I’m going to be clear: the Malvinas are Argentine.
This isn’t an empty slogan or something that belongs to one political side. It is a historical reality, rooted in the country’s formation and sustained over time.
Argentina inherited the islands from Spain under the principle of uti possidetis iuris, and in its early years as a state it exercised effective sovereignty by appointing authorities, establishing settlements, and administering the territory. The British occupation in 1833 was not legitimate or consensual. It involved the expulsion of Argentine authorities and population already living there.
Since then, the claim has never stopped. It has been a consistent state policy across governments and generations. Reducing the Malvinas issue to a right wing cause is not only simplistic, it is historically wrong. This is a broad, popular claim that cuts across political traditions and includes Indigenous communities who used the islands long before the modern conflict.
There is also something that often gets ignored or deliberately overlooked. The material interests behind the occupation.
The islands are not just symbolic. They are a strategic point in the South Atlantic. Their control allows the United Kingdom to project military power, oversee maritime routes and control resources that belong to Argentina.
Right now, that occupation enables the United Kingdom to grant fishing licenses in waters that are part of the Argentine sea, affecting native species and ecosystems. It also allows for the exploration and exploitation of hydrocarbons on the continental shelf. This is not just about land. It is about economic, energy and food sovereignty.
There is another key dimension. Antarctica.
Control over the South Atlantic is tied to influence in Antarctica. The British presence in the islands strengthens its position in relation to that continent, while for Argentina, sovereignty over the islands is tied to projecting its claim over its Antarctic sector.
Argentina has maintained a presence in Antarctica since before the Antarctic Treaty. This is part of a long historical continuity.
The "argument" about the self determination of the current islanders does not stand on its own. The population was established by the occupying power after expelling the previous one. In colonial contexts, that principle has limits.
This is not about denying current identities. It is about understanding how those identities were formed.
If that is ignored, then any occupation becomes acceptable as long as enough time passes.
Malvinas is not just memory. It is sovereignty, resources and geopolitics.
But, Why am I writing all of this? Because I have been reading takes that expose a deep hypocrisy.
Takes from English speaking users who call themselves leftist and anti imperialist, some even with a Palestinian flag in their bio, yet defend British occupation of the Malvinas.
That is not a small contradiction. It is a double standard.
I do not want that kind of presence in my space. I am not interested in people who claim moral authority while applying their principles selectively. Harsh toward peripheral countries, soft toward the powers they belong to.
If you think the Malvinas are British, this is not your space.
If you think Argentina is the imperialist actor in this context, this is not your space.
If you criticize countries like mine with standards you would never apply to your own, this is not your space.
If you are willing to listen, to question those inconsistencies and to step outside that comfortable worldview, then yes.
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“my father is a boy and my mother is a girl so i’m mixed” is the funniest possible response to someone asking your gender and it came from 6’5 Viking footballer and notable weird little guy Erling Haaland on a Snapchat
Heyyy can I request Reader ignoring Derek after accidental confessing her feelings to him,and then he finally gets the reader to talk to him. 💜
Tysm for requesting, and I'm so sorry it took me as long as it did to write this. It quite literally reignited my writing tendencies. Hope you like it <3
Warnings: Slightly insecure reader, use of "baby" like once I think, hardly proofread.
Word count: 1146
~~~
“You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a lil’ thing for me,” he laughed.
Before thinking, you replied, “I do.”
“What?”
“What?”
Before he could even think of a response, you were gone. Your legs moved faster than your brain could process what just happened. Nearly a year of hiding these feelings ruined by a Freudian slip. In the blink of an eye, you were home and could finally breathe again.
After slipping off your shoes and flopping onto your couch, you finally looked at your phone. 3 missed calls and 10 new messages, all from the same insufferably charismatic agent. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer him.
Hours passed by like seconds as doubts and uncertainties circled your mind. What did he think of you now? Is he disgusted by the confession? What if you ruined everything between the two of you? Eventually, the thoughts slowed just long enough to release you to the quiet comfort of sleep.
The next day, your nerves were sky high, and the unusually long elevator ride did little to soothe them. The second the doors opened, you beelined to your desk—no morning chats by the coffee maker. No playfully rolling your eyes at Derek’s jokes. And absolutely no flirty banter with your literal partner in crime. Making it to your desk without tripping or running into someone is a miracle in itself. Scared of the rejection, you did the one thing no one could fault you for: your job. Surely burying yourself in work would dull the ache in your chest from the previous day's embarrassing encounter. To be fair, there are worse ways to avoid talking about your feelings. At least this method helped get killers off the street.
Unfortunately for you, this newfound work ethic did not go unnoticed. Specifically from a certain flirtatious team member whose frown was unmistakable.
Derek recognized the switch in your routine almost instantly. He missed hearing about your morning commute and the way you described the treacherous experience of morning rush hour traffic. He missed the way you said good morning to him as soon as possible. He missed the calm you brought to his morning, and he especially missed the face you made when he made the smallest flirty joke. All in all, he just missed you.
The silence was deafening. Every attempt to talk to you was met with a hasty retreat. Suddenly, there was a file you needed or a meeting with Garcia that you couldn’t miss. Within the first few hours of the work day, you’d fled your station at least twenty times. It was just your luck that this was the one day the BAU had no case to jet off to. Maybe then there’d be an excuse to avoid him.
After what felt like years, the work day came to an end. You closed out the day’s work and looked around. The last thing you wanted was to get up to leave, only to be trapped in close quarters with none other than Derek Morgan. Surprisingly, he was nowhere to be found. Figuring the coast was clear, you began packing up and leaving, ignoring the pang in your chest. The day sucked without Derek. You’d never say it aloud, and definitely not to his face, but he made slow days like this exciting. Every day you looked forward to seeing his face and hearing the new phrase he’d had that made you smile ear to ear. Maybe it was embarrassing when the team noticed and teased you about it, but the warm feeling he’d leave you with was worth it every time. For the first time in a long time, you went home feeling cold.
Walking to your car felt like climbing Mount Everest. Not because it was freezing outside, or because your body was tired. More like walking without the lightness Derek Morgan poured into you felt like being weighed down by supplies and having your breath taken by an extremely high altitude. Truth be told, you missed him in every way that mattered.
The garage was as it was every night. Quiet. Brightly lit. Unsuspecting. You walked to your car with practiced precision until you noticed a figure standing eerily close to the vehicle. Admittedly, you should’ve been more aware, considering you’re a federal agent after all. Before you could turn, yell, or call anyone, the figure made themself known. Much to your dismay, it happened to be Derek.
“You almost gave me a heart attack, Morgan. What are you doing out here?”
He stepped closer, taking you in and seemingly analyzing your every twitch and move. “Why are you avoiding me?”
You opened your mouth and closed it. Had he actually noticed the difference? Plus, he cares enough to have an issue with it. Why?
“I haven’t-” He cut you off quickly. “You didn’t say good morning to me, you didn’t go on about the idiots on the road, you ran out of the room every time I looked in your direction. Why?”
You could tell he was genuinely hurt by your actions, or lack thereof. You wanted to break the silence and move on, but you couldn’t. Every word got caught in your throat, and every imagined excuse fell flat. And worst of all, he had no clue why you avoided him, as if the very reason didn’t make you cringe at the thought of it.
“It’s because of what happened yesterday,” you relent.
Derek racked his brain in an attempt to solve the riddle you presented. “I’m sorry baby, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Are you serious, Derek?”
“So serious”
Deciding it’s time (mostly because you couldn’t run away if you tried) you let out a breath and tried to be bold.
“I told you I liked you.”
“And?” He said confused.
You stare at him, taken aback. “And. That’s all you have to say?”
“Wait.” He smiled. “All of this ignoring and running away because you told me something I already know?”
The record scratch of your brain was almost audible. “You knew?!?”
His smile slowly formed into a warm laugh. “I had an inkling.”
Your heart dropped. He knew about your feelings and intentionally flirted with you, only making them worse. Has he been laughing at you this whole time?
“Nope. Get out of your pretty little head, I can hear your thoughts.” He stepped closer and looked you directly in the eyes. “I like you, and I came in today with every intention of asking you out, but you know I never had the chance.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah oh.”
“I feel stupid now,” you joked sadly.
“You’re never stupid, trust me. So what do you say? Will you stop ignoring me and let me take you out?”
And well, you’d really be stupid if you said no to that.
Summary: You lose a bet against Desiree and Sarah Morgan, and they think of the perfect consequence for losing. One that can either ruin what you have with their brother or take it to the next level.
Square Filled: Needles for @anyfandomgoesbingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated! <3
x
You never should have taken this stupid bet.
Your best friend, Desiree, is model-looking good, and she can get any guy she wants. Alcohol dulled your senses and convinced you it was a good idea to go up against her. You’re never drinking around Desiree and her sister, Sarah, ever again. Not when they love to team up against you.
The bet was to see how many guys you could get to kiss you in an hour. It’s arbitrary, but you lost by five men.
Alcohol also influenced what the loser had to do if she lost. Sarah and Desiree came up with it, and you went along with it, thinking you were gonna win this bet. The loser has to tattoo whatever the winner decides. You already have a few tattoos that have been the result of a bad, drunken mistake, so what’s one more? At least you get to choose the place.
“You know, this bet was stupid,” you mutter.
Desiree laughs. “You’re the one who thought you could kiss more strangers than me. It’s not my fault you only focused on men. I got kisses from both genders.”
You roll your eyes. “Fine. A bet is a bet. What am I putting on my body?”
Sarah and Desiree look at each other and smirk. You should be ready, but like you said, you have other tattoos that were the result of a drunken night, so you’re not too worried about it. You can always cover it up if you need to later.
No, it can’t be that bad.
Yes, it can, and it is.
Desiree and Sarah are conniving bitches, but you didn’t think they’d make you get this. It’s no secret you have a thing for their brother, Derek, but the last thing you’re going to do is feed his ego and tell him.
Fucking Desiree. She had Derek Morgan’s name tattooed on your upper thigh. Very close to your pussy, and you only chose that spot because there is no way anyone is ever going to see that. They wanted you to get it over your heart, but you wear a lot of shirts that are low cut, and he’d certainly see it then.
Thankfully, he won’t be able to see it. It’s a joke between friends, and it’s going to stay that way.
This case is urgent, so Hotch directed the team to go straight to the jet. You’ll be briefed on your way to California. You get to the airport a little earlier than planned, so the jet isn’t ready to board. You’re waiting outside with your bags, leaning against your car, and scrolling on your phone.
JJ and Spencer arrive, and then Derek. You tense when you see him get out of his truck, but you don’t greet him like Spencer and JJ do. You’re good friends with Derek, but you’ve always wanted to fuck him ever since you understood what fucking was. He’d been the source of your wet dreams throughout high school and all throughout college.
Knowing that you have his name on your body without him knowing is kind of hot, and the last thing you’re going to do is tell him about it.
“Hi, Y/N.”
“Hey, Derek.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You won’t look at me in the eye.”
You peel your eyes from the asphalt and look at Derek. “Happy?”
“Better,” he smirks.
The cleaners leave the jet, allowing you to board it. Emily, Hotch, Penelope, and Rossi are on route, so it won’t be long until you’re up in the air. It must be serious if Penelope is joining you.
“Y/N, do you want to come with me to see the new Jurassic World movie?” JJ asks.
“Sure. What time?”
“Around two? Will is taking the kids to a water park.”
“I’ll be there,” you smile.
You take a seat at the small table, and Derek slides into the seat next to you. It would be no problem, but you’re next to the window, and you’re not about to be trapped where all you can feel, sense, see, and smell is Derek.
“Excuse me. I have to use the bathroom.”
Derek gets up to let you pass, and you speed walk to the bathroom. You don’t have to go. You need to cool down your heated skin. How are you ever going to look at Derek again, knowing his name is branded to your skin?
The previous jet had been in an accident when it was damaged in a storm, so they ordered a new one. Everyone voted to make the bathroom a little bit bigger, so there is just enough room to fit two people if they really squeeze.
You turn the sink on and splash some cold water on your face when someone knocks on the door.
“Come in.” You’re just about done, anyway. The door opens, and Derek shoves his way inside the small bathroom. “Oh, let me get out of your way.” Derek doesn’t move from the door, effectively blocking you in. “Derek, are you okay?”
“Let me see it,” he mumbles.
“See what?”
“Sarah and Desiree told me what happened. Let me see it.”
Conniving bitches. You love them, but they get on your nerves, too. “I think you should leave.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
He drops to his knees in front of you, making the space feel even smaller. He’s so close to you that you’re sure he can smell your arousal. He slides his hands up your bare legs and under your knee-length skirt. He bunches the fabric as he goes higher until he can see the delicate black ink and your pretty pink panties.
He smirks and traces around the tattoo. He doesn’t want to touch it without washing his hands first. He looks up at you, and you almost collapse at seeing the desire in his eyes.
“Do you mind?”
You shake your head, unable to form any words. He leans in and kisses right above the tattoos, dangerously close to your pussy. A little bit higher, and he’d be kissing your clit. You grip the edge of the sink and pant. All you want is for him to tug your panties down and go to town.
Unfortunately, he lowers your skirt and stands up to his full height.
“It’s cute.” He leans in and brushes his lips against yours. “It’s nice to know who you belong to.”
With that, he leaves. Fuck, you’re screwed in the most delicious way possible. You have only Sarah and Desiree to thank.
x
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Summary: Derek’s flirting with garcia never bothered you before. Then you became his secret girlfriend, and suddenly listening to him call someone else baby girl while pretending you meant nothing to him started to hurt.
Word count: ~1,265
A/N: Have only been writing for Spencer and Derek needs his love too. So yeah, enjoy a jealous!reader.
Tags: angst, fluff
___________________________________
You knew how Derek spoke to Garcia long before you started dating him.
Baby girl. Gorgeous. Sweetness.
It had never bothered you before. Then Derek kissed you in the parking garage after a late case, one hand warm against your cheek, and suddenly every endearment he gave someone else felt like something being taken from you.
You hated yourself for it.
Garcia was your friend. You knew their flirting was harmless, built from years of trust and impossible cases. Derek looked at her with affection, not desire.
Knowing did not make it hurt less. Especially when no one knew about you.
Keeping the relationship private had seemed reasonable at first. The team noticed everything, and neither of you wanted something new examined beneath a microscope before you had figured it out yourselves.
Three months later, you were still pretending not to know what Derek’s mouth tasted like.
“Talk to me, sweetness,” Garcia’s voice came through the conference-room speaker.
Derek leaned over the table. “Tell me you’ve got something good for me, baby girl.”
You kept your eyes on the file in front of you.
Garcia sighed dramatically. “I always have something good for you.”
Emily smirked. Rossi shook his head. Everyone treated it like background noise.
Usually, you could too. But Derek had left your apartment that morning without kissing you goodbye because JJ had called. He had spent the entire drive to Quantico on the phone, and once you arrived, you had entered separately.
He had barely looked at you since. Now he was smiling at the speakerphone in that slow, charming way of his.
“Keep talking like that and I might have to bring you flowers.”
Garcia gasped. “You better not make promises you can’t keep.”
Something inside you snapped. You stood so quickly your chair rolled backward. “I need coffee.”
Derek’s smile disappeared.
You left before anyone could notice.
The break room was empty. You gripped the edge of the counter, staring down at a mug you had no intention of using.
You were being ridiculous. Garcia had done nothing wrong. Derek had done nothing he had not done a thousand times before you became his girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
The word felt almost embarrassing when no one else was allowed to know.
The door opened behind you.
“You okay?”
You did not turn around. “Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I didn’t know you were looking.”
Silence. Derek closed the door.
“That supposed to mean something?”
You finally faced him. He looked tired. Concerned. Completely unaware of the ache he had caused.
“You should go back,” you said. “Garcia might miss you.”
His expression changed. Understanding. “Is that what this is about?”
Heat rushed into your face. “Forget it.”
“Hey.” He stepped closer. “Talk to me.”
You laughed once, bitterly. “Should I call you baby boy first?”
His jaw tightened. The shame arrived immediately, but you were too hurt to stop.
“I know it’s stupid,” you said. “I know that’s how you two are. I knew before we started this.”
“Then you know it doesn’t mean anything.”
“That’s the problem.”
Derek frowned. “How is that the problem?”
“Because those words don’t mean anything when you say them to her, but I’m supposed to believe they mean something when you say them to me.”
His face softened.
You looked away before it could make you cry. “I’m not asking you to change your friendship with Garcia. I would never do that. But everyone gets to hear how much you adore her, and I have to act like you’re just another coworker.”
“You’re not.”
“No one knows that.”
“We agreed to keep this private.”
“I agreed to private.” Your voice broke. “I didn’t realize private would feel so much like invisible.”
Derek went still.
You swallowed hard. “This morning, you left without saying goodbye. Yesterday, you walked past me in the bullpen like I was nothing. Then you call her gorgeous in front of everyone, and I’m supposed to sit there and remember that I’m the one you go home with.”
“You are.”
“That isn’t enough if I only exist behind closed doors.”
The words settled heavily between you.
Derek rubbed a hand over his face. “I thought I was protecting us.”
“From what?”
“The team. The jokes. Everyone getting involved before we were ready.”
“And are we ready now?”
He looked at you. You had never seen Derek Morgan struggle for words.
“I am,” he said.
Your chest tightened.
“But I don’t know if you are.”
He stepped closer.
This time, you let him.
“I should’ve noticed,” he said. “I should’ve checked in instead of assuming you were okay.”
“It isn’t Garcia’s fault.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to pull away from her because of me.”
“I won’t.” His hand hovered near yours, waiting. “But I can be more careful with you. And I can stop making you feel like something I’m hiding.”
You stared at his hand. “Are you embarrassed of us?”
His head jerked back. “Never.”
“Then why does it feel like you are?”
Derek took your hand. “Because I handled this wrong.”
His thumb moved over your knuckles. “You’re not invisible to me,” he said. “You’re the first person I look for when I walk into a room. You’re the one I want beside me when a case gets bad. And every time I pretend you’re nothing to me in front of the team, it kills me too.”
Your eyes burned. “You’re very convincing.”
“That’s because I’m scared somebody’s gonna get involved and ruin something that’s ours.”
“No one can take it.”
“I know that now.”
He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Let me fix it.”
“How?”
A knock sounded against the door. “Are you two alive in there?” Emily called.
Derek looked at you. Then he opened the door without releasing your hand. Emily’s eyes dropped immediately to your intertwined fingers. Her eyebrows rose. Behind her, JJ stopped walking. Rossi glanced up from the file in his hands.
Derek squeezed your hand. “We’ll be right there,” he said.
Emily looked between you, a slow smile forming. “Take your time.”
When she walked away, you stared at Derek. “That was your plan?”
“I didn’t have a plan.”
“That’s terrifying.”
He smiled.
Then, right there in the open doorway, he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Not your mouth. Not yet. But it was gentle, public and unmistakably yours.
By the time you returned to the conference room, Garcia’s call had ended. Derek remained beside you, his fingers loosely linked with yours beneath the table.
Emily noticed. So did JJ. Neither of them said anything until Garcia appeared on the monitor for the next update.
Her eyes narrowed almost immediately. “Why are you two sitting so close?”
Derek leaned back in his chair. “No reason, baby girl.”
You rolled your eyes.
Garcia gasped. “Oh, my God.”
“What?” Rossi asked.
She pointed dramatically through the screen. “That eye roll had history behind it.”
Derek laughed and slid an arm across the back of your chair.
If you see me reblogging all Derek Morgan's fics available in one day, no you didn't🙄 last night i had a dream about him and suddenly i miss my chocolate thunder again.
It started, as most things involving the BAU eventually did, with Garcia noticing something first.
It had been six weeks since the team had managed an actual night out — six weeks of back-to-back cases, red-eyes, and one particularly brutal stretch in Ohio that had left all of them running on coffee and spite — and Rossi had finally put his foot down and declared that Friday night was, by executive order, a night off. No go-bags. No jet. Just the team, a corner booth at the bar three blocks from the office, and as many rounds as it took to remember what off-duty felt like.
Which was how, four drinks in, Garcia found herself staring across the table at Derek Morgan with the particular intensity of a woman who had just noticed a pattern and could not, for the life of her, look away from it.
"Okay," she said, setting her glass down with a decisive clink, "am I the only one seeing this?"
JJ followed her gaze toward the bar, where a very pretty woman in a red dress had just walked away from Derek looking politely rebuffed, and where Derek himself had gone straight back to his beer like nothing had happened at all.
"Seeing what?" JJ asked.
"That's the third one."
"The third what?"
"The third woman Derek Morgan has turned down in the last forty-five minutes." Garcia said it like she was delivering a profile. "I have been keeping count, JJ. I have been keeping count."
Spencer, who had been quietly nursing a club soda and half-listening to Rossi explain the correct way to pour a Barolo, looked up with sudden interest. "That is statistically unusual."
"Thank you, Reid."
"No, I mean it — Morgan's baseline rate of romantic engagement at social gatherings is significantly higher than—"
"We don't need the baseline rate, sweetness, we need a theory."
Across the table, Prentiss leaned in, grinning. "Maybe he's tired."
"Derek Morgan," Garcia said, "has never in his adult life been too tired to flirt. I have seen that man charm a suspect's grandmother into giving up an alibi at four in the morning on zero sleep. He does not get tired in that particular department."
Hotch, who up until this point had been very deliberately not participating, allowed the smallest, most infuriating almost-smile as he sipped his drink. Rossi noticed it immediately.
"You know something," Rossi said.
"I know nothing," Hotch said, in the exact tone of a man who absolutely knew something.
That, of course, only made it worse. By the time the fourth woman of the evening approached the bar and got the same easy, friendly, entirely uninterested response from Derek — a smile, a few polite words, and a clear, firm redirect — the whole table had abandoned all pretense of subtlety and was simply staring at him outright.
"Alright." Derek finally turned around, beer in hand, taking in six pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying degrees of suspicion. "Why does it feel like I'm being profiled at my own team's night off."
"Because you are," Garcia said. "Explain yourself."
"Explain what?"
"The rejections, Derek Morgan. Four beautiful women have approached you this evening and four beautiful women have walked away disappointed, and you have offered no explanation, and this team does not do unexplained anomalies."
"Maybe I'm just not interested tonight."
"You are always interested," Garcia said. "That's the anomaly."
Derek laughed, ducking his head, but you'd have had to know him a long time — the way JJ did, the way Garcia did — to catch the specific shape of the smile underneath it, the one that wasn't performance. Rossi, watching over the rim of his glass, caught it easily enough.
"He's seeing someone," Rossi said, mildly, like he was noting the weather.
The table erupted.
"WHAT—"
"Since when—"
"Derek Morgan, I have profiled serial offenders with less effort than it is currently taking me to get information out of you, and I am offended—"
"Okay, okay—" Derek held both hands up, laughing properly now, caught fully in the act and clearly deciding there was no graceful way out of it. "It's new. It's not — I wasn't trying to keep it some big secret, I just didn't feel like turning it into a whole thing at the bar."
"Too late," Prentiss said. "It's already a whole thing. Who is she?"
Derek hesitated, just a beat, in a way that made Garcia physically gasp.
"You remember her," he said finally. "From that case. Couple months back, out in—" he named the small town, the one none of them liked to think about too hard, the one where things had gone sideways before they'd gone right. "You all met her, actually. Briefly."
It took Spencer exactly four seconds to connect it, his eyes going wide. "Wait. Her? The — the witness? The one who—"
"Yeah."
"The one you sat with in the hospital hallway for six hours after everything went down," JJ said slowly, memory clicking into place, "and told the rest of us you were just, quote, making sure she was okay for the case file?"
"That was partially true."
"Derek."
"Okay, it was maybe fifteen percent true." He was grinning now, unable to help it, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck the way he did when he was genuinely, unguardedly happy rather than performing charm for a room. "We kept in touch after. Started as checking in. Turned into something else pretty quick, if I'm honest. Didn't want to bring it up around the team till I knew it was actually going somewhere."
"And is it?" Garcia asked, already halfway to misty-eyed. "Going somewhere?"
"Yeah," Derek said, simply, no jokes, no deflection, just the plain truth of it sitting easy on his face. "It is."
The table went uncharacteristically soft for a moment — even Hotch's almost-smile widened a fraction, even Rossi looked, for one unguarded second, genuinely pleased rather than smug — before Garcia, predictably, ruined the moment by nearly climbing across the table.
"I need her number. I need to meet her. I need to run a full and complete background check, which I will absolutely be doing regardless of what anyone in this booth says—"
"Garcia—"
"I need to know if she's good enough for you, and frankly, Derek Morgan, considering you just turned down four objectively stunning women tonight without blinking, I think we already have our answer, and I am deeply moved—"
"She's sitting right behind you, by the way," Derek said, mild as anything, nodding past Garcia's shoulder toward the booth's entrance. "Just walked in. So maybe dial down the background check talk for like, five minutes."
The entire table turned in perfect, undignified unison to find you standing there, coat still half-on, clearly having caught at least the tail end of Garcia's speech, one eyebrow raised in open amusement.
"Please," you said, "don't let me interrupt the profiling."
Derek was already sliding out of the booth to meet you, grinning in a way you didn't often get to see him let all the way loose in front of the team, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple that made Garcia actually clutch her chest.
"Everybody," Derek said, sliding an arm easy around your waist and turning back to a table of six FBI agents currently looking at the two of you like they'd just cracked the case of the decade, "this is the reason I've had zero interest in anybody else all night."
"I already love her," Garcia announced, to no one in particular.
"You don't know her yet."
"I know she makes you smile like that. That's plenty of data for me."
You laughed, ducking slightly into Derek's side, and he pulled you in a little closer, looking entirely too pleased with himself for a man who'd just been thoroughly ambushed by his own team.
"For what it's worth," you said, glancing around the table, "he talks about all of you constantly. I feel like I already know you, honestly. Reid, you like trains. Rossi, you make everyone try your wine whether they want to or not. JJ's the reasonable one. And Garcia—" you looked at her, smiling, "—he said you'd probably try to background-check me within the hour."
"He is correct," Garcia said, entirely without shame, already pulling her phone out. "It's already begun."
"Baby girl."
"I'm just saying, if she's got a parking ticket from 2019, I will know about it by the time we order the next round."
Derek looked down at you, shaking his head, but there wasn't a trace of real complaint in it — just the easy, settled look of a man who'd spent the whole night dodging attention because none of it had been the attention he actually wanted, and had finally, happily, been caught.
"Come on," he said, tugging you gently toward the booth, making room beside him like it had always been waiting for you. "Sit down. Ignore Garcia. She'll calm down in a minute."
"I will not," Garcia said cheerfully, already typing.
You slid in beside Derek anyway, and he kept his arm around you the rest of the night, entirely unbothered by an audience for once, looking — for the first time in six exhausting weeks — completely, thoroughly off the clock.
★・・・・・・★
a/n: me when my hiatus is literal years and then i whack this one out in like 20 mins and even proof read it.... I'm so sorry
Erling was getting ready to leave for practice. “I’ll see you later, kjære,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips like he did every day.
The moment his lips touched yours, the slick product transferred to his lips. The warm scent of vanilla filled his senses, making him lean back slightly.
“Is that a new lip balm?” he asked, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips.
You hummed in response. “Yeah, I bought it recently.”
While he was used to kissing you with lip balm on, you’d never used a flavored one.
“Ahh,” he muttered. He dipped back down to kiss you properly, his grip on your face tightening as he tasted the vanilla, tongue swiping across your bottom lip. Usually, your morning parting kisses were quick because he liked getting to practice early. Today, however, he lingered. He kept moving his lips against yours, lost in the feel of your mouth as the vanilla mixed with the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue.
For the rest of the day, he couldn't stop kissing you. He kept finding excuses to steal a quick peck, or better yet, pull you into a proper kiss. You were literally just existing, and the man was all over you, constantly leaning in with a quick, “Lemme just...” before pulling you into a smooch. You had to reapply the lip balm dozens of times because half of what you applied ended up on his lips, or directly into his system because he kept licking it off.
A few days later, he kissed you expecting that familiar vanilla flavor he’d grown to love. But instead, a sweet, fruity scent hit him just before his lips landed on yours. He made a muffled noise against your mouth before pulling back, his tongue darting out to taste his own lips.
“It’s different,” he whispered.
“What?” you asked.
“The flavor,” he replied. “It’s not vanilla.”
“It’s peach,” you said.
His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing the sheer nude tint.
“It’s nice,” he murmured. He leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue brushing the corner of your mouth. A tiny amount of the balm transferred to his tongue before it entered your mouth and he deepened the kiss. When he finally pulled back, you raised your hand to his face, your fingers gently wiping away the excess product smeared below his lips.
“If this keeps up, I’m going to run out of lip balm way too soon,” you said.
“You have more than one, so it’s fine,” he said softly with a smile.
The next few days went exactly the same way, with Erling kissing you insistently as if he had absolutely no control over himself.
Then came the day you chose a new flavour —cherry, which left a sheer, slight red tint on your lips. Erling noticed the difference immediately. The day went on as usual, except Erling kept cutting you off in the middle of your sentences just to kiss you. Sometimes, his tongue would brush your lips before his actual mouth even touched yours, making you gasp into the kiss.
You were looking at your phone. “Hey, baby, about dinner, I was thinking—“
He suddenly stepped into your space and captured your lips in a deep, needy kiss, devouring your mouth like he was trying to taste every drop of it. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he murmured against your lips, “Sorry for interrupting you, love.”
You blinked, breathless, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “It’s fine. I was just saying—“
He leaned right back down, cutting you off again. His hands found your waist to pull you against him. Yeah, he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
Another day brought another flavor — caramel. It amused him because he wasn’t eating any toffee, yet he kept getting the sugary taste of it directly from your mouth. This flavor made him nibble your bottom lip as if he was actually eating candy.
One morning, you were getting ready for the day and and reached out to grab whichever tube your fingers landed on first. Erling, who was sitting on the bed behind you tying his shoes, suddenly stopped you.
“Baby, can you,” he said behind you, looking at you in the reflection of your vanity mirror. “Can you use the cherry one today?”
You paused, processing his words, before a smile spread across your face. “Oh, do you like the cherry one, Erling?”
A blush spread over Erling’s and he smiled at you, finishing tying his shoes and standing up to come behind you. “I do. It tastes the best out of all of them.”
You laughed softly, switching the tube you’d been holding for the cherry one. “You know, you could just use it on yourself, right?”
He stepped closer to you the moment you finished applying it, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Won’t taste as good as it does coming from you,” he said, before leaning down to kiss you.
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wait, you're telling me SPAIN is racist??? that can't be... they're the good guys, the progressive europeans who defeated the evil southamericans
surely a country where romani people face systemic racism and police brutality can't be bad. surely a country where one of the most beloved streamers is on video gleefully saying the n word to a black man several times can't be bad.
i mean, i'm sure the whole colonization and stealing is a thing of the past and not at all ingrained into their modern society, right? 😥
In other news, this is Jennifer Parker, a black argentine creator who's being harassed by gringos and other black people online.
They're saying she's lying about being argentinian, mocking her for having an argie accent, and telling her she doesn't "look" black enough for them. My question is, why does she need to justify her identity or prove her race to anyone? Do these people actually care about racism?
This is the shit that will actually get you beat the fuck up if you come to our country. We didn't have segregation over here, it may be normal behavior for y'all to dissect someone's identity and ask them what percentage of black they are, but for us that is the most outrageously racist shit you could say to someone.
Black argentinians exist and they deserve to be heard. They don't owe shit to anyone, much less gringos who have the audacity to speak for them and are obsessed with proving that they don't exist. Y'all are so fucking weird.
I genuinely can't believe so many famous people are falling for propaganda so easily and using their platform to spew hatred on a nation that already has so many racialized people trying to fight back the fascism machine.
Samuel Jackson saying people shouldn't support Argentina because we're "historically the most racist country in the world" is not only a disservice to the ALARMING AMOUNT OF YEARS OF SLAVERY AND SEGREGATION AGAINST BLACK PEOPLE IN HIS OWN DAMN COUNTRY AND THE CURRENT CONCENTRATION CAMPS DEDICATED TO LATINOAMERICAN PEOPLE ENTERING THE US but also does absolutely nothing to help those of us who have ever suffered racism inside Argentina.
It is not a light statement, it is largely unfounded, yet he has no problem using his platform to make such claims as did many internationally known celebrities.
Meanwhile the genocide that is currently going on in Palestine is evident and widely documented and yet many of these same people play dumb instead of using their platform to CONDEMN AN ACTUAL FUCKING GENOCIDE GOING ON RIGHT NOW. it's disgusting and extremely absurd.
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