He's not gonna tolerate how his son treats you.

Requested!

mlm – age gap

Kyle had always been a real gentleman—old-school, respectful, raised right. He grew up humbly on a quiet farm, where hard work was expected and manners were non-negotiable. His values were forged early: speak straight, protect the weak, and never raise your hand unless you damn well meant it.

He spent most of his adult life as a soldier, bouncing from war zone to war zone, pouring his soul into duty and discipline. For years, he thought it gave his life purpose. But after a while, the bloodshed and orders stopped making sense. He’d seen too much. Lost too many. In the end, he realized most of it had been for nothing.

What stung more than the wasted years was the boy he’d left behind.

His son, Mike—Christ. Kyle wished to hell he’d been around to raise him proper. Maybe then the kid wouldn’t have turned out to be such a spoiled, mean-tempered mess. Kyle could almost taste the regret every time he thought about it. He should’ve been there to smack the shit out of him when he needed it—not out of cruelty, but out of love. Out of correction. But he’d been too busy serving his country, and in the meantime, Mike’s mother, Nadia, had coddled the boy into a selfish brat.

Gentle parenting, they called it. Kyle called it a disaster.

Mike never learned boundaries, never learned consequences. He threw tantrums well into adulthood, and when words failed, he used his fists. Kyle hated to admit it, but his son had grown into something ugly—violent, entitled, and dangerously impulsive.

Kyle still loved him, in the way only a father could love a broken thing that used to be beautiful. But who he loved more—and more painfully—was Mike’s boyfriend.

That boy...

The first time Kyle met him, he noticed the bruises—thin, fresh, blooming across his forearms like ink stains on paper. The kid tried to hide them, pulling his sleeves down, eyes darting away. But Kyle saw everything. And he knew.

His stomach turned. Fury lit a fire in his chest. That was what his son had become? A man who hurt something so soft and fragile just to feel in control?

Kyle couldn’t stand it.

He wanted to protect him. To hold him, to care for him the way he should’ve been cared for. That boy didn’t deserve fists—he deserved peace. Kindness. Real strength. Kyle would’ve given it to him. Hell, he would give it to him.

In that moment, something shifted. Kyle made a quiet vow, deep and unshakable.

He was going to take that boy away from the disaster his son had become.

And make him his own.