Japanese!Actress Anon Meme!

[jactressanon]

J!ACTRESS ANON MEME!!!

You know how there are so many different JE!fic anon memes out there? Well, what about their leading ladies? They deserve as much fic love as the boys do. Which is where this comes in!

Request in the comments! Anon is on, IP logging is off.

Who I Want: (Girl or girls or girl/girl or girl/boy or whatever related to the

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[anonymous]

Privacy. Kiri/Wanko, NC-17 (note: I missed a couple episodes of the drama and haven't seen the SP. Hopefully I didn't screw up any details.)

“He went that way!” Wanko declares in a whisper that’s halfway to being a shout.

She’s hiding behind the corner of a building and peeking around to sniff for a trail, and in the process her fluffy black and white skirt is flouncing up to show more of her thighs. Kiri does his best not to look, focusing instead on chastising her for being obvious. If Tamura finds out they’ve been following him after work he’ll never trust them again, regardless of their good intentions.

Or Wanko’s, anyway. Kirishima knows when to respect a man’s privacy. In a flash of irritation over being dragged into Wanko’s latest scheme, he brushes past her to hurry down the road, so that they can catch up enough to follow the guy with their eyes, instead of relying on Wanko sniffing awkwardly in public.

But instead of dashing off down the street, he finds himself tumbling to the ground, with his puppy-like coworker landing on top of him.

“What the hell?” he grumbles, not realizing until he tries to pull away that one of the frilly white ribbons that go down the side of her skirt like the ribbons on corsets has somehow become entangled with his own belt. He tugs at it to see where it gives to try to get it out.

Belatedly spotting the problem, Wanko shouts, “Oh no!” and plunges her own hands in to try to get it out while going off on one of what Kiri has dubbed a Wankologue. He doesn’t bother trying to listen, distracted by her flustered little hands tugging around his belt, his mind supplying unhelpful imagery of those delicate fingers, complete with a manicure of various national flags, wrapping around his cock, which decides to rise to half mast for the occasion.

Fuck. If she keeps going, she’s bound to notice, he thinks, and quickly, desperately gives the ribbon a yank. It comes free with an awful ripping sound, and Kiri finds himself staring at the thighs he’d so valiantly not been looking at earlier, only to discover that her stockings are held up by frilly bands around her soft, pale thighs that Kiri has learned from the Internet are called garters.

She shrieks and pulls the tattered skirt over her now-exposed panties, but her words have nothing to do with modesty. “Kiri-san, this skirt was expensive! I expect you to buy me a new one!”

“If you didn’t wear stupid frilly shit like that, this wouldn’t have happened to begin with,” Kirishima grumbles back.

People are staring, so he helps a ranting Wanko to her feet and tries to figure out how to get her skirt to at least not gape out to show the whole world her underwear. But the eyelets that had held the ribbons have ripped completely free of the skirt. He tries to wrap the ribbons around the entire skirt, but Wanko wails that it looks awful and she can’t be seen like this and it’s Kiri-san’s fault anyway so he should carry her.
At this rate, the people on the street seem ready to have him arrested for molestation, and they’ve seen far more of Wanko’s pretty thighs than he thinks anybody should ever get to see, so he picks her up bridal style, with the rip turned toward his body, and carries her off down the least-populated route he can find to her house while she tucks the teared edges firmly against his side and wraps her arms around his neck, whining the whole while.

Despite the effort it takes to carry her like this, a small part of Kiri’s mind is still excited over the sight of Wanko’s thighs, and his stupid erection won’t go away. Wanko’s ranting is almost a relief, he thinks, because so far she hasn’t noticed anything amiss.