all hers | tara carpenter x fem!reader

part 11

Living with Sam and Richie, as Tara predicted, is entirely miserable.

Sam hovers like a mother hen, Richie walks around the house in his boxers, plays video-games until the early morning. Tara's moodier than usual at the intrusion, throwing jabs and picking fights and you just want one night of goddamn peace.

One night without feeling like you're living in a warzone.

In fact, you're literally in a warzone tonight.

Richie's playing Call of Duty, again, Tara wants to watch a movie and Sam insists on brokering peace between them, offering to go out and buy Tara a TV for her bedroom.

It goes down as well as you'd expect.

"Why doesn't he go out and buy a TV." Tara snarls, perched against the couch with her arms crossed, "This is my TV right here."

"Our TV." Sam says, pointedly. Richie scratches the back of his head, a little awkward, "You don't own the TV and you don't own this house. When you do, you can start setting rules."

"Fuck this." Tara says. She stands, holds out her hand for you, "Play your stupid game, I don't care. Come on babe, let's go have sex."

Your blush flames across your chest to the tip of your ears.

"No one is having sex." Sam says, loudly.

"No one?" Richie says, a little put out.

"No one." Sam confirms as she pries the controller from his hands, "Not until you finish your chores."

Tara groans. Sam had set up a chore wheel the night she moved in, something that had immediately set Tara off. It was Tara's week on dishes, and yet again, she'd let them fester in the sink. Another show of open defiance.

"You're on garbage duty." She tells Richie, "And it's full. Go take it out."

"And then I get sex?" He asks, his interest piqued. She ignores him, looks at Tara.

"Dishes, Tara. I cooked, it's only fair."

"You should have to do it for cooking." Tara grumbles under her breath, "That linguine was a crime against God."

You hop up, take her hand before she can start another fight.

"Come on, baby, I'll help you." You say. You press a kiss to the back of her hand. She softens, just a little. Then you're tugging her out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Who made her the queen of the world?" Tara seethes as she settles herself onto the edge of the kitchen counter, most pointedly not doing the dishes. You pry open the dishwasher, start stacking the dirty plates in.

"It'll only be for a little while, babe." You say, "Just until she's sure you're okay again."

But she doesn't go, not for days on end.

Days of Richie and Tara fighting over the TV. Days of Sam and her chore wheel. By the end of the week, you're actually afraid Tara might kill them both.

"Bye!" Tara calls out to Richie and Sam as they head out the door. They're off to some restaurant for their one year anniversary. You're both thankful for the reprieve, "Don't come back!" She adds for good measure.

Sam flicks her the dirtiest stare, then she's heading out the front door, Richie in tow.

"Finally." Tara says, her eyes alight, "Finally we can watch The Menu undisturbed."

The movie is fine. You get a good bit into it before you can tell Tara's bored. Too much talking, not enough blood.

You barely make it through the first act before she's rubbing your leg, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck.