historyconsumer07

drunk!jack headcanons ♡₊˚ 🦢

꩜ one of his hands must be on you at ALL times. doesn't like pda when he's sober, but the second liqour is in his system he's all over you

꩜ he'll whisper something absolutely filthy into your ear to see how you'll react just for funsies

꩜ his mass accent somehow gets even worse when he's shitfaced and combined with the slurring he makes zero sense

꩜ he'll insist he's not as drunk as you think and then immediately bump into a table

꩜ he's not the biggest fan of drunken sex but he'll go along with it anyways if it meant he'd get to feel you all over

꩜ when drunk sex does happen it's the sloppiest, messiest fuck you'll ever have in your life

꩜ gets weirdly competitive over small things (who can finish a drink faster, who could beat him in an arm wrestling match, etc.) ꩜ turns into a storyteller but halfway through forgets the point and just keeps going anyway

꩜ his posture gets ATROCIOUS and when you point it out he says you're lying (he knows you're right but doesn't care)

꩜ a slut for bloody marys (true btw!)

drunk!bobby headcanons ⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼

꩜ laughs at literally everything

꩜ he'll keep an eye on your every move, follow you into every room, constantly ask if you're doing okay, and when you ask he'll slur "just doing my husbandly duties"

꩜ he'll say "i'm not going to drink tonight" and then be 4 shots in 20 minutes later

꩜ gets crazy philosophical, he thinks he's socrates

꩜ the second you both stumble through the door he's all over you as if he'd been waiting the whole night

꩜ like jack, drunk sex isn't ideal for him but he becomes the biggest freak known to man

꩜ becomes insanely stubborn, if he wants to go home y'all are going home

꩜ gets very intent when you’re talking .. full eye contact, leaning in, nodding along like this is the most important conversation he’s ever had (and you're talking about something incredibly stupid)

꩜ if someone says something he disagrees with he will NOT let it go

yet somehow you'd both ended up on the library couch, hidden away from the door, the room dim and warm from the fire nearby. It's almost like a pot bubbling over, months of small touches, fingers brushing, both of you desperate to finally let something happen.

he's so gentle, constantly pulling back to check you're okay, laughing at your displeased sounds every time his lips leave yours until you pull him back, tugging at his hair. the feeling of your weight in his lap only makes his pulse quicken as your fingers tug at his hair every few seconds.

it doesn't take long for you both to cross that line.

yet somehow you'd both ended up on the library couch, hidden away from the door, the room dim and warm from the fire nearby. It's almost like a pot bubbling over, months of small touches, fingers brushing, both of you desperate to finally let something happen.

he's so gentle, constantly pulling back to check you're okay, laughing at your displeased sounds every time his lips leave yours until you pull him back, tugging at his hair. the feeling of your weight in his lap only makes his pulse quicken as your fingers tug at his hair every few seconds.

it doesn't take long for you both to cross that line.

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.

. #

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.

. #

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.

. #

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) !!

The moment your exhaustion showed on your face, Bobby knew one thing.

He was going to help you using a method that'd never failed him, and never failed to have you boneless on the bed (or desk, or backseat, or his face).

Bobby takes over any miniscule task that doesn't necessarily require you. It's to make sure there's nothing else bothering you and causing your shoulders to be so tense.

He can't just let his wife feel worn and stressed out. Not when he can do something about it. It's like a new point on his mental checklist, evaluating, making sure he completes this and that.

Relieve and relax.

So Bobby waits for you to finish taking your bath. He lets you unwind yourself, each quiet sigh and personal mumble serving to motivate him further.

Only when Bobby has you in his arms for the night does he properly undo your stress to nothing. Your muscles unlocking from their tight, knotted stiffness.

"Oh—oh—Bobby,—"

Your back is arching from the bed, and Bobby's left thumb rubs soothing circles into your inner thigh. His other hand gently, firmly keeps you open for him, though he considers letting you get him high off of no air and just your taste.

Bobby is desperate. He's eating you out with increasingly loving desperation to please you, to show you how good it feels to relax for the day.

You deserve it. You're the mother to his children (a fact that makes him ache for one more), the other half of his heart.

You come gorgeously when Bobby does this, his nose brushing your clit. His tongue traces hearts, you distantly realize, between thoughts of ohshit and ohfuckhesgood.

If Bobby had a talented mouth, it wasn't just for speeches.

Bobby kneels against the floor, your legs loose around his shoulders. His messy locks press against your abdomen when he practically nuzzles into you, sighing softly against your slick cunt.

He kisses you sloppily. Sucking you into his mouth with no hesitation. Your noises are breathy and all genuine, head tilting into the pillows.

"Bobby—Bobby don't stop pleaseplease—oh-"

You think he likes it when you beg him not to stop.

He does.

Bobby's spine wracks with a shiver, and then he's dipping his tongue into your dripping entrance with evident worship. He can't get enough of you, he simply can't. It's something he will never experience—the thrill, the excitement, the privilege to do this never stops burning in his veins.

He's hard in his slacks. But Bobby wants to drain you once completely, before he fixes his own need.

"S'perfect," he mumbles, more to himself than you. You're half lost in the euphoria Bobby is inducing you with. The stress of the day, of rowdy kids, it's all gone, lapped away by his tongue.

"You're gorgeous. I love you. Love you–" his words border on babbles.

The whimper and curse Bobby gets only encourages him. His hand tightens ever slightly on your thigh, both of his hands now around your thighs. He pulls away from your wet, sensitive pussy to press messy kisses to the inner skin, leaving behind shiny lip marks.

He nuzzles into you once more, and your thighs go to tighten around his head.

Bobby lets go, just so they can. And with his head between your thighs, he's never felt belonging so intensely. This is where he's meant to be. Where he wants to be.

He should do this even more than he does.

Bobby's arms hold your outer thighs, hands sliding up to your hips, pulling you that inch distance to make sure he's fully pressed against you.

Bobby doesn't count your orgasms, not when there's no limit and he has no goal in mind. Fingertips pressing into your skin, he frantically takes every taste of you he can get, even as it becomes clear you're going to finish.

"Bob—Bobby—! Bobby—"

Your husband gives an adoring groan, muffled between your thighs.

You flood his tastebuds, his senses, from your thighs boxing his ears in to your pulsing gush on his tongue. Your noises above, as if Bobby's underwater, focused only on pleasing you.

It's lewd, the way he gazes up at you for a paused moment, breathing heavily. He doesn't look done, not when he knows there's more stress to pull from you.

Or that's just his enthusiasm speaking. Either way, he presses a noisy kiss to your mound, trailing to your navel.

Bobby's top half melts into you. His own tension releases when he gets to touch you, taste you on his tongue and feel you on his slick fingertips.

He's giving you puppy eyes. He's giving you those big, sweet eyes that make you want to either pull his hair or suck him off.

The realization that Bobby is going to pull another one from you with his mouth, or use the rest of him to do so, washes over your hazy, lust-addled brain.

"… you're insatiable, Bobby…" You breathe.

"For you."

But you know that, you always have, he thinks, and now he's focusing on your eyes trailing his arms.

His hands flex on your hips.

All you had to do was give him a cue.

. #