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his f-18, his bronco, his favorite sports teams and you-rooster

Auther:crybabygypsy

“Roo, baby, you know I love you from the absolute bottom of my heart but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.” You order sweetly, pointing toward the living room with the spatula in your hand.

Rooster had come waltzing in a few moments ago, his baseball game having cut to a commercial break, and with one look at you buzzing around the kitchen with your hair messily pulled back against your head as you multitasked getting things prepped for tonight's dinner, had announced that he wanted to help.

To which you said absolutely not and he immediatley wanted to know why leading to the converstation you were currently having.

He grabbed at his chest, face twisting in offense, “Excuse you, for your information I am a fantastic cook. Carole Bradshaw insured that.” 

“And I have the utmost absolute faith in Aunt Carole’s abilities. What I don’t have faith in is your ability to pay attention and retain the knowledge of anything that doesn’t have to do with your F-18, Bronco or favorite sports teams.” 

“Are you calling me dumb Y/n Mitchell?” He accused.

“I never said that Bradley Bradshaw, I only meant that your talents and intelligence are more aptly applied in places that aren’t my kitchen.” You countered, putting emphasis on his name the way he did yours.

He stared at you for a moment, eyes playfully narrowed, trying to come up with good enough response to defend himself against your argument. He repeats your list mentally to himself; His F-18, his bronco, his favorite sports teams and...wait a minute-

Rooster's head cocked to the side and a smirk spread across his face as a thought suddenly dawned on him. You rose an eyebrow as he placed his beer down on the kitchen island and took a step forward crossing the distance towards you, “What are you doing?”

“You left something off that list,” he said softly, taking another step forward and pinning you to the counter with his hips. His hands went forward to rest on the edge of the marble on either side of your waist, leaving you with no where to go.

You furrowed your eyebrows and smiled in confusion up at him, “What?” 

His closeness was disarming and you never could think straight in his presence. Especially not with those dark brown eyes locked so intensely on yours, so your earlier argument had already slipped from your mind. 

“The list of things that you said I pay attention to and remember stuff about, you forgot something.” He repeated, breath fanning lightly across your face, “It's my F-18, my bronco, my favorite sports teams and you. I always pay attention and remember anything to do with you baby.” 

Your breath hitched and you instantly became putty in his arms, heart melting right along with the rest of you. 

Your suddenly hit with the rush of an overwhelming amount of love for the man in front of you. Surging forward, you closed the small gap between you and brought your lips together in a passionate kiss. Your arms circled themselves tightly around his neck, spatula dropping forgotten to the floor, as you tried with every fiber in your being to express through your kiss just how much you freaking loved and adored him. 

The pair of you don’t separate until you both desperately need to breathe, gasping lightly as you do for air. Your arms remained in their locked postion around his neck, preventing him from putting any space between you, so he simply lowered his forehead to rest against yours, eyes falling shut. 

It’s silent between you for a few more moments as you basked in one another’s touch, breathing the same breath before you break it by whispering, “I still don’t trust you in my kitchen.” 

Rooster doesn’t react at first but then suddenly he bursts into loud boisterous laughter. His head dropping down to your shoulder, body shaking against yours with the force of it.

He manages to recover a few seconds later and still slightly chuckling, squeezes your waist before lifting his head up and pressing one more soft kiss to your lips.

Rooster then proceeds to back away, freeing you from your postion pinned against the counter, and grabbed his beer off the island to return to his game. 

“Whatever you say honey.”