I feel like this second Ask came really soon lmao.
If you're currently taking requests, could you please do an X Drake x Reader NSFW headcannon but make it a vanilla version?
I've seen so many of those with people describing him like a beast in bed but I really cannot for the life of me imagine Drake being wild or even a little rude/arrogant. I feel like this man would turn into a blushing mess and faint on the spot if the topic of s€x ever came up, and he'd be unable to look Reader in the eye after that.
Idc if he's 33 and a Marine Captain or 233cm tall and built like a beast, he's an adorable and scared lil puppy in my eyes - testing out new waters all the time.
Hellooo!! Never too soon with me! I am a bit nervous though, I've never done this XD But it's true I have a lot of hc for this man (and all of them in that soft version you mention) so let's try!
x Drake NSFW headcanons vanilla
x Drake is not a virgin. He is also not unaware that he might be attractive to some people, cause he is constantly being called handsome by waitress and random women and men in bars, something he never quite gets used to and meets with shy chuckles, never really taking it to heart.
His experience, however, is limited to very few intimate encounters, always with strangers who made the first move and which he nervously accepted, out of pressure, or simple curiosity when he was young.
None of those three or four encounters gave him what he truly craved. He would leave those beds feeling empty and sad. His mother taught him to be a gentleman, and he felt guilty because even if the other person seemed to enjoy it, his heart simply wasn't in it.
As he began to understand himself better, he decided that all the stammering, sweating, and awkward moments simply weren't worth it.
So he has resigned himself to being alone. He has hobbies few people understand or can keep up with, and a double life as a secret agent he clings to like a workaholic so he doesn't have to think too hard about what he might be missing.
He is shy, yes, but his greatest struggle when it comes to potential romantic partners is insecurity: his father insulted him, hit him, called him a coward, and humiliated him in front of others, so Drake is a man who grew up believing that what he has is what he deserves… and that there is no point in reaching for more.
And yet he is a romantic. Despite having resigned himself to solitude, he muses and dreams of finding someone who will understand him one day. See him for who he truly is and fall in love with him. It is precisely in these moments that he finds himself hopelessly aroused, and resorts to taking matters into his own hands to find some relief.
Because of this, x Drake has a deeply intimate connection between sex and love. On the rare occasions he addresses the subject at all with someone, he instinctively reaches for expressions like making love rather than anything cruder like fucking.
When he finally finds someone he feels a true connection with (someone who respects and takes genuine interest in his hobbies, and who accepts him as he is, insecurities and strengths alike) Drake simply cannot believe it.
He doesn't want to screw it up, which makes him excessively gentlemanly. So cautious, that you eventually lose your patience and decide to take matters into your own hands: grabbing him by the furred collar of his cloack and pulling his stammering lips down to yours.
Drake needs time and patience to truly let himself go. In bed, he is acutely aware of his size and proportions, and is terrified of hurting you or making one wrong move and watching you walk out the door forever.
You will have to guide him at first. Encourage him with all the kisses and embraces his 33 years have gone without.
You'll have to talk to him, too, constantly, offering plenty of loving reassurance every time he asks, again and again if you're okay or if what he is doing feels good
And be patience because he will apologizes, too often, and for anything, something he will forget as sson as you start praising him. Because oh boy, the way his 233 cm of muscled body reacts to thouse sweet words.... how he becomes bolder and more confident with a well-placed "you're doing so well, big guy."
Once he is comfortable in bed, you are going to have to hold tight to the edges of the mattress because this man won't hold back any longer. He will give you everything he has and then some. His stamina is remarkable, and his need to pour out all the passion he's kept bottled up for so long becomes painfully urgent.
He has to work on his self-control, because your sweet sounds and the way your hips rock so teasingly whit his make the prehistoric beast inside him fight for dominance. You'll notice when it's winning: the low growling, the fists sinking in the sheets in an attempt to deny the dinosaur his coveted prey.
He usually manages. Though be warned: his canines will find your neck and bite.
When you're both done (because he is a generous and attentive lover who will do everything in his power to make sure you have as good a time) all he wants is to sink back against the headboard and hold you tight, whispering one or two ridiculous sweet nothings that would make him flush with embarrassment if his cheeks weren't already flushed and sweaty from the effort. If the relationship is more established, he'll put his glasses back on and reach for a book, reading in silence until you fall asleep in his arms.
Either way, once you're asleep, he'll lay you down with all the care in the world and stay there watching you in complete awe, wondering what he could possibly have done to deserve this happiness, how long you'll choose to keep giving it to him, and whether he will ever truly feel worthy of you.
Omg I’m obsessed with your writing. Do you think there will be a follow up of any of your hound fics? Particularly the bath one
Hello Lana!! Thank you so SO much for your message. Knowing that thera are people (real people) out there reading my things and liking them fills me with joy and encourages me to write more. To answer your questio... I'am afraid you won't like the answer! Because I don't know. All the hound's fcs were supposed to be one shots, but I deliberately left some of them open in case I had the time to continue. And particularly The Bath and The tournement winner are among them. So who knows, Lana... who knows!
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and you're about to disembark from the Victoria Punk forever, but as midnight approaches, a certain redhead will make you reconsider.
Word count: 1300
Warning: x gn!reader; some angst; fluff
All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.
A sigh leaves your lips in the form of vapor that lingers for a moment before dissipating into the cold air. You smile, looking ahead, your eyes fixed on the distant celebration and joy reigning on the island you are about to dock. There is so much happiness... It’s the last night of the year, and everyone wants to spend it celebrating with their loved ones.
Your eyes drift down to the bundles resting at your feet. Your whole life packed into those three suitcases. Not that there was much to pack, you think to yourself, you are used to moving from one place to another, anyway.
Resting your arms on the frozen railing of the Victoria Punk, you flex your numb fingers to restore circulation. Your cheeks, rosy from the icy air, soften with a hint of a bittersweet smile at what seems to be bonfires on the beach. The ship is still minutes away from docking, but you can almost smell the food roasting over the flames and hear the distant songs and laughter.
Another sigh escapes you, and your gaze shifts upward to the blanket of stars spread across the sky. It’s cloudy, but they shimmer brilliantly through the clouds, like scattered pearls floating in a deep, black sea.
Your time aboard the ship is nearly over.
You never planned to stay this long, but what was meant to be a one-week passage turned into a month, and that month, thanks to the unpredictable routes and whims of this eccentric, punk-rock crew, stretched into three.
At first, you thought the crew would be a challenge for you, like the tightly-knit group with little trust for outsiders they seemed to be. But in reality, they welcomed you with open arms sooner than you expected, making it clear that beneath the spiked hair, metal studs, and leather jackets hid a large, warm, and friendly family.
The captain, however, was a different story. From the start, he made it abundantly clear that you didn’t belong. The scowls, the tightly pressed lips, and the way he crossed his arms disapprovingly, glaring at every step you took across his deck, said it all.
But now his misery is about to end.
You are finally reaching your destination, and soon, you’ll be out of his sight for good.
Your eyes are still fixed on the sky when the sound of heavy boots thudding against the wooden deck reaches your ears. You know those steady, defiant steps by heart, and you’re surprised he’s bothered to show up to say goodbye.
“How much longer until we dock?” you ask, refusing to give him the satisfaction of turning around.
“Twenty minutes,” you hear him say.
“Good…”
You don’t say anything else. You don’t turn around either. He stays rooted in place behind you, just as silent. The only sounds are the music and chanting growing clearer as you approach the island. As a freezing breeze bites at your cheeks, you decide to speak again.
“At last, you’ll be rid of me, huh?”
“I… uh, yeah…” he mutters behind you.
Not even a basic farewell, you think, frowning as you force yourself not to care. You focus on what looks like a bunch of glowing kites soaring into the sky from the beach. But the way Kid just stands there behind you, frozen, begins to unnerve you. And what’s with that uneven breathing of his?
"I…" he starts but hesitates.
Your icy fingers tap impatiently on the railing, and with an exasperated huff, you spin around to face him.
His almost-frozen goggles keep his messy red hair in place, his oversized coat hangs loosely over his shoulders, and his painted lips curve downward into an unpleasant scowl.
Basically his usual look.
But there’s something… something in his posture you can’t quite figure out. A hint of vulnerability, perhaps? Whatever it is, he seems to be fighting it.
“Probably won’t see each other again,” you add, trying to sound casual.
His intense amber eyes lock onto yours, filled with the confusion of someone who wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
“Probably,” you barely hear him mutter with feigned nonchalance, yet a slight twitch in his face betrays him as his jaw tightens so much it looks like he might break his teeth. You shake your head, and all hope of having a cordial conversation with him leaves you.
He slowly moves to your side and rests both arms on the railing, and the two of you just stand there, staring at the beach party in the distance. There's still a few hundred meters to go, but you can already spot groups of kids setting off firecrackers and couples dancing joyfully to the rhythm of the music. As you watch another group preparing what looks like fireworks, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, Kid suddenly slouching and lowering his head in defeat.
“I CAN’T,” he gasps, finally breaking.
You immediately turn toward him, and your eyes widen in surprise at seeing such a man, his back hunched and trembling, his eyes shut tight, and his canines jutting out between his bared teeth.
"You can't what, Kid?" You raise your hand to place it on his back to calm him, but you leave it hanging in the air, too hesitant to touch him.
"LOSE YOU," he answers, burying his head further between his arms, tilting it to one side to hide his face from you. His metal hand clenches into a fist, and he slams it into the railing, sending splinters of wood flying through the air. "FUCK! Why do I always lose EVERYTHING?!”
You gasp, and your hands attempt to move to your mouth, but instead they go to his shoulders, grabbing and forcing him to look you in the face.
“Kid look at me! What are you saying?”
As his tightly shut eyes open, a stray, bitter tear slips down his cheek, smearing some of his eyeliner. But even in that state, he tries to look at you menacingly.
“Is it because I’m not strong enough for you? Is that it?”
Your round eyes dart between his, and you realize then what's happening. This grumpy, big guy, with his zero talent for feelings and words, is going to be your downfall. Without saying a word, you cup his chin with one trembling hand and, with the other, gently wipe the tear from his cheek. In the distance the countdown to midnight starts.
Ten! Nine! Eight!
'Kid, it’s not—'"
“Stay,” he says, locking his sharp, amber eyes with yours.
Seven! Six! Five!
“Kid…” you whisper again.
"Don't leave me," he says, lifting his hand to cover yours on his chin. "I'll get stronger. I've already beaten a Yonko, I'll beat the next ones I come across and make you proud... I'll defeat every Yonko we cross paths with... but don't leave me…”
Four! Three!
Your breath catches in your throat, and your hand slides softly from his stained cheek to the back of his neck.
“Stay…” he sighs, tilting his head and bringing his lips closer to yours.
Two! One!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
Your lips brush against each other for a sweet second before yielding, finally melting into a rough, possessive kiss. A kiss that puts an end to your insecurities, and allows Kid to say more than he could ever express with words.
His warm lips steal all the air from your lungs, and his flesh arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. He keeps his other arm against his back, avoiding touching you with the frozen metal. You wrap your arms around his neck, and laugh softly into his kiss as the cheers and shouts of New Year's celebrations fill the air.
As the rattle of fireworks exploding in the sky hits your chests, their lights bathe in multiple colors the passionate couple you have finally become on the icy deck of the Victoria Punk.
Hi! About "Mysteries of the Solar System" I was going to ask whether Drake will tell reader about the wall painting and the pillows when they eventually have sex on the living room couch, the night they finally get to watch the documentary, but I was afraid it was too vulgar for such a romantic and delicate fic.
But then I couldn't resist, and here I am asking. 🤩
He is kissing you. Finally. It only took three million hints, a considerable number of loaded looks on your part, and thirty five dates, which if your math is right makes a grand total of eighty three episodes of dinosaurs and stars.
His hunger tips him forward, and your body gives way, sinking back into the sofa cushions. The tag on one of them - price still attached, which you clocked on the very first day and said nothing about - jabs you in the back.
"Ouch."
He pulls back immediately, horrified. "Did I hurt you?"
"The tag", you say, arching up to fish out the cushion, and when Drake sees the price on it his face goes full red.
"Tell me something," you caress his chin, "did you buy these for our first date?"
He nods, eyes drifting straight back to your lips, and not wanting to lose more time rips off the tag and catches your mouth again.
Your laugh is muffled against his. "And the fresh paint smell that first day?"
"Mmh," Drake's complain reberberates on your lips.
He will take you serious He will put you over his shoulder and spank your ass.
Why do I like more the version "He will take you. Seriously"? XDD
HAHAHAHAHAHAH I totally agree with this, you are absolutely right, we might be scfreaming and yelling and pounding our fists against his chest in anger and all he sees is a cute kitten giving him tiny love bites.
What could we possibly be complaining about? Come on guys, let's throw some ideas!!
"You said it was only a woman, not the whole damned port!"
"You drank way more than me, how are you still sober?!!"
“You really think you’re hot, wetting your lips like that when you pull out that stupid cigarette with that… ugh, huge hand?”
"You said only the canons, and now the entire deck floor needs scrubbing?!"
beckman se queda en mi mente todo el día, terminé de escribir un fanfic sobre él, y ahora quiero escribirlo como ranchero....😅😅
Look at that face!!!!! extraño mi rancho, pero beckman no está allí (lo siento abuelo 🫡🫡)
Jejejje te entiendo tanto... Oh y ser ranchero le pegaría, él sabe como tratar bien a los caballos y permíteme decirte que por alguna razón las yeguas LO ADORAN. Si estás en tu época Beckman escribe, escribe, escribe!!!!! 💕 Que tengas un día fantástico, ¡amor!
Ok so imagine Drake - while in Dino form - finds a baby on wano. The little girls parents lay dead next to her. She screams her lungs out. And he didn't know where to bring her, because nowhere was safe, but then she stretched her tiny arm out. As he bend his huge head down her little fingers started prodding carefully and curiously. Giggling in delight.
Back at the base everyone stared at him when her returned and when asked he that baby is he replies "My daughter."
Imagining Drake in his dino form is always a delight.
Imagining him -so used to scaring the fuck out of people in his prehistoric form - seeing how a little baby girl giggles and stretches her arms out to him is just... chef's kiss.
He would look left and right with his huge head, having no clue at all what to do, then, hesitantly, would stretch out his own arms (more or less the same length as hers, hahahhaa) and graze her tiny fingers with his claws.
"My daughter."
He didn't ask for this assignment, and he'll die for her nonetheless.
Bonus: her hair moves when he breathes and that makes them both laugh.
