I’m not her [Juice Ortiz]
Anonymous requested: Being Juices girlfriend who does not want a crow tatto or be called an "old lady" because she thinks its a bit odd, and Juice gets mad and says something along the lines of "Why can't you be more like Tara?"
Rating: 50/50 SFW/NSFW
Warnings: ANGST (heavy), swearing, domestic violence (if you squint, it’s a slap really but i’m using this warning).
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After months of convincing and pretty much begging [Y/N] was finally coaxed into the tattoo parlor by Juice who’s currently standing in front of the artist explaining the design. [Y/N] sucks in a deep, ragged breath trying desperately to ease her nerves and convince herself that it’ll be okay and that it’s for the best even though something deep inside is screaming run. Against her will her anxiety starts to worm its way up to the surface, starting with becoming restless and bouncing her foot, but that eventually shifts to becoming overwhelmingly tense and nauseous. The artist must have said something because Juice snaps his head towards her, they lock eyes for a brief second before he waves it off and continues on with the conversation.
[Y/N] swallows thickly trying to supress the urge to run, run far away from the shop and even farther away from the man she’s supposedly in love with. From somewhere in the back she can hear the mechanical whirring of the tattoo gun coming to life, but to [Y/N] it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Her [e/c] eyes darted towards the clock hanging above the counter, they widened at the realization that it had only ten minutes had passed when it felt like hours. Forcibly she clasps her hands together in her lap and squeezes her eyes shut, the nausea becoming worse than it was prior, the urge to run and scream become much more real when she hears Juice refer to her as his “old lady.”
No matter how many times she told him that she found that name odd he still insisted on using it in front of random people and his “brothers.” Bile flashes up from her stomach and coats her esophagus forcing out a choked cough, tears prick and burn her eyes as she undoubtedly attracts the two men’s attention. A shaky hand covers her mouth as she glances up from her lap to Juice who’s now staring at her out of concern, the artist's hands linger over the phone apparently ready to reach out for medical help. [Y/N] swallows harshly trying to smother out the acidic burn as she waves them off, Juice’s questions falling on her deafened ears. With her free hand she harshly brushes the tears away before realizing that they’re just continuing to fall freely from her eyes, before she fully realizes what’s happening she’s exiting the shop. The only sound giving it away being the jingle of the bell from above the door, she stumbles away from the door sucking in fresh air and the moment she rounds the corner of the building the contents of her stomach come forth, splattering all over the ground.
Gentle hands pull her hair back away from her face as she continues to empty her stomach, dry heaving a couple of times. A choked sob erupts from her as she crouches down close to the ground using the building as support while a soft voice calls out to her. She slowly looks up from the ground and into Juice’s brown eyes, worry and concern dancing over his face and heavily in his eyes.
“Baby, are you okay?” Juice questions, his hands slipping from her [h/c] locks to her face where he gently cups her cheeks forcing her to continue looking at him, “we don’t have to do this today, we can do it tomorrow or next week, hell even next month.”
She opens her mouth but closes it again, her eyes darting away from his and settling on something just over his right shoulder. “What, what if I don’t want to do it at all?”
Juice lets out a heavy sigh as he pulls away from her and returns to his towering height. His normally easy going, carefree eyes darken as his demeanor shifts, “you said you were okay with it, so why are you backing out? It’s not like it’s your first tattoo, so there’s no reason to be scared unless you’re scared of something else.”
[Y/N] wipes her mouth using the back of her hand as she shakily stands back up, her eyes still fixed on anything other than Juice. “If i’m scared of anything it’s this level of commitment you’re forcing down my throat. The labels I specifically stated that I didn’t like and the tattoo that I obviously don’t want.”
Risking it all she glances over to him, she studies his face as the air around them grows hostile. Juice’s face contorts to one of displeasure obviously trying to choose his words carefully, stepping on the fragile eggshells that have been littering the ground for weeks. The next words that leave his mouth hit her like a freight train, “why can’t you be more like Tara?”
[Y/N]’s face falls devoid of all emotion, her eyes darken as she dips her head some effectively hiding her face. She’s fully aware of her hands curling into fists at her sides and even more aware of a strong wind rushing past her. It ruffles her hair and clothes, but does nothing to soothe the rage that’s now coursing through her.
“I’m not her and I’ll never be her.” [Y/N] replies harshly, fresh tears finding their way back onto her cheeks, “why do you even bother being with me if you’re so damn infatuated with her. Why not grow a damn pair and go make a fucking move on her and quit wasting my-“
Whatever else she was going to say doesn’t come out, instead she hesitantly reaches up and presses her fingers against her now stinging cheek. Once more she swallows thickly, panic and fear swirl together as she looks to Juice, hand still raised and deep regret etched into his face. “We’re done.” meekly falls from her lips as she brushes past him roughly, he staggers back from the force, reaching out trying to grab for her. His fingers brush against her arm, but she slips right past, words die on his lips as she continues her fast pace down the sidewalk wanting to put miles between them. The moment she’s far enough away from him she gropes around in the bag slung over her shoulder searching haphazardly for her cellphone. Her shaking fingers crush the bulky item and she snatches it free from the bag and brings it to life, the blinking cursor hovers over a familiar contact before she presses the call button. The other line rings for a couple of seconds, before it clicks to life and a familiar voice reaches her ears, “[Y/N]?”
“Can you pick me up?” she mumbles, her stomach lurching as she finally realizes who she called, “Please Tara, i’m desperate and I don’t know who else to call.”
