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#also ive found way more ‘has sex at the drop of a hat’ fics with data than any other character for some reason???
sharksfood · 1 year
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trying to find data/reader fanfics that are not insanely awkward (due to the reader) is proving to be difficult
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caitbalfes · 6 years
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He Who Waits for Something Good (9/?)
Jamie & Claire | Modern AU | At forty-five, Jamie fears he will never meet someone that measures up to the woman of his dreams. (AO3)
Sorry for the wait everyone, I suck at updating my stories. Funnily enough this was the very first chapter I wrote for the story (who has time for writing in order ??) but it needed some tweaking before I could post it.
Also, if you want to keep up with the timeline without having to go back to each individual chapter you can check out my new masterlist/fic page here: caitbalfes.tumblr.com/fics (the page is still a wip, but you can at least see the timeline for HWWFSG)
I. Woman of His Dreams • II. Fragments of Memory • III. Dreams of Old • IV. Eye of the Hurricane • V. Days of Joy • VI. Thoughts of You • VII. The Day Before… • VIII. Anniversary of Silver
IX. ... The Night We Met
February 25, 1997
He had been watching her for some time—ever since she stormed into the pub, nose red from the cold (it made her look all the more endearing.) She’d sunk down on a bar stool and pulled off her hat, causing her curly hair to stand on end.
He had tried his best not to look at her. Her demeanour was in no way inviting. (If he squinted he could almost see the steel armour she wore to protect herself from unwelcome attention.) Jamie wasn’t so foolish as to try and break through that wall, nor was he so disrespectful.
Yet, he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, he felt inexplicably drawn to her. He wanted to talk to her, he really did, but he didn’t want to disturb her.
An hour went by. The woman hadn’t moved, and neither had he. She’d had a few drinks, as had he.
Eventually, people started to leave. His sister and Ian left first; they had Wee Jamie to get home to. The rest left one by one—or two by two—until only Jamie was left. He was about to leave himself, when he heard someone sniffling.
Instinctively, he turned towards the sound. It was her.
He thought at first it might have been the cold that made her sniffle, but he noticed the sadness in her eyes. Gingerly he laid a hand upon her shoulder, asking, “Are ye all right?”
She turned around, facing him. She regarded him for a moment. Then, “No. But I will be.” She lifted her glass to indicate her chosen remedy.
“Whiskey is comfort for your mind, but no for yer heart.”
“And how would you know what ails me, Mister?”
“I can see it in yer eyes, Sassenach.” He really could. Her face was exceptionally easy to read, and heartache was written across it.
She pursed her lips. “I know what that means, you know. Sashenack—that’s not a very nice word to use. Is that how you comfort women? Then I think I’ll stick to the whiskey.” She took a long sip, then looked up at him with a defiant smile, like a naughty child doing something she knew she shouldn’t.
“I didna mean it as something offensive, lass.” He hoped she realised how genuinely he meant it.
“Well, it really doesn’t matter how you meant it, my lad. You’re not seducing me tonight, so you can leave. It’s no use trying. I’m not having sex with you,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.
His jaw dropped. “I-I—what?”
“I’m not going to have sex with you tonight—or any night.”
“Aye, I heard ye, Sassenach. I just wasna sure I was hearing correctly seeing as I canna remember propositioning you, or saying anything to that effect.”
“You didn’t yet, but I know what most men do. They walk up to the sad, lonely woman at the bar. They compliment and comfort her, they offer to take her home, and then they think themselves entitled to a reward of their choice—and that’s always sex.”
“Perhaps I am pretentious in saying so, but I would like to think that I am not like most men, and that I dinna necessarily place my behaviour at the lowest common denominator.”
She laughed, genuinely. “Very pretentious, but I kind of like you. Have a drink with me?”
“I dinna ken, Sassenach,” he teased, “yer no planning to take advantage of my vulnerable state?”
“Your vulnerable state?”
“Aye, this lass bruised my ego when she mistook me for the vile sort of man that would take advantage of a bonnie lass—”
She swatted his arm. “Stop it,” she giggled.
Jamie took a seat next to her and ordered another drink for himself.
“I’m Jamie, by the way.”
“Claire.”
“Should I walk ye home—or to wherever you’re staying?” he asked, partly because he wanted to see her home safe, and partly because he wanted to spend more time with her.
“No,” she said, insistently, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go back there.”
Jamie unconsciously clenched his fists. What awaited her “back there”? She’d been heartbroken when they’d met earlier that night, and she’d been drinking to soothe the ache. They’d spoken about a number of things, but Claire hadn’t revealed just what—or who had caused her broken heart. Hence, Jamie was weary. Her reluctance to go home had him worried an abusive boyfriend or something of the like was what awaited her.
“All right, lass. You can come wi’ me to my hotel room. You can take the bed.” He was in town for a friend’s engagement party. Normally he would’ve stayed with Jenny and Ian at Lallybroch, but they were renovating an old part of the house, and they also had a newborn baby, so Jamie was staying at a hotel in Inverness instead.
Claire took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently, smiling at him. “Thank you, Jamie.”
It was a short distance from the pub to the hotel, so Jamie and Claire walked the entire way. Claire hadn’t let go of his hand—which was probably a good thing, as her balance wasn’t great.
It wasn’t until they entered Jamie’s room that she released his hand, giving him a sheepish smile.
“Jamie . . .”
“Aye?”
She stood on tiptoes, her arm snaking around his neck, and placed her mouth on his, not quite kissing as much as breathing him in.
Alarm bells went off in Jamie’s head. This was very, very bad. And yet he didn’t pull back, couldn’t bring himself to.
Her lips moved against his experimentally, and his couldn’t help but respond. His hands found her waist to hold her to him. She felt small and fragile—and warm, and soft, and just right in his arms.
Claire brought her other hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer. He ran his hands down her hips, feeling her soft curves. God.
Her lips were demanding, her body enticing, and he was intoxicated, drunk on her—
Then he remembered.
And before he stepped off the edge and flung himself into the abyss, he tore his mouth from hers. “I thought ye said ye wouldna have sex wi’ me tonight—or any night.”
“That was before I knew you,” she said, running her hands through his hair.
“But—” Her lips chased his in an attempt to shut him up, but he took hold of her shoulders to force her back. “No,” he said. “We’re drunk.”
“It’s all right,” she said with conviction. “I believed you when you said you weren’t like most men, but now—now I’m asking you. Can’t you see that? Jamie, I’m asking you to fuck me.”
“Claire, I can’t.”
She took hold of his hand and pulled the reluctant limb from her shoulder and placed it on her arse. She looked at him intently, biting her lip.
A Dhia!
She was truly the most alluring woman he’d met, and God how he wanted her, he was achingly hard with it, but—
He smelt the whiskey on her breath and saw its effect in the gleam of her eyes. He wanted her badly, but more than anything he wanted to do right by her.
“Claire, you know we canna. Neither of us would feel right about it in the morning. You’re drunk, heartbroken . . . and ye came here to sleep, aye?”
Her giddiness was replaced by reluctant acceptance in an instant. She nodded tiredly. “You’re right. Take me to bed, Jamie—but not for that, just . . . tuck me in?”
“Of course.”
He took her hand and led her to his bed, where he tucked her in. He stroked her curls away from her forehead before placing a soft kiss there.
Claire smiled at him, her eyelids drooping. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Sweet dreams, Sassenach.”
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