Kunikida Doppo X Reader - Blog Posts

☆ married man

kunikida doppo x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: nobody at the agency knew that kunikida was married, and kunikida is reminded why he never tells anyone. (meant to be viewed as romantic)

the lowercase is intentional !

- warnings: suicide [mentioned once].

there was a ring always seated on kunikida's ring finger. many at the armed detective agency noticed it, but they didn't question the man on it. many wondered why kunikida had it on his finger in the first place, but they knew that if they asked about it they wouldn't get an answer. kunikida wasn't one to openly talk about his private life and matters.

of course, there were people like dazai who always questioned and annoyed kunikida. ever since dazai noticed the ring on his partner's finger, he didn't stop teasing the other about it.

"oh nice ring! it seems like you have a mrs don't you, kunikida?" dazai asked the blonde, a laugh escaping his lips after he finished speaking. the only answer dazai got was a grunt.

dazai also tried multiple times to look into kunikida's notebook, trying to pry for something about a spouse. his efforts were of no use, however. it seemed like kunikida was prepared for every situation regarding his colleagues (or rather just dazai) finding out about his spouse.

nobody, not even dazai, could crack kunikida into making him talk about the ring that he wore. no matter how much attempts were made, kunikida kept quiet, not letting even a single peep escape about a spouse.

however, on one unassuming day, a certain visitor came to the agency. it was a young man that nobody knew, perhaps a new client or person who needed the help of those with abilities. but, all those ideas were wrong. someone in the agency knew this man very well.

"i'm very sorry to disturb your hard work.. but kunikida left his lunch at home today." the man explained politely to dazai, who just happened to open the door for him, holding a wrapped bento box in his hands.

dazai's face turned into a wicked grin, knowing that he could take this as the opportunity to tease kunikida. this teasing was probably going to last forever now.

dazai could see the glint of a ring resting on the man's ring finger, and his grin only grew. the ring was similar to kunikida's and now everything made sense. this stranger and kunikida were married.

"kunikida!" dazai called out, turning to face the inside of the agency's office now. "there's someone here for you!" dazai continued to call out, trying to keep himself from laughing.

kunikida was confused, he didn't expect someone to be at the door for him. then again, he wouldn't be surprised if dazai was just lying to him about someone waiting for him.

the blonde haired man walked over to the front door, standing besides dazai to look at the person standing on the other side. kunikida was shocked, to say the less. he didn't expect his husband to be here of all people.

"[name]? love? what are you doing here?" kunikida muttered under his breath, trying to be subtle so dazai didn't hear what he had just said. of course, it was of no use. dazai heard what kunikida had said and his smirk just continued to grow.

"you forgot your lunch at home." [name] replied, a soft smile on his face as he held out the bento box for kunikida to take. [name]'s voice was clear, he wasn't muttering like how his husband was.

kunikida sighed and he took the box from [name]'s hands, smiling back at him before nodding. he was grateful that his husband was so kind and considerate, but now his secret was going to be spilled to everyone in the agency because of dazai's big mouth.

"thank you, love. i'll see you later at home, okay?" kunikida responded. he then leaned towards [name] and gave the other man a kiss on the forehead. he figured he might as well since dazai probably already knew what was going on.

then, [name] walked away from the agency and he made about his day as usual. he had no worries in the world currently, unlike his husband was going to have in a moment.

kunikida shut the door and he turned towards dazai, his eyes narrowed on the brunette. "you do not utter a word of this to anyone, got it?" kunikida spoke, his tone harsh and authoritative. it was a similar tone to that of when he was a maths teacher.

dazai just nodded to kunikida, putting on a facade that he was going to stick to kunikida's words. but, everyone and their mother knew that that was not going to be the case.

"did you guys know that-" dazai started speaking as he walked back into the agency's office. there was a wide smirk still plastered on his face. "kunikida has a husband!"

the brunette's voice was heard from multiple detectives. everyone turned to look at dazai, a few of them with shock on their faces - some more than others.

"oh? a husband?" yosano asks, raising an eyebrow as she looked over at kunikida. kunikida was standing not so far behind dazai, an unamused expression on his face. "i always figured you were married. i mean, the ring on your finger gives it away." yosano continues, grinning at the married man.

a string of whispers followed yosano's comments. the other members were all talking to eachother about this news, wanting to find out about kunikida's husband, wanting to meet the man too.

"i knew you were married this whole time, kunikida." ranpo continued speaking, standing up and giving the younger man a pat on the shoulder. "my detective skills helped me figure it out a while ago." ranpo hums.

"now that we know, it would be rude not to introduce us to the man of honour properly!" dazai said, putting an arm around kunikida's shoulder. kunikida immediately shrugged the other man off of him.

kunikida pushed up his glasses and he sighed, shaking his head at all of these comments. "you just met him, dazai. i don't need to, or quite frankly want to, let you met him again." kunikida muttered, looking down to narrow his eyes at dazai.

the man pouted back at his parter, the smirk now wiped off of his face. it seemed that his efforts had gone to waste. dazai was definitely upset now. he wanted to meet kunikida's husband, see if he was 'double suicide' material.

"what a shame!" dazai cried, wiping a fake tear off of his face as he slumped down onto the floor. he couldn't believe kunikida's hurtful words.

"what is your husband like, kunikida?" someone asked. "is he handsome?" another person asked. "can we please meet him?" dazai asked kunikida again.

kunikida just sighed for the nth time. he was now bombarded with questions about his partner, not having time to answer one before getting asked another.

and thus, kunikida was reminded why he had never mentioned his spouse in the first place.

☆ author's note: hope you guys enjoy :) kunikida is literally my husband.. we've been together for almost 3 years actually ☝️

☆ masterlist ▪︎ request

CONTAINS: mentions of a fictitious car crash, the occasional threat of death, gender neutral reader

While some may disagree, nothing is as painful as boredom.

Now more than ever you believed this, seated in the back corner of your classroom, cheek resting in the palm of your left hand. You didn’t even want to take this class; World Music has nothing to do with your major. However, it fulfilled some stupid university credit that everyone needs in order to graduate. Glancing down towards your empty notebook, you grabbed a pen with your free hand.

big drum = big sound

You scrawled the four words down before lazily looking back up at your professor. He had spent the last 20 minutes explaining the difference between the same two drums, and you weren’t excited to listen to the rest of his lecture… So, you didn’t. Your focus shifted from the tall, orange-haired man in the front of your class to the bickering just outside it, head tilting slightly to the side. The walls in the basement of your university’s Fine Arts building were thin, so even though your seat was situated at the other end of the classroom’s closed door, the pattering of footsteps still made its way through. Along with that, you could hear the tick of the clock that was hung up above the teacher’s desk at the front reading 1:27 pm—you still had 23 minutes left of this horribly boring class. What that also meant is that any student walking through the halls must be from a class that was let out exceedingly early.

Only two pairs of footsteps echoed outside the classroom, a pair of bickering voices accompanying them. If a class got out early, surely there would be more—both in terms of footsteps and voices. Maybe two students were arriving to a class early? This far in the semester, it was safe to say this would be a common occurrence if true, however, you had never heard anyone pass by at this time before today. These two weren’t students arriving early to a class, or leaving early from another. Two people wouldn’t be arriving 30 minutes late, at that point they’d skip the class. You put the tip of your pen between your teeth as you thought.

Maybe the pair had been getting out late? The basement of the fine arts building does house just about all of the campus’ art classes, maybe they had a project coming up and decided to stay and work late. No, all of the art classrooms are situated to the left of the basement, these two were coming from the right. Perhaps they were lost kids, visiting colleges for the following year? Maybe professors, bickering over lazy students and assignments they had yet to grade. Or maybe, piggybacking on your earlier idea, the two had come early to work on a project outside of class…

“Are you still with us?” You realized Mr. Patrick had stopped banging his drums when he called out your name. Oops, you zoned out. Your coworkers always warn you that you tend to zero in on one thing and need to work on being more aware of your surroundings. A small smile pulls at your face. Maybe you should drop out of school: you’re learning more from your current part-time job than your stupid World Music class.

“Yes, sorry. Just listening to the difference in the drums.” I’m listening to the muffled conversation happening in the halls, you thought to yourself. The pen you were chewing on a moment earlier was placed next to your notebook.

Your teacher hummed in response. “Is that so? Then maybe you can explain the difference for the rest of your classmates.” Maybe you can explain the need for this class— you held your tongue, choosing to clear your throat instead of being gifted a lecture from your professor.

“I’m willing to try,” your voice was lighthearted and playful as the hand that was holding your head up dropped to cover your suspicious lack of notes. “While both drums are marketed the same and share the same size, the one on the left has a richer, deeper sound when played,” You almost let an embarrassed smile slip as you improvised your explanation. “I would guess that there was a miscalculation during its production, and the left drum is likely a tiny bit bigger than the right, creating said deeper sound.” By the end of your explanation, your cheeks were slightly tinted. While you had coasted through school by bullshitting answers, you truly had no idea if you could get away with this one. Damn those two outside of the class, this wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t been here.

The longer the teacher didn’t respond, the worse your red cheeks got—and your cruel professor remained silent for what felt like a while after your little speech (which, in reality, had only been a few seconds).

“So you had been listening, glad to hear it. Yes, the difference is…” as Mr. Patrick went back to explaining the drums, you let out a sigh of relief, head dropping ever so slightly as your eyes closed. The confidence you had just shown as you gave your answer was an act, one you weren’t sure you could’ve kept up if he had urged you to continue. You couldn’t afford to zone out again: you had to let the strangers outside go.

With newfound determination, you grasped your pen once more and looked back up to your ginger music professor. Paying attention isn’t that hard, you can do this.

At least, that’s what you hoped, until the same strangers that had helped soothe your boredom for a moment stopped just outside the door to your classroom. You clicked your tongue in disdain—it felt as though they were tempting you, telling you you’re so close, just think a little harder! Those assholes—no way would you do that again. You had a feeling Mr. Patrick wouldn’t be as kind if you were caught zoning out for a second time. Besides, it hadn’t even been five minutes. Whoever was bickering outside your classroom could choke for all you cared, as long as they stopped distracting you.

“Fine, then let’s just ask!” was the first full sentence you could make out from the pair before the cheap wooden door on the back left corner of your small white classroom swung open.

This was definitely distracting you.

Glancing over from your place in the back right corner, you finally got to see the people that caused you to anxiously ramble in front of your whole class even if you’d done so correctly and confidently, the assholes you’d end yourself.

Holy shit.

Your eyes widened when you noticed who had burst into your classroom: a bandaged brunet and a bespectacled blond, two of your coworkers. You wondered if you had ever looked away so quickly before this moment. It suddenly made sense, why the bickering seemed so familiar and why you couldn’t pinpoint the reason for the pair’s appearance. They weren’t supposed to be here, and you made sure to scratch a quick fuck you into your notebook so you’d remember this later. After all, if you forgot, how could you make sure to complain to your boss?

“May I help you?” Mr. Patrick was careful to put down the two drums he had been cradling very delicately as he addressed the two men that had barged in.

Feeling embarrassed, you placed your hand flat against your cheek, turning your head down and hoping your face was hidden. You can’t believe these two would pull such a stunt as this, especially the blond. Wasn’t he a teacher at one point? Shouldn’t he know not to interrupt a class?

“We’re sorry to-“ before the aforementioned blond could properly explain the situation, his brunet partner started talking over him.

“I believe you can help us, you see, we’re looking for a student that goes here,” he punctuated the sentence with your full name. Seeing as the teacher had recently said your name to humiliate ask you a question, every student in the class turned to the back right corner, directly to where you sat—or, rather, where you slouched, as you had curled your body in on itself in an attempt to hide.

“Is that so? May I ask why?” You silently cheered, hoping Mr. Patrick would scare these two morons away so you wouldn’t have to deal with all of your peers’ eyes directed towards the safe back corner you resided in.

But of course, nothing was that simple. The tall brunet you had come to occasionally appreciate at work started tearing up, ready to give the performance of a lifetime.

“It’s hard to vocalize,” he started by stuttering. “You see, we came to tell them that their dear sister has…” the man paused briefly as you peaked through your fingers with an amused smile, ready to see how this would play out. “Their sister got into a car crash,” and he burst into tears. Quite the actor, but it’s a good thing you are, too.

You didn’t really have a choice but to play along. What were you supposed to say? ‘No, he’s lying; Please resume your boring ass lecture?’ So, you contorted your face to make it seem like you were about to cry (fake crying was something you had yet to master) and pulled your hands down your face. “She what?” Spinning from your spot, you looked directly at the two.

“We need you to come with us, so we may escort you to the hospital where she is being held.” The blond did not look comfortable with the brunet’s show, and simply walked out of the classroom as he continued.

You’re the worst, you wanted to say. Instead, you stood up, packed your nearly empty notes into your backpack, and followed your blond coworker into the hall.

“You see, sir, they need to visit their sister. If you can excuse their absence this once…”

“Of course, I won’t take any points off; This is an emergency.” You rolled your eyes as you overheard your teacher’s voice. You were supposed to save me, Mr. Patrick.

The tall brunet slipped into a hallway and immediately his eyes dried, a cocky smirk appearing on his face.

“I hope you get into a car accident,” you whisper, swinging a backpack strap over your shoulder as you start following the blond, who now stood at the end of the hallway. He stood impatiently, as was indicated by the tapping of his foot and him checking his watch repeatedly.

“Not the first time I’ve gotten that.”

“I find that extremely easy to believe.”

The two annoyances in the hall were none other than Kunikida Doppo and Dazai Osamu: employees at your part-time job.

AKA: the only people that could make you miss the torturous boredom.