#rfk x reader

[ddlydevotion]

obsessive! Bobby Kennedy ‘rfk’ headcanons…

warnings: nothing too crazy just unhealthy obsessive behavior. just a bunch of thoughts I’ve had about obsessive! Bobby.

currently listening to: My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra ₊˚ෆˎˊ˗

It’d already be expected of you as his wife but he’d want you at every single one of his Senate Racket Committee hearings. His demeanor when interrogating even the toughest of criminals was always stone-cold, unbreakable. The complete opposite of the attitude he had towards you. There was something inside of him that urged him to amp up the 'tough, no nonsense lawyer' act. The reasoning behind this mindset was that he wanted to show you that he was capable of protecting you. capable of shielding you away from the cruelty of the world.

He takes you to every single event relating to his brother's campaign. He begins to sweat like a sinner in church when he's away from you for too long. One night you're in Boston and the very next you're in New York. It's quite a lot to get used to but you learn to manage since you know how antsy Bobby can get when you don't accompany him.

His family tease him about his infatuation with you and say that he's "smitten like a kitten". All he can do is chuckle and look away with a flushed face, but never does he deny it.

Has said that the greatest thing he's ever accomplished was marrying a woman like you.

Bobby does absolutely everything in his power to keep a sweet smile plastered on your face. You constantly tell him that he doesn't have to do all that he does, that you're happy simply being in the same room as him. However, this doesn't stop him from treating you as a princess of some sort. His specialty for gift giving truly shines through during holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays.

That restaurant that you like so much? Well, he got them to be caterers for your birthday dinner. That actor that stars in your favorite film? He managed to get them to make an appearance on your special day!

Has your name embroidered within the inside of his tie.

He has sooo many photos/things related to you placed all around his office. Anybody walking into his office is immediately greeted by a photograph of the two of you on your wedding day. He has little trinkets of yours scattered all over his desk. Don't even get him started if you enjoy painting in your pastime, your artwork will be plastered all over this man's office.

He even has photos of you as a baby.

He locked you down real quick. It worried your friends and family but once they saw just how disturbingly sweet he was when it came to you, they put their principles aside. He knew he got lucky having a girl like you by his side and he'd be damned if he were to let another man bask within your love.

If he's unable to take you with him on a work trip (for whatever reason), he is calling you sososo often. multiple times a day. He'll have somebody drop off flowers at your front door along with a letter that he demanded for them to place within the bouquet. He'd send flowers every day until you told him that you couldn't possibly keep all of the flowers alive + you were running out of room. He switched to just sending a ridiculously large bouquet once a week during his time away.

He pushes himself to the absolute limit when it comes to his work because he wants to be able to provide for you, and he wants you to be proud of him. His brother quickly picked up on his infatuation with you and uses it to encourage the best results out of Bobby regarding the campaign.

"we've gotta do this carefully, alright Bobby? I know you wanna get home to y/n, so, the quicker we get this done the sooner you'll make your way down to New York."

He wants you to know you can rely on him for anything and everything. You don't need anybody other than him. He'll be your best friend, your companion, your confidant, the one you run to.

He wouldn't isolate you from your loved ones because he'd hate to see you so upset. But, he'd do everything in his power to outshine anything that they do for you, even the smallest of things. It's his way of showing that he's the main person who truly knows what you want, and what you need. It honestly becomes a bit humorous because a friend of yours could get you a sweater and he'd buy you one with even better material just to overshadow them.

loves having you visit him while he's at work.

There's moments where you have to reassure and pump him full of confidence because he can get a bit self conscious. The environment he grew up in was incredibly competitive and he was always made to feel as if he was the runt of the litter. However, all those years of doubt and insecurity seem to melt right off once he's around you. Hearing you reassure him about the fact that he's a phenomenal husband and an amazing brother makes all of those negative thoughts in his head disappear as if they were never there in the first place.

taglist: @bobbykennedyswife @divinedelusional @fortheloveofjos @summerrivera777777 @romanticismboop @tomriddlethefinest @lancerslover @unmarlou message me if you’d like to be added 💌.

[melancholicstation]

SECRETARY (2002) INSPIRED BOSS!BOBBY KENNEDY AND SECRETARY!READER: a collection of headcanons!

tags: @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 @remotewatch @stargiirl27 @strryhaze @bluevelvetsunset @recentremreports

warnings: reference to erotica, boss employee dynamic, secretary (2002), dominant and submissive dynamics,

authors note: in memoriam of secretary (2002) release date, 29th of may, here's some nice and clean good old freakum fun! and i tried something new with adding outfit formulas to the end of the hc's let me know if you like them and i'll continue, or you can ignore them completely! whatever you decide. much love, melancholistation ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 also this is not proof read hope it's legible! muah

for context i'm imagining this au to be in the timeframe of his time as new york senator!

secretary!reader definitely had no idea who bobby was prior to applying for the job listing she found in the new york times

bobby's definitely initially sceptical as reader's resume could get her a much better job that transcribing his crinkled coffee bruised notes, and re-arranging his insomnia-inducing schedule

he basically tries to make the job sound unbearably unpleasant, in a pseudo effort to encourage her towards a greater, more enlightened path with more of a future (this definitely has something to do with bobby's inferiority complex, always believing that everyone has something better to do than spend their days with him etc. etc...)

yet, reader persists. and he's a weak man... so you know how that ended up!

i'm picturing bobby really trying to be a good man and be on his best boss behaviour for at least a month but after sensing the reader's clear penchant for incessant praise and the way she stares at the sliver of arm hair peeking out of the cuff of his favoured and hallowed oxford shirt, he's a man burdened with a deep sense of yearn so profound he feels physically ill

hot take: the "courtship" era of reader and his relationship literally causes him to stress lose 2 pounds just from sheer anxiety of scaring reader off

he'll literally think reader is mad at him because she only brought him his coffee with one chocolate covered almond instead of her status-quo two... (he's literally sick in the head)

reader is literally terrible at all the transcription to the point where bobby had to bring in a second secretary that looms in the background to fill in the gaps of what you missed (which is a lot!)

your "office hours" are mostly spent picking handfuls of wildflowers that grow on the windowsill of bobby's main office (a planter box he specifically had installed upon learning about your botanist inclined natural back in preschool) and reading trashy erotica and highlighting the funny passages to read back to bobby as he drives you home from the office (you insist of your capability to get home in one piece, yet he adamantly protests that!)

notable mention that this is definitely readers choice of a type writer: either this one, or this one.

on those days where bobby is kept in the office until the sun rises on a new day you bring through a manic assortment of his most treasured delicacies (you make it a point to feed him because let's be honest that man will not take the initiative himself) which consist of: noam beer and a baker bleu baguette stuffed with an bliblical level greed amount of smoked ham and smooth dijon mustard from a local moutardier in brooklyn

literally just like this, except assorted on an old nickel-plated cloche:

readers style imagining to be quite eclectic yet refined yet haute couture... it contains multitudes

this is the exact coat (it's 100% wool with satin cupro lining and 3 bands... i need it in my armoire yesterday so this is me projecting) reader wears on all of the late night strolls she accompanies bobby on to clear his mind after a long day of being pushed from location a. to b. and being needed everywhere. reader's most definitely a calming presence, primarily for the fact that he feels she doesn't need more from him than how he comes naturally

reader would definitely pair that coat with gloves of some sort (or rather bobby would threaten to leave without her unless she was adequately dressed for the weather since he would literally never forgive himself if you contracted the slightest whiff of a cold. no mind that's he's literally only dressed in a cotton poplin shirt with a boucle knit overtop: exhibit a and exhibit b the merino mittens for the city's winter and the rick waved calfskin gloves for the everyday autumn chill that befalls midtown after ten pm.

reader definitely smells like harvest mouse by zoologist

i feel that in this relationship bobby really is the submissive (lee) in all non-sexual situations, he enjoys needing instead of being needed for once (in his whole life actually... but let's not talk about that...)

and i really think that bobby personally had a lot of bad habits (not specifically self-harm but he definitely subconsciously seemed things that were not always the healthiest for him) that could be solved with a girl matching his freak...

calling him a "good man" would definitely change his brain chemistry and heal some deep seeded issues inside of him... just something about him needing that validation that he is "masculine" in many ways, especially after being repeatedly emasculated by his family members, and believed to be less of a "man" (or at least not fitting into the societal and cultural standards of what is considered masculine at that time!). he would get all the way off on that...

but back to secretary!reader style (authors note: got a bit of topic there didn't i!)

her day-to-day work style is either this sweater or this sweater (there is no deviation she has a personal style and she's sticking to it. she was doing capsule wardrobes before they were even a hashtag on tiktok...) paired with either a cute pinafore: this one, or that one or a trusty pair of wool trousers

the shoes will, and will always be: rain or shine, tabi t-bar pumps in black patent

and bobby on more than one occasion fantasies about her pressing her pumps against the prominent bludge in his pants until he severely embarrassed himself in a government building and earned his new pants a much needed trip to the dry cleaners... and this is the way he's sitting while it happens by the way:

bobby definitely loves a good "care taker" role (or has been groomed by his parents to always love cleaning up other peoples messes... but lets not get into that!) so he'd definitely be a part of reader's "self-care routine"

he'd get so into french pharmacy's and always bring back the niche, hard to find skincare when he goes on international tours...

definitely loves a good bath routine and he takes such care when bathing you that your hands are always crinkled.

he's definitely humming while he washes your hair... and it's most likely some song he hears playing from your record player during office hours

and it's routine for both of you, no matter the circumstances, no matter if bobby almost got into a screaming match with a republican souther senator he still comes back in the night to repeat the routine once again. basically, your self-care is his.

he invites himself into reader's apartment one of the days where he personally drives her home and is sort of horrified yet unbearably turned on that she has acquired a left-over poster from his ny senate run and hung it on the same wall as some very suggestive if not down right erotica prints...

but that's not even the number one thing that disturbs him during that visit... ever the nepotism baby he's horrified at the lack of square footage of reader's apartment

and efficiently sets reader up in a nice townhouse in the upper east side that's coincidentally a 10 minute (chauffeured) drive to his penthouse facing the east river (true story alert: i found this nyt 1965 article which detailed him buying east river suite immediately north of the UN HQ, it's a nice short read for anyone interest in his niche realestate acquirements)

reader definitely feel guilty from him spending so much unnecessary money on her but later discovers he definitely has a thing for women using him for money... like gets off on it sort of vibe...

it's a delicate give and take... reader goes into niche grocery stores and forages for the perfect assortment of treats to greet bobby's desk and bobby buys her $28 million dollar investment property! it evens out eventually!

to be honest i don't see reader being a secretary for long after a relationship has been established between her and bobby... cause one thing about #that man is that he knows when to lock it down...

in short they have a courthouse wedding that nearly sent rose and joe sr into a grand mal seizure (they definitely loathe you but are afraid of bobby, as they should be cause he's literally a pit bull for you)

and you two live your freak lives happily ever after!

the end.

outfit formula 1: day at the office

outfit formula 2: errands running day

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

omg like fake dating/ fake relationship with rfk x reader but imagine like they fall in real love but they both think the others faking it and yk like yeah

Space Between Us

synopsis: bobby kennedy and you have spent months maintaining the perfect political illusion, a fake relationship that was never meant to be more than a convenience. but one moment changes everything, and suddenly, you’re both forced to face the truth: somewhere along the way, the act stopped being an act.

word count: 1.9k

pairing: robert f. kennedy x reader

rating: e for everyone!!!

The champagne tasted like nothing. Three glasses in and all you could register was the mild burn down your throat, the persistent tickle of bubbles against your upper lip. Across the room, Bobby was deep in conversation with some railroad executive, his hands moving with the precise, controlled energy that always appeared when he was making a point he truly believed in.

You checked your watch—11:42. These campaign events always stretched too long, donors clinging to the promise of influence, to the proximity of power. Not that Bobby seemed to mind. The Kennedy stamina was legendary, and Bobby carried that inheritance differently than Jack. Where his brother wielded charm like a blunt weapon, Bobby's intensity had a quieter edge.

Someone touched your elbow. "Mrs. Whitmore wants to meet you," a campaign aide whispered, nodding toward a silver-haired woman in emerald green.

"Of course," you said, setting down your useless champagne.

Another hour passed in introductions, in careful nods and practiced laughs. Bobby found you just as you were considering a strategic retreat to the powder room.

"There you are," he said, his voice pitched to carry just far enough for nearby ears. His hand settled at the small of your back—warm, firm, familiar after eight months of this arrangement.

"Here I am," you replied, leaning into him slightly. "Mr. Collins was just telling me about his summer home in Newport."

Bobby's smile didn't falter. "Fascinating," he said, though his eyes told you he'd rather hear about paint drying. "Mind if I steal you away? Senator Bruckman is asking for you."

It was a useful fiction. Bobby had created a network of imaginary social obligations that allowed you both to move around these events at will, to extract each other when conversations grew stale or uncomfortable.

The truth was simpler: Bobby was tired, and so were you.

"Excuse me," you said to Mr. Collins with an apologetic smile.

Bobby guided you through the crowd toward the French doors leading to the terrace. The night air hit your face with merciful coolness after the stuffiness inside. He loosened his tie slightly, a small surrender to comfort.

"Collins is a bore, but his wife sits on three charity boards," Bobby said. "Good contact."

"I gathered. Hence the twenty minutes of Newport house dimensions."

Bobby laughed—a real laugh, not the polite one he used inside. "You're getting good at this."

You were. When this arrangement had begun—a suggestion from Joe Sr. after too many questions about Bobby's lack of a serious relationship—you'd been stiff, awkward. Bobby had been equally uncomfortable, his hand hovering an inch away from yours when you walked, his gaze darting away whenever you met his eyes.

Now you moved together easily, a practiced choreography of casual touches and inside jokes. You knew that he'd press his thumb against your wrist when he wanted to leave an event. He knew that when you tucked your hair behind your left ear, you were signaling discomfort. Small things, meaningless things, except they weren't.

"How much longer do we need to stay?" you asked, watching the party through the windows.

"Another half-hour should do it." Bobby checked his watch—the one his father had given him when he graduated Harvard, heavy gold with worn leather straps. "Maybe less if we're strategic."

"Strategic?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Say you have a headache. Nothing clears a path faster than a woman with a potential migraine."

"Bobby," you laughed, "that's terrible."

"Pragmatic," he corrected, but his eyes creased with amusement.

"Fine," you said. "But you have to do the concerned boyfriend bit. Really sell it."

Twenty minutes later, Bobby was helping you into the back of a black Cadillac, one hand steadying your elbow as you ducked into the car, his voice carrying just enough worry to be convincing.

"Straight to the Carlyle," he told the driver. Then, quieter: "Thank God."

The silence in the car was comfortable. Bobby loosened his tie further, eventually tugging it off entirely and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. You slipped off your heels, flexing your aching feet.

"Collins asked if we're getting married," you said, watching the city lights slide past the window.

Bobby's expression shifted minutely. "What did you tell him?"

"I did the coy smile, glanced down at my empty ring finger, said something about taking things one day at a time." The script was familiar by now, carefully crafted to be neither confirmation nor denial.

"Good." He rubbed his eyes. "Jack thinks we should keep this going through the campaign at least."

"That's another year and a half," you said, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Bobby looked at you directly then. "Is that a problem?"

It shouldn't have been. The arrangement benefited you too—the connections, the invitations to places your middle-class background would never have granted access to, the simple pleasure of Bobby's company. It was easy, uncomplicated.

Except it wasn't. Not anymore.

"No," you lied. "No problem."

The Carlyle was quiet when you arrived, the lobby nearly empty. Bobby kept his hand at your back as you walked to the elevator, then dropped it once the doors closed. A small surrender to privacy.

His suite was on the twelfth floor—not the presidential suite (too ostentatious for Bobby's taste), but large enough that campaign staff could use the sitting room for impromptu meetings. Tonight, mercifully, it was empty.

"Drink?" Bobby asked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a chair.

"Please."

He moved to the bar cart, pouring two fingers of scotch into heavy crystal glasses. You watched his shoulders, the way tension still clung to them even as he tried to unwind.

"You did well tonight," he said, handing you a glass. "Mrs. Whitmore was impressed."

"She talked about her cats for fifteen minutes."

"Yes, but her husband runs the second-largest bank in New York, and she told me before leaving that you were 'refreshingly genuine.'" He smiled. "In this crowd, that's high praise."

You took a slow sip, letting the scotch burn down your throat. "So I'm an asset to the campaign?"

Something flickered across Bobby's face—discomfort, maybe, or guilt. "You're more than that."

"Am I?"

The question hung between you, heavier than intended. Bobby watched you over the rim of his glass, his blue eyes too perceptive, too sharp.

"You know you are," he said finally.

You turned away, moving to the window. The city sprawled below, lights stretching toward the horizon. Your reflection was faint in the glass—evening gown slightly wrinkled, hair coming loose from its careful styling.

Behind you, Bobby set his glass down with a soft clink.

"I need to call Jack," he said. "He'll want an update about Bruckman."

"Of course."

He disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door halfway. His voice drifted out in fragments—something about donation commitments, about press coverage, about next steps.

You kicked off your shoes properly and curled into the corner of the sofa, letting your head rest against the cushion. The event had drained you more than usual. These performances always took something, but lately the cost seemed higher.

By the time Bobby emerged, you were half-asleep, the empty scotch glass balanced precariously on your knee.

"He thinks we're on track," Bobby said, sitting beside you, close enough that you could feel the weight shift in the cushions. "Fundraising is ahead of projections."

"That's good," you murmured, though you weren't thinking about campaign finances.

Bobby reached for the glass, his fingers brushing yours as he took it. He set it on the coffee table, then leaned back beside you with a soft exhale.

"I'm tired," he admitted, rare vulnerability in the words.

You turned to look at him—really look at him. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual, the lines around his mouth more pronounced. Robert Kennedy, the ruthless younger brother, the campaign mastermind, the man whispered to be Jack's secret weapon—right now he just looked exhausted.

"Then sleep," you said softly.

"Not that kind of tired."

You understood. It wasn't physical fatigue but something deeper—the weight of constant performance, of strategic thinking, of calculated moves. Bobby lived with the burden of his name, of his brother's ambitions, of his father's demands.

Without thinking, you reached out, letting your fingers brush against his temple, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He went still under your touch.

"Sorry," you whispered, drawing back.

Bobby caught your wrist, holding it lightly. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he leaned forward and kissed you.

It was nothing like the performative kisses you'd shared before—the brief press of lips for photographers, the chaste goodbye kisses when parting at events. This was soft, uncertain, real.

He pulled back after barely a second, something like shock in his eyes, as if he'd surprised himself.

"Force of habit," he said, the words strangled.

You couldn't speak. Your lips still felt the phantom pressure of his.

Bobby stood abruptly, moving to the window where you'd stood earlier. His shoulders were rigid, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Bobby," you said finally.

"Don't." His voice was tight.

"We should talk about—"

"There's nothing to talk about." He was using his attorney voice now, the one that shut down arguments and closed doors. "It was a mistake."

You stood too, anger and hurt rising in equal measure. "A mistake."

"Yes."

"Look at me, at least."

He turned, reluctance in every line of his body. His expression was guarded, but his eyes—God, his eyes were full of things he wasn't saying.

"This is a professional arrangement," he said, each word careful, measured. "We both know that."

"Do we?"

Bobby ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way he'd never allow in public. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "Something true, for once."

Bobby stepped closer, close enough that you could see the pulse jumping in his throat. "True?" His voice had dropped, rough at the edges. "The truth is I can't stop thinking about you. Even when we're not—" He gestured vaguely between you, "—doing this."

Your breath caught. "Bobby..."

"I know what this was supposed to be." His hand came up to your face, thumb grazing your cheek. "A strategic move. Convenient for both of us."

"And now?"

"Now I find myself inventing reasons to call you. Making up events we need to attend together." The confession tumbled out, reluctant but unstoppable. "I catch myself reaching for your hand when there's no one around to see it."

You covered his hand with yours, keeping it against your face. "I thought it was just me."

Bobby's laugh was short, disbelieving. "No. God, no."

This time when he kissed you, it wasn't gentle or hesitant. His mouth claimed yours with certainty, with hunger, with months of restraint finally broken. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as his hands tangled in your hair, careful styling completely forgotten.

When you broke apart, breathing hard, Bobby kept his forehead pressed to yours.

"What happens now?" you asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. His hands slid to your waist, keeping you close. "But I don't want to pretend anymore. Not with you."

"The campaign—"

"Will adapt." Bobby Kennedy, always practical, even now. "We'll figure it out."

You smiled, a real smile that had nothing to do with practiced appearances. "Is that what we do? Figure things out?"

"Together?" His eyes searched yours, unguarded for once. "Yes."

Bobby pulled back just enough to take your hand. Your fingers laced with his, fitting perfectly. For the first time, there was no audience to perform for, no reason to touch except the simple desire to be connected.

"Stay," he said quietly.

So you did.

[kisses4jerrylewis]

“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?”

[lancerbf]

[kennedydrabbles]

Magic Touch

A/N: I don’t know that anyone will read this but please be gentle with me 😂 I haven’t written anything for months and I’ve never written for Bobby Kennedy before.

Summary: Bobby shows up stressed out and you give him a massage.

Warnings: brief comment about being a mistress, possible bad writing, possible odd typo, probably bad grammar, I think that’s about it.

Word Count: 1,324 words.

~*~

it was 1961 and you were Bobby Kennedy’s mistress. The two of you had been seeing each other for a year now, mainly in the form of him sneaking in and out of the apartment he had been renting for you. Tonight was Wednesday, one of the nights he always came over for dinner. You were reclining on the couch with a magazine, having just put a chicken in the oven to roast.

Your eyes currently scanned over an article talking about Ham the Chimpanzee that had been rocketed into space, when Bobby knocked on the door.

“Coming!” You yelled, standing up and folding the cover of the magazine back, still holding it with one hand before heading over to answer the door, to a frazzled looking Bobby.

“Sorry I’m late, honey.” He said, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he ducked into the apartment quickly. You could tell something was wrong, his body language was tense.

“Bobby, did something happen today?” You asked, putting the magazine on the coffee table before taking him gently by the hand and leading him to the sofa.

He sat down heavily on it, “Yes, something did.” He said tiredly as you settled down next to him, his arm finding its way round your shoulder as you melted into his side.

“Is everything okay?”

He sighed, pressing his body closer to yours. “I just got a call from Jack, he wants to see me tomorrow morning.”

You nodded, pulling him closer to you and gently carding your fingers through his thick brown hair, you listened attentively, while he continued to struggle to relax his tense muscles. The added stress of the botched bay of pigs invasion not helping with his already high stress level as he continued his crusade against organized crime.

“I know he wants to talk to me about the hearings, I just don’t understand why it has to be so early in the morning.” He sighed, his eyes drifting closed as though he could drift off to sleep right there. You knew he was always like that, he could stay awake for days at a time when he was focused on something and needed to get it done, then he would suddenly crash when he wasn’t.

“Alright, come with me, Beaver.” You spoke, gently, holding your hand out to him as you stood up off the couch, the moniker, ‘Beaver’ that only you called him bringing a brief smile to his face. He took your hand, allowing you to gently pull him to stand up, leading him from the living room, through the hallway and into the small apartment bedroom.

“Alright, here, sit down.” You said, pushing gently on his shoulders, getting him to sit down on the end of the bed as you knelt to untie the laces of his dress shoes, slipping them and his socks off his feet as he sat above you. Once done, you stood back up, moving to get a clothes hanger from the closet next before beginning to undress him gently, his big sapphire blue eyes watched your delicate little hands loosen his tie and pull it from around his neck, before gently tugging his shirt up and out of his dress pants to unbuttoning it.

Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you pushed it off his shoulders and placed it on the hanger, then put it back in the closet before you returned to help him unzip his pants and pull them off, leaving him sitting there in just his undershirt and boxers.

“Do you want me to rub your back?” You asked softly, kneeling in front of him again.

He looked down at you kneeling on the floor, your features illuminated by the warm glow of a bedside light, and gave a simple nod. As you stood up, he pulled off his undershirt and tossed it aside to the floor.  

“Lay down on your belly.”

Your voice gentle, before moving to get some lotion to rub him down with. Upon your return you climbed up next to him on the bed, and sat on his bum with a leg on either side of him. Squirting some lotion into your palm, you warmed it between your hands before gently beginning to rub his shoulders with firm gentle pressure.

“Oh God, that feels so good.”

Bobby sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head on the pillow, feeling his tension slowly beginning to ease away with the gentle glide of your hands across his shoulders and back.

“I love the feel of your hands on me.” He purred.

“You’re so tense, I don’t even know how you managed to make it into this building.” You snickered, continuing to massage his back.

“Neither do I, some days.” A chuckle left his lips before sighing at the feeling of your thumbs running down either side of his spine before rubbing firm circles over the muscles on either side.

He grumbled a little as he spoke, “I’m sorry I was late tonight, sweetheart.”

“Bobby, my sweetest, most precious little beaver, I don’t care, it was 14 minutes.” Giggling, you pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Yes, but it’s the principle. A man should be on time to see his girl.” He said adamantly. You could never tell if it was him saying it because he was a stickler for detail or if he always felt so guilty for being a little late because of his fondness for you.

“You know I don’t care how long I have to wait, as long as I get to see you.” you cooed, hitting a particularly pesky knot on his lower back, “my gosh, this is like a monkey fist knot.”

He grunted as you pressed deeply into the knot.

“There was a lot of traffic on the Beltway.” Bobby groaned, his eyes screwing shut, “My God you have magic hands.”

“Today they’re magic!” you giggled incredulously, “the other day you told me that they were so small they were like hamster paws.” You laughed out right, continuing to rub the tender knot even more gently than before.

“Yes, well that wasn’t a lie.” He chuckled, sighing as the muscle in his back finally began to relax under your ministrations. “It feels like you’re trying to tenderize me.”

“If you really want to be tenderized I can go get my mallet out of the kitchen.” You joked, moving up to rub his shoulders again. He was almost purring by the time you finished, snickering, you moved off his butt, playfully tapping it like you would a set of bongos.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he flipped himself over and grabbed you before you were fast enough to move away, pulling you down against his body and rolling you on top of him. You squealed as he grinned at you, one arm around you, holding you close and the other hand caressing your cheek, before pushing an escaped piece of hair behind your ear.

“I have to go take the chicken out of the oven.” You whispered pecking the corner of his mouth softly as you looked adoringly into his blue eyes. His grip on your waist tightened.

“No.” he grumbled playfully with a shake of his head.

“Bobby, the chicken is burning.” you tried to roll off him, but he held you gently, “Let me go.” You laughed.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His tone playful, as he smiled before kissing you properly, you giggled moving your lips gently against his, your lips puffy and red as you pulled away from his equally puffy lips.

“C’mon, Beaver, I’m going to run you a bath after you eat dinner.”

“Alright, alright I’ll let you go.” He released you, watching as you went into to the kitchen, but he laid in the same position for a few moments longer, enjoying the feeling your gentle massaging had left on his body, not just physically but mentally.

[bluevelvetsunset]

Ice Cream

Hello! This is my first fic ever! Shaking in my boots rn Enjoy!

Pairing: RFK x fem!reader

Warnings: Bobby being a workaholic, VP LBJ (briefly mentioned), poor grammar

Description: You make a midnight snack for Bobby

────୨୧────

You can’t remember when you began to feel his absence, somewhere between the unconsciousness of sleep, a delicious dream of the last time you two visited the Cape, and waking in the reality that his warm body and gentle hands were not pressed against yours, ever protectively. It didn’t matter, before you knew it you had on your dressing gown and had creeped silently from your shared bedroom to his study. There in the glow of a single lamp, he was hunched over his desk, writing.

“Bobby?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe

Half startled he turns to you, his hair fluffy and unruly, “Oh sweetheart, sorry to wake you I thought, I thought - I’d get a head start on this report for Jack, he’s called me over tomorrow and Johnson-“ Bobby blurts out as he sets his pen down.

“Bobby, it’s 3:23 am,,” you yawn, crossing the space to your husband.

“I know,” he admits, in some form of mock defeat, as he draws you close, nuzzling his head into your robe.

You stand in the comfortable silence for a few moments, holding him and planting soft kisses upon the crown of his head.

Looking down you can see that what he’s got planned for the meeting at the executive mansion is hardly in its first draft, crumpled paper abounds around the desk. Draft upon draft, reaching for perfection. You know with his dedication Bobby won’t stop till it’s perfect, he’ll return to bed when he’s satisfied, your not upset however, rather the contrary, his dedication forever makes your heart swell with pride, even in the pitch dark of a Washington night.

“Can I get you something?” It comes out as a soft whisper, as you pull away from his warmth, if he’s going to be up all night you won’t let him go hungry, even with his peculiar eating hours.

A soft laugh and then, “some chocolate ice cream.”

You smile warmly, “of course Mr. Attorney General”

୨୧

In the kitchen you prepare small bowls of chocolate ice cream, while trying to make as little noise as possible, least you wake the children.

When you return to his study, bowls in hand, he looks upon you with that sheepish admiration that makes your heart melt; like when you once called out his berating father at a family dinner or responded, albeit gracefully, to a passerby who questioned the fairness in his appointment as Attorney General, as the presidents brother. That quiet appreciation, meant only for you, that always finds its way; at the dinner table, in the crowd, or even as the clock creeps toward 4 in the morning.

You eat your ice cream together, as you sit on his lap, occasionally spoon feeding each other, stiffing laughs as you both try very hard to not spill on the ever so important memos before you. But your tired eyes soon betray you and in the midst of yawns and rubbed eye he gently places your bowl down, takes a final scoop from his, and pulls you close. The dishes can wait.

His breath is warm as he plants slow kisses on your head, and you hardly notice as he reaches to turn off his lamp, before carrying you, bridal style, upstairs.

Back to your warm and inviting bed, his arms wrapped around you, you both drift off into much needed rest, together.

────୨୧────

[castiwls]

thinking about being on the campaign with him in 1968…maybe working as a aid or helping plan the campaign…travelling around with him and slowly finding yourself getting pulled into his orbit…late night conversations on flights or in hotel rooms about anything and everything…him opening up, telling you things he wouldn’t tell anyone else…you both slowly getting closer and closer, taking the seat besides him on flights, meals, and drives…him insisting on paying for whatever you need while travelling…walking you back to your room, you both hesitating before you open the door more in silent question…him knowing it’s wrong, your 10/15 years younger and he’s married…him taking your offer and finding yourself pressed to his side, fingers intertwined and conversation slowly dying down as something just seems to pull you both together sealing your fate…

[amiseuvx]

tw- age gaps, mentions of cheating

Boss!Bobby Kennedy who...

Knows you're not qualified enough to work as a PA, but one look at your hopeful expression and folds.

Quickly realises he's spending more time showing you what to do than doing his own work.

Won't admit he enjoys the way you constantly look to him for guidance?

Won't admit he enjoys the way you always stand slightly too close?

Wont admit to himself that you clearly have less than innocent feelings towards him — you're not exactly subtle.

Starts finishing early just so he can drive you home.

Is appalled by the tiny shoe box you live in.

Convinces you to move into the apartment he definitely didn't buy — it's close to the office and him, it's convenient, that's all.

Promised himself he'd never stray, especially towards someone younger.

Always makes excuses for your mistakes.

Somehow finds himself at your apartment one night after yet another boyfriend broke your heart.

Know's he shouldn't, but ends up letting you curl up on his lap anyway while you cry about yet another stupid boy.

Realises he's fucked the minute you look up at him with wet eyes and everything in his body is screaming to fix this — fix you.

Realises he's really fucked when you ask him to stay...and he does.

[jfksnymph]

Why has no one wrote a fic where bobby wire taps the reader like a creep

[vintagedebutante]

Bobby worshiping your body headcannons?

Sure thing! I will do my best.

- Bobby would take his time undressing you, first with his eyes, then with his hands.

- As he would slowly unzip your dress, he’d go on and on about how perfect you looked, complimenting your curves and the smallest details you didn’t think he noticed, like how red your cheeks get or a subtle dusting of freckles on your chest.

- He would gently tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear before kissing you passionately—first on the lips, then the neck, then your chest. He’s almost ravenous.

[ddlydevotion]

Husband Bobby Kennedy Being Your First Time.

cw: age gap + sloppy writing

Bobby was a man who was more than capable of self control, even when it came to you. The concept of sex was an act he quickly deemed as sacred thanks to his catholic upbringing, almost like a gift being exchanged between lovers dedicated to devoting themselves to one another. When he met you, this belief of his only strengthened. He’d be damned if he took you only for it to be something that was a ‘spur of the moment’. He wanted a ring on your finger to symbolize his never ending devotion to you. To remind you every time you looked down at it that he was entirely yours. That after every grueling day at the office he’d come home to you.

That’s how you ended up on a comically large bed on your wedding night. Your newly wedded husband looks down at you as you sit draped in a silk nightgown, the plush of your thighs peeking out from beneath the split lace. You can tell that he’s a bit nervous. Nervous that he’ll hurt you and that this night that was supposed to be pleasurable and sweet will simply turn into a failed attempt. His large hands cup your cheeks as he leans in to press a wet kiss to your awaiting lips, “Tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart. M’kay? Don’t wanna hurtcha”, he says as his hands continue to cup your face, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nod helplessly, hoping that through this action of yours he’ll be able to tell that you’d do anything he asked. “Lay down for me, honey. How else are we supposed’ta do this, hm?” His dry humor serves as a successful attempt to ease your nerves the best way he can. His hands make their way underneath your nightgown as carefully as they can manage, his skillful fingers reach for your panties and slowly pull them down. He tries his hardest to keep his calm as he flips the end of your dress in order to get a full view of your aching pussy. You look down at him with worry in your eyes, anxious that he’ll grow disgusted at the sight, that your taste won’t be up to his liking and that he’ll be bothered at the fact that your sensitivity hasn’t been shaven bare.

However, your doubts were blown out of the way as soon as you felt his nimble finger stroke your clit with the softness of a petal. Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise at the sensation and your whines didn’t waste a second longer before leaving your lips. Sure you’d touched yourself before but this was different, Bobby’s touch was something different. “There you go, I’ve gotta get you ready for me. What a pretty girl.” He leans down to spread your thighs even wider for his viewing, you didn’t get a chance to be embarrassed by just how open you were. “I knew you’d have the prettiest pussy. Of course you would.”

His thick fingers worked themselves inside of you, reaching an area you’d never be able to discover yourself. Bobby, your darling husband, was worried about the entire night but he was never someone to back down from anything. Especially not when it came to you.

taglist: @warfaredoll @bluelancergirl @summerrivera777777 @fortheloveofjos @tomriddlethefinest @darcyspirits @h-l-vlovesvintage @bobbykennedyshusband @divinedelusional @unmarlou

Let me know if you’d like to be added 💌🐰!

[melancholicstation]

the womanly machinations of a kennedy love-sick novelist: enter at your own heed.

evil kennedy men one-shots:

summer wine rfk one-shot

american jack schlossberg one-shot

take me out to the ballgame jfk one-shot

god’s and monsters rfk one-shot

jfk jr one-shot

controversially young!gf rfk one-shot

salvatore rfk one-shot

aviation rfk one-shot

jack schlossberg architectural digest one-shot

jfk, rfk love triangle one-shot

secretary 2002 boss! bobby kennedy au one shot

the socially active secretary chapters:

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

kennedy hc's:

rfk hc's

jack schlossberg husband! hc's

boss!bobby and secretary!reader hc’s

loner!bobby and popular girl!reader hc's

god bless america and all the beautiful women in it jack schlossberg comfort hc's

frat!jack schlossberg hc's

situationship!jfk hc's

jfk and nurse!reader hc's

jfk!jr arranged marriage hc's

jack schlossberg & ballerina!reader hc's!

boyfriend!bobby vacation hc's

jfk jr!boss assistant!reader hc's

12 days of melancholichristmas:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

[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."

[kisses4jerrylewis]

very tempted to write kennedys x reader fanfics but I’m not sure how big the demographic for that is

also don’t know what people would wanna read

hmmmm

[lancerslover]

i’d love to hear your guys’ ideas/suggestions about these. my initial thoughts are that the bobby and jack one will be about an actress (like marilyn monroe) who’s having affairs with both brothers at once. and the jack and jackie one would likely be less explicitly sexual, maybe a fic imagining what went on behind the scenes of a well-known photo or story of them