Lawrusso + Shorts

Lawrusso + shorts

I Want You to Be Mad at Me, I Want You to Be Passionate About Me.

Jason Todd x gn reader

Warnings: angst. repressed emotions and unhealthy ways of learning to handle them.

Notes: Remember that roommates!enemies to lovers I promised you all? You get this instead! You’re welcome! I seriously need to stop promising things to people because it takes me so long to follow through. But you guys probably know and expect this by now.

This is an idea that’s been in my mind for a while. Basically, it’s Jason dealing with readers problems in the best and only way he knows how: the most Jason Todd way, problematic and chaotic. While I’m still working on enemies to lovers (I promise, I am), I hope you enjoy this in the meantime!

2,020 words

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

You stopped to re-dust your hands and the counter. Then, picking up where you left off,

Thud.

Thud.

Your back ached from a long day of standing. Baking bread was an all-day process, only breaking to let the dough rise. And those reprieving hours the dough gave you, you used to vacuum, do laundry, and complete a long list of other household chores you had been putting off. It was your day off. More like, it was supposed to be your day off. But relaxing wasn't an option for you today. Not with your mind racing from start to finish and back again over a course following past conversations. You were looking for a distraction, and that's how the romantic idea of baking bread came to you. Now here you were, six hours later, still standing in the kitchen. Your feet hurt, but your mind was still in the same place as it was this morning. That damn conversation. That damn man. Damn him and his thoughtless words. Or maybe they were thoughtful. And that hurt you worse. That he would knowingly and willingly say something hurtful to you. It almost made you lose your cool. Almost.

Thud.

You crack your knuckles into the dough.

He clears his throat behind you, alerting you to his presence and making you jump. You didn’t even know he was in your house. Anger pulses through you at being startled, just for a beat, until it returns to where it belongs - so deep in your bones, you can almost forget about it. Jason chuckles at your scare, and that Red flashes through you one more time before you turn to him, smiling.

"You startled me."

"I noticed. Sorry."

He's giving you his best endearing smile and you instantly pick up on what it means. He's sorry. You're annoyed already at the conversation that's coming, though you'd never let him see that. So you keep the corners of your mouth raised as you turn back to your work.

"You're really going to town on that, huh?"

Another slap as the dough hits the counter.

"It's part of the process."

He's still keeping a safe distance behind you.

"I bet it helps get out a lot of anger."

There it is. You prepare yourself for the awkward apology that you're going to have to find a response a for. People say making apologies is hard, and while you agree, you think accepting them deserves the same recognition.

You laugh awkwardly. "I guess it would."

"Is that how you do it, then?"

"Do what?"

"Stay so calm all the time. Somebody pisses you off, so you go home and take it out by making bread? And that way you don't ever have to deal with your problems, right?"

"What?"

Jason was supposed to apologize so that you could brush it off as something that didn't really matter. He would then walk away, comfortable in knowing that you weren't mad at him. Actually, ideally, he wouldn't have mentioned it at all, and you could both pretend like it never even happened.

But this wasn't expected.

You stared at the counter in front of you. Then you let out an awkward chuckle, just like you always do when someone brings up a serious topic.

"What are you talking about?" You repeat.

"Well, you have to get angry. Everyone gets angry. It's just that I've never seen you angry. So I assume you have some secret way of dealing with it. Is this how?" He nods towards the mess of flour in front of you.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you turn towards him. "I'm not angry." You mean it, at least you think you do. Because there's no world in which you would want Jason Todd to think you're mad at him.

"You're not?" His flat voice and passive face warn you that it doesn't matter if you're mad because he is.

"No."

"That's crazy because if I were you, I'd be pissed as all hell right now."

"Jason,"

"I was a fucking asshole to you yesterday." It's not an apology, it's a statement.

"No, you-"

"Fuck, Y/n," he turns around, then paces back towards you. "Doesn't anything bother you?" he asks, incredulous.

You're startled in place, desperate to de-escalate the situation. "Of course! But I'm not mad at you, Jason."

"You should be!" he yells.

"What, you want me to be mad at you?"

"Yes!"

"It's not that big of a deal. It's fine. We're fine."

"Don't be so fucking condescending to me."

You're calm was beginning to fade. "What the hell, Jason? What the fuck are you upset about?"

"I came here to apologize to you, Y/n. Because I know what I said was a dick move and I didn't want to hurt you more than I already did. But then you look at me and you're smiling like nothing even happened." He's pacing. He's pleading with you. "I just don't understand why nothing phases you. Like you just don't care about anything."

You scoff, "Just because I don’t get offended over some childless words doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything."

"No, Y/N, you don’t get offended by anything. God, you're so fucking self-righteous! You're not better than everyone cuz you never get mad."

"I never said that!"

He ignores you, getting more worked up. "People will treat you like shit and you just stand there and take it! And it pisses me off, Y/n! And I'm tired of getting pissed off for you! I wish you would just do something about it for once, instead of pretending like nothing's wrong all the time. God, Y/n, what does it take for you to lose you're shit for once?"

You laugh, confused and amazed at all he's said. "I don't fucking know, Jason. I've never found out. And I don't see why that's a bad thing."

He doesn't respond. He's breathing heavily from his outburst. You both stand there at a stalemate, neither of you sure how to proceed. Eventually, he nods, seeming to have made up his mind about something. He turns to face the door and you think he's giving up and leaving you here. But he circles back again, walking past you to your Tupperware container of flour on the counter. Not even a moment of hesitation passes before he knocks it and all its contents onto the floor, followed by a freshly baked loaf, and lastly, the dough you had just been kneading.

You guess that's what it took.

All your day's hard work, that you were so proud of yourself for accomplishing. Hours of standing in your hot kitchen were laying on the floor in a pile of white dust that you would now have to clean off of the floor, cupboards, and your clothes. You wanted to break down and cry.

Instead, you screamed. One long scream, that you didn't even know you were capable of. Apparently, Jason didn't know either, judging by the impressed look on his face.

"Fuck you!" You yell at him. "Fuck You!" The satisfied look on his face enrages you even more. "Get the hell out of my kitchen!" You start shoving and hitting him toward the doorway. He puts up no resistance, just letting you release your anger onto him. "Get the fuck out of my house, bastard!" Again, Jason's eyebrows raise at your reaction. He wanted to make you mad, but he wasn't expecting quite this level of anger over some bread.

The day's, yesterday's, the week's - your whole damn life's worth of pent-up anger burst out of you as you gave one last solid shove against Jason, successfully knocking his balance. You yelled a final, "fuck you!' this time a little weaker, before your anger turned into weariness. And just like that, it's gone as soon as it came. Shoving every negative thought down, rationalizing every emotion, it was so tiring. Dropping to the floor, you finally start crying. Jason is there in an instant, this time trying to ward off your pushing and shoving.

"I'm sorry," he pleads over your sobs, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," His hands are trying to reach you, to comfort you, but you won't let him.

"Don't touch me!" you cry out feebly. He doesn't listen, and finally getting a hold of you, lifts you to sit on the counter. You're both covered in flour anyway. Grabbing your face in his hands he gently holds you.

"Y/n I'm so sorry. I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

You're still crying, but you've stopped trying to fight him off. Realization dawns on you of what you've done. You've never gotten so angry like that before. Your body is trembling from an exertion it's never experienced and you're scared of what's next. He'll hate you.

"I'm sorry," you say through your tears.

"What? No. Don't apologize. It's my fault," he reassures.

"I hit you."

He laughs, "I've been through worse, baby. It's okay."

"I didn't mean to scream at you," you choke, "I didn't mean to hit you."

Jason holds you to him, rubbing your hair. "I know. It's okay. It's my fault." Your crying subsides as you try to take deep breaths in and out of his chest. He pulls back just enough to raise your head to look at him. "It's okay to get mad, Y/n. It's good. It's part of being human." You nod. "It means you're passionate.” At this, he moves his hands to cup your cheeks once again. They’re large enough to cover your whole face and it makes you feel like he’s holding all of you - including all your anxieties, insecurities, and repressed emotions. His gaze is focused directly into your eyes and you can just barely manage to meet it. "I want you to be passionate about me. Even if it means getting mad at me. I’ll take anything you give me."

Slowly, the weight of his words starts to sink in. There’s an obsessive lilt to them. You realize the depth of what he’s confessing to you.

"And, it lets people know when not to cross you. Hell, I learned just now," he laughs. You try to laugh but it just comes out as another sob. "And I won't ever do it again." He pulls you to him again.

"I'm still sorry I hit you," you mumble into his chest.

"I know." He quietly says by your ear, "But it felt kind of good, right?" You let out a restrained laugh. "It's okay, you can admit it." Holding onto him tighter, you nod once. "Maybe we'll sign you up for boxing lessons." Laughing more, you nod. Jason begins to wipe your tears away. "Next time I say or do something shitty, I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me to fuck right off." You smile at him. "And I won't ever do it again. You promise?"

You nod, "kay."

"Good." He gives you a kiss on the forehead before backing away and taking in the mess around him covering half the kitchen. "I guess I'm cleaning this up."

"Fuck yeah, you are. And I’m taking a nap."

He smiles. "Sounds like a plan, baby." He gives you one more kiss before helping you take your apron off and sending you out of the kitchen. "You might want to change first."

Smiling through still teary eyes, you make your way to your room. There’s a weight lifted off your shoulder: anger and resentment you’ve been holding onto over the years. There’s still more to relieve, but this was a start, and you can’t deny how good it felt to scream for once.

There's something else that's been dislodged too. Jason's words undoubtedly scare you, but... seeing that passion behind his eyes as he spoke to you made you feel free at the same time. Free to admit that maybe you are passionate about something. And maybe he’s standing standing in your kitchen, covered in flour.

Im going to cry

to turn our backs on religion…

Journal!!

I love c.ai so much bc i can be as delusional as i want to be like "what? Yeah that dude from the 80's that's like in his 60s now? Yeah he's my boyfriend why'd you ask?"

to turn our backs on religion…