seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Poland
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
My panties drop every time i see jack or bobby with rolled up sleeves.
a short clip of attorney general robert f. kennedy observing a nuclear test, c. 1962.
drunk jack and bobby hcs perhaps...? thx ily
yes i absolutely love this omg
husband!bobby doesn't like your dirty mouth.
notes. i can't stop thinking about this man. sorry jack, i think my frontal lobe is developing.
bobby doesn't like to spank you. in fact, before meeting you, the thought of doing such a thing had never once crossed his mind — not with any of his previous lovers. but you’re endless provoking pushes him past the point of any other effective solution.
he’s tried other things, but none of them are quite as effective as literally knocking some sense back into you. and although he doesn’t like it, he gets some kind of depraved pleasure from disciplining you in such a way. whether you're giving him an insolent attitude, doing something he explicitly told you not to, or something that especially irks him, swearing, bobby has absolutely no problem taking you over his knee, flipping up your skirt, and whacking at your ass until it’s bright red.
and despite years spent at catholic school, where swearing was strictly prohibited and would result in an immediate strike across the knuckles, there are a few occasions where an expletive forcefully falls from your lips. burning your hand on the stove, missing your exit on the highway, or when your husband is thrusting into you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that you didn’t know existed before meeting him.
your hands and knees are digging into the plush comforter as bobby quickens his pace from behind you, his hands tightening their grip on the plush skin of your hips. you let your head fall onto your clasped hands, held together tightly like they are every night before you get into bed.
it comes out after a particularly hard thrust. a soft ‘fuck’ that’s partly muffled by the comforter, but it doesn’t escape the ears of your husband. his hand cracks down onto your ass without a missing beat, like he was waiting for you to slip up. the smack sends a jolt up and down your body, your back arching slightly, daring him to do it again. “language,” he chastises you in his tone that makes you want to hide inside yourself, but also makes you impossibly slicker around his cock. you whine, which is also partially muffled, and it earns you little sympathy.
the hand that dealt the blow is cradling your reddened behind with a stark softness, thumb rubbing back and forth like it can possibly soothe the sweltering skin. his other hand comes up to your neck, lifting your face from your drool-covered hands and the subsequently dampening comforter, holding it with more forcefulness than just a gentle cradle.
suddenly, you feel the unmistakable tickle of his chest hair against your back. it’s slick with sweat, and probably slightly matted down with dampness. you try to turn your head, to see him, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place.
his breath is hot against the back of your skull, coming out in hard puffs of exertion as he continues his relentless pace. both of your thighs are now drenched with your wetness, the smacking of your skin echoing shamefully throughout the room. his thumb snakes its way up from your neck to your bottom lip, dragging it down until he feels the silky inside. “don’t make me wash out this mouth.”
whether that’s a threat or a promise, you wouldn’t object either way.
bobby kennedy x bimbo!reader hc’s
warnings: nsfw towards the end!
----
• your closet could make barbie jealous, and that's thanks to bobby!
• he loves to give you money for the shopping sprees. matter of fact, he's the one holding the bags for you
• loves and i mean lovessss to watch you get ready. from watching you step out the bath to placing the last touches on your makeup.
• bobby often leaves the house covered in lipstick marks. and when asked about it he could only chuckle and shake his head.
• he learned how to paint nails just for you :)
• gives zero shits about negative comments on you or your appearance
• “you don’t think her outfits are provocative?” “I mean, I’m the one who picked out the outfit”
• yeah and trust the next day you leave with something more revealing.
• bobby often finds himself hand feeding you every once in a while. Fruits, vegetables, candy, anything really.
• certified photographer for you, any photos that are close up of you is done by him. every.single.photo.
• he's always fascinated by you. anything you do really. he's always admiring you.
• surprisingly takes fashion tips from you and it helps increase his appearance.
Doing my uni work thinking about how he would praise you for every high grade. Get you something nice each time you put in effort towards your work because it’s important and it’s not like he needs reasons to spoil you anyways!
Valentine’s Day with Bobby. 💘✨
A/N: Hello, my darlings! I hope you’re all having a lovely weekend and your Valentine’s Day is off to a good start. 🤍 As promised here is the first set of headcanons, I will upload the Jack ones later tonight. And also please remember that each of you is so very valuable and cherished.
Warnings: I think they’re pretty clean.
~*~~*~
Absolutely pretends not to participate in it…but it’s a lie!
“It’s nothing but a commercial holiday.” His voice is gruff but his eyes are soft when he looks at you.
“So is Thanksgiving and you eat the food.”
Later though you find out he has taken it upon himself to make a quiet plan, almost as if it were his sacred duty.
It’s more meaningful than it is big because he’s Bobby.
Practical tenderness is his love language.
Your favorite snack? It appears without you even saying anything.
The Honey-Do list? Does everything on it without being reminded it exists. Everything from squeaky doors to getting the tires rotated.
Checks on you all through the day: “did you eat?”, “do you want a blanket?”, “sleepy?”
A bouquet, but carefully selected like he crafted a moral statement.
Not flashy, more tasteful like a bouquet of red roses in a simple vase complete with a bow.
A simple but heartfelt note, evidence of his affection.
‘For the prettiest and most special girl I know.’ — Bobby
Hands them to you with pink cheeks and a kiss on the cheek.
The date is a “safe” date, meaning— Private, Quiet, No audience.
He’d rather be alone with you in a room, than out in public preforming romantic gestures.
Should you be out and someone recognizes him, he instantly goes into guard mode and shifts his body in front of yours to protect you.
Relaxes more the farther you get away from the noise; hugs, kisses, cuddles, handholding in spades as long as there isn’t an audience.
A gift that proves he listens.
A book you mentioned once in passing.
A small charm/token that correlates to an inside joke that the two of you have.
A fluffy blanket that you can huddle under together.
Literally has his eyes glued to your face as he awaits “the verdict.”
Tenderizers in the kitchen (pun intended)
Helps cook with the same intense focus he’s known for in the courtroom.
“What’s the time?”
“What about the temperature? How do we know it’s done?”
Tastes things like the sauce, “needs salt.” He”ll remark, frowning like it’s a particularly difficult witness.
Kisses your forehead every so often, “the sweetest thing in this kitchen.”
Not the smoothest, but definitely sincere.
Often stumbles over compliments but absolutely nails one sentence so perfectly it makes your heart squeeze.
“You make me feel…less alone.”
You pause, your hand resting on your heart as you stare at him for a second.
He clears his throat like he’s embarrassed by himself, eyes widening and cheeks flushing when instead of laughing at him you surge forward to kiss his cheek.
Romance. His version. Slightly protective.
If it’s cold out he absolutely insists that you wear a jacket. Opens doors for you, carries your bag, walks on the side nearest the street.
If he even suspects you’re tired he immediately offers to go home, “we can go home now.”
“I’m ok.” You smile.
“You’re not going to be when you fall asleep on the sidewalk.”
The affectionate is light albeit constant: a hand at the small of your back, fingers laced with yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles.
Chocolate’s
Gets your absolute favorite brand of chocolate, (something you mentioned once (1) in passing), not the generic heart full of chocolate.
Even gets a backup option in the same brand for you “just in case you don’t feel like something too sweet.” (Dark chocolate and raspberry, dark chocolate and sea salt, whatever you like.)
Leaves it somewhere only you would find it, with a little note: “Please eat. —Bobby”
If you offer him a piece he says he doesn’t want any…
But then allows you to feed him a piece and jokes, “you’re corrupting me.”
Has a complex history with Joy — but does his best to make sure you don’t see it.
If this is post 1963, the day of love can make him go quiet for a second.
He’ll squeeze your hand gently after a second like he’s grounding himself.
Pulls it together because he doesn’t want to “ruin it for you.” Even if you insist he’s not.
Just wants you close.
Oddly intense but sweet about pictures.
Doesn’t want pictures for publicity but for a record.
One private photo just for the two of you.
Later you catch him looking at it like he’s trying to burn it into his memory and smiling to himself, “look how beautiful you are.”
Cuddle first, talk later.
Pulls you down on the couch with the new blanket he bought you, with a heavy sigh of relief.
His more hypervigilant energy calms as he pulls you close. Hand resting on your waist as he buries his face in your hair.
If you doze off he stays in the same position until you wake up, warm, protective, and undeniably grateful that you chose to love him.
The “big” valentines moment happens right there on the couch.
Not in the form of some big eloquent speech but in a quiet, gentle little whisper after he pecks the shell of your ear.
“You know…I’m yours, right?”
“You better be.” You tease smiling up at him.
He chuckles boyishly at that, before leaning down to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.
Bonus fluff:
You find them as soon as you walk into the kitchen. The bright red pop of roses in the neutral colors of your kitchen sticks right out, 2 dozen exactly like he had to actually go ask for that amount instead of just grabbing them off the rack.
Attached to the little floral card pick that stuck up out of the ordinary vase was a card.
You grinned, heart warming and eyes gleaming with affection as you reached down to pluck the tiny card off the plastic fork.
“For you.
Love, Bobby.”
You grinned even more widely, eyes crinkling at the corners as you bent down to smell the red creamy looking blossoms. Heart thumping a little more evenly as you continued clutching the card in hand which you had read twice at this point.
“You like them?” His Brahmin accent floats over from the kitchen doorway where he’s just stationed himself. His coat still on, and his hair a little windblown, before combing his fingers through his forelock anxiously like he always did.
“I love them.” You corrected, placing the little card down on the table before moving over towards him. Your arms lacing around his neck, as his wrapped around your waist.
“Love them or the giver?” He whispered teasingly, pressing his forehead against yours. The comforting touch making your eyes close, “well, when you put it that way…”
He exhaled, a quiet hum as he waited for you to continue.
“I guess I do like them and love the giver.”
“I love you too.” He murmured in a barely audible voice. Then, with that loyal, haunted seriousness that makes his tenderness feel almost holy: “I do, truly.”
The words brushed sweetly against your cheek, making you smile. Before he pressed his lips against the skin there with great care, reverent—like he’s checking that you’re here, that you’re safe, that he didn’t imagine you.
The gesture making your cheeks flush and your breath catch, before you tightened your arms around his neck and his around your waist. His grip like he’d been braced against the world all day and finally found the one place he can let go.
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."
