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forthelostones · 4 months

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𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #1

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. apple by kaina ♫

palestinians still need e-sims!!! click the link to figure out how you can donate.

Moving home after your final year of college was a depressing wake-up call. Although you left university with a girlfriend, job prospects, and a degree, the idea of being stuck at home loomed. Your parents were glad to have you back, but being home for the foreseeable future meant stress from them, work, and a major makeover to your childhood bedroom if you were to stay for the duration of your job search.

A week after returning, the hum of summertime was loud and breaking into a cycle, migrating into your new sleeping schedule. The lawnmowers, construction work, and barking dogs awakened you like an orchestra's forte. You groaned into your hot pink pillowcase and rolled over to the glittering through your matching translucent curtains. Your room was filled with boxes and suitcases you hadn’t bothered to unpack yet.

Your mom insisted that you both needed something to occupy your time with. Arts and crafts, baking, and daily walks before breakfast and after dinner were the three you agreed to. You noted the dingy baby pink and cream tiles with ballerinas twirling in clouds on the window and shower curtains. A summer project was ahead of you and that was renovating your room to make your long-term stay more plush. You groaned out of frustration, which was getting comfortable knowing you weren’t moving out anytime soon. Even the towels your parents had embroidered for your 16th birthday would find a way to the Goodwill, despite the sentimental value, your age indicates a divestment from girlish things.

“You have five minutes!” Mom hollered from the foyer.

A quick wash and brush was all you could handle before jumping into mismatched university attire to meet her downstairs. Your mom was already stepping in place, 5 Ibs weights in her hands, and a sweatband glued to her forehead. You grab your fanny pack and strap it to your chest, ready for a long morning. The chorus outside of the door made the suburbia turn into a city. Your neighbors are above 50, watering their lawns or watching someone else do it. Washing their cars and playing in the yard with their freshly born grandchildren, and you knew every day would follow this routine.

Just four houses down, sitting on the corner near the stop sign, were two cherry red pickup trucks with a white emblem. Construction workers were hopping in and out of the trucks, removing tools and ladders from the cargo bed, with heavy pants and boots to match. Your mom paused just before the house to see that they had already torn off the shingling, a section of the deck, and from the porch, preparing for the next step. The men were young and old, shirtless or hefty with matching muscles bulging through spandex tops. Mom’s face twisted in a sordid pleasure at the workers. A few waved to you both, making your cheeks glow with embarrassment. It wasn’t unusual for housewives to stand and watch any action in this neighborhood, especially sweating men.

“Okay, let’s get some tasks assigned.” A woman with glimmering blonde hair marched out of the house in black cargo pants, keys attached to the loop, the same work boots as her counterparts, and a brown clipboard. You crossed your arms under your chest and watched her command the swarm's attention. She was tall and fit — a feature of the job — lightly tanned and had wide thighs that poked at the fabric of her pants. Her forearms were bursting the seams of her white t-shirt, adorned with a sleeve of tattoos coasting on her right arm. You concluded they were faded from the exposure to sunlight and worn with time. Her hair was tied in a taut bun to the nape of her neck, and not a single hair was out of place. You recognized that despite her apparent line of work, she remained clean with no exceptions, even if she was lugging 4x4s around all day. The woman wrote something on the clipboard and briefly looked up at you. Your gaze dropped rapidly at your school gear and dirty chucks, wondering how she perceived you in that quick glance — probably childish. Continuing your walk by the trucks, you saw the logo that read Anderson Construction and Landscaping.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

Dinner was busy with your parents and your girlfriend chattering about her new job in California, set to begin in four months. You and Ellie met at the local bar after she finished a shift at the mechanic shop in town. She has been covered in motor oil and dirt while being loud with her coworkers in the corner of the campus meet-up on karaoke night. She was sipping her beer, watching you laugh as your roommates made a fool of themselves. The occasional whistle or grunt left her lips to get you all to giggle, but it didn’t work on you.

The dark-haired clown caught your arm just as you and your friends left for the next stop. She just held out her phone and left you with a cheeky grin. Several months later, you two became exclusive. That same girl sat at your parent's oak dining table, drinking the same brand of beer, dressed in semi-clean clothes, hand on your thigh, chuckling with your family.

“Fantastic Ellie. I told you the welding certification would serve you well. And I mean… all that construction work you did on my brother’s house was beautiful, especially for an amateur.” Your Dad mentioned.

“I know sir, thanks. It’s been crazy, but yeah. Thank you.” She smiled.

You sat with a loose grin, hoping no one noticed your sadness at her great accomplishment. Doing long distance was the last thing you wanted, but it was the only realistic option. You were jealous of Ellie and her ability to be employed so quickly. She hadn't finished college, though hefty with certifications, or kept a job longer than three months. Her lack of professionalism and commitment puzzled you as traits an employer would simply look past.

“Okay ladies, you know the drill.” Mom blurted.

Ellie held your hand as you went on the post-dinner walk. The wind was timid as the sun set behind the silhouette of houses on the road. Only one of the trucks remained on the street. The soft hammering of nails into wood echoed into the now-empty neighborhood. The blonde bull was working on the deck, hammer in hand, slamming into the wood with her body glazed in sweat. She lost the shirt she was wearing earlier and was stripped down to a black sports bra. Your eyes fell to the flaxen blonde trail perfectly sitting between her abs leading into her pants. Ellie squeezed your hand, bursting you out of the bubble of the older woman's world.

“Working hard?” Mom hollered.

The woman turned her head with a piano-tiled grin and waved her hammered hand in our direction. Without reluctance, you abandoned Ellie’s hand and waved back shyly. She dropped her tools and walked towards the small herd of women before her. Those broad shoulders were perfectly square as she lifted her chin to strut to you. Your eyes were caught by the tan line made from her pants and slightly pudding belly. “Hello there.” She grinned, drawing your attention to her icy iris'.

Although she wore a stern face, matured by wrinkles, her husky voice was sincerely inviting. Your mother met her halfway at her truck, and you followed shortly behind.

“Still working? It’s past dinner!”

You mom was more concerned about her diet than her name.

“Perks of being a business owner,” She shrugged. “Abigail Anderson.”

Abigail offered her worn hand to your mother, Ellie, and then you. You looked down at the sage veins lining her calloused hands absorbing her grip into yours.

“Good for you Abigail, a woman in construction is rare but a sight for sore eyes. Ellie here dabbles in it too, it’s a growing field for us.” Mom smirks.

“Ah, nice.” Ms. Anderson replied. “You local?”

“I am, just out east,” Ellie replied.

“If you’re ever looking for work, just let me know. I’ll be working on this house for a few months. I can always use extra hands.” She offered.

Ellie nodded her head with her traditional money-hungry grin.

“Nice meeting you all, but I have to finish this up before the sun sets.”

“As do we, take care Abigail.”

Mom and Ellie start walking ahead of you and just as you move to join them, a mumble comes from Abigail. You would have missed it if you were only an inch farther from her. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” She drawled.

You looked over your shoulder towards her and smirked, trying to hide in some way, but she saw and mirrored your affections.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

Ellie’s lips were pressed against your neck with sleepy kisses. Your eyes fluttered while your girlfriend’s hand traveled toward the waistband of your pajama shorts.

“Baby.” She moaned, tattooed arm now creating a dam between the fabric and your skin.

Her hand rested there, awaiting the arrival of your arousal while sucking circles on the sensitive skin on your neck. Ellie’s tongue tickled your ear as she suckled softly into a short laugh. With a turn of your head, you meet her nose and purse your lips into hers. Her leg dropped over your lap. Her tongue slipped past your lips, making you deposit a moan straight in her mouth. She knew all it took was a kiss to get your pussy throbbing. Those long fingers dipped into your slick and came to your clit and began drawing lazy ovals.

Without breaking contact with you, Ellie slots her thigh in between your legs and presses upwards, waking you up out of your slumber. A hushed groan vibrates on her lips. “You don’t have long Els,” You remind her. The morning walk would commence soon and the only thing on your mind was Abigail Anderson. Suddenly your brain couldn’t decide if you should think about her or what Ellie was currently doing to your cunt.

“Els, let’s continue after breakfast.” You murmured.

Ellie scrunched her face up at your refusal but accepted with no questions.

Your girlfriend watched as you slipped on a cotton thong and sports bra before squeezing into a matching gym set. Her feet dangled off the edge of your twin bed, admiring your ass and hips. You both joined your mother for the walk, where two Anderson Construction and Landscaping trucks parked. The same setup, watered yards, screaming grandchildren, barking dogs, and Ms. Anderson. Last night, your mind painted a story of who she is and was before the moments of meeting you on the street. She couldn’t have been much older than you, but not much younger than your parents, and trying to do the math confused you. But one thing was for certain, your curiosity was getting the best of you.

This morning, coming up on the Anderson Co.-issued trucks, you wondered if your mother would flag her down again. Part of you had been grateful for her boldness but downright embarrassed. Your mom kept her feet moving in place as she observed all the men and Ms. Anderson moving wood from the trucks to the yard. Her sweatband from the 70s invoked a comical scene on the sidewalk as a few other neighbors walked by, staring her down. She dodged them by crossing the street and standing on the edge of the trimmed grass, leaving the grassy preformation between the sidewalk and road.

“Boys, if you ever need a glass of tea or lemonade, I am just four houses down, you understand? Now I am CPR certified so feel free to pass out from heatstroke at any time!” She exclaimed, making Ellie crow a wicked laugh.

Thank you miss, Will do, Sounds amazing, We’ll take you up on that!

Abigail came from the front side of the house to see what was keeping up her worker bees. Her brow tugged towards her nose in a look of frustrated confusion. “Are we having a party? Let’s go! Hourly pay not salary!” She screamed.

Your thighs clenched together slightly at the ululation that came from her. She was so stern that you almost grabbed your tools and got to work. She came over to us with that side smirk that's still imprinted in your brain from the other day. Her attire was simple, khaki pants and a white shirt with her company logo on the right breast pocket. Stuffed in that very pocket was a pair of sunglasses, a chalk line, and a few pencils. “So it’s you bothering my guys, huh?”

“Guilty,” Mom raises her right hand.

“Can’t blame ‘em, bunch of gorgeous ladies like yourself cruising around, the perfect distraction.”

Your eyes opened wider as you deciphered her (possible) nod to you when saying gorgeous was intended to seem like a sly compliment.

“I invited them down to our house for some refreshments during their break.”

“How sweet of you? Thank you. I’ll remind them at lunchtime.”

She waved us off and we were on our way. As your Mom and Ellie walked away, you turned back to her hoping she’d do the same to you. What a waste of a good outfit, you thought. Just as you turn the corner to see a now-working Abigail, she lifts her eyes from the clipboard toward you and back.

Mom was in the kitchen mixing two pitchers of tea and lemonade while dinner was roasting in the oven. She demanded you go to the basement and get several beers out of the freezer. You cut up small lemon and lime wedges and placed them on the rim of free-standing glasses on a bronze tray. It was their lunch time and they came quickly down the road to receive a refreshing cup of what my mom was serving up. You set up camp in the front yard, opening the garage and using an old table with matching chairs to set up a display for the construction workers.

They took off their hard hats and sunglasses to greet you with their lunch pails in hand. They spread out after retrieving their drinks and tearing into the lunches their wives and girlfriends packed for them the night before. Only one person was missing.

“Surely, she’s still working. Honey, go fetch that Abigail, but entice her with an Arnold Palmer first.” Mother poured a glass of lemonade and sweet tea into one and handed it to you before you could protest.

The walk down the street seemed long, especially with you balancing a glass in your hand with a lime wedge. You heard the same tacking of the hammer against wood as you walked up from the sidewalk, through the grass, several feet behind her. “Ms. Anderson,” You cough. “Ms. Anderson!”

The second time, she turned to you with her brow lifted upwards.

“Oh. Hi.” She panted, wiping her forehead on her damp shirt, the specks of dancing freckles embellishing her nose and cheeks coming into plain view.

You say nothing but extend your hand out to her. She takes the sweating glass with a quiet kindness. Abigail does a once-over of your body, crown of your head, breast, and feet. Her obvious scan of your body left you feeling naked. She was two feet taller than you, putting a few inches on Ellie. Even thinking of the comparison made you weak. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, speak.

“My mom sent me.” You blab, instantly regretting it.

“Ah, I see. Hm,” She pressed her lips onto the glass, leaving prints of them on the rim. “How’d you know I liked Arnold Palmers?” She cocked her head as the corners of her mouth curled upward in a suspicious smirk.

“I think everyone does.” You quirk.

She holds her belly and laughs faintly. “You’re not wrong.”

The wind whispers a pregnant pause between you both.

“If you want, your guys are having lunch at our place and sitting down in the shade.”

She sips again, “Right. Uh.”

Her manicured yet dirt-caked fingers trill on the glass serving as a physical manifestation of her contemplation.

“I’m a’right. Your mom was entirely too sweet.” She raises the glass to indicate what sweetness she's referring to - the drink, not you.

“Okay. But you know she’s going to be mad if she finds out you don’t take a lunch.”

Abigail flared her back out, elbows reaching backward and breasts out to stretch. The peek you stole of her wet skin hidden under that shirt created a fire in your belly. Condensation from the glass dripped down her arm, and she wiped the moisture on the leg of her pants. Cooly, the woman raised her chilled hand to her neck and massaged it. You heard from Ellie how painful the job is on the body and wanted to treat Ms. Anderson to some beginner kneading.

“You’re right, she would be. I will just stop and play pretend. How 'bout that?”

“You catch on quickly, Ms. Anderson.” You grin.

She gulps the drink in two swallows and lets the ice cube fall into her mouth. “I’d like to think so,” She says, crunching the cube between her teeth, allowing the melted remnants to dribble around her chin.

“Ms. Anderson? Just call me Abby, sweetheart.” She imposed.

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