— help me with my zipper. haitani ran x reader. suggestive, reader wears a dress. wc ~300.
"hey, could you come help me with my zipper?"
you swear you hear ran enter the walk in closet faster than a dog hearing it's favorite word. if he had a tail, you imagine it would be wagging like crazy.
see, your husband loves to dote on you. it's his favorite pastime (even more than sleeping).
"of course, my love." his smooth voice rolls over your shoulder, saccharine and dipped in honey and adoration.
as he stands behind you facing the floor length mirror, his amethyst eyes salaciously drag over your body in it's reflection. as tired as his eyes look naturally, there swells a hunger beneath his lowered lashes that, even after being married for over a year, still leaves the back of your neck feeling warm.
ran's hands lay at your waist, a familiar touch that continues to seep comfort and a daring heat into your bones. his love hasn't seemed to waver at all since the moment he confessed it to you. his touch always conveys a deeper pleasure than his words.
you hear him hum appreciatively as his palms glide down to your hips, lengthy deft fingers flirtatiously squeezing you in his grasp. you let him have his fun, coyly catching his gaze in the mirror as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stave off the excitement vibrating under your skin.
you feel him move to the small of your back, where the aforementioned zipper sits unreachable to your own hands. ran puts the pull tab between his fingers, and slowly moves it.
only your dress starts to feel looser.
"i meant up, ran." you let out an airy giggle, because you should have known your husband would have something up his sleeve the moment you let him touch you.
"oh," he remarks quietly, like a tiptoe over the plush carpet in the bedroom, eyes heavy with mirth and hedonistic intention as his lips trail the curve of your shoulder with a feather light touch.
you feel a brush of his lilac hair over your ear, his next syllables dancing their way to your hazy mind.
— braiding hair is no easy task. haitani ran x reader. suggestive/nsfw. "sleeping in." ran is a menace (canon). brief pissy rindou appearance. wc: 862.
mornings with ran are never rushed, no denial of dozing back off for another hour (or two), no hurry to slip from the comfort of the bed to start the day.
which means sometimes things have to be done between the sheets if either of you are going to put yourselves together at all.
“raaan, stop i’m gonna mess up.” it’s a weak protest, laced with airy giggles and a smile that ran practically melts at. your fingers work through the long strands of his hair, parted into sections that you weave over your knuckles, kind of like the way ran has weaved himself into your life.
it’s loose, lackadaisical in it's effortlessness, but also not without purpose. with less dexterity than you prefer, but he’s running out of time to do his hair efficiently.
as you try to tame his sleep-tangled mane, ran insists on pretending like you’re not doing it at all, his hands finding your waist under the thin cover of silk to pull you closer, skin to skin, coaxing one of your legs up to rest over his hip, all the while peppering sweet kisses to your face.
he's nothing if not utterly distracting.
“so mess up,” he responds sleepily, voice still groggy and eyelids still heavy. he moves deliberately into your focus to capture your lips, soft and languid and greedy like he’s enjoying a sweet cup of coffee. “start over even.”
your eyes flutter shut at the touch of his lips, intoxicating in their own right because ran is a delightfully good kisser. even when you’re mad, he knows how to pull it right out of you and replace it with weightless pleasure.
still, you try to keep hold of the locks you’ve twisted into at least half of a braid, the movement restricted by the press of ran’s chest into your own. you sigh, out of both contentment and exasperation.
“i’m gonna have to if you keep making me lose my concentration.”
“mm, noted.” it’s then that ran moves his lips to the side of your neck, shifting his body weight over you and pressing his hips into your center. he’s hard.
your hands abandon his hair in favor of smoothing them over his torso and curling them around his shoulders. the sheets slip cooly over your bodies, pooling at your waists like water in a shallow basin and you sigh again, this time with more pleasure as your body warms with a different type of heat.
“but you said… you had something to do with rindou this afternoon.” it’s a fruitless attempt for your rationality to stay intact, to get ran to keep up with his commitment despite the haze clouding your judgment and your growing desire for him to stay right where he is.
“don’t see him coming to complain yet, have you?” ran’s breath fans over your neck, kissing over your jaw and working down to your collarbone to mouth at your chest. you arch into him on instinct, rolling your hips into his hard length to heighten the burning in your core.
you’re just about to moan into the room when suddenly there’s the sound of the bedroom door opening and you immediately tense.
as if he manifested it, rindou stands in the doorway with his hand on the knob, and ran politely shifts the silk sheets back up to cover you as he tosses a look over to his brother.
“morning, otōto. as you can see, i’m not quite ready yet.” his grin is apologetic enough, but there’s the expected smugness from his older brother authority mixed in. his lashes hang low over his tired eyes and the half weaved braid you were working on slowly unravels itself, a clear indication that there was no real intent to get out of bed yet.
“give me five minutes?”
you hear rindou sigh from the entrance, an annoyed yield to his brother’s quite predicable behavior. he knows five minutes is never enough time.
“just don’t bother. i’ll go do it myself.” the door is already half shut as ran calls out a chipper thanks to rindou for being ‘so thoughtful.’ you swear you hear the younger haitani curse from the hallway, but you have little time to dwell on it before ran’s pretty purple irises are back on you.
“well would ya look at that,” he teases, his hand wandering over the plush of your thigh to squeeze at your ass. “looks like my schedule just opened up.”
you groan at his jest, fighting off a smile that would only satisfy his hedonism. instead, you slide your fingers through the soft strands of black and blonde, further undoing your crumbling braid job. you’ll just have to braid it later.
“you’re the worst, you know that?”
just as you manage to get the last word out, you gasp from the way ran lets his hardened length press into you. there’s a flash of his pearly white teeth behind his salacious grin.
vampire!ran haitani loves marking you in more ways than one.
sure, he’s typical in the way he sinks his fangs into your neck so everyone you ever meet will know you’re his. that’s a mark of warning, possession, for others that dare lay eyes on you.
but he also marks you in other places; the swell of your breast, the curve of your hip, the tender spot on your inner thigh. those are marks of love, obsession, solely for him to indulge himself.
vampire!ran haitani and his loverboy tendencies would eventually lead him to the realization that he can’t live — ‘live’ — without you, but instead of proposing with a ring he’d propose to turn you himself so you never ever have to be without each other.
