Katelyn

hiii

Katelyn! 𑣲 sweet as sugar 𑣲 sly freakish doll 𑣲 vintage love 𑣲 jack‎ kennedy's sweetheart 𑣲 directed by luca guadagnino 𑣲 dream a lil dream of me

my links masterlist info & req.

mature content - making out with dally

𑣲 from k: im so sryy this is more descriptive n really shorttt I js wanted to clear this out of my head lmaoo

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The back seat of the T-Bird felt small and intimate, windows already fogging from the warmth building between you. The night outside was still, nothing but the faint creak of leather and your shared breathing filling the space.

You were straddled in his lap, knees pressed into the seat on either side of his hips, fingers twisted tight in the front of his white t-shirt. Dally didn’t waste a second— he pulled you flush against him, rough hands sliding up under your shirt, warm calloused palms dragging over your bare back.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn night,” he muttered against your lips, voice low and raspy, before kissing you like he was starving. He tasted like cigarettes and cherry cola, and the way his tongue moved against yours was slow, deep, filthy— lazy but possessive.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, eyes dark. “You’re killin’ me sittin’ here lookin’ like that, doll. You know that?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, harder this time. One hand threaded into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted. His other hand roamed up your spine, fingers toying with the clasp of your bra, tugging lightly, teasing.

“Dal…” you breathed, squirming in his lap.

He chuckled, low and rough. “Yeah? You want me to take it off?” His thumb brushed your cheek gently. “C’mon, baby. Tell me.”

Though, Instead of answering, you kissed him deeper. Chests pressed tight together, your hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his stomach. He groaned quietly when your nails grazed him.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmured against your mouth. “So damn soft for me.”

His fingers finally flicked your bra open with a quiet click, but he took his time, running his palm slowly over your skin like he wanted to memorize every inch. Every shift of your hips made his grip on your waist tighten, pulling you down harder against him.

He kissed you with long, consuming strokes— teeth grazing your bottom lip, tongue teasing yours until you felt dizzy.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered hotly, forehead resting against yours. “Can’t even look at anybody else when you’re around.”

explicit sexual content - dally fingers you

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The giant screen cast flickering silver light across the crowded drive-in lot, the old western playing loud through the little speaker hooked on the car window. Nobody was really watching. Half the cars had fogged-up windows and couples tangled up in each other. Yours was no different.

Dallas had his leather jacket thrown carelessly over your lap the second the movie started. Underneath it, his hand had been between your thighs for the last half hour, two thick fingers buried deep in you, pumping slow and steady like he had all the time in the world.

You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. The lewd, quiet sound of his fingers moving in and out of you was hidden beneath the movie soundtrack, but you could hear it—wet, obscene, every time he curled them just right.

“Easy, baby,” Dally murmured against your ear, voice low and rough, lips brushing the sensitive skin right below it. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight already… feels like you needed this, huh?”

You bit down hard on your lip, trying desperately to keep your breathing steady. Your thighs trembled around his wrist as he curled his fingers again, stroking that spongy spot inside you with practiced ease. His thumb pressed firm, lazy circles over your swollen clit, never speeding up, just keeping you right on the edge of losing it.

“Dal…” you whispered shakily, one hand gripping his forearm under the jacket.

He let out a quiet, amused hum, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck. “Shh. Eyes on the screen, doll. You don’t want anyone lookin’ over here, do you?” His fingers pushed deeper, working you open before curling again. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

A soft, broken whimper slipped out before you could stop it. Heat burned in your cheeks as you glanced around nervously—no one was watching. Still, the thrill of it made everything feel sharper, hotter. Dally’s fingers never stopped their steady rhythm, pumping in and out while his thumb worked your clit in tight little circles that made your toes curl against the floorboard.

“You’re drippin’ down my hand, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice dark with satisfaction. “Soakin’ my fingers like a good girl. Does it feel that good?”

You nodded frantically, hips twitching helplessly against his palm, chasing the friction. The coil in your belly was wound so tight it hurt. Every slow thrust of his fingers pushed you closer, closer, until your vision started to blur at the edges.

Dally leaned in, lips against your ear, breath warm. “That’s it, baby… I can feel you flutterin’ around me. You’re right there, aren’t you?” His thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing faster now. “C’mon, doll. Come on my fingers for me. Right here. Let me feel it.”

Your breath hitched sharply. Your whole body tensed as the pleasure finally snapped. You came hard, thighs clamping around his hand, biting down on the collar of his jacket to muffle the broken moan that tried to escape. Waves of heat crashed through you, pulsing around his fingers as he kept stroking you through it, slow and deep, drawing it out until you were shaking and whimpering against his shoulder.

Dally groaned softly, pressing his forehead to your temple as he felt you come undone. “There you go… good girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

His fingers stayed buried inside you for a long moment afterward, gently moving, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched around them. When your breathing finally started to even out, he slowly pulled them free and wiped them on your inner thigh under the jacket, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips.

He kissed the corner of your mouth sweetly, almost too soft for Dallas.

“Still drippin’,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “You’re gonna be sittin’ in that mess the whole ride home, baby.”

explicit sexual content - riding jack

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Jack was always the one who took you apart completely—pinning you beneath him, hips snapping hard and deep, that low velvet Boston voice murmuring filthy-sweet things in your ear until you were shaking and crying out his name. But tonight, you craved something softer, something slower. So you gently pushed him back onto the wide bed, climbed into his lap, and took control.

You were straddling him, clad only in the pale pink silk slip that kept slipping down your shoulders, its hem bunched around your waist. You wrapped your fingers around his thick cock, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric, and slowly sank down. Every gentle roll of your hips deepened the stretch, a fullness so perfect it made your lashes flutter. He was thick and warm, throbbing deep inside you, and the way he filled you so completely had you biting your lip to keep from whimpering too loudly.

A low, warm chuckle vibrated beneath you, husky and impossibly fond. Jack was clearly charmed by how desperate his shy, little girlfriend was for him. His hands settled heavy on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin.

"My sweet girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Listen to those pretty little whimpers. You needed me so badly, didn’t you?"

You nodded, a soft moan escaping your lips as you pressed your forehead to his. You ground down deeper, rolling your hips in that perfect, languid motion that made his cock drag against the very spot that made you see stars. Every slow drag pulled soft gasps from both of you, lazy, loving sounds soaked in want.

His fingers flexed, nails biting lightly into your skin, but he never rushed you, his gaze an anchor. His sea-green eyes stayed locked on you the whole time, dark and infinitely loving, tracing the sway of your breasts beneath the slipping silk, the flush blooming on your cheeks, the way your lips parted with each deep, encompassing stretch.

One of his hands slid down your back, patting your ass sweetly. The warm palm gave it a gentle, affectionate smack before rubbing the soft flesh with such tenderness.

"Just like that," he breathed, a quiet groan escaping him as his head pressed back into the pillow, your fingers tangling in his soft, tousled hair. "Nice and slow for me."

You leaned down then, capturing his mouth in a kiss that tasted of faint bourbon and quiet yearning—a slow, wet exploration. As you pulled back, lost in the exquisite feeling of him stretching you so perfectly, you settled back onto his cock, finding your rhythm again, your body remembering its own deep needs.

"Such a doll," he murmured, voice husky, one hand sliding up your back beneath the silk, warm and steady. "Ride me just like that… let me feel how much you need me."

You whimpered at his praise, grinding down in those slow, deliberate circles, then lifting again, riding him with that perfect, lazy rhythm. The room was quiet save for the slick, intimate sounds of your bodies meeting, your soft gasps, and his low murmurs of encouragement.

pairing: husband!bobby Kennedy x young fem!reader warnings: explicit sexual content, pet names, and a lil age gap summary: coming home to Bobby working turns into a sweet, soft, intimate act of devotion 𑣲 for my beloved: @bobbykennedyfan

The late afternoon light lingered in your brownstone, spilling through half-drawn lace curtains in long, honeyed ribbons, catching on the delicate faint rose-pink polish gleaming on your nails—your small, quiet indulgence from earlier that day. The color shimmered like crushed petals whenever your fingers moved, and each glance at them brought a shy flutter of pleasure to your chest.

You moved through the house on soft feet, heart already seeking him. Bobby’s study door was ajar, just as it always was when he hoped you’d come looking.

You pushed it open gently. There he sat at his wide oak desk, bathed in the soft glow of the green banker’s lamp. His tie hung loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose, and his usually neat hair was softly tousled from running his fingers through it in concentration. Exhaustion sat beautifully on him, softening the sharp lines of his face into something almost vulnerable.

“Bobby?” you whispered, lingering in the doorway.

His head lifted instantly. The moment his eyes met yours, the tension in his shoulders softened. A warm, shy smile curved his mouth.

“My sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-soft. He leaned back in the leather chair and patted his thigh. “C’mere, baby. I missed you.”

You crossed the room and slipped onto his lap, settling sideways so you could tuck yourself against his chest. His arms came around you at once—strong, warm, and achingly gentle. He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he needed you more than air.

“You spoil me just by being here.” he whispered against your skin, pressing a slow kiss just below your ear.

You giggled softly, delighted, slipping your fingers into his messy hair, gently playing with the soft strands. “I got my nails done today,” you told him, holding your hand up as the glossy pink caught the lamplight. “Do you like them?”

Bobby caught your wrist with careful fingers and brought it to his lips. One by one, he kissed each fingertip, slow and reverent, his breath warm. “They’re beautiful,” he said quietly, eyes crinkling with affection. “like little rose petals… just like you."

A shy blush warmed your cheeks. You leaned in and pecked soft kisses along his jaw, playful and sweet. “I missed you all day,” you confessed, nuzzling closer. “What have you been working on?"

He hummed, one hand stroking slow circles up and down your back while the other tried to keep hold of the papers. “Just some notes for tomorrow. Stay with me for a while? I think better when you’re close.”

You nodded softly, nestling deeper into his chest. For a while it was perfect—curled warmly in his lap, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek while you chatted quietly about your day. Your nails traced lazy, affectionate patterns along his jaw and the warm, smooth skin at his open collar. He answered you in that low, gentle voice you loved, occasionally pressing tender kisses to your temple or the crown of your head.

Though, as time passed, the soft rustle of his papers began to pull at your attention. The quiet scratching of his pen, the way his eyes kept drifting back to the pages even as he held you… it made a gentle restlessness ease inside you. You wanted all of him—just him, completely focused on the two of you.

Your fingers continued their slow journey, drifting lower over the rumpled fabric of his shirt, tracing the line of his chest, then the dip of his waist. You felt the subtle hitch in his breathing when your touch wandered further, brushing lightly over the buckle of his belt.

“Sweetheart…” he started, voice already a little rough.

You looked up at him through your lashes, playful yet shy. “I just want to make you feel good, Bobby. You’ve been working so hard…”

He swallowed, cheeks flushing faintly. His hand covered yours, gentle but hesitant. “Baby, I really should finish this. There’s still—”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and coaxing. “Please? Just a little. I’ll be quick and quiet. I promise.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes dark and soft all at once. His gaze flicked briefly to the papers scattered across his desk, hesitation lingering there for a heartbeat, before it melted back to you—warm, helpless, and full of quiet longing.

“Alright…” he whispered, voice tender and shy. “Just… be gentle with me, hm?”

You softly smiled, heart fluttering as you carefully opened his slacks. When you freed him, he was already half-hard, warm and heavy in your palm. He let out a quiet, shaky breath as you wrapped your fingers around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and sweet. “Nice and slow, baby."

You stroked him with tender, loving touches—long, smooth glides of your hand while you watched his face. His head tipped back against the chair, lips parted, a faint flush creeping up his neck. Every soft sound he made sent a gentle warmth blossoming through you. You always loved knowing you could unravel him like this.

After a few moments, you slid down between his thighs, kneeling on the thick Persian rug. You pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his cock, savoring the velvety heat against your lips and tongue. You licked and kissed him with quiet devotion, tracing every inch with soft affection. Then you took him into your mouth, just a little—warm and gentle. The taste of him made you hum with quiet happiness, a soft, contented sound vibrating around him.

Bobby’s hand found your hair immediately, not guiding, just resting there, his fingers trembling slightly against your scalp.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathed, the words full of shy wonder. “You feel so good… so perfect.”

You worked him with slow devotion — your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, moving together in a gentle, loving rhythm. You savored every little twitch of him against your tongue, every soft exhale and quiet huff that escaped his lips. His hips lifted just barely, rocking into your touch like he was trying so hard to stay in control. His breathing grew quicker, more ragged, until his fingers tightened ever so gently in your hair.

“Baby—I’m—” His voice broke into a low, shuddering groan as he came, pulsing warmly across your tongue and hand. You swallowed every drop with soft, loving little sounds, stroking him through the aftershocks with tender care until he was completely spent and trembling beneath your touch.

When it was over, he let out a long, shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. You slowly sat back on your heels, gazing up at him, cheeks warm with quiet joy.

After a few quiet seconds, his eyes drifted open, gazing at you with such tender. He reached down with gentle hands, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with infinite care.

“Come here,” he whispered, voice hoarse and warm. “Let me hold you.”

You didn’t hesitate. You rose and climbed back into his lap, and this time he pulled you even closer, wrapping both arms around you like he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply while his heartbeat slowly steadied against yours. One of his hands rubbed slow, soothing circles up and down your back. With the other, he carefully tucked himself away and zipped his slacks again, movements still clumsy and unsteady.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured against your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your throat. He pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. His eyes were shy and warm, full of that endless love. “My sweet, playful girl.”

You giggled softly and nuzzled into his palm, playful even now.

He rested his forehead against yours, voice dropping to a low, tender whisper.

“Tonight, I'll be all yours, hm? Just me giving you every bit of my attention, spending hours loving you the way you deserve.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, eyes soft and full of shy devotion. “Just wait for a little longer, okay sweetheart?"

You nodded, a soft, content little "mhm" slipping out as you curled closer into his chest, perfectly content to stay right there, wrapped in his arms for as long as he'd let you.