really a great cook…” he says, settling himself back next to you after putting the DVD in the player.
“Best, boss, ever,” you say as he passes you the water.
He grins.
“Best assistant ever,” he replies.
“What, even better than the one who gave you sexual favors?” you tease.
“What? Aw, man, you gotta stop listening to Barry. He’s just making that shit up.” Owen looks wounded.
Halfway through the movie, you get cold, so you pull the blanket over you. To your surprise, however, Owen puts his arm around you and scoots closer, keeping you warm.
“Thanks,” you mumble.
When the movie ends, you’re half asleep, so you’re perfectly happy to shuffle under the blankets and lay down, facing Owen.
“Hey, Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for looking after me.”
“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you aren’t hurt. I’d really miss your pretty face around here.”
“You only like me for my face?” you pout.
“Of course not,” he kisses your forehead, “When you’re better, maybe tomorrow, I’ll take you out to dinner?”
“But I’ll still have my wrist in a cast…”
“So? Gives us one hell of a ‘how we hooked up’ story.” He laughs.
“Presumptuous, aren’t you?” you mutter.
He chuckles again and leans across to kiss you.
Your uninjured hand goes to his hair, pulls him closer to you.
“I take it that’s a yes?” he asks when you break apart.
“Of course,” you reply, “who am I to deny my hero anything?”
You fall asleep in his arms.
 

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