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narcolini · 1 year

Text

the first drop

juice ortiz & oc: ava gomez x oc: sebastian, 1970 words

warnings for depictions of kidnapped hostages

for day 20 of whumpril: sensory deprivation | ‘where am i?’

a/n: ive officially gone mad with power, because now im doing SOA crossover prequels with the in his shadow babes.. i can’t even explain myself. i just needed to see ava being kind to juice LMAO

tagging: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas

She was younger then. Young enough to act with her heart and nothing else, which could’ve ended worse than it did. Would have, even, if Sebastian wasn’t the way he was. The club came first, sure, but only after Ava.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, hands on her hips. He was sitting on a stool by the bar, half his usual height, but eye level with her, standing in the spread of his knees. He sighed, thumbs toying with her belt loops. ‘But.’

She smiled, echoing him, ‘But.’ He could never send her away—unless she was in actual danger, then he kept her far enough that she wouldn’t know about it, until it was done already. ‘No-one will know,’ she reassured him, stroking a hand through his hair. He’d just started to grow it long, past his ears, a style that he kept right until the end. ‘They’ll call when it’s time to move them, right?’

He nodded.

‘Then I’ll be gone before anyone even knows.’

‘You got it all worked out, huh?’ A kiss, stolen from her lips, words said smirking into the skin afterwards. ‘You’re more Mayan than I am.’

But she was just visiting, taking the opportunity to kill some time with him, alone in the clubhouse. He was the one on duty, playing guard to the two men tied up in the room behind.

‘Are they important?’ she asked, inclining her head to the back.

He sniffed, shrugging. That was his tell. Not lying, but not spilling secrets either.

‘You won’t tell me?’ she assumed, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. ‘Too dangerous?’

‘Mhmm.’ Another kiss, he was hungry for it. His teeth grazed her bottom lip as he pulled back again. ‘Part of another club,’ he admitted after, sparing what little information he could. ‘Not civilians.’

Because that made all the difference to her then. That made it palatable. They weren’t innocent, but club on club warfare was hardly safe.

‘Sounds risky.’

He smiled, deflecting any worry with the white of his teeth. ‘Risk’s my middle name, chula.’

Her laugh was interrupted by the shrill of his phone, blaring from his chest pocket. He patted her thighs, signalling for her to give him space to stand, then disappeared with it out the front. Another precaution of his: he never took calls that could be incriminating in front of her. Always answered them in another room with an apologetic look, a flash of a tight-lipped smile before he went.

It didn’t bother her. She was there for him, not to eavesdrop. She was about to leave, she was, assuming the call was the signal that the rest were coming back—but then she heard it. Movement from the room Sebastian had told her to steer clear of.

It wasn’t loud, or noticeably human really. It sounded like dogs against a door, scratching and scratching, nails to the wood. There were no dogs, of course, just two men. But the repetition was the same. The desperation was the same. She had never been good at ignoring that, heart over head.

Just a minute. Just while he was on the phone.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge behind the bar and went, hot-footing before she could be stopped, before she had time to think better of it herself. Because she would’ve, right? She would’ve recognised the recklessness of it eventually.

The door wasn’t even locked when she got to it, just pulled shut and left like any other day. When she slipped through, she half expected to find them both pressed against the other side of it, but they weren’t, because no one had been pawing at it the way dogs do.

It was a bedroom, one of the spare dorms for members to crash in. Curtains drawn, dark, stale like it hadn’t been aired out in a while. It smelt like damp, or sweat. Some chemical she didn’t recognise.

They were tied to the bed frame opposite, sat on the floor with their arms behind their backs. Hoods over their heads, legs forced to sit crossed, knees straining against two pairs of jeans. The one on the left was slumped still, bagged-head facing down toward his lap, body leaning forward from the anchor of his tied hands.

The other was the source of the noise. He was awake, she could see the rise and fall of his chest from where she stood, elevated by his panic. The scratching had been the sound of zip-ties, rubbed up and down on the frame behind him frantically, relentlessly. Like the rounded metal would ever bore through the plastic of them.

It would only take a minute. She didn’t even have to remove his hood.

‘Careful,’ she said, quiet but enough of a surprise to make him jump still, his back hitting the end of the bed with a rattle. ‘You’ll do more damage to your wrists than the ties.’

She was in front of him now, on one knee. The second time she spoke, he had stilled, chest heaving, but panic easing. Her voice was registering with him then, proving to be less of a threat. She was a woman. It made a difference. He didn’t flinch when he felt her shoe against his own, or her fingers around the hemline of the hood.

‘Where am I?’ he asked, stuttering at first.

‘I can’t tell you that.’ She folded it up a couple inches, over his chin, until it stayed. Just high enough to leave his mouth free. ‘I brought you some water.’ Her hands were shaking slightly, knowing the time pressure, the risk, but her voice stayed steady.

He swallowed, then took in a breath big enough to make him cough, desperate for the cool, unrestricted air. ‘Jax?’ he asked afterwards, which she could only assume was the name of the man beside him.

He hadn’t moved still.

‘He must’ve had a bigger dose of whatever they gave you.’ She leant across and put her hand under the other hood to press two fingers to his throat. There was pulse, slow but regular. ‘He’s fine,’ she told him, ‘just asleep.’

The first man nodded, his cover slipping back over this lip slightly. They didn’t have time for conversation. She shouldn’t be telling him anything at all, had probably caused some domino effect she couldn’t even imagine just by opening the door and looking in.

‘Here.’ She unscrewed the water bottle, holding it up to his mouth. ‘Have some.’

His head must have been spinning, his tongue must’ve been dry enough to make every breath feel like a gag, but he refused it still. Set his lips together when she began to tip the bottle.

‘It’s water,’ she insisted, trying to hide her urgency. To him, rushing would make it sound like whatever she was offering was dangerous, a threat. ‘Look, I’ll have some.’ She pulled the bottle back, taking a large gulp from it. She did it as audibly as possible, because he couldn’t see at all, made sure to slosh the water against the rim, to swallow loud and sigh afterwards. A dumb theatre, but it was all she could think to do.

‘The fuck is this?’ he breathed, voice pinching. He was beginning to panic again, wrists tugging against the bars behind. Zip-ties scratching. ‘Where the fuck am I?’

‘Shh, shh.’ It was infectious, his panic. She shouldn’t be in here. Sebastian was only taking a call. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, spouting the first thing that came to mind. ‘I’m Ava.’

He stopped wriggling. A tear ran down his cheek, from the eyes beneath the black cloth.

‘I’m not even supposed to be in here,’ she confessed. She definitely wasn’t supposed to have given him her name, either. The reality of that was beginning to set in. ‘So, I help you, and you help me, by forgetting I was ever here, okay?’

There was a fraction of movement, a half-committed nod. ‘Juice.’ He panted, swallowed back the dryness of his voice. ‘I’m Juice.’

‘Okay, Juice.’ She put the bottle to his mouth again, tilting it with him as he put his head back. ‘Sorry.’ Some spilled from the lip, wet down his chin, not that it mattered. It obviously didn’t matter. He was drinking like he hadn’t in days.

Had it been days? She didn’t even know how long they’d been in there.

When he pulled away, she did too, re-capping the bottle. She couldn’t leave it there, he didn’t have the hands free to use it.

‘Thank-you.’ He was breathing slower then, and not bothering to lick the water from his lips, but instead enjoying the relief of it. Just for a little longer.

She sat back onto the heels of her shoes. You’re welcome felt inappropriate. She was part of the crime now. She could have easily cut him free if she wanted to, could have let him slip out the back with Jax over his shoulder, and claimed she had nothing to do with it. But her heart only went so far. She was scared too.

‘I should—’

The door swung open behind her, wood hitting the closet beside loud enough to make them both jump. She was on her feet, water bottle scattering away from her, before he had even said anything—it could only have ever been Sebastian. There was no-one else around and conscious.

‘Sorry,’ she said, apologising already.

He was speaking over her, sharp brows tugged together, his face livid. It wasn’t anger, really, but fear, disbelief. ‘The fuck, A…?’ He stopped himself, stealing her name back defensively, as if she hadn’t already given it to Juice on her own accord. ‘No puedes estar aquí.’ He was panting, head shaking. Tongue slipping into spanish for the sake of secrecy.

‘I was just giving him water.’ She couldn’t offer anything but English herself, her brain had frozen in the panic of getting caught. ‘That’s all.’

‘Water?’ He crossed the room in a step, hand reaching for the folded hood. ‘No es una casita, nena.’ He tugged it down roughly, hiding Juice’s mouth and chin again, before turning back to her. ‘No sabes que lo peligroso es esto? Si algún chingamadre…’

She followed his meaning well enough. If it got back to the rest of the club, or worse, the Sons themselves. If anyone connected her, to this, to them. ‘He didn’t see my face,’ she rushed, head shaking.

Juice was sitting statue-like, obviously awake but doing his best to act otherwise. He could’ve said something. He could’ve used her name in his favour, and made a threat, scared Sebastian into making a deal for their release. But he said nothing. Just sat there listening, shoulders rising and falling with each cutting breath.

‘Oyó tu voz,’ Sebastian insisted, grinding it through his teeth. He took her by the arm then, pulling her with him, back across the room and through the doorway. ‘Fuck, Ava,’ he muttered, shutting the door behind him. ‘You know how much shit I’d be in if the guys knew about this?’

But it was just water. And they made a deal, right? Juice would forget she was even there.

She paled regardless. ‘You won’t tell them, will you?’

He sighed, staring at the wood for a moment before replying. ‘You need to go,’ he said, ‘they’re on their way back.’

He wasn’t looking at her, but when he did, glancing up before he could step away, he saw the doubt printed across her features. The worry that she’d gone too far this time; that she’d tripped up and he wouldn’t catch her.

‘Of course I won’t,’ he added, frowning. ‘Why would I?’

Because she came first, she always came first.

#whumpril2023 #juice ortiz fanfiction #what the fuck do i even tag this honestly #LMAO #sons of anarchy fanfiction #ava ez #sebastian is soooo sexy i cant lie #why did i kill him

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