⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Mo Ghrá ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Pairing: Móglaí Bap x Female Reader
Note: This is absolute shite, but it's out. I've added a few words of Irish, lmk if you want me to translate x. My cast has still not come off cause my leg's healed cause of.... reasons. So it has to stay on for another 8 weeks kms.
The night had settled soft over the city, the hum of traffic fading into the distance by the time Naoise pushed open the door. You were curled up on the sofa, book in your hands, blanket over your legs. The second you looked up, his tired face cracked into a grin.
“Here she is,” he said, tossing his hoodie onto a chair. “My favourite part of the day.”
You laughed quietly, setting your book aside as he came over. He dropped onto the sofa beside you, one arm winding around your shoulders immediately. His lips brushed your temple, lingering there before he muttered, “Missed you more than I should admit.”
“You don’t have to admit it,” you teased, curling into him. “I missed you too.”
For a while, you just stayed like that, wrapped in warmth and silence. His thumb traced lazy circles over your arm, your head tucked under his chin. Eventually, you tilted up to kiss the line of his jaw, just soft enough to make him hum in approval.
“Careful,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “You keep that up and I’m not lettin’ you get back to your book.”
“Who said I wanted to?” you whispered back.
That earned you a low chuckle, followed by his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You went willingly, straddling him, your hands resting against his shoulders. His eyes darkened slightly as he looked at you, all tiredness from earlier slipping away.
“Jesus,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Every time I see you, it’s like I forget how to breathe.”
You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. It started gentle—soft lips meeting, familiar and warm—but quickly deepened when his hands pressed against your lower back, pulling you closer. His tongue brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, and you felt your whole body melt into his.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. “You’ve no idea what you do to me.”
“I think I do,” you whispered, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw before slipping into his hair.
He kissed you again, this time slower, savouring every second. His hands roamed in a way that wasn’t rushed—just deliberate, possessive, mapping out the shape of you as if he needed to remind himself you were real. Your own hands slid down to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.
“Still tired?” he asked suddenly, voice roughened by both amusement and something heavier.
You shook your head, pressing a trail of kisses down his throat.
That made his grip tighten, his breath hitching as your lips found the hollow of his collarbone. His hand slipped under your shirt, fingertips brushing over your skin in feather-light touches that made you shiver. He smiled against your hair at the reaction.
“You’re shakin’,” he murmured.
“You’re the reason,” you whispered back, kissing your way back to his lips.
He laughed softly, though it quickly dissolved into another kiss—this one deeper, hungrier. His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, not rushing, just exploring, as if he wanted to take his time and savour the closeness. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low sound from him that sent warmth spiralling through you.
The air between you shifted, thick with anticipation, but there was no rush. He leaned back against the sofa, pulling you with him, his lips brushing yours between words.
“You’re it for me, you know that?” His voice was low, almost a confession. “Doesn’t matter where I go or what I do—this, you… it’s the only thing that feels real.”
Your chest tightened at the raw honesty in his tone. You kissed him again, slow and deliberate, your hands sliding under his shirt now, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. You slowly rocked your hips and you found him already hard.
“Don't stop, mo ghrá” Naoise groaned against your lips, his hands landing on your hips.
“Wasn't planning to” you replied, pulling back from the kiss, your breathing ragged. the dry friction making your head spin.
Naoise couldn't take it anymore, his hands scrunched your skirt up at your waist and pulled your knickers to the side before he pulled his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself. He was hard and leaking already.
He placed a hand on your back and moved you to lie down, settling between your thighs.
“Ready?” Naoise muttered, his voice husky and strained and you nodded.
“So beautiful all laid out like this for me” He whispered as he lined himself up and slowly sank into you, the stretch was perfect making you cling to his shoulders and he kissed your temple.
He set a brutal tempo, his hips snapping against yours, that type of tempo that knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“Fuck, you take me so fucking good” Naoise groans, and you just whimpered, pathetic.
And soon enough, your vision blurs, your body tensing, and you choke out his name as you come, your body shaking.
Naoise isn't far behind, he spills inside you with a grunt, holding you tight as he tries to catch his breath. You lay there, forehead to forehead as he softens inside you.
When he pulls out, his fingers come down, almost as if he's collecting his cum as it spills down your thighs, making you whimper.
“You did so good mo ghrá” Naoise whispered, kissing your forehead, you just made a soft noise and he chuckled.
He grabbed an old t-shirt laying on the floor, cleaning you up, mumbling soft words of praise in Irish as he cleaned you up before he helped you up from the couch, guiding you to your bedroom.
He helped you lay down in your shared bed as he changed you into your pyjamas and tucking you in.
“Sos anois mo ghrá” Naoise whispered as he tucked you in, but he didn't join you, the last thing you saw before falling asleep was him going to the bathroom.
Probably to wank off cause he was half hard again.
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