meowmeow-motherfucker

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

hey, did you know that the world is a better place because of your creations and art and writing, no matter how niche or how many people see it

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

unstoppable force (desire to write) vs immovable object (tired)

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

Ok, I tried but I can't resist any longer. I'm sitting on the first three chapters of this and I love it so much. I want to share it now 🤭

Congressman/Thunderbolt Bucky Barnes x F!Congresswoman Reader.

Warnings/ratings/notes: language, political setting (literally I only know what Google, Hamilton and the West Wing has taught me!), yearning, longing, Bucky trying so hard to be better, he falls first - she falls harder, banter and arguing, enemies-to-lovers that’s really frustrated co-workers-to-lovers, a little Thunderbolt chaos.... I think that's it for now?

Word Count: 4k

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Strategic Interests - Chapter 1

You’re an ambitious Congresswoman. Progressive, blunt, brilliant... And utterly furious that Bucky Barnes, this former assassin-turned-Congressman within your party, is somehow beloved by the public despite being decorative at best.

And the worst part?

He knows he’s not as qualified. But he also knows he listens. He learns. And he watches you run circles around people with twice your power. He starts to wonder if he’s falling for the only person who won’t let him forget what he used to be - or who he still might become.

Chapter 1

He was flailing.

Going down like the Titanic and taking any remaining dignity with him. A pretty poster-boy Congressman with not a single unscripted thought in that (admittedly) gorgeous head. Mealy-mouthed. Hollow. Absolutely drowning. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the carnage.

“The rumours of wrongdoing are very worrying. They are… they’re very concerning. And worrying.”

Christ. It was getting worse. Like watching someone trip in slow motion, arms windmilling, a tray of drinks airborne. You winced sympathetically - but only a little. Then, with some considerable effort, you turned to the bank of microphones and cameras in front of you.

“If Director de Fontaine has nothing to hide,” you said, bright and clear and utterly lethal, “she should welcome the investigation. Transparency isn’t optional, especially when national security’s on the line. I intend to work with Congressman Gary to ensure we get the answers we’re owed.”

A flicker of a smile. A practiced nod. The press parting before you like the Red Sea. Behind you, Barnes was still muttering apologies.

He caught up to you down the corridor, away from the cameras.

“You could at least try to sound interested, Barnes,” you said, not breaking stride. “You get everything handed to you and still show up late to every goddamn meeting with the attention span of a houseplant.”

He didn’t flinch. Just smiled. That lazy, infuriating smile.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You didn’t look at him. Just kept walking.

“And you’re desperate when you’re flailing. Did that line come from a focus group too?”

He laughed quietly behind you, and you heard the rhythm of his footsteps quicken to catch up.

At the hearing room doors, he stepped ahead and held one open for you, all courtly manners and mischief.

“After you,” he said graciously.

You paused just long enough to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Congressman.”

“Anytime,” he murmured. You watched his eyes drop to your mouth as he spoke.

The hearing was already packed. You squeezed through the crowd, nodding a few hellos and tossing a few warm smiles around, and slipped into a row with a couple of spare seats. Barnes did a token sweep for another seat, then sat beside you anyway. You slid along a little more to make space, but his thigh still pressed against yours in the tight space.

He was watching the panel. You were watching everything else.

Not just the speakers, though you nodded along at the right moments, flipped through your briefing with quiet precision, underlined something with a swift drag of your pen. But your eyes tracked the room, the audience, the reactions. Calculated, clinical.

You looked bored, but he’d seen men put bullets in heads with less focus.

When Congressman Gary pivoted to the question of “unauthorised experimentation on enhanced individuals” - that’s when you started writing in earnest. Not the scattered notes of a bored politician trying to look busy. Your pen moved with purpose and resolve. He couldn’t help himself.

He leaned in.

“Taking names?” he murmured.

You didn’t look up. “Something like that.”

You crossed one leg over the other, the slit of your skirt slipping open. Without missing a beat, you tucked the hem under your notepad.

Next to you, Barnes shifted on the wooden bench - not uncomfortably, but deliberately. Like he was making sure you noticed.

“Do you mind?” you hissed, eyes still forward.

“Not at all,” he murmured, maddeningly calm. “I just think it’s funny.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed.

“The whole ice queen act,” he added, voice low. “You don’t wear it as well as you think.”

You didn’t answer - wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you turned back toward the front, just as Congressman Gary started dressing down Valentina.

He leaned closer. “Tell me again how I don’t belong here. I like the sound of you angry.”

“You’re pissing me off, Barnes. I should hate you.”

His smile curled slow and dangerous. “Then do it harder.”

The panel called recess.

You stood quickly. “Read the packets. Stop expecting everyone else to clean up after you. You’ve been given a platform and I’m sick of asking you to use it.”

“I’d never expect that from you, Congresswoman.” He was still seated, eyes on yours. “You coming to Oversight and Reform this afternoon?”

“Why? Need someone to hold your hand?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing. You taking control.” A pause, then a whisper, low and rich: “Not the first time either, I’d bet.”

You froze for half a second - heat licking your spine - then shoved it down.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said, voice clipped, “excuse me. Some of us have a little more to do than standing around and looking pretty.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You just walked - and hated that you could feel his eyes on your back the whole way.

~~~~

You bounced from meeting to meeting, replied to constituent emails through your lunch (half a sandwich and doughnut from one of your staffers birthday celebrations).

By the time the afternoon rolled around you could feel a dull thud behind your eyes and tension in your shoulders.

The Oversight and Reform chamber was already buzzing when you arrived, your team filtering into the back row while aides scrambled with coffee and colour-coded folders. Barnes was, predictably, late. Again.

You took your seat, adjusted the mic, and caught your reflection in the monitor ahead. Composed. Sharp. Unbothered.

Then came the chair scrape.

He'd strolled in with that infuriating mix of deliberate calm and coiled tension - like someone used to walking into dangerous rooms and pretending they weren’t. You knew better. Everyone with a clearance file did.

Still, he had the nerve to be five minutes late and act like he owned the place.

His seat was two down from yours. You could still feel the weight of him.

The committee chair banged the gavel and called the meeting to order.

It didn’t take long for Barnes to say something you didn't agree with. It seldom did.

“I think what the Congresswoman meant to say is that the committee has a duty to ensure transparency - even if it means questioning institutions we usually trust.”

You felt your spine straighten.

You didn’t let it slide.

“Excuse me, Madam Chairwoman,” you said coolly, “but I don’t need Congressman Barnes to interpret my words for me. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. Shocking, I know - a woman in Congress with opinions. I’d like to remind him that some of us actually worked damn hard to get here. We weren’t all voted in on a pretty face.”

The assembled press pool gasped. Flashbulbs lit up the room briefly. You returned to your notes with a slight shake of your head like you hadn’t just cut him off at the knees.

With a slow tilt of his head, Barnes smiled. “And I’d like to remind the Congresswoman that former Hydra assassins probably have to work just as hard to have our opinions heard. It’s not a competition - though it’s useful to know you think it was the face that got me elected.”

“Well it sure wasn’t the resume,” you replied, not missing a beat.

He leaned back slightly, cool as ice. “It got your attention, sweetheart.”

The press pool giggled.

You didn’t.

He should’ve stopped there. But no - Barnes always had to win.

“Also, that’s twice today you’ve called me pretty. Careful, Congresswoman - keep that up, I’ll start thinking you’re going soft on me.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat - not from the words, but the ease with which he said them. Like he knew exactly how to pull the pin and wait for you to go off.

God, you wanted to snap. You could already see the headline: “Firebrand Congresswoman Loses Cool with Ex-Assassin Heartthrob.”

So instead, you smiled. Controlled. Polite. Lethal.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to manage your expectations, Congressman. I don’t do soft. Not in committee. And certainly not for you.”

You didn’t look at him - but you didn’t have to. You felt it.

The shift.

The silence.

The slight, involuntary pull of breath before he looked away with a smirk.

You claimed that win.

Barely.

The hearing adjourned in a flurry of papers, aides swooping in with updates, and whispered questions. You stood, collected your notes, and didn’t look at him.

But you could feel him behind you - that annoying heat, the sense of someone who hadn’t earned their seat but still filled the room like he had.

“Congresswoman,” he said as you turned toward the exit.

You paused, just enough to make him think you might listen.

Then you looked over your shoulder, expression flat. “Late. Under-prepared. Cocky.”

He arched a brow, held out his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

He stepped closer, dropping his voice. “You’re not wrong, you know.”

That made you pause.

“I was late. I didn’t prep enough. But I watched you.” His eyes locked on yours, unexpectedly steady. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be the only one taking this seriously.”

You blinked. Once.

Then you smirked - just enough to throw him off.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Barnes.”

And then you walked away.

But your pulse was kicking just a little too fast.

And behind you, he watched you go like he was starting to realise exactly what he’d signed up for.

~~~~

Valentina’s fundraiser was in full swing when Bucky arrived, late, because of course he was. Black tie, polished boots, every inch of him scrubbed into something presentable. He hated these things - the glad-handing, the fake smiles, the hunger for power of those who thought they were gods.

Still, he could play the game when he had to. And tonight, he had to. He had to get to the bottom of whatever Valentina was up to.

He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, nodding where he needed to, eyes skimming until they landed -

There.

She was laughing - low, smoky - at something Congressman Gary had just said, one hand grazing his arm as she leaned in to make her point.

The dress should’ve been illegal. Dark, shimmering, backless. Red lips, bare skin, and a smile like she’d already won.

He didn’t just see her. He felt her - a punch to the gut, precise and inevitable.

He’d meant to head for the bar.

Instead, he stood there, thinking one thing, and one thing only:

He was in so much trouble.

“Looks like Doug’s in trouble,” he heard someone snigger behind him. Someone from Treasury,

“Nah, he’s soft on her. Calls her the lioness. If she’s on your side, she’s loyal as fuck.” Someone else replied.

“Yeah but if you cross her, she’ll fucking eat you alive! You seen the way she chews out people in her own party?” They turned, spotting Bucky before he could sneak away. “She’s had you a few times, Barnes.”

“Pretty sure you’re her current snack.”

“Good news is, if you make it out, she’ll stand by you.”

“Unless you do something stupid.”

“Story of my life,” Bucky told them wryly, raising his glass. “‘Scuse me fellas, gotta go into the lioness’s den.”

~~~~

You looked him up and down over the rim of your champagne flute, hoping the glass distracted from where your eyes were traveling. The suit fitted him beautifully. Tailored - it had to be, off the rack would never have fitted across his broad shoulders. The bow tie was crisp and tied perfectly. He nodded politely at Congressman Gary and made a beeline for one of the exhibits. You watched him carefully offer his card to Valentina's closest aide — Meg? Belle? Mel! Disappointment washed over you; you'd thought better of him.

Mel glanced over at you, catching your eye for just a second before turning back to Bucky with a tight smile. Clearly, she’d learned how to handle Barnes better than you had.

You shifted your weight, straightening the skirt of your dress, feeling the prick of heat in your cheeks - not from the room, but because Bucky Barnes had just shown you a side you hadn’t expected. And you didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Congressman Gary’s voice cut through the din, “You’re watching him like he’s a stray dog. Planning to collar him?”

You forced a smirk, “More like figuring out if he’s worth the trouble.”

Doug laughed softly. “Always so cautious. I like that. And I think he likes being caught by you.”

You rolled your eyes at him, your mentor and friend, then your eyes flicked back to Bucky, still deep in conversation with Mel. Charming, of course. He always was. But the tilt of his shoulders gave him away - too stiff for comfort, too still for someone enjoying himself.

Good, you thought. Let him sweat a little.

When Barnes approached again, laser-focused on Congressman Gary, you made your excuses to leave.

“Congresswoman, you’re leaving?” His voice held a note of disappointment - or maybe it was something else. You weren’t sure if you imagined it.

“Not at all,” you said coolly, lifting your glass. “Just in need of more champagne.”

He smirked, eyes flickering to your glass and back up to your face.

“Is that your polite way of escaping me?”

You rolled your eyes and turned away, the soft click of your heels barely masking the flutter in your chest.

You watched from the bar as he led Congressman Gary to a dark corner in an area you knew was a camera black-spot. He was up to something, and you didn’t like it.

It wasn’t that you disagreed with his policies. It was that you resented how effortlessly he got there. The fame. The name. The jawline. Meanwhile, you’d been fighting tooth and nail for every vote, every headline, every ounce of credibility. And then along came Captain America’s brooding bestie, soaking up goodwill and soft-ball interviews like they were oxygen.

You narrowed your eyes. That wasn’t just politics; that was maneuvering. And you were damn sure he wasn’t just making friends with Doug.

The thought made your teeth clench.

You wanted to find out exactly what kind of game he was playing.

When he joined you at the bar, you did your best to ignore him.

“Get you a drink?” he asked. “Something better than cheap champagne?”

“Negroni, please.”

“Nice choice.” He raised a hand to the bartender, who slid over your negroni and a whiskey for him.

“Interesting chat with Congressman Gary?”

You sipped. “I could ask you the same thing?

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, I’m having dinner with his wife next week.”

He grinned. “Maybe we should make it a double date.”

“I don’t think so, Barnes. Didn’t you already spend the night working your charm on Valentina’s staffer?”

“Mel?” He scoffed. “That wasn’t flirting.”

You raised your glass with a polite smile. “Sure it wasn’t. Thanks for the drink.”

You stepped away, leaving him standing there with his grin - and whatever game he thought he was playing.

To your frustration, he followed you.

“Why’d you ask?” he feigned indifference. “Jealous?”

You glanced at the plaque, deliberately not looking at him. “Hardly. I don’t date.”

“Neither do I.” His smirk grew.

“But you’ll chat up twenty-something aides?”

“There you go again, Congresswoman.”

“Don’t misread me,” you said firmly. “I'm looking out for her, not you.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Told you - you’re soft.”

You didn’t answer. But the heat in your cheeks gave you away.

He stepped back, smug. “Not that I mind. Keeps things interesting.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “There are far more interesting things in this room than me, Barnes.”

He gave you a look that landed like a challenge. “I’m not so sure about that, ma’am.”

You caught the flicker in his eyes. Genuine, curious, dangerous, and turned away before it could spark anything more.

~~~~

A few days later, you were at your desk by 7:30, coffee in hand, notes spread in a perfect semicircle. The Capitol skyline was just coming to life when your aide, Kara, breezed in armed with her tablet and breakfast.

“Morning,” she said, barely looking up from the screen. “The press secretary’s flagged your quote from last night’s energy subcommittee. They want approval to push it to Politico. It’s sharp, but not too sharp. I think it hits.”

You nodded. “Tell her yes, but ask if she can thread in the clean energy jobs angle.”

Kara tapped quickly. “Noted. Also, I confirmed the reservation for Le Diplomate tonight, 7:30. Congressman Gary’s wife requested the patio.”

You laughed fondly. “Brave of Jenny. The forecast says rain.”

“She says she likes the risk.”

“Then maybe she’d enjoy politics more than her husband does.”

Kara grinned, scrolling. “One more: Congresswoman Alvarez’s daughter had the twins last night. You want to send something?”

“To both of them, please. Get the florist on E Street. Peonies if they have them for Ally, sunflowers for the Congresswoman. Add a note - warmest congratulations, proud of her, hope she’s resting, and then congratulations to the best Abuela those twins could wish for.”

“Got it.” Kara paused, glanced up briefly. “And, just a flag - Barnes hasn’t been in for Oversight this week. He missed Judiciary, too.”

You didn’t look up from your notes. “Is he on leave?”

“Not officially. No out-of-office. No one has seen him since the gala. Staff’s tight-lipped.”

Of course they are.

You flipped a page in your binder with more force than necessary.

“He’ll turn up. He always does.”

But it felt thinner than usual. The line you told yourself.

Kara moved on. “Your lunch with the clean water coalition is still on, but they’re bringing a new rep. He's a former lobbyist, a little slick. You’ll want to keep the high ground.”

“I always do,” you murmured.

Kara swapped your coffee for a fresh cup and put down a plate with a croissant you hadn't seen her holding.

“Let me know if Barnes shows up. Or doesn't.”

“Got it, boss.”

By the end of the following day, you’d signed another two appropriations letters, spoken on the floor, and given an impromptu press gaggle outside Budget. Your shoes hurt. Your voice was hoarse. But the momentum felt good.

Until 4:15.

The committee room was already half-full when you arrived - a rare joint session with Homeland, which meant cameras, crowded aisles, and a lot of posturing. You scanned the table automatically. Kara had left your notes and a bottle of water at your seat. You adjusted your blazer, nodded to the Chair, and paused.

Barnes’s seat was empty. Again.

You didn’t react, not outwardly. Just smoothed your papers and sat down.

The last time he'd missed one of your meetings, he'd sent a personal note of apology. Handwritten and accompanied by a piping hot flat white from the good coffee place down the road, not the on-site Starbucks.

This time, nothing.

The meeting started. You made your points. Asked your questions. But the whole time, your eyes kept drifting back to that empty chair - and the nameplate sitting in front of it.

By the time you got back to your office, your inbox was full, your feet were aching, and Kara was waiting with a folder of flagged correspondence and a packet of Advil.

“Oh,” she said, picking up your TV remote and turning it on, “you’re going to want to see this.”

A live-stream. Midtown New York in total chaos.

Firetrucks. Crowds. Police tape. A helicopter camera panning wide over the city skyline.

Rubble fell, raining down onto civilians.

Then you saw him.

Barnes.

Heaving a slab of concrete up and away from families.

Your inhaled sharply. He was in combat gear, moving with purpose, flanked by others you didn’t recognise - two women, a man with a shield that wasn’t Captain America’s, a guy in a red suit.

“What the hell…” you murmured, dropping into one of the chairs next to the TV.

Kara lowered the volume. “No statement from his office. Nothing from Capitol Security either. But that’s definitely him.”

You swallowed.

So he hadn’t skipped your meeting.

He’d skipped town.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, eyes locked to the screen. He looked different - not just the gear. Sharper. Lighter on his feet. Like something had clicked back into place. There was a scratch on his face, he was covered in dust and debris.

Then, on live TV, you watched him disappear.

Not a cutaway. Not a blur.

He vanished before your eyes.

“Get me someone who knows what the fuck is going on,” you said, without looking away.

You didn’t move from the chair for a long time. Kara had left to make calls. You barely noticed.

They’d disappeared. Literally. One second they were there, and then… not.

Not even the feed anchors knew what to say. You’d seen a lot of things in politics. You’d never seen that.

You felt sick, and you weren’t sure why.

He was maddening.

Quiet in chambers, but sharp when he spoke. Thoughtful. Disciplined. Disarming. And somehow, he always knew exactly how to counter your speeches with calm logic that infuriated you.

He didn't grandstand. He didn’t speak much at all. And he didn’t seem to care that he was in way over his head - or worse, he did care, but still kept making the right calls. Winning more favour in Brooklyn every damn time.

You couldn't understand why the cameras loved him.

Actually… that one was obvious.

But you really couldn’t understand why he smirked at you like he was waiting for you to figure something out.

And now you'd never know.

Were they dead? All of them? Were the black marks dashed across the concrete and glass of New York City all that was left?

It felt like hours had passed - you weren’t sure. A handful of colleagues had gathered behind you, murmuring.

“Guess he finally got bored of us,” someone joked.

“Or someone told him what a committee actually is,” another said dryly.

You sighed, not taking your eyes off the screen. “They could be dead, for all we know.”

As the words left your mouth, figures began reappearing on the streets of New York - a child, an elderly couple. All of them terrified and relieved in equal measure.

Then, in exactly the spot they'd vanished, Barnes and his… friends? teammates? stood blinking into the daylight. They looked at each other, the relief evident, their camaraderie clear to see.

In the corner of the screen, behind the chaos, you spotted movement. Valentina de Fontaine, unmistakable, directing camera crews with one hand and smoothing her jacket with the other.

The screen went black, the news anchor filled for time, explaining that an emergency press conference was due to begin at any moment. When the feed came back, the angle had charged. A backdrop had been dragged into place. A podium appeared.

You watched the press conference unfold with mounting disbelief. Valentina was slick as oil, milking the moment like she’d waited years to pull this trigger.

Kara returned, hands full of updates, but froze at your expression.

“Do I need to kill the feed?”

“No,” you said flatly. “I want to hear exactly how deep this bullshit goes.”

And then there he was again, emerging from behind the backdrop.

Bucky Barnes. No suit and tie. No committee assignment. Just that familiar scowl, standing half a step behind Valentina like he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there.

Like maybe he hadn’t agreed to it.

Not that it mattered. The cameras caught him all the same.

You exhaled.

“Well,” you murmured. “I guess he’s not coming back then.”

Tagging: @potatosackk

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

*New Story Announcement* Coming soon...

Fleeing an abusive would-be mate, you’ve spent the past three years hiding out in the forests of Soviet-occupied Europe, with only the people of a small village nearby for company. When your safe solitude is broached by an intimidating Alpha in need of his own hideout, your deepest fears turn into an intense, mutual desire. But exactly how dangerous is this mysterious Winter Soldier? Will your village have to pay the price for the love of a brute stranger?

PAIRING: Alpha!WinterSolder!Bucky x Omega!F!Reader GENRE(S): A/B/O Romance; Angst/Comfort; Smut CONTENT WARNING (18+ ONLY): A/B/O dynamics and all that entails (smut, breeding kink, knotting, biting, mating, a very loose interpretation of ‘phasing’); violence; domestic abuse; descriptions of torture and blood/injury; more to come (see individual chapter warnings)

MASTERLIST TO FOLLOW If you want to be added to the taglist, please reblog! (some no-pressure tags in the comments!)

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

Friends and Freedom Fighters,

Due to having to work on the 14th, I won't be going to protest. I really want to, but I have bills and college tuition to pay off.

But I have this to say to all that are participating in fighting against fascism.

1. Fight your GODDAMN ASS OFF. Show these POS that we are done with this country declining and watching our loved ones and citizens die or be torn apart from their families.

2. Please, Stay Safe. I worry about any of you getting hurt from rubber bullets, tear gas, or batons. Take protective gear with you, take masks, take anything that'll keep these fuckers from inciting violence upon you.

3. Do NOT let authorities scare you into not protesting. What we are doing is PEACFULLY protesting and making our voices be heard, a legal thing to do here in America. They want you to be scared, to stay home. They want you to fear them and be submissive and obedient like a servant to it's king.

4. Make this a day in history.

Fight for your future. Fight for yours and friends and everyone elses future children. Fight to win back our lives and rights.

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

If this is you, ya nasty

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

this pride month will be the tenth anniversary of same-sex marriage being legal in all 50 states ;-;

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

Tom Hiddleston: The Puppy Interview

Finally!!!!!!

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

AI is garbage and so are you if you use it :)

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

ITS FUCKING HAPPENING