wild woman

hockey femjay tag for all my thoughts/asks about jay

full chapters/blurbs in order:

you're at jay's game when she gets a bloody nose

you try to encourage jay to find women at a bar

(jay's pov) jay asks her teammates for advice on her crush on you

you're jay's plus-one to a hockey charity event

jay gets injured

you take jay home from the hospital and confess your feelings

jay proves she has no problems womanhandling you post-recovery (smut)

how jay's feeling about your new relationship

sub top jay fingers you after she's been away for weeks (smut)

you get jealous when jay runs into her ex

"Hey," Jason says warmly as soon as you walk over. "Find your way back okay?"

"I got kind of lost," you admit, self-consciously glancing at Elizabeth. She was probably born with an innate sense of direction and knows where the bathroom is at every gala.

"I would've gone with you," Jason says. He offered many times, but you felt silly being escorted to the bathroom. Jason's been nothing but thoughtful tonight, considering how terrifying high society can be.

"It's okay," you say, begging him to drop it. You look at Elizabeth again. She smiles.

"How do you do?" she says. You awkwardly bow, and she laughs.

"Oh, please don't. There's no need for such strict formalities. Are you a friend of the Wayne's?"

"Jason's. I'm his plus one. It's my first gala."

"Well, welcome," Elizabeth says. "They become dull very fast."

"Isn't that the truth," says Dick. "How long are you here for, Elizabeth?"

She talks and Jason leans over to whisper in your ear.

"Didja eat something?" he asks.

You shake your head. "I don't know what most of the food is and I'm too afraid to ask. What happened to cheese and crackers?"

Jason laughs, deep and rich in your ear. You want to lean into him. "They always overcomplicate stuff. It's better when Bruce hosts. He serves crowd-favorites. I'll come with ya."

You nod, relieved. At least you have Jason. He promised he'd stick by you the whole night.

"—Wouldn't you say so, Jason?"

Elizabeth looks at him expectantly.

"Sorry, Liz, I missed it," he says.

She giggles and touches his arm, then slides to his hand. "Oh, it's quite alright. I was just telling Richard that so many of these galas are a way to matchmake. Has your father impressed that on you?"

Jason snorts. "Bruce is lucky if I don't tear up Gotham. The last thing he's concerned about is me gettin' married."

"I see. I suppose it's different for men. Does that mean that you aren't interested in marriage?"

Elizabeth is still touching Jason's hand. What's happening right now?

"Y'know, if it happens, great. But I don't anticipate a lotta offers. Dickie here is swimming in proposals."

Dick rolls his eyes. "Swimming is an exaggeration."

"Oh, I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't make you an offer, as you call it," Elizabeth says, eyes roving over Jason. "No reason at all."

"Awfully forward of ya, Princess," Jason says.

"Apologies." She's nearly breathless.

You feel incredibly queasy suddenly. You and Dick lock eyes, and you look away, not wanting anything to show on your face.

"We should dance," Elizabeth says. "Jason, do you dance?"

"Not well. Y'should take Dick. He's a tango master."

"I am sure you aren't as bad as you claim." Elizabeth offers her hand. "Please?"

"You should, Jason." The words corrode your throat. "It's rude to keep a princess waiting."

Elizabeth beams. "Precisely!" She tugs at him, as dignified as a princess can be. "Just one dance, I request."

Jason looks at you. You try to smile. He smiles back.

"Alright, pull my arm, why don't ya?" He accepts her hand.

You turn around, instantly miserable. You slip away without another word, not particularly concerned about your manners. You doubt Elizabeth will notice anyway.

Well, whatever. It's fine. You're perfectly capable of figuring out the food for yourself. You don't need Jason. You never have, really. You did just fine until he swept into your life two years ago.

Other guests line up and request concoctions of appetizers you've never heard of. You try to guess based on context, but what you're coming to learn is that rich people will eat anything. Then it's your turn.

"Uh," you say. The waiter looks at you, smiled pasted on their mouth. "What's popular?"

"This is the favorite of the evening." They gesture to some stuff on what you hope is a regular, normal piece of bread.

"It's not liver or anything like that, right?"

"No, this is vegetarian."

You nod, relieved. It can't be that bad, can it? You accept the plate as the waiter fixes it for you. Then you search for a quiet corner in the hall to eat. Maybe you should go outside to the courtyard, but it's balls-cold tonight. Still, it'd be a great way to avoid running into anyone...

"Those are sea grapes."

You spin around, startled. Jason, who's smiling, holds up his hands. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned. You feel queasy again.

"Didn't mean to scare ya, sorry," he says. "But trust me when I say don't eat it. It's awful. The kinda food you get at one of those tasting restaurants that's a thousand dollars per person. The dumplings are superior."

You put the whole bread bite in your mouth. The sea grapes are briny and the roughage, whatever it is, isn't pleasant. There are flavors you didn't know were possible to create on this planet. But you choke it down with minimal reaction.

"I like it," you say breezily. Your eyes sting from the salt. Your throat is dry.

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Uh, okay. I—"

There's a bunch of wines at the next table, and you hurry that way. Why can't these galas ever have orange soda?

Jason follows you to the wines, hands in his pocket as you look over the selection and pretend to know what any of it means.

"So where's the princess you were dancing with?" you ask. You have no idea what any of the French or Spanish means. Jason probably does, being so good at languages, but like hell you'll ask him. You were already humiliated enough not finding the bathroom, thank you.

"Liz?"

"Is that her name?" You point at a random green bottle. Sherry is a word you recognize. Sherry's sweet, right? That's the only wine fact you know. The waiter pours a third of a glass and hands it to you.

Jason reaches for your hand. "Wait, I don't think you're gonna like th—"

You take a big gulp and immediately spit the wine back into the glass.

"Oh my—" You cough. "Oh my God, that's disgusting." Your voice is hoarse. "What the actual fuck is that? Seawater? Why is it salty? Why is everything here unnecessarily salty?!"

The waiter looks offended like he grew the grapes himself. "That is a sixty thousand dollar bottle of Manzanilla sherry. It is not a dessert wine, hence why it is at this table."

"Well, you should put a warning or something!" you say, scraping your tongue with your teeth. "Signage is useful, so I know what wine to gift my sworn enemy."

The waiter stays quiet with the most egregious sneer you've ever seen. You scowl and stomp away. Tonight is the worst. You can't even enjoy the food because it's all trying to shred your throat, apparently.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Jason's followed you, and for some reason, he thinks you're amusing. You scowl.

"Why do you keep following me?" you snap.

There's a brief hurt in Jason's eyes before he recovers and becomes neutral. "'Cause you're my plus one."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

He cocks his head. "Alright, what's going on? You've had an attitude since the sea grapes."

"An attitude? Really? You ignore me for half the evening to flirt with a princess and you think I have an attitude?"

"I didn't ignore you!" Jason says, frustrated. "And I barely talked to her. She's over there dancing with some dignitary."

"You said you were going to stay with me the whole time," you say, hating how childish you sound. "I don't know anyone here, Jason. I don't know what Manzanilla sherry tastes like. I'm sorry I'm not a princess or whatever, but—"

"Why d'you keep bringing her up?"

"I don't know! I just didn't know you were like that."

Jason frowns. "Like what?"

"Like you can flirt with princesses and know what sea grapes taste like and choose wine. I forgot that you were exposed to this stuff with Bruce and that you've traveled a bunch as Hood. You're learned and shit. I don't even know why you brought me tonight."

"I brought you 'cause I thought you'd like it. You always said you wanted to go to a Wayne gala. You're the only person I'd suffer through this stuff for. 'M not like Bruce, I don't live in this world. Never have, never will."

"Princess Elizabeth really liked you," you mumble. "She was touching your arm a lot."

Jason's quiet for a moment. He's squints, tilting his head.

"Are you... jealous?" he asks.

"Wh—no. No, I'm not jealous. Please, I don't even care. Marry her if you want. Become a prince!"

Something unreadable crosses his face. Jason holds your gaze. It's always too intense when he looks at you like that. You feel like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Dick said..." he trails off.

"Said?"

He shakes his head. "Nothin'. It's—I dunno. It was silly."

"Okay."

You cross your arms, feeling stuck. You really want to go home, but Jason's your ride. The two of you don't argue often. The distance that has wedged between you tonight is nearly unbearable. But you don't know how to fix it. You aren't sure you do. If Jason really does like dancing with princesses, you don't know if you can get past that.

"Y'know you're, like, my favorite person, right?" Jason says, scooting closer to you.

You look at him, eyes wide. "I am?"

"Sure y'are. No one else I'd wear a tux for."

"I'm sure that's not true." You don't know why Jason's being so sweet, but you aren't ready to let go of your anger yet. "So many people looked at you tonight. They probably all appreciate your tux."

"Don't really give a shit what other people think," Jason says. "Came here with you."

Your arms unfold. The problem, perhaps, is that you're too attached to Jason. He can unravel you with a word, and usually, you don't mind. But lately, your attachment has begun to feel dangerous. It feels like maybe you're in too deep, and turning around, being less with Jason, will be painful.

"Why're you saying that stuff?" you ask quietly.

"Thought maybe you didn't know," Jason says in that airy way, where you can't tell if he's joking or not.

"You can dance," you say. "Why did you tell Elizabeth you can't?"

He shrugs. "I don't dance for just anyone. 'Sides, she can find much better dance partners than me. We went for half a waltz, then I politely excused myself. She found a way to entertain herself without me."

The relief this brings you is both thrilling and frightening. It shouldn't make you this happy. It shouldn't.

"Oh," you say, grossly pleased. "I'm sure you're right."

Jason's eyes are half-lidded. He leans in, fingers brushing your back. Your heart beats faster but not out of fear.

"You look really nice," you say, voice pitching higher.

"Yeah?" he asks. "Not nearly as nice as you. Y'know red's my favorite color."

Oh, you know. "I thought it would be better than black. Spot me in a crowd. People could return me to you if I got lost."

He licks his lips. "Mm. But I wouldn't lose ya."

"You almost lost me coming out of the bathroom."

Jason shakes his head. "I was watchin'. Would've gone to find ya if it'd taken you any longer."

"What a gross invasion of privacy, Mr. Hood."

He hesitates for a moment, like maybe you really are repulsed. So you step closer, crowding him. You hold his arm. It's bold. You don't often touch each other.

"It was wrong of me to get possessive," you say, close enough to feel Jason's warmth and the flex of his bicep. "Sorry. I don't own you."

Jason looks at you, gaze heavy. "'S okay. Really. I only wanna dance with you, to be honest."