#bobby kennedy rpf

[melancholicstation]

pov: you're a break-out film star in the 70s and meet bobby at a palm springs soirée

[theverystrangegirl27]

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Let Me Put My Lips To Somethin'

Summary: Bobby wants to try something new, but you're a little hesitant. With a few reassurances, Bobby shows you how much he adores you.

Warnings: smut, oral (f), face sitting, oral sex

"Bobby, what if I suffocate you or something?”

You're straddling your husband, hands on his naked chest as you eye him warily. Bobby's propped up on one of your silk pillows, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You want him so badly.

“You won't, Y/N, really,” Bobby says, running soothing circles into your thighs. “And besides, would it be such a horrible way to go?”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“You're a fool, Bobby.”

He smiles into the next kiss, big hands sliding up your waist.

“Only for you.”

You melt into the kiss, a little dazed with arousal as you rock forward against him. You slide your sopping pussy up against the hard line of his cock, the both of you sighing at the contact. With a hand on your back, he stills you.

“C'mon, honey.” Bobby says, sounding reverent. “Sit on my face. Let me make you feel good.”

Who are you to refuse him?

Bobby keeps a firm grip on your waist as you shuffle forward, biting your lip and blushing pink as he gets an eye full of your bare, flushed cunt.

Once your thighs are around his head, he kisses the inside of one, eyes meeting yours before he taps your hip.

“Come on, pretty girl.”

With a shuddering breath, you lower yourself, Bobby's lips finding the plush skin of your folds. You gasp as his tongue darts out to lap at you softly, and you grip the headboard as his hands tighten around your waist.

“B-Bobby,” You sigh, eyebrows scrunched together as he guides your hips, a muffled sound of pleasure leaving him as he begins to tease your clit.

One of the things you love the most about your husband is his determination, how eager he is to achieve whichever goal he's got set at the moment.

Right now, he seems to be set on making you come so hard your legs give out.

With firm, thorough licks and the slight tease of his fingers, Bobby has you crying out softly. You throw your head back, eyes shut tightly as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

You roll your hips, unable to stop yourself as the pleasure grows and grows inside of you.

Beneath you, Bobby groans, muffled and unashamed as he eats you out with enthusiasm, like this is the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.

You don't know where to put your hands - you grasp the headboard, nails scratching into the dark wood, then you run another through his hair. Overwhelmed, your thighs start to tremble.

“Oh, God,” you gasp, and Bobby pulls you in by the waist, shuffling you closer like he can't get enough.

It's almost too much. The way his hot, wet tongue feels against the softness of your cunt, how his eyes are closed as if in prayer- you are the altar at which Bobby worships, what he gladly falls to his knees for almost every night.

Your heart swells as the pleasure reaches its peak.

“Bobby, Bobby, I'm gonna come-” You whimper, trying your best to control the bucking of your hips, but with his tongue as sinful as it is, you never stood a chance.

The noises that fill the room are wet, downright obscene as his lips and tongue go to work on you. They never halt nor falter as he picks up the pace with his fingers. The tips of them enter you with slow, precise movements that make you feel hot and melting on the inside.

If Bobby wasn't gripping you so tightly, you feel as though you'd float away.

Another thing about your man is that's he's a generous lover- you know this isn't going to be your only orgasm of the night, so when it hits you, you let it wash over you in intense, earth shattering waves, with the knowledge that you won't be leaving this room until he's left you nothing more than a puddle of liquid pleasure.

“Bobby! ” You whisper-shout, not wanting to wake the kids in the next room.

You hang your head between your arms, hands gripping the headboard so tight your knuckles are white. Bobby's got his fingers deep inside you, hitting that spot that makes your mouth tremble open around shaking gasps.

Eventually, when it becomes too much to handle, you lean back. His mouth seems to chase the movement, and you smile stupidly.

Bobby's eyes are glimmering and dazed, mouth and the tip of his nose wet. He pants, licking his lips to catch your essence on his tongue.

You love how crazy you make each other.

When his eyes find yours, he smiles.

“Told you I'd make you feel good.”

You huff a breathless laugh, and he kisses the inside of your thigh.

“Once I catch my breath,” you tell him, starting to shuffle down his body slowly. “I'm gonna make you see stars, Senator.”

His eyes darken with arousal.

“I'm looking at one right now, I think.” Bobby's hand comes up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and you smile before kissing your way down his body.

With one hand, you grasp his cock, delighting in the slight hiss he lets out as you gently stroke him. You glance up at Bobby as you tease the tip with your lips, his gaze fixed on yours, and you smile as you take him into your mouth.

The night is far from over, and you feel like repaying your loving husband over, over, and over again.

[kennedyism]

(last bobby confession anon)

i would GLADLY take a fanfic (x reader or no) about that, if you would be so willing 🙏

I GOT YOU ANON!!!!

Favoritism.

Bobby Kennedy x Secretary!Reader

Summary: You’ve been a secretary for Bobby for quite awhile, but you’re thinking about quitting. What does the senator have to say about that? (Takes place in 1967)

Warnings: Don’t take this fic seriously, this is mainly just for fun. Don’t come for me lol.

Taglist: @quietamericans @jackiesgirl @obsessedwithjohnjr, @fortheloveofjos, @melancholicstation, @rocker-chick-7, @bleatngheart (tell me if u wanna be in my taglist dm me or send it in my inbox and i’ll add you! sorry if i forgot anyone :()

author’s note: slightly inspired by the song favorite by isabel larosa ITS SUCH A GOOD SONG BRO

Bobby sits in his swivel chair, tapping his fingers on his wooden desk, he then sighs. It’s too late for him to be here, but here he is! He then looks at the box of campaign posters next to him. God, he looks awful in them, but then he remembers the moment his secretary brought them to him.

“Senator Kennedy, I got those posters you ordered.”

“Open them up, lemme see.”

He then opened the box.

“Christ, is this how I look to people? Get these out of here.”

“They’re not that bad, Senator. I think they’re rather nice.”

He kept them obviously. He’ll get used to them. He then looks at the clock, listening to it tick. The senator is then taken from his train of thought when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” He says, straightening himself up in his chair, but he puts his feet on the desk which makes it more of a casual appearance. It’s a bad habit, really.

You then walk in, your purse in hand and hat on your head. “Senator, I’m heading out for the night, but can I talk to you about something?” You ask, leaning in the doorway, looking at him. Being Bobby Kennedy’s secretary is amazing. He’s a great boss, but you don’t get home until late, you hardly have time for your own life… it’s time to resign, as much as that hurts you.

Bobby motions for you to sit down. “Yeah, what is it?” He asks, looking at his shoes on his desk, then you. Perhaps he shouldn’t sit like this in front of a lady. That doesn’t cross his mind until a few seconds later and with that, his feet are the floor and he folds his hands in front of him.

“I want to quit.”

You feel the silence strike you two for about 30 seconds before you begin to talk again, realizing how much you probably just offended the senator. “Not—Not because you’ve done anything!” You say, a blush painting you cheeks, trying to find the words as he stares at you a bit confused.

“I didn’t think I did.” Bobby shrugs. He still acts like he did when he was attorney general—a bit cold. He doesn’t mean to, it just his nature. He then sighs, growing more confused. He tries to think on the reasons you would even want to quit. “Is there a reason why?” He asks you, getting more comfortable in his chair, his foot tapping the wood underneath.

You then take in a breath. “I don’t have time for anything else but being here. I’m constantly having to turn down friends and family to be here.” You explain with a soft sigh, then you look at him. “I just think there’s better opportunities out there for me.” You finish, feeling a bit guilty. It’s been amazing here, but you have a life… kind of. You then look at Bobby who’s silent for about couple seconds.

“I’m not going to hold it against you.” He says, rubbing his temple, before looking up at you with a slight smile. “I can understand how that can get in the way.” He says, but he’s truly a bit sad that you’re leaving him. He’s never had anyone like you. Work wise and friend wise.

You then click your tongue. “Well, there’s plenty of others wanting to work for you and they would kill to, you know.” You tell him, staring to slowly wonder if this is the right choice—Nope! It is. No turning back now. You then watch his lips curl into a slight smile.

“Yeah, but you are my favorite.”

Favorite.

That word leaves an indent on in your soul. He called you his favorite. You then blink, trying to shake it off. “Senator, I just… I want to stay here, but I can’t.” You tell him, his sentence playing over and over in your mind. How does he do it? He leaves such an impression on others… you included.

Bobby stands up, going behind you, one of his hands touching the arm of the chair. “I want you to stay.” He says, looking down at you, and you look back up at him. Wow, what a view. He then moves over to the door, opening it. “But I can’t force you to stay.” He sighs, feeling defeated as he crosses his arms and waits for you to stand up.

You then stand up, purse in hand, walking towards the door, looking at the senator. Both of your eyes meeting. You watch Bobby put his hand on the frame, looking at you, and you feel guilty. You don’t want to leave him. You’ve had many great memories, but it’s for the best.

��Still gonna visit me, right?”

“Senator, I’m not moving to Europe, obviously I will.”

“Just thought I’d check.”

You two then stare at each other. Bobby has very pretty eyes. They’re so gentle to look into. It unfortunately has to be this way though. Bobby then reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, looking at the ground, then back at you. You’ve always felt somewhat of an attraction to the senator, even if you’d rather die than admit it, but he isn’t making this easy at all.

You then feel yourself getting closer to him, and he isn’t moving, so you assume he’s into this. You then kiss him, softly and then you feel his hands move up to cup your cheeks, leaving soft feather like touches on your skin. You truly are his favorite.

“I told you were my favorite.” Bobby mutters to you, gently pulling away, looking at you. Then he moves some of your hair out of your face. His touch is lovely to witness and bear. You feel lucky to receive such touch from him.

“I wanna keep being your favorite.”

“So you’re gonna stay?”

“I’m gonna stay.”

[strryhaze]

as a wise person once said, “shipping real people is a disease.”

[ “a disease that i have.” ]

[h-l-vlovesvintage]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Political RPF - US 20th c., Historical RPF Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Robert F. Kennedy/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Robert F. Kennedy, John F. Kennedy, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. (1888-1969), Eunice Kennedy Shriver, Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Kennedy Family (US Political RPF) Additional Tags: Age Difference, Meet-Cute, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1960s Series: Part 2 of Kennedy RPF's (JFK, Jackie O, RFK) Summary:

It was an unexpected turn for Robert when Ethel chose God over him and left their relationship to join a convent. He understood her to some measurement as a Catholic, yet a part of him thought he had found the one. He decided to dedicate himself not to God but help his older brother on his growing political and government career.

So, in 1949, even with a broken heart he went on with his studies at the University of Virginia. He made a few good friends and befriended Alec Worthing, whose younger sister he ended up meeting in 1958 at a campaign celebration party for Jack after he was re-elected to the Senate after winning against Republican lawyer Vincent J. Celeste. 

[h-l-v-kennedy-blog]

mariage de convenance (IV)

pairing: john f. kennedy x oc (dr. helena radcliffe) word count: 4,084 series synopsis: she’s a doctor, he’s a congressman. she needs money, he has it (his father’s). she’s a caretaker, he’s constantly ill. her name brings social capital, and next to his, it’s perfect. he’d have a politically well-timed marriage, and she’d have financial security. he’d live in washington and she’d stay in new york. both at their jobs. her as a diagnostician and him as a congressman. a marriage of convenience. clinical, without needless emotion or romance. correct? a/n: life after the wedding, and what a senate campaign changes in a marriage, even if momentarily. tw: simple assault (grabbing someone without consent and pulling them, in this story); stage fright/and or an aversion to public speaking, mentions of vomiting etc.

In January, 1951, Jack heads on a five week a fact finding trip to Europe. By then, he and Helena had worked out a system on how they would communicate now that they were tied to each other but living in different states. She would make weekend trips, to show face at their rented home in Georgetown, Washington, and he would make day trips to New York (not always to be with her) to keep up a the image of modern marriage not hindered by distance. He would call her at the start, middle and end of the week to keep her up to date on things like social gatherings, personal details and so on. It seemed to work for him, to not have not have to delegate too much time to his marriage. Helena noticed it, that he didn't feel bad when he'd miss a call or forgo on coming to New York. She didn't know why it pricked her slightly, when she didn't take the initiative once to call him (well her hours rarely lent her much free time) and she wasn't about to complain about something that was a 'nonissue'.

The first year of their marriage almost flies by, to the exception of Jack falling ill abroad on his Asia trip with siblings Bobby and Pat. This happened around the time of their first anniversary, which both of them neglected to even remember. Jack, since he was abroad, didn't find the need to rush home, and Helena didn't ask him, too. Their marriage just wasn't that way. Besides, the press' didn't notice them much since their wedding, interest having died down. Four days after their first anniversary, on November 8th, Jack would be back in the States. Helena would be there at the airport to greet him. Then return to New York the next day.

So, like ships sailing past each other in the night, their lives went on.

—

In passing conversation, about their future, Jack and Helena had come to sort of plan. After Jack knew he wouldn't be facing opposition in his party when he would run for the Senate in 1952, he told Helena, that after he'd win (the Kennedys didn't really work in the confines of 'if') they should think about children and how their situation would be then. Both were a bit avoidant on the topic of the times they'd had intercourse. But Helena knew since the beginning that at some-point, she had to become a mother (even if she doubted she would be good at it) and pull back (not quit) from her job. A man's world, after all, like it had been made clear to her, even after she'd broken through a glass ceiling of her own. "Fine?" "Fine."

On the chance occasion of being at Georgetown after Jack had announced his candidacy for the Massachusetts Senate seat, contesting incumbent Republican Henry Cabot-Lodge Jr., Jack and Helena were having dinner at the same time. Helena had their house in Washington staffed with a cook and a once a week cleaning service, knowing she could do neither and had to run the house remotely. Joe had tried to put her on a budget, but she easily explained if she was to go along with this life every expense was necessary to facilitate it and a well furnished house with two members of staff wasn't all too much. Her tastes were modest and their monthly expenses were kept at a sensible amount (she would buy her own necessities with her salary and everything else with the credit account she and Jack shared after their marriage).

Their cook, Adeline, was a wonderful black woman, who Helena respected immensely and put a great deal of trust into. She was at 32, a mother of two young boys and going to night-school to learn to become a professional chief. When Joe had contested Helena's request to pay Adeline a wage that she could properly live with (The Kennedys, with all their money, could really be very frugal with it), she just began putting aside her own salary.

Her money was hers, no longer having to put aside anything for her mother, who, although she lived in the same city with, their relationship was effectively cut. Joe had set her up financially, removing any remnant of her husband's debts and restoring a decent fund, so she could live comfortably. Amanda would call her daughter once a month, ask perfunctory questions and when she would be a grandmother, and then not listen much (Helena didn't have much to say to her anyway) and hang up.

Silverware clattered against china as Helena and Jack sat the round walnut table in the small dining room of their house. The house on O Street, was two stories tall with high walls and dark wood floors. Helena had it decorated in calm colors (cream, light blue, green and grey) and a slight Scandinavian style (Rose had wondered why the home was so muted) that showed in the furniture along with some older decoration pieces. A large bookcase was in the living room, that almost filled the whole space. The dining room itself was simple with blue painted walls and a darling pendant lamp over the table. A plant was in the corner and the table could seat four maybe six. Adeline had made a roast with potatoes and greens. The common occurrence of silence, bleed into this meal time as it did to many times in the shared life of the John Kennedys.

Until, Helena said. "Have you and Bobby discussed my role in the campaign? What I should expect?" She set her knife down and picked up her glass of sparkling water, sipping slowly, eyeing Jack as he'd looked at her, almost surprised at the break in their often shared quiet.

"Well, with Bobby around, he'd love to have you going everywhere all at once and twice over. But…I don't think that's realistic with your job."

"I would think it was a good idea if I go along with you…to show a united front even if I vote in New York." That was true, she was still a registered voter in the state of New York, so it would be slightly strange. But it wasn't public knowledge, so it wasn't an all around concern.

Jack nodded. "To rallies and those…teas that we're going to do. You'll have to shake a lot of hands and-"

"Wear a nice frock, got it. Just one thing." Helena had cut in, something growing in her eyes, though heat rushed to her cheeks at that. But Jack didn't look bothered, instead letting his fork scrape against the plate, as he shook his head to let her continue. "I can't stump or do speeches. I…I loath public speaking, and I probably should've said it before. But the campaign is still in early stages, so, well-" Her voice had gone up in pitch slightly and the glass in her hand tremors slightly. "-well…I could…but I hate it." She set the glass down, squeezing the stem of it.

"All right. You don't have to go on further. No speeches or having you talk to a crowd." His tone was plain, not disappointed or anything really, just accepting. "I'll call Bobby tomorrow and tell him." The meal picked up again.

That something in her features left and her eyes calmed. "Thank you." Her voice lower, grateful. Changing tune. "Tell me about Lodge again and how this campaigns going to work?"

Jack looked up from his plate, a soft furrow between his brows. "We already went through it in April. Are you sure you want to hear it twice?"

"Well. I'll officially be a campaigning wife soon, when we've coordinated schedules. I'd like to be caught up."

That unreadable thing that she'd seen every once in a while passed through his green eyes and it softened him. He begun explaining the plan while they cleared they plates. Helena had sent Adeline home to her boys, promising to do the cleanup herself. A few dishes weren't going to ruin her, and it wasn't often she had time for housework. Jack leaned on the kitchen counter, lower back against the cool surface, surely providing some relief to him, as Helena washed the plates, cutlery and glasses, drying and putting them away. The plan explained, silence fell like a feather blanket over them once more.

They would retire upstairs to their bedroom, of two twin beds pushed together (one with a board under the mattress for Jack's back) and a half empty wardrobe meant for Helena's clothes and a bedside table utterly decluttered. Her life in Washington wasn't lived in or cluttered.

—

Jack really was a special politician, Helena was certain of it. The way he spoke when he gave speeches or how he could so easily speak with anyone be it a factory worker, a teenage boy or a middle-aged mother. Young and old were attracted to him. And the women. The women. Helena saw their visceral reactions, how they flocked to him the most. And he glowed when he talked to any one of them. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, bothered by the pit in her stomach. She remembered, Jack was her husband. Was that supposed to console her? Why would she need to be consoled?

Even if she was psychologically mixed up about seeing her husband with other women, she didn't voice it. They were married in name and while they habited similar spaces, most of their day-to-day was apart. And she'd known from the start what kind of man she was. She wasn't foolish enough to think a marriage based entirely on mutual benefit and convenience would stop his…dalliances and extra curricular activities.

She would remember her father warning against taking up with such a man. He was a proud monogamous man, but a compulsive gambler who led her to the man she now saw giving speeches and campaigning for Senate while hiding away crutches and women who'd passed through his bedroom.

She photographed very well as an aspiring Senator's wife, as expected, people adored seeing her next to Jack (even women who crushed on him). Her face had been plastered in the papers and on covers of magazine's after her wedding for a good many months.

Bobby, as lovely and sweet of a brother he was to Jack, and a kind brother-in-law to Helena, he was a determined SOB when it came to getting Jack elected. When he saw the stats on the teas (with Helena attending over half), and how when she was with Jack the numbers went up for attendees. She was a draw, which meant she was an asset to be used.

Helena would find herself in Georgetown at Bobby and Ethel's home for dinner, and he would try and try to have her speak for Jack. Plead, cajole, pout, anything, which only made the two blonde Kennedy wives laugh. Ethel, expecting her second child and campaigning for Jack during that time, turned to Helena sat opposite her at the oval table in the Robert Kennedys dining room.

"So, when are you and Jack going to have children?" Ethel was a sweet and mischievous if slightly naive woman, could ask some very unfiltered questions. Helena, almost chocking on her peas, coughed and cleared her throat.

"Well…we umm…after Jack's elected we will…you know, look into it..." She stumbled out the answer thankful when Bobby resumed his pleas, ignoring 'women talk'.

—

Something was off, Helena felt it in her gut as she watched time tick by, sitting the town hall of some little parish in Massachusetts where Jack was supposed to be giving a speech to a local woman's club. Instead he was fifteen minutes - no, now twenty five minutes - late. He was stumping at some other place before and they had agreed to separately and meet there. She was sat on a cheap wood chair in the hallway and through the crack of the door, she heard the murmurs of expecting older women, expecting the congressman. She was dressed in a powder blue dress, looking feminine and suitable to be a Senator's wife, selling the future, or something like that. Two aides, Bobby's disciples to assist her, were pacing. One, named Evan, was the one to speak up and suggest she go and give a speech. Aides carried stump speech cards in their pockets like cigarettes. Helena shook her "no". Five more minutes passed.

Now, both young men were impatient, and when Helena had stood up, took her by the arms and guided her to the door. "Wha-what are you, hey, stop it-!" But she quieted the moment the door to the hall was open and over fifty pairs of eyes turned to her. She composed herself, while she felt men's grip tighten. What the hell!

And she was on stage now, cards on the podium. Words swam on the text. She looked at the crowd, they all looked like her mother. They weren't but all she could see was those eyes so familiar to hers staring at her, disappointment ringing forever true in that gaze.

She blinked. They weren't her mother, she repeated in her mind. Her ears were ringing and she was sure she was having a heart attack. Her mouth opened, it was dry. Say something, you stupid girl.

Blinking twice, she gathered herself, smiling (barely hiding debilitating nerves). "I'm sure none of you know who I am.." She began deprecatingly, which for some reason got a positive reaction from the crowd in the form of soft chuckles. She looked down at the text, it was still like waves of the ocean. Her gloved hands gripped the podium tighter, so much so, that her hands hurt. "My husband's late, …so you'll have to settle for me." More entertained sounds. Bile grew in her throat as she spoke the next sentence: "Let me then tell you about him." How she was talking…she hadn't the foggiest. The text no longer swam, so she read.

The moment, the  absolute second, the text ended with "Thank you and vote for Kennedy!", Helena was out of that room. She didn't care if the women's club disapproved of her hasty retreat or what those…bastards thought.

Beelining for the ladies and slamming it closed after and going to the nearest stall, her stomach contents soon was gone.

She still felt like she'd ran a marathon and was dying. Her forehead felt warm. Her legs felt tingly. Her inner doctor couldn't self-diagnose, failing as a diagnostician to figure out what was wrong with herself.

She couldn't hear properly. Not the sound of her own vomiting nor the sound of the ladies room door opening and the reedy voice of her brother-in-law coming into the space. She heard him on his third try. The stall door was wide open, he didn't have to search for her. When had he gotten here, where was Jack?

"Oh, God…"

Helena stared at Bobby blankly. She sat up while she still felt her legs shake. Bobby crouched next to her.

"Those two are fired, they weren't supposed to do it this way." His was voice lower and she had to crane her head to catch a word.

A crease formed between her two well maintained dark brows. "Do…do what?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, later. Let's get you up, okay?"

"But…my dress and face…" She knew some yellow bile was on her beautiful dress and her makeup was probably running down tracks on her skin as she spoke.

"You're fine." But he took of his jacket, and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Come on, lean on me." His hand fixed on her waist, helping her to her feet.

When Bobby got her into the car he had driven from the headquarters to the town hall, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window next to the passenger seat. "I…Helena, you have to promise to not get mad." His voice was timid and like a child preparing for a scolding.

"I asked Evan and Mark to try and have you speak today…" Helena slowly turned her head, appalled. "…but-but I didn't think you'd…they would force you." He had noticed her arms were slightly pink and blue. "I…I didn't know…"

"Bobby, I told you…" She begun, trying not to lose it with her brother in-law. "Many times. I'm not a public speaker. I have horrible stage fright."

"I just…I just thought it was-"

"What, an excuse? No, Bob. I have not once voluntarily given a speech or been on a stage with my voice loud enough to hear. I feel sick to my stomach, and as you can see…it doesn't end well." She pulled his jacket closer over her dress. It had been one of her favorite dresses.

"Yes, I see that now. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not a Kennedy that looks at my limits, and runs over them with a tank."

"I know that now, please don't hate me for it-"

"Where's Jack, we were supposed to meet there. But he-"

"He had two more stops. I added them. He didn't know I wanted you to try to stump. I really didn't think it would be so bad…" He cut himself off. "Helena, do you hate me now?" The car stopped at a red light and he looked at the woman, who looked so tortured, makeup stains on her face and hurt embroidered in her beautiful eyes.

"I don't hate you, Bobby. But you hurt my trust when you didn't listen to me. I'll need time to find a way to not be…resentful."

He nodded, sharp chin moving as the light turned green. "I can live with that. And I'll fess up to Jack about this. It was my blunder, and those two will never work in politics as long as I breathe. That was no way to treat a lady like you, I never wanted them to force you like that." His sad blue eyes looked at her one final time before focusing on the road again.

"I wouldn't think so either way, Bobby."

"I just…" She heard the apologies mounting in him. But she stopped him.

"I know, Bobby, just take me home." She called any place she was staying at with Jack home, it came naturally, it had to. She and Jack still appeared like a loving couple, to almost everyone.

-Change of POV-

"You…what the hell, Bobby?!" Jack Kennedy didn't often lose his temper. But he could be driven to the edge, even when his younger brother showed deep regret, for what had happened to his wife.

The Kennedy brothers were in Jack's apartment on Beacon Hill, Jack having summoned Bobby there post-learning about the incident. Helena had gone out for a walk to enjoy a moment of solitude after such a tumultuous day.

"I messed up. I didn't think it was that serious and we need every vote we can get-"

"And you had to go against the one thing she asked not to do? Bobby, she's not like Ethel who'll go anywhere, at anytime and do anything for our family. Helena's her own person and she is my wife, and I told you that she would do no speeches." He had never spoken in such a way, but he was bewildered how his usually sensitive brother had so callously messed up. "Those guys were fired right, those bastards? Where did you find such brutes?"

"I didn't think they would force her and manhandle her like that. They were loyal before…"

"Loyal? Fucking hell, Bob. No one ever touches her like that. When she says no, it is like when I say no. I didn't think I would have to tell you to make sure everyone knows that."

Around Bobby and the Kennedy family (expect Ethel), Jack and Helena didn't keep up much of their BP and were as they normally were, with few words and little affection. Ships in the night. So, Bobby for the first time saw his brother talk so fiercely about the woman he had been arranged to marry and had never admitted to loving or feeling anything further for her.

Thoroughly talked down to, Bobby lowered his head and nodded. "Got it, Jack. Won't happen ever again."

- Back to Helena's POV-

—

"Would you go on television?" Jack asked in early September while they were getting ready for bed at Jack's Beacon Hill apartment on 122 Bowdoin Street (apartment 36). There, in the two-bedroom apartment, a much smaller space, the guest bedroom filled with campaign stock, and Jack's bed's mattress too stiff for her, she was relegated to the couch.

Helena was tugging on the sheet to cover the dark blue three seater. Jack was getting ready for bed with the bedroom door open.

"Do I have to say something? Because then, no."

"No, you could just be there, smiling, showing your steadfast support Senate candidate John Kennedy." He said with a flair, peaking his head through the door way, his button up shirt half undone exposing a white sleeveless white shirt and a smidge of chest hair. His trousers were gone, sporting a pair of stripy blue boxers.

"Ah, don't I do that already?"

"But television will broaden the knowledge of it."

"All right. I'll do it. What kind of Mrs. Kennedy should I play?" She fluffed a feather pillow and sat on the duvet looking at Jack, his back turned to her as he removed his dress shirt and discarded it like a child, in a pile with his other clothes.

"The kind that's sure of herself and looks at me with admiration and confidence." Jack looked over his shoulder, smirking. He pulled on a pajama shirt and ran a hand through his hair.

Helena's night gown was slightly sheer and reached just over her knees, socks on her feet. "So, just up the BP and we're good?"

"Yes, exactly." He chuckled sitting on the bed and looking at her sat on the couch, keeping the door open.

"I've learned." Recalling how early on it took her bit of time to pic up BP and acting in front of cameras like Lauren Bacall.

"You have." One of the few times levity filled their shared space with laughter.

—

So, in October on WNAC-TV a campaign program called "Coffee with the Kennedys" premiered, weeks before the election. Along with Jack and Helena, sisters Pat and Eunice and mother Rose appeared on the program with speaking roles. Jack would answer phone-in questions (Helena, Pat and Eunice would work the phones), and Rose would speak of her child-rearing philosophy. Young female campaign aides would be shown with skirts embroidered with 'John F. Kennedy', which brought genuine amusement to Helena's features as she stood stably next to her husband.

—

Election night, she went with Jack to the headquarters when it looked like they might've pulled this off and Jack would be a Senator. A silent pillar, she observed the tired chaos and how Jack kept his own tally of the votes he had, Bobby making calls to know how things were going.

And he'd made it by 70,000 winning margin over Lodge. Cheers filled the room, the brothers would share a look, but Jack's eyes would find Helena's, and she saw his fatigued eyes shine, that indecipherable look twisted into it. He beckoned her closer, and reached out to her hand. Calloused hands from shaking so many hands and his years in the Navy, rough against her silken smooth skin.

A smile pulled at his lips, sincere, earnest, soft. "Let's go home." He whispered over celebrations, into her ear, his breath warm. He had never talked like this to her. It was like a caress. Unusual in their mostly unaffectionate private life, but Helena chalked it up victory adrenaline, resulting in a high that opened some part she didn't see in him.

"Lead the way, Senator." A chuckle broke from him and he shook his head.

"I've not been sworn in yet, Doc."

"Semantics." Holding hands, they left, a new leaf turned in their shared lives.

At the Bowdoin Street apartment, they would make love, for the first time with some fresh enthusiasm, leaving them more tired, but satisfied. Sure, they would still be in different states in the future. But this win brought change with it.

(the end for now...)

[duchess-blanche]

getting dragged back into my prison cell (kennedy obsession) after 4 years because of the elections and the jack schlossberg renaissance 😔😔😔

[vintagedebutante]

finishing up the wedding night fic today! 💍🤍

please fill my ask box with requests! gimme some scenarios and kennedy men to write about hehe

[girldraki]

mostly we’re like now compelled to overshare that due to a general amenability to her music and how the last year and change has gone we have, in fact, had what seem to be actual psychotic breaks heavily incorporating taylor swift songs…. so you should al,ways be kind ….. for every one you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about 🩷

we do have a lot of complex further thoughts on the last post but our brain is a sieve because we have been awake for 21 hours for some reason

[melancholicstation]

Salvatore can wait, now it's time to eat soft ice cream — bobby f. kennedy

As Jack's wife many may propose your sex life to be exuberant and quite frequent: in reality it's nothing of the sort. After having your beautiful baby-girl Enya, you'd expressed fears and insecurities of being intimate about your new post-baby body with Jack to which he kindly dismissed them telling you that he loved you even more now. While hearing those words from a man you've loved half your life warmed your heart his sentiments fail to quell your fears. However, what sets you free from all your present worries and gives you release is in fact his own brother and your brother in-law: Robert.

taglist: @vile-harlot @dulcegal @rockstarfreddybby @starsprangledgirl @bluelancergirl @hisamericanmuse @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @rocker-chick-7 @reptaysgf @castiellover77 @salvatoresablondie @mckinleygirl98 @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @monturi @darcyspirits @unmarlou @remotewatch @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @fortheloveofjos @strip-weather-forecast @ultr4v1ol3nt @acrowdedstreetin1944

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, postpartum insecurities, possible inaccuracies to do with pregnancy and postpartum as i have never been pregnant before, infidelity, nipple play, desperate catholic man, unprotected sex, drunk sex, fingering, being eaten out, 18+

words: 2,950 words

It was a quiet morning for you. A statement that you could rarely ever leave your mouth truthfully due to your residence being that big egg-shell coloured house located at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington—or how it's more commonly referred to as the White House. But you weren't in the White House, no, you for now were in the land of fado, wine, and poetry: Portugal.

Taking advantage of the barren land in your calendar managed by your assistant spacing between the 21st and the 28th you had decided to go visit your sorority sister, Alma, and her sprawling Lisboa estate 'Quinta da Abrigada'—or at least that's what she'd called it in her letters inviting you to the country house. You'd been initially apprehensive, a cross-country flight with a 6 month old baby seemed to be a recipe for complete and total disaster. Not to mention the press coverage, nit-picking your choices labelling you as an unfit mother, while hailing Jack as the dotting husband and father. Which he was, though that was when he was there which proved to be scarce.

Despite this worry of yours the person who truly convinced you was not Alma herself and her gushing about the residencies sparkling woods and breathing taking views of the Serra do Montejunto. In fact it was your very own tousled hair, chiseled jaw, president of the United States husband: Jack.

Apparently, in his astute opinion, he believed that some time away from the unrelenting US press and the ever thinning tightrope of public opinion would be good for you and the baby. Initially you'd worried that it would be to distressing for your little Enya to be away from her father that much for more than a couple days—you swore that you'd read a dreadful story in women's weekly of a baby forgetting the face of one of their own parent! You retold this story to Jack to which he only chuckled, and delicately cupped your face teasingly tapping the tip of your nose. In response to this he'd told you that once he'd finished up scheduled business in Palm Beach that he'd fly to Lisboa on the SAM 26000 Boeing. That was on the night before the 21st, and after listening to your husband you'd confirmed with Alma that you were in fact coming.

However it was now the 24th and Jack still hadn't shown up, and you were given no indication that he was ever going to.

Your melancholy about your marital situation was intermittently interrupted for a few days by Alma keeping you an incredibly busy working woman. You see, she was trying to convert the Portuguese country home into a fully functioning hotel and a wedding venue—she would never admit it to you or to herself but you had a sneaking suspicion it was a true vanity project in every sense of the word. You'd heard rumblings between European socialites that her Argentinian polo player husband was growing weary of her shopping sprees down at the Avenida da Liberdade and the last straw was a wine-filled rampage of the strip boutiques on Castilho Strett that ended in a bill of over sixty-two thousand euros.

Despite positioning your Portugal stay as a vacation Alma really put you to hard labour. Or at least your version of hard labour at 6 months postpartum which was lugging the ostentatious amount of floral and foliage arrangements for the happy couples who'd chosen the Portuguese country home to be a witness to their holy matrimony.

By 4 pm you were done for the day having laid out the varied bouquets of chocolate cosmos, primroses, hollyhocks, and wisteria. Some were incased by crystal glassed vase, like a trapped ballerina forced to spin inside of a music box. While others were allowed to roam free, tangled up the arched walls of the chapel, propped up by short and stumpy neoclassical stone pillars.

You'd initially underestimated how unhappy it would make you to see couples—each more happy than their former. It made you want to take a microscope to the state of your own marriage and shred it open. How unrecognisable you both were to the versions of yourselves that had walked down that Rhode Island aisle that day. Your marriage to Jack wasn't bad by any means: it was just different than it had been at the beginning. After having a child your relationship with Jack had morphed into more of a companionship rather than a romantic relationship. He'd become more distant: working later hours and coming to the west wing smelling of palo santo and black current bud.

A stark contrast to your personalised musk of waffle cone accord and vanilla...

But you were committed to make your marriage stick. For your sake, for your children's sake, and for the sake of Jake's whole presidential career. You were each other's best friend but sometimes, all of the time, you'd just wish he would touch and cherish you like a lover. You just wish he would be soft with your heart every once in a while.

You'd hoped a European getaway for the both of you would make some difference, but it seemed that Jack had made his choice. And so will you.

Because you had been such a help around the home Alma decided to watch Enya while you helped the florists prepare, the last time you saw your baby-girl was only a few short hours ago and yet your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest.

Dusting yourself off, brushing away the cut stems of flowers and pollen from various flowers that were sure to stain the surplus of linen matching sets you had brought along with you, you made a bee-line away from the chapel and towards the main house. Maybe Alma truly was on to something about making the sprawling estate into a hotel what with its ample land of approximately 1,350,794 Sq Ft.

Due to its overwhelming size Alma had allowed you to stay in the third wing of country home which had been newly renovated to accommodate for her aspirations of it one day becoming an auberge, but much, much large. With its many rooms you and Alma, and Jack if he bothered to show, were more than comfortable. Though you could afford it with the shear square footage of the wing, Alma's cot stayed with you directly to the side of your king sized bed, a welcomed addition of the renovations by you.

You couldn't believe that Alma was taking this kind of project on, to you just planning it all out seemed hugely anal. What with all the construction needed to implement tarred streets, sidewalks, public lighting, water pipes, sewage, electrical and network cables at the entrance of each lot. I mean it was a lot.

As you push open the door connecting the wing you immediately b-line for the washroom: eager to get the confused scents of opposing flowers off of you this instant. You thought back to your conversation with Alma, remembering that she would be watching her until 5pm: delightful. Despite the absence of your daughter resting on your chest being deeply felt by you, it was a blessing to be able to take your time in the shower. A privilege that you had taken for granted in your twenties.

Apparently your darling Alma, along with Alma's own older children, was going to get a private tour of the romantic woods, the various sycamore trees, and even the proprietary chapel in between the scheduled weddings that day. You'd gathered that by now, taking a look at your watch while you start to disrobe for the shower, Alma and Enya would have already stopped by the church by now.

During your shower you lathered yourself with your 'garden essentials' body wash the scent of California lavender leaving you with a camphorous scent, awakening your senses invigorating you for the evening. Next, you applied a scotch pine shampoo bar to your scalp-a gift from one of your Californian friends from elementary school who'd turned to the all natural life—whatever that meant. Once out of the shower you palmed a hair oil blend of argan oil, natural antioxidants and fatty acids, pear seed oil, and castor oil throughout your locks. Since getting pregnant and after giving birth you had seen a direct decline in the thickness of your hair and an increase in hair loss, a symptom of postpartum you absolutely detested. Activating the arrival of your baby soon you'd decided to get your hair out of your face, since her favourite pastime of late seemed to be yanking your strands of hair with remarkable strength.

Speaking of postpartum symptoms... since you had started breastfeeding your baby girl, your nipples had gone increasingly sore and sensitive especially at nights. As a preemptive measure you put some nipple cream given to you by a midwife and went along with your out of shower routine slathering on your personal favourite body oil that you'd dispersed into a travel size bottle.

Moving out the bathroom after dressing your put on immediate edge. Despite its size you hear noises coming from the room adjacent to the bathroom you'd just stepped out of—the bedroom you and Enya had been staying in.

Ice hot horror had bleed into every crevice, and every vein in your body. Jack always told you to be wary of going places without security—always fretting over your security and your penchant for leaving unannounced, and now you were paying for it.

In an almost comical defence, you grab the nearest thing in your line of sight: ironically an erotic sculpture ground by a plinth that looked like it weighed a far few. Hands shaking you, grasp the brass handle and quickly turned the nob: trying to look as menacing as possible to an intruder.

But what was behind the door was anything but. There was Bobby, in all his grecian tragedian beauty, holding Enya with his big pilose arms supporting her head like a true natural parent—which you'd hope he was after having enough children to start as sports team.

Both of you looked equally surprised as each other.

"Christ, hun what ever are you doing with that thing?" Bobby says chuckling, while rocking back on the soles of his feet and motioning to the stone sculpture.

"Oh Good Heavens, Bob you nearly gave me a damned heart attack" you say clutching a hand to your chest. To which Bobby shamefully and discreetly looks at your chest—in his defence you were wearing a more than revealing top because you really weren't planing on any visitors.

"Oh I'm sorry, c'mere sweetheart how are you? It's been ages!"

"Bob we spoke over the phone two days ago!"

"Oh, c'mon now you that phone calls don't suffice for either one of us."

Bashfully you smile, but realise Jack has not accompanied Bobby, wondering where he is you ask,

"God Bobby it's good to see you too, tell me where is Jack around? did you tell him that there's stables he's probably there he'd love th-"

Interrupting you Bobby explains, "Sweetheart, he couldn't make it I'm sorry."

A bit embarrassed, you try to play it cool. Noticing your discomfort Bobby gently dislodges Enya from his chest to yours, and it's cheesing to say but the weight of her on your chest salves the wound ever so slightly.

"Bob how did you get her? I thought Alma was watching her?"

"Oh she was but we met down at the chapel and I offered to take Enya—she looked a bit occupied with her own roady children. I didn't want Enya to be forgotten about." he says while stepping closer to you, trailing the back of his hand against her cheek and then moving his eyes to you.

Flustered you take your time analysing him back: dressed in a rolled up button up white shirt, and khaki coloured slacks. Blushing, Bobby says,

"She seemed pretty sleepy when she was handed to me. Why don't you have some time on your own and I'll watch her for you?"

"Oh please Bobby i've had plenty of 'me' time. Your ramblings would do me good, would take my mind of Jack. Matter of fact I'm starving aren't you?"

"Famished! I tell you a palm beach flight to Portugal is no joke."

"Well that sorts it! we'll take her bassinet and have some food out in the grass."

"Sounds perfect, maybe some champagne. I know you can't drink but you can live vicariously through me!"

Chuckling you nod, and he follows you out of the room.

Moving into the kitchen you start to prepare the snacks. Looking at your bleak options since you haven't gone to the market you decide on hors d'oeuvres chicly displayed on a walnut cutting board gifted to you by a baroness. Gathering the necessaries: crisp bread, casalingo salami, foie gras parfait, chicken liver paté, and finally a bottle of pierre mignon for your beloved Bobby.

Delicately balancing the board with one hand, and the bottle in the crevice of your arm, you glance back into the bedroom with Bobby and Enya. Despite your unintentional eavesdropping you hear Bobby rocking Enya to sleep,

"You are so lucky to have your mom, huh? She's the best mom anyone could ask for don't you think?"

The comments warm your heart but you're unable to dissect that feeling as Bobby steps out of the room moments later and like a gentleman: immediately steps to take the bottle of wine and board from your hands.

And one thing leads to another, the hours pass, and by 10 pm you both felt drunk—and probably look it to any outsiders passing by. Despite not drinking a single drop you feel utterly intoxicated by his very presence.

Luckily, Enya had been picked up by Alma to be watched for the night after she'd landed upon you two in the grass: with Bobby's head in your lap, giggles emitting from the both of you.

As the night drew on you'd gotten immeasurably close physically, simply tripping over yourselves trying to catch each other up on both of your lives when you weren't with each other. Bobby being Jack's brother meant that a great portion of your life was spent next to Bobby, and even going a few days apart felt like a whole year for the both of you. Possibly a little co-dependent considering you both had parents but you both didn't want to question it to hard—the papers did enough of that themselves, always questioning your friendship or rather the existence of something more.

Once you two had sufficiently caught each other up on your respective lives, the conversation turned more soft and touchy. Bobby was extremely tactile when tipsy. You and Bobby had kissed a couple of times over the years but you'd never gone the distance, always stopping yourselves.

However this time neither of you wanted to stop, in a haste Bobby motions to take off your top, that was until Bobby's soft caresses of your body reminded you of the insecurities plaguing you for the last 9 months.

Feeling you freeze up Bobby, worried that he'd done something wrong, asks if you're feeling okay,

To which you reply, "It's nothing on you Bob, it's just that ever since Enya I'm so different to how I was. Now i'm sore and I ache all the time, and I feel so damn unloveable."

"Oh Hun, you're nothing of the sort. I see, before me, a woman not only worthy of love but of worship. Let me worship you, please I promise it'll be-"

Captivated, you nod almost immediately but cringe as you release you hadn't had time to wipe off the nipple cream you'd lathered on hours before.

Once your breasts are revealed to him you can't bear to look from embarrassment expecting him to recoil, but he doesn't in fact—your worries are bulldozed by the fervid pleasure of his mouth of your bud, sucking delicately for your pleasure and your pleasure only.

Taking his warm mouth of your bud for just a second Bobby says with batted breath,

"Take a deep breath, baby, C'mon"

Overcome, you arch your back like a Persian kitten. Your nails scrambling, and tearing into the soft grass: your moans turning into soft, delightful screams.

Overcome with gratitude and deference to Bobby you scream out, so loud that you're not entirely sure that Alma can't hear you,

"Baby, baby, baby, I'm-i'm your man"

Who knew you could cum from that? Certainly not you, that's for sure but alas you did.

You take several minutes to come out of it, to which he just cradles you brushing a few short strands of hair, dotting kisses along the concave of your breasts.

As if to give back you raise a hand to his chin, and engulf him in a sweet kiss, nothing reminiscent of dominate coming from either side: just tenderness.

"Oh I can taste champagne on your lips, Bobby!"

"Y'know I do have an idea on how to get rid of that taste" to which Bobby dramatically lays you on the ground and gets down to business on his hands and knees, fingering and teasing your mound: warm and inviting.

By the whole end of the ordeal you've had 5 orgasms and made enough noise to rival the neighbouring cats and dogs screeches and barks.

All the nipple butter has been removed from your breasts and is now squarely strewn around on Bobby's face and lips—they do say lanolin is a good moisturiser for the lips...

[theverystrangegirl27]

Wax Wings, A Bobby Kennedy Story by theverystrangegirl

[kennedyism]

now this looks like fun giggles

Surfin’ USA.

Bobby Kennedy x reader

Summary: Spending a day on the beach with Bobby? Yes please. (Need that!!!!!)

Warnings: This is all just for fun, no need to take this seriously!

Tag list: @jackiesgirl @quietamericans @obsessedwithjohnjr @fortheloveofjos @melancholicstation @rocker-chick-7 @bleatngheart @joansiesbeloved

author’s note: TELL THE TEACHER WE’RE SURFINNNNN SURFIN USAAAAA

“Gee, Jack, I think your age is catching up to you, you can’t even keep up!”

You watch your fiancé run around with the football in the sand, sunglasses covering your eyes as you stare. It makes you laugh seeing the president trying to keep tabs on his younger, more athletic, younger brother. You’re the only… not Kennedy woman yet, but you get the point, here.

“Hey, Baby!” Bobby shouts, making you snort. He’s so corny, but it’s okay since it’s him. He comes over to you, only in his swim trunks, looking down at you, football in hand. “You oughta come play. Jack’s gettin’ his ass handed to him. You could probably beat him.” He snickers, looking down at your face, then your bikini, not in a sexual way, but just to look at how beautiful you are.

“No, I’m alright… go enjoy yourself.”

Bobby then sits beside you in the sand, pressing a kiss on your cheek which makes you giggle. “Oh, stop… Not here.” You laugh, trying to push him away. but he’s a lot stronger than you, making him lean a bit more next to you, practically pinning you with only sitting next to you.

“Not my fault you’re so pretty.” He flirts, which makes you laugh. Bobby is not normally a flirter. That’s his brother, he’s the more logical one, but you’re not complaining about the sudden change of behavior.

Bobby is very unpredictable. You never know his next move, and that’s what makes him all more lovable and attractive. “Okay, lover boy, that’s enough.” You laugh, gently shoving him off you. You then snicker watching him fall gently in the sand.

The attorney general sits up, brushing the sand off his arms, and then he puts his knees to his chest, the wind blowing in his hair as he stares at you with love in his eyes. He then turns his attention to the Beach Boys song on the radio, then back at you. “Well, you gotta stop saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell outta you.” He sighs out, putting his sunglasses on, and looking at you through the dark plastic.

Those words make you blush, and sputter looking at him. There’s no way he just say that. He seems to be enjoying your reaction, though. You then decide to play along with his games. “Alright… if you wanna kiss me, you gotta catch me.” You say as you stand up, and starting to dart off into the distance.

Bobby is taken back by your actions, and it takes about thirty seconds for it to register and click into his mind, but within that time, he’s onto his feet and chasing after you.

“You forget I played Football!”

“In college!”

“Still played—You callin’ me old?!”

And just as he says that, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace from behind. “Got ya.” He pants, trying to hold you in place, but it’s hard to do so with your squirming and laughter.

“Let go!” You laugh, finally getting out of his grasp, and then you pull Bobby into a kiss, leaving a bright red lipstick mark on his lips, and that makes you burst out laughing, so it makes you do it again. “Oh, wow.” You giggle.

“Are ya done?”

“Not yet…”

You then grab the grab the general’s face, your hands on his cheeks as you place kisses all around his face. You then step back to admire your work. “Now that’s a look.” You say, a hand on your hip, proud of your art work.

“Wow, not gonna let me go out like this, are ya?”

“I gotta let everyone see my work!”

“We can put me in a museum, if you’d like.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

[h-l-vlovesvintage]

My blog @h-l-v-kennedy-blog is back, will be uploading my kennedy fanfics there, that I also have on Ao3. So, my kennedyposting will resume there.

[h-l-v-kennedy-blog]

mariage de convenance (V)

pairing: john f. kennedy x oc (dr. helena radcliffe) word count: 3,699 series synopsis: she’s a doctor, he’s a congressman. she needs money, he has it (his father’s). she’s a caretaker, he’s constantly ill. her name brings social capital, and next to his, it’s perfect. he’d have a politically well-timed marriage, and she’d have financial security. he’d live in washington and she’d stay in new york. both at their jobs. her as a diagnostician and him as a congressman. a marriage of convenience. clinical, without needless emotion or romance. correct? a/n: bad habits, a new addition and jack tries to cook dinner. tw: infidelity, pregnancy, etc.

Any good diagnostician would catch the first signs even in herself that something was off, but damn, it took her a month to seriously understand what was wrong. Helena had missed her period, twice now since November.

Now a month into 1953, she felt ill, especially in the mornings and her appetite was off. A quick consultation with a doctor at Mount Sinai during a momentary respite from solving medical cases, confirmed her thoughts. She doubted it was a good thing the firs thing she thought was: Oh, fuck.

It was too early, but goddammit…she was pregnant. She told Janet first. Her only truly loyal friend and closest thing she had to a sister. Janet, always one to look for the brightside, tried to give her pros, but saw quickly how to Helena this was a con. She knew she couldn't be a doctor while pregnant, knowing Mount Sinai's policies, she would be very politely asked to hand in her resignation. And her days as the hospital, at least as a doctor would be over.

A chapter of her life would come to a close, and she doubted how with a child, she could ever work her normal hours again. She had naively thought that she had a little more…time. That she and Jack weren't together that often, things would not slip past. But no.

She knew the pressure she was under daily would not do any good to the baby and she was sure her mother and Joe knew, that even as the ground work for her marriage to Jack was being laid, that her career was reaching its sunset. The cordial "If you can manage all these aspects, why should you stop".

Still, a housewife, she would not become. No. She'd find a way to fill her days different to that of a wife confined to the same four walls and a screaming baby while the husband goes past all respectable office hours.

To go about telling Jack the news, she decided to get it out of the way quickly. Sitting by the window, on a dark blue chez long in her bedroom, in the John Kennedys apartment on Park Avenue, New York. She held the powder blue handset to her ear, breathing softly into the microphone as she waited to be connected to, first Jack's secretary, Evelyn Lincoln, then to Jack's inner office phone. Her eyes watched the rain drops fall against the cool glass, cloud coverage heavy over the city in the winter of 1953. The room around her was decorated in shades of blue, not unlike the telephone in her hand. The phone crackled and Jack's voice was slightly breathless. She didn't wonder for too long "why?".

"Hello, Doc. Surprised to hear from you." She was surprised how easily humor came to him.

"I haven't said anything yet." Her tone slightly at a lower pitch, with a spec of melancholy.

He seemed to hear that little hitch in her voice, and his voice turned from casually humorous to a more approchable quality: "You usually don't call…that's new, Helena. You're normally at work around now."

She knew he was right, she was never the one to call or comment when he didn't.

"Yes…but I…I got off early." Morelike, packed my things up, after correctly assuming I would no longer be asked to come in. "I…I no longer work at Sinai."

"Wha-why?"

"My situation has changed. Hospital policy dictates, well, unofficially-"

"Your situation?" If she could see his face, she knew he would be looking at her with that slightly confused to look that reminded her of a puppy.

"Jack, I'm pregnant." Helena heard his breath catch. "So, you see why…I called."

Then she heard on the other end of the line. "Senator, I can't do my best if you're like this…so stiff…" Barely audible, but Jack's breathing was quiet enough and the…assistant's voice loud enough.

Helena rolled her eyes at the realization. By now, she'd seen it more often than not of her husband leaving her stranded at parties, charity balls and even at mutual friends dinner parties. She'd caught on quick enough, he wasn't slick or very good at hiding.

"I see that I've called at an inopportune time. I'll let you…gather yourself and we'll discuss the new developements over the weekend. The cocktail party for Inez Cob, dinner for Colonel Atkinson at the Statler, and the reception for the Honorable and Mrs. Farrington at the Congressional Club?" Her air had shifted to that very clinical, almost sounding like how she spoke with her patients. Closed off, direct, and cold. (she wasn't known around Mount Sinai for being a warm and pleasant doctor, but a quick and correct diagnostician)

"Hel-Helena, I…" It seems he knew he was caught. Was he trying to cover it up or catch her before she hung up?

Either way: "Tell, Miss Whatever-her-name-is, to speak in more dulcet tones or her voice will be heard in New York City. I'll see you Friday." With that setting the handset down on the switch hook. Her skin tingled with heat, so she leaned her forehead against the cool window pane. Eyes falling shut, listening to only the sounds of the world outside and the downpour. Breath in, and out.

Her left hand creaped up to rest on her stomach, knowing what was beyond the fabric of her clothes and inside her. There nothing much to feel yet, but the thought was enough. She would become a mother. She prayed to God, nothing like her own.

-Change of POV-

Jack Kennedy didn't embarass easily. Or so he'd led himself to believe. Now he doubted what he even knew anymore. That…that whole phone call and Miss Quinton, had been…deebly mortifing. He usually brushed of any and all such occurences. But now, he didn't know what to feel.

He was going to be a father. Him, Jack Kennedy, a man who's fatalistic life led him to believe he wouldn't live past 45, was now, well, more like in over half a year, becoming a father. 

And his wife had heard the voice of another woman over the phone just as she'd delivered the news to him. He heard the barely-open latch of a new room in their lifehouse, slam shut. That removed delivery, of reciting their scheduled joint appearences, took away any chance of him explaining away the voice of the woman kneeling at his feet, the fly of his trousers open, and her hand on him. It was intentional, he got that. To not let him even try to lie.

Suffice to say, Miss Quinton would be finding other employment elsewhere. She wasn't discreet.

He was going to be a father.

God, he didn't even have a chance to feel joy over the news. He remembered he didn't feel any hint of happiness in Helena's voice either as she told him.

"Aren't we a merry pair?" She had rhetorically said at their wedding reception, her tone in deadpann. 

Merry, indeed.

"Mrs. Lincoln, can you clear my schedule for the rest of the day? I'm going out."

He liked his daily schedules packed, but he needed to ruminate and reflect for more than just a few moments before an inevitable second wave of news would hit.

"Yes, Senator." Mrs. Lincoln answered, in a dutiful manner. Although Jack noted her slightly raised brow. His shoulders more hunched and his coat slung loosely over his wirethin frame. Scarf haphazardly covering the column of his neck.

He headed out, leaving behind the Senate Office Building.

- Back to Helena's POV-

—

It was late in the afternoon, when Helena arrived in a taxi on O Street, holding a suitcase while the driver took out the second. Fancy dress frocks took up more luggage space, and still it surprised her everytime, warranting the second suitcase. The gray stone steps up to the house weren't slipper like the street had been. Little bits of stone chips, sneaked into her boots.

Jack wasn't supposed to be home until late, ordinarily. Helena reached for the door handle when it opened and there was Jack, clad in blue cashemere sweater and grey trousers, out of his daily suit of choice.

Would she be unkind if she thought she didn't want to see him there, looking like he'd waited for her arrival. After their tumultous phone call, she wasn't exactly pleased to see him. But he took her suitcase out of her hand, and picked up the other one by her side.

With his back, she doubted these moves were doing him any favors. "I was fine with-"

"It's freezing, get inside." He stopped her. The quality of his voice faint, gentle even. "I can take these upstairs while you take your coat off."

Wrinkles formed between her brows, with one brow tilting upward at the soft command in his timbre, as he did head upstairs to their bedroom, though looking to be a bit unsteady on his trek.

She hung up her coat on the coatrack, removing her brown boots, sock clad feet touching the cool wood floor. Then a strange smell reached her nose. Burning.

So, going against her original plan of being a silent partner that evening. "Jack, is something burning?" Her head directed toward the staircase. She heard a string of curses as her husband came barrelling down the stairs toward the kitchen. Huh? Following him, arms behind her back.

And for the first time, to her recollection, she saw her husband attend to something inside the oven while another thing (she wasn't sure what this scene she was witnessing was about) was overboiling on the stove top. "Where's Adeline? Jack, what's goin-"

"Damn!" And deep grey smoke left the open oven door. Helena got closer to see something in a cake tin, looking like a pit of cole. Turning off the stove and opening a window while Jack, cursed again and Jack disposed of the burnt specimen. The room smelt as burnt as the thing in the tin looked.

The cool January wafted in, with a wintery breeze joining in. Helena leaned her elbows on the window sill as she observed the zone in the kitchen. Jack having the bin open, trying to remove the overroasted thing from the tin, the pot no longer over flowing, but remanants of it streaked the sides of the steel dish, a large salad bowl with half cut greens strewn in with a cutting board next to it. There was flour on some counters, and on the floor. Containers open and laid out acroos the moss green countertops. A recepie book on the small breakfast table in the not-so-large space.

"This looks like warzone." She made him chuckle. She didn't know how to feel about that. "I'll ask again, where's Adeline?"

"Home with her boys. I told her that I'd be…fine."

"You were trying to cook?" Her eyes widening, arms crossing over her stomach. Never had she thought he'd. "And it's been going swell."

"Don't mock." He smiled, fading quickly from his features. "I…I upset you."

"I didn't think you'd notice." Sharp like a razorblade, he looked cut by her words.

Helena knew by now he prided himself on his obersvational skills, it just in her opion lacked in the department of their strange and unusual marriage.

His eyes avoided hers, gaze drifting away to the messy stove and not his messy marriage, voice low. "I did." He looked to accept her. "I'm not…good with…this." Making up or talking about an issue, Helena finished the sentence in her head.

"And you're not good at cooking." She added.

He huffed, a flash of amusement crossing him. "Don't make me laugh when I'm being serious."

"But you're not." A pause. "I'm not either. At this." She gestured at the four foot long gap between them, in-earnest.

"We're good on camera, but away from the lense, we're out of focus."

It was her turn to huff out a laugh. "I get it, you're a writer. No need to wax poetic to me. Jack, face it, we're far from being a husband and wife, aside from signing the paperwork and sharing spaces and last names."

"And a child." His green eyes lingered on her middle.

She'd almost forgotten. "Yes, that, too. But we don't…behave like one." She almost used the word "act", which was reserved more to their public personas. "I have never given you a reason to behave…unlike yourself and neither have you."

"I would never want you to." He had abandoned the tin and crossed the kitchen floor to stand directly in front of her.

Her eyes were downcast. "We're atypical in a typical structure."

He reached for her, then pulled back. She felt the warmth radiating from his skin, and the cold as he stopped himself.

The unspeakable was put aside. Neither knew how to face that part of their relationship. So, something more immediate came to mind.

"I wanted to to do something new. Adeline left me a checklist and recepie. But looks like I'm not that good at following instructions." He spoke, still in gentle tones with a sincere smile. "I'm a politician, not a chief."

Tugging at her mouth was a smile, as she looked at him. "What was it meant to be?"

"I asked what your…your favorites were." He seemed to become shy, almost boyish, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"You did? Why?"

"I…for you and the…the baby."

"Oh." An oddly sweet gesture, and new.

"But as we can see, we'll have to go without dinner, since this was obviously a fuck up." He sighed.

"Well, maybe we can salvage…something. Or just order a pizza?" She offered, moving past him to look under the lid of the pot on the stovetop. Just as she made her way there, Jack's fingers lightly grazed her side, like a subtle breeze. It was there and then it wasn't. Removing the lid, she found some very…um…cooked (?) vegetables, the only problem was that they seemed to be stuck to the bottom. She gently put the lid back on. "Okay. I'll go make a call. I'm sure some place is still open."

She felt Jack's gaze burn on her skin and she met his eyes. His mouth opened. "Thank you."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm eating for two, I can't miss dinner."

In a casual setting in their living room, the John Kennedys had dinner. With tissue paper around the slices of pizza as to not stain any furniture or the rug. Somethings were ignored and others celebrated.

"Jack?" Helena wiped her mouth with a tissue.

"Yes, Doc?" Jack swallowed a bite of his slice.

"There's no use in me living in New York anymore, since I won't work there…"

"Mhm."

"So, I think it's logical that I move here. It is our house. And for the baby."

Jack nodded again, sensing there was "but".

"But I won't stay at home forever, become traditional wife with an apron and up to her sleeves in flour with three children running around. I still need to do my own thing. I haven't figured it out yet…but that I know."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

She shouldn't have been surprised at his answer. He had never been the one to deny her anything, it was more his father and her mother. He wasn't like either of them. She supposed, she should've known that by now.

–

Helena picked up a shift in Jack ever since she packed up the apartment in New York and arrived in Georgetown. He hovered around her at first. A month would go by, the longest stretch either had spent together in one shared space. Then two.

A social functions, he would keep an eye on her. Even going so far as to hold her by her waist or her hand sometimes.

However, as much as things change, as much stays the same. He would still stray away on occasion with a pretty woman, leaving her behind. It wasn't all too often. But enough, for her to notice.

They didn't talk about it, Helena for the reason she didn't want to sound like nag and like one of those insecure wives, when she was neither and their marriage hadn't stemmed from love. So, she couldn't act jealous or behave in at all in that manner, so she believed. She didn't blame herself for these discrepancies, but the callous and obvious manner, ticked her off, a smidge.

–

"Helly. Hey!" Bobby's reedy voice nearly made Helena jump out of her skin. Standing on the porch of the big house, looking out onto the lawn, she hadn't heard Bobby coming up to her. A sheen of sweat coating his skin - fresh from playing touchfootball with Ethel, Jack, Eunice and Sarge (Eunice's fiancee).

It was a warm May day, Helena having less than two months to go before the baby was due. Her clothes no longer fit her, and wearing a loose dress was what she wore most in the sweltering months of late spring and early summer.

"What, Bobby?" Turning her head to look at him.

"You looked to be off in another world. You shouldn't be standing out in the sun so much. You might get heat stroke." Bobby also acted differently ever since Jack and her announced her pregnancy. Bobby was always attentive toward her, but especially now, in her more delicate state.

"Bobby, I'm fine. I can't stay sheltered away in the house. I need vitamin D." She smiled, good-naturedly.

"Bob, come on, let's go play a round of tennis!" The ever cheerful Ethel called out to her husband a few feet from the porch. Eunice and Sarge had decided to go sailing, and Jack had gone inside to lie down (having again, fallen on his back and not hiding his pain). "Helena's a doctor, she knows what to do."

"See, Bobby, listen to that wife of yours." Helena gestured to the fellow blonde, whilst Bobby chuckled.

"It's just…" His voice could really be meager and small. That was an endearing quality of his.

Helena put her hands up in surrender: "I'm all right. But if I go back inside, will that set your heart at ease?"

He nodded, forelock of hair falling over his forehead, he pushed it back. "Thank you." Speaking to Ethel. "I'm coming, Ethel." And going after his wife.

Leaving Helena on her own on the porch. The air was cool and the sun hot. The sounds of waves and birds was soothing. She liked basking in the sun for a bit. The child inside her, kicked her softly, reminding her of what she had promised to Bobby. "I know, hon." She whispered, hand resting on her bump under the baby blue cotton of her dress. "I'm going inside."

Windows open in their bedroom, Jack lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling, his head going up way to quickly as Helena came in. Uttering a soft, almost in audible "ow" with his hand going to his neck.

"Hi." Her voice was gentle as she closed the door after her.

"Hi." He returned the greeting. "Bobby sequester you indoors, again?"

"Yes. He did." She said. "Mind if I join you?" She gestured to the bed.

"Knock yourself out, Doc."

Taking off her sandals and slowly laying on her back, head on a fluffy silken pillow. Closing her eyes, feeling everything around her, with every sense. A warm hand touched her middle, slowly drawing patterns over her bump. Peeking open her eyes, she saw how Jack had lightly turned his body to his side and was looking at her with a look of wonder, childlike even.

"Crazy that a person is growing inside you."

She chuckled. "Yeah, a bit."

The baby kicked where his fingers had been. His eyes would widen every time it had occured. This point must've been a high point in there marriage of times he'd willingly been touching her, affectionate with her, if that was possible in their relationship. She had thought the chances of them becoming close very slim.

"Does it hurt?" His palm against her, as the baby kicks against his open hand.

"Not too much, it's more just…oh I don't know how to explain it…but she's strong."

"She? How do you know that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I have a feeling." She stated.

"So no medical explantion, doctor?"

"Nope, just a feeling."

His grin was brighter than a lightbulb. He'd never looked at her like that, for that long. Saying…"I know you" with those green eyes of his. The unreadable still curled between colorful flicks in his eyes, a puzzle still not solved.

–

On June 24th, precisely 10 days before her scheduled arrival, Esther Beatrice Radcliffe Kennedy, made her entrance into the world. Painfully and ardously for her mother, but quickly enough, her cries would fill the room.

It was clear love at first sight with Jack and Esther. Helena had shut her eyes to rest after the birth, only to hear her daughter's cries and then the soft-spoken tone of her husband saying "Shh, your mother is sleeping" and the babe silenced instantly.

Strange that in a matter of hours, Jack and her had become responsible for a whole human being, small and fragile, and theirs. Jack had taken to sitting with Esther as much as he could, holding her like she was the most precious thing (he'd at first been worried he'd drop her, but a midwife showed him the proper way to hold her and then it became all he wanted to do). Pride shone from him like rays of sunlight.

He sat on Helena's bed with Esther in his arms as the couple took to admiring this little bundle, innocent to the world, sweet and untarnished. Jack couldn't take his eyes off his daughter. Helena couldn't take her eyes off Jack. He didn't catch her staring. She didn't mind, knowing what was blooming inside her would need to stay there, tucked away.

It wasn't the time or place. Love…

(the end for now...)

[vintagedebutante]

i miss President/Kennedy confessions blog posts on my dash so for christmas PLS send ur wildest kennedy confessions to me and I’ll publish them without my added opinion in response hehe

18+ !! pls feel free to be as spicy as u want

I don’t judge

[melancholicstation]

CONSIDERING AVIATION? - a bobby kennedy one-shot

summary: turns out this attorney general is definitely prone to peer pressure by pretty women! who could've guessed that. authors note: of course gimagus was not around in the sixties (though i do try to dress the readers in period appropriate clothes) the reader's outfits are literally an apparition of my ssense shopping cart at a specific time! feel no pressure to imagine them that way. let that fashion freak flag fly high! shout out to @remotewatch for indulging in airport bobby kennedy and giving inspiration!

tags: @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel @absurdlyvintage

warnings: none just bobby being peer pressured into taking off his shirt but he loves it more than he ought to!

words: 2,308

A lot of people probably thought you were crazed for selecting a career path in the sector of aviation—with all it's arduous work schedule, time away from friends and family, and draining time zone changes. But nevertheless you loved it.

"Do you think I'm crazy For considering aviation? I'm a fan of flying...

As a child of a particularly affluent New England family you enjoyed the pleasure of flying often in your childhood—your beloved aupair dutifully carrying behind you your soft shell carry-on luggage bag containing various cotton pique dresses and chemises, along with a backpack containing note pads and pencils to do your homework between flights.

Safe to say growing up flying across the globe gave you an innate fixation on it advancing into it as a career path in adulthood. Which is exactly how you got here, being an air hostess for Texas' biggest airline in the state: Air Texas.

Why not do it for the nation? Cause I have nothing else to do...

Safe to say your parents weren't the biggest fans of your particular career path. Your mother wanted you to be some sort of home-maker living it up in North Connecticut in a weatherboard house, sedated out of your mind on blue pills making jello moulds all day—okay maybe that's not exactly transcribing what she said but you get the gist!

In opposition your father always had dreams of you becoming a middle school teacher, claiming you had a certain way with children. However, you would beg to differ if a particular heated fight with one of your teenage cousins on Christmas morning ending in tears and a very unhappy look on both of your parents faces was anything to go by.

Instead of submitting to either of your parents wishes you bucked the trend and got a big degree in philosophy of all things, to which your father calmly explained that he would not spend over four thousand dollars into Harvards pockets just to facilitate a degree that would leave you severely and desperately unemployed.

But, because he's your father he relented, as you thought most fathers ought to do with their daughter's aspirations.

However you can't he was entirely wrong on the whole unemployment rate of philosophy students. Well-paying employers weren't exactly falling over themselves to find young, freshly-graduated philosophy majors to hire. So when Air Texas provided you with an opportunity you took it with absolute and total vigour.

Have a big degree in philosophy But I don't know what I want to be...

Working for an airline was, to you at least, a pretty stable method of income which payed you to basically talk shit with other twenty-something women and have limited contact with the on-board passengers, bar simply asking them if they want orange juice or coffee with their plastic covered, stale piece of bread to go along with their miso soup that is probably still in the best by date. Probably.

All in all it was a good gig, with a stellar choice of wardrobe.

Getting ready for your job was a relatively easy and stress-free task for you. First step was to wash yourself and hair in rose water, then carefully assemble your hair into smooth waves with the front sections pulled back by two ivory chignon hair pins engraved with the company namesake. Moving onto makeup was easy: fresh skin with a powdered t-zone, red lacquered lips, and a tawn beige blush to the cheeks.

So I'm going into aviation, yeah, mom I'm going into aviation, yeah, dad Going into aviationI'm going into aviation...

The uniform in its basic form was relatively strict: white ballerina toe high boots in white, low rise mini skirt or denim micro shorts in white paired with a halter fitted top in a cotton-linen blend also in white.

The details, however, in your uniform were more customizable. A hat was required so you chose a paperboy denim cap, a pair of butterfly lenses and with some more affixing of random jewellery pieces you'd possibly stolen from your grandmothers estate years ago, you were all but ready to head to work.

You'd thought today to be a relatively normal work day, that was until you attended the mandatory briefing meeting required before every flight and was informed that a member of "very high influence" had loaned out the aircraft for the day and that your boss had offered staff to service those on board.

How curious.

You'd never really heard of famous people being able to loan out commercial airplanes, you'd heard that more often than not they fly private—which made you realise that it was more than likely going to be a large volume of passengers boarding the flight to even start to justify what you imagined would be a gargantuan loan price tag.

After briefing was done you'd forgotten mostly about it till boarding—besides it wasn't the first time a famous person had flown public before. Though somehow it was always your most hated colleague that got to unfairly serve said famous person tea or coffee instead of you, so the star-power of a boarding passenger didn't all that much change your workday or your mood.

At least it hadn't until now.

You'd begun boarding and preparing for the short three hour flight without much fuss—being informed that the group would arrive in the next hour. So you used the time to make coffee for your three closet work girlfriends: Renee, Colleen, and Virginia. Now, you'd never say this to them face to face but them being there made those arduous flight hours worth it to you, and they were the only ones who would indulge your inclination to lightly gossip about passengers. Lightly, of course.

You'd all assumed your positions as boarding came into session, as if on auto-pilot you simply did your job: politely meeting the eyes of passengers, giving them each an earnest smile. But, after the 5th passenger you'd started to see a pattern linking each person from the next—and it wasn't that they were just from the same group loaning the plane, they all donned a specific sort of pin.

Initially they moved much too quick for you to discern any sort of writing on the pin, but once a women kneeled down to slide her cabine trunk under her seat you could clearly make out the content of the pin: the pin writing "Kennedy" in simple, white arial font against a lapis background.

Some wore it on their jacket lapel, others on their tie, and others simply on their mohair sweater.

Huh, must be a Kennedy campaign plane you thought to yourself. Not even really entertaining the idea that the "Kennedy" up for office would be on board at this very moment.

The first thirty minutes of the flight was pretty much smooth sailing all around, from what you gathered the campaign members were all young, vivacious citizens putting in the effort. In a certain light they were incredibly admirable for their efforts, though you didn't know that you quite had it in you to follow a politician to every damn state in the country.

That was until you'd seen his face. That damn face on his face.

To Colleen's credit you weren't the first to spot him, quite frankly because you were so sure a man of his status would be irrevocably be flying private. Always.

She, according to her word had seen him set up shop across two recliner chairs, sitting cross legged with a gentle yet firm hand stroking his cocker spaniel 'Freckles' and another flipping through a manila folder filled to the brim with loose leaf.

What clued you into his arrival however was the loud ruckus that your three friends were making by loudly and not at all discreetly whispering in each others ears in the crew area. Feeling unbelievably left out you race over there desperate to hear whatever they've got to tell, they clue you in with remarkable speed and clarity. Bobby Kennedy is on board right this minute.

Though, it's only when Renee motions your eyes with her hand that you see the main topic of conversation for yourself: Bobby Kennedy quietly reading a book... innocuous enough sure to the naked eye. But after a short inspection you see that not only did he discard his sleeveless sweater vest but that his white button-down has two-less buttons covered than it originally did: making a littering of chest hair subtly apparent to those who looked for it. Giggling with your girls, you started to feel a little bad for objectifying a man who's simply just reading a book but in your mind it was utterly harmless.

After about 5 minutes of ogling you'd been called over to refill the beverage jugs, leaving the three to have their fun with him. But only when you got back you saw just how much fun they were having...

You weren't exactly sure what you had walked into—all you knew was the first thing you saw was bobby being cornered by your very charming and very attractive friends and Virginia saying in a tone bordering on mocking tone, yet exceeding at being sickly sweet,

"Oh C'mon Bobby it's only your shirt! A peek really can't hurt now could it?"

Peeking out from your position in the cabin alcove, you observe a deep red crimson blush wash over his face, bathing it in the kind of expression right before the big dip of a roller coaster: exhilaration meeting intense trepidation all along the features of his greek god like face.

Blushing, he begins to fiddle with the cotton of his button-up, listening intently to the encouragement from your two other friends,

"C'mon Bobby we won't ever tell a single soul, it'll just be our little secret!"

Quietly giggling, as to not give your specific vantage point away, you're deeply shocked when he actually does relent to their request. Sheepishly removing the cotton layer revealing a mosaic of chestnut hair mediated by a taupe natural tan to the skin.

What shocked you even more, however, is that Renee calls out to you, seemingly aware that you had been there the entire time,

"Y/n, honey, come take a picture of us with that Kennedy boy! He's real cute too!"

Groaning internally from the embarrassment of being caught you take the camera from her hands, quickly snapping a few photos of your friends either side of a shirtless Bobby Kennedy.

This would surely be a story to tell at dinner parties, Huh?

Laughing slightly you hand the photos back, to which the girls ogle at the pictures pointing at the picture and calling him over,

"Oh Bobby, Look how darling you look here!"

As if just registering your presence as you were about to leave this very strange bordering on erotic situation. He appears docile as ever quickly nodding at you as if to say hello without actually verbalising it, waving with his left hand.

You wave back warmly and decide to leave the alcove, but not before taking in the utter physical comedy of a United States senator completely shirtless, wearing black trousers adorned with a slate belt, in front of a handful of Texas flight attendants simply at their request.

It's about an hour before you encounter Bobby again, and coincidentally you'd hit the tarmac into the airport about 15 minutes ago, with all passengers boarding off bar one: Bobby.

Apparently he had fallen asleep on the floor of the seat along with his dog and no one had the heart to tell him the planes landed by waking him up. It felt cruel, almost like waking up a newborn fawn in the middle of nap time. Did fawns even have nap time? You didn't quite know.

Taking one for the team, and totally not because you were curious what his face would look like completely rested: not haunted by the daily struggle you were sure he faced being who he was and doing what he did.

Kneeling down you quietly knock on the side of the plastic seat in an effort to wake him up, although that only causes his dog, Freckles, to awake and furiously lick the face of its owner. Which does begin to wake him up.

"Mr Kennedy, Sorry to disturb you but we've arrived at Lafayette Regional Airport."

"That's quite okay—thank you very much"

You notice he's put his button-up and sweater back on, much to your chagrin. Turning away you start to leave to collect your own baggage when you hear an audible stomach groan of hunger from what you can only assess as coming from Bobby as your the only two on the aircraft.

Sympathetic, you reach into your waist pack and fish out some rice crackers, along with a bottled water, and place it on the cushion of the seat in front of him. Leaving food for him to find like a person leaves food out for easily scared woodland creatures.

Coming back to do your final sweep and check of the seats before they were to be cleaned by the cleaning crew for the next flight, you lock eyes with Bobby and trail your eyes down, down, down to a surprisingly, shockingly large bulge in the pant of his trouser, accompanied by a pained from anticipation expression that almost drips over his entire face covering, encasing him whole.

All in all he looks utterly a mess and pathetic, not at all how he should present himself to the adoring fans lined outside the airport immolating his presence. So you do as anyone in your position would do—okay maybe not everyone but you'd wager on most,

"Give me one sec, I'll take care of it I promise."

You leave Bobby alone and catch your three friends unloading their personal carry-ons, you inform them that Bobby's in the bathroom and you'll see him out and make sure everything's in order for the next flight. They eye you suspiciously as if they know what's really going on, but no one dares to share.

They know you'll debrief tomorrow anyway so what's the point in spoiling the fun early anyway?

Safe to say after a good 20 minutes, Bobby Kennedy departs the plane and greets slobbering fans looking more chipper and revitalised than any person ought to look after spending hours on board a metal flying tube... but who were they to speculate on what went on during that flight?

I'm gonna take a vacation, yeah, man Fly fighter jets all over the nation Fly fighter jets all over the nation"