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To the follow up my previous request, if possible I would also like to share a fic request!😶 Imagine KaiAo being married with Aoko aware of his husband's night time job and kinda being ok with it. She is Kid Task Force and there is a heist where a male newbie keeps hitting on her. Kid (or Kai) sees this, gets jealous, leads her to a closet (or closed space) when she is chasing him and takes her then & there😍 Being possessive about how she is only his❤❤❤😍😘 Sry if I asked 2 much & thnks a ton

Possessive Kaito/Kid fantasies in the brain. Dead 🥵

NSFW, minors DNI.

Taken (KidAo/KaiAo)

.

At some point in their chaotic life she’s considered this. This possibility. One of those nights, Task Force deployed, red hot pursuit, she slinks out of the group, hides in a dark room, tucked in his cape like a secret as it should and must or they’re dead.

And she’s almost entirely correct, for she doesn’t slink out; he steals her. Together with the target gem he steals her. Team in frantic search for their head, absolutely no fucking clue she’s being fucked in a penthouse janitor closet, so goddamn wet she should be ashamed of herself.

“B-Baka-aito!” Her mewls are barely coherent under desperate chokes of air, “What the hell are you— P-Please, can you at least—hah—wait until we're back—”

“ ‘M not waiting, no.” His chuckle in her mouth sends shivers down her spine, low and full of patented menace. He cups the base of her neck, pulls her into a sloppy kiss. “Gon’ fuck you right here and fuck you harder at home.”

She should be ashamed, should be very ashamed, that those words make her clamp her thighs harder around his hips, soles digging his ass. Him fucking into her, rough.

The radio strapped on her arm crackles.

“Aoko-san! Where are you?”

She flinches at the unwelcome interruption. He doesn’t slow down.

“What's his name.” Of course he notices.

"Y-You don't know?" She taunts despite her debauched state, ears hyperaware of the obscene squelching sounds of clashing pelvis. "Didn't do your homework? Thought you're better than th—"

"What's his name, Aoko." The bite in his tone is so impeccably sharp that she flinches a second time, fingernails raking harsh imprints across the fabric of his shoulders. "Can't think straight I, ah— give a name."

"Nobu—Nobunaga. New recruit—"

"New recruit?" She stumbles when he drops one thigh, sole against the floor hardly keeping her upright. Without room for protest, he spins her so she faces the wall, dips her spine down so her lower back arches, ass in the air. "You're killing me."

A lewd moan trickles out of her throat but is muffled by two fingers as he rams into her balls deep at a punishing pace. She fails to notice when he’s removed his gloves, prickle of cold pad of skin gliding over her warm wet tongue. “That what he calls you now? Your first name? Disrespecting the chief? Does he know who you are?” He hisses against the shell of her ear, teeth gritted like a man scorned. “Know you’re taken?”

She hears another crackle from the communication device, but that is easily drowned by the savage thrash of hips against her ass and the squelch of his fingers in her mouth as she suckles desperately. He keels over her small frame, voice low and spiteful as he mumbles with a primal sense of possessiveness, “Know I take you like this every single night?”

Fuck, she and her urgency to come right about now.

Everything's moving too fast and too slow, the cramped closet tipping before her eyes as his fingers vacate her mouth to grasp her hair and pull. The only indication they’re far from discovery is that no one has yet to break the hinges of the door behind him. The Thief, born to pick up the faintest sounds, perceives no footfalls, no elevator chimes. The unanswered radio static is the least of their concerns. Only jiggling belt and silver chains, only slapping skin and high-pitched whimpers. Scandalous sounds that are certainly seeping through the cracks of the door and bouncing off the walls of the hallway, so indiscreet it can permanently blemish his stealth record.

Only if there’s anyone around to hear them.

“If it’d take your Task Force this long to find us, we could— fuck you’re getting tighter— we could do this more frequently, hm?”

“Idiot— They’re almost he-ere. They're t-trained to— Ah, faster! Gonna cum—!”

“Shit!” A surge of warm slick coats his cock but he continues pounding, continues until his own cum paints her walls in violent thrusts. Their knees buckle at the sensation of sticky liquid spurting inside her, muscle quivering under his hard, firm grip. “Th-There it is,” he rasps in her neck, hips stuttering a slow, broken rhythm, fucking into her everything he has. “There you go, shit, s’ fucking hot.”

He releases her after a few moments, careful and gentle, as if the man who has fucked her soul out of her body is a man different from the one pulling out of her, caressing her backside like a cat being tamed. How he so easily switches between two opposing personalities never fails to astound her, long history notwithstanding.

Her knuckles meet his lips after he pivots her around, and it takes a moment for her to process his impending question, what with the blissed out state she’s in. “But you know what’s hotter?” She’s halfway sane as she finds her thumb and index finger pulled to trace the base of his ring finger through his now worn gloves, where she feels the ridged imprint of a band.

He smirks at the flash of realization dawning upon the head of the Kid Task Force, her sapphire eyes brimming at him with all-knowing familiarity.

“If you wear your matching one next time,” he tells his wife.

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