ᴘғᴘ ʙʏ THIS GUYY ┊ pronouns cc @georgemilton (im a grandparent /ij (inside joke)) ┊ kennedyblog atp. tedgirlie but i write any of them ((new req inf in pinned))┊banner by *points at my forehead*
3-year-late intro post yahoo (if you remember the og no you dont)
hi there !!!!! name's ducky, or engie, or orange if im feeling like 90s tim roth--many pronouns--im primarily a multi-fandom blog but my reoccurring, current fixations are the Kennedys, Reservoir Dogs, The Righteous Gemstones, and Batman'66 (this will be edited based on my fixations at that time), but i have many, many other interests
If sending a request, info below the keep reading
+ i encourage you to check my pronouns cc in bio if you want to know more (im bi so if youre homophobic dni ig??),
+ im bad at tones and tone tags are appreciated,
+ if you follow me for one thing you will be disappointed when my fixations cycle, trust me,
+ i can get very insane about said fixations, please let me be insane
+ i reblog random things more than i originally post and tend to dump things in tags considering what it is
⪩ thank you for reading <3
hi . for kennedyfic requests ::
Any specific details wanted or era (ex. 1950s) please add it in . + specific scenarios / au / fic theme (smut fluff angst combination etc) !! if unspecified it'll likely be 60s or vague.
confidently able to write for jack/bobby/teddy, partially jackie and joan. don't be shy i write filth in private.
''The connection between the Kennedy family and the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in Brooklyn is deeply rooted in history, starting with Senator Robert F. Kennedy’s landmark visit in 1966, which led to the creation of the Bedford Stuyvesant Restoration Corporation—the nation’s first community development corporation.
Joan Kennedy, wife of Senator Edward “Ted” Kennedy, actively supported the neighborhood and participated in high-profile local events and charity benefits for its youth''.
can we get bobby who has a really bad day and fucks a baby into reader 👉🏾👈🏾
Bobby Kennedy baby fic for uhh…. a mx. anon……. clipboard tap
Anon I did say to get nasty . You understood .
insane nasty alert . || prompt above, intended wife reader but not explicitly defined/you can be wife nanny etc.
Bobby's tension was evident the moment you saw him.
His shoulders were too stiff, hardened by steely irritation, frustration simmering in the swiftness of his pulse. Bobby was pissed.
He had his nerves tried. He endured people who stood for everything he was against. Bobby had another day that destroyed him in the end.
It was the only thing you could've done, really.
Comforting Bobby came in many ways. Often, he chose how his tension would be soothed to smoothness, to relaxed, sloped shoulders. When his eyes would melt from ice to warm pond water.
Bobby made his choice to the sound of your humming. Somewhere nearby, as he buried his head in his hands, couch softly sinking beneath him. Bobby's tie had been loosened and his cuffs were undone.
He truly did appreciate what you did for him. He appreciated the effort, the care given when he didn't feel deserving.
Bobby needed it. Needed to feel loved, especially when it was you.
Humming buzzing in his ears, he thought of the family. Of his sweet children. They were a handful and a half, but he loved them, loved their smiles and their little personalities.
His heart warmed. His jaws tense line softened fractionally.
Another. He wanted another child. Wanted to create another life, give all he had again.
Bobby decided right there that he'd drain his ever-present frustrations with your help.
-
When Bobby wanted to make another baby, he made sure you saw him, and he saw you. Even on rougher days, days he came back from all bones, he never stopped adoring the look of ecstasy on your face.
Your hands grab at the kitchen counter. The hard, cool surface doesn't take the scratch of your nails.
Your moan is half-pressed into the countertop. Bobby's hands press against your lower back, sliding to encase your hips, pulling your warmth back onto his cock.
He never meant to leave bruises on your skin, hips and thighs dotted the next day. You still got off on it. Maybe that was why Bobby let himself lose his composure, his restraint.
Gentle. Bobby was gentle, a trait not often on the Kennedy mind.
So when he was fucking you like this, you'd lose it. High noises, hands fisting his sandy locks of hair, curses that'd make even Jackie raise a brow.
"Bobby—Bobby, oh shit, Bobby—"
He's not truly listening. Not when he's imagining the softness of your stomach, the swell of another baby in there, half him and you and so perfect—
Bobby's soft groan is punctuated by the sharp press of his cock deep inside. He sinks in, pausing for just a moment.
His breath ruffles your hair. Bobby's large, warm palms snake from your hips up the curve of your abdomen. His nose nudges into your scalp, and ever softly does he kiss you.
Your scent fills his brain. He thinks of the soft powder of baby products and the sweetness of a nursery.
Bobby's hands stay upon your stomach, thumbs pressing as if he's searching for what he hasn't put there yet.
His hips pull back, belt clinking in the air, and he can feel your slick trailing down his cock.
Bobby restarts the hard, deliberate pace he'd worked to, hips rolling and grinding against your pussy when he bottoms out. You're between the edge of smooth counter and your lover's heat, and the friction melts away your ability to think clearly.
It's wearing at the edge, the tenderness giving way to a rougher form. He fucks into you with all the love and lust of a man, wet slaps breaching the kitchen's previous peace.
He'd kiss you silent if the kids stirred. And you'd only shift your thighs further open.
Bobby knew, knew how even as he got mean, pounded into your sweet cunt with less than softness behind it, you remained wet and wanting for him.
You knew what a bad work day meant. Your arching back and stifled moans and breaths were evidence.
Bobby burrows his face into the back of your neck, hot breathing underneath your ear. He kisses the slope of your neck down to the start of your spine, still driving into you as he does.
His body seizes to stillness. His final thrust slows to a deep press of his cock against your cervix, before he's coming with a desperate exhale.
Bobby deflates against you. His arms are practically around your torso, protectively securing what he held dearest. The stress of the day has melted out of his ears.
Bobby doesn't pull out. Doesn't make a move to clean up. He stays buried inside of you, eyes half-opening to look at the reflecting countertop.
He sees the utter euphoria on your twisted features, and his fingers twitch.
He'll edge you to an orgasm and fill you up until it's running down your thighs. The simple plan comes to mind just as one heavy hand traces past your navel and wedges between the counter and your thighs.
. #
something something I heard being right at the edge of an orgasm matters and it had purpose here
Drabble of jack being a good dad … presidency era / mid-late '62
Often, you're right there with him. Hands-on playing with the children. Young as they are, you already think of their futures before they do.
Jack. That sweep of clean auburn giving way to silver, to white. Exchanging a suit for a sweater vest, successful domestication. You could've laughed at the thought of domesticating Jack Kennedy.
He sacrifices even his back, just to lift John or twirl Caroline, indulging himself in the little kid aspects of having children.
Watching from the compound, a spot Rose or Joe tend to fill, you're still endeared to your husband after all these years.
He's in casual dress. A bright blue polo, contrasting the tan he's managed to secure. Jack's hair is in mild disarray from being outside with Caroline.
When she shows off a little picked flower, Jack bends down (a feat you recognize as pain later) to gently grasp it.
You can't quite hear what she says, but he looks to be utterly enjoying himself.
Fatherhood came to Jack. From the first moment Caroline became more than an extension of you, those exhaustive first moments when you had John, Jack was a father.
Caroline leans upwards to put the flower in her dad's hair. Jack lets her. He lets her slide it behind his ear, the stem nearly longer than his ear, and he pats it back there as if it'll stay put.
It likely won't. But if it's a gift from Caroline, Jack will definitely make sure he has it by the end of the day.
John was napping. But you had a feeling that Jack wouldn't be getting off with just one playtime.
intern reader coming up anon !! wasn't sure when you wanted this set so i went with a sixties (68) photo . very mild heat at the end unless you wanted more of that in which hit my virtual line again. enjoy anon ! :3
intern!f!reader.
He spends more time around your little space than he should.
Ted doesn't distract you from work, necessarily, he knows the tasks given to you tend to require swift action.
But when the senate is not in session and he doesn't have meetings or extra work to complete, papers to fill that he can't give to you, Ted finds himself wandering over to chat.
Maybe a little too friendly to be friendly, but it gives you work incentive, so what's the harm?
(That's his excuse, of course. Bobby doesn't believe him, not that Ted ever thought he would.)
Getting his attention means good things. Career things. A summer internship with a Kennedy reeling you in, using his charm, his humor, making you laugh just to see you smile.
It's a flashing remnant of a boyhood nature.
Ted's shoes guide him to where interns tend to co-exist. He passes reception, giving nods and polite smiles when it matters. Always on the move, always with either a briefcase or a focused look in his eyes.
Ted finds you stacking papers together and sorting bill files into folders, no doubt to be dropped off to an office upstairs or another staffer.
When you hear the senator's voice calling your name, you jump. Ted usually wasn't free at this time—didn't he have a meeting?—but he was actively approaching you, hands in pockets.
The man strides over, broad smile on his handsome face, and prepares his shoulders to loosen.
"Need any help?"
"Oh, Senator," you breathe, laughing softly at your initial surprise.
It's just Ted. Your frame gives up the tension it previously held for a moment.
He almost reminds you it's not formal, that you can say his name. But the respect does warm his chest.
"No, I'm good, thank you. This is just the last of it, then I'll bring it upstairs to process."
Your work attitude was definitely convincing him to finally ask.
Ted nods, leaning against the wall, hip sloping against a cabinet. He's not encroaching on your space, but he's presenting himself.
"Good, good work you're doing, you really are helping with the workload."
He looks at you from below his lashes, those dark strands of hair soft-looking in the overhead light. Your pulse kicks.
"Think you could help me with some memos and notes to a few colleagues? Direct experience might be beneficial."
It's a branch, but it's also an invitation you subconsciously recognize as so. It's the Kennedy test women have been experiencing for decades.
"… after these papers, I'll be free…"
"Yeah?" Ted is clearly pleased. He grins brightly, head straightening up, light reflecting stars in his eyes. "Won't hold you up too long. Just for experience."
Memos and notes. Experience with memos, and notes.
"I'll be right with you, Senator."
Ted chuckles, quiet enough to only be for your ears. He steps forward once, long legs providing the distance to lean towards you.
"Please, when it's just us," his voice is warm, melting low at the edges. Suddenly, you catch the scent of his cologne.
"You can call me Ted."
"… Ted."
"That's it."
Then, he's back up as if nothing happened. Ted pats one broad palm on the cool wall. You're still feeling a gentle warmth on your cheeks.
"I'll see you. Don't rush one of the best interns we've had."
A playfully light wink. Byrd is calling his name somewhere down an upstairs hall, and Ted steps out of your space. It's the puzzle piece clicking back neatly. Back to work, to business, to formalities.
Until you enter his office.
Ted strolls off, calming down the other senator casually, voice echoing quieter and quieter from you.
It's difficult to focus on the last stack or two of paper.
. #
if unsatisfied hit my line (inbox) !!
extra note ;; the formatting was working iffy so the photos are off center i apologize
early-mid-60s husband teddy with a certain Fixation. walk...
nasty alert literally just nasty. || breeding kink. we don't judge. technically follow-up to a previous fic. longer due to self-indulgence
Teddy has you spread underneath him tonight.
His palms are burning into you. Each deep slide of his hips pushes one more noise from your lips, when they're not being covered by his own.
Teddy is the nicest and meanest he's been yet to you, when your body is under and around his, when you're taking him so perfectly.
Just one more? becomes a reoccurring breath from him. His hair tickling your neck, face buried into the warm skin and pressing desperate kisses along your pulse.
It's always one more, another testament to your husband's constant need.
His cock remains buried inside of you, drowning out every other sensation. His hips twitch and grind, a slow pressure, and warm fingertips run up your shoulder blades.
Teddy cups the back of your neck, thumbs softly brushing below your ears. There's one deep stain of purple across your throat, no doubt necessary to cover.
When you're breathlessly arching under him, a low, "you said that twice before," filling Teddy's ears, he thinks—want to be sure it takes.
The satisfaction and joy of two children was giving way to the deep-seated need for a third.
A fourth. As many as you would have, that he could give. Bobby and Ethel set a high marker sure to grow, and it's all Teddy knows:
A large family, many children, a full house to block the world out.
Teddy wants it. He wants it with you. He wants to experience a newborn in his arms once more that's half you and half him.
The thought sends a shiver down his spine. He slowly pulls his hips back, until only the sensitive head of his cock presses in.
Teddy slides himself back in with another gasp from your parted lips. The way your hands grab at his skin, his biceps, it only encourages the man, slotting himself right in place.
The fantasy drives him. He wants like a starving man, a greedy man, lets it consume his brain. The flutter your soaked pussy gives around his aching cock fizzles away any logical motion beyond fucking you full of his come.
The way a husband does, Teddy reasons to himself.
That's how he justifies the absolutely filthy things he thinks, wants to say. Teddy kisses your neck with heat lingering behind in the press of his lips, moving in time with the hard pace rocking the bed.
"Just one more," he mumbles warm against you, voice rougher, accent slipping in at the edges. You softly hiss beneath him, full of your husband, nails threatening to claw at him.
He's sturdy under your hands. He's all firm muscle and heat, smooth skin filling your grasp, something to sink your nails and teeth into.
Teddy's hands briefly leave your body, only to run around your thighs, cock leaving you empty when he pulls his hips from between them. You ache for it again, no don't stop ready to leave your lips.
Luckily, Teddy doesn't torture you for long. He's merely changing position.
When he has you on his lap, toned thighs pricking your skin and causing you to shudder, he pulls you snugly against him. Teddy's eyes hold a specific, but real warmth to them, only for you.
Then he's burying his face back into your skin. His nose runs the line of your shoulders, breath soft against you.
Teddy teases both of you at first. Grinds his cock against your sensitive clit, slicking himself with you, just barely nudging in.
"Teddy," it's too needy to be a scold.
Thankfully he takes mercy, filling you back up with one smooth motion. He's at your mercy this way, vulnerable, a little feral at the edge.
He repeats those three words—just one more—like a promise, a request, and you know what he really wants.
You don't deny him.
Teddy mumbles against you, words you only half-understand, and he curses—
"Fuck—"
Before his hips stutter, sinking himself all the way inside of your squeezing cunt, releasing deep inside. Deep enough to spark that wire in his brain again.
Need to be sure.
Even with his own come leaking from you, kept inside from his cock, one of Teddy's thumbs rubs circles over your clit. You gasp softly, a whine tearing from your throat. Behind your eyelids, fireworks burst. He's not done, not when you're trying to press into his thumb for that rough orgasm you're teetering on.
Just one.
One of Teddy's arms wraps thick around you, strong and safe, an anchor for you to scratch. And you do, red lines blooming on his forearm and forming a strained groan in his throat, only encouraging him to grind into you.
You're full of him. Full of his come.
The need comes back, gnaws at his bones and latches on, evident in each slow, heavy roll of his hips. He needs it, he knows he needs it, knows only you can give him what he needs.
Mentally, he schedules lunch with you in the morning. His desk needed a reliability test.
. #
literally no way just bobby couldve had one . if the next one is possibly teddy and joan we don't judge!
