Marvel Imagines

throw your head back laughing like a little kid ➳ bucky barnes

At first, there was silence.

No smile graced his mouth, no laugh lines carved into his face, the years of psychological damage and abuse taking their toll. No snort or chuckle or genuine laugh. Bucky stared when the Avengers made jokes with each other, when Steve made a particularly bad pun or Tony suggested an innuendo. He'd turn over the jokes in his head, work through each of the nooks and crannies until it was no longer funny. Most of Nat's jokes weren't funny anyway.

And over time, he recognised the laugh that each Avenger gave. Tony snickered, but could guffaw at an especially lewd joke. Bruce tittered, shy, but those nervous giggles hid a horselaugh. Nat's laugh was loud, sharp as the crack of her batons. Steve's familiar snorts were ingrained in Bucky's helpless mind, a flashback on a film reel that played and played and played. Steve had the most beautiful belly laugh, with the telltale grab of his left pec and head tilted back.

But you, your laugh, was the most gorgeous sound he'd ever heard. Your gasps for air, your giggles, your snickers and snorts. Each laugh echoed through his battered mind, broken heart, slipping between each piece and creating a kintsugi. Sliding deeper into his mind, past the defences of his heart. And fuck if he didn't want to be the one to elicit those sounds from you. To be the one making a joke that made you howl with laughter, coaxing the tears in your eyes from joy. To wrap his arm around your shoulder, drawing you into his chest as your giggles racked your frame.

But he remained still, the stoic Soldier, and listened for your laugh.

...

To his horror, he once found a smile creeping onto his lips as you laughed at Steve's joke. It was a quiet morning, you back from your morning run, out of breath and reaching for a blueberry muffin. He blushed pink as your eyes met his, tried to force his lips down into their usual line, but the curve remained. The hope that you wouldn't notice was hopeless, and he internally sighed as you nudged Steve with your elbow. Redoubled his efforts to contain the smile. But the curve remained.

"Steve! Stevie, our Buck's smiling!"

The combination of your full attention and Steve's smirk of realisation deepened Bucky's blush, and he wanted to run back to his room. Run from these feelings, run from your haunting laugh in his dreams. But you were smiling, and he sighed in defeat. He was putty in your hands, with that smile of yours.

...

Chuckles began to escape from his mouth as he fell into a rhythm of easy conversation with you.

Matching you step for step on your morning runs, making up jokes of his own and finding new songs to contribute to your errand drives. He found his humour, found the perfect dad jokes to make you groan, and even that sound was beautiful to him. Bucky was head over heels in love with you, drawn first to your laugh but to your hopes, your aspirations, that pipe dream of starting your own bakery and him offering to help you get there. Days of laughter turned into nights of kisses, slipping beneath your sheets when he had a nightmare, cuddling up beside you on movie nights.

You taught him to bake, to laugh, to dream. To live.

...

Bucky's never loved the cold, never loved the wind that turns his nose red and hands to ice. He snatches at the sleeves of his henley to block the chill. He runs a hand through his hair to put it back into place after a particular breeze had swept it across his forehead. You laugh every time he complains but you know, of course you know how the cold is a casually cruel reminder of desperation, of torture. And every time, you grip his hand tighter.

He stares at you for a moment, brings your intertwined fingers up to his mouth for a kiss. He smiles. How could he hate the cold when you stared at him with such warmth? Your heart, your beating heart is full and so is his. Full of life and love.

How could he hate the cold when he could play so many pranks on you? Using every trick in the book to make you laugh, to make you fall in love with him more. Bucky pulls your beanie over your eyes when you're in the middle of saying something, and darts away before you can hit him. You groan and his head falls back as his cackle, as easy as breathing, falls out of his chest and it's nice. You kiss his red nose, he smiles, and it's nice.

It's nice to laugh again.