A Home In The Highlands + A CS One Shot [Outlander Style]
After binge watching over the holiday break, I just had to write this for @fergus80 and @xpumpkindumplingx who wanted some CS smut in the Outlander wedding night style. Also, I love Jamie and Claire so this is in no way devaluing that other ship that’s now taken me on as a passenger! This one is rated M for certain, folks!
The fresh white roses were slightly wilted by the time Emma pulled the flower crown from the top of her head. They’d been strung together early that morning, woven around the twisted wooden halo by an elderly woman all the men affectionately called Granny. She had helped Emma with her tangled hair, brushing it into fine silky waves and telling her she looked like nothing less than an angel. It had been impossible not to offer a grateful smile at that kind remark, even though the term wasn’t what he would have called her. No, he’d deem her a princess once again - just like he had from the day they met.
“You want me to….sit in a saddle? In this dress?”
“Aye, Princess,” he’d smirked before rolling his eyes. “Sooner rather than later too. Miles to go before the light loses the road.”
“I’m not a princess,” she’d scowled, staring up at the back of the beautiful black horse at her side. “I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can,” he had nodded, bending down fast to tug on the dragging fabric of her skirt and tearing it off up to the knee. “But you’re going to ride - right up on this mare with me, lass. Now up with you.”
“Excuse me! You can’t just-” she’d shot back, disbelief painting her features as she glared at him. “-do that! That dress came from France and I can assure you that my father would not be pleased to see you act in such a manner, soldier….”
“Well, I am from Ireland, m'lady, and that gown is not really high on our list of concerns at the moment.” he grinned, holding her waist a bit too suggestively as his whisper skimmed her ear. “Now would you like me to lift you or can you get on the bloody horse yourself, love?”
“Do not call me ‘love’…”
“Very well,” he smirked. “Princess.”
Emma wasn’t sure how it had all evolved from there, her mind still searching for pieces of the memories that made up the past few weeks. It had taken her a few rounds of stealthy research to figure out where she’d landed when she fell through the portal near the wishing well weeks ago, some force of magic or witchcraft taking her from the woods near her childhood home and landing her decades in the past. She speculated the era by reading a letter she’d found with a fallen soldier, but she knew it for sure the moment she met him.
She was in Ireland - the newly acquired company of a small rebel brigade in 1743.