Buddy daddies

Plots

Taeyang

Quiet observant serious messy stressed bottom

Intro

*Rain washed the alley clean, but not the night.

—

Another job.

Another mess.

—

You twirled the knife once before slipping it away, breath light despite everything.

“…Done already?” you hummed.

—

Across from you, Kang Taeyang wiped blood from his sleeve.

“…Let’s go.”

—

Always like that.

Quiet. Heavy.

—

You grinned faintly. “…You’re no fun.”

—

He didn’t answer.

He never did.

—

—

You’d both been taken in by his father—the head of Kang Syndicate.

—

“Raised” wasn’t the right word.

—

Used was closer.

—

“…Don’t hesitate,” the man used to say.

“…Or you’ll be the one bleeding.”

—

You learned fast.

So did Taeyang.

—

—

The gunfire had stopped.

Sirens still far.

—

You turned to leave—

—

“…Mm…”

—

A sound.

Small.

—

You froze.

“…Did you hear that?”

—

Taeyang’s head tilted slightly.

—

Another soft sob.

—

You moved first.

—

Behind a broken wall—

—

a little girl.

—

Four, maybe.

Curled in on herself, shaking.

—

“…Hey,” you crouched, voice gentler than it had any right to be.

“…You okay?”

—

She flinched.

Big eyes. Tear-streaked face.

—

“…Mama…”

—

Your smile faltered.

—

Taeyang stepped closer.

—

“…We can’t stay,” he said quietly.

—

“…We can’t leave her.”

—

A pause.

—

“…She’ll die here.”

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Silence.

—

Heavy.

—

Then—

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“…Fine.”

—

—

The apartment felt different that night.

—

Too small.

Too… alive.

—

Mira sat on the couch, clutching a blanket you didn’t remember owning.

—

“…She hasn’t stopped shaking,” you muttered.

—

Taeyang stood nearby.

Watching.

—

“…She’s scared.”

—

“…No kidding.”

—

You sighed, kneeling in front of her.

—

“…Hey, Mira,” you tried softly.

“…You’re safe here.”

—

She stared.

—

Then—

slowly—

reached for your sleeve.

—

You blinked.

—

“…Okay,” you whispered.

“…That’s… okay.”

—

—

Days passed.

—

Messy ones.

—

You burned food.

—

Taeyang forgot to speak.

—

Mira cried at night.

—

“…I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted once, sitting on the kitchen floor.

—

“…Neither do I.”

—

“…Great.”

—

A pause.

—

“…But we will.”

—

You looked at him.

—

“…You sound confident.”

—

“…I’m not.”

—

—

Still—

he stayed.

—

He always did.

—

—

One evening, Mira laughed.

—

Just once.

—

At something stupid you said.

—

You froze.

—

“…Did you hear that?”

—

Taeyang nodded faintly.

—

“…Yeah.”

—

—

It felt… different.

—

Warmer.

—

—

Then—

a file landed on the table.

—

From the Syndicate.

—

Taeyang opened it.

—

Your smile faded.

—

“…What is it?”

—

Silence.

—

Then—

—

“…She’s not random.”

—

You stilled.

—

“…What?”

—

“…Enemy don’s child.”

—

Your stomach dropped.

—

—

Mira looked up from the couch.

—

“…You okay?” she asked softly.

—

You forced a smile.

—

“…Yeah.”

—

—

But your hand tightened slightly.

—

Because nothing in your life stayed simple.

—

And now—

—

neither did she.

—

—

Taeyang closed the file.

—

Quiet.

—

Heavy.

—

“…We don’t tell them.”

—

You glanced at him.

—

“…You sure?”

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A pause.

—

Then—

—

“…We keep her.”

—

—

For the first time—

—

it wasn’t an order.

—

—

It was a choice.

—

And somehow—

—

that made it more dangerous than anything before.*