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jack kennedy that gets you pregnant two or three months before your wedding and while you two obviously can’t tell anyone about it - rose would positively and absolutely lose her shit - he has such a smug glow about him the entire time, making sly remarks about dress alternations and the like, asking if you’re sure you won’t suddenly have aversions to the dinner menu come the day, always in front of people, purposefully leaving them confused while he smirks and chuckles at your obvious displeasure because he just loves to fuck with you and make you writhe with nerves

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hello do you know any good kennedy discord servers?

no hunny we dont do discord we just write each other letters and read social papers like how we used to in the 60s 🤣

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LMAO I FORGOT TO ADD THE PHOTO?! Anyway this is how bobby kennedy is like to me

this is how bobby kennedy is like to me. A sock puppy.

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being joe kennedy jr.’s college sweetheart headcannons!

warnings: 18+, smut, hints of dubious consent, the usual….

a/n: umm so these hcs are all over the place. i got a little carried away. this is practically the length of a full-blown fic. anyway this is my first time writing hcs so please let me know what you think! love you all and hope you’re doing well <3

thank you to the anon who requested these!

and thank you to @vintagedebutante for the inspiration and brainstorming help <3

it’s the summer of 1935

you’re the daughter of some business magnate, about to start your sophomore year at radcliffe college

one night, you and your sorority sisters take the train down to new york city to spend the evening at the stork club

this is where you meet joe kennedy jr.

you’d heard of joe and his family before you met him—almost everyone in new england high society has heard of them

everywhere you go, at least one person will manage to bring them up. for christ’s sake, there’s even a show on broadway about a family living on the east coast which constantly makes references to the kennedys

the reason for this being that the kennedys are a boisterous, rough-and-tumble bunch, and they don’t seem to care that they stick out like a sore thumb in your refined brahmin society

or at least that’s what you’ve learned about them from the bits of gossip you hear whispered behind white-gloved fingers at your mother’s tea parties or giggled drunkenly at your sorority mixers. the kennedys are typical up-and-coming irishmen. very new-money

yet new england’s clannish, decidedly non-irish, non-catholic elite have no choice but to accept the kennedys as part of their world

and for as long as you can remember, the eldest kennedy sons, joe jr. and jack, have been considered some of new england’s most eligible bachelors

but the older, more experienced ladies in your social circle say that they can tell joe and jack are nothing but trouble

they tell you that joe, the older of the two brothers, may seem like a gentleman at first. but beneath his polished, swanky exterior, they’ve heard he’s cocky and snarky, always snarling and getting into fights like a wild dog. his crudeness, they say, is an inextricable remnant of his family’s blue-collar, immigrant past

“and i hear he’s too rough with his girls,” your cousin once warned you as the two of you sat in the audience of an equestrian show

you turned away from her and fluttered your accordian fan to hide the way your eyes sparkled at this revelation. you’d seen photos of joe in the newspaper, and you thought he was very handsome. out of mere girlish curiosity, you wanted to ask your cousin what exactly she meant by “too rough”—and you were doubly interested to know who exactly joe’s “girls” were—but you also knew that asking about any of that would be very unladylike

thankfully, you found out the answers to all of those questions not long after you and joe met

at the stork club, you and he lock eyes across the room, through a dizzying haze of cigar smoke and flashing diamonds

he approaches you and asks you to dance with a grinning, cigar-puffing confidence that you’ve never seen before from a boy your age

and the rest is history

once you two officially start going steady, he takes you on lots of dinner and cinema dates

he’s quite charming—always opening the car door for you, winking as he tosses the valet his keys

you instantly fall in love with how he always asks you so many questions about yourself, and with the way his face lights up like a child’s whenever he talks about politics or foreign affairs (or his beloved father)

you’re also in love with the way he is completely unafraid to call out any man he thinks is getting too close to you or even looking at you for too long (“hi there, sport, is there something I can help you with?”)

later in the summer, he leaves for palm beach, and the letters he sends you from down south are frustratingly infrequent at times, but you can’t help but forgive him when you read his apology (after spending a good fifteen minutes trying to decode his messy handwriting) the next time a letter arrives in the mail: “your letters are always a great source of enjoyment, y/n, and my tardiness in responding is not attributable in any way to an attempt at discouragement…but rather to my father’s being endlessly on my case about setting up this london embassy thing. i really am fed up. but still we go on.”

one afternoon, as summer is turning into fall and you’ve started going out with joe more regularly, your sorority sisters show you the newest column in the society section of the newspaper: “boston romance — j.p. kennedy jr., the wall streeter’s lad, and y/f/n y/l/n are keeping warm”

during football season, joe gives you a jersey with his name on it to wear to his games

also, more you get to know joe, the more you understand what your cousin meant when she said he’s “rough”

during your cinema dates, he will often lean over during a slow-paced part of the film and stick his hand up your skirt

at first, you grab his arm to try and stop him

it’s not that you aren’t interested in being intimate with him, but the fact that it happens for the first time in a public setting is a bit of a shock

but your attempts to stop him are in vain, anyway. he barely even registers your giggly pleas to “find somewhere more private.” in moments like these, it’s like he enters into some kind of sex-fueled trance. he’s biting at your neck and your ear—and with his thick football-player arms, he’s easily shoving through your hands as you try to block him from between your legs

eventually, you give up trying to stop him and focus instead on trying to be as quiet as you can when this sort of thing happens—so that no one sitting around you realizes what’s going on

more on the topic of joe's “roughness”: he is constantly picking you up and twirling you around and bouncing you in his arms like a baby, just for fun

and also carrying you over his shoulder when you’re walking somewhere together and he gets impatient that you can’t keep up with his long strides

when he invites you to hyannis port for spring break, you fall head-over-heels for his family

honestly, they really are as rambunctious and uncivil as everyone says. joe’s little siblings can often be seen scurrying around town barefoot like a bunch of street urchins

but you like this about them. it’s a breath of fresh air—a nice change from your own stuffy, old-fashioned family

joe’s parents love you—but, of course, they'll love anything even remotely associated with their favorite child

you adore the fatherly side that comes out in joe when he’s around his siblings—he’s always tussling their hair, scolding them when they misbehave, helping them with schoolwork, cleaning up after them

you realize he sort acts like this around you, too—absentmindedly tidying up your apartment when he visits, folding your laundry for you, etc.

(one time, while he’s folding your laundry, you catch him sneakily slipping a pair of your panties in his pocket to take home with him)

more on the topic of joe’s ”fatherliness”: the only loved one he does not have a paternal instinct for is his brother jack

around jack, joe transforms into a school-yard bully

and this never fails to make you chuckle

joe will say something like "by god, jack, you're so skinny i can count your ribs.” and jack will roll his eyes and call joe a “brute” or make fun of him for being “all brawn and no brains”

speaking of jack: you sometimes catch him eyeing you—quite brazenly—when you walk by, and you see him leaning back when you bend over near him so that he can get a good look up your dress

you know joe sees jack doing this, too—these sorts of things never get past joe—but, to your surprise, joe never reprimands jack for this behavior like he does to other men

it occurs to you that it’s almost like joe wants jack to ogle you

like joe wants to show you off like a trophy

like he wants to tease his little brother with something that he can touch and kiss and squeeze but jack can only look at

one morning, you find yourself suntanning on the beach with lem billings, and lem tells you that the kennedy brothers are so sex-obsessed that their father has ordered the housemaids not to wear makeup, so that they don’t pose too much of a temptation for the boys

you definitely don’t mind joe’s sex obsession

especially come nighttime at hyannis port, when he sneaks into your bedroom once everyone is asleep

you and joe both know that, according to the rules of polite society, a lady may engage in certain intimate acts with her sweetheart and still maintain her decency, as long as he doesn’t actually take her virginity before they’re married

and besides, joe knows better than to take your virginity before he marries you, anyway, being a catholic and all

he takes out his resulting sexual frustration on you by undressing you and needily pumping his cock between your thighs and against your clit

he has to slap a hand over your mouth to cover your moans

you bite down on his fist when you cum

and one night, right after one of these encounters, when you’re both lying tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, joe whispers matter-of-factly, “i expect i shall have to marry you soon. i simply cannot carry on with this no-penetration nonsense.”

whew!

taglist:

@evie-gets-bitches

@kennediva

@secretwonderlandcheesecake

@melancholicstation

@southernpopprincess

@maudesgf

@neverellaxx11

@astro-vibes-bro

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@fortheloveofjos

@saturns-flowers

@raspberryknees

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this is how bobby kennedy is like to me. A sock puppy.

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JFK with Labubu shot by iphone

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Arcade Card, woman putting on Lipstick, c. 1920s.

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cmon child safety lid you know it's me

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Sacramento, California, 1968.

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I love this photo so much

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Janet Leigh and Robert Mitchum for Don Hartman’s HOLIDAY AFFAIR (1949)

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thinking of bobby saying “okie dokie” 😭

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every time i write about senator jack this!!!! is who im talking about

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Father's Day

“You know, I’m getting awfully tired of reading how my father bought me the election. I think of all the things I did – I was the one out there.”

“Well, he certainly made a big contribution. What do you think drove him?”

“Vanity.”

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June 18th, 1961

Kennedy Compound

Hyannis Port, Massachusetts

Sitting on the porch outside the house, Jack leaned back in his seat and let himself relax He was visiting home for Father’s Day, taking the time away from the White House for the occasion. Though only in office a few months, it wasn’t an unusual thing for him to do. What was unusual was that the entire clan, or a large portion of it, hadn’t gathered this time.

It was a small gathering of himself, Jackie, Caroline, John Jr., his mother and his father. Not something that ever really happened. Breakfast had been a simple, small celebration of the day, honoring both himself and his father and put together by the children, Jackie and Rose. Dinner would be a more formal affair as it usually was. The Kennedys didn’t have family dinners that weren’t serious and intellectual, even with their children grown up and a new generation joining them.

Since it was the day it was and he had a little time to just think, he let his mind wander to his father and technically the reason they were there today at all.

While Joe Kennedy Sr. loved his children, he spent much of his energy pushing them to heights he wished he himself could reach. Once thinking he could run for president in 1940 himself, the then ambassador to Great Britain was often mentioned in the papers as one of the half-dozen men likely to win the Democratic nomination. Though vain, Joe was also practical and he knew that there was no way America was ready to elect a Catholic president and so his ambition rested on his eldest son, Joe Jr, raising him like the heir to a throne, knowing that the kingdom was to be his and accepting this role without question.

Jack, growing up in his brother’s shadow, had a different kind of relationship with their father. While their mother was aloof and often absent, someone who rarely touched her children, let alone hugged them, Joe was the opposite. Joe Sr. was the hugger, the giver of unconditional love. But, toward Jack, in large part because of his health, Joe Sr. also showed a softness and empathy he rarely revealed to anyone else.

Always willing to set aside his work when his sons needed him, Joe Sr was also a complex and dominating figure. He had an insatiable need not to just succeed but to best. He was a man laced with his own prejudices and hatreds, quick to blame any resistance on bias against Irish Catholics. Something he wove into his children’s minds, giving them an us-against-the mentality and adding a tribal quality to the already interdependent siblings.

For the first twenty-seven years of his life, Jack got the best his father had to offer while being sheltered from his laser-beam focus. He used his position as second son as an observation post to study and reflect, not just perform and respond, to investigate, fail, think and be. But, even with all this, he did his best to be his father’s son and to live up to his high expectations.

Joe was quite the present parent when he could be, the opposite of Rose, visiting the children’s schools, meeting with their teachers, arranging their visits with their grandparents and takin them all out to dinner on the cook’s night off. He was on top of their schedules, their school reports and their study habits. He was also often absent for months at a time himself.

The legendary Kennedy family dinners were more rare than they seemed and when Joe was at the head of the table, there was always lively interaction; asking questions about activities and current events, urging his children to make their opinions known. Rose, on the other hand, tended to drill facts and lecture on behavior. When neither were present, Joe Jr. took up the mantle.

By the 1930’s Joe Jr and Jack entered their teens and Joe’s molding of them began in earnest.

In school, Joe Jr was the poster child, handsome, smart, a sportsman. He was awarded the Harvard Trophy as the senior best, earning much pride from his father and a year abroad to go with it which Jack begged to accompany on him but was denied due to poor grades.

Jack’s school years were quite different. He was seen as the personification of fun, ready with witty remarks and taking nothing, including his school work too seriously. His father’s notes to him were generally encouraging if exasperated and he often expressed his concern to the headmaster. Though tempted to come down hard on his second son, his continued illnesses gave him pause and made him focus on finding out the causes and the possible cures. His main concern then became that Jack not think of himself as sickly. Something Jack didn’t find out until much later but did cause him to project an aura that everything was fine and to fight harder to at least look healthy despite how he felt.

One thing that stood out even years later from his school years was when Jack had organized a group of several students who called themselves “The Muckers” turning the words the headmaster used to describe troublemakers into a badge of honor. Their antics were harmless such as sneaking out to get a milkshake and things like that. But, when the headmaster discovered Jack’s ‘leadership abilities’ he immediately got in touch with Joe Sr, who put aide his current business to come to the school.

In the headmaster’s office, father and son listened to the headmaster recount the error of Jack’s ways, Joe Sr voicing his complete support of the school and agreeing that Jack was motivated by ‘conceit and childishness.’

After the meeting, when the headmaster left the room, Joe Sr leaned in and whispered that if it had been his group the name would have started with another letter and ‘you can be sure it wouldn’t have started with the letter M!”

In that moment, several concepts were portrayed to Jack. One that he was proud of Jack’s leadership and that the disgrace was in getting caught, another that one had to toe the line publicly and appear to behave, and most significant that Joe’s support was unconditional. Despite being disappointed, Jack didn’t doubt that his father would be there when push came to shove.

Though Joe Sr never demanded that his sons agree with him on everything, he did always expect them to be able to defend their position, something Jack found much easier than his brother. Joe Jr tended toward knee-jerk support of his father while Jack found himself countering them.

After Joe Jr enlisted in the Navy, Jack tried to follow suit and it was only with his father’s help that he was successful in the endeavor. Becoming a hero himself after the PT-109 incident, he was nursing injuries when his older brother was shot down and all their father’s ambitions fell to him.

Though having thought to become a writer or something along those lines, knowing that his older brother would handle the politics and climb his way to office, Jack found himself thrust into that role instead because, despite his relationship with his father, plans had shifted. Their relationship shifted as well.

He could still remember the dramatic call he had received from his father. It had been like being drafted because Joe Sr wanted – demanded – that his oldest son go into politics.

And it had led to where they were now. With Jack as President of the United States.

Though it hadn’t been what he had initially wanted or planned for, he supposed he should still feel thankful to his father that he had forced him into public service, even if he felt that he had done a lot of the work himself. He wouldn’t be one of the most powerful men in the world without him.

“Jack! Dinner is ready!”

The words brought him back to the present with a blink and he shifted immediately, not wanting to keep anyone waiting. Pulling a small box from is pocket, he climbed to his feet and made his way inside where everyone was already seated at the table.

His gaze moved across each of his family members – Jackie, Rose, Caroline, John Jr. – and then settled on his father for a long moment. “Happy Father’s Day. Thank you.” The words were simple and he didn’t make a big deal out of placing the box on the table next to his father’s plate before taking his own seat.

Joe Sr made no move to open the box, clearly planning to do so after the meal. Nor did he do more to acknowledge the words than nod once. Instead, he struck up a conversation in the normal manner, as if it were any other day. For the Kennedys, it was.

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w / john f. kennedy

imagining the most profoundly beautiful tragedy of a fail marriage with president!john f. kennedy; you both find each other so horribly inaccessible after years of marriage - the debilitating fear of intimacy and vulnerability leaves you guys estranged in a desperate-for-love situation, where all you want is the other person but the walls of total concrete and public facade of perfection leaves a - seemingly - permanent blockade in the day to day of your lives.

but there are brief, solitary moments that this longing, unbridled search for each other is evident and fulfilled; late in the night, after state dinners, if he doesn’t immediately retire to the president’s suite, shutting his door with that antagonizing click! across the hall from you, or if he hasn’t gone off in an unmarked car to see one of the actresses that attended that night and that feigned sweetness right in your face, in the name of ‘respect’, then there was a chance he’d quietly wander into your bedroom; silent as a mouse, with the tenderest eyes of a doe.

with his pants unbuckled, his previously crisp dress shirt somehow already wrinkled, and his tie hanging undone and draped over his shoulders; he’d maybe fiddle with his cufflinks or readjust his hair as he watches your pour of yourself in the vanity mirror; your sleepwear already dawned though your hair and makeup remain intact for the moment. these times would always start with the intense stare at each other, daring the other to make that first move - the one to make the first move is always the sucker, you’d once heard him say to lem before you two were even engaged - and more often than not, it was him. after your eyes pierced far enough into his exhausted, unspoken desire, he’d stride forward, with his dress shoes crunching into the carpet of the first lady’s suite.

his sea foam greens would be so lowly, he’s a man and a child, you think, there’s that tired, sickly little boy of mine. then, his rough lined hands would reach up to cup both of your softly plushed cheeks; and suddenly, his pained shoulders would finally drop while the held air in his nose would release. he’d swallow that boulder of pride he so famously carries, slowly leaning down to finally place his lips on yours for the first time in weeks, only to have your face move in his own palms, declining his advance with your turned cheek as the messenger.

though he’d hardly give clear indication of his disappointment; his touch on you persists, the only difference being his heads retreat backwards. as it does so, yours also returns to its original position, looking up at him again; what a beautiful face, he longs to let the words take form on his tongue with the agreement of his vocal chords to accompany with the appropriate sounds, but alas, his mouth remains dutifully shut. his eyes and fingers trail into the glory of your dimly lit hair, busying himself from the shame of his fear of rejection coming to fruition.

again, you hear yourself shouting into the void of your own mind, try again, please. i swear, by god, i was going to let you if you tried a second time. you feel the thickness of his digits glide over your skin and perfected hair, tangling in it with all the poetic intention in the world: i want to be entangled, he conveys, i want to be stuck to you, inside you, throughout you. can’t you hear me?

the wind of want guides you upward as now it’s your turn to be the sucker; your lips are parted to give and receive simultaneously, something that’s only happened a handful of times in the many years of your marriage. you zero in on the defined cupids bow of his top lip, the curving peaks and dip as enticing as a sirens call you’ve been plugging your ears to. though, the feeling of your moving alerts him to your intentions; his eyes flick back in time for him to withdraw himself from you. he rejects in his head moving further back, only allowing you to wade momentarily in his cologned air before sinking back down to your own heels.

again, he hears himself shouting into the void of his own mind, try again, please. but his hands have already abandoned your form and he’s expanding the everlasting chasm between you both as he steps back, agonizingly crunching on the carpet once again. such, such beauty, as he takes in you in for the millionth time in his life.

“sleep well,” you tell him, as you begin to melt into the floor, starting from the moment your feet were planted on the other side of this gorge that is your marriage, in a pool of plague - frustrated embarrassment - an illness there continues to be no cure for.

lacy says. i wrote this just now in 20 minutes i hope it makes sense lol

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w/ president!john f. kennedy 18+ sexually explicit content

president!jack that’s been lurking on you for awhile, almost as soon as you were hired to assist mrs.lincoln - though to say you weren’t also peeking at him from the corner of your eye, silently yet certainly egging him on to make his move, ever since you heard he had a proclivity for young secretaries, at all times would just be a fib - and once he finally gets you alone, bent over his historic desk, pencil skirt being rushed and scrapped up your pantyhose covered hips, he pauses amidst his brashness and asks, in a moment of what seems to be genuine curiosity, “are you a virgin?”

your head turns slowly over your shoulder, eyes low and only on him as the lacquer on your moving lips begs him to lean in impossibly closer, more than he ever intended, “do you want me to be?”

and suddenly, this borderline predatory instinct of his is met and matched in a way he hadn’t previously experienced; your words mean what he’s always wanted to hear: i’ll be whatever you desire me to though, that’s hardly the exciting part to him - the most thrilling part of this, of you, is you’re just as conniving as he, just a predatory and calculated, knowing just what to say to make this all the more worth both his and your while. he laughs, deep and so low you too can feel the rumbling of his chest vibrate in your own, pure drunken admiration.

with the scathing tear he creates at the center of your tights, and the genuine mewl and neck roll of pleasure you let out just at the harsh brushing of his knuckles on your thighs, he think to himself, you could very well be a virgin, but you’re no less a whore for me.