#moira fluff

#1. Easing her down when she's stressed in the lab.

Moira isn't the type to let stressors get the better of her, but on the rare occasions that they do, she's accustomed to riding it out alone. You're not keen on that, however, and when you find her sitting at her desk with a bottle of whiskey, shot glass forlorn in lieu of taking swigs straight from the bottle, you're quick to step in and offer her a safe haven to vent her frustrations.

With her hair unstyled, falling over her forehead in clumsy tufts pulled loose from the continuous rakings of her lithe fingers through the strands, her lab coat has been discarded on the floor at her feet. The white dress shirt she wears underneath is crinkled and the first two buttons are undone, offering you the slimmest of viewings to her collarbones and the tippy top of her cleavage. It's nothing you haven't seen before as her lover, —but you recognize her allure in a new light in that moment nonetheless. 

"Stressed?" You ask, voice nearly a purr as you lean down to rest the bottom of your chin against her warm shoulder. 

"Utterly,” she answers, a frustrated edge clinging to her tone as she leans back farther, —leans into you as if searching for comfort that she’s too proud to ask for.

“Another one of my projects has been delayed due to ‘ethical concerns,’” Moira continues mockingly, “—it’s doing my head in.”

You hum in acknowledgement, craning your neck to press a few peppered kisses to hers, nearly cracking a smile against her skin the moment she bares it further, silently begging for more. She’s a clear and concise woman in every sense, —even when words fail her.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” You inquire, mumbling just below her ear.

On a practical level, you know there isn’t. You're far from being a figure with enough persuasive power to bend the will of the higher-ups in one direction or another. If Moira hasn’t been able to shift them to her side on this, your attempts would be nothing more than fruitless, and maybe even annoying, putting an even worse damper on your lover’s already sour mood.

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with,” she answers bluntly, —but you’re used to it.

She didn’t phrase it that way to hurt you, it’s just who she is. Beating around the bush isn’t her style, and it may seem abrasive at times, but at the end of the day it’s good to know you have someone in your corner who wouldn’t mince words even if it meant protecting your feelings from bitter truths.

You let your lips travel to her jaw, and she makes no move to stop you. Moira closes her eyes, lets you tend to her, —lets you kiss away all the frustration and anger until she’s all but subdued under your affection. She normally prefers things like this in smaller doses, or at the very least in proper privacy, but the lab has been quiet for some time now and it’s edging on two in the morning, so it’s a low risk situation all things considered.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you tell her, reaching out to take the whiskey from her desk.

Moira doesn’t argue. You’re likely the only person on the face of the planet that could get away with something like that, and you’re clearly keen on abusing that power. She’s not sure she’d argue much about that either, though.

“No good’ll come from you sitting around the lab like this,” you add. “It’s late. Let’s turn in for the night, yeah?”

You put the whiskey up with the other bottles she has stored away, glancing back at her to gauge her reaction. She closes her eyes for a moment, looking so ethereal in the dim light that pours in from the hallway. It makes your heart shiver.

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally decides.

#2. (Blackwatch) Moira returning from a mission and subtly showing how much she missed you.

It’s not a matter of capability or prowess. You know Moira can survive just about anything, —she’s intelligent, has a solid grasp on her surroundings at all times, and her skills in battle have only improved the longer she’s been called to go on missions. Still. . . There’s always a period of anxiety that comes with her absence. Her typical appearance in the hidden labs does not go unaccounted for, and while others do their best to struggle along without her there to guide them, you often find yourself stuck, worrying far too much about her for your own good.

It always ends the same. She comes home after all is said and done, and when she does, she leaves whatever happened in the past. Her wounds heal swiftly enough, and you do your best to ignore the way they mar her skin until they finally go away.

You heard whispers of the team’s return soon after they arrived. With such a small base in comparison to others, word always travels fast. You’re the first one at the door, fiddling anxiously with your fingers as the few Blackwatch soldiers spill in with tiredness practically eating away at their bones. It’s been twelve days, seven hours, and some change since you last saw Moira. . . And now that clock can reset itself to zero.

She stands tall and beautiful amongst her comrades, her bright hair and formidable height placing her a cut above the rest. You stare at her with relief written all over your face, and she finally lets herself glance about the room. Only a select few have gathered to see the Blackwatch unit’s return, with you clearly being one of them.

Your colleagues have stopped questioning it. Some have likely caught on that you and Moira are more than simple friends, while others don’t care enough to look deeper. Really, you’re thankful for the sense of freedom it allows you to care for her so openly, —even if she isn’t always fond of the way you look at her as if you were sure you were going to lose her eventually.

When everyone else has gone on their way, you scamper over to her.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” you say, heart thundering so loud you’re scared she can hear it as she stands before you.

Her eyes are softer when they gaze at you.

“I told you I would be,” she replies simply.

God. . . You hate that uniform because when she puts it on, you know she’s going away for awhile, —but she looks so dignified in it that it’s hard not to like it. 

“I’ve told you before, stop worrying so much when I’m gone,” she reminds you. “I can take care of myself, if that isn’t obvious.”

“I know you can,” you answer, “—but it’s hard not to worry when it comes to you. I don’t know what happens out there, and it. . .”

You find yourself trailing off, but Moira understands the concern. Obviously, she isn’t fond of going out on missions herself, but they fill her less with dread that she may get injured and more with frustration that she’s being pulled away from her work (and from you.) 

“In any case, I’m here now,” she says. “So let’s not dwell on things that are already said and done.”

It’s impossible to deny her that when she reaches out, cupping your plush cheek in her hand. You can feel that her palm is callused from the mission, and you’ll be keen on looking her over in just a little while, —but for now you allow yourself the simple pleasure of leaning into her warmth for the first time in just shy of two weeks. The sweet slide of her lips against yours is quick and subtle, but you welcome it as well, pouring everything you can muster into a single action.

#3. Spending a late night with Moira in the lab doing more than just working.

Nights like this are few and far between, but you savor them like a sweet, decadent confectionary when they swing around. The lab is eerily silent aside from the sounds of Moira shuffling about, rifling through papers she’s seen no less than thirty times in the last twenty-five minutes. She tosses them to the side with a bored sigh, her eyes scanning her surroundings for something to keep her entertained whilst the waiting game of science runs its course.

She finds herself staring at you, —her cute little assistant that asks “how high?” when she demands you jump. You’re diligent and loyal, always on time, always keen on staying late even when it isn’t necessary. She likes that you do things without being prompted, like bringing her coffee in the mornings and leaving snacks on her desk when you think she isn’t looking but you know she hasn’t taken a break to eat all day. You’re thoughtful and quite good at your job, which makes you far too easy to like in her book.

“Y/n,” she says, watching as your head turns her way so quickly, —like you’d been waiting for her to call your name all night.

“Come here for a moment,” she beckons.

You do as you’re told, scuttling across the lab to make her acquaintance. Moira finds herself amused by the space you leave between yourself and her, reaching out with a single hand to tug you closer. She can read you like a book as you stare up at her, —eyes so innocent and naive. Like a little rabbit festering under the heavy paw of some big, bad wolf.

“You’re quite pretty,” she says, moving her hand up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

Though your eyes widen in surprise at the compliment, you quickly thank her, forcing your gaze down to her knees to avoid looking at her face.

You’re just so easy to fluster, —so easy to ruffle the feathers of. It’s hard not to do so at times like this, so Moira has decidedly stopped trying to hold herself back. And really, you don’t want her to. Whatever is going on between the two of you, you actually quite like it. She’s different with you than she is with others, giving you more leeway to speak your mind and be honest with her. She gives you leeway in other manners as well. . .

Like this way.

She pins you to the large filing cabinet, caging you in with her long, slender limbs. You struggle to hold her intense gaze as she peers down at you, as if assessing you for something. When you’re in the lab together, —she’s not your lover, she’s not your friend. In the lab, Moira is your superior, the one who commands you about with sharp precision and high expectations. But sometimes, she lets that dynamic falter ever so slightly, and she indulges herself in the little sounds of surprise you utter when she kisses you, lips capturing yours as you let your head tilt up to meet her.

It doesn’t last long. It never does. Still, the way her lips linger just above yours, almost kissing you but not quite, leaves your head spinning. You feel the soft tuft of amused breath she lets out ghost against your cheek before she stands herself upright and lets her arms fall to her sides again.

“Thank you,” she says, much too casual sounding for what just happened, “—that’ll be all.”

#4. Spending an early morning with Moira after a pleasant night together.

Moira has always preferred her coffee dark, bitter, and piping hot. Since mornings with you have become more common these days, however, she’s gone out of her way to stock up on various additives. Vanilla creamer that she’s never personally touched and hasn’t the slightest interest in, —but you use it nearly every time you’re around for morning coffee, so she’s sure to keep it on hand, along with some heart-shaped sugar cubes that you’ve never questioned, but always grin at when you slip them into your drink. You’re sure she’d brush it off, —telling you they were on sale, or maybe that they had higher quality ingredients compared to the simple squares.

Really, she just thought you’d like them. And she was right, for the record!

She’s always up before you and seldom lingers around in bed until you rise. Moira likes early starts, likes to get her brain going the moment her eyes slit open in order to maximize her workflow throughout the course of the day. Her internal clock might as well be as reliable as any other, and you’re often in awe of her propensity to will herself from under the covers the moment she stirs from sleep.

Although, you must admit it gets a bit cold without her.

Still, even when Moira chooses to get herself up and ready for the day while you lay in bed for a bit of extra slumber, —she thinks of you. She sets your mug on the counter and fills it just past the middle mark, knowing that filling it too high wouldn’t leave appropriate space for all the extra stuff you just love to toss in, minimizing the bitterness. She can’t say she really understands it, but it’s your preference, and she’s simply learned to accept that without wondering too much about it.

When you stumble in from the bedroom, she follows you with her gaze as it peers over the rim of her coffee mug. She always looks so attractive in the mornings, —her hair a bit messy from lack of styling, her shirts half done-up. . . You love her in any form she takes on, but this is definitely one to behold. Best of all, she doesn’t mind if you stare (and you tend to take full advantage of that.)

“Good morning,” she greets you with the slightest hint of amusement lacing through her tone.

Afterglow looks good on you, but mornings aren’t really your thing.

“Morning,” you mumble, eyes still half-lidded as you go through the motions, —adding to your coffee until the deep brown turns to a lighter beige.

All the while, Moira watches you with a curious gaze until you find yourself slipping in next to her, searching for the warmth she’d taken from you not long ago when she’d stowed herself away from the bed. Her bed, technically, but you sleep in it so often that it might as well be yours too.

She sits her coffee down now, half-gone but still quite scalding (impossible to drink for anyone but her, really.) Her long arms encircle your middle as you let yourself sink into her. Moira isn’t really the romantic nor domestic type, but little moments like this are enough for you. In her brief stints of softness, you often find a sense of fleeting solitude that only feels good in the small doses she offers every now and again.

“You should drink up,” she notes, glancing down at the coffee mug you’re holding in your hands and close to your chest just to feel the warmth of the liquid inside seep into your palms. “We’ve got a long day at the lab ahead of us.” Don’t remind me, you think to yourself, —but you don’t say it. That’s just the drowsiness talking. You like being in the lab, albeit nowhere near as much as Moira, and in the end, once you find your rhythm, everything will be fine. For the time being, however, you simply hum in acknowledgment and lean your head against your lover, resting your eyes for a bit. She lets herself smile, pressing her lips to your temple.

#5. Attending a banquet with Moira as her plus one.

Moira isn’t much fond of events like this. She thinks they’re much more hassle than they’re worth, and exchanging pleasantries with others has never been her strong suit. Even so, after being strongly advised to not skimp out this go around, she finally decided to give in and show up, though she doubted it would offer he anything useful. At the very least, she was hoping to get her hands on some wine to leg around with her for the night.

Her extended invitation for you to accompany her was less of a request and more of an assumption that you’d simply be attending as her lover. Because she was known to be very private in regard to her life outside the laboratory, that came as a surprise to you. Moira, on the other hand, was more shocked that you hadn’t been expecting it.

Nevertheless, you swiftly took her up on it. Debuting yourself as her partner was certain to cause a stir about the lab, but the thought of it was almost exciting. You’d never had the opportunity to show Moira off before since she wasn’t keen on public displays of affection or even revealing the details of your relationship to others. And that was fine, for the most part. . . But you had to admit, there were points where it would have been nice to tell the world about your feelings. More than that, you were quite proud to have captured the heart of someone like her. It was no easy task, after all.

“It seems you’re quite popular,” Moira notes, taking a sip of her drink.

The red lipstick she’s wearing stains the rim of the pristine glass as her grip around your waist tightens a bit, pulling you closer to her.

“I don’t think anyone here is looking at me,” you snicker. “You’re the one everyone is scouting for. I’m sure almost anyone in the room would give an arm and a leg to work with you.”

It’s not as if she’s hard on the eyes, either. For what it’s worth, Moira in a suit is an exquisite sight, —the way her long, slender body is accentuated by her black jacket and tight-fitting dress pants. . . Ah, you’ve been trying not to stare too much in public, but it’s hard not to when she looks like that.

She goes through the motions, becoming less passive as the minutes go by. You can tell by the way her tone evens out to a blunt, jagged edge that she’s already sick of this and would rather be anywhere else. She’s on her third glass of wine by the time word of her presence has spread like wildfire throughout the banquet, and with it, your attendance by her side. Moira’s tuned herself out, refusing to let her mind be riddled by the voices of those that pass her by, —but you catch wind of curious murmurings, ones that question ‘When did Doctor O’Deorain get a lover?’ 

A part of you finds it exciting, even though it’s quite embarrassing to be the topic of conversation. Strangers throw glances your way, as if assessing you for signs of having been bribed or persuaded. . . You acknowledge it is still a bit jarring to know you’re with Moira like this, but these people are definitely taking this to another (unnecessary) level. 

“They’re staring because you’re beautiful,” Moira whispers suddenly, having picked up on your apprehension a bit ago and finally deciding to say something in hopes of whittling it down. 

That’s not the reason. At least, that’s not all it is. But you can’t find the will to argue against her when she’s being so kind. Instead, you offer her a gentle smile and take a sip of the wine you’ve been nursing for a while now. This definitely isn’t the environment for either of you, —but being here with Moira makes it all a lot less intimidating. 

You were nervous to meet the nefarious Dr. O’Deorain after hearing the horror stories of the assistants before you.

You’d come to find that she was yes, very intimidating but you knew you could push past that cold exterior.

You were determined to.

It started with your habit of drawing her main test subjects, rabbits! A way to memorialize the poor little guys.

“You are aware these animal’s lives are short lived? It is pointless to fawn over them.” She would tell you in her usual biting, matter-of-fact tone.

Yes. You knew that but it didn’t stop you. Pages of your sketchbook were lined with the sweet rabbit’s faces and yet, you’d desired a new subject.

In between helping Moira (obeying what she required of you) you began to sketch her in secret.

She was very drawable. Her tall figure, her sharp eyes, her long nails, her mutated arm with its veins running up and down it like a deep purple river. You liked her hair and pointed nose.

Truthfully, it started to become an obsession. You had accumulated several sketches of Moira, hunched over her desk with her palm bracing her forehead. Your favorite’s were ones where you’d illustrated her in various different outfits, just for the fun of it.

She’d never ask what you were up to but you’d caught her a time or two, glancing your way when you were also hunched over, scribbling in your sketchbook. Rolling her eyes if you dared to look up at her.

Eventually she stopped paying any mind to it, the laboratory was more often than not filled with only the sound of your pencil on the paper and occasional clink of glass test tubes.

You’d truly created your best yet. On a small pastel pink post-it note was a doodle of Moira snuggling with a bunny. It was so precious, so cute, so … impossible to envision that your brain insisted on making it a reality. You could only imagine Moira’s annoyance if she saw this. It was uncharacteristically adorable.

You placed if loosely between the pages of your notebook as you packed your things to leave for the day.

or you thought you had…

The next morning you’d walked into the laboratory, Moira’s back was to you, hunched over her desk as usual. Only there was a familiar flash of pink hanging directly on her notes board.

She had found your drawing and hung it up?

“Dr. O’Deorain?” You spoke up meekly.

“Yes?” She replied sharply, without looking up.

“You found my drawing.” You said, still quite surprised.

“Yes.” She said before a long pause.

“You hung it up.” You said.

She turned around rapidly. “Is there a point to your prattling, assistant?” She said sternly, her eyes boring into your own.

You only stared back, in a state of slight fear and disbelief. Then she laughed. Moira apparently thought this was humorous. Her elegant laugh echoed in the barren lab.

“You think me so impossibly difficult?” She asked before waiting for a response, she added: “I liked it. I hope you do not mind. It keeps me” She paused. “…humble.” She smirked.

Your face tightened into a bashful smile, it felt hot with confusion and embarrassment and maybe a bit of admiration. You wouldn’t be replaced like those before you and you were exceedingly happy about that.