Bucky X Reader Oneshots

Wrapped Around His Finger.

Warnings: Mentions of death (Minor character) Non-con, abuse 

When you were nineteen your father had married you off to one of New York's scariest mob bosses, Brock Rumlow was now your husband, now of four years, now had a sone in your first year in the marriage, of course, you loved your son dearly, but he wasn't created by love, Brock hadn't loved you as he claimed, and from what you could tell wasn't really interested in your son, and when he did talk to your son he treated him like a dog, at the moment you and Grant (your son) were on the couch in the huge living room, you were reading a book to the three-year-old.

"And the dragon swooped down on the village and went..."

"BOOM!" he yelled, jumping up and down.

You smiled getting him to calm down, the door in the foyer oped you heard it from the living room, you instinctively rolling your eyes knowing it was Brock, Grant jumped off of the couch and ran to Brock, Grant was a smart kid, and saw what his father would do to his mommy if he didn't do so, he remembers so vaguely what happened that he made sure that he always got to the foyer when his father came home.

"Daddy!" he shouted with fake amusement, throwing himself at his father's legs, but as usual Brock paid no real attention to his son, Grant took a step back following Brock.

"Aren't you supposed to be a bad kid?" Brock's gruff voice pierced through the cold air.

The three-year-old shook his head no "It's a weekend, mommy says that since I have no tutors tomorrow...so I can stay up longer."

Brock looked at you "And did Daddy say that this was okay." He clenched his jaw tight.

"No daddy don't! Don't blame Mommy!" Grant wined.

"Grant room now," Brock growled, Grant looked up at you, you nod not needing him to see what's going to happen he ran up the stairs.

"Y/n did I give the pass on Grant staying up on weekend nights?" he asked dangerously.

"Brock, listen I thought I would be okay."

"But you didn't ask me."

"Because I don't have to Brock, don't act like you-" you were cut off by a hand meeting your cheek.

"Like what?" he teased.

Tears stung in your eyes "Don't act like you care, Brock, you don't care about Grant, or me, ju-just let us leave."

He scoffed "And put you and my son in danger I don't think so."

"I am not safe here." you roll your eyes, you turned your back to him, he walked up behind you and grabbed a fist full of hair in his fist.

"You are not going to leave me." he threw you to the marble flooring, your body skitting across the cold freshly polished floor and hitting the sofa, "Now get ready for bed, meet me upstairs." witch actually meant go get in sleep close I'll come up after you, I'll get mad and fuck you, he turned away and walked to his office.

You pushed yourself up off of the ground, wiping some blood away from your lip, you walked up the stairs, in the foyer following the same steps as your son, you knocked on his dark oak door.

"Come in." you could hear that your baby boy was crying, you pushed the door open, and walked in sitting on the edge of his bed, and come threw his dark brown hair, he looked up at you and got up and clung to your body, squeezing you, "I'm sorry mama!" he cried.

"Shh, baby, it's not your fault." you hushed him.

"Mommy, why does daddy hate me?" he asked deep blue eyes looking up at you.