all hers | tara carpenter x fem!reader

part 7

You're bored. Tara's friends are boring.

It's the fifth night this week they've been over.

It made sense, you guess. Since Amber's murder they'd been a little clingier than usual. They'd lost one of their own, it checked out they would want to grieve as a pack.

But five nights in a row. You were losing your sanity.

Wes brought the video games, Mindy the alcohol, Chad the weed. Liv brought herself.

They'd park up in Tara's living room, stay until two or three in the morning.

They'd completely interrupted you and Tara's perfect routine; gone were the sleepy nights on the couch curled up into each other. Gone were Tara's romantic meals, the bubble baths, making out in front of the fireplace. Instead, you sat on a couch wedged between Chad and Liv, competing with an Xbox for your girlfriend's attention. The worst part was, Tara didn't seem to mind.

"Mario kart?" Chad suggests. It's late, almost eleven.

You'd kind of hoped they'd get bored and go home, especially since the last of the weed had been smoked and Mindy had forgotten to buy beer.

Desperately you willed Tara to tell them to go.

"Sure." She says instead. Reaches over you to grab one of the controllers, "Hope you're ready to get your ass whipped."

You sink back into the couch.

Perfect.

The weed made Tara mellow a little. She got sleepy and by the time the two of you went to bed she was definitely too tired for sex. It made you a little antsy. Usually Tara couldn't get enough of you. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to fuck every night. You haven't had sex with her in over a week and it's killing you.

You feel on edge. Press your hand to the small of Tara's back, just wanting to touch her. Usually, she was all over you. Not tonight. She's too captivated by Wes' stupid video game. Both hands gripping the controller tight. You hate this. She's made you jealous of an inanimate object.

"You suck at this." Chad tells her as he laps her.

You rub Tara's back. Slip your hand under her shirt, absent-mindedly. You miss her. The warmth of her skin. She retracts herself slightly, turning to shoot you a look.

"Baby." Tara says, frowning, "I'm trying to win."

Hurt swells in your chest. She's competitive, you know that. Still, the rejection makes your heart clench painfully. You withdraw your hand.

"I'm going to shower." You mumble, more to yourself than anyone else.

She hums in response. Her eyes don't leave the television.

The shower doesn't help. Your body feels tight. You close your eyes, try to relax. Drift your hand down, touch yourself. You rub circles on your clit, picture Tara. Her smile, her lips. Imagine her on top of you, her weight. The tiny noises she makes as she fucks you. It almost works. You bring yourself to the edge. Furrow your brow.

Sigh. It isn't enough. You don't want the thought of her, you want the real thing.

You finish up, dry yourself off. Maybe you'll just go to bed. The idea of going back downstairs and watching Tara play video games for another two hours sounds like hell. You slip into a tank top, don't bother with a bra. Slip on a pair of tiny, black panties. Catch the look of yourself in the mirror. You look hot. Fuckable. You bite your lip, tingle running through you. All you want is for Tara to come upstairs and press you into the mattress.