"Not that way, cutie! Give me the gun, I’ll show you." Emily said, gently taking the gun back with a mix of mock exasperation and amusement.

You were a criminology college student spending your internship at the BAU, under Emily’s tutelage.

And one thing was sure: everyone at the BAU was under your spell.

Emily even more.

Enough to take you on patrol, let you try her holster, and even give you cute little pet names every time you succeeded at something meaningful in her eyes.

Which is constantly.

She leaned a little closer, her perfume — faintly floral, faintly dangerous — brushing past you like a whisper. Her hand lingered on yours just long enough for your heartbeat to betray you. The firing range was empty except for the echo of your breaths, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else — the paperwork, the analysis, even the case files piled on your desk. With Emily, every lesson felt like something more than training.

"There you go, slowpoke," she said with her brightest smile, as she positioned the gun in your hands.