Alright, let me get one thing clear. I'm only here as a favour to the Task Force. They're all congregating here for whatever reason. My wife is @laswellstulip and my daughter is @thelaswellkid
Other accounts: @ask-elsinnombre
hi, i'm al/alex, 19 yr old fem! positive space. job hunting to afford my happy chemicals currently :)
as for the mdni things, i don’t care if you are on here as a minor, i just don’t want you to reblog my interactions with people who clearly don’t like talking with minors. i don’t mind as long as u don’t do that or interact with my nsfw content, which i will try to mark!!! let me know if i don’t.
anons: 🌷, 👧 , ☀️
pairing: senator!john f. kennedy and bobby kennedy/reader
summary: senator jack kennedy and bobby kennedy both have an eye for you, and you can’t help but enjoy watching as they try to win your affection. but when the brothers’ competitive natures inevitably take over, you realize you might not have as much power in the situation as you thought.
warnings: 18+, nothing super graphic yet but descriptions of dub-con and infidelity
word count: 2.4k
a/n: this fic is based on this ao3 fic i read a while ago! i definitely recommend checking it out
sorry this took so long! i decided to just go ahead and post it even though i’m not sure how i feel about it lol so plz let me know what you think. this may or may not be the worst thing i’ve ever written.
this section of the fic is basically just a set-up for the eventual smut, which will be in part 2 if you guys want it
The hour or so you spend in Bobby’s office every evening is the only time all day you can relax. You know Bobby feels the same way. That’s part of the reason why he stays so late after the rest of his big brother’s campaign team is long gone. And since you’re his personal secretary, you feel obligated to stay with him. He’s told you before that you can go home with everyone else, that you don’t have to stay with him, but you always insist. You and he both know he could use all the help he can get as he blearily writes and re-writes strategy sheets or tallies up the daily budget in the growing darkness. And you both benefit greatly from what usually happens between you two after the day’s work is done. Your fingers massaging the stiff back of his neck, his lips warm on your skin. These methodical, intimate evenings are a welcome interlude between a long day of the raucous, back-slapping, wolf-whistling fraternity party that is Senator Jack Kennedy and the rest of his campaign team and a night full of giggly questions from your roommates about the newest juicy details of your job. Tell us one more time what it was like meeting Frank Sinatra. Is it true the senator is sleeping with his daughter’s babysitter? Is Jackie nice?
On this particular evening as you walk into Bobby’s office, having just completed the work you personally wanted to finish in order to get a headstart on the next day, you find yourself chuckling a little at the sight you’re greeted by. It’s only seven, and Bobby has already abandoned his desk for the sofa. Usually, he doesn’t take a break until closer to eight. As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, you notice he’s leaning almost completely sideways on the armrest, his eyes closed, head slowly drooping off of the closed fist it’s propped up on. His gray-striped tie is a limp tangle on the floor. His dress shirt has been untucked from his slacks in what seems to have been a pretty violent manner—you notice that its bottom two buttons came undone in the process. His red, fuzzy lower belly is squishing out over his belt.
Just to make sure he’s not asleep, you whisper, “Bobby?”
In response, Bobby opens one eye, looks at you for a moment, then shuts it again in a playful, darting way, like he’s playing peek-a-boo with one of his hundreds of kids. Then he pats his hand on the cushion beside him, and you’re immediately starting towards him.
His office is snug, tucked in a literal corner of Senator Kennedy’s headquarters. Your only source of light as you pick your way through the towering stacks of paper all over the floor is the golden streetlamps of Boston outside the window, which look smeared now from the raindrops that streak down the glass. The only noises you hear are the scuff of your heels on the carpet and Bobby’s breath whistling faintly in and out of his nose.
Once you’ve sat down beside him and are wiggling out of your heels, he finally opens both eyes. You watch patiently as he slowly sits up and swings his heavy head to look at you. Poor thing. He gives you a soft smile, his big front teeth just barely peeking out under his lip. His fluffy hair is slightly mussed—and extra-fluffed—on the side he was just leaning on. You smile back.
“Tough day,” you say.
He blows his cheeks up with air and nods. “Yeah.” His voice is just a murmur, even though there’s really no need to be quiet since you two are the only ones left on the entire floor.
He’s been working extra late and extra hard now that the senator’s presidential election is only about a month away. This is quite an achievement, seeing as, even in the earliest days of the campaign, Bobby spent almost all day locked up in his office, tirelessly barking orders into one of the three constantly-ringing telephones on his desk or scribbling incessantly in the margins of a drafted campaign ad. Only every few hours would his door would bang open and he’d come stalking straight into the middle of where the rest of Senator Kennedy’s inner circle lounged, feet up, in a lazy haze of cigar smoke. Then Bobby would launch into a passionate explanation of whatever incompetent mistake on their part had prompted him to leave his office this time. You remember one specific afternoon when Bobby marched out, planted his hands on his hips, and said, “Alright, now, I just finished with that biography draft, and I want to know who approved it because it doesn’t do Jack justice at all. I mean, God, why mention the Addison’s?” One of the men replied, “Well, see here, that was my suggestion, Bobby. We need to get out in front of these things.” Naturally, an argument ensued. Bobby can be combative on a good day, but with the weight of the campaign largely on his shoulders, there was no way he’d be able to stop himself from spitting back a fiery retort at the other man’s condescending tone—and not to mention, he hates when men who aren’t his brothers call him “Bobby.”
As the yelling got louder and louder and all eight of Senator Kennedy’s henchmen eventually tossed their cigars aside and surged up on their feet to try their luck against Bobby’s razor-sharp Kennedy wit, Senator Kennedy himself simply observed from his desk like a Roman emperor watching his gladiators, leaning back in his chair, opening and closing his lips around his cigar. You knew better, though, than to ever let the senator’s laid-back mannerisms fool you. You clocked how his eyes were shrouded in a dark, calculating shadow, how they lingered on each of the nine men in turn. He was testing them, watching to see what they’d do, what positions they’d argue for. You could tell he was deeply focused. He never flinched or even so much as blinked as the men continued to yell and shake their fists and get closer and closer to each other’s faces. You doubted this sort of thing could be good for team morale, but you’ve accepted by now that it was Senator Kennedy’s strange, mysterious way of coming to a decision on something.
At one point during the dispute, the senator looked over at you and raised his eyebrows as if to say, Get a load of this, huh? You smirked coolly back at him, but a small shiver seared down your spine as you did. Nobody makes you nervous quite like he does. It’s sort of titillating, this power he has over you, but it’s also why, despite the senator’s movie-star smile and smooth one-liners, you’ve always felt more comfortable with Bobby.
After several minutes of watching the men yell, once he’d evidently seen enough to make whatever judgment he’d been ruminating on, Senator Kennedy stood up from his desk. The room snapped into a ringing silence.
The senator ran a hand through the little curls that framed his forehead, then nonchalantly said, “Bobby’s right.”
Another stunned beat of silence. Instinctively, you looked to Bobby, who simply sniffed and scratched his nose, seemingly as unfazed by the whole debacle as his big brother was.
One of the other men, Bobby’s brother-in-law Steve, bravely piped up, “But, Jack—”
Senator Kennedy cut him off. “It’s the presidency, gentlemen,” he told them wryly. “Don’t overthink it.” And with that, he huffed back into his chair. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pointed a long finger towards Bobby, and with a barely perceptible teasing bounce in his voice, said, “Alright, back to your corner.”
Bobby chuckled and spun on his heel towards his office. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
Bobby drops this tough, Irish-bulldog exterior around you. You’ve gotten pretty comfortable with each other in the past few weeks, ever since Bobby told Senator Kennedy that he needed his own personal secretary and that he’d chosen you for the job. This announcement, which you overheard from across the room at the little clump of secretary desks, was a bit of a surprise to you, despite the fact that it was well-known that you were the best typist in the office. It definitely wasn’t an unwelcome surprise, though. You’ve always been fond of Bobby. You think it’s sweet how he talks to you and the other girls in such an innocent, genuine way, like he’s actually interested in your secretarial skills and what you have to say instead of just your body and your face, unlike certain other members of the campaign.
It was immediately obvious, though, that your sudden closeness to Bobby agitated Senator Kennedy. Since you’re the only secretary who hasn’t slept with him yet, the senator has a particular fixation on you, and Bobby knows this well. You had to bite back a giddy smile that afternoon when you saw how the senator’s eyebrows dropped low over his face as Bobby informed him of your new job title. “Personal secretary, huh?” the senator sneered, teeth flashing. Bobby simply grinned.
Bobby and the senator were intensely, at times comically, competitive. You’ve heard them go back and forth over such trivial things as who played better in a weekend family football game or who could read the morning newspaper faster. Once Bobby made you his personal secretary, though, more and more often they’ve been going back and forth over you.
From day one of the campaign, practically, Senator Kennedy has been pursuing you relentlessly, looming over you, tugging at a loose strands of your hair as he teases you for coming in late, unashamedly eyeing the way your ass moves in your pencil skirt, saying things like, “Nothing makes my day like seeing that pretty smile of yours, sweetie.” And the longer you pretend not to notice his advances, the more relentless he is, and, admittedly, the more you find yourself wanting to drive him crazy. It’s fun for you, and honestly quite flattering, that you can get him all riled up by simply brushing against his shoulder as you drop a paper on his desk and whispering breathily in his ear, “Here you are, Senator. Anything else I can do for you?” You can’t get enough of the incredulous look that takes over his handsome, always-nonchalant face—his nostrils flaring, his eyebrows raising, his eyes firing up like a cat who caught sight of a mouse—afterward as you skitter away. On a serious note, though, you figure you’re actually doing him a service by holding out like this. The way he acts with women is absurdly arrogant. He’s like a spoiled child, always getting everything he wants. Secretaries. Call girls. Actresses. All delivered to him, pretty much, at the flick of his hand. You figure it’d be good for him to not get something he wants for once, all flirtations and teasing aside.
You came dangerously close to having your vow of celibacy broken at a celebratory dinner party a few months back. The senator followed you to the back hall as you were about to leave, pushed you up against the wall, and before you even knew what was happening, he stuck his hand up your dress. He’d had a little too much to drink that evening, and he was like a wild animal in that dark, empty hallway. Tearing at your stockings, practically snarling in your ear, cursing you for “driving him crazy” at the office.
“Senator,” you gasped, “please—”
“Please what?” he scoffed. “You think you can act like a little harlot all the time and nothing’s going to happen to you?”
After a moment, your inner desires took over and you gave up resisting. You spread your thighs and let him finger you. It’s not your proudest moment. You hated to let him have that little victory over you, but with the entirety of his body weight against you and his big hands holding you still, there was really no way you could’ve stopped him, even if you’d wanted to.
This game you have with Senator Kennedy has been taken to a whole new level now that you’ve actively chosen to spend almost all your time with Bobby. You can tell by the way the senator shakes his head as he watches you and Bobby walk around together, like you’re two little children misbehaving under his watch, that this is really grating on his competitive side. Bobby doesn’t help matters with the way he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at the senator when he thinks you’re not looking. Sometimes, the senator will tease Bobby by saying things like, “Don’t you think it’s, uh, a little unfair that you’re not letting anyone else work with our best typist?” or “I’m starting to doubt whether you two are actually getting any work done. Don’t make me take Y/N away from you, Bobby. She’s just on loan, you know.” Bobby does his best to appear to be the mature one in front of you, opting to half-playfully shove the senator with his shoulder as he walks by instead of snapping back some kind of retort.
You still aren’t entirely sure what Bobby’s real motives were for picking you as his secretary, whether it had purely been about spiting the senator, or he’d genuinely admired your skills, or he’d planned to turn your evenings together into sexual rendezvous all along and he was much more like his brother than you thought.
But since, in the process of this whole thing, you’ve developed a genuine relationship with Bobby—and it’s pretty clear, you think, that he has bested his big brother in this little game—you suppose his pushing back against the senator has more to do with the pure competitive spirit of it all at this point than any possessiveness he might feel over you. But still, you get out such a kick out of the fact that they never fail to play right into your hand when you pit them against each other, flirting with one brother in front of the other, making flippant comments to the senator about how wonderful your evenings alone with Bobby are.
Sometimes, though, your confidence in your femme-fatale abilities wavers slightly. Almost daily, Bobby and the senator will convene at the senator’s desk for an intense, private conversation about what you originally assumed was various campaign matters, but every once in a while, you’ll glance up during one of these conversations to find them both looking at you from across the room. The senator will mutter something, and Bobby will nod, and the low sound of their confident, patronizing male laughter will rumble across the office. You instantly drop your eyes back to whatever memo you’re working on, heart suddenly racing. What on earth could they be saying? And why do you have the creeping feeling that this game isn’t going to be so easy for you much longer?
hi hi! good luck with the navel piercing, i had one too and it got torn out by my uncles puppy. (you can ignore this if this is too graphic for me to say)
//we met like yesterday girlie I'm honored to be one of your favs 😭
Name: Kat
Age: 14
Relationship status: single and happy
Sexuality: asexual, bicurious
Crush initial: None :P
Followers: 127
Favourite mutuals: the gal I reblogged this from, @itzzkaylaaa @iteasagatha @moon-x0 @foxherder @l0uis-e @l-xwx-z @ladybugfandomfantasy @hydra-failure @artsty33 @notasimpx2
Birthday: November 30th
Favourite song: I got two - Teddy Picker by the Arctic Monkeys and Fighter by Jack Staubers Micropop
Favourite friends/mutuals: @yvvsora and @puriteenism my irl pookies and bliz, @statixmoss and @the-lemonaide y’all are the people online i interact with most :33
Bday: 29th january!!
Fav song: seven minutes in heaven by MSI its really explicit but i like it :33
Sexuality: gay but like only in theory not in practice because I’m scared of most people
Crush initial: none
Followers: 307
Favourite moots: @trisaratops42 @ricky-067 @writing-books-is-fun @trinketcollectingcrow @anaconda-creates @taffylaffy @stuck-in-a-forest also I’m sure there are others but my memory is really bad
Birthday: march 22nd
Tagging all the aforementioned people and also anyone else!!!!
relationship status: I have two wonderful awesome cool boyfriends :>
sexuality: aroace
crush initial: lol I do not have one
followers: like 60 on my main I think? and less here obviously :P
favorite mutuals: oh no. hmmmmm. @everydayknifeday @eggzeroni @twoandahalfdimes @sockssketchingshack @gayfurbyboi @apazwtsn and probably others I am just a fool I promise if I didn't include you I don't hate you forever I probably forgor or didn't wanna bother you with tagging
birthday: january 22
favorite song: give me novacaine by green day!!
tags: all above & anyone else!! (no pressure at all yall dwdw ♡ ily tho)
favoritw moots: humm... @stanleyssupervisor & @soapisgod soery ossa i really like ur reblogs 💧OH AND @sschizophobiaa omg pls i cant pick
birthday: jyly 1st
favorite song: right meow uhhhh.... rabbit heart by florence + the machine
tags: lets see how many... @artistic-vixen @cybrrpunqq @davidmasonstits @ediblechainsaw @ghostsiriley @micaheart @pyxrin @sirbonesly trying not to pick the same people i picked earlier lol. ANYONE CAN JOIN 💋
Favorite Moots: @thetrashking-silver tagging u again bc u deserve to know :3 and! @gendered-water I stan our conversations in dms.
Birthday: July 1st!
Favorite Song: probably Stars at our Backs or Pride of a Nameless Hunter. My playlist reminded me of Monster Hunter World again, and that was my first game of the franchise, super nostalgic and a bit emotional for me.
tags: @jeanzoriley-cod @shark-ies @lilbardrhi aaannnddd @rose37373 no pressure on these tho!
[ Name: ghost / sin or whatever u want to call me idc ]
[ Relationship Status: single ]
[ Sexuality: extremely gay ]
[ Crush Initials: none ]
[ Followers: 15? i think? ]
[ Favorite Moots: literally all of them, @cmdr-graves, @a-phoenix-must-burn, @shadow-company-eclipse, @callsignswraith, @lt-artificer-lazarus, @lt-fog, @lt-banks, @jeanzoriley-cod uhh if i'm missing any i'm so sorry my memory is shit ]
[ Favorite Song: Johnny Ringo by Crown the Empire, really dug deep for that one. gay dramatic villain era ass song. whole johnny series really. or anything radiohead. ]
[ tags: you're tagged above, this is a threat ]
Friends/Mutuals: @omnipitant-duck @soweli-mosiwa @sparrow-zayda @lovestruck-enby @sirbonesly (Ones who I know well or interact more with. Trying not to double tag people)
Followers: 51. Huh.
Birthday: 4th of September.
Favourite song: PIN-EYE by Jhariah
Tags: Those who are tagged above + @urfavgirllyyyyy @thejohnlockedfemboy @niresenrab (You can yap to me any time. <3)
Name: Zayda or Z (The reason i did Z is cause thats my Real names First initial)
Age: 14 (it says that even in my Bio…)
Relationship Status: Single
Sexuality: Bisexual? (Still figuring it out…)
Friends/Mutuals: @alejandro-ask @las-almas-border-patrol @johnprice-asks @thelocalfolklore @gendered-water (If i didn’t put you, i forgot and I’m sorry :c)
Followers: 33 (god damn.)
Birthday: 7th of June
Favorite Song: Let Your Boys Be Country - Jason Aldean
