Lot Lizards 1
Summary: your effort to be left alone are thwarted by stubborn men.
Character: Ransom Drysdale, a dash of Pete Brenner
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
The bang on the door shakes the entire trailer. You snarl and refocus on the page, rereading it from the first frame. The same jarring thump sounds again; a fist hammering five times fast. You sneer and lay the comic on the table, sprawled open.
You glare at the door. It better not be your neighbour again. He might not be very clever but you thought he could take a hint.
“Open up, bum,” an unfamiliar voice calls through. “Inspection time.”
You frown and slide off the bench. You drag your feet and pull back the curtain to peek through the small window. A man in burgundy slacks and a forest green crewneck examines the peeling screen on your door. Who is that?
You sidle along and linger behind the door. Who is the weirdo? You slide the latch back and set your toe against the door. You open it one inch. The man stands straight and squints at you through the streaked glass.
“Bout time. I’m standing out here is this dump waiting on you.” He snips.
He’s tall. His hair is parted and styled. His loafers are what looks to be crocodile or snakeskin. It’s the kind of rich stink that makes you gag.
You blink.
“What’s goin’ on? You stupid or something?” He grabs the screen door but you quickly flick the lock on the inner handle. He shakes it and growls. “Hey, new ownership. I got a right to inspect my property.”
You back up and close the door. He slams his hand on the screen, it rattles violently as you search through the stack of comics on the table. You slip out the torn envelope and tug free the crumpled page inside.
You drop the envelope and take the notice back to the door. You open it, as narrow as before and read. You wave it at the man.
“Lot is yours. Not the trailer.” You say.
“Ah, she can talk.” He slithers. “Can she listen too? Open the door.”
He shakes it again. You smooth the paper and slide the edge into the top of the screen window. You balance it there for him to read then close the door.
You didn’t think much of the letter. Big deal. They changed ownership of a few lots. Fees are still coming out of your pay, doesn’t matter to you who’s name is on it.
You sit back down and pick up your comic. You sigh as the man kicks the door. You hear him stomp down the stairs. Then the crush of his sole in the dirt.
You flip the page.
“Hey! You can’t just ignore me.” He slaps the window as he peeks in between the gap in the curtains.
You do just that. You bring the pages closer and read the speech bubbles. He pounds on the window.
“I can see you.” His voice is muffled by the pane.
You gently put the comic down and stand up. You approach the window. “Finally, goddamn.” He growls.
You tug the curtains together. He snarls and hits the window so hard, you think it might just fall out of the frame. Your neck tickles nervously but you shrug it off. You turn on your bluetooth and resume the playlist from earlier.
You can still hear him. He’s back at the door, trying to force it open. What the heck is his problem? Can’t he read? A man with his shoes and his haircut should.
“Hey. Didn’t you read the damn letter? I own this place.” He hollers through.
You hate repeating yourself, so you won’t. You turn the music up and sit back down. He continues to wrestle with the door. You’re impressed that it’s holding up.
He finally gives up. You listen to his retreat as he grumbles and promises to be back. You finish the last page and flip to the preview for the next issue. Sure he will. He must have better things to do than hang around this place.
📖
You flip shut the lid of your mailbox. You shuffle through the bills and flyers. Junk, junk, junk.
“Hey, sweetheart.” The drawl sends a shudder through you, as it does every time your neighbour speaks. “How’s it going today?”
“Mail,” you wave the handful at Pete and head back to your trailer.
He’s quick. He meets you at the bottom of the steps. You keep from rolling your eyes. He wears one of his tacky printed shirts with the short sleeves, the buttons undone a bit too far down his chest.
“Anything good? Huh? You know, I got some interesting coupons in mine.” He reaches into his front pocket and slides out the paper from behind his pack of smokes. “Can’t really use ‘em myself but think you could.”
He holds out 30% off advert from some lingerie shop in the mall. You never bother going that far and you don’t wear thongs. You frown and shake your head. He cackles.
“I could take ya down there. Got the transmission on my Camaro sorted.” He offers.
“Scuse me.” You try to side step him. He blocks you as he puts his hands on his hips, crushing the coupons.
“Ah, well, maybe that boy toy banging on your door will take ya instead. You didn’t tell me you had a daddy, sweetie.” He scoffs.
You grimace. What?
“He’s got taste, gotta give him that. Beemer, prada shoes…” He snorts.
You shake your head. “Can you move?”
“Ah, I like that about you, sweetie. You look so nice but you’re so damn… blunt.” He reaches to touch you and you swat his arm away.
“I’m busy.”
“You’re tense,” he tries again and you back out of his reach. “Come on. Petey can give you a nice neck massage. Claudia says I got the magic touch.”
“No.” You slap his hand with the mail. “Ex. Cuse. Me.”
He chortles again and sighs. He bites his lip as he looks you up and down. “When Richie Rich tosses you, I’ll still be ‘round, sweetie.” He winks. “You know where to find me.”
You stare blankly ahead as you step around him. There’s a tickle up your leg but you quickly evade it. You just as swiftly swing through the screen door and close the inside one. You twist the latch and huff.
You hear Pete laugh again. You throw the mail on the messy table and peek through the curtains. You quickly back away before he can catch you. You make sure the curtains don’t let in an ounce of light or his leer.
You make a point of minding your business. Why can’t other people just do the same?
