Anyone who knew you, knew you were a horrible marksman. It was something that you simply couldn’t get a grasp on, your hands would shake, you couldn’t focus, and you’d be off by miles. Your Commander, Graves, took it upon himself to be the one to correct this in you. He took you out to an open field he used himself for training and he set up a few targets. He taught you about each piece of the firearm as he assembled it in front of you. Once you had it in your hands, Graves corrected all of your mistakes. He positioned the gun correctly, placing one hand on your waist to steady you and the other on your wrist to calm your shaking hands. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling your ear.

“You’re too tense, darlin’. Relax, can’t shoot if you’re all wound up. Take a deep breath and take your shot, sweet cheeks.” He whispered, the deep timbre of his voice resonating in your ear.