summary: A smoke session with your friend Draken turns into something a little more pleasurable.
word count: 4k (get me out of here.)
warnings n’ tags: pwp, smut, friends to fwb?, drugs (weed), brief mention of spit/saliva (for dry mouth), shotgunning, afab!reader, no pronouns, no pet names (he calls you pretty though), Draken actually uses a condom, cursing, sub!reader
a/n: this is my first ken fic and i haven’t smoked in like 3yrs go easy on me pls. thank u @aces-high and @cryptred for allowing me to cry about this man everyday and also thank u @bokuroskitten for beta reading!
other media: stoner!draken playlist (Spotify) | sloppy banner edit by me.
minors dni - you will be blocked
It’s a Friday afternoon, and the sun casts an orange tint over painted pavement when you call Draken. It’s something like a routine: giving him a call after you’ve left your job. Especially on days like today–work was rough, but it’s the start of the weekend, so you’d rather not spend an extra second thinking about it.
Small groups of children race past with school supplies jingling in their backpacks. Tranquil giggles and cackles echo through the afternoon breeze while the phone rings by your ear. It rings for a while, and you can picture him scrambling through a dirty toolbox in the garage of his bike shop. Searching for the alarm-type ringtone that you assigned for your own contact months ago. He claimed that he hated the sound, but you’re willing to bet he hasn’t switched it, and that puts a cheery grin on your face.
You can hear the constant clatter of metal when the call connects. You assume he has the phone tucked in his shoulder by the way he greets you.
“Hey,” He mumbles, followed by a grunt and a squeak from afar. More tools clank from behind him, muted, along with echoed calls and commands from the other mechanics he works with.
He’s not much of a conversationalist, so you make it short.
“Hey. Come over when you’re done?”