#makes me really want to go see nude marble sculptures now...

[vfee]

I've come to a point in my asexuality where I think I experience a phantom of horniness, like horniness twice removed and filtered thru four SSRIs but my reaction is kinda just like damn that's neat. Anyway.

#it's like i understand that sex couls hypothetically be appealing instead of feeling unilaterally disgusted #but i dont want to enact on the horniess. i just want to observe the human form. #makes me really want to go see nude marble sculptures now... #asexuality #dont know what the term for this flavor of ace is but it's an interesting development

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader are married. he refers to readers breasts and makes a lewd joke. divider by cafekitsune my most beloved | wc 822

“That one looks like you.”

Squeezing Satoru’s bicep where your hand rests against it, arm looped through his, you giggle and shake your head. The statue in front of you is flesh made marble, a woman with thighs that maybe on a really good day resemble yours so painstakingly crafted that crowds gather to see her. She’s beautiful, a depiction of a goddess from fables you are both vaguely familiar with.

Is this really how he sees you? It makes those same butterflies he always manages to create stir in your belly and you wrinkle your nose, taking a peek up at him but looking away to admire the beauty depicted in front of you.

“You’ve already charmed me, Satoru. You don’t have to tell tall tales.” His gaze shifts from the sculpture to you, something you can feel rather than witness. He scoffs and tilts his head, shifting from standing beside you to in front of you, arms still linked together.

 “You always say that when I compliment you. Why?”

Laughing, you reach to pinch his side with your freehand and he dodges just in the nick of time. It’s preventative, he always giggles and causes a scene when you touch the tender ticklish spot right at his hip bone, and a museum in another country on a trip the two of you had to bend your schedules to go on is not the place to have a tickle fight. He traps your hand in his and deposits it at your side with a smug half smile.

“Let’s not get into it right now. I’ll just say thank you for the compliment and we can move on.”

Never one to take being put off gracefully, he crowds against you until there is zero space between your bodies. You worry about the PDA being seen as offensive or too much and glance around the mostly empty on a weekday museum where everyone else is fairly ignorant of your existence. It’s just the two of you, as always and not just in your head this time. Smiling, you let him embrace you and rest his balled hands against the small of your back, your entire body leaning into his side.

“You know, I’d have a house full of sculptures and paintings of you just like that if you’d let me,” he mumbles under his breath to bait you. You laugh aloud, pressing your cheek to his arm. “What, nude?” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and raises his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses. “Obviously. Or clothed or in a gown or in water or tangled in our bed sheets.” 

Pausing to take a breath, he’s surprised to see you already looking up at him when he gazes down at you. He wishes he could capture this with more than just his eyes, his phone and heart. He has painted you before and would create a thousand more odes to his beauty if he had more time on his hands and you’d let him. You’re so eager to disbelieve your own beauty, you haven’t sat to be painted by him in years. 

Satoru makes a mental note to rectify that as soon as the two of you get home but continues to speak now that he has your undivided attention, smirking, all dimples and mischief and the things you love the most about him, the tenderness in your glance a reflection of how you feel.

“I’m just saying. I’m sure I could find some sculptor to carve my pretty wife and would do those,” he glances down at your chest and you roll your eyes half-heartedly, still wearing the smile he put on your face with his casual comparison of your likeness to that of a goddess. “The artistic justice they deserve.”

Despite the tongue in cheek joking, he can be such a romantic when he wants to be. You kind of feel he’s laying it on a little thick because you’re on vacation but what’s the harm in having fun when it is luxuriously just the two of you, the rarity that it is?

Smiling up at him, you offer a better solution.

“Maybe they can sculpt both of us. We can see if they’ll do that,” you subtly reach down and pat just below his belt buckle before he can swat at your hand or turn on his Infinity to keep you away, pulling your hand away as quickly as you can. “Some justice too.”

Now that’s an idea he appears to like, his smirk sliding into a full smile. You pat his arm and separate yourself from him, only to be met with a whine. You reach behind you and grab his hand, fingers intertwining as naturally as they always do, pulling him along with you.

“Now let me show you which one reminds me of you,” you tease him, smiling over your shoulder. 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kendall writes #satoken

[tsukishumai]

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky. 

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out. 

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace. 

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously. 

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift. 

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly. 

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head. 

Semi Nude. 

You blinked once. Then twice. 

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands. 

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe. 

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway. 

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant. 

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro. 

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way. 

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes. 

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream. 

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs. 

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin. 

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind. 

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden. 

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home. 

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out. 

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you. 

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.” 

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!” 

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you. 

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture. 

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose. 

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles. 

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear. 

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves. 

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.” 

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you. 

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip. 

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb. 

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze. 

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought. 

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you. 

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him. 

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing. 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani. 

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t. 

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year. 

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected. 

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush. 

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs. 

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning. 

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.” 

“No, I definitely know you —“ 

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto. 

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door. 

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?” 

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out. 

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket. 

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder. 

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.” 

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“ 

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door. 

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in. 

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare. 

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen. 

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door. 

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?” 

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door. 

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift. 

#bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #bokuto fluff #bokuto kotaro headcanon #bokuto koutaro scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #haikyuu!! fic

[sciapod]

Bathtub Photoshoot 💦

Pairing: Henry Cavill x First Person-POV (Female, or at least X wears a bra and has breasts)

Summary: Little private photosesh' with Henners and then some.

Warnings: Dry humping but let's just call it grinding. Edging. 18+ to be safe!! Contains smut. You might be able to find the tiniest bit of angst. And bit of fluff.

Word count: 2.5K

Not beta’ed! I take full responsibility for this fuckup.

Inspired/prompted by this post by @cavillfics

Masterlist

I obviously don't own Henry Cavill, nor do I know him IRL, so it goes without saying that this is a figment of my imagination.

(I took the liberty to edit the photo just a bit and don’t know who to credit for the original edit. Let me know if you know, so I can give credit where it's due.)

Happy reading 💦

---

“Babe, I've got an idea! Can you do something for me, please?”

When I heard you coming through the front door, I rushed to meet you there. You were finally home again and was hanging your jacket on the coat rack when I found you.

“Oh, well,” you reply, “I really want to just lean back, maybe take a shower or something. It’s been a long week, babe. And hello, by the way.”

You step over to me, reach around my waist and pull me against your firm body.

“Mhm, you smell lovely,” you whisper in my hair. I sigh, then wiggle myself free of your embrace.

“Henry, listen,” I look up at you with my best attempt at puppy eyes. You breathe deeply and turn your face, scratching mine with your stubble. It sends shivers through my body.

“Okay,” you hum as your hands roam my body, finding their way to my bare thighs then sneaking up beneath my robe, “tell me.”

I grab your hips and press my core against your thigh as I lean backwards, looking up at you, “I want to take some pictures … of you.”

Your face goes through a range of emotions; surprised, suspicious, smirking, friendly and finally incredibly charismatic: Front-page-style smile.

“That’s the one!” I say with excitement.

“Which one?” you tease, furrowing your brow and looking all suspicious again.

“You know perfectly well, you buffoon!” I say, as I slap your chest playfully.

My entire body lifts when you laugh. You kiss my forehead and twirl some of my hair between a few fingers. Your eyes shift, gazing at various areas of my face. I sigh, then reach for your hands, the one playing with my hair and the other, which I find gently caressing the lace of my panties.

I hold your hands between us and look up at my man.

“You do realize, of course, that you are basically a Greek god carved out of stone.”

“I have been told so, yes.”

“And you do realize that every artist needs a muse, a model, to create from.”

“I have a faint idea of that, yes,” you say, smirking down at me.

“And I happen to be short of a project, and subject, for my portfolio.”

“I see,” your smile broadens, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Henry!”

My declining patience must have been obvious somewhere in my face or perhaps my exclamation, because you burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you do so. I can’t help but melt a little.

“Tell me what you need me to do, darling,” you say, stroking my hands with your thumbs. I feel warmth spread through my chest. Your face softens and I feel the warmth spread further down.

“Fuck,” I breathe, casting my eyes to the floor. I’m suddenly filled with all kinds of insecurities, imposter syndrome and such, but there’s a reason why you’re my man. You sense it immediately and lift my hands to your lips, kissing them sincerely.

“You’ve got this, babe.”

I sigh, “I know, sweetheart. It's just… Urgh.”

You kiss my forehead.

“Tell me your idea.”

“I…” My voice breaks. You lift my chin up with a single finger, as if it were suddenly light as a feather, forcing me to look into your striking blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t have a concrete idea. I just knew that I wanted you to be in the photos.”

You smile, almost apologetically, “Okay, look. I really want to help. But I’m so damn tired. I’ve got an idea, though, of how we may be able to hit two birds with one stone.”

“Okaay?” I say, a slight tinge of hope seeping into my core again.

“I need a bath–”

“–I can’t take a nude picture of you!”

You laugh again, but shake your head, “No, silly. Let me finish.”

My cheeks flush scarlet.

“I need a bath, but instead of taking a shower, I’ll jump in the tub. Once in there, you can have me do whatever you want.”

I squint my eyes, then see a lightbulb flash on.

“YES!” I almost yell, running my hands up your torso and leaning in for a kiss.

“Yes,” I repeat, then press my lips against your sculpted ones. It is as if your lips curl to a smile amidst the kiss.

“Yes,” I say one last time, meeting your eyes, “If you get the water running, I’ll collect my gear.”

Your hands go wandering about on my hips again, dragging my robe up and making my hairs stand on end. You look down at me with a confident smile, saying, “great minds think alike.”

I fight off the urge to kiss you again and instead draw away from you. You catch the waistband of my robe and it slides off as I step away, revealing the new set of lingerie I’m wearing underneath. I stand, looking at you with what I imagine is the expression of a suspicious feline. You, on the other hand, make a low whistle and shake your head in slow motion, clearly surprised and pleased to see what I was hiding beneath. Then you nod toward the living room, signalling I get on with finding my camera.

It takes me a few minutes to find the right lens. When I enter the bathroom, you’re in the process of unbuckling your belt. The tap is running and there’s already a bit of water in the tub.

“Wait,” I say, stopping you just as you’re about to pull your jeans down, “I think I want you in the water dressed.”

You stare for a moment, shrug, say “sure,” then proceed to tug your jeans over your perky bum again.

“Right, erm,” I think for a moment, “No, you know what? Lose the pants, but keep the t-shirt on.”

“Lose the pants,” you repeat and let your jeans fall to the floor. As you stand back up, I realize something.

“We might have a problem,” I say, eyeing the hefty bulge in your boxers.

You follow my gaze, noticing the same problem, then nod in agreement.

“But then again,” you say, “what did you expect, looking like that?” you hint at my open robe and lingerie.

We both shrug, then burst laughing.

“I guess we’ll just have to make it work!” I say, “Now, in the tub with you, buddy.”

You feel the temperature of the water and deciding that it’s decent, turn off the tap, step in and lie down. There’s not a lot of water in there, but I’m assuming it will do. You look up at me with anticipation, “Now what?”

I squint at you, finding the bulge slightly distracting, basically towering above the waterline like another Burj Khalifa. Obviously, you notice my lack of response.

“Hey, babe!” you say, snapping me out of it. I feel my nether region clench.

“Okay, okay!” I shake my head to wake up. You shake yours too, smirking at me.

“We need to do something about that,” I say.

“I can try to hide it?” you suggest.

“How?” I squint. It’s a mastodon of a package you has stored down there, I think to myself.

“Anyway, I need to find a position to photograph you from.”

I begin taking random photos of you from various angles and perspectives, simultaneously adjusting the settings on the camera as I do so. Meanwhile, you roll around to one side, then the other, then back again. The squeaking sounds of your body rubbing against the sides of the tub while you change poses makes the whole situation rather comedic, and I'm convinced you're doing it even worse on purpose. Determined to be somewhat professional, I try to ignore your distractions.

“It’s a good thing we have such good lighting in here,” I say, gazing around the small room, pretending to be focused and ignorant of your attempts at sabotage.

“How do you want me, babe? I feel like… I don’t even know? A fish out of water,” you say, doubting your own wording, “or something like that.”

I sigh, “I know, I get it. I need to think. We’ve also still got that… situation… going on.” I gesture at the, no less apparent, tent between your legs.

“Okay,” you say calmly, “I’ll just lie back and relax, while you think of something.”

“Good.”

As you settle into a comfortable position, I mentally run through the various “golden rules” of photography that I can remember.

Then it’s as if I notice the obvious. The absolute god-like adonis carved in marble in front of me: My initial inspiration. Your white t-shirt, soaked from all the turning and splashing around you did, is sticking to your chest and abs, enhancing the lines of your muscular torso, yet still in a perfectly suggestive fashion; somewhat similar to the drapery you see on these same sculptures. In a fit of impulse, I crawl up to stand on the edges of the tub.

You open your eyes –awoken by my scramblings– fear in your eyes as you reach for me, “be careful, babe!”

“No no, darling! Stay put!” I say, “I’m perfectly safe. It’s dry. My feet are dry. I’m stable, but thank you.” I smile, reassuringly. Suspicious yet accepting, you lower your arms and lie back down. I notice your eyes trail down my exposed body. Lust now clear as daylight in your gaze.

“I think I’ve got the photo soon, babe, then we’re done,” I explain. “Just close your eyes for me.”

You shake your head and smile, then do as I said.

Your head rests on the back of the tub, but your fingers begin fidgeting … around your nether region.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I ask between photos.

“No…” you smirk, eyes still closed, but you shift and rest your hands awkwardly on your stomach instead.

“We can’t have that,” I say, “you’re covering the main part of the photo,” I tease.

You open your eyes, still smirking but not saying a word.

“And you’re revealing, exposing, what we need to hide,” I try to hold back my laugh.

“Okay,” I continue, “what about… what if you hold your t-shirt at the hem and stretch it down to cover your crotch. Place your other hand casually beside it. Yeah, like that! Exactly, babe. Beautiful.”

I take a couple of photos and look at them on the tiny screen.

“Right, hold that pose, but just… kinda relax, if you can. I’ll take a few shots more and then you’re done!”

You close your eyes again and begin taking deep breaths, lessening the tension that must have been building in your shoulders over the last few days. As peace falls upon your face and body, I take the last photos. After quickly reviewing them on the tiny screen, I decide that I’m done. I turn off my camera and place it on the shelf above the tub before crawling down to sit on the edge of the tub, my feet in the water between your legs.

“Okay, it’s a wrap!”

Your eyes flash open and you let go of your t-shirt. The fabric bounces back, revealing your hairy tummy, teasing me. You look up at me with mischief, then give your member a squeeze.

“Get down here,” you say, almost ferocious in your voice.

I feel myself get all giddy with sudden anticipation as you rise like Poseidon from the water. Before I can do anything other than yelp, you pull me down onto you and with a splash and a thud I land against your rock-hard body. I'm instantly soaked.

“Finally,” you mutter, drenching my face and neck with hungry kisses. Your hands tease the collar of my robe before sliding it over my shoulders. Your eyes explore the curves of my upper body, then you adjust me so that I sit straddled upon you. You don’t speak a word, but your eyes and body say everything I need to know.

I feel your girth throbbing against me. You slide my robe all the way off and without taking your eyes off me, you cast it aside. Then your hands slide up my body. You cup my breasts tenderly, admiring the lace and how the new style of bra suits my breasts. You lick your lips as your thumbs begin stroking my hardening nipples. I sigh and begin grinding against the tip of your member.

You sit up and proceed to kiss and bite the flesh of my breasts. Gently holding the lace aside with your fingers, you capture my nipples between your teeth, ever so gently, before circling your tongue around them with exquisite attention. While squeezing my breasts together, you kiss them one after the other, back and forth, before venturing up to my collarbone and neck. All I can do is whimper and moan.

Then you grasp my hair, pulling my head back. Between kisses and bites on my exposed neck, you breathe damp, sultry words onto my skin. Expressions of how I’ve been a tease, how patient you’ve been and how much you want me now. I want to answer, but I can’t do anything but mutter incoherencies; your throbbing cock eagerly pressing against my core and thus stealing all of my vocabulary.

My breath quickens as I grind harder, cursing the fabrics that keep our cores from meeting, merging. Then you push me towards you, allowing our lips to meet in hungry kisses. My bra loosens. You must have managed to open and take it off me with your other hand, before also casting it aside. You grab at my liberated breasts, then sit up and pull your drenched t-shirt over your head. It lands on the bathroom floor with a splash. My hands instinctively seek the wet fur of your stomach and chest, momentarily squeezing your pecs, then wander south again.

Your eyes read pure hunger and you buck your hips. As I fall back down from the jump, my core meets the powerful strength of your pelvis, bucking yet again. I gasp, overcome by a mixture of arousal and humor. You buck again, a laugh escapes me and somehow, after a few times of this, you’ve managed to free your erection from your boxers. I didn’t notice, but at some point you must have turned on the tap again, because I see you turn it back off. I guess this increased level of water also explains the more slow-motion-like sensation I experience as I land back down on your pelvis; a somewhat softer landing than before. In my own defence, I was entranced and my mind was not functioning at 100%, hence the questionable description. Anyway, both our hips are now submerged under water and I simply shake my head at your mischievous ways. You smirk and pull me down to a deep kiss, slapping my ass through the water, making more water splash all over the place. Everything in the room is certainly wet by now.

I grind against your exposed and infinitely hard cock as your fingers slider under the lace. Your hands grab my cheeks with determination, enhancing the force and enabling you to better thrust against my grinding motion. The friction is causing short-circuits in my brain, making me see colours that aren’t there. My first climax is staggeringly near, but just before I get to release, you buck your hips again, making me scoot off your cock. A devious grin is smeared across your chiseled face.

“You had me waiting, sweetheart. Now it’s my turn to tease.”

---

Thanks for reading my shitpost! Please leave a comment of your thoughts, however nonsensical they may be 💜🙏

Tags in the reblog 🖤Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

#henry cavill #henry daddy #henry cavill is daddy #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill smut #henry #henry cavill x first person pov #henry cavill x poc reader #henry cavill x any colour reader #real person fic #real person fiction #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill bathtub scene #sciapod writes smut

[dxmmymxmmywrites]

Caught Your Fancy

Maito Gai x F! Reader Smut

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, pwp

There is not nearly enough Might Guy smut, so I’m here to fill the void! Personally I think this dude would absolutely fawn over a sassy lady, so this was a real treat to write.

Enjoy it ya filthy animals 🖤

...

It was leaner than your other leg, but it looked somewhat normal. You could move mostly on your own with some aid, which often came in the form of your staff. Despite having your dreams of following a nindo crushed, you still had dreams for your life you wanted to make a reality.

And there were many bumps in the road. You would trudge along during your day to day life, trying to be generous to the community while also building up your reputation as a creative. You dabbled in a bit of everything— writing, sculpture, painting— whatever could keep your hands and mind busy. It did wonders to stave off your boredom, and it gave you your own personal haven when the day was done. You could retreat inside yourself for rest.

It was where you were immersed now, sketching along in ink to quiet your mind. Your thoughts had been raging since earlier in the day, happy as it had been. Your hands seemed to move on their own as you doodle with an anatomy textbook open for reference. Some strokes collected into refined nudes, others were simplistic doodles of hands or feet or what have you.

Critters scuttling outside your window finally brought you out of your reverie. When they quieted down, you finally took in your last sketch that had taken up most of your parchment.

You’d drawn a man with strong features just from the image of him that constantly plagued your brain. His bright smile, his sweet dimples— that stupid bowl cut.

You scooted your supplies and paper to the side of your workbench so you had enough space to groan into your hands.

...

You’ve been companions for what seems like ages. Calling Gai a friend sounded odd due to the nature of your... everything, but it was the closest word you had to describe him.

He made you laugh, and you teased him. He walked you home when you ran into each other at markets, and you had stopped in on a practice or two to watch him with his genin.

Most of the time, he would attempt to woo you and you would play hard to get. Gai most likely enjoyed it— the thrill of the chase in the springtime of youth or whatever— but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it too.

Spending time with him on little adventures always left you giddy, feeling like you could actually run a mile without falling on your face. He would send an unapologetic but weirdly sincere compliment your way, and you wouldn’t show how it affected you until you were parting ways once more.

You’re expecting it to repeat as he walks with you to your home on the outskirts of the village now. You had managed to run into him when you’d run out for a last minute ingredient for your dinner. It was like he always managed to find you in a sour mood and make you feel at least a little bit better— you had been exhausted beforehand, but you were happily content listening to him describe his most recent training session with his students.

“—That reminds me!” He perks up like a puppy. “A friend of mine recently said you were once enrolled at the academy! You never told me you pursued ninjutsu!”

It wasn’t meant to be a harsh comment, but you felt yourself wince internally. Somehow, you felt more painfully aware of your leg than ever.

“Yeah... that was a long time ago. Yknow,” you tapped your limp foot with your staff. “Before this happened.”

The panic in Gai’s expression rises quickly, but fades just as suddenly. “I wouldn’t want it to hurt you— but if you ever have an interest in revisiting the basics, let me know!”

You laugh a bit. At least he was trying to make you feel better, pity from others could get tiring.

“You trying to make me one of your genin?” You playfully jabbed.

“Only if you’d like to! Though I wouldn’t mind a one-on-one practice. However you are most comfortable.”

His voice calms towards the end, to a casual but gentle tone you don’t often hear him use. Gai took you by surprise often as well.

And it really was touching. You never thought you could get back to how you were, or that you could ever be an adequate ninja. It didn’t stop you from yearning for it— something you had hinted to Gai before. He had paid attention.

It made a sort of heat rise to your face. Very few could get that reaction out of you, and Gai’s accomplished smile confirmed he knew just as much.

“It’s a kind offer... thanks.” You finally spoke as the two of you approached your humble abode.

His mouth opened to leap into a grandiose plan of action for your training— but you shifted to plant a kiss on his cheek and he stopped in his tracks.

“I’ll think about it, Gai.”

...

Since the time you had shared your vulnerabilities to him, Gai became even more of a common occurrence in your life.

He would nearly bust down your door at some ungodly hour of the morning and start making you a healthy, youthful breakfast. If he ran across a book you’d been dying to read, he would find you wherever to deliver it himself. And whenever you had some opportunities to work within the village, he would make a point to stop by and insist on you filling him in on your day.

It took you off guard. How could someone be so... purely good? How could he be such a bright light to you, and not want a thing in return?

You swore that even if you tried to run from him, he would always manage to get to you. Like running from a ray of sunshine at lunchtime.

So as he reached out to you more and more, you became more available. Parts of you that had been walled up for years came crumbling down with every act of kindness he gave you. Whatever he did, you practically melted for him. And it often scared the shit out of you.

But still, good things continued to happen. You made time to visit Gai and his team when you were invited to the training grounds. You dragged him by the ear to your home several times to feed him a purely indulgent meal, saying he couldn’t just eat superfoods for the rest of his life. You start writing down little poems that make you think of him, and go out of your way to stick them in his pockets when you think he doesn’t notice.

He does. He reads each one, marvels over your calligraphy, and keeps them tucked away in an old jumpsuit.

Around the time your poems became a habit, you start inviting Gai and the genin to your home for dinner every weekend. You come to know each of his students individually, and you grow to love each of them so much.

Lee marvels you with his spirit, and his willingness to scarf down whatever you cook is flattering. Tenten makes you laugh every time you see her with her quick wit, and Neji becomes intrigued with your interests in the arts, and admires whatever project you’ve attached yourself to at the moment.

You don’t catch him in the act, but Gai steals more looks at you in these calm moments with his students more than ever. There’s a moment when you poke fun at Neji with a genuine laugh that he feels his heart skip a beat.

How did he find such a beautiful, youthful spirit like yours? He never wants to let you go.

...

After you had really come out of your shell, you finally agreed to meet Gai for a private session on the sparring grounds. It made you a little nervous, but the excitement in your chest pushed you further and further until you were rushing out the door in whatever workout gear you could find.

You arrive a little early, willing to wait for him if need be. Yet as you approach the encirclement of combat dummies in the field, you can hear the familiar smacks of someone putting the dummies to good use.

The sun finally moves out of your eyes, and your greeted with the sight of an unabashedly shirtless Gai landing hit after hit with no margin for error.

It’s... a religious experience to watch him move. Sweat glistens over his battle hardened muscles with each punch, and you carefully watch a trail of sweat glide down the center of his abs down to the prominent “V” shape of his hipbones.

You try not to drool.

He notices your presence and turns to give you one of his glorious smiles.

“You made it! Glad to see it wasn’t too early for you.”

“I was... motivated,” you manage, watching him step closer to you.

If he noticed your bothered state, he didn’t pay it any mind.

“I have a plan to get you used to the movement of combat. You’re certainly in shape, you only need to learn to follow the flow of combat to start.”

It vaguely makes sense to you, but he takes your hand and leads you to a larger training pit void of combat dummies. You almost don’t want to let go of his hand, but then he lets go and begins to circle you.

“Throw a punch, or hit me with your staff. Let’s begin slowly, and then I can follow your movements.”

It’s nerve wracking, but you can feel the butterflies going insane within you. You slowly go to swing your staff at him, but he slowly counters you and explains his reasonings as he does so. With each movement you make, his process becomes more calculated— and he gives you enough time to consider his words and apply them to your next move.

Like a game of chess, you work in tandem and simultaneously against each other. To be so in sync with him becomes almost intoxicating, especially zoning into his voice and following the grace of his marble-like body. He becomes the epitome of temptation.

Was this his plan all along?

In your single moment to falter, he is able to catch you from behind with a strong arm held around your throat. Your eyes bulge. But your ovaries do a summersault.

“And because of this, you must stay grounded in combat. And not in your head.”

You can feel a shiver convulse throughout your body at his voice being so close, so hot and breathe against your skin. This time, he does notice— and goes stiff.

He goes to say your name, but you painfully grip his wrist and then shove him to the ground.

He jumps when the end of your staff stamps itself inches from his ear, but he feels himself reddening at how tightly your straddling his waist. And those eyes— they sear him to the bone.

“Are you having fun?”

Your words are loaded, coated with either honey or venom and he can’t tell which. Does he care for the difference?

“Are you feeling inspired by my lesson? Do you already feel yourself improving?” He manages that picturesque smile again, though it’s certainly strained.

You lean closer to him, and he gulps. Your stare never wavers.

“I think I could teach you a few things, Maito Gai.”

The deadly desire in your voice makes him feel like he’s floating but falling at the same time. What are your plans? What would you have him do to you?

What would you do... to him?

His determined grin grows, and you feel your heart rate quicken.

“I’m at your mercy.”

You can’t take it anymore. Your freehand shoots to grab the back of his neck and your lips crash against his. He frees his hands then, and they heatedly run up your sides and cup your back until he cups your face with the most tenderness possible.

His kiss, however, is not so tender. Your tongues passionately intertwine with a ferocity that riles the both of you up with each passing second. You moan deliciously into his mouth, and he seems to melt into you.

It leaves him open to you pulling the back of his hair so you can shove your tongue farther into his throat. He continued to groan such sexy noises into your kiss until you begin to fervently grind on his lap.

When you break for air, you slowly grind your core over the outline of his growing hard-on.

“A-ah! Oh, darling—“ he heatedly moans again, making you wetter than ever, and pulls you in for another kiss.

His grip on your pelvis tightens as he sits up, and with you perched on top of him, he takes advantage of your exposed neck. His flushed lips trail lovely open-mouthed kisses all over your pulse-point, and you feel yourself wrap your legs around him as hard as you can.

You grind continually onto him, and keen lowly when he sucks a hickie into your neck just as he times a roll of his hips expertly between your legs.

“Hooooly fuuuck, Gai,” you say as your head rolls back. “Can we do this?”

“Absolutely,” he groans into your neck, pulling at your back so your sweaty torsos rub together.

How did you get so lucky to find him? You look down at him, breathing heavily, into his equally lust-blown pupils. You cup his chin to give him one more passionate kiss, where you lick over his lips and revel in how weak he is for your touch.

And then, you knock him down into the ground with a thump to his chest. Leaning over him so he has a face full of your tits, you instruct.

“I’m gonna ride you. But first, I’m going to sit on your face and blow you into next week.”

The blush across his face is prominent, from the joyful mixture of heat and hormones. But he excitedly smiles.

“Yes ma’am...” he says contentedly, freeing his dick from his pants while you readjust to kick yours off.

In no time at all, you reverse and lean your ass onto his face. He enthusiastically grips your thighs, and pulls your underwear to the side to place a long stripe to your soaked cunt.

You inhaled, but then he quickly pulled you into him and plunged his tongue into your sopping pussy. You shriek.

“Oh fuck! Holy fuck, Gai!” You whine as he hums into your cunt, and you feel your legs quiver as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Hearing you rendered so helpless on top of him spurred him on, and his grip tightens. You can’t submit to him just yet— no, you’ve been dreaming of this for too long to back down now.

You stretch forward as much as you can manage and encircle the head of his cock with your lips. At that moment you knew Kakashi was full of shit when he mentioned Gai had an acorn of a cock— he was clearly a grower, and fisting his girth made your mouth water.

You begin to bob your head on his length, and you feel his pace weaken. It spurs you on, and you try to open your mouth as far as you can to suck him with all your worth.

Gai continues to eat you out to his heart’s content, and you feel him shake as you drool over his immense cock. You feel your determination building again despite the tremors of pleasure overcoming you— and you take him to the back of your throat. You hum as you arch your back, and run your nails tightly down his muscular thighs to hold him in place.

He sputters against your cunt, and you hold his legs to the ground while you render him undone, swirling your tongue around every detail of his thick cock.

As he begins to tremor again, you take a hold of his cock and run the flat of your thumb over his head, teasing his slit.

“Are you ready for me?” You breathe onto his cock, and flatly lick the precum dribbling from his slit.

He exhales as you rise from his face, legs shaking. He leans onto his elbows for a moment, smiling as he wipes your juices from his mouth to lick off his fingers.

“I’m always ready! But especially for you, my love” Gai says in a deeper, more loving voice then you’ve ever heard him use before.

It makes you ache in the best possible way.

You jostle your weaker leg over his lap, and he puts a hand out to hold you as you adjust. Sitting down, you intentionally adjust the lips of your pussy to glide over his shaft, and slowly grind along his length as you kiss under his jaw. Gai moans deep in his chest, running his hands over your back, trying to ground himself through the pleasure.

“D-don’t tease,” he manages, and leans into your touch as you lick up his jugular.

His voice is a symphony to you, while he squirms under your touch. You know you’re both ready then— so you angle his cock to finally sink onto his length.

Both of your mouths open in ecstasy we you ease onto his length, marveling at how your wetness lets his girth take you. It takes a moment to adjust, but eventually you settle into his lap fully speared on his erection. The two of you are breathing heavily, and you’ve only just begun.

You settle your foreheads against the the other’s.

“When you’re ready,” he lightly comforts, and you nod.

You feel yourself grip him harder, and you use your legs to pull him closer to you. Your lips interlock once more, and you groan at the taste of your pussy on his tongue. It encourages you to sway your hips forward, while Gai slowly moves your ass to relish your pull.

You slide deliciously around his cock. The more he relishes in the moment, the more of a slave he becomes to the passion between you. Your bodies begin to move in a glorious rhythm, composing a beautiful dance while your gasps of pleasure begin to harmonize.

Gai takes the liberty to gentle buck into you, feeding off your pretty moans while he hits your g-spot repetitively.

You loving pull you name from his tongue, while you pant and try to see straight. You could get high off of how sweet his touches were— how deeply he looked into you.

“Ahh, fuck, Gai—“ you purr into his ear, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Harder!”

His quiet laugh is so deviant and sexy as he picks up his pace, to where he’s rutting into you with his balls slapping your skin. You can’t help but keep bouncing and bouncing on his merciless cock, thighs screaming, crying out as the noise of slapping flesh and wet squelching echos into the air.

“Take me, fucking take me!” You growl into his ear, clawing at his back to try to stay in place. “Ooooh, fucking ruin me Gai!”

“You have a filthy mouth, my love!” He exclaims, still fucking you like a damn race horse.

“And you like it, don’t you baby? You like me being a greedy for your cock?”

Your words run him through with so much shock and absolute list all at once. You punctuate the filthy whispers by biting down hard onto his shoulder— and he cries out as you set a brutal pace to milk the remainder of his stamina.

“AHHHhhh! Darling—! I’m— aAAAaag— closing in!”

You purr like a devil into his shoulder, liking the bruise you’ve left. You’re shaking like an addict, and I you know you’re close too.

“I’m gonna cum all over your cock, Green Beast! Cum for me, cum for your slut!” You pant out, and Gai nearly screams as he fucks into your pussy more furiously than ever.

In the heat of it all, you shove him to the ground again. You grab his chest and put all your weight onto him as you ride out your orgasm, moaning like a bitch in heat as you chase your highs to oblivion.

Gain holds your hips enough to mark them, forcing you down into his cock— but then he looks at you in all your glory on top of him. Sweating rivulets down your reddening skin, singing for him as you take his cock like it was made just for you. He pulls you we close as he can and lets out a strangled scream as he orgasms hard.

Tears stream down your face as you feel your pussy clamp down onto him afterwards, whining with glee we his cock throbs within you. You exhale hard, and you can feel your heart jump over the moon.

All before you collapse off of him, and lay down beside him in the grass. Both of you are dirty, exhausted, and covered in sweat— and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Somehow, you manage the strength to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re amazing.”

He grins, surprised he has enough energy to laugh. “And you are the most beautiful creature to exist.”

You laugh through a blush, and snuggle into his strong arms as he pulls you into his chest.

“I think I should train you more often!”

#maito gai #naruto #naruto x reader #gai #might guy #x reader #lemon #maito gai x reader #gai x reader #guy x reader #maito gai x reader smut #maito gai x reader lemon #might guy x reader smut #might guy x reader lemon #dom reader #dom female reader #naruto shippuden x reader #gai x reader smut #gai x reader lemon #sub gai #sub maito gai #smut

[humofun-blog]

Bob Hawke's 'big life': conversations with an Australian legend

Reading Wednesdays with Bob, the latest biography of former prime minister of Australia and Labor party heavyweight Bob Hawke, written with Derek Rielly, is a total joy, but it is also an exercise in mourning.

When it comes to politics, they just don’t make them like him anymore. These days, politicians seem to be scripted within an inch of their lives, repeating the same old boring soundbites, but in Derek Rielly’s affectionate look-back at the Hawke government, Hawke is the diametrical opposite of the modern politician.

Rielly meets me in a North Bondi cafe, overlooking the ocean. He may as well be carrying a surfboard under his arm. In truth, he looks part amphibious. Better known in the surfing world for founding Stab magazine, he also has a deep and abiding love of Australian politics. Growing up in Western Australia, Rielly was the child of a politics lecturer and current affairs were discussed around the dinner table. It was the years of Australia’s America’s Cup win, the deregulation of the economy, debates about uranium mining and the conservation of Antarctica, promises to eradicate child poverty and talk of a treaty with Indigenous Australians. It was a time when members of Hawke’s cabinet were all household names.

Part of Hawke’s appeal was personal charisma, accompanied by an honesty that Rielly reckons we don’t see too much of anymore. Now 88, he is just as vivid, profane, honest, hilarious and profoundly himself.

“Bob was a unique personality and people actually trusted him,” Rielly says. “He’d go, ‘Listen, we’re going to have to all pull together.’ And they’d go ‘Yeah, yeah Bob, we’ll do it for you’.”

This biography of Hawke was originally pitched as a roadtrip narrative, with Rielly accompanying Hawke back to WA as he campaigned for Bill Shorten in the 2016 federal election. It became more modest due to Hawke’s uncertain health. Each Wednesday for a year, Rielly would bring Hawke a cigar (only one – they were too expensive for Rielly to buy one for himself) and a topic to be discussed: love, the economy, the Middle East, the environment, Keating, family, the trade union movement. The book is comprised of these conversations at Hawke’s house in Northbridge, Sydney, interspersed with reflections from Australian public figures such as Richard Woolcott, John Howard, Kim Beazley, Gareth Evans, Ross Garnaut and John Singleton.

The title riffs off the hugely successful self-help book Tuesdays with Morrie, in which a younger man spends time with his dying professor, soaking up the wisdom of a life well-lived. Here though, Hawke’s wisdom is a little less saccharine.

On the issue of euthanasia, for example, he says: “If I was to lose my marbles … I don’t expect it to be a pillow pressed exuberantly over my nose, but I’m sure she [his wife, Blanche d’Alpuget] could organise something with a family doctor.”

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 Queen Elizabeth II and then Australian PM Bob Hawke at the running of the Queen Elizabeth Stakes, 1988. Photograph: The Sydney Morning Herald/Fairfax Media via Getty Images

And on the right way to die: “On a golf course. Blanche’s stepfather did it that way. He completed a round of golf and he was sitting in the cart, filling in the card. Fell over dead. I reckon that was pretty cute.”

Today’s politicians, Hawke says, “are frightened by people” and Trump is particularly on the nose: “This bloke’s insane … he’s just a passing aberration.”

The quips from Hawke’s contemporaries are possibly even more amusing, peppered with curses and hilariously caustic observations of their friend and colleague.

Yes, Wednesday’s with Bob is undoubtedly a fan book. Even the cover has a strong element of myth-making to it. There’s Hawke, silver quiff under a cloud of cigar smoke, looking raffish, like a slightly younger, happier Samuel Beckett.

Rielly, who had no personal connection to Hawke, had to get past a series of gatekeepers – not the least Hawke’s wife, the highly accomplished writer and biographer Blanche d’Alpuget – to secure the interviews.

“The first time I interviewed Bob, I was pretty nervous. I had three recording devices in my bag. I just didn’t want to fuck it up. I was dressed in a suit and everything,” says Rielly, who looks very much to be a T-shirt kind of guy.

“I get to the house, all the doors were open, then I see Bob and, honestly, it was like an old friend. So approachable and friendly. And he was like, ‘You got a cigar?’”

The cigar acted like an egg timer on the interviews. “I would go to his balcony at three in the arvo and the sun would get a bit lower. It was winter and he’d have a cigar, and by the end of cigar the sun would get quite low and he’d be finished and [the interview] was done for the day.”

In one chapter, Rielly’s interview is momentarily interrupted so Hawke can urinate down a drainhole on the balcony into the garden below.

As well as telling the story of the Hawke government, Rielly “really wanted to tell the love story of Blanche and Bob, because it feels like a very mature love story that has played out very cartoonishly in the press”.

So what about the infamous bathrobes on the cover of Woman’s Day?

“The story behind that is that they were at the Hyatt in the Rocks [in Sydney], and the photographer said, ‘Can you just put this on? Just one shot.’ And that’s followed them around.”

Blanche appears throughout Rielly’s book, often ducking in and out of the house with her personal trainer and offering wordly asides.

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 Then prime minister Julia Gillard (centre) with Bob Hawke (right) and his wife Blanche D’Alpuget (left). Photograph: Tracey Nearmy/AAP

“Her book, [1982’s] Robert J Hawke, convinced many that he was the right leader for the party,” says Rielly. “In many ways she is more responsible for his success than [Hawke’s former wife] Hazel. They’ve been married for 22 years, lovers for 40, friends for 50. It’s not just a flash-in-the-pan affair – and it’s incredible to see people that age so in love.”

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And also so in lust.

“She’d go to the shops or the optometrists, and he would come up behind her and nuzzle his head in her boosies and say, ‘Who is this vision of loveliness?’

“They are very physical people – still very hot for each other. They are both deeply intelligent. There’s this incredible sexual attraction but intellectual attraction too. It was the first woman he’d ever met who he could talk trade unionism with.”

Hawke’s was a big life: a Rhodes scholarship mixed with a love of the racetrack, drunken nights with embassy staff in Jakarta in the 1970s, insults, feuds and bloodletting, and wild behaviour such as receiving diplomats in the nude at poolside meetings and banishing the Singaporean prime minister to a frigid Canberra courtyard because he objected to Hawke smoking a cigar.

Stories of Hawke’s boozing run right through the book but they run alongside tales of discipline as well, when Hawke gave up the booze for 13 years while in politics.

“The drinking thing was so important to him,” says Rielly. “He didn’t want to do a shitty job as PM or embarrass his country so he gave up his great love, drinking. He didn’t drink until 1992 – it was Hazel’s birthday. Then he rediscovered how great it is.”

And now? “He’s so old now, you just go off drinking naturally as you get older. He used to only have one drink a night but that drink was a massive bucket of wine.”

The big life continued after he left office. At his 70th birthday party in 1999, wine was served from the genitals of nude sculptures. At the same party, Hawke’s great mate, advertising mogul John Singleton, gave him a quarter share in what looked to be an unpromising racehorse. The horse, Belle de Jour, went on to win millions for its owners in the 2000 Golden Slipper.

“I wouldn’t have given it to him if I knew how much he was going to fucking make,” says Singleton now.

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Singleton – who doesn’t share Hawke’s politics but created many memorable Labor advertising campaigns – has some of the best lines in the book.

On how Hawke coped with being deposed as Labor leader by Paul Keating, Singleton says: “No quivering lip like that wuss Fraser. No self-important speeches like with Gough and these other cunts. Fucking cop it on the chin and move on.”

Afterwards, aged 68, Hawke moved into Singleton’s Birchgrove mansion and learned how to live without all the prime ministerial trappings. “He learned how to buy milk and everything. You give them money, they give you milk,” says Singleton.

Hawke too had a withering side.

“It would have been scary in 1980s to be on the receiving end,” says Rielly. For example, there was his description of party rival Bill Hayden as “a lying cunt with a limited future”.

“People were a bit stronger in the 80s than they are now. Back then they would say, ‘mate, you’ve been a total dickhead’. It’s just strong leadership – if you don’t like it, get out.”

For all that though, Rielly believes Hawke most loved talking about his mother and father.

“When he talks about his dad, his parents, you forget he is a man of 88,” Rielly says. “His eyes open so wide, it’s almost like he shrinks into this gorgeous loving child, a bright boy. He just talks about how he loved him so much and how he felt very loved and how he couldn’t wait for him to get home and he’d bounce down the street. Couldn’t wait to feel his dad’s arms around him.”

• Wednesdays with Bob by Derek Rielly and Bob Hawke is available now through Macmillan Australia

December 25, 2017 at 11:38PM http://ift.tt/2DRZ8Xh