#bobby kennedy x you

[melancholicstation]

YOU’RE SO HANDSOME WHEN I'M ALL OVER YOUR MOUTH! - a JFK and RFK love triangle one-shot.

authors note: this is part one! also can you tell i watched the jfk movie starring patrick demspy as young jfk... cause, mama i am howling at the moon for that man i hate to say it y'know i do! another thing, this is not edited because i actually cannot right now, it will be soon enough! iloveuallx summary: an afternoon in dallas leaves an indelible mark on your relationship with your husband, bobby kennedy, and his brother jack kennedy... you'd be surprised how much can be identified based on one moment of pure, animalistic reflex.

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123@absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

warnings: alternative universe take on the assassination of JFK, mild gore, blood, and violence.

words: 1070

Now you weren't proud to admit this, but you hadn't been entirely truthful to Bobby when it came to just how familiar you were with his older, illness-prone, shit-eating-grin wearing brother Jack.

Well you see, you'd met Jack a long time before you'd met your beloved Bob. A quite long time indeed.

*flashback to Peter Bent Brigham Hospital, Boston 1931*

The Jack you'd met—well his name wasn't even Jack when you'd met him, for some strange reason he adopted an alias named "Dan" whenever you two would converse. You could tell it was a fake, obviously, but you entertained it and by extension him, blinded by the vision of him in a white wife-beater and a fawn penny loafer.

If you were asked, you'd put those psychology books you'd been left to read in 29' to good use and say that he was attempting to distance himself from who he thought people expected a promising son of Joesph Kennedy to be from the disease ridden boy he came to quickly resemble through his child and teenhood.

You'd forever hold dear to your heart the first time you'd laid your sore eyes upon his almost tragic kind of grace and beauty. Jack was never a stellar patient—not like you were, forever you were a quite careful daughter that never did seem to shake that pesky cold that eventually turned into a much graver prognosis for you, par for the course you'd met Jack while he was trying enter back into the hospital after hours—no doubt coming home from God knows what, doing God knows who.

And in doing so, he'd obviosuly over indulged himself and gone far beyond his doctors orders in terms of physical movement. Jack would go on to tell you that he thought his doctor would soon try to put him in a contraption not disimilar to a straight jacket just for him to get some rest.

In a haze of overexertion and clear fatigue Jack accidently mistook your room for his, and no less but climbed into your bed—with you sleeping in it, none the wiser, and the mistake wasn't noticed by you, himself, or his nurses until the morning.

Safe to say you two, unknowingly got decently comfortable with eachother after that. Nothing deviant, purely platonic but a sense of camraderie and friendship had been born that night out of plain happenstance.

By some miracle you'd condition had steadily improved and no sooner than five months are meeting Jack, you were saying goodbye to him all the same. You didn't want him to feel a sense of betrayal due to your leaving so you vowed to eachother to keep in touch through letters—with you promising to entertain him through ink and paper when visitation hours were up for the night.

*end of flashback*

You two would keep that promise to keep in touch until certain life-shaped obstacles got in the way, chief among them being a certain sandy-blonde named Bob Kennedy.

Though you missed Jack and longed to rekindle the camraderie you once shared, you didn't quite expect it to come about like how it did....

After a few months of courtship between you and Bobby, in which you swore you'd never seen a man so dedicated to loving another person in your whole life: and to be on the recieving end of that affection felt euphoric. So, naturally, a spring wedding was to be set, but not before meeting the family.

So in 1949 that's exactly what you did, timidly clutching Bob's hand while trying to make pleasant conversation with the younger of his siblings—of which there were many. One caught your eye. A certain Jack Kennedy, who looked remarkably similar to the addled boy you'd met back in BLANK.

Side stepping what couldve been an awkard moment you both handled it with poise, pretending as if you two had just met for the first time. You didn't mention it to Bobby, i mean really what was there to mention? a six month friendship whom bonded over the lonliness of having a chronic illness? It wouldn't do any modicum of good for anybody. And certaintly not Bobby.

Though you hadn't met his brothers until that day, before Bobby would talk of them as Greek Gods—untouchable beings that he could only hope to be half as divine as. You didn't understand Bobby's habit of denegrating himself to pump up his brothers. To you he was everything he thought his brothers to be. Smart, handsome, charming, and above all indeliably loyal. To a fault sometimes.

No matter how many times you assured him that it was him you wanted, not anyone else. Bobby wasn't a particulary jealous person, pathologically insecure would be a more suitable assessment.

But it was that near medievil dedication to his brother that got you here: getting ready for a texan motocade with the president: who was none other than Bob's brother and your old friend from the infirmary, Jack Kennedy.

You've chosen as simple navy two piece in wool, you'd gotten so cold in your first trimester and hadn't been able to shake it off in the second. You and Bobby were delighted to be granted the utter gift of being parents, having had troubles concieving for the first couple of years into your marriage.

After the reception your hounded by assistants and courtiers into the car, only having time to exchange sincere pleastries with the president and his wife. Despite the years long hiatus in your friendship, you and Jack had mostly picked back up where you left off back in the thirties.

Though the dynamic was different now that you were both married, and with children on the way, it felt good to have a Kennedy-born ally that wasn't your husband.

Before you can say much else, the car's fully on the move, and everyone has their hands up and waving, expressing diplomatic pleastries. The car moves onto Elm Street, and as if out of nowhere your eye focuses in on the most peculiar almost minscule object flying from a nearbywindow, and heading straight for the seat holding the your old friend, and the president of the united states.

And out of a kind of pure, subhuman instinct, in disalignment with any kind of common sense you believed you had ever possessed in all your life, you move to shield his body with yours and—*BANG*

end of part one.

[lancerslover]

a quick list of my upcoming fics basically just so i can hold myself accountable for finishing them:

1) president!jack teaching intern!reader how to swim in the white house pool and it turns into smut obviously

2) college!jack putting the moves on the reader who is a painfully innocent young maid/housekeeper at hyannis port…and i think this one’s gonna be from jack’s pov 🤭 but don’t quote me on that

3) pt 2 of sibling rivalry

[ddlydevotion]

bobby kennedy ‘rfk’ x fem reader husband hcs…

currently listening to: Tomorrow Never Came by LDR ݁₊ ⊹ . !!

Bobby isn’t a stranger to having a rebellious streak every once in a while. He has absolutely no issue going up against his parents with the purpose of defending you. If your upbringing or religion (or lack thereof) comes into discussion, he’s defending you as if the world will end if he doesn’t.

He’ll most likely resort to straight up lying about your religious status if it means saving you from his parent’s wrath.

He’s constantly making you laugh with his witty remarks. There’s been many moments where he’s made you laugh unintentionally but it makes him smile knowing he’s the one who’s made you giggle. It is one of his favorite sounds, after all.

Bobby worries much more than he’d like to about his brother, Jack, trying to make a move on you. He knows his brother, I mean he’s seen the way his brother deals with his urges. He also knows full well that the fact Jack is married won’t stop him from indulging in his desires. As Evan Thomas said: “He needed to indulge this phenomenal and really unseemly sex drive. It was for rich girls, poor girls, old girls, young girls, all girls all the time.”

Bobby puts up a somewhat hard exterior in public because that is what’s necessary when pursuing a career in politics. However, he’s sickeningly sweet when it comes to you. He cannot contain his love for you even when the two of you are in front of dozens of cameras.

There are dozens upon dozens of photos of the two of you looking at each other like lovesick puppies.

Bobby rarely ever gets angry with you. For the simple fact that he’s considered the ‘softer’ one of the brothers, I believe he’d do an incredible job at comforting you. He’s a sturdy shoulder for you to lean on and he takes great pride in being so. He’d hate for you to feel as if you need to hide your feelings, negative or positive.

He is sososo gentle with you in general but especially when you’re crying and in need of comfort. He’ll hold you within his arms that give the illusion of a warm blanket, and kiss your hair.

This man is constantly taking photographs of you 🙄. There’s no use in attempting to hide behind your hands because he’ll just take a photo of that, too. Has a habit of writing the cutest of things on these photographs.

can get a bit insecure when it comes to certain aspects of his political abilities, but you’re always there to reassure him. He leans into your touch and his face is painted with a shy smile as a result of your praise.

“The people adore you, Bobby. They love you. Not as much as me, of course, but you’re the number one candidate in their hearts. Okay?”

Never fails to thank you in his speeches.

Calls you sweet girl, baby, sweetheart, honey. All of those little nicknames fall off his tongue oh so sweetly.

spoils you endlessly. He’s amazing when it comes to gift giving and uses that to his advantage. He remembers every little thing about you and it truly shines through in not just his gift giving, but also in every aspect of your relationship.

It’s quite a lot to get used to as you’re not used to being surrounded with such obvious symbols of wealth. Don’t even bother trying to stop him from spending his very well earned money on you. He’s simply going to press a lingering kiss to your lips before saying, “let me take care of my girl.”

He’s painfully devoted to you. The two of you got married very early on in your relationship. He didn’t see the point in waiting.

Sharing beautiful evenings with him by the sea in Hyannis Port. Films you lying underneath the sun shade, draped in the bathing suit he purchased for you. He swears, there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right there with you.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed reading and I’ll most likely do a part two 💌🪽🍨.

Taglist: @bobbykennedyswife @melancholicstation @lancerslover @vintagedebutante

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: You are studying the one and only US President John F. Kennedy for your dual-title doctorate at Harvard University in 1963. Upon growing closer to the president, you happen to meet one of his Harvard friends, Coriolanus Snow, who is campaigning for the 1964 Election. You're both brought closer as time passes, and your life changes forever. As the 1964 Election continues and political tensions escalate, you come together. With the help of you, the Kennedys, and his charming wit and cleverness, Coriolanus Snow ends up with all he's ever wanted. However, the ever-growing Women's Revolution puts everything and everyone at risk. What Coriolanus doesn't know is that politics is all a game-

But there are worse games to play.

⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: none. ⊹ word count: 269 (not including quote.) ⊹ author’s note: eeeee here's the prologue! I'm so excited to share this idea with you all. it was just a random fic idea I had and I didn't think it would snowball in my imagination the way it did, yet here we are lol. please be sure to check out the soundtrack and if you want to be tagged with every chapter, please fill out the form. I have both the soundtrack and taglist form below for you to click. much love!! ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult – we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had at the beginning. He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew it. When he walked in, every woman's head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn't contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. And in that way, I understood him, and I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. And I still love him. I love him.❞ — Lana Del Rey, Spoken Monologue, National Anthem

“Go on, sweetheart,” Coriolanus mumbles, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, “Wave to the people. They love it, they love you.”

You stare at Coriolanus for a moment in absolute awe as he basks in the glow of attention from the crowd. At this moment, he’s electric and powerful. You couldn’t be more proud of him for it. The two of you are in a brightly colored motorcade, slowly cruising through downtown Boston in celebration. Your husband effortlessly smiles in glory, his eyes twinkling in unbridled emotion- a rare sight to see from him. Coriolanus has his moments, but not like this. His blue eyes are usually cold, distant, and emotionless unless looking directly at you. Despite the lack of obvious light, you can still see it. It’s one thing Coriolanus admires about you; that you can see past his demeanor. The last time you remember him looking so full of pride, though, was the day you married one another.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the fact that he succeeded at this- and you succeeded at this, too. Perhaps even harder to grasp that millions of people around the world now know your name and care about what you have to say. As Coriolanus said himself, the people love you. Sure, having the people on your side just as they are his matters to you. But at the end of the day, the only thing that matters for certain is if he truly loves you like he loves power. Sometimes you aren’t so sure. Sometimes, he looks at you, and you can’t see a thing.

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove

[theverystrangegirl27]

usuing character ai to "talk" to the kennedy brothers and things are getting interesting

[joansiesbeloved]

This picture is extremely JFK-Coded. But I really want to know why they chose Patrick Dempsey to play him considering there is truly no resemblance in appearance to young Jack. Unless I'm the one who's missing the mark here? Even though my McDreamy here looks absolutely NOTHING like my other McDreamy, a little birdie told me he played the role quite well and managed to capture Jack's frail health and the "rowdy party boy" persona encapsulated during his early days, despite being presented with the obvious setback in difference of appearance and all. So for that reason alone I am going to watch it! If anyone see's this and has watched JFK: Reckless Youth, feel free to let me know what you thought about it or any comments you have on it because I am genuinely curious now. (Without spoiling anything major-if there is anything major to spoil, of course!)

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

jfk and rfk x reader love triangle maybeee threesome soshsjakhdhfhd

Democracy in Action (Between the Sheets)

synopsis: you thought you were caught in a tug-of-war between jack and bobby—turns out, they’d rather share. what follows is less of a competition and more of a collaboration.

word count: 2.5k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader, robert f. kennedy x reader, robert f. kennedy x reader x john. f kennedy rating: 18+; includes depictions of threesomes

author's note: i am so sorry if this let you down!!! this is my first time writing something involving a threesome haahsgkdsh

The first time you met Jack Kennedy, you'd been working as a secretary at the State Department. He was a freshman congressman then—charming, irreverent, with a smile that made you forget your own name. The second time you met him, he took you to dinner at Martin's Tavern. By the third meeting, you were in his bed.

Bobby came later. You'd been seeing Jack for nearly six months when his younger brother appeared at a campaign function. Where Jack was all easy charm and practiced seduction, Bobby was intensity wrapped in quiet determination. He watched you from across the room with those piercing eyes, and you felt something shift inside you.

"My brother's quite taken with you," Bobby had said when Jack stepped away to greet supporters. His voice was softer than Jack's, but no less commanding.

"I'm quite taken with him too," you replied, though you couldn't help but notice how Bobby's gaze lingered on your lips.

Three weeks later, after a heated argument with Jack about his latest indiscretion with a blonde socialite, you found yourself at Bobby's apartment, seeking comfort. The comfort turned to conversation, conversation to confessions, and confessions to his mouth on yours, urgent and possessive.

"Jack can't know," Bobby had whispered against your neck. "Not yet."

But secrets had a way of revealing themselves. Jack had suspected something was happening between you and Bobby for months. The way his brother looked at you across dinner tables. The way you sometimes mentioned Bobby's name with a slight flush to your cheeks.

Jack never confronted you directly. Instead, he became more attentive, more passionate—as if determined to remind you why you'd fallen for him first. The brothers' natural competitiveness extended to you, though neither acknowledged it openly.

For six months, you'd been caught between them. Jack, with his wit and charm, his ability to make you laugh even as he drove you mad with his wandering eye. Bobby, with his fierce loyalty and intensity, the way he looked at you like you were the only woman in the world.

Tonight was supposed to be just you and Jack. He'd invited you to his Georgetown townhouse, promising an intimate dinner. You wore the blue dress he liked, the one that matched your eyes and clung to your curves in a way that made his gaze darken with desire.

When you arrived, Jack greeted you with a kiss that lingered, his hands already finding the small of your back, pulling you against him.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he murmured, his Boston accent thickening as it always did when he wanted you.

The knock at the door came just as Jack was pouring the wine.

"Expecting someone?" you asked, suddenly anxious.

Jack frowned. "No."

When he opened the door, Bobby stood there, a file folder in hand. "Jack, I need to discuss the—" His words died when he saw you sitting on the sofa, wine glass in hand.

The air in the room changed instantly, charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle.

"Bobby," Jack said, his voice neutral but his eyes sharp. "What a surprise."

"I didn't realize you had company." Bobby's gaze moved from you to Jack, then back to you. "I can come back tomorrow."

"Nonsense," Jack said, stepping aside. "Come in. Have a drink with us."

You watched the silent communication between the brothers—a language of glances and subtle shifts in posture that you'd come to recognize but couldn't fully translate.

Bobby hesitated, then entered, setting the folder on a side table. Jack poured him a glass of wine, and the three of you sat in the living room, the conversation strained with unspoken tensions.

Jack sat beside you on the sofa, his hand resting possessively on your knee. Bobby took the armchair across from you, his eyes tracking Jack's hand on your body.

"We were just about to have dinner," Jack said, his thumb tracing small circles on your knee. "You should join us, Bobby."

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Bobby replied, though his eyes never left you.

"It's no intrusion," Jack insisted. Then, with a casualness that belied the weight of his words: "After all, we're all… close friends here, aren't we?"

Your breath caught. Did he know? Had he always known?

Bobby's jaw tightened. "Jack—"

"Let's not pretend," Jack interrupted, his hand sliding higher on your thigh. "I know my brother, and I know you." He turned to you, his eyes dark with something between desire and challenge. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "What do you mean?"

Jack's smile was dangerous, thrilling. "I mean, why choose?"

Bobby stood abruptly. "This isn't appropriate."

"Since when have Kennedys concerned themselves with what's appropriate?" Jack laughed, but there was an edge to it. He turned to you. "Tell him to stay."

The moment stretched between the three of you, taut with possibility. You looked at Bobby, saw the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with propriety, with brotherly loyalty.

"Stay," you said softly.

Something shifted in Bobby's expression. He sat back down, his posture rigid.

Jack's hand moved higher on your thigh, under the hem of your dress. "I've seen how you look at her, Bobby," he said, his voice low. "And I've seen how she looks at you."

"Jack," Bobby warned.

"No more secrets," Jack continued. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Tell him what you want."

Your mouth went dry. The wine in your glass trembled slightly with the shaking of your hand. "I want… both of you."

The admission hung in the air, impossible to take back.

Bobby's eyes darkened. Jack's hand tightened on your thigh.

"Come here," Jack said to his brother, his voice commanding in a way that brooked no argument.

Bobby hesitated only a moment before moving to the sofa, sitting on your other side. The heat of the two men pressed against you made your head swim.

Jack's mouth found yours first, hungry and demanding. When he pulled away, he nudged you toward Bobby. "Show him how you kiss me."

Bobby's kiss was different—more restrained at first, then breaking into something desperate and needy. Jack watched, his hand still on your thigh, moving higher.

"Beautiful," Jack murmured, and you weren't sure if he meant you or the sight of you with his brother.

Bobby's hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. Jack's fingers found the zipper of your dress, slowly drawing it down your back. The cool air hit your skin, making you shiver.

"Stand up," Jack commanded softly.

You did, your legs unsteady. Jack tugged your dress down, letting it pool at your feet. You stood before the Kennedy brothers in nothing but your lingerie and heels, feeling their eyes roam over your body.

"Christ," Bobby whispered.

Jack stood, circling behind you. His hands slid around your waist, up to cup your breasts through the silk of your bra. "Look at her, Bobby. Have you ever seen anything so perfect?"

Bobby remained seated, his eyes dark with desire, his breathing visibly quickened. "Jack, if this is some kind of game—"

"No game," Jack interrupted, his lips on your neck. "Just us. The three of us, being honest for once."

You reached out a hand to Bobby. "Please."

He took it, rising to stand before you. Jack continued to kiss your neck, his hands roaming your body from behind while Bobby stood frozen in front of you.

"Touch her," Jack encouraged his brother.

Bobby's hands were tentative at first, then grew bolder as they skimmed up your sides, over your ribs, to meet Jack's at your breasts. The sensation of four hands on your body, two mouths—Jack's on your neck, Bobby's now on your collarbone—sent heat pooling between your legs.

Jack unhooked your bra, letting it fall away. Bobby's breath hitched as he took in the sight of you. His mouth descended to your breast, tongue circling your nipple while Jack's fingers pinched the other.

"Let's move this to the bedroom," Jack suggested, his voice rough with desire.

The walk to Jack's bedroom was a blur of hands and mouths, of clothing being shed. By the time you reached the bed, Bobby was down to his undershirt and trousers, Jack in just his pants. You were completely naked, skin flushed with arousal.

Jack lay back on the bed, pulling you on top of him. "Come here," he said to Bobby, who still stood at the foot of the bed, watching.

Bobby hesitated only a moment before joining you. You crawled up, straddling Jack’s chest, but he caught your hips and tugged you higher—guiding you until your thighs framed his face. You were facing Bobby now, your knees braced on either side of Jack’s head, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Jack murmured, his hands firm on your hips before dipping lower, pulling you down to meet his mouth.

You gasped, hands clutching at Bobby's shoulders for support. Bobby's mouth found yours, swallowing your moans as Jack's tongue worked against you. Bobby's hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in time with Jack's ministrations.

"She tastes incredible, Bobby," Jack murmured against you. "You should find out for yourself."

Bobby's eyes met yours, seeking permission. You nodded, breathless.

They shifted positions, Jack moving to sit at the head of the bed while Bobby settled between your legs. The first touch of Bobby's tongue made you arch off the bed. Where Jack had been skilled and practiced, Bobby was eager and thorough, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open for him.

Jack watched, his eyes dark with lust. He guided your head to his lap. "Show Bobby how good you are with that pretty mouth."

You took Jack into your mouth, moaning around him as Bobby's tongue delved deeper inside you. The dual sensations—Bobby between your legs, Jack between your lips—were overwhelming. Jack's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your rhythm.

"That's it," Jack encouraged, his voice strained. "Take me deeper."

You complied, relaxing your throat to take more of him while Bobby's tongue circled your clit, his fingers now sliding inside you. The pressure built rapidly, your body caught between the two men, used and pleasured from both ends.

Your orgasm hit suddenly, making you cry out around Jack's length. Bobby didn't relent, his mouth working you through the waves of pleasure until you were trembling.

Jack pulled you up, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. "I want to watch you ride Bobby," he said against your lips.

Bobby had stripped completely now, sitting back against the headboard. Jack guided you to him, helping you straddle his brother. Bobby's hands gripped your hips as you sank down onto him, both of you groaning at the sensation.

Jack positioned himself behind you, his chest to your back, hands reaching around to cup your breasts as you began to move on Bobby. "That's it," Jack murmured in your ear. "Show him how you move for me."

You rode Bobby slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Jack's hands roamed your body, occasionally reaching down to where you and Bobby were joined, his fingers circling your clit.

"Jack," Bobby groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. "I can't—"

"Not yet," Jack commanded. He moved away briefly, returning with something in his hand. You felt the cool touch of lubricant between your cheeks, Jack's finger circling your other entrance.

"Have you ever taken both of us?" Jack asked, his finger pressing gently inside.

You shook your head, breathless at the new sensation.

"Do you want to?" His finger pressed deeper, preparing you.

"Yes," you gasped, the word barely audible.

Jack worked you open carefully, adding a second finger while you continued to move on Bobby. The dual sensations were intense, bordering on overwhelming.

When Jack finally positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock pressing against your prepared entrance, Bobby stilled beneath you. "Are you sure?" Bobby asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded, beyond words.

Jack pushed forward slowly, the stretch burning despite his preparation. You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure as both Kennedy brothers filled you completely.

"Breathe," Jack instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

Gradually, the discomfort faded, replaced by a fullness that bordered on transcendent. When you began to move, the sensation of both men inside you, separated by only the thinnest barrier, was unlike anything you'd experienced.

They found a rhythm—Jack pulling back as Bobby thrust up, never leaving you empty. Your body was a bridge between them, connecting the brothers in the most intimate way possible.

Jack's hand snaked around to rub your clit as they moved within you. "Come for us," he commanded. "Let us feel you."

Your second orgasm was more powerful than the first, your body clenching around both men, drawing them deeper. Bobby came first, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulsed inside you. Jack followed moments later, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he found his release.

The three of you collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slicked and breathless. For several minutes, no one spoke, the only sound in the room your collective breathing gradually slowing.

Jack was the first to move, extracting himself carefully before disappearing into the bathroom. Bobby held you against his chest, his heartbeat gradually steadying beneath your ear.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, his hand stroking your hair.

You nodded, too spent for words.

When Jack returned, he brought a warm washcloth, cleaning you with surprising tenderness. The brothers yet again exchanged a look over your head—something unspoken passing between them that you couldn't decipher.

"What happens now?" you finally asked, voicing the question that hung in the air.

Jack stretched out beside you, his hand finding yours. "Now? Now we sleep. Tomorrow…" He shrugged, that familiar Kennedy smile playing at his lips. "Tomorrow we figure it out."

Bobby's arm tightened around you. "Jack's right. For tonight, let's just be."

You settled between them, Jack's chest to your back, Bobby's to your front. As sleep began to claim you, you felt the tension that had existed between the brothers ease slightly. Whatever competition had driven them before seemed temporarily sated.

In the morning, you knew, the complications would return. The world outside this bedroom would intrude with all its expectations and judgments. But for now, caught between two of the most promising political scions in Washington, you allowed yourself to simply exist in the moment.

Just before you drifted off, you felt Jack's lips at your ear. "I always did like sharing with Bobby," he murmured, "but I never expected to enjoy it quite this much."

Bobby's soft chuckle rumbled against your chest. "For once, brother, we're in complete agreement."

[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...

[lancerslover]

Sibling Rivalry - Part 1

pairing: senator!john f. kennedy and bobby kennedy/reader

summary: senator jack kennedy and bobby kennedy both have an eye for you, and you can’t help but enjoy watching as they try to win your affection. but when the brothers’ competitive natures inevitably take over, you realize you might not have as much power in the situation as you thought.

warnings: 18+, nothing super graphic yet but descriptions of dub-con and infidelity

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this fic is based on this ao3 fic i read a while ago! i definitely recommend checking it out

sorry this took so long guys 😖 i decided to just go ahead and post it even though i’m not sure how i feel about it lol so plz let me know what you think. this may or may not be the worst thing i’ve ever written.

this section of the fic is basically just a set-up for the eventual smut, which will be in part 2 if you guys want it

The hour or so you spend in Bobby’s office every evening is the only time all day you can relax. You know Bobby feels the same way. That’s part of the reason why he stays so late after the rest of his big brother’s campaign team is long gone. And since you’re his personal secretary, you feel obligated to stay with him. He’s told you before that you can go home with everyone else, that you don’t have to stay with him, but you always insist. You and he both know he could use all the help he can get as he blearily writes and re-writes strategy sheets or tallies up the daily budget in the growing darkness. And you both benefit greatly from what usually happens between you two after the day’s work is done. Your fingers massaging the stiff back of his neck, his lips warm on your skin. These methodical, intimate evenings are a welcome interlude between a long day of the raucous, back-slapping, wolf-whistling fraternity party that is Senator Jack Kennedy and the rest of his campaign team and a night full of giggly questions from your roommates about the newest juicy details of your job. Tell us one more time what it was like meeting Frank Sinatra. Is it true the senator is sleeping with his daughter’s babysitter? Is Jackie nice?

On this particular evening as you walk into Bobby’s office, having just completed the work you personally wanted to finish in order to get a headstart on the next day, you find yourself chuckling a little at the sight you’re greeted by. It’s only seven, and Bobby has already abandoned his desk for the sofa. Usually, he doesn’t take a break until closer to eight. As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, you notice he’s leaning almost completely sideways on the armrest, his eyes closed, head slowly drooping off of the closed fist it’s propped up on. His gray-striped tie is a limp tangle on the floor. His dress shirt has been untucked from his slacks in what seems to have been a pretty violent manner—you notice that its bottom two buttons came undone in the process. His red, fuzzy lower belly is squishing out over his belt.

Just to make sure he’s not asleep, you whisper, “Bobby?”

In response, Bobby opens one eye, looks at you for a moment, then shuts it again in a playful, darting way, like he’s playing peek-a-boo with one of his hundreds of kids. Then he pats his hand on the cushion beside him, and you’re immediately starting towards him.

His office is snug, tucked in a literal corner of Senator Kennedy’s headquarters. Your only source of light as you pick your way through the towering stacks of paper all over the floor is the golden streetlamps of Boston outside the window, which look smeared now from the raindrops that streak down the glass. The only noises you hear are the scuff of your heels on the carpet and Bobby’s breath whistling faintly in and out of his nose.

Once you’ve sat down beside him and are wiggling out of your heels, he finally opens both eyes. You watch patiently as he slowly sits up and swings his heavy head to look at you. Poor thing. He gives you a soft smile, his big front teeth just barely peeking out under his lip. His fluffy hair is slightly mussed—and extra-fluffed—on the side he was just leaning on. You smile back.

“Tough day,” you say.

He blows his cheeks up with air and nods. “Yeah.” His voice is just a murmur, even though there’s really no need to be quiet since you two are the only ones left on the entire floor.

He’s been working extra late and extra hard now that the senator’s presidential election is only about a month away. This is quite an achievement, seeing as, even in the earliest days of the campaign, Bobby spent almost all day locked up in his office, tirelessly barking orders into one of the three constantly-ringing telephones on his desk or scribbling incessantly in the margins of a drafted campaign ad. Only every few hours would his door would bang open and he’d come stalking straight into the middle of where the rest of Senator Kennedy’s inner circle lounged, feet up, in a lazy haze of cigar smoke. Then Bobby would launch into a passionate explanation of whatever incompetent mistake on their part had prompted him to leave his office this time. You remember one specific afternoon when Bobby marched out, planted his hands on his hips, and said, “Alright, now, I just finished with that biography draft, and I want to know who approved it because it doesn’t do Jack justice at all. I mean, God, why mention the Addison’s?” One of the men replied, “Well, see here, that was my suggestion, Bobby. We need to get out in front of these things.” Naturally, an argument ensued. Bobby can be combative on a good day, but with the weight of the campaign largely on his shoulders, there was no way he’d be able to stop himself from spitting back a fiery retort at the other man’s condescending tone—and not to mention, he hates when men who aren’t his brothers call him “Bobby.”

As the yelling got louder and louder and all eight of Senator Kennedy’s henchmen eventually tossed their cigars aside and surged up on their feet to try their luck against Bobby’s razor-sharp Kennedy wit, Senator Kennedy himself simply observed from his desk like a Roman emperor watching his gladiators, leaning back in his chair, opening and closing his lips around his cigar. You knew better, though, than to ever let the senator’s laid-back mannerisms fool you. You clocked how his eyes were shrouded in a dark, calculating shadow, how they lingered on each of the nine men in turn. He was testing them, watching to see what they’d do, what positions they’d argue for. You could tell he was deeply focused. He never flinched or even so much as blinked as the men continued to yell and shake their fists and get closer and closer to each other’s faces. You doubted this sort of thing could be good for team morale, but you’ve accepted by now that it was Senator Kennedy’s strange, mysterious way of coming to a decision on something.

At one point during the dispute, the senator looked over at you and raised his eyebrows as if to say, Get a load of this, huh? You smirked coolly back at him, but a small shiver seared down your spine as you did. Nobody makes you nervous quite like he does. It’s sort of titillating, this power he has over you, but it’s also why, despite the senator’s movie-star smile and smooth one-liners, you’ve always felt more comfortable with Bobby.

After several minutes of watching the men yell, once he’d evidently seen enough to make whatever judgment he’d been ruminating on, Senator Kennedy stood up from his desk. The room snapped into a ringing silence.

The senator ran a hand through the little curls that framed his forehead, then nonchalantly said, “Bobby’s right.”

Another stunned beat of silence. Instinctively, you looked to Bobby, who simply sniffed and scratched his nose, seemingly as unfazed by the whole debacle as his big brother was.

One of the other men, Bobby’s brother-in-law Steve, bravely piped up, “But, Jack—”

Senator Kennedy cut him off. “It’s the presidency, gentlemen,” he told them wryly. “Don’t overthink it.” And with that, he huffed back into his chair. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pointed a long finger towards Bobby, and with a barely perceptible teasing bounce in his voice, said, “Alright, back to your corner.”

Bobby chuckled and spun on his heel towards his office. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Bobby drops this tough, Irish-bulldog exterior around you. You’ve gotten pretty comfortable with each other in the past few weeks, ever since Bobby told Senator Kennedy that he needed his own personal secretary and that he’d chosen you for the job. This announcement, which you overheard from across the room at the little clump of secretary desks, was a bit of a surprise to you, despite the fact that it was well-known that you were the best typist in the office. It definitely wasn’t an unwelcome surprise, though. You’ve always been fond of Bobby. You think it’s sweet how he talks to you and the other girls in such an innocent, genuine way, like he’s actually interested in your secretarial skills and what you have to say instead of just your body and your face, unlike certain other members of the campaign.

It was immediately obvious, though, that your sudden closeness to Bobby agitated Senator Kennedy. Since you’re the only secretary who hasn’t slept with him yet, the senator has a particular fixation on you, and Bobby knows this well. You had to bite back a giddy smile that afternoon when you saw how the senator’s eyebrows dropped low over his face as Bobby informed him of your new job title. “Personal secretary, huh?” the senator sneered, teeth flashing. Bobby simply grinned.

Bobby and the senator were intensely, at times comically, competitive. You’ve heard them go back and forth over such trivial things as who played better in a weekend family football game or who could read the morning newspaper faster. Once Bobby made you his personal secretary, though, more and more often they’ve been going back and forth over you.

From day one of the campaign, practically, Senator Kennedy has been pursuing you relentlessly, looming over you, tugging at a loose strands of your hair as he teases you for coming in late, unashamedly eyeing the way your ass moves in your pencil skirt, saying things like, “Nothing makes my day like seeing that pretty smile of yours, sweetie.” And the longer you pretend not to notice his advances, the more relentless he is, and, admittedly, the more you find yourself wanting to drive him crazy. It’s fun for you, and honestly quite flattering, that you can get him all riled up by simply brushing against his shoulder as you drop a paper on his desk and whispering breathily in his ear, “Here you are, Senator. Anything else I can do for you?” You can’t get enough of the incredulous look that takes over his handsome, always-nonchalant face—his nostrils flaring, his eyebrows raising, his eyes firing up like a cat who caught sight of a mouse—afterward as you skitter away. On a serious note, though, you figure you’re actually doing him a service by holding out like this. The way he acts with women is absurdly arrogant. He’s like a spoiled child, always getting everything he wants. Secretaries. Call girls. Actresses. All delivered to him, pretty much, at the flick of his hand. You figure it’d be good for him to not get something he wants for once, all flirtations and teasing aside.

You came dangerously close to having your vow of celibacy broken at a celebratory dinner party a few months back. The senator followed you to the back hall as you were about to leave, pushed you up against the wall, and before you even knew what was happening, he stuck his hand up your dress. He’d had a little too much to drink that evening, and he was like a wild animal in that dark, empty hallway. Tearing at your stockings, practically snarling in your ear, cursing you for “driving him crazy” at the office.

“Senator,” you gasped, “please—”

“Please what?” he scoffed. “You think you can act like a little harlot all the time and nothing’s going to happen to you?”

After a moment, your inner desires took over and you gave up resisting. You spread your thighs and let him finger you. It’s not your proudest moment. You hated to let him have that little victory over you, but with the entirety of his body weight against you and his big hands holding you still, there was really no way you could’ve stopped him, even if you’d wanted to.

This game you have with Senator Kennedy has been taken to a whole new level now that you’ve actively chosen to spend almost all your time with Bobby. You can tell by the way the senator shakes his head as he watches you and Bobby walk around together, like you’re two little children misbehaving under his watch, that this is really grating on his competitive side. Bobby doesn’t help matters with the way he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at the senator when he thinks you’re not looking. Sometimes, the senator will tease Bobby by saying things like, “Don’t you think it’s, uh, a little unfair that you’re not letting anyone else work with our best typist?” or “I’m starting to doubt whether you two are actually getting any work done. Don’t make me take Y/N away from you, Bobby. She’s just on loan, you know.” Bobby does his best to appear to be the mature one in front of you, opting to half-playfully shove the senator with his shoulder as he walks by instead of snapping back some kind of retort.

You still aren’t entirely sure what Bobby’s real motives were for picking you as his secretary, whether it had purely been about spiting the senator, or he’d genuinely admired your skills, or he’d planned to turn your evenings together into sexual rendezvous all along and he was much more like his brother than you thought.

But since, in the process of this whole thing, you’ve developed a genuine relationship with Bobby—and it’s pretty clear, you think, that he has bested his big brother in this little game—you suppose his pushing back against the senator has more to do with the pure competitive spirit of it all at this point than any possessiveness he might feel over you. But still, you get out such a kick out of the fact that they never fail to play right into your hand when you pit them against each other, flirting with one brother in front of the other, making flippant comments to the senator about how wonderful your evenings alone with Bobby are.

Sometimes, though, your confidence in your femme-fatale abilities wavers slightly. Almost daily, Bobby and the senator will convene at the senator’s desk for an intense, private conversation about what you originally assumed was various campaign matters, but every once in a while, you’ll glance up during one of these conversations to find them both looking at you from across the room. The senator will mutter something, and Bobby will nod, and the low sound of their confident, patronizing male laughter will rumble across the office. You instantly drop your eyes back to whatever memo you’re working on, heart suddenly racing. What on earth could they be saying? And why do you have the creeping feeling that this game isn’t going to be so easy for you much longer?

thank you for reading!!

taglist:

@evie-gets-bitches

@kennediva

@secretwonderlandcheesecake

@melancholicstation

@southernpopprincess

@maudesgf

@neverellaxx11

@astro-vibes-bro

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@fortheloveofjos

@saturns-flowers

@raspberryknees

[ddlydevotion]

bobby ‘rfk’ kennedy relationship hcs…

a/n: thank you all soso much for 200 followers it means the absolute world to me! I’ll be posting as much as I can as a little celebration 💌. These headcanons are just little thoughts I’ve had about Bobby + how he’d be in a relationship.

currently listening to: Sweet by Lana Del Rey 🐇☕️₊˚⊹ ᰔ

If you’re the shy type, he’s definitely one to make you look up at him by placing your chin in between his thumb & index finger.

before the two of you started dating and the two of you were just fumbling messes around each other (him especially), he’d try his absolute hardest to flirt with you without stumbling over his words. He’d eventually get the hang of it and would often find himself throwing cute little teasing/flirty remarks your way.

the type to softly pinch the apple of your cheek while chatting you up.

“now, don’t you look beautiful?”

“Well aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve seen.”

writes you the most romantic letters that you’ve ever read. it honestly makes you question what he’s doing being an attorney general instead of a poet.

The very first time that the two of you met he insisted that you call him bobby instead of robert. Others saw it as a very small thing, but you knew the only people who called him bobby were his family.

a family he wanted to marry you into.

just imagine him calling you baby or sweetheart in his strong boston accent omfggg somebody restrain me

scolds you when he comes home late from working at the office just to find you sitting at the dinner table. just because he's depriving himself of sleep doesn't mean that you can do the same.

going on walks on the beach with his dog following right beside the two of you.

has an addiction to caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

He is so proud of you in absolutely everything that you do, and he never fails to recognize your accomplishments. He has the sweetest habit of mentioning you in his speeches, and going through insane loopholes to relate the subject of his speech to you.

"and just as my wife said..."

"my wife also agrees on the matter of..."

Constantly fretting over you like a mother hen of some sort.

Doesn't let his parents disrespect or utter a single word of negativity against you. He's seen them do it to his sibling's spouses and he'd be damned if they were to do the same to you.

would never fail to walk you to your door after a beautiful night spent together.

always makes time to call you whenever he’s away from home on business. Despite the immense weight of the world on his shoulders, he never makes you feel neglected.

He has such a witty yet simple sense of humor, you’d never be able to hide your smile or laughter around him.

The type of photos that get released to the press..

“I am your half.”

taglist: @lancerslover @unmarlou @tomriddlethefinest @vixenihy @bobbykennedyswife @strryhaze @divinedelusional and I think that’s it!!

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

― ᴏғғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ !

∿ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ !

∿ sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ !

― 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 ⬎

𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒. 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒: 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟: 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠): 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠): 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

[bobbykennedyswife]

“Dream A Little Dream Of Me” 💝

Bobby Kennedy x Reader

synopsis : Bobby has always given you everything you’ve ever wanted, always spoiled you endlessly, and a certain dream makes you feel ready to do the same in return, in the best way you can.

word count : 1.8k

warnings : nothing graphic goes on, just talks about domestic family life and marriage

authors note : hiii this is my first fanfic ever so it might be kind of all over the place, sincerest apologies if that’s the case. also sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy!!

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

Bright beams of sunshine passed in through your window, breaking through the silky curtains Bobby had put up for you months earlier, and pulling you from your deep sleep. You rubbed your eyes carefully and shifted slightly, rolling over so your back faced the window and nuzzling your face into the pillow Bobby usually slept on as you began to think. Your mind was fogged by the aftermath of deep slumber, but you could remember one thing clearly. You’d been having quite vivid dreams all night long, ones that made you think about things you hadn’t even considered. Made you think about Bobby, and your future, and the past and present too.

The last time you remembered having a dream as vivid as the one from last night was on the night after Bobby’s proposal to you.

You’d been so excited, and all night long your mind had gifted you with visions of a big, beautiful wedding—a long white aisle with a lace veil trailing along it, wedding rings, Bobby’s tanned hands holding yours and his lips offering generous kisses, an impressively beautiful layered cake, ribbons in your bridesmaids’ hair. It’d all been wonderful to get to imagine, and it left you smiling and blushing bashfully when you awoke, excited like a schoolgirl who’d just been asked to prom.

It hadn’t all just been dreams either, for all of it had really been brought to life, thanks to the sweet nature of your darling Bobby and his extensive familial wealth. You’d told him about your dream, and about your fantasies of your ideal perfect wedding. He’d taken every bit into consideration, and made it all a reality on your big day. The venue and decor at your real wedding had all been beautiful, just like in your dreams—pale shades of pink, yellow, cream, and blue dancing all around the place in exquisitely pleasing order—and the ceremony had been even better, the most romantic, fulfilling moments of your entire life that nothing could’ve ever prepared you nor could ever live up to.

For your honeymoon as well, he’d planned that according to your fantasies of a perfect vacation months earlier. You’d been flipping through a women’s magazine and saw photos of a beautiful 17th century estate in Portugal. A big, castle like home with dozens of rooms of gleaming marble and stone and intricate hand painted designs. A large garden out front filled with beautiful flowers, with a big staircase leading to a huge crystal clear pool, acres of perfect green grass and a clear path through the enormity of the estate intended to be used as a moat of admiration. The coast was nearby, as well, so you could make a trip out to the beach whenever you wanted.

You had adored the property, and showed it to Bobby later that evening in bed. You’d hinted at maybe going somewhere like that for your honeymoon, or for some other vacation down the line. You hadn’t explicitly stated that you wanted to stay in that exact home, you knew renting it would be enormously expensive and you didn’t want to make Bobby feel like he had to put all the money unnecessarily into something like that. You didn’t want to seem too frivolous or like a gold digger, nor did you want to overwhelm him. Your worries were completely thrown out the window by Bobby, though, and you discovered this was such when he surprised you about a week later with plane tickets to Portugal and the news he’d rented the whole place out for your honeymoon.

You’d been so excited and thanked him nearly hundreds of times, basking in the joy of having a man that really seemed to be eager to do absolutely anything under the sun if it would please you. He was so doting and so kind, and spoiled you so much you almost felt guilty for it. You knew you were much luckier than most women, knew you had the greatest husband you possibly could. He gave you everything, did everything, and it made you want to do the same for him.

And maybe that—knowing Bobby would do anything for you, everything was possible with him, you could have any future you thought up thanks to his doting unconditional sweetness—was why you’d dreamed so vividly of finally making a father out of him.

That was certainly the greatest gift you could give him, and was a dream of yours, like a majority of other wonderful things you’d enjoyed together.

Your dreams of a wedding had of course come true, your dreams of a perfect honeymoon had come true, you had a marriage that would’ve been the stuff of fairytale and fantasy to you when you were a young girl. Maybe this was supposed to come true as well. Maybe the next thing you were meant to have was.. a baby.

You were snapped out of your long winded train of thought by the door creaking open, and you turned your head up to see none other than Bobby stepping into the room, in all his handsome Kennedy glory. He usually got up earlier than you and wasn’t in bed when you woke up, so you hadn’t even really processed his absence till now, but now that you had, you realized you’d missed him. He was already dressed for the day in a sweater and slacks, and held a cup of coffee for you in his hand.

“Well, good morning, dear.” That familiar boyish smile came onto his face as he spoke and made his way over to the bed, sitting on the edge and setting your mug down on the nightstand. He leaned down, brushing your soft hair off of your face and pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, his lips curved up in a faint smile.

“I would’ve woken you up a bit sooner, but you looked so peaceful, I just couldn’t bring myself to.” Bobby spoke, keeping his voice soft and running his fingers through your hair, gazing down at you. “I made a cup of coffee for you. Figured you’d want it, you usually do.”

You allowed yourself to relax against his touch and shut your eyes again, though it wasn’t for the intention of sleeping or even really relaxing. It just served the purpose of allowing you to focus more solely on Bobby’s gentle touch, and bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment without the extra stimulation of sight.

You gave a slight nod after he told you he’d brought you coffee, smiling softly. Bobby was quiet for a moment after your lack of a response, and he soon started to talk about his duties for the day, softly speaking about plans with Jack. He had a few meetings or something, and had paperwork to fill out. You didn’t really know, as you hadn’t been listening much. You were too busy thinking still, and Bobby always had a tendency to ramble.

You gently interrupted him a minute or two into his soft rambling.

“I dreamed about you.”

Bobby was snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing your voice. He processed your words and smiled a bit at them but didn’t respond with much, just a soft, “Yeah?”

He was hoping his lack of substantial reply would encourage you to speak again, and tell him more. He was always interested in what went on in your mind, whether it was when you were asleep or awake. He thought you had a beautiful way of thinking, a beautiful mind and psyche. Probably why he always took your advice on serious matters, with no second thoughts.

“I dreamed that.. that we had a baby. A little girl. She had your eyes and smile, and my hair. We loved her so much, she fit right into everything. It felt so real. We gave her a pink nursery and she had little pajamas with Bambi on them, and we put little pink bows in her hair. Oh, it was so precious.”

Bobby’s eyes went slightly wide for a moment at the words that sounded from you. He hadn’t necessarily been expecting to hear that, but he wasn’t upset about it. No no, not upset at all. Quite the opposite, really. He’d been waiting to hear something like that from you, waiting for a confirmation that you were ready for a life like that with him. He’d always known that you would eventually, he’d just chosen to be a gentleman and wait for you to decide when you wanted it. And now that it sounded like you were reaching that point, he was beyond excited. The prospect of a baby, a sweet little thing to cherish and love, filled him bright joy.

“Well I.. I’d be ready to make that a reality. That is, only if you are, Y/N. You’ve never brought this up before, so don’t decide on a spur of the moment type thing. We have all the time in the world, you know.”

You’d been married for just under a year, but you loved eachother so deeply, you both could be certain that nothing could happen that would cause you to split. And most certainly a baby wouldn’t . A baby would be a blessing, the physical embodiment of your love for eachother. It’d tie you together even more, make you as close as you possibly could be past marriage, bonded for life. You’d be parents together, the natural next big step in your love story.

You fluttered your eyes open and looked up at the man in front of you. You smiled softly and reached your hand up to rest it on his hand that was still against your cheek. You leaned your head to the side a bit and gently kissed his palm. “I.. I think I’m ready, Bobby. I just needed a little reminder that it was a possibility for us. I guess that’s why the angels or something blessed me with a dream about it.”

Bobby’s smile widened and he gazed for a moment before sliding his hand away, instead wrapping both of his arms around your waist and pulling you up slightly. He leaned in further and pressed gentle kisses to your face, all along your cheeks and your forehead and jaw, and anywhere else he could reach without going below the neck. You smiled brightly and allowed him to shower you in all this attention, definitely enjoying it quite a bit and showing your appreciation in soft giggles and an embrace, your arms sliding around his neck.

Bobby finally stopped the kisses and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. His face was smooth, so you knew he’d shaved this morning, and you could feel his lips curved up into a smile against your skin. You slid your fingers through his hair, and he sweetly spoke up.

“What are we waiting for then?”

[vixenihy]

Dinner for Two

Summary: March 1963, Jack and Jackie sneak away from their secret service men to go out for dinner, but Jackie wants to talk to Jack about something important.

Tags/Notes + Paring: jfk x jackie kennedy, mentions of infidelity, slight cursing, bobby kennedy mentioned.

Word Count: 1.4k words

A/N: I struggled to write this one because obviously being in public without USSS is a huge no. I tried my best and took some inspiration from the walks Jack and Jackie would take without the secret service knowing :)) hope you enjoy !!

Jack sits on the phone leaning back in his rocking chair, messing with the cord before anxiously tapping his fingers against his teeth. He does his best to quickly think of a way to keep his secret service around while also trying to live a normal life. At first, he considers allowing a few men to sit with them, but itll make the night so awkward…Fuck it, why not just sneak away from secret service for once?

“Uh-uh, right, just for two…At nine.” He finally says, downplaying his thick He wishes that he could just make a reservation for a restaurant like any other man, but of course the secret service always has to be right up his ass.

“The name?? Well..” He scrambles, looking around for a moment for something to say until his eyes land on Bobby, who’s outside playing touch football with the rest of his family, and he spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Francis!” He chokes, putting a hand to his head and sighing. God dammit…but before he can correct himself, he lets out a sigh of defeat and simply nods at the string of words on the other line before hanging up the phone.

Is he even allowed to do this? It gets so lonely being in such a high office, all he wants is a night with Jackie where he feels like a normal person.

When Jackie comes down the stairs, still in her nightgown from her nap, Jack smiles as she descends and makes her way over to him. He notices a peculiar look on her face, but before she can do anything else, Jack is the one to start the conversation.

“Hey, Kid.” He simply says, standing up slowly and with a grimace of pain.

“Hi, Bunny…Who was that on the phone?” Jackie asks, putting her arms around his neck and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“I got us a reservation at a restaurant…A nice one! It can be just the two of us…” He continues, noticing his wife’s face flip to a look of horror.

“Jack, we can’t be out in public like that! We’ll be swarmed.” Jackie protests

“I booked it for nine. Come on, don’t you wanna live like a normal person once in a while? It’ll be fine, no one's gonna know.” He teases with a grin she’s come to know and love, brushing just a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Listen, if it doesn’t work out. We’ll just come home and…I’ll force Bobby to make us something.” Jack jokes with a wheezy laugh, making Jackie smile slightly.

“Alright then, but you need to find a way to look more inconspicuous.” Jackie teases, turning around and going up the stairs to figure out what to wear.

Jackie can’t help but smile as she goes up to her closet. She’s noticed a change in Jack lately. Ever since the issue involving Cuba and their missiles. She swears she can see a difference in his eyes when he looks at her. Before, his emotions were concealed behind a layer of charisma, even when they were alone. It was as if he’d learned how to hide his emotions, but was terrified of showing them when he needed to. But now she can fully see the love in his eyes that she’d only seen brief glimpses of beforehand when he let that mask slip.

Jackie knows that Jack loves her, even if he’s hurt her with his inability to stay loyal. She isn’t naive; she knows his compulsions and she’s realized in the past few months that he’s trying to get better.

Over the years, Jackie also noticed how complex her husband truly was. Jack isn’t shallow, he feels his emotions much deeper than most men; but he feels the need to hide it at all times and not let it show.

Seeing Jack in private, in the rare moments he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable and his true self, she’s noticed his shyness and his introverted nature. The charisma, the confidence, the need to talk to everyone was just a façade drilled into him by his parents. She could tell he wanted to, but he just didn’t know how. Perhaps tonight is the night where they can be normal people. They had very little opportunities to be able to step out of the spotlight and hide in the shadows. Tonight is their chance…

—

Jack fiddles with the hat on his head in the car mirror, grumbling to himself as he tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. He looks behind him and in front of him…Unable to see any men in the dark of night to give them away. They did it, they snuck out of the house without the secret service tailing their asses. Jack looks at his wife with a mischievous grin on his face.

“It’s the best I can do…I'm not as good at disguising myself as you are.” Jack admits, stepping out of the driver's seat and onto the sidewalk as Jackie joins him by his side. She looks down and gasps silently as Jack interlocks their fingers. No one is watching…They’re safe.

He steps inside of the restaurant and releases their hands, looking around at the few people still left in the restaurant before tilting his head down to whisper to Jackie.

“I think we’re in the clear.” He mutters, chucking slightly as they approach the podium and allowing Jackie to speak for him. He has such a well known voice, he’ll be recognized in an instant if they don’t catch onto his appearance.

“Good evening, sir. My husband and I ordered a table for two? Under the name ‘Francis’” She tells him, her voice flat and strong as opposed to the voice she uses in public.

“Can’t your husband speak?” The reservationist asks, cocking his eyebrow at the couple who seems extremely familiar to him

“Oh, he’s sick. He asked me to speak for him as he’s lost his voice.” Jackie explains, lying to the reservationist and glancing up at her husband.

“And if you don’t mind, could we be seated somewhere in the back? Just somewhere private.” She continues, to which the reservationist simply sighs and leads them back to a small corner table in a dim, mostly empty part of the restaurant so they can finally have their private date.

——

The dinner had gone well and they'd kept a low profile. But Jack noticed Jackie seemed a little distant at times, as if she’d been in thought. Sometimes, she’d look at him as if she wanted to say something, but would go right back to her meal. Surprisingly, Jack had money in his wallet for once and was able to pay the bill once they were done.

“Keeping money in your wallet, Jack Kennedy?” Jackie teases quietly as they exit out the front door.

“Who’s Jack Kennedy?” Jack shoots back as they make their way to the car. But just when they think everything was pulled off, he notices a man with a camera down the street.

Shit, someone must have called and told the press that they were there.

“Damn, looks like we’ve got to go, Kid.” Jack sighs, getting into the car before the man can snap too many pictures.

Jackie doesn’t reply or even acknowledge what he’d said, as if she’s lost in thought again.

“Hey,” Jack mutters to catch her attention, putting a hand on her leg and watching her look into his greenish-gray eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, his head tilting slightly. Jackie sighs and glances away, gently removing his hand from her thigh.

“Jack…I wanted to tell you this for a while.” She starts, biting her lip and smudging what’s left of her lipstick.

“I went to the doctor a few weeks ago…While you were working, and they did some tests…” She explains, dragging it out a bit. She watches her husband's face slowly flow into a sense of realization and excitement, and so she decides to just spit it out.

“Jack, I'm pregnant.” Jackie finally says, gasping as she’s pulled into his arms and holding her in an embrace. Though it was a bit awkward with Jack's stiffness and having to reach across the break in the seat, Jackie holds him just as he holds her. He seems quiet and calm, but she swears she can feel tears of joy running down her shoulder, and that makes her smile ever so slightly.

[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.”

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

Could you.. Possibly.. write a smut fanfic about Bobby in his attorney general office.. perhaps.. 💋

The Attorney General Will See You Now

synopsis: the attorney general’s office is meant for handling affairs of state, not personal affairs. but when you drop by, bobby kennedy is more than happy to bend the rules.

word count: 1.7k

pairing: bobby kennedy x reader

rating: 18+; includes depictions of semi-public sex and vaginal sex

It was your third time in Bobby's office this week, and the first two had been all business. He'd barely looked at you, his eyes fixed on the stack of papers, the telephone, the clock. You'd brought him lunch, brought him a change of clothes, brought him a kiss that landed on his cheek while he was mid-sentence with some assistant about some policy about some state you couldn't remember.

Bobby's tie was loosened but still knotted at his throat when you arrived. He'd been expecting you—the secretary had waved you right in. The blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun, and the office felt like a cave, cool and dim.

"Where are the kids?" he asked, not looking up from whatever brief he was reading.

"Eunice and Sarge have them for the afternoon." You leaned against the doorframe. "All of them. God help them."

That got his attention. He glanced up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "All afternoon?"

"Mmm." You closed the door behind you and turned the lock. "I told them we'd pick them up after dinner."

Bobby set down his pen. "That's a long time."

"I thought you might be hungry." You hadn't brought lunch today.

Bobby stood, pushing his chair back. "I am." He wasn't looking at the telephone now. He was looking at you, and his eyes were sharp and clear. "Come here."

You crossed the room slowly, letting your hips sway. Bobby's office was spacious, but it felt endless in this moment, the walk from door to desk an eternity. When you reached him, he caught your wrist and pulled you close, his other hand finding the small of your back.

"I've missed you," he said, his voice low.

"You've seen me every day this week."

"That's not what I mean."

His mouth found yours, and you melted against him. It had been—what, a week? Two? Since he'd kissed you like this, like he meant it, like he had all the time in the world. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, cupping your face. He tasted like coffee and cigars and Bobby.

"I've been thinking about this all morning," he murmured against your neck. "Since you called and said you were coming by."

"Is that why you had the blinds drawn?" You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin.

"Maybe."

His hands found the buttons of your blouse, undoing them one by one. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, as Bobby's warm hands followed, tracing patterns across your collarbone, down to the lace of your bra.

"Beautiful," he said, and you felt yourself flush. After all these years, all these children, he still looked at you like you were the only woman in the world.

You reached for his tie, loosening it further, pulling it free. His shirt buttons followed, your fingers fumbling in your eagerness. Bobby laughed, a soft, warm sound that made your heart skip.

"Patience," he said, catching your hands. "We have time."

He guided you backward until your legs hit the edge of his desk. With a gentle push, he had you sitting on it, your skirt riding up your thighs. Bobby knelt before you, his hands sliding up your calves, past your knees, to the soft skin of your inner thighs.

"Bobby," you breathed, as his fingers traced the edge of your underwear.

"Hmm?" He looked up at you, all innocence, as if he didn't know exactly what he was doing to you.

"Please."

"Please what?" His thumb brushed against you through the thin fabric, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning.

"You know what."

"I want to hear you say it." His breath was warm against your thigh.

"Touch me," you whispered. "Please, Bobby, touch me."

He smiled, that slow, knowing smile that made your insides turn to liquid. "I am touching you."

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic, teasing, never quite where you needed them. You squirmed, trying to guide him, but he pulled back, tsking.

"So impatient." He pressed a kiss to your knee. "I thought we had all afternoon."

"Bobby, I swear to God—"

He laughed again, and then his mouth was on you, through the fabric, hot and wet. You gasped, your hand flying to his hair, holding him there. But he pulled away again, looking up at you with those blue eyes that could cut through steel.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.

"You," you said. "Just you."

He stood, pulling you to your feet. His hands went to your skirt, finding the zipper at the back, letting it fall to the floor. Your blouse followed, then your slip, until you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments.

"Turn around," he said, and you did, feeling his eyes on you. His hands found your hips, guiding you to bend over the desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolled to the floor. Bobby didn't seem to notice or care.

His fingers hooked into your underwear, drawing them down your legs. You stepped out of them, feeling exposed and vulnerable and desperately aroused. Behind you, you heard the sound of his belt, his zipper, the rustle of fabric.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his hand tracing the curve of your spine. "So goddamn beautiful."

You felt him, hard against you, and you pushed back, eager. But Bobby held you still, his hand firm on your hip.

"Not yet," he said. His fingers found you again, slipping inside, making you gasp. "I want you ready for me."

"I am ready," you insisted. "Bobby, please, I need—"

His other hand covered your mouth. "Shh," he whispered in your ear. "You know how loud you get. We don't want the whole Justice Department to hear, do we?"

You shook your head, though the thought sent a thrill through you. Bobby's fingers moved faster, deeper, his thumb circling in just the right way. You moaned against his palm, your hips moving in rhythm with his hand.

"That's it," he murmured. "That's my girl."

You were close, so close, when he withdrew his hand. You whimpered in protest, but then he was there, pushing into you, filling you. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as Bobby began to move.

He was not gentle. He was never gentle when it had been too long, when the need had built up inside him like a storm. His thrusts were hard, deep, each one driving you against the desk. His hand remained over your mouth, muffling your cries as he took you.

"Christ," he groaned. "You feel so good. So fucking good."

His blasphemy sent another thrill through you—Bobby, who never missed Sunday Mass, taking the Lord's name in vain while buried inside you in his government office. It was deliciously scandalous.

You could only nod, words beyond you now. Bobby's free hand slid around to your front, finding that spot that made you see stars. His fingers moved in tight circles, in time with his thrusts, and you felt yourself tightening around him.

"That's it," he urged. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

The tension built, higher and higher, until it broke in a wave that left you trembling. Bobby's hand pressed harder against your mouth as you cried out, your body clenching around him. He followed a moment later, his rhythm faltering, his breath hot against your neck as he buried himself deep inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Bobby's hand slipped from your mouth, coming to rest beside yours on the desk. His weight pressed you down, his chest against your back, his heart pounding in time with yours.

"Jesus," he said finally. "I needed that."

You laughed, breathless. "Me too."

He pulled away slowly, helping you stand. Your legs felt like jelly, and you leaned against him as he turned you in his arms. His kiss was gentle now, tender.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy," he said. "The Castro thing, and the South’s on my back about Mississippi, and Jack keeps calling at all hours—"

You pressed a finger to his lips. "It's alright. I understand."

Bobby smiled, that boyish grin that had made you fall in love with him all those years ago. "We should probably clean up," he said, glancing around at the disheveled office. "Before Margaret comes in and gets the shock of her life."

You laughed, reaching for your clothes. "I don't know. Might do her some good. She's always so uptight."

Bobby swatted your behind as you bent to retrieve your skirt. "Behave."

"Never." You winked at him over your shoulder. "That's why you love me."

He caught you around the waist, pulling you back against him. "One of many reasons," he agreed, his lips finding yours again.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to smirk at you, you murmured, "I should come to work with you more often."

"Please do," he said, and there was that dangerous glint in his eye again. "Next time we'll try the couch. Or maybe against the window."

You arched a brow at him. "Ambitious, are we?"

He laughed, the sound bright and carefree in a way you hadn't heard in weeks. "What? My office is high up. No one can see in."

"That's not the point," you said, but you were laughing too.

The buzzing coming from the intercom on his desk made you both jump.

"Mr. Attorney General," Margaret's voice crackled through the speaker. "Director Hoover is on line one. He says it's urgent."

Bobby closed his eyes, pressing the button to respond. "Tell him I'll call him back in five minutes."

"He says it can't wait, sir."

Bobby sighed. "Tell him I'm discussing important matters with my wife."

There was a pause. "Yes, sir."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "You didn't."

"I did." Bobby grinned. "Let him wonder. God knows he's got enough dirt on everyone else in Washington."

"Bobby!"

"What? It's probably true anyway. I'm sure this place is bugged six ways to Sunday." He kissed you again, quick and hard. "Besides, I'm not done with you yet. We've got hours before we have to pick up the kids."

You raised an eyebrow. "Hours? That's ambitious, even for you."

"I'm a very ambitious man," Bobby said, his hands finding your waist again. "Haven't you heard?"

[melancholicstation]

baby daddy!bobby who's presidential aspirations got between his relationship with mom!reader, who he now co-parents with. baby daddy!reader who tried to empathise so hard with you during pregnancy that he had phantom pains during your labor... meanwhile you're telling him to get his act together! you'd already been broken up, or as bobby likes to tell his family "temporarily separated", before you gave birth to your daughter and yet bobby still carried around the miniature/bit-sized snacks of all your recent pregnancy cravings in the briefcase that he takes to his office in the DOJ, just in case you call his secretary angela and want him over at your place quickly, which is more often than not. baby daddy!bobby who is annoyingly good at the fathering thing, and is always telling your baby that they have the most beautiful mom in the world.

(100% inspired by @unmarlou drabble on ex!husband bobby, go check out their stuff expeditiously)