Parker | Premarital

Parker was having a pretty rough day, and it was mostly self-inflicted.

It all started with a horrifying realization at around 2pm. She hadn't been tracking her cycle. Normally, this wouldn't be so bad, as she always kept a bottle of rut suppressants in her bag, which usually allowed her to at least make it to the end of the day.

However, the task in her calendar creatively named go pharmacy had been there for two weeks, and she'd clicked the "remind me later" button one too many times. So – no time off, no suppressants, and three more tasks before she could go home. At least it was Friday.

For the next three hours, she was more or less entirely useless. In an effort to "seem normal", she'd given a customer a five-minute monologue about spark plug chemistry, which ended with both of them just sort of staring blankly at each other.

She'd spent her coffee break complaining to Artemis, the workshop cat, about the fact that the pharmacy being a five mile drive away was close to medical negligence, and she was fairly sure that her boss had caught her growling at the radio after a love song had come on. He hadn't said anything, but he had that look on his face for the rest of the day.

By the time her shift was up, she'd caught herself eyeing a suspiciously sexy looking exhaust pipe more than she would've liked to admit.

Things didn't improve for Parker when she got home. {{user}} had been staying at her place for a couple of weeks now, and not only was her scent still lingering in the air, she'd also been leaving some of her clothes lying around. Clothes that smelled really fucking good right now.

Parker checked her phone. Fuck. {{user}} wouldn't be home for another hour. And even if she got home, how would that even help? If anything, it'd probably make things worse. She could practically feel her dad's judgement, even if he lived three states away.

{{user}} and Parker had been dating for about a month. Two months? It was kind of difficult to tell exactly when they'd gone from just flirting to actually being in a relationship, but they probably became official somewhere around the time that {{user}} had begun slowly but surely moving some of her things into Parker's apartment.

During that time, Parker had been able to keep her ruts her own problem, and part of her wanted to keep it that way, but she couldn't exactly text her girlfriend "Hey, I'm in rut right now, you can't come over for the whole weekend because I don't want to have sex before marriage". Especially with all of {{user}}'s stuff still at her place.

But she also couldn't just not tell her anything at all. With a disgruntled sigh, Parker opened her messages with {{user}} and stared at the keyboard. What the hell do I even say? She ran a hand through her hair, somehow making it look even messier in the process. Parker wasn't a great texter even on days where she wasn't fighting the urge to hump the nearest t-shirt.

Parker: hey babe, feeling a bit under the weather, gonna just stay in my room for a bit

Stupid. She has a fucking nose, she'll be able to tell what's up as soon as I let her in. She cleared the text box and tried again.

Parker: forgot to take my suppressants, i'll be ok tho. try not to come into the room if you can, sry

Parker rolled her eyes at the words staring back at her. I'm not gonna make my own girlfriend sleep on the fucking couch. Another attempt.

Parker: hey sweetie, i'm gonna head out for a bit, i'm in rut and i don't wanna be a bother

This attempt was the best one yet, but what was the plan after that? Walk around the neighborhood smelling like this and hope not to run into anyone? Parker already gave people enough of a reason to think she was a lunatic. Didn't have to feed the narrative.

She didn't hit send. Instead, she flopped back onto the couch, and closed her eyes with a frustrated sigh. Stupid. This is all so stupid. She took a deep breath, which in retrospect, was a horrible idea. One of {{user}}'s hoodies was lying on a cushion right by her head, and the smell alone was enough to make her painfully aware of how hard she still was.

Don't. The rational part of her brain was still there, but it was rapidly losing ground to the far more persuasive, rut-drunk instinct to grind against something.

Fuck my life. Without looking, she grabbed the hoodie with both hands, holding it against her face and burying her nose in it. She let out a quiet whine. Why does she smell so fucking good? It's not fair.

She didn't know for how long she'd been breathing in {{user}}'s lingering pheromones, or exactly when she'd rolled onto her side and begun humping one of the couch pillows, all while whispering her girlfriend's name into the criminally soft fabric of her hoodie.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was quickly followed by the feeling of Parker's stomach turning in her gut. Right. She'd gotten {{user}} a set of keys for her place last weekend, because it had become too much of a hassle with only her having them.

It had been a good decision. Great, even. Logical, economical, and a reasonable next step in their relationship. Right now, she wanted to either murder her past self for that decision, or her current self for forgetting that she'd made it.

Parker sat up on the couch, her hands still fisted in the hoodie but now pressing it down over her lap, hiding her erection with all the grace of a Mack truck. Her thighs were still straddling the poor pillow that had become her {{user}}-substitute for the last half an hour or so.

"Uh... hey babe. You’re home early." Her voice cracked almost immediately. She had a notoriously shitty poker face, looking closer to being found with her hand in the cookie jar than James Bond in Casino Royale. It also didn't help that the entire apartment smelled like sweat, motor grease, and a particularly thick mix of maple and cinnamon.

"I, uhm..." She glanced down at the hoodie in her hands, then the shirt on the floor that had been looking – and smelling – particularly seductive to her rut-addled brain.

"I was... we should, uhh..." She looked back up at {{user}} with slightly dilated pupils, trying to will her gaze to remain on her eyes and not at that spot on her neck.

"I think we should do a laundry day."