Emily: i can't find my pen. are you sitting on it again?
Y/n: no.
Emily: stand up.
Y/n: i don't want to.
Emily: why?
Y/n: *mumbling* because i'm probably sitting on your pen đ
Masterlist main masterlist request
Derek's wife gets kidnapped
Masterlist main masterlist request
Derek and his girlfriend on the plane
I cant decide what to write when i get the chance too next so help
I love Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia
can i request a derek fic where readers also in BAU and theyâre married and everytime someone says âmorganâ both her and derek turn around or show up and the teams figuring out how to differentiate the morganâs and dereks just all smug like âyeah sheâs MY wifeâ
i love youâre writing btw!!!đ©·
"Morgan?" Penelope calls from the kitchen, "You're scheduled for a retake of your ID photo today at 12!"
The responses she gets are a, 'What?' from you, and a, 'What'd you say?' from your husband. You blink bewilderedly at him, and relish the way that his grin lights up the room between you, like a sunbeam shot into your chest.
"Oh, not you," Penelope huffs, peering over the open door of the fridge to glance between you two, "I meant the pretty one!"
"That doesn't narrow it down, babygirl," Derek raises an amused brow at her, drumming his pen on the wood surface of his desk, "You talking to me or my wife?"
"Your wife!" Penelope all but snaps, "Derek, your ego is so inflated."
"It's your fault," You tease Penelope, who withdraws from the fridge with a can of soda and a slightly guilty expression on her face, "I seem to remember you answering just about a thousand of his phone calls with, 'Ahoy there, sexy'."
"Stop," She pleads regretfully, cracking the tab on her soda can with more force than she needs to, "Don't- stop! I didn't know you two were- were hitched! -were canoodling! I never would have talked about his abs if I'd known he was taken."
"It's okay," You promise her, and you really mean it, because you know for all of their sex-crazed banter, they're friends to the highest degree, and Derek is faithful to you. "Penelope, if it weren't for you, he wouldn't know how to paint nails."
"It's true," Derek nods, grabbing your hand to showcase the baby blue color he'd applied for you just yesterday, "You're my personal trainer, P.G."
She surrenders with a sigh, and you're glad that she seems to not harbor any real guilt, because you'd hate for her to be burdened with it. She leans in to peer at your hand Derek has on display, and when she looks closely at your ring finger, her nose scrunches in a grimace.
"You got it on her cuticles, Derek," She chides, disapproval apparent in her tone that makes your chest shake in a gleeful laugh, "Have I taught you nothing?"