emily's blog

careful fingers toy with the band of your panties, dipping below and curling to feel your arousal. you whimper at the feeling as his index circles your clit before dipping down to collect the arousal that spills out of you. 

“i-i dunno,” you whisper, your stomach churning at the thought. you trust lip, of course you do… but this? this was new, and scary. and yet, he holds you co close, gentle fingers toying with you, loosening you up for him. he knows you’ll cave. 

“j-jus’ a taste,” he repeats, keeping his voice low. you can feel how he’s trembling, his poor body needs the sustenance you can provide him. the obscene sound of your wetness can be heard as he fits one finger snugly inside you, the sound followed by a whine falling past your lips. “‘m starvin’ baby girl, you- y’don’ even know,” he continues, begging you for a taste.

just a taste. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. your fingers trace across the tops of his thighs, your heart rate spiking at the thought. “lip, ‘m scared,” you admit quietly, and you feel him shake his head. 

he covers your neck with the gentlest kisses. “i know it’s scary. i know baby.” his tone is somewhere between a coo and a pathetic whine, greedy lips now sucking bruises against your shoulder as he traces your cunt, placating your fears with pleasure. you feel him murmur against your skin, “jus’ a li’l bite, won’ even hurt, i promise. would never hurtcha, you know that.”

and, well. you do know that. and you also know that he’s shaking, he needs this. you remain silent for a minute or two, the only sound in the room being his soft whines as he presses his erection against you, desperate for some relief. 

“what…” you trail off nervously, and he reassures you with a kiss on your cheek. your stomach tightens when he draws his hand back upwards, one finger rubbing feather-light circles over your aching clit. his face remains buried in your neck as he pants with the effort of it all, doing his best not to give in. it’s hard not to bite, but he would never do it without knowing first that you were okay with it. “what would it feel like?” you ask finally, turning your head to meet his eyes. 

the faintest hint of a smile graces his lips, blue eyes sparkling as they meet yours. he leans in to kiss you, murmuring against your mouth, “just a li’l pinch, and y’re gonna feel a little dizzy. but i can fuck you through that, yeah? i can get you through that baby girl.”

he kisses you again, firmer this time, and your resolve begins to crack. “and… it’ll help you? make y’feel better?”

his gaze softens even further and he coos, “ye’h baby, it’ll help me a lot. y’wanna help me out?”

you swallow thickly, still nervous, but nod. "o-okay. yes, let's do it." you crane your neck to look at him, seeing the way his eyes darken before leaning in to kiss you. you slip your tongue past his lips, forgetting the sharp points of his fangs and whimpering as one sharp canine slices your tongue slightly.

lip whines at that, tasting your blood in his mouth. you feel his dick twitch against your ass as he plunges two fingers inside your cunt without a warning. he pulls away with lust-blown eyes. "deep breaths baby, m'kay? gotta—shit—gotta do it now," he says desperately, mouth already moving to your neck.

he was right about the feeling. you feel a small pinch when he bites you, before a wave of dizziness washes over your body. you can feel his gentle sucking notions, your head light and floaty but your body overwhelmed with an indescribable euphoria and desire.

you want to speak but words fail you, nearly sobbing with pleasure as he rubs your clit with the heel of his hand. you're thrown into the crest of your orgasm, rocking your hips into his hand. you let out a withering sigh. your body slumps back against lip as your vision becomes hazy, and the effort of holding yourself up becomes too much to bear. 

he sucks deep, and as the bold taste of you fills his waiting mouth an eager moan escapes him. the sound is muffled by the way he’s working at your neck and his hips shake with release, only then does he realize how far gone you are. 

as good as you taste, lip won’t dare over indulge. you’re too precious to him, too pretty and sweet to be treated with such malice. you love him, he knows that. so he settles for just a sip of you. enough to keep him going. 

a thin trail of crimson drips down your neck. he laps it up without shame, covering the area surrounding the bite with bloody kiss marks, his mouth too eager for the formality of wiping the red away. “taste so good baby,” he whines against supple skin. 

you manage to drag your eyes open, fighting an intense wave of dizziness to look him in the eye. “did- did it help?”

lip pulls you to his body, turning you around in his arms to cradle your shaking form. his voice is rough as he responds, "ye'h, did so good for me. thank you sweet girl, thank you."

© gallaghersgal, 2024. dividers © cafekitsune (x), cold--carnage (x). promptober masterlist.

It's January. About a week before the Taylor Swift concert. About a week into back to back to back reservations. Richie’s been burning the candle at both ends— He always gets tipped well, so it's not like it's not worth it. He's fucking Richie. He's the go to. He's good with people. ...Right?

Richie might care too much, might write himself in the schedule too much, might cover for wait staff at a moment's notice too much, might do research on guests in his off hours too much, might push himself to be present at every waking moment too much.

He wishes Carmen noticed, he's certain Carmen doesn't. 

He's taking two personal days for the concert. How dare he? He wouldn't do it under normal circumstances, but his sweets takes priority. 

Carmen, his Highness, will certainly notice time-off before anything else. Fucker.

To make up for it, Richie's working a double shift today. And he's made a ten-page pamphlet on all the reservations and details of the guests that'll be coming in while he's gone. He's good. He's Richie. He's a really good manager, a stellar host, fantastic with people. 

Is he a good dad? 

Probably not. Because he scheduled his make-up hours and didn't think to double check his custody hours. Deadbeat. God, fuck you, Carmen. 

It wasn't entirely his fault. Tif asked if he'd want the extra weekend since something about wedding planning came up. And he did, he always does. More time with Eva is good time with Eva.

And usually he's very good at plugging that into his calendar but he got the call at a very busy time on his shift and he just said yes before actually putting it in and then forgot— Who remembers anything that happens in a phone call? She should’ve sent him a summary email—it got away from him, suffice to say. Then Tif texted asking ‘Hey, when are you coming to pick her up?’ and then suddenly he's the bad guy? Deadbeat. Bad dad. Richie Bad News. Fucked accent. Fuck you, David. Fuck executive chefs all together, just write them all off. 

He called around asking any and everyone if they could take Eva off his hands for just a couple hours, but Richie hasn’t really had many connections since his one connection kicked his bucket. The rest of his connections work the same hours as him, at the same fucked establishment as him. 

Well, that’s what he thought, until he complained about this to you over the phone, first thing in the morning, before he’s set to pick up Eva. 

“I could take her.” The words are lovely and jumbled. He can hear you shovelling scrambled eggs into your mouth. “Could just make Lu cover bar, he’s been wanting to test drive alone anyways.”

Excuse Richie, but he’s always been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s a habit. “Isn’t the whole point of test driving to have someone watching you?” He wishes he was eating eggs too, but again, candle’s on fire. He’s choking down a Kashi bar and attempting to be happy about it.

“Meh.” Is all you reply. Meh. “He’s a talented ass chef, he can handle making some fuckin’ cocktails without me over his shoulder.” 

Even still, he’s got to work out all the kinks. “Carmen’s gonna be pissed.” But you both know, while he’ll have a less than stellar day without you, he will have a fucking awful day without Richie. 

“He will live.” There’s a moment of silence, as you finish chewing down your last few bites of breakfast. “…Would you please give me the gift of some long overdue Eva time, Rich?”

And when you put it like that, when you put it like he’s actually the one doing you the favour… Eva is dropped off at your place an hour before he has to clock in. It’s a touch hurtful how excited she is to spend a couple hours with you instead of him. 

“It’s the return of the champ!” But he gets it, as soon as they arrive, and you’re out front on your stoop ready to throw fake punches at Eva like a boxing coach. “They said she’d never be back in the ring folks—” And picking her up. “But here she is, better than ever, ready to face any and every challenger! E-E-Eva!”

Easy for anyone to get excited at the idea of hanging out with you. He wishes he could join in for even a few minutes, but it’s not in the cards— Nor today’s packed schedule. Rich promptly and tiredly runs over everything you need to know for the day, leaning against your doorway as Eva runs around in your apartment. 

“Full of energy today, get ready to be ever so slightly annoyed because she will not stop playing the why game today.” 

“Hm.” You hum, not the least bit annoyed by the idea. “I played that a lot too, I think. It’s simply karma.”

There’s a sigh of a smile on Richie’s face. God he looks burnt out. You won’t prod, though your worried face does plenty on its own. “Can I make you a coffee or somethin’ before you head out, Rich?” 

“No, no, it’s good.” He’s quick to shake his head, straightening up off your door. “I’ll get Copenhagen to make me somethin’, test drive, y’know?”

“A’right.” All you can do is shrug. “I will feed her the normal foods at the normal times, make her take her two naps, and we will be mostly screenless, if we can help it. But I think I fuck with Bluey more than she does, so…”

“I owe you.” 

The reply is off the cuff, “No you don’t, just bring me back a dead plate or somethin’.” 

Richie smiles and nods, but there’s a hesitation to it. And whether you notice it, or he even notices it himself, he’s not sure. But as you close the door, you peek it open, noticing something. You surprise the man, when you suddenly reach out and lightly slap his neck. You scratch at scruff that isn’t there, smiling. 

He lined up his beard. Richie listens. Even when he doesn’t want to.

“Good man.”

You close the door with a smile, like you didn’t just blast open his brain. You know what to say even when Richie doesn’t know what he wants to hear. And all he wants to hear is good. Good job. Everyone sees the work you’re putting in. You’re valuable. 

“What the fuck— Richard, no surprises—” “Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, of course surprises—” “It’s gonna make a mess—” “If Chip were here, you wouldn’t have a problem—” “Well she’s not here, isn’t she? She’s at home taking care of your kid—”

“W—Woah-holy-shit—” Syd has to elbow her way between Carmen and Richie— And a pinata— To break up this fight. “Way too personal too fast, straighten it the fuck up, Chef.” 

She rubs her chest with her fist, and Carmen returns it, after a deep breath. A thousand yard stare towards no one, as he apologizes— Well, he never really says it, but when he says, “My fault. I’m hot.” He means sorry. 

“You need… A second?” Sydney gestures over his general form. “Want to take your ten?”

“Five. Smoke break. Thank you, chef.” And he’s off. Double entendre. He’s always off, when you’re off. 

Syd turns back to Richie. She replaces you as union rep, when you’re off. She doesn’t ask questions, she doesn’t refuse Richie and his pinata, she doesn’t say, ‘Good idea, Richie, Fantastic research on the couple at table sixteen, Good job finding out that they met at a chocolate museum in Brussels as teenagers on separate school trips. It was all worth it, and you’re so valuable.’

She just says, “I’m not cleaning it up.”

But no skin off his back, he shrugs. It’s not meant to be a thankless job, but it is. “Fair enough.” And he puts on his brightest smile, grabs a bottle of champagne off of your shelf, and puts on a fucking show. 

When he’s finally finished, Richie does remember to grab you a dead plate. Well, more specifically, he grabbed a dead plate and then Carmy asked if it was for you, and when he said yes, the stupid loverboy fuck made him wait as he made you— And only you, a star worthy dinner. Yuck. 

He ate your original dead plate in the meanwhile. Richie texts you all this, sending terribly unflattering photos of Carmen during the whole cooking process. You laugh, over text, and tell him you’ll leave the door unlocked for him— Despite as bad an idea as he thinks that is, he just texts back a thumbs up. 

And when he finishes the exhausting day finally, and drives over to your place, and opens your door with one hand, tupperware in the other— He grimaces, as he can overhear his wonderful daughter playing the extremely aggravating ‘Why?’ game, with you, in the kitchen.

He quietly closes the door, not wanting to cause too much of a commotion. Neither of you seem to hear him, so he’s able to listen in. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t I use the knife?”

Richie watches from the archway, just peeking slightly. You’re cutting carrots as a late night snack for yourselves. Your back is turned to him and Eva’s sitting on the kitchen counter. She’s not really letting the bowl you’re tossing the carrot sticks in get very full— She’s dipping them in ranch and eating them pretty immediately. 

“Because you might get hurt.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got little hands, and this is a big knife.”

“Why?”

“Because weirdly enough, big knives always seem to be the cheapest at my grocery store— I really don’t get it.”

“Hm.” She kicks her legs in the air, thinking of her next line of questioning. “Why are you watching me tonight?”

Because Richie’s forgetful, a bad dad, a typical deadbeat divorcee with half a brain— 

“Because I love you. Duh.” Well, of course you have to say that. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re a good egg.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad— And mum— Made you into a good egg.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a good dad.”

Oh. Thank God for Eva asking on his behalf, “Why?”

“Because he’s good.” You say it like it’s so simple, mind still focused on cutting carrots, like you’ve said something as easy as describing the weather. 

“Why?”

“Well— I dunno, that’s like asking—” You put down your knife to pick up what’s left of your current carrot. “This carrot, why is it a carrot?”

“...” Eva can’t help but laugh as she answers, “Because it’s a carrot!” 

“Exactly! It’s a carrot! It just is a carrot! You can’t ask a carrot why it’s a carrot— It’s just a carrot!” You chuckle in return, putting the carrot back down to chop it once more.

You shake your head as you answer, “You can’t ask why Richie’s— Why your dad is good. He just is. He’s good.”

If he were still alone in his car with his Kashi bar wrappers hearing this, he’d probably be crying into your tupperware.

But he’s here, so, can’t.

He takes a step into your kitchen— “Th—”

Immediately, you shriek, stepping in front of Eva as you turn around, knife in hand. No coherent words come out of you, just screaming, thinking you’re about to pay repentance for leaving your door unlocked. 

He almost drops your tupperware, holding it up in what is either defense or an offering. “Not a third time, Christ, please God?!”

At least he knows that in a time of crisis, you can go to bat for his kid. 

At least Richie knows his best actively alive friend thinks he’s a good dad; thinks he’s good.

At least Richie will think of your words instead of any execs first, in his head. 

yippee!!!

one day i'll write romance for this guy, one day. maybe.

anyways. sorry for my absence!! i cannot say it will improve my loves. don't worry, we're still finishing CK, it has just REALLY gotten tossed down the laundry list. No one reads these, but, life updates:

Got a new job! In my industry! I'll be working part-time hours there, so I had to talk to my current job about going part time--- And they let me!! Lowkey was hoping my ass would get fired so I'd have more time for you and more importantly, the next thing i'm gonna write about. Alas. We ball.

NOT a we ball moment, PARENT GOT THE BAD DISEASE!!! (fuck cancer!!!) Send sweet thoughts psychically, but not through actual message or asks or anything because i DO hate talking about it, but yknow. that's taken up obviously: most of my time lately!!

so many parties in october man. having our housewarming party next weekend. yes i know it's weird to be normal in this state but that's sort of how life is. we have to keep going?? crazy .

anyways. Hopefully once I start my new position, I can have a concrete schedule for writing. But until then! I'll probably write you short blurbs whenever inspiration hits, so send in requests man!!

Not to be stupid but requests and just talking about writing instead of the big bad evil in my life will do WONDERS for my mental stabilty!! so come yap in my inbox about CK and make me write about it.