#jfk to the hamptons

[hamptons-vip-ride]

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[fayegonnaslay]

Wedding of Anthony and Carole Radziwill, 1994

Photos From Lee Radziwill's photo-memoir Lee, 2015

Bride and Groom Carole and Anthony Radziwill with flower girls.

André Balazs, Lee Radziwill (mother of the groom), Maurice Templesman, and Peter Beard.

JFK, Jr. (best man) with Anthony and Carole.

[hamptonsvipride]

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[melancholicstation]

GOD BLESS YOUR DAD'S GENETICS! - jfk jr. one shot

summary: a certain american royal seems to have a penchant for coincidently walking past your apartment building everyday, getting more and more outlandish to attract your priceless attention... go give the queenie @remotewatch some love as they gave me this scenario and some of it's dialogue!

warnings: desperate man, man looks like a drowned puppy and reader is into it HEAVY.

words: 900

You'd known of John for a while, being that you lived in a relatively affluent part of New York and had mutual friends-of-friends, but as of recent you've been seeing a lot more of that smug pretty face of his around your apartment's general vicinity.

Okay, maybe you were over-exaggerating a tad. It wasn't like the man was sitting in the flower planters outside waiting for you to leave your flat like a total creep, but you suspiciously saw a lot more of him at your local laundromat and grocery store than usual. You thought it was equal parts comedic and confounding that the son of an american president didn't have a built-in washer and dryer in their apartment, but you didn't interrogate it too hard, at first at least.

Though, as you saw more and more of him wearing less and less in direct view of your window, and in clothes that definitely weren't appropriate for the setting of the launderette or farmers market, you started to grow more suspicious...

I showed my friends, then we high-fived

The first couple times John walked by your apartment window he made zero eye-contact with you or your apartment building at all to the point where you felt like you were going a little bit crazy.

Still, John would walk by your apartment wearing nothing but a scandalously low pair of grey gym shorts dangerously low paired with a very sheer white t-shirt that looked like he'd been prancing through Central Park while the sprinklers were left on—and a makeshift scarf made out of a cotton t-shirt on his head.

You were ashamed to say that you weren't totally disgusted at his display, and in fact you enjoyed it a little.

Sorry if you feel objectified

Seemingly frustrated that you hadn't made a move John escalated his ridiculous antics.

The next time you saw him he was barely clothed—clad in only a towel, and not just any towel a quite brightly patterned towel that looked like it could've belonged in the linen closet of his elegantly, eccentric mother's various beach houses in the Hamptons.

Not only had this clothing escalated, he too increased the glances towards your apartment building, to which he would nod his head and dorkily waved in a way that only a guy as attractive as him could pull off.

Can't help myself, hormones are high

The first couple times you neglect to wave back but you relent after his third walk of shame. Your rejection turned him into some sort of pathetic, drowned puppy, making him scurrying into the post-office shamefully.

Though it doesn't appear to have deterred him as he came back a few days later, strewing himself oh. so. dramatically over the lamp post directly facing your apartment window with the gravitas of a silent-movie diva of the 1930s. To top that off he was pseudo-sensually sucking on what looked to be a cherry flavoured lollipop...

Give me more than just some butterflies (ooh)

For his effort, you threw him a bone and waved with a tempered smile on your face. Despite his eyes being shielded by a pair of understated pilot-style aviators the visible crinkle of his eyes, and the beaming smile to match showed you he was more than pleased for himself.

You next words were probably a result of the weird power trip you were experiencing being on the 3rd floor looking down on him below, though you had a feeling he might be into that kind of thing—if all the past male-peacocking was anything to hedge your bets on.

You wouldn't exactly lie and say the desperation wasn't at least a little bit of a turn-on for you. I mean what can you say? you've always loved a man who could grovel for a women's attention...

You make me wanna make you fall in love

Opening the window just ajar you ask simply, "What's your problem, John?"

"Well—The height difference, mostly" he says, while trying to suavely take off his sunglasses—yet they get momentarily stuck in his tendrils of ebony locks. Charming. Yet, he makes up for the slight fumble with that damn smile of his.

Oh, late at night I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah

As if by some divine intervention, rain began pelting down—a rare instance to occur during a New York summer, completely drenching poor your poor John.

It was as if you could practically feel his puppy dog eyes burning through your retinas, compelling you to let him in.

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Frustrated, in more ways than one, you yell out the window,

"You know you look pretty pathetic out in that rain, that pretty mop of hair of yours is going to be all ruined real quick!"

A moment passes. Your resolve breaks. Or at least what's left of it completely disintegrates much like a brown paper bag left in the wet streets.

A smile betrays your feigned trepidation, as you motion with your right arm out the window signalling for him to enter into your apartment lobby.

Without missing a beat, and you don't blame him since it's beginning to pelt down with rain, he enters the lobby.

Shaking your head you look around the surface of your apartment for a sweater, affix it onto yourself, and move embarrassingly quick out of your apartment and down to the communal lobby.

Have you ever tried this one?

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

[uncasuals]

spotted : a reunion on the jfk tarmac ! rumer has it ... hampton's dirty thirty have all planned a secret rendezvous to ibiza .... silly , rich kids . you can run , but you can't hide . i have eyes everywhere and did you forget ? i'm the best at keeping secrets . here's an inside tip : with a last name and a bank account like yours , there's always someone willing to spill .

interest check for a nearly plotless rp about the scandalous affluent that have been under the watchful eye of a gossip app titled rumer for nearly two years . rumer has coined the opulents ' the dirty thirty ' , each muse ranking within the top thirty most talked about in the hamptons .

[mingus-archives]

I'm watching the documentary series "Dirty Money" and god is it a reminder that most people in the US don't know or understand truly rich people. I went to an ivy league university and I saw true wealth. Students with family mansions in the hamptons, with jobs set up at major banks the minute they graduated. Students whose families bought them houses to live in, who posted IG photos of them in different luxurious lodgings in every country of the world. I follow someone from uni on IG who regularly gets helicopters from her manhattan apt to the JFK airport. I had a friend whose date (an undergrad student) picked her up in a porsche. It is so damn frustrating to discuss wealth inequity now that I'm out of that world because most people from my hometown and where I currently live think doctors, lawyers, and small business owners (even slightly larger businesses) are upper class. This is not to say those professionals aren't financially privileged and middle class but they still work for the most part for their wealth; real rich people DO NOT DO THAT-they have properties, investments, and businesses that work for them. Real rich people buy thousands of dollars of luxury items with full intent of never wearing them. They have dinners with politicians and their children catered by the university. They have last names you'd recognize vaguely from CNN. This little rambling has no point except to remind everyone that it is likely an average person will never ever interact with the type of person that should be one of the rich we tax or eat, depending on your preference lol

[octuscle]

Hey! Can I take JFK 3 plz. Thank you!

Good choice! A beautiful weekender. Not that label crap. It has style. But you would have expected anything inside, but definitely not camouflage pants. Looks a little bit too wide for you. But there's no harm in trying. Feels good… Very good! The desert boots go great with it. But somehow you can't find a suitable top… But you have the feeling that you are getting hairier. Really hairy. On your chest and your belly a real, well trimmed fur develops. With a few white hairs in it. Like in your beard. And under the fur your body is changing. Good healthy muscles. Under a thin layer of fat. Hey, you are a bon vivant! Lobster with a good Riesling for lunch. And after that a few workouts in the gym on the beach…. Isn't it wonderful how the sun shines on your naked upper body and on your bald head?

Your environment changes. Seagulls screech, the sea roars. And you are where you feel most comfortable, in your summer home in the Hamptons. The summer house that your family has owned for generations. And with which you were settled as the black sheep of the family. And now it's your gay bed & breakfast. Enjoy the free minutes, new guests are coming soon!

[imaginatio-n]

Steve manages to shake the black car following him without much difficulty. He rides his bike out of Brooklyn. Past JFK and the Hamptons and parks it, wheels half buried in the sand at the edge of a beach he doesn’t know the name of.

There is a lighthouse to his right, in the distance someone walks their dog. Steve is standing at the edge of the water, stray waves licking at his ankles and wonders if any of these droplets ever touched his body before. If they ever brushed between his fingers as he pushed himself forward with weak strokes. Splashed them into Bucky’s face. Sputtered with scandalized laughter as he was dunked under.

He wonders if any, even just one of them, ever evaporated, traveled all the way up to the arctic, froze and fell in form of a perfect snowflake. Just to land on frozen skin, to thaw and end up back here.

He wonders if any of them had ever fallen over the mountains of Austria, touched the very hand Steve had failed to grasp.

Kneeling down he brushes his fingertips over the surface of the ocean.

He wonders if he should walk inside the waves and bury himself underneath them. Bury himself the same way he had so long ago. The same way Bucky would be for the rest of time.

He doesn’t. He knows now that it wouldn’t stick anyways.

The wind rips harsh through his hair and too thin shirt. He doesn't leave yet. Just closes his eyes ignores the stinging cold overtaking his whole body. His toes grow numb and his fingers twitch unprompted. But who was he to complain? He had no right.

Steve once heard that it took ten years for a body to decompose, about eighty for the bones to disappear too.

He fell into ice, just like Steve. He wonders if Bucky had, also just like him, not changed one bit. If after sixty-seven years, he was still right where Steve had abandoned him, buried underneath miles of snow, eyes forever frozen in fear.

Steve doesn’t know what would be worse, that, or if maggots had eaten his body whole.

[registerednoirgaming]

📍hecking international airport, east hamptons🗽

🗽JFK✈️MRS🇫🇷

[hamptons-vip-ride]

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[ashandkatiewrite]

Four Weddings and a Funeral - Chapter 1

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL

FIC SYNOPSIS: Maggie Hastings meets her dream man after a flight into New York City— Bucky Barnes, a pilot who seems to be everything she’s looking for. Except that she already has a boyfriend who never has time for her. After a near-tryst with her dream pilot, Maggie runs, only to find out he later meets her best friend and they’re now crazy about each other. Among their group of best friends, between Chicago and New York, and four weddings and a funeral, Maggie and Bucky struggle to keep their fiery chemistry a secret so they don’t hurt the ones they love.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @katiekinswrites

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC

Tags: Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Forbidden Love, Angst, Fluff, and Smut, Explicit Language

Rating: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER ONE

November 15th, 2019

Maggie sighed as she walked through the airport, “No, I can’t. I’m sorry.” She apologized — though it wasn’t necessary. “I can’t come in. No— no , I am not even in the state right now, Danny.” She tried to stay patient with her intern as he went off on her for not being in Chicago. 

Danny Jones was cocky and rarely listened to his surgical resident as it was, but for him to call Maggie up and yell at her for being gone was not something she was going to put up with. People pleaser or not; Maggie Hastings was not going to allow the little shit to speak to her that way. She was his superior.

“Well, I apologize that my vacation fell on such an inconvenient time for you, Danny. But I have been preparing for your intern’s exam for three months now since I knew my time off would fall on the same weekend as the exam. It is not my fault you chose to not attend my stupid, useless, and pointless ,” she quoted him, “study group sessions.” 

Maggie was still trying to remain professional, but she was starting to lose her patience with Danny by the time she got to the airport bar closest to her gate. 

It wasn’t until Danny called Maggie selfish that she finally dropped any shred of professional demeanor. 

“Oh, get fucked, Danny!” She shouted as she sat down at the bar. “It is not my job to hand hold you during the actual exam! I did everything I could to try and prepare you for this and you pushed back each time claiming to know better than I did. It’s time to get your silver spoon out of your fucking mouth and do the goddamn work because your mommy might have been able to secure your spot as a surgical intern, but if you don’t pass this exam, there is no amount of money she could pay to bribe your way through a residency program!” Maggie didn’t bother holding back. 

This wasn’t a case of tough love — more of a reality check and Maggie was sure she’d feel guilty about saying all of this later, but she had a shitty flight that had ended up being delayed to begin with and had sat in the O’Hara airport for over six hours waiting for a flight into JFK and now she had to sit and kill time for an hour until her boyfriend got back into the city from the Hamptons and could pick her up and take her back to his apartment.

“Now, I am going to say this once so you better fucking listen,” Maggie said in a threatening tone. “Do NOT call me again, Danny. I am on my fucking vacation !” She yelled before ending the call and let her upper half fall against the bar, resting her head on the smooth granite surface. “A Tequila Sour, please. And keep them coming,” Maggie said to the bartender, not even bothering to lift her head to look at the woman as she spoke. 

There was a quiet chuckling coming from the seat two over from Maggie. “Think that guy is gonna survive his neutering? He sounds like a prick.”

Maggie raised her brows in response to the man, her face instantly flushing in not only embarrassment for making a scene, but also because the man was incredibly handsome. She muttered the word fuck under her breath and looked away, mortified by her reaction to the good-looking man and her outburst.

The man who sat there was grinning as he shook his head and lifted a finger towards the bartender to indicate that he’d take another beer.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked as he tilted his head to look at her in amusement.

Maggie winced slightly at his question and was thankful that the bartender handed her the drink she ordered. She took a big swig of her drink, consuming half of it before she went on to answer him. 

“Ask me again in about ten minutes once this kicks in.” She tapped her now half drunk glass of tequila sour. 

He chuckled before looking away as the bartender set down a beer for him. 

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the way he was dressed and his lack of luggage. 

“You’re a pilot,” Maggie commented, not asking as a question, but stating it as a fact. It was an assumption, of course. Maggie didn’t know if this man was a pilot, but from the way he dressed, that’s the conclusion she had come to. “Can I ask you a question about turbulence?”  

He turned on the barstool and faced her, giving her his full attention. “Shoot.”

“Can turbulence break up a plane? Because I’m constantly flying out of O’Hare and I have yet to be on a flight without any turbulence.” She told him, “and I was wondering if it’s only a matter of time before I end up on a flight with such bad turbulence that the plane rips apart.”

“They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing,” he told her.

Her drink was hitting her harder and faster than she thought it would — but she also had yet to eat and took a Xanax before take off at O’Hare, which meant Maggie was a lot more chatty than she normally would be with a stranger. 

It also helped that he had a deep voice that sounded like what silk sheets on her naked body felt like and a face that mirrored a young Luke Skywalker. 

So, Maggie continued on rambling. “I mean, there’s got to be some sort of statistic out there that tells you how many turbulent flights one can have before it hurdles to the ground and you die.” 

Someone huffed loudly from behind Maggie and when she looked back, an older woman was glaring in her direction while grabbing her luggage. Maggie winced apologetically as the woman stormed off. 

Perhaps talking about plane crashes in an airport bar was not the smartest of choices. 

“Sorry,” Maggie said in a mumble under her breath as she moved back so her body was facing the man. 

He was smiling patiently at her, however, despite the rudeness of the woman that stomped past. 

“Well,” he drawled as he reached for his drink, “I guess that’s why some pilots prefer to live a life with no regrets.” His eyebrow danced a little. “It’s exhilarating, especially in a smaller plane where you can feel everything. But maybe I just like the thrill. But flying is not for everyone.” He took a drink from his glass.

Maggie didn’t dislike flying per se, she would just prefer it if her flights were a bit smoother. But like the man had said; Chicago hadn’t earned its infamous nickname — the Windy City — simply for shits and giggles. Though, the way he said it wasn’t quite as vulgar.

She sighed, realizing that she’d likely never have a smooth flight coming out of O’Hare. At least she would only be living in Chicago for one more year.

Clearly, she was not relieved at his statement, so he nudged her hand, his fingers brushing against hers which were wrapped around her drink. “If it makes you feel any better, the statistics do say you’re far less likely to die in a plane crash than a car crash.”

Maggie huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to remember that on the car ride home from here,” she said back in a sarcastic yet playful tone. 

He tried again. “Look, are you more afraid of dying of boredom on a twelve and a half hour drive with rush hour traffic — or say, being stuck for hours due to a semi-truck breaking down and blocking an entire interstate… or would you rather deal with a few minutes of turbulence flying out of O’Hare and get here in just two and a half hours?” 

“Well…when you put it like that .” Maggie grinned as her cheeks flushed once again in embarrassment. “And there is a bathroom on the plane — as terrifying as they are to use.” She added the last part in a rush. 

“What?” He asked with a laugh. The corners of his eyes crinkled. 

“You can’t use the bathroom while driving…” Her cheeks flushed even more at the realization that she was talking about peeing in front of the very handsome pilot she had just met. “Not that I do that!” 

His brows shot up. 

Wait ? Did she just tell him she didn’t go to the bathroom? Jesus Christ. She was a rambling mess — especially when she drank. 

“I mean — I use the bathroom!” She attempted to correct herself only to make things so worse. “Everyone does! There’s even that book; Everybody Po …” her words trailed off and her eyes went wide. Maggie quickly looked away and focused on her drink.  “I’m going to shut up now.” She tried to hide her bright red face. 

He laughed and partially shifted on his seat so that his shoe was propped on the bottom rung of the seat between them. “It’s okay,” he told her. “I’ve read it. It’s a good read.” The grin on his face hadn’t dissipated in the least and he set his teeth in his bottom lip as he watched to see if she’d look his way again. “My nephew has that book,” he explained after her questioning look.

Maggie closed her eyes while shaking her head in embarrassment and gave the man a thumbs up in response, keeping her mouth shut to avoid saying anything else humiliating.

“Do you want another one?” He nodded at her empty glass. His was still mostly full. “My treat.” 

She looked back over to him with a shy smile. “If I accept, I would be running the risk of saying something stupid and embarrassing,” Maggie said with a chuckle. “But then again, I guess if I have enough of these, I might not care about the dumb shit that comes out of my mouth,” she added.

He laughed again, truly enjoying her candor. 

Maggie looked over at the man again, taking in his beautiful blue eyes that she knew she could easily get lost in. 

God, he was so fucking hot. It was ridiculous!

“Fuck it,” she shrugged before addressing the bartender. “I’ll have another Tequila Sour,” Maggie said before looking back to the man with a warm smile. 

“That’s the spirit,” he told her with a wink.

“You can put it on the Captain’s tab.” She smirked before finally introducing herself. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

The bartender looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow but when the man only lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, she got to work on the Tequila Sour as requested.

“I’m Bucky,” he said and reached over the stool between them and shook her hand. 

Maggie looked down at their hands, feeling like her body had now begun to buzz with energy as he held her hand. 

When Maggie’s eyes moved back up to look at him, she smiled as she let go of his hand. “Hi, Bucky.” 

“Hi, Maggie,” he grinned.

Her cheeks flushed again, only this time it wasn’t out of embarrassment.

No, this was caused from something else entirely — it was from her being genuinely, and intensely attracted to the pilot . 

Billy. Maggie tried to remind herself. You have a boyfriend .

But there was no harm in flirting with Bucky though… right?

[quickluxuryride]

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[hamptonsvipride]

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[saturnpanther]

Need a Stan JFK Jr. AU of him sitting pretty in the Hamptons getting drunk and passing out too close to the pool (which is obviously a loose Icarus metaphor). He goes to his little cocktail parties and charity fundraisers and yet can't stay away from trouble.

[littlemissidontcare]

New Yorker here. Please stop calling bellport upstate lol. It’s on Long Island. Going to the Hamptons. Not upstate. Upstate is where you go camping. Think Poughkeepsie. Also I’m the anon who suggested bellport, because I’m from the area and recognize those trains. They could also very well be going to New Jersey but I don’t think they would? They could also just being using the train to go to the airport as well. Long Island trains stop at JFK and NJ trains stop at Newark Airport. She could also be going alone. Who the hell knows lol but that train is NOT a subway train. That’s all I’m really getting at.

[limoservicehampton]

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