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floralcyanide · 5 months

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⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: You are studying the one and only US President John F. Kennedy for your dual-title doctorate at Harvard University in 1963. Upon growing closer to the president, you happen to meet one of his Harvard friends, Coriolanus Snow, who is campaigning for the 1964 Election. You're both brought closer as time passes, and your life changes forever. As the 1964 Election continues and political tensions escalate, you come together. With the help of you, the Kennedys, and his charming wit and cleverness, Coriolanus Snow ends up with all he's ever wanted. However, the ever-growing Women's Revolution puts everything and everyone at risk. What Coriolanus doesn't know is that politics is all a game-

But there are worse games to play.

⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: none. ⊹ word count: 269 (not including quote.) ⊹ author’s note: eeeee here's the prologue! I'm so excited to share this idea with you all. it was just a random fic idea I had and I didn't think it would snowball in my imagination the way it did, yet here we are lol. please be sure to check out the soundtrack and if you want to be tagged with every chapter, please fill out the form. I have both the soundtrack and taglist form below for you to click. much love!! ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ.

❝And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult – we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had at the beginning. He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew it. When he walked in, every woman's head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn't contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. And in that way, I understood him, and I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. And I still love him. I love him.❞ — Lana Del Rey, Spoken Monologue, National Anthem

“Go on, sweetheart,” Coriolanus mumbles, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, “Wave to the people. They love it, they love you.”

You stare at Coriolanus for a moment in absolute awe as he basks in the glow of attention from the crowd. At this moment, he’s electric and powerful. You couldn’t be more proud of him for it. The two of you are in a brightly colored motorcade, slowly cruising through downtown Boston in celebration. Your husband effortlessly smiles in glory, his eyes twinkling in unbridled emotion- a rare sight to see from him. Coriolanus has his moments, but not like this. His blue eyes are usually cold, distant, and emotionless unless looking directly at you. Despite the lack of obvious light, you can still see it. It’s one thing Coriolanus admires about you; that you can see past his demeanor. The last time you remember him looking so full of pride, though, was the day you married one another.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the fact that he succeeded at this- and you succeeded at this, too. Perhaps even harder to grasp that millions of people around the world now know your name and care about what you have to say. As Coriolanus said himself, the people love you. Sure, having the people on your side just as they are his matters to you. But at the end of the day, the only thing that matters for certain is if he truly loves you like he loves power. Sometimes you aren’t so sure. Sometimes, he looks at you, and you can’t see a thing.

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove

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writethebodyelectric · 3 months

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Prima Nocta

A John F. Kennedy Fanfiction

Summary: When the daughter of a Rat Pack singer wants some romantic experience, she turns to President John F. Kennedy, a friend of her father’s, for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut (occasional dubious consent), angst, infidelity, antiquated ideas of sex/marriage, swearing, 22-year age gap

Word Count: 3k

AO3 Link

You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for exactly 12 minutes and 47 seconds, your eyes twitching ceaselessly between the little white clock on the nightstand and the round-top bedroom door, when finally, the doorknob started to turn. The brass glinted in the silver-blue moonlight beaming through the sliding glass wall behind you. You felt your tongue dry out and stiffen in your mouth like a towel in the sun.

John Kennedy—or “Jack,” as he’d once told you to call him—stepped into the room, materializing out of the pitch-blackness of the hallway. “Hello there,” he said. With that charming New England accent, he pronounced “there” like “they-ah,” and beneath your heart’s frantic sparking and sputtering, a little spot deep in your gut groaned with affection.

“Hello,” you said in return. You were locked practically motionless in the dark searchlights of his sleepy gaze as he guided the door shut behind him.

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he began striding slowly towards you. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself to speak again: “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure,” he said as his shadowy shoulders blocked out more and more of the floral wallpaper around you. The sharp, forest-y scent of his cologne made your nostrils feel cool and crisp. Your hands tightened their grip on each other where they lay folded in your lap.

Jack’s mouth twisted into a gentle smirk as he swayed to a stop right in front of you and brought one of his big hands to cup the underside of your chin, his long callused fingers curling up around your head. Instantly, your spine twinged with the urge to pull backward and away, but you clenched your stomach and held yourself still. You wanted this, you reminded yourself as you gazed up at Jack through mascara-caked eyelashes. You can’t be chicken now.

“I have to admit,” Jack said then, with a huffing chuckle, “that I’m frankly a little surprised at your timing.” He sounded staticky and distant over the dizzying clang of your heart against your ribs. “I can’t help but feel guilty, uh—” (his eyes flicked briefly to the side, seemingly searching for the right word) “—spoiling you for your husband,” he continued. “Poor kid’s had the patience of a saint.”

You felt your throat press against his warm palm as you swallowed. He surely thought you were some sort of lunatic for waiting until the week before your wedding to finally dial that number his secret service agent had slipped through your fingers at Frank Sinatra’s birthday party, which was almost half a year ago now. But there was, actually, a perfectly reasonable explanation. At least, you thought so.

You could’ve explained to Jack how your future husband Jimmy, the world-famous heartthrob singer you’d been practically betrothed to since we were children and who you were marrying in just 7 days (the tabloids had been very generous in making sure every single person in America was aware of this fact—including the president, apparently), was secretly homosexual and had no intention of ever being romantic with you. The feeling was perfectly mutual, of course; you both saw each other as more of siblings than anything else. But, naturally, that still did nothing whatsoever to satisfy your ever-burning desire to find someone who could help you simulate the fairytale wedding night you’d always hopelessly dreamt about—one where, in a pink haze of passion, you’d finally hand over your virginity and roll around in the sheets till the sun came up with someone who was masculine and dashing and strong.

But, obviously, you could never betray Jimmy by telling anyone any of that. However, you also weren’t content to just waste away at home while Jimmy got to enjoy his revolving door of classified lovers, so you would just have to settle for Jack assuming you were some kind of newly-emerging sex-crazed adulteress—which he of all people would have no right to judge you for, anyway.

You felt the skin of your throat stretching as Jack tilted your head up and rotated your face slowly to the left, then to the right. You followed him with your eyes, watching him study your neck and collarbones like they were an expensive piece of machinery he was looking to purchase. You did your best to set your trembling shoulders back, wondering if this was typical behavior of a man before he made love.

“Speaking of Jimmy, I’ve been wondering. Is he the reason you called?” Jack asked while he conducted his examination, as if he was simply discussing the weather. “You think he’s liable to disappoint you on your first time? Or you just can’t possibly wait another seven days for him?” He phrased them more like teasing accusations than actual questions.

“Oh, n-no,” you said. The firmness of his grip on your jaw caused your words to come out clipped. “I just. . . .” You could feel your eyes bulging as you tried to scrap together some semblance of a reasonable explanation as to why you were here. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother with this line of questioning. “Well, Jimmy’s just so young, you know,” you sputtered, “and maybe—maybe I want to know what it’s like being with . . . an older man.”

Jack blew air out of his nose in a half-formed laugh. “An older man, huh?” He brought your head back to center and gave your cheeks an affectionate squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re cute, you know that, sweetheart? I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the night we first met.”

Your heart spasmed at that, and you could feel your mouth twisting as you tried not to break out in a giddy grin. Gosh, he could be so sweet.

The night you both met was two whole years ago now. Jack had been just a senator then, and you’d been just 19 when he, his wife, and several of their friends came backstage after one of your father’s glitzy Rat Pack shows in Las Vegas. You still remembered how, while your father was introducing you, Jack's placid blue eyes had slithered up and down your dress. Inexplicably, blood had gushed pleasurably between your legs while you watched him eye you like this, smoke from his cigar furling around his lip.

Jack's hand dropped from your chin then and moved to start unbuckling his pants. Your head suddenly felt too light, like your brain wasn’t there anymore, and the skin around your jaw prickled with the absence of his fingers. This was it. You were moments away from having the full experience of being a married woman and—if the rumors you’d heard about Jack Kennedy’s sexual aptitude were true—all of the mind-melting pleasures that came with it. The anxiety you’d been feeling ever since you decided to call that secret number a little over a week ago was about to be entirely worth it.

Jack let his belt slap to the floor, and his hands slipped under your armpits to pop you up onto your feet. You sucked in your lips to stifle what would’ve probably been a pathetic, whimpering gasp. His face was mere inches from yours now, and as he looked down at you, you were almost overcome by a strange, aching pull to stand up on the very tips of your toes so you could squish your nose against his. The leader of the free world was just a big dreamboat softie, really, and he could be anywhere on Earth with anyone he wanted, but he chose you.

You didn’t really have time to consider these unusual whims of yours, however, because then Jack bent his head and fastened his mouth to your neck. You could do nothing but stand there dumbly as he covered your skin with sloppy kisses, his buttery brown hair tickling your shoulder. The gentle clicking of saliva between his lips buzzed in your ears.

All of a sudden, as if you’d blacked out a few seconds ago and were now coming to again, you noticed your dress had been unzipped and was in a puddle around your kitten heels. Goosebumps sizzled up your bare arms and legs, and your shoulders folded in on themselves as Jack's hands appeared on both sides of your vision, one tossing your bra to the floor and the other moving to clasp both your wrists tightly behind your back.

He yanked your wrists downward with surprising gruffness, forcing you to arch your back and thrust your bare chest out toward him. A stuttery inhale hissed through your teeth, and you squeezed your legs together, blushing furiously as your nipples prickled and hardened under his gaze. You knew this would be part of it. You knew he would have to see you naked.

“God damn,” he said, his voice dark and rumbling, before bowing his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth like a hungry dog. A low, needy whimper trembled in your throat and as he moved from one nipple to the other, viciously biting and sucking. The stiff tent that had sprung up in the groin area of his slacks collided with your clit, wracking you with a full-body shiver. For a quick moment, you were awash with a lush, golden feeling of pride. You were making the president hard.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your cotton panties and leaned back from devouring your chest as he pulled them down, the tip of his nose brushing on your forehead as you both watched—to your piercing horror—an elastic string of wetness stretch between your vagina and the spot on the crotch of your panties where it had attached itself.

You noticed, too, how slick and glossy the insides of your thighs had become. “Oh, no.”

“Now, now.” Jack spoke in your ear with a brisk tone like he was impatiently reprimanding a child. “There’s no shame in getting a little excited.” He brushed a finger over the smooth slit of your labia, and you practically squealed, “Jack!”

Your little cry seemed to ignite something in him. Suddenly, you were whirled around to face the twinkling Chesapeake Bay shoreline and its tumbling black water and navy blue sand. And then there was a wide hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend over for me, doll,” Jack instructed you pointlessly as he went ahead and shoved your upper body into the mattress.

With the heel of his palm, he slid you forward so you had to clamber up onto the bedspread on your knees. The electric crackle of your nipples against the rough old fabric caused a loud “ah!” to spill from your mouth. You craned your neck as far over your shoulder as it would go to watch Jack’s eyes pick their way down your body just like they had the night you met. But now, all splayed out for him like this, you suddenly felt sick and dirty enough to throw up. This sort of position seemed more suited to a common whore than a bride. Your face burned like someone was shining a heat lamp on you. And yet, your clitoris pulsed with an almost painful voracity, causing your hips to twitch slightly with each pounding beat.

Outside in the living room, you heard the muffled laughter of the two secret service men who, when you’d first arrived at this rented beach house about 20 minutes ago, had told you President Kennedy would arrive shortly, and then casually led you to the bedroom like you were going to a meeting in the White House. You clenched your teeth against the toe-curling humiliation of it and forced yourself to shuck those guys from your mind. You were going to pretend that you were completely alone with Jack, your handsome powerful husband, and that this creaky Cape-Cod-style house was your lovely newlywed home.

The quick screak of Jack's zipper snatched you out of your thoughts. In the open fly of his pants, you caught a brief, heart-softening glimpse of his blue-striped underwear—And then, suddenly, there was a real-life penis whacking against the small of your back.

“Oh my!” you shrieked, and Jack's Adam’s apple bounced with a small laugh. The anatomical diagrams you’d studied with your childhood tutor had utterly failed to capture how big and messy-looking penises really were. The veiny skin on Jack’s was wrinkly and loose like an elephant, and the whole thing looked almost thicker than your forearm.

He began pumping his hand up and down the length of his long erection in a lazy, thoughtless motion, swiping his thumb across the shiny little hole every time he reached the top.

“Do you—do you think it’ll fit in me?” you asked. It was hard enough sometimes just trying to get a little tampon to settle in right. Glancing up at the ceiling, you prayed that, by some magical trick of biology, you would be able to accommodate Jack's size.

“Oh, sure,” Jack assured you as he palmed your buttcheeks and spread them apart, allowing himself to drag the tip of his penis down across your puckering butthole and line it up with your vagina as he spoke. “A young cunt like yours might require a little, uh, tough love, but it’ll fit me by the time I’m done.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by “tough love,” but it didn’t matter because suddenly he was easing his big round tip inside you with a low, sonorous groan. You grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Already, your “cunt” felt stretched beyond what was healthy.

“Fucking shit.” His voice sounded from far back in his throat. “You’re tiny.” And then, without further ado, he forced himself inside you, crashing his hips against yours with an echoing smack.

Your vagina ripped open. You screamed at the blistering sensation. Your stomach felt like someone had removed your intestines and replaced them with a big metal pole. The area around your belly button was bloated out and pulled taut.

A single tear was knocked out of your eye and down the side of your nose as he pulled all the way out and ruthlessly slammed back in again. He began moving you back and forth at a rapid rhythm, jerking you around like a rag doll. Your head was ringing as you buried your face in the bed, bracing yourself to take this for as long as Jack wanted you to. You wondered if it was typical for a man to be so harsh with his partner.

“Fuck.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck. You feel damn good, you know that?” His hand came down with a hard slap on your buttcheek and, instinctively, you bucked your hips away from him.

With his hands on your waist, Jack jolted you back into place in front of him. He smacked your butt again, like he was punishing you for fleeing, and you let out a panting whine as the sting shuddered through you.

“I know it . . . hurts, sweetheart,” he said between guttural grunts as he continued to pound into you, “but this is . . . what it takes . . . to break a little body like yours in. This’ll be . . . much easier next time.” He flashed a quick, cheeky grin.

Then he scooped one of his hands around your throat and whipped you upwards so your back thunked against his chest. He mumbled into your ear, “Now let me take another look at these pretty tits, huh?” He cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing them together then pulling them apart, and your head fell back onto his shoulder with a tortured moan.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pinching your nipples. “Maybe I should just take you home with me, huh? How does that sound?” He was a mumbling mess; you wondered if he even knew what he was saying. “I could ruin your little cunt so Jimmy won’t even want it anymore, and I’ll hide you away in my house up in New York. Keep you all to myself.”

As he spoke, one of his hands slid down your stomach and began to rub slow circles on your clit. This was met by another watery yell from you, and you felt Jack's teeth on your cheek as he chuckled. “Ooh, now that feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed. “Fuck, I love it when my girls scream. Let me hear you again.” He swatted your clit with his hand and, like clockwork, you cried out for him.

He sped up the pad of his finger on your clit, rewarding you for your obedience. “Just like that,” he said. “Let those fuckers out there in the parlor here you.” He slapped you between the legs again, and that’s when, seemingly without warning, the brutal throbbing you’d been feeling tumbled over into an explosion, like a hot water balloon bursting in your pelvis. You wailed and rolled forward, your bones gelatinous.

Jack caught you by the shoulders before you could flop onto the bed and lowered you the rest of the way down. “There we go,” he praised as your orgasm rocked through you. “That-a-girl.”

You offered him a weak smile and then realized he couldn’t even see it because your face was in the blanket.

As soon as your climax fizzled away, Jack grabbed ahold of your knees and turned you over onto your back. Then he pulled out of you for the very last time with a lewd squelching noise. Your entire lower body felt shriveled and deflated as you watched him give his erection a few self-indulgent strokes.

He rolled his head back with a loud “mmm,” and several long strings of white, mucus-y liquid began shooting out of the tip.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped to the ceiling. Air was getting caught in the emotional stickiness of your throat as you tried to catch your breath. Jack’s semen was splattering across your stomach. “Oh my gosh.”

#jfk #john f kennedy #jfk x reader #jfk x you #john f kennedy x reader #smut #the kennedys #john f kennedy fanfiction

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