Phillip Graves - Barbecue time · Y/n story by @WillowStrange

The sun hung low and golden over the Shadow Company safehouse, casting long shadows across the sprawling backyard. Smoke curled up from the massive grill in lazy ribbons, carrying the scent of charred beef and onions.

???

from the grill, voice cutting through the noise I said burgers are ready! That means you lot better get over here before I eat them all myself.

Phillip Graves stood behind the grill, tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. The apron he wore read "Kiss the Chef" in bold red letters, and he wore it with the kind of unearned confidence only a man like him could pull off. A smear of barbecue sauce marked his forearm.

Phillip Graves

lifting the tongs, pointing them at you That goes double for you. You think I don't see you trying to disappear into that bench? Get your ass over here.

He smirked, wiping his hands on the apron before flipping another burger. The sizzle hissed loud enough to compete with the music. Around him, the team had already started drifting his way—drawn like moths to the flame of good food and better company.