Pairing:Â Juice Ortiz x Reader
Word Count:Â ~7k
Warnings:Â Angst, emotional dependency, blood, rough sex, hurt/comfort, unhealthy coping, heavy themes (canon-typical), smut (18+), possessiveness, reader feels like home.
A/N: I haven't written in a long time, but it's been even longer since I wrote something for Juice, or any of our leathered boys. I'm so sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for @princessmermaid1289 I just didn't know how else to end their story đ«¶đ»đ
You hadnât seen him in six days.
Not a call. Not a text. Not a late-night knock on your window.
Just⊠silence.
And in SAMCRO, silence is loud.
You tried to play it cool at first. Told yourself he was busy, on a run, maybe laying low while Jax raged about whatever fire needed putting out this week. But the truth had crept in quickly, like it always did when it came to him.
When Juice spiraled, he didnât blow up.
He disappeared.
And now you were here, in your dorm at the clubhouseâalone, angry, achingâand very much done waiting.
It was nearly 2AM when you slipped down the hall.
You didnât knock. Just pushed his door open with the force of a storm youâd been bottling for days.
The light was lowâjust the dim glow of the lamp by his bed. The smell hit you first: liquor, weed, sweat. The kind of smell that clings to guilt and regret. He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, knuckles bloodied, eyes empty.
âSeriously?â your voice cracked the silence.
He didnât even look at you. Just brought a cigarette to his lips, like the last six days never happened.
âI was fine,â he said finally, voice low.
You crossed your arms, heartbeat rising. âBullshit.â
He took a long drag, exhaled smoke slow. âDonât do this right now.â
âOh, weâre doing this. You disappear for nearly a week, donât answer shit, come back looking like you fought a brick wall and lostâand Iâm supposed to act like thatâs normal?â
âNo, Juice. Youâre not.â
You took a few steps toward him. He still didnât move. Didnât look. Just sat there, jaw tight, staring at nothing.
âYou shut me out again,â you said softer. âWhat is this? Some kind of penance?â
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were tired. Red. A bruise sat under one of them, swelling his cheek. âItâs just easier.â
You blinked. âEasier to what? Pretend I donât exist?â
He flinched like the words stung, but didnât respond.
And thatâs when it snapped. The aching, the anger, the love you werenât sure how to hold anymore without it burning your hands.
You climbed into his lap.
He tensed instantly. Hands half-raising like he wasnât sure whether to push you off or pull you in. âDonât,â he warned, voice hoarse.
âDonât what?â you whispered. âDonât remind you youâre not alone? Donât love you?â
âI canâtââ he started, but you cut him off.
âThen say it. Say you donât want me anymore and Iâll go.â
The kind of sex that came from two people who didnât know how to fight with each other, so they fought through each other.
You tugged his jeans open, climbed over him, and sank down without preamble, swallowing his broken gasp. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as you rode him, fast and messy, your fingers digging into his shoulders like they were your lifeline.
He didnât say your name. You didnât moan his.
It wasnât romantic. It was survival.
You pressed your forehead to his, breath ragged. âLook at me.â
You grabbed his face, made him. âLook at me, Juice. Iâm right here.â
His thrusts faltered for just a second. Then he buried his face in your neck and came hard with a shudder, arms tightening around you like he was afraid you'd vanish.
And for a moment, you almost did.
After, you sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt over your head.
He lit another cigarette, sitting against the wall, jeans barely buttoned, sweat still clinging to his chest. The air between you felt heavier than before. And quieter.
âI donât even know who Iâm fucking anymore,â you muttered.
Juice looked away. âYou should go before Jax sees you here.â
You let out a bitter laugh. âWow. Right back to square one.â
He didnât argue. Didnât try to stop you.
You grabbed your boots and walked out without another word.
It rained the entire way to your car.
You stood there, helmet dangling in one hand, and lit a cigarette you stole from Tigâs stash. You didnât smoke. Not really. But tonight wasnât about habitsâit was about survival.
âYou donât look like yourself, lass.â
You turned to find Chibs leaning beside you, cigarette already lit, eyes scanning the lot.
âMaybe Iâm not,â you said.
He took a long drag. âHeâs not either. Juice.â
You swallowed hard, looking out at the dark.
âThen who the fuck is he?â
You didnât hear from him for another week.
The knock came at 1:43AM.
You knew it was him before you opened the window.
He climbed through without a word, blood trailing from his eyebrow, lip split, hoodie soaked through. You didnât askâyou just pulled him into your room and shut the door behind you.
âJesus,â you whispered, pulling him toward the bed. âWhat the hell happened?â
âJax.â His voice cracked as he sat down, hands hanging between his knees. âHe⊠he snapped. Said Iâm a liability. Said Iâm weak.â
Your heart clenched. âAnd you believe him?â
He shook his head, then nodded. âI donât know what to believe anymore.â
You dropped to your knees in front of him. âBelieve this. Iâm here. I never fucking left.â
He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in months. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours.
âI donât deserve you,â he whispered.
âThatâs not your call to make.â
He kissed you like he was drowningâand you let him.
The second time you fucked that night, it was different.
He undressed you slow. Like he wanted to remember the shape of your body in his hands. His touch was soft, reverent, eyes locked on yours as he eased into you.
âLet me feel you,â he whispered. âLet me remember whatâs real.â
You tangled your fingers in his hair, arching up into him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He moved slow, rolling his hips deep until your moans turned to whimpers, until his name became the only thing you could say.
When you came, you cried. Not because it hurt. But because it didnât.
And that terrified you more.
You lay in his arms afterward, fingers tracing the âSONâ over his heart.
He held you tight, face buried in your neck, breath warm against your skin.
âI donât want to be this anymore,â he mumbled. âBut I donât know how to stop.â
You didnât have an answer.
So you held him tighter, hoping it was enough.
You woke up alone.
His side of the bed was cold.
A note sat on your pillow, smudged in blood and cologne.
I love you more than I deserve to.
But I canât keep pulling you down with me.
â Juice
You didnât scream.
Didnât chase him.
You just laid back down in the shirt he left behind and pulled the blanket up to your chin.
Because maybe love like this doesnât get a happy ending.
Youâd let it burn you all over again.
He didnât say goodbye. He never did. Thatâs the thing about ghostsâthey donât leave. They haunt.
