Gangsta: Dumb Doug X Reader

Three

Reader's POV:

Today the sun is especially hot, but you weren't breaking a sweat. You just sauntered about, trying to make it to your next destination. It's been three weeks since you last saw him, and he called once during that time. Can't complain though, it's better than nothing. The good thing is your use to this treatment; You know, giving up the goods, and never being called back for a long time.

Digging in your pocket, you flipped open the pack of squares only to be met with disappointment. You had none left, which is strange because you only smoked twenty today. Oh, wait...

You closed your eyes, tossing the empty box in a nearby trashcan, "What a drag..." Looks like you'll have to make a pitstop. Good thing you were heading in the direction of the shop anyways.

"Well, well, if it isn't the handyman's sugar momma..."

"Well, well, if it isn't the craggily old hag, Joel..."

"Ooh, you're getting better at insults. That almost hurt my feelings." She grinned, her arms folded over her chest.

"Really? Cause I've been pr — "

Cutting you off, "No, not really, you twit."

Chuckling softly, "You never crack old lady. Well, everything but your skin."

She grabbed a fly swatter, proceeding to crush you like a bug multiple times, "Just kidding!! I'm sorry!" You shouted, taking a defensive stance while laughing.

Pulling back, "You brats all need a beating." She hooked her weapon back on the wall, resuming reading her newspaper as she was before you walked up.

"I was just joking. Besides you love me!" You batted your eyelashes at her with a wide smile.

Grimacing, "Barely..."

"So mean..." You sighed dramatically.

"The usual?" She peeked up at you.

You nodded, "Please.", digging in your pocket, pulling out a ten dollar bill, laying it on the counter.

"Black Thunder 100s, non-menthol." She slid them across to you, putting the money in the cash register.

You ripped the box open, inserting one in your lips, relaxing as you fired it up, filling your lungs with cancerous smog.

"A few weeks ago, that boy of yours stopped by with baklava. Said you made it. Give me the recipe."

Completely surprised, you raised your head in the air feeling powerful. She liked your baking? What a shock.

"I'm glad you thought it was delicious. I can teach you personally if you want cause I'm an award-winning chef." You bragged with your hands on your hips, wearing a cocky smile.

"Hold your horses, Pinocchio. I never said it was good. I didn't even eat any." She frowned.

"You didn't?" You narrowed your eyes at her skeptically.

"Nope, not a bite."

Leaning closer, "You sure?"

"Positive." She affirmed.

"One-hundred percent?"

With a straight face, "Ten million."

"Hey, guys! What are you two doing?"

You looked to your right, greeted by a sunny smile, "Hey Connie. Your hag of a granny wants the recipe for my baklava, but claims she didn't eat it." You explained.