Hi Fyre ! I hope you’re doing well 💛
I had a fun little idea I wanted to toss your way for a possible prompt or story:
It’s summertime, and Reader decides to start wearing sundresses (and nothing else underneath) so they can ride [Insert link of your choice] anytime they want. I’d love to see how that playful, bold energy plays out—maybe with a flirty or teasing dynamic between them? Feel free to take it in whatever direction inspires you!
Thanks so much, and no pressure at all if it’s not your vibe!
Oh don't mind if I do anon ;)
Sundress Special
Pairing: First x Reader
Warning(s): Shameless smut, so minors DNI!!
Notes: Inspired by this wonderful design. Also I'm back <33
Masterlist
This was a terrible idea—scratch that, you knew it was a terrible idea. Even by itself, the dress was something straight out of a trashy romance novel—bright, eggshell white fabric dotted with enough embroidered sunflowers to make your vision spin if you stared at them too long—but you were quickly finding that was the least of your problems.
"Damn," Wild's exclamation was unusually hushed as you descended the porch stairs, grin never faltering when you raised a certain finger in his direction. The Champion was sat beside the provided cooking pot, surrounded by a veritable feast of ingredients. You resisted the urge to scream when he held up a sack of sugar. "I thought I was going to need this, but you're already doing the trick."
If eye rolls were audible, yours would have deafened him. "It's not my fault I wear it better than you, Champ."
This time, Wild's gasp was more than audible. You thanked the Goddesses that no other Links were around to witness his humiliation at the hands of your sick burns. "You wanna bet?" he asked, pointing one of Sky's carved ladles in your direction.
"Not really," you groused, rubbing the corners of your eyes for any stray traces of sleep. After months on the road, even the slightest semblance of a proper bed had you passing out almost instantaneously, which was exactly what happened the night prior, though you were also inclined to "blame" your roomates—Wind and Four, because they were tiny and reluctantly cuddly—for the good fortune. Speaking of... "...where is everyone?"
Wild shrugged, flipping a strand of cornflower blonde hair over his shoulder, looking vastly unbothered by life. You wished you had his confidence. "Old Man and Rancher left to do descendant things, Vet's sulking... and I think I saw your boy toy head down to that lake Sky almost fell in."
Shockingly, your deadpan was also audible. "Stop calling him my boy toy, it's disrespectful."
The Champion's reply was as swift as his blade. "What's disrespectful is that you two keep dancing around each other, but you don't see me complaining about it."
Oh Hylia, not this again. Still, you were an adult. An adult who could handle well-meaning conflict with grace and—
"I'm going to help Wind put spiders in your bedroll," you threatened.
Wild's second shrug was similarly unperturbed. "You can try, but I also want you to remember that Time returned my flint last week."
That... was a valid argument. Very valid, considering you typically liked your things unburnt. "...Touche."
"Atta girl," the Champion grinned in a manner that you'd be stupid not to return. When you turned in the direction of the previously mentioned lake, he called out once more: "Don't be out too long, there's pancakes on the line!"
Boots crunching over the verdant grass, you called back. "It's a promise!"
The walk to the lake was short and sweet, with just enough time that your thoughts had the barest opportunity to get away from you in the best ways.
You liked First a completely normal amount—he was kind and funny, with a protective streak long enough to make any self-respecting warrior swoon—which was definitely why you were currently wearing nothing beneath the dress. Yeah, totally normal. The pinnacle of normality, if you wanted to get fancy.
Low waves lapped at the sandy shore as you walked along it, carefully enough to prevent the hem of your dress from catching on a stray piece of driftwood or the link. You'd really be in trouble if it ripped. "First?"
There was no response, but you knew he'd come up sooner or later. They all had a nasty habit of appearing randomly from various bits of undergrowth, so you were quite used to being thown into fight-or-flight mode upon witnessing a Link crash-land through the shrubbery.
About twenty paces later, your ears pricked at the tell-tale rusting of leaves. As if summoned by Hylia herself, First practically burst onto the beach, scarf fluttering behind him as he skidded onto the sand. He was panting, and there were leaves in his hair, and his face was red from either exertion or horniness, but that was just fine in your book.
You grinned, cocking a hand on your hip. First's glance wandered down, then snapped to meet your eyes as he managed to flush an even deeper crimson. It was extremely unsubtle, but maybe you were into that. "Like it?"
The first hero's response was hilariously instantaneous, boots shuffling in the dusky sand and gaze torturously focused. "Yes."
Perfect.
"Good," you laughed, taking just enough of a step forward to mime closing the gap. Hylia, you wanted to, and, from the look First was giving you, he wasn't far behind. This was hardly the first (tee tee) time you'd serenaded his pants to his knees. "Come here?"
The pause was as lightning-charged as you felt, and it took nary a second for your besotted beau to kick himself into gear and all but fall into your arms, lips pressed in a thin, controlled line as his arms wound down to rest on the tops of your hips. Something in your gut broiled when you leaned to kiss the indecision from his mouth and mind, only stopping to savor the salty remnants of breakfasts' mushroom and prawn skewers from plump flesh with the flat of your tongue. First, to his credit and accompanying boldness, returned the kiss with equal fervor, fingers running over the soft fabric of your dress in a manner that had you wishing to bite his lip until it bled and bruised or throw yourself back to give a sultry twirl. If any part of you cared that this was going down on a semi-public beach, it might as well have died the second his body molded against yours and a steady hand traced a singular burning line up your spine.
Your hand trailed to grasp a chunk of straw-pale hair, if only to savor the feeling of silky strands between eager fingers, and, when oxygen became a boring and terrible necessity, have an anchor to tug him back, panting breaths mingling with the cool morning air.
"You're wonderful," the First Hero exhaled. His hands still fiddled with your dress, but there was something undoubtedly primal behind the action, no different from the way your stomach throbbed with the urge to push the poor man against a tree and show him exactly how wonderful you could be. It was hardly the first time you'd found yourselves unclothed in a random forest. Sometimes you even considered it romantic.
"I love you too," you dipped your head just so you could murmur the words against his neck, right where his red scarf and absurdly high collar gave way to something far more enticing. First's shiver was palpable and accompanied by a cut-off whimper most unsuited for a man of the sword.
You didn't care. You loved finding the cracks in his armor and forcing them wide with soft touches and every other wonderful trick you had at your disposal, like bloodless wounds without pain or fear. You'd patch them up, of course, just as he'd pack your own with cloth and kisses and enough tenderness to be nothing short of true love.
Your skin began to itch beneath the dress, and it was a feat unto itself not to fling the damn thing over your hips and have him scratch it, but you were nothing if not patient.
Mostly.
"I missed you," you accompanied the sentence by pressing a trail of warm kisses up the length of his jugular, wholly and completely ignoring the fact that you'd seen each other not even an hour ago. Whisps of fire burned deep in your belly, igniting with each second your skin touched his, like proximity alone was enough to mimic a dry match and just enough kerosene.
Foaming waves crashed against the shore as First's head dipped, catching your lips against his own. He didn't speak; he didn't need to, not when you could taste the answer straight off his tongue and teeth, rolling between your mouths like a rising tide. You caught his bottom lip between your teeth in retaliation, digging your fingers into his scalp with all the tough love you could muster.
When you separated, it was out of necessity, not choice. An unforgettable ache had begun to settle between your legs, a reminder that life was short and you'd be dripping onto something other than the clumping sand if all went well.
Your gaze flashed over the hero's shoulder for a split second, taking stock of the thick forest laying just beyond, and it was in that moment that you leaned up, licked a stripe from lobe to pointed tip, and whispered in First's ear.
"If you don't take me in the next two minutes, I'll start cashing in favors," you punctuated the statement with a sly kiss just beneath his ear, eliciting a full-body shiver from the man before the hands at your back dipped and he was hauling your body up like it weighed nothing, legs wrapped around his surprisingly-slutty waist. Nary a second passed before the world inexplicably spun, and your half-bare back met the unmistakable bark of what had to be the nearest tree.
"Is that so?" First asked, though it sounded more like a threat than a question. His hands, already dented in the flesh of your thighs, tightened like vices. He was a freak like that.
You grinned, refusing to wince as the motion jostled you against the bark in a manner that was definitely neither recommended nor comfortable, and pulled the strands trapped between your fingers just enough to sting. "Did I stutter?"
His lips were upon yours before either of you could muster another snarky-sweet word barrage. The kiss, unlike others, was everything a man should be and a knight shouldn't, and you returned it with enough ferocity to be objectively sexy and appropriately ferocious. You'd learned long ago that he was a fan of people capable of breaking his scrawny ass like a twig.
Freak, you thought with all the love and care in the land, one hand sweeping to rest against his chest, flitting over the various belts and buckles wrapped around his form, wondering how much luck you'd have pulling them off one-handed.
Where there's a will, there's a way---
Your thoughts stalled when one of his hands released your thigh, and a voice rang true and rough and lovely against your lips. "You're everything but a good liar," he said, keeping unblinking eye contact as that beautiful red scarf was unwound from his neck, only to find a home on your own shoulders, the twin tails draping down to shield your skin from the ragged bark. "Better?"
"I love you," you breathed with as much heart as you could, only to gasp when he pulled your legs free from around his waist, guiding you into a leaning position before dropping to his knees with such finality that you nearly chocked, then tripped when your right leg was promptly manhandled to balance over his shoulder, hands scrabbling at the tree, the bark, the dress still swaying at your thighs—
"Can I?"
His blue eyes were big and hopeful and you were so, so terribly weak.
"Please."
The dress' skirt was promptly flipped up, and the First hero's head disappeared beneath the multicolored fabric. Unlike other times, he didn't immediately dive into lapping at you like the thirsty animal he was, instead choosing to litter ticklish kisses along your inner thighs. It was a nice sensation, typically reserved for when you had time and a half-decent bed, but you were never one to complain or correct unless necessary. It would be fine; a little teeth, a lot of tongue, and maybe some love along the way.
There was a certain danger in the way his touch made you feel like toppling or wailing or dying, just barely standing on legs no steadier than that of a fawn, lungs stuttering with conflicting, staccato breaths. Terror was nothing and everything in the embrace of your hero, in the few hours he'd steal in your bed before anyone was awake enough to notice. The soft bite of his gaze—before you'd kissed and touched and seen—over the burning campfire was a memory you would not soon forget, because nothing was more potent than animal love and true desire.
It was a feat unto itself not to cry out when his tongue slid up the length of you, slipping through overflowing wetness with all the grace of some innocuous, extinct wordsmith, tracing burning lines across every flaming inch of skin, until you were forced to muffle yourself with your own fingers, biting just enough to keep from shrieking your pleasure to the blazing sun and barren sky.
You were in love with an angel. You were sure of it.
First didn't pause, didn't slow, didn't speed. He took his sweet, wonderful, infuriating time—even though the subtle, on-and-off rock of his hips against thin air was more than obvious—and you couldn't have wanted him more for it. That, and the way his half-gloved hands gripped your thighs in a grip just short of vice, as if he was truly serious about marking you where no one would know and everyone would guess.
You didn't mind; you really didn't.
A gasp slipped past your teeth and tongue and fingers when something warm and wet raked over your clit, dipping back down to slip and slide at your entrance. Your thigh jumped against First's shoulder, only to be pressed back down by one strong palm, until all you could manage was a sorry shudder and even sorrier dig of your heel into his back. It was something. It was everything.
"Oh Hylia— Ah!" you were saying before you knew it, only to yelp when a stinging nip was delivered to your inner thigh. First's head popped upwards like a fish breaking through the water's surface, a sheen of slick wetness shining on his chin and lips. It was mesmerizing and you wanted nothing more than to lick him clean with your tongue.
"Don't say her name," he whispered; half an order, half a plea. Big blue eyes sparkled against pale skin and lightly-chapped lips.
There was no question about it. "Okay," you said, softly, willing away memories of your midnight-conversations concerning the Goddess. "It's okay, Link."
He was gone before you knew it, diving beneath the sunflower fabric once more, and you gasped as sensation returned to curl in your belly and warm your core. You could hardly focus on anything, could hardly speak, could hardly tangle your hands in the hair at the back of First's neck to pull him irrefutably and inevitably closer. A thin strap slipped from your trembling shoulder, and, in the distance, some innocuous animal yowled towards the heavens.
Teeth sunk into your lip when the First Hero's tongue found your clit once more, and outright hissed when he suckled the small bud into his mouth, lavishing it with equal parts tongue and teeth. Your thighs clenched against his palms, straining against a force much stronger than them, and your free hand scraped against rough tree bark. You didn't care, not when you felt like you'd fall to the ground if he kept this up; twitching and shivering, valiantly trying not to squeal like a wet seal begging for snacks.
You actually bit down when the coil in your belly tightened with each gentle suck, subtly wincing as the taste of iron slicked the flat of your tongue. First, oblivious with the fabric atop his head, continued his assault on your core with a fervor usually reserved for battle or a high-stakes arm wrestling competition.
Your climax arrived swiftly and with as much fanfare as sex in the woods could offer, thighs re-clenching against his grip, head tossed back, ribs rattling and contracting against the confines of your chest. A burning feeling gripped your pelvis, as bright and blinding as the burgeoning dawn, and, for one wonderful moment, the world was reduced to technicolor flashes and the fading sensations between your legs.
Breathe, your mind whispered as it returned, knees threatening to buckle as you swayed against the tree.
"Oh my," you puffed, leaving out the perfunctory 'Hylia' to that statement. It was the kind thing to do, especially when First's head popped up once more, cheeks and chin somehow even more soaked than before. He smiled, and you felt weak all over again. "Oh my goddesses. Thank you. I love you."
No words were exchanged when the First Hero slid your thigh from his shoulder, pressed a kiss to your right hip through the dress, and stood. His lips were on yours in an instant, and heat flared in your stomach when you realized that you could still taste him over yourself.
The kiss was too much and not enough. You wrapped your sore arms around his shoulders, pressing as close as you could, if only to feel the beat of his heart through yours. First's groan was soft and cut-off when your knee half-pressed between his legs, brushing the warm bulge in his pants.
Your neck craned just enough to deliver a nip to his earlobe. "Sit down."
First sat; quietly reluctant to part, but always willing to indulge. His legs stretched before him, long enough that you were standing between them without moving an inch. You tried not to giggle when the toes of his boots wiggled, walking forward until you were close enough to slide directly onto his lap, grinning when the First Hero's hands immediately shot to your hips, kneading the flesh in a manner so respectful you nearly forgot he had been between your legs moments prior.
You allowed your hips to shift against his covered erection, undoubtedly smearing slick along his pants as your clit throbbed in time with your heartbeat. "Is this okay?"
"More than," First grunted, closing his eyes and exhaling a shaky breath. He was still holding your waist, fingers pressing on-and-off rhythms to your skin. You wanted to shuck off his belt and show him just how much you loved him.
Your hands fisted the hem of his tunic, preparing to flip it over to the real prize. "Can I?"
The lovestruck look on his face told you everything you needed to know. Soft blonde hair tickled your finger pads as you slipped your hand down down down, past his loose belt and tight waistband and just-right v-line, until flesh met flesh and you were gripping something harder than those glorious abs of his. First's gasp was soft, restrained, as you stroked your thumb over him, only mildly hindered by the fabric of those damn pants. "Think you can be quiet?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
First nodded—biting his lip when your thumb made another soft pass—and you couldn't resist kissing him again, using your free hand to flip the edge of his scarf more securely around your shoulders as tongues slid together and two breaths mingled into one. You could tell he liked this; from the way his cock twitched against your palm to the varying pressure applied to his hips.
It was like a miracle when you finally fished his dick from his pants, giggling into First's mouth when it slipped from your grip to smack against his abdomen, a pearl of precum already glistening at the flushed tip. Normally, the sight would serve as your cue to suck his soul out through his penis, but time was of the essence, so you broke the kiss, hiked your skirt up, and rose just enough to position the head between your thighs.
You rocked your core down, coating warm flesh in even warmer slick, and wondered how it was possible to be satisfied simply through closeness. You didn't need sex; you didn't need his fingers or his cock or his lips, but you did need strong arms across your torso, unwavering icecap eyes roaming every inch you had to offer, the rumble of a half-baritone voice in your ear.
"Please," rasped the hero below you, hips jumping with each slow grind you gave against him. He was panting, cheeks flushed a color redder than the blood pulsing within them, and, Hylia, if it wasn't the prettiest color you'd seen on him. No more words were exchanged, but you knew.
You always knew.
A soft gasp left your mouth as you allowed your hips to lower; down and down and down until your cores lay flushed and your thighs clench hard against First's ribs. He doesn't say anything, but you see just how affected the hero is by the way he turns his head to the side, lips pursed and cheekbones flaring. He's trying so hard to not make a sound, and so are you, even as blunt nails dig into soft flesh and you can all but hear your heartbeat in your ears.
Slowly, deliberately, you shifted your weight, determined to savor the feeling of him buried so deeply in you that it bordered on an ache. The cool metal of his wayward belt buckle dug into the underside of your thigh, a sharp contrast to the feverish press of his abdomen against your palms, and you traced your hand up his belly in an effort to ground yourself.
This is real, you see him telling himself, past pleasure-puckered lips and scrunched eyes, beneath skin and muscle and bone. Inside you, he twitches; waiting, without watching.
You begin a rhythm so slow it makes your thighs burn. You're not used to this—life on the road with eight other individuals hardly allows for any such activities, but you've found a way more often than not. You've learned to be quiet and quick, to hold each other with nary a sound.
But now, staring down at his flushed face, you want to throw it all out the window. You want to dig your nails into quivering flesh, draw noises unbridled, and sink your teeth into the junction between shoulder and neck.
"You feel so good," you panted into the warm lake air, bracing the flat of your palm against his chest, fingers scratching against rough green fabric. Another shiver, another twitch, another half-hearted squeeze to your hips. It's perfect, but it's not enough.
It isn't long before your mind forces your body to go faster, movements heralded by the insistent tugging sensation in your belly. It's tight and only getting tighter when a half-gloved hand sneaks to rub soft circles over your clit, fingers splaying across quivering flesh. Your eyes snap to First's; now open and staring you down with a look of pure desire. He looks like he wants to flip your positions and take you right on the damp forest floor. You reckon you look like you'd let him.
A whine slips past your teeth when the head of his cock brushes that spot, angling your hips in an attempt to recreate the sensation. It works, and the world seems to fade as you bend to plant a kiss on First's lips, moaning when his hands drift to squeeze your backside and his hips give on-and-off bucks into you. The knot in your belly grows tighter and tighter, igniting muscles and nerves alike until you're shivering and gasping and scratching your nails up his chest.
"You're going to be the death of me," First's voice rumbles in your ear as he sits up slightly, keeping you pressed to his chest with one strong arm. You bite your lip as the change in position has him shifting even deeper in you, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. "Is this okay?"
You responded by pressing your forehead to his, murmuring: "More than."
First's breath grew ragged when you ground down onto him once more, hips bucking to meet your downwards thrusts with a force that seemed to punch the breath straight from your lungs. Time felt like it was simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as the knot in your abdomen began to tighten once more. The arm around your back held you closer, deeper, and the contact had you shivering anew, goosebumps popping up along your arms and torso.
A sort of broken gasp slipped from your mouth when First's hand slid between your legs, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. Your hips stuttered at the sensational onslaught—toes curling, muscles contracting, breath puffing in the warm air—and it was nearly enough to make you sob.
Don't stop, you wanted to whisper, to plead, but his hips gave a particularly passionate thrust and you found yourself momentarily unable to process anything but the thick cock nestled within your abdomen and the rapidly tightening coil just above it, until everything seemed to snap and you were halfheartedly muffling your noises against his neck, lips pressed tightly against damp flesh. First was next to groan, giving several on-and-off jerks before stilling, your core tingling as something warm and sticky splattered against your walls.
It's too much, not enough, and, against all odds, you keep breathing. It's hot and it's heavy, just enough to stay alive and keep any traitorous black spots from infecting your tear-blurred vision. Your body feels caught between dying and coming to life, slumped against the hero beneath you with muscles more akin to watery gruel than contracting fibers. He's almost as hot as your panting breaths, chest heaving right alongside yours, as if your heartbeats have synched and you're minutes away from cardiac arrest or some other innocuous medical disaster—
"—I'm going to die," you panted; recovering, thighs trembling, cunt clenching.
"Please don't," he said, with a smile that was a bit too pleading to be strictly for fun. "I won't survive."
Your head fell forward. You allowed yourself a sigh that was half to recover oxygen and half to let him know just how beat you were. You also allowed two fingers to tilt your chin up and a pair of lips to press against yours. First's kiss was as soft as he was; a vow and an apology wrapped in one simple gesture, while careful hands stroked up your hips and stomach and ribs, then back down until goosebumps pimpled in their wake.
"We should clean up," you murmured halfheartedly, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck with a soft chuckle. "Hylia forbid someone finds us."
"Indeed," was First's response as he made absolutely no effort to move. You wiggled your hips minutely, feeling his softened cock shift within you. You could have slid off of him, pressed another kiss to those soft lips, and dressed with no amount of grace, but your body refused to follow through, as if the feeling of warmth against your skin was more important than any sense of perceived decency. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't.
It took twenty embarrassing minutes for either of you to twitch into any sort of productive action. You were the first to slip to the side, cringing at the cooling slick between your legs and wondering if braving the freezing lake water was worth getting clean. Eventually, First hauled himself up and offered his hand to you in a gesture so chivalric it almost brought tears to your eyes.
The walk back to camp was a quiet one. Wild was nowhere to be seen, likely having traipsed off to create more mischief elsewhere. You didn't mind, not when a certain pink-haired hero glanced over and made a face of pure disgust.
"Get a damn room," Legend hissed, eyeing your intertwined hands. He didn't know, and maybe he never would.
You and First exchanged a look.
