𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣.

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙣𝙚

❝ 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙨 𝙄'𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞

- So I noticed there isn't many historical JFK x reader fics, and in response I have decided to take the plunge. It really is daddy issues, isn't it? Anyway, lmao, enjoy, I don't own any of these characters/real life people, the reader has she/her pronouns, no hate towards Jackie Kennedy, because she was great, updates will probably be really slow, thanks for reading!! <33

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You were nervous.

You knew you needed this job. For all the struggles your father had gone through, for all the love your mother had displayed to you, for all the history-book reading you had done in middle school, for all the times you had almost given up, this job was the ultimate goal. This job was the ultimate dream. This dream was now residing in an office room, the time right now later in the dying afternoon. You had skipped lunch for this job. You usually never skipped lunch. That's how important it was to you.

A chance to prove yourself. A chance to discern the meaning of the ink on your skin. A chance, a chance to just be someone important in this small world.

"And why do you want to work as an intern, miss Y/N?" The interviewer in front of you questioned, carefully adjusting his position around, so his seating on the polished wood of his chair was more comfortable for his back. You had prepared for this question, you had prepared to stay cool, calm, and collected, all throughout the interview.

You just had to take it one genuine thought at a time.

"Well, sir, I'm fascinated with the White House, and I also enjoy helping people without expecting any award. I'm a good listener, and I can easily read people's emotions. I think these traits will help me, if I was to secure this job." You answered with those slow, thought-out sentences, carefully assessing the interviewer's face for any form of reaction, however subtle that might be.

"I see. What do you think you can bring to this job, miss Y/N?" You took a long pause, then pursing your scented, pulp lips. "Kindness. And generosity. Good traits to have, you know? Traits that make me a trustable person. If I'm anything at all, I try to be kind. That's all I want to be in life. Even through all the struggles." The interviewer nodded, shifting around the many various papers on his desk which you had filled out accordingly, with your name, age, address, etc.

"I'm assuming you have your own tattoo, miss?"

And not just any randomly chosen tattoo, but an actual soulmate tattoo. Every single person was supposed to have one, the ink on their skin displaying the heart and mind of everyone's selected, universe-approved, destined, 100% acceptable soul, mate. It was all failproof. No mistakes had ever been made in the soulmate business so far. It was all concentre stuff, mind you.

In response to the slightly personal question, you rolled your sleeve up, awkwardly showcasing the large, detailed American flag printed plainly on your right forearm. This flag was also especially bright, and shaded in vibrant, toned colour, to top things all off.

It was quite the sight to behold. It was the grandest soulmate tattoo you had ever seen, and you had seen several other ones before, from the likes of your friends and family.

"Wow. Do you know what that means, miss Y/N?"

You shook your head in fear, expecting some akin to a mean telling off, or a premature firing from the job you had only just signed up for. "It means your soulmate is the president of the United States, miss. Aside from being an interviewer for the White House, I'm also an expert on soulmate tattoos, and I can recognize an important one when I see it. I have a strong feeling about this one. Very strong feeling. It's very important. It's rare to have a coloured tattoo. And I see one right in-front of me, right now."