Digging your own Grave (Phillip Graves X Reader)

Chapter 1

"Fuck!", A shout filled the room as I pinned my opponent to the ground. He writhed and groaned before slapping the ground and tapping out. I stood and released the man from my grasp, brushing off the sweat from my brow with a snide smirk on my face. A more annoyed groan sounds from him as he picks himself back up, "God damnit!", He complains, "Why the fuck do you always beat me??". The man before me was my rival and teammate, Commander Phillip Graves. His attitude and arrogance always got under my skin, but in the same boat, my superior and strength always got under his. "I don't know, Commander... Maybe fight like a man instead of a sissy. Take a class on strategy rather than rely of brute force perhaps?", I snidely chimed in response, raising a brow with an amused expression. He growls under his breath and stalks up to me, "Why you little...", and I cut him off with my palm in front of his face. "Temper, Temper, Temper... Watch yourself." Graves frowns at me and grumbles before turning his nose up and walking away. I smiled in my small victory, and following so I left the training area to head to my room in the barracks. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, once again shutting and locking the door behind me. I sighed gently and set down my things, once again wiping a bit of sweat from my brow before I strided to my bathroom, heartily in the mood for a hot shower after pinning my least favorite teammate to the ground like he weighed a as much as a paperclip. I had taken narrowly a step into my bathroom when I spied something on my vest. A patch... She frowned as she tore it off and lifted it to read it. It was one of Graves' that must come off during our less than friendly sparring session. I heaved a small sigh and rolled my eyes at the thought of the egotistical bastard I would so eagerly slug in the face if I could. I never really understood why it is we hated one another, perhaps a rivalry of some sort purely from envy, or perhaps just because. I looked in the mirror and shook my head as I stared at my reflection. I was wet with perspiration, no doubt not the most pleasant smelling at the moment either, but what can you do? It's a workout to have a man beneath you– in a fight... Ahem.

I shook my head and moved to the shower, turning the water on the hottest it would go to let it heat up as I stepped away once more to strip. I opened my bathroom door and stepped out of the room, peeling off sweaty clothes and gear and hanging them in places to dry, or putting them in their respective places once more. Bare and still sweaty, I sauntered my way back to the bathroom and shut the door, turning the waters temperature down a bit to a manageable level, stepping in and sighing as the scalding water bathed over my body, taking with it the dirt and grime of my day and the tension of my muscles along with it.

I backed up and dunked my head under the running water, letting it coat my hair and my scalp and face, washing away with it my resolve to keep my mind tethered to the moment. As my eyes closed and my fingers raked through my wet locs all that I could picture was the stupid face of the man I so hated, Graves. All I could hear ringing in my ears was his whiney voice complaining at every little thing I did. All I could feel was the subtle pain of a bruise he left on me in a petty sparring match whose trash talk went too far for him to handle. It made me mad just thinking about him but god damnit did the man occupy my mind. Infecting my thoughts like the plague to the point I couldn't help but to hste him more and more as time went on. His mere existence vexed me to my very core and I would slap him in his smug face if I could.

My eyes opened as ny head lifted from beneath the running water and I paused to stare at the wall. Why am I thinking about him in the shower? He's not worth the time. The only thing that should be getting under my skin right now is some exfoliants...

He never fully left my head throughout that shower, a little inkling lying in the back of my subconscious whilst I wondered of other things. Whenever I raked my hands through my hair and across my scalp to wash it, I'd see his cheeky face when I closed my eyes and shake my head with a grumble. If I slid my hands along my arms and legs to rinse soap off of my skin, I'd hear the bastards dastardly chuckle, the same one always at my expense, which heightened as I brushed the bruise he gave me.

Out of the shower I leaned on my vanity, staring in the slightly clouded mirror at my own reflection with a frown. Annoyance graced my countenance, and his idiocy plagued my conscience. Why can't he leave me alone even when the fucker isn't around? I had no idea. I sighed, looking down at his patch which remained on the vanity between where my hands rested, gazing at it knowing I'll have to see him to give it back. My frown deepened. I lifted my gaze once more and I saw him in the reflection behind me, a snide smile on his devious face. My eyes bulged as I jumped, gasped, and turned, ready to slap him but he wasn't there. I paused, breathing a bit erratically... Why is he always in my head? God I can't stand him...

I yank my towel from the rack on the wall and dry myself off, hanging it back up and waltzing into my room to my wardrobe. I open the thing and from it I produce a hoodie and some cozy shorts.  It was late already anyway. I stepped back into the bathroom and snatched his patch off the vanity, staring down st it with a displeased expression. But what else could I do? Let's get this over with...