Random Imagines (Multifandom)

It's Just so Hard, Buck.- Preserum Stucky

TW: cutting, self hatred, offensive homophobic slurs

Word count- 3046. I know, it's a long one. Brace yourselves.

Once again, Steve Rogers had found himself in another fight. It wasn't even his fault, this time at least. He was simply walking home from the convenient store with a small bag, holding a canister of pale concealer. No, he doesn't wear makeup, but it's getting close to summer months and if he doesn't want Bucky to think he's crazy, he's going to have to cover his arms.

One of his usual bullies, Jerry Spicer, had stopped him, taking a look at what was in the bag he was carrying. When the boy saw he was carrying cosmetics, he immediately assumed they were for Steve. But they weren't. Not in the way he thought, at least.

"What are you? A fuckin' fag? Does little Stevie Rogers wear make up, to cover his ugly fuckin' face?" This already had Steve on the verge of tears. "No! I-I'm not, Jerry! I was getting it for a-a buddies gal," he had tried to defend himself, to no avail.

"Sure," the man sneered, nowhere near convinced, "Well, I think you're just a stupid queer. Probably go around offerin' to fuck every guy you see."

Steve tried to take the bag back, only to have it thrown across the alley, effectively smashing the small, glass container. The tall, burly man walked up to him. Blue eyes met brown, and Steve got socked in the jaw, knocking him to the ground in the process. He tried to get back up, quickly falling back down with a kick to his, prominent, rib cage.

"Next time don't be so damn sissy, boy," the man hissed, before walking away.

***

Concealer gone, bruised, cut, and anxious, Steve decided it would be best to wear his long sleeves for as long as possible. Or, at least, until Bucky made him stop for fear of him getting sick.

Steve walked the rest of the way home, somehow managing not to have an asthma attack on the way. Walking down the street hurt, his thighs burning from falling (efficiently pressing the sensitive, fresh cuts he had made that morning). A couple of his ribs were probably bruised, if not fractured, and his jaw hurting like hell.

He got up to the house, peeking in from the window, trying to see if Bucky was even there or not. He wasn't so Steve made his way inside, locking the door when he got in. He shucked his jacket and shoes by the front door, making his way to the bedroom. He looked around his chest of drawers for a while, attempting to find a thin long sleeve and pajama pants.

He found the pajama pants, but he couldn't find the shirt. Where is it? He asked himself, looking around the room. All Steve's attempts to find the shirt failed. Figuring it had to be in the wash, he settled on a thin short sleeve.

He got his stuff, grabbed a towel from the hall closet, went to the bathroom and locked the door. He started the shower, stripping down, and stepped in. Of course, the water was ice cold since they couldn't afford the expenses for a water heater. He washed his light blond hair, and pale, small body, as quickly as he could.

When he stepped out of the shower, he immediately wrapped his towel around his waist. After all, he didn't want to catch a small chill from standing in his bathroom, naked of all things. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long while, picking out his highest insecurities.

I'm small, tiny, extremely pale. I get sick really easily, I can't work, I can barely be happy most of the time, always get myself in fights... Christ, no wonder Buck doesn't love me. I'm just a stupid faggot. I'm a burden. I don't even know why Bucky has me around anymore. If I was him, I would have thrown my scrawny ass out ages ago.

He stood there for a good ten minutes, before stopping. Once he did stop, however, he was searching for something he knew Bucky would kill him for. He was searching around in the cabinets for the blade he bought at the Army/Navy surplus store, just a few blocks down.