Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jungkook pins you against the wall, burrowing into your neck as his silky black hair moves against your chin.
"I want to fuck you so bad," he utters, pleading with you through his hungry, carnivorous black eyes.
You grab the back of his neck and smash your lips into his, your mouths angrily opening and searching within each other in synthetic movements, as if you two have become one through passion and touch. He suddenly pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting you, widening his mouth and licking his fingers. He then pushes his hand down your pants, rubbing and caressing the most sensitive parts of your body. Your heart starts racing as his fingers move and wiggle deeper and deeper inside you. You start frantically looking around the hallway, half praying no one can hear your moans through these paper-thin walls and hoping no drunk frat boys come tumbling out of the elevator and down the hall. But a part of you wishes they would catch you and wants all your neighbors to hear you moan in delight.
"Don't worry about them. I got you," he assures, softly wrapping his free hand around your neck.
He stares into you, never averting his gaze, and watches you practically climb up the wall with pleasure. He keeps rubbing on your clit in perfect, full and circular motions. Your moans get louder and louder, signifying that you're losing more control with each and every rub, until he moves his hand from around your neck and covers your mouth.
"Don't be too loud," he says.
"Let's take this to your room," he whispers as you take out your key and unlock the door. He follows you closely into the room, taking off his leather jacket and throwing it on the floor. You turn around to him, practically tearing his white T-shirt off and brazenly revealing his eight-pack abs and sculpted muscles. He rushes towards you and gives you a starved kiss, then lifts you up and throws you onto the bed. He rips off his belt and pulls down his pants and underwear to reveal his hard, seven-inch member pulsating and jumping in front of you.
"I wanna taste you so bad, baby," he begs.
"So then do it," you reply, a look of daring playfulness in your eyes. Without further explanation or hesitation, he rips your yoga pants off to reveal your pulsating vagina. He immediately rushes his face into it and executes one big, perfect suck. You let out a huge, shocked gasp of a moan, and he keeps going, his eyes closed and concentrated on eating, licking, and exploring you. The pleasure gets overwhelming, and you watch him start to play with himself while reveling in your rapture. Your body starts to shake, and you start to feel that your dam is at capacity, until he suddenly stops and stares at you. With a wet mouth, and eyes signifying that you're doomed to cum, he asks you:
"Can I go inside you, baby?"
"Yes," you softly utter, as he lays his hands next your head, the veins in his strong arms pulsating. He slowly moves forward, but you grab his member and gently guide it in, slowly inching deeper inside of you. With every inch he gains, your mouth grows wider and wider in ecstasy. He grabs your wrist and aggressively throws your hand away once he's deep in you, and starts slowly rubbing. He starts progressively speeding up until he's hitting your G-spot at the perfect rate, repeatedly hitting you to your extreme satisfaction. You're screaming at this point, and your hands shake as you caress his chest and shoulders, suddenly grabbing onto them as that familiar pool stirs inside of you again. He picks up on this and slams against you faster, hitting your G-spot more and more aggressively, until you release onto him right as he slams into your spot. He takes it out momentarily, but he's not done.
He looks at you for a second, his chest rising and falling, his hair disheveled, and sweat dripping down his glorious body. His member twitches and hops right before deciding to enter back into you. This time, he aggressively rams right in, and overwhelming pleasure envelops your whole body. He rapidly grinds in a bestial fashion, his moans aggressive and full of yearning in your ear, until his breath gets more rugged, and his moans get louder and almost whiny. He quickly pulls out and explodes, squirts even, his nut on your stomach, face, the wall, the pillow, and even some onto himself and the floor. You bounce up to kiss him and make out for an infinite amount of time before he suddenly pulls away and asks you:
"Wanna come to my island?"
"Of course!" you reply in an instant, not fully comprehending what he just asked you.
"Okay, get your clothes on," he huffs frantically.
As you reach over to grab your pants, it hits you.
"Wait, what island?"

Once you step off the plane and onto concrete ground, all you can concentrate on are the beautiful, lush green mountains in the distance, painted along the golden-gray sky, with cracks of sunlight peaking through the clouds. The humid air washes across your body, and the palm trees, almost touching the sky, sway in the breeze. Just for a moment, with the sound of rustling palm leaves and waves faintly crashing on top of each other in the distance, you are in total, complete tranquility, and it feels just like home.
"You like it, babe," Jungkook whispers behind you.

"Jujie, this is crazy," you gasp, almost acting as if he molded the mountains with his bare hands and stuck them onto the earth himself.
"Welcome to Seven Island," he exclaims, and he starts playing with your French curl box braids as you stand still in awe. Below, two men in all white uniforms rush to take your bags as you walk down the plane's stairs. While one of them snatches your backpack off your shoulders, you notice his gaunt, emotionless expression. His eyes have a certain hopelessness and exhaustion that you've only ever seen in a poor widow with five children, one of them having a crab claw for an arm in a small, isolated village in the mountains. The nearest real hospital is 90 miles out, and even if she found a way to get there, the bills cost more than the nominal GDP of Djibouti. Jungkook grabs you by the waist and pulls you into him as the two men in white walk forward with your bags. He kisses you on the head and says,
"Anything you want, everything you want while you're here, and I'll give it to you," he says as he strokes your hair. You bury your head into his chest and hug him.
"Thank you," you mumble into him. He lifts your head with his finger.
"Don't thank me for anything, this is just the beginning of what I'm gonna do for you."
He pushes you towards the black Tesla in the middle of the concrete path, the workers already putting your bags in the trunk. He opens the passenger side door for you and guides you into the car.

"Where we going?" you ask
"I wanna take you shopping, baby-girl," he smirks.
"Is there like a mall here?"
"No, it's more of a plaza. I had it built in 2018. There's a Gucci store, Hermès, Louis Vuitton, Saint Laurent, and a lot more, but I forgot honestly," he laughs as he counts on his hands. Your eyes light up in excitement as he names all the luxurious stores and perfectly envision the beautiful outfits that you've dreamed of wearing ever since you were a little girl.
"And of course, everything's on me."
You start to tear up, and you suddenly embrace him, tightly wrapping your arms around his torso and crying into his shoulder. You feel as if all your prayers are being answered. You have a boyfriend that you can trust, you're in a place that's safe and stable, and you don't have to work from sun up to sun down because you have a man who would rather die than let you lift a finger. He'll never hurt you, never make you feel worthless, because he sees you as the prize. You will never have to fight for anything ever again. He pulls away and lifts up your head.
"Why are you crying?"
You're incapable of fully articulating what you're feeling and why you're feeling it at the moment, so you just mumble:
"I love you," and bury yourself in his shirt again.
In the center of the plaza is a lime green, Spanish-colonial building with two palm trees waving above it. The buildings are all different colors, and the people are all extremely stylish and skinny. You walk into a lime green Zara, and after climbing up its escalator, you see Lisa from Blackpink sifting through bags and purses. Your heart stops as you stand still in front of the escalator. Jungkook puts his hand on your lower back and breathes, "What is it, baby," into your right ear. You point at Lisa with your left hand and involuntarily shriek. She pops her head up from a black and gold handbag she was fondling and shifts her eyes to Jungkook, ignoring you at first.
"Kookie! How'd the meeting with the French ambassador go? You forgot to text me," she inquires. She looks between you and Jungkook, slowly surmising the status of your relationship.
"Oh! It went very well; we're getting ten pounds of chocolate bars imported tomorrow," he states. You turn your head toward him, confused as to why he's in contact with the ambassador of France, and then start questioning why only ten pounds of chocolate bars were being imported, but your confusion is interrupted by Lisa's inquiry;
"Is that your girlfriend?"

"Yeah! Her name is Y/N," he says, as he rests his hands a top your shoulders. You blush at this, but something in your chest tightens and becomes red when she simply replies;
"Oh!"
You start to become nervous and feel embarrassed by her condemnation in only a sound.
"What do you mean by that?" you ask, laughing a little bit but squinting your eyes.
"Oh, nothing bad, it's just I've never seen him take a girl to this island before! You must be really special."
Something in the way her teeth show so unabashedly when she smiles, and her squint when she looks you dead in the eyes makes something writhe in your core. Her face, her smile lines, and the position of her eyes know something, like they have an ancient knowledge of all the secrets the dead hold.
"But I'm going to let you two enjoy your date. You guys are a really cute couple," she says.
"Thank you," you reply as you watch her rush down the escalator without looking back.
"Bitch," you mutter.
"Come on, Y/N, she didn't mean it like that."
"Yes, she did. That heifer don't think I'm good enough for you. That bitch is so lucky I didn't wrap the strap of that bag around her neck."
Kook grabs your chin and whispers lowly;
"You're my woman. Don't worry about her. I'm the one that's fucking you, so I'm all that matters."
You stare into his eyes, silent and extremely aroused. You start to look around and see everyone staring at you, but he guides your head back to him and kisses you.
The next four hours are spent buying out the entire plaza. Your closet could become a mall of its own with all of the things you've bought. Afterward, Jungkook tells you that he has a surprise for you and ushers you into the car.
He sits next to you and makes out with you the entire time until you get to your destination, the driver and the worker sitting in the passenger seat, seemingly too exhausted to care. When the car finally stops, and he lets go, Jungkook gives you a devious grin.
"We're here, baby."
His eyes make ignite a fire deep in your stomach and your vagina.
"Where are we?" you ask as you turn around and see a bland yet expensive-looking modern mansion in front of you.
"Is this your house?"
"No, I want you to meet someone," he says casually.
"Who?"
"My old friend, Drake."
Your heart drops, along with your mouth.
"What?!"
He chuckles.
"You heard me right, babe. I know how much his music means to you, and I wanted you to get to meet him."
You scream at the top of your lungs in excitement.
"YOU'RE SERIOUS?!"
"Yes!"
"OH MY GOD, BABY, THANK YOU," you say as you quickly embrace him and run out of the car in 200-dollar sandals to his front door. Jungkook slowly trails behind you and knocks on the door. Almost immediately, Aubrey opens the door in a robe and eyepatches, with a glass of wine in his hand. He opens his arms and says:
"____ is it? I've heard so much about you!"
He leans in for a hug, and as you wrap your arms around him, you begin to cry. He pulls back and keeps his large, strong hands on your shoulders and says, "Don't cry sweetheart," and makes a pouty face like a puppy. You're a little confused and caught off guard by his expression, but this is Drake, the man whose music single-handedly got you through a war. He can do whatever he wants for all you care, your life is his. You turn to Jungkook, and he is at first expressionless in a way you've never seen before, but when he realizes you're looking, he flashes a half-smile across his face.
"Why don't you two come on in! I made Kombucha," Drake says as you quickly follow behind him, and Jungkook slowly trails behind you, and the front door quietly closes.

"So, how do you like it here on Seven Island? Kookie treating you good?" Drake chuckles as he pours white wine into three glasses.
"I love it here, the island is so beautiful. I, like the style of the buildings and houses," you exclaim. You turn towards Jungkook, and he's staring at the wine glass Drake just pushed towards him with a mute straight face. Drake picks up his glass and drinks it while looking into Jungkook's eyes from across the table, and Jungkook, almost reluctantly, grabs the wine glass and takes little sips. You start to feel butterflies flutter in your stomach, but not the purple and pink ones that flutter freely when Jungkook touches you. The butterflies now have pale blue wings that charge at the walls of your stomach, begging to escape. Something isn't right. Drake pushes the glass toward you.
"Here's some wine, it's two million dollar 45 year old Chardonnay," he lightly grins.

Something from the drink rises beyond its rim and emits a stench that is different yet potent to every person in the room. You're inclined to refuse the drink, but when Drake lifts his glass up and sings for you to cheer, you wave away all concern in your mind and drink. That was the stupidest fucking thing you could have done, miss whatsyourname.

Chapter Text

Deep in the night, when all was calm on your island and the only light in the world was your lamp, your peaceful, nightly solitude was interrupted by faint sounds of people talking and laughing outside your window. A group of professional, wealthy-looking adults had been congregating in front of your neighbor's house and socializing in the middle of the night for the past four days. You had heard many rumours about these strange looking foreigners since they arrived in Rock island's port on Monday, such as they were drug dealers, spies the American government trying to reclaim the village from the occupation of an illegal empire, or cult members trying to take over Rock island and make everyone worship gay aliens, but no one really knew exactly what was going on. Every day, you tried to ignore them, fighting the urge to go down there and investigate, but you supposed they wouldn't want to speak to you. However, as you lay on your side that night, with the talking getting louder and merrier, and with the sounds of singing and whistles transmitting through your window, your violent curiosity got the best of you and inspired you to peek out of the window. When you looked outside, you saw a woman in red heels and a slick black ponytail spinning to the rhythms of claps and singing. What the fuck was happening? Why had these people come here to socialize at two in the morning? Why must they be outside and not at least go inside your neighbor's house? Are they on drugs? Are they crazy? Are they really in a cult? The burning curiosity inspired you to open your window and sit sideways on the ledge, one leg exposed to the cool night and the other still safe in your room. They instantly noticed, looking up at you as soon as your leg slipped out.

"Hello," a man yelled, standing with a drink in his hand and an ugly gray fedora atop his silver-haired head. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt with gray shorts and had a gray beard. He was the palest man you had ever seen at this point. You responded with silence and intrigue. Three other men were around him, along with the dancer, but only one man immediately caught your eye. He was dressed in a black button-up and red backward cap, and even when you were looking down at him from a high angle, you couldn't help but notice his captivating, wide, doe-like eyes.

"What's your name?" the fedora man yelled.

"Y/N," you whispered. He obviously couldn't hear what you said, but you feared waking your mother up.

"What?" They all looked up at you in confusion. Your neighbor, Joe Salmon, an overall-wearing fisherman with a gray beard and shiny bald head, came out with a drink in his hand, joining them in their confusion. You stuck your index finger out, puckered your lips, quietly closed your window, and tiptoed out of your room and down the stairs. Your legs shook as you took one stair at a time, not only nervous about what they would say or think about you but more nervous, if not terrified, of your mother waking up. You descended the stairs, put your boots on, and went for the doorknob, but right when you were about to turn it, you froze. You suddenly realized that you had never spoken to someone from outside the island before, let alone people from outside the kingdom of Kangodad. Your stomach started to swirl, not knowing what to expect from them. Do they really eat babies? Are they Satanists? Are they all transvestites? These unanswered questions stirred a determination to open the door and find out for yourself. Ricardo smiled at you as you stepped down the brick stairs.

"What's your name?" the Hawaiian shirt man asked once more.

"Y/N, that's a beautiful name! My name is Ricardo." He smiled, and he extended his hand out to be shaken.

"This is my son, Lorenzo." That was the same boy with the black shirt and pretty eyes you saw from the window, and he was even more beautiful up close. He had clear, perfect brown skin, long eyelashes, full, pink lips, and a fresh part of thunder in the back of his head. You stared at him, completely struck by your beauty. He took your hand and shook it gently as he smiled at you.

Ricardo introduced you to the other members of the band. His sister, the woman you saw dancing from your window, was named Angelina. She spoke to you with power, confidence, and the knowledge that every word she uttered was either a curse or a blessing. She searched within your eyes as you spoke, transversing through your thoughts, and matched them with every word you uttered, making sure every spell you cast was pure. He then introduced you to Penguin, a short, old man with a bubbly, unhinged, yet wholesome clown-like demeanor. You could barely understand anything he was saying, not because of his German accent but because he spoke as if he had a mouthful of mashed potatoes. But, regardless of his unintelligible language, you could feel that his words were filled with love, so it didn't matter. Scarf was a one-eyed man with the best short dreads you've ever seen. The one eye he had was constantly filled with tears, and he wore Chinese shoes made of red cotton. He spoke with a joyful tenor, a laugh alongside every word he spoke. They brought you inside the house, which was filled with rich, sleek white people who looked like they each had a property in a gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood. They all immediately turned towards you as soon as you walked in, silently studying you.

"Salutations," They said simultaneously with no expression. You shuddered as you stood before them because you had never actually seen a real white person before that day, and this was likely not the best introduction. You had seen brown Melungeon and half-white people on the mainland, but they still considered themselves black, so they were the same as you. However, these weren't white people of color; these were just white people, and you were afraid that the stories from your elders who lived beyond and before the kingdom or the island would be reenacted. They dressed in blacks, greys, and whites, and their hair never went past their shoulders. They stared at you in what you thought was judgment and a notion that you, as a local, were not sophisticated enough to be in their presence, let alone speak to them.

"Go on, they're not going to bite you," Angelica said as you realized you were still in the doorway. You tiptoed along the wooden floor as they watched you with intrigue, and the band of musicians followed you.

"Tribe, this is Y\N," Angelica happily announced.

"Hello, Y\N," They said in a chorus of monotone groaning. Your heart pounded inside of your chest, and sweat started dripping down your temple.
"Relax, girl! Is this your first time seeing white people?" Snake asks. You slowly nod your head up and down.
"Don't worry, these are good ones," he replies.
"Yeah, they're accepting," Ricardo added.

"We love the culture here," he exclaimed as he started unbuttoning his shirt when "Intimidated" by Kaytranda started playing. He started twirling around in circles, everyone around him indifferent to his gray chest hair and naked beer belly. Snake immediately rushed to him and started beating on his bongo, chasing after Ricardo's erratic, free rhythm with his hands. Ricardo slowly danced toward him, his hands in the air as he shimmied and swayed his body. He made weird, stiff hip movements, which you could tell he thought were like water. Lorenzo inched toward you, ashamed and apologetic.

"Oh my fucking god," he nervously chuckled as he rubbed his face.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

"Nah, don't be. Without y'all, I wouldn't have never seen nothing like this."
You stared at him longer as he gyrated and jiggled, transfixed by his moves, which gave you the exact opposite sensations of arousal.
"Why don't we go upstairs?" Lorenzo asked as he snapped you out of your hypnosis. His request was less of an ask and more of a beg, a plea to end his suffering at the hands of his free-spirited, fruity naked father. A pit in your stomach formed. You knew that you were forbidden by the teachings of your mother, grandmother, and the pastor to be in a room alone with a man. The extent of your behavior, fraternizing with a male who is a total stranger, would already be considered "fast" by the village. There was one notorious girl by the name of Edith who had been caught straddling a boy, Johnny Keepkin, with both their clothes on atop a rock in the Barbie cemetery. Johnny was made to clean and tend to the cemetery for a week afterward, but Edith was sent to her aunt's farm on the mainland, picking strawberries and harvesting weed deep in the Appalachian mountains, and hasn't been seen since. Your mind began to drift off into a fantasy that your mother would suddenly burst through the door in her headscarf and nightgown, see you talk to not only a strange male but a foreigner, and surmise that you were planning to do something unsavory with him. She would drag you out of the house by your ear, put you on one of her wooden wagons used to carry hay, and shove it forward with a force so powerful that you were catapulted to your paternal grandfather's apartment in Holiday City.
You would be sentenced to taking care of his disgusting, nauseatingly nasty pigs and enduring the constant blare of sirens warning of impending bombs for the next ten years of your pitiful life. All because of some boy you met ten minutes ago with pretty eyes and loose curls.
"Y/N," Lorenzo called, as you realized you hadn't answered.
"I don't want to do anything weird, I just want to get away from all...this."
You peeked behind yourself to see Ricardo still swirling his body around with all the joy in the world, his tongue slightly sticking out in a fashion that resembled a drooling pug with its mouth open, panting in anticipation for a Scooby snack. With that image now stuck in your head for the rest of your life, you agree enthusiastically. Something inside of you riots in excitement, an excitement in breaking a rule taken so seriously in the community, and possibly getting away with it. Lorenzo stops in front of a white door in the hallway and plops down on the wooden floor. You sit next to him and ask;
"Where y'all from?"
"We live in New York, but I was born and raised in Puerto Rico."
"Where that at?"
"It's an island near Florida, in the Caribbean. The part where I'm from is a lot like here, I used to live on a farm."
You still didn't know exactly where Florida was, but his past as a farmer's child intrigued you.
"Really?" you asked.
"Your daddy don't seem like the type of man to be no farmer. I ain't trying to be mean, but he looks so...soft."
"That's because he used to go to Florida for weeks at a time to spend his money on gambling and to fuck strippers, leaving me to farm and take care of my little sister after my mom died.
He started trailing off, his eyes shifted to the ceiling.
"And now he wants me to travel the entire world with him, I don't understand." He turned to you and put on a smile to reconfigure himself quickly.
"I'm so sorry," you said.
"Nah, I'm good." He quickly changed the subject.
"What about you, you ever left this island?"
"Only twice. Once to see my Grandpa in Holdiday city when I was real little, then I went again after my daddy went missing."
"Oh."
He stared at you with pitying eyes, and it made you sick to your stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Aw, don't you worry bout me. I was bout seven years old when he left, and I'm fixing to be 18 and a half soon," you proclaimed.
"I can handle myself good and stand on my own two feet if I have to."
"I respect the fuck out of that, actually," he said.
"Thank you kindly," you replied.
"That's how I wanna be. Get away from my crazy ass family, start a business, buy a house, have a wife and kids and be normal."
"I hear you," you said.
"I hope I can get off this island one day," you sighed.
"I mean, you can come with me! Right after the wedding, I'll start my new life with you," he smiled.
"What wedding?"
"My dad is getting married to his girlfriend here."
"Who his girlfriend?"
"Doechii. She's the chief's daughter, right?"
You gasped as a wave of shock came over you, and immediately after that, confusion.
"You serious?"
"Yeah, it's in two days."
Your mind spun in circles with this information, and you began to make sense of this anomaly. First and foremost, why hadn't you heard about this yet? Gossip about the ceremony should have taken over the island three days ago, and you refused to believe that you had simply been left out of the loop. Secondly, who the fuck is this nigga to be marrying her? Lastly, why was she marrying him? Doechii was one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid eyes on, and although you hadn't seen much of the world, you knew that she was a one-of-a-kind, just like everyone else. Doechii marrying a man who had the build of a gummy bear, one that had been lost under a couch and gathered four months' worth of dust and lint at that, was inconceivable.
"Is she getting sold off or something?"
"No, they're madly in love."
You let out a snort of a laugh, slapped your hand over your mouth, and looked at him with wide eyes, remembering that you're actively laughing at his father's expense.
"No, I know, it's fucking crazy."
"But why? How did they even meet?"
As far as you knew, Chief Rick snuck her off to Holiday City to study. Although people came up with other ideas, like her being pimped out, going to Holiday to give birth because she had a child out of wedlock, or just abandoning the town to chase some dream that was bigger than the island. You had always chosen to believe the last option, but you were beginning to revisit the being pimped out rumor.
"They bumped into each other at a bar in New York. She didn't have anywhere to stay that night, so he took her home, and she started living with us for a while."
"New York?! Chief Rick told us she was at school in Holiday City."
"Hell no, she's been in New York for the past year."
"Well, what she been up to?"
"I don't know, she said she's not allowed to tell me. My dad definitely knows, though, and is probably involved in it somehow."
Your mind began to create the beginnings of multiple conspiracies until Lorenzo asked;
"But do you wanna come with me to the wedding? It's in three days and I have no one to go with."
You lit up at his request.
"Well, sure!" you squeaked.
He smiled slyly and inched closer to you.
"You got any-?" Lorenzo was interrupted when the party started moving upstairs. In an instant, his face shifted from flirtatiousness and assurance to absolute mortification. He quickly shot up, grabbed your hand, and hurried through the crowd.
"What's wrong?" you asked, suddenly nervous and confused.
Once he reached the first floor, he quavered, almost panicking:
"they're going to have an orgy."
You stared at him, still standing on the last steps of the stairs.
"What is that?"
He sighed and slowly walked around himself, drawing his hand across his face.
"It's when a bunch of people...have sex."
Your mouth dropped immediately, still standing on the stairs.
"You mean, together?"
He dragged his hand over his mouth and walked around himself again. You became nauseated as you envisioned what that would entail.
"Come on, I don't want you to hear them or see them."
He grabbed your hand and hastily led you out the door, but as soon as you were outside, you stopped.
"What 'bout you?" you asked.
Lorenzo whipped around, and his eyes widened in horror.
"No, no, no. I don't join in on that shit, please, believe me, I would never," he said, throwing his hands in the air.
You were taken aback by his defense because that idea hadn't yet crossed your mind.
"Well, I'm glad you don't, but that's not what I was getting at. I mean, you don't wanna be in there, neither do you. What are you gonna do?"
His face relaxed into an exhausted, beaten expression.
"I'll be okay. I've been dealing with this shit for a long time."
"Well, you don't have to," you shot out with no hesitation.
"You can stay in my house 'till it's over, or I may even be able to sneak you under my bed for the night." You knew that what you were saying was starting to sound ridiculous, but your mouth was working faster than your mind. He tilted his head and gave you a knowing glance, the moonlight illuminating his glossy caramel skin and eyes that, in light, resembled the prettiest feathers of a barn owl.
"I can't. I already know your mom isn't going to have any of that, and I don't want to jeopardize our safety," he joked. Beneath his smile was a pain that you would soon come to understand. You grabbed his hands this time, and they felt cold and weathered.
"Come on, my momma asleep, and my grandmama too old to do nothing," you lied. Your grandmother was probably worse than your mother, but not worse than the horrors inside the home you were in front of.
He looked at you with hurt in his eyes and slowly relinquished his hands.
"I'm sorry, but this is my life, and unfortunately, I have to live it."
He went back inside, and you didn't leave until the door closed. You went back inside your own home, defeated, and crashed onto the bed, not sleeping for the entire night.

Chapter Text

You open your eyes to darkness, surrounded by a shallow pool of cold water that submerges half of your foot. You immediately sit up and look around frantically. You cry and scream, splashing around in the water as you try to stand up, but you stumble and fall on your bare knees repeatedly. Didn't you come in jeans? Your 700-dollar Lagerfeld? You touch your leg to discover that you're wearing shorts. You feel your arms and torso to find that you're wearing a tank top with a patch stuck to the backside of your shoulder. You're certain you're dead, and you're stuck in a purgatory that prevents you from fully crossing over. Your mother had told you stories about these trapped spirits, stuck in a medium between heaven and hell, but you had never believed you would face the same fate. You stand up, and the Barbie doll tucked away in your panties falls into the water, almost submerged beneath the shallow pool. You drop to snatch her out of the water and start frantically praying with your eyes closed. You eventually open them back up since there's no difference between having your eyes opened or closed wherever you are. Your grip on Barbie is insane, like let that bitch breathe. You beg and plead for protection, reciting affirmations and bible verses over and over again as tears profusely pour from your eyes, until suddenly, a gust of wind rushes past you. You snap your neck back to see where it came from, but of course, you only see darkness. It comes back, speeding past you and then almost wiggling through your legs. You hear a laugh from above you, and as you look up, the wind knocks itself out of you, and you collapse in the shallow water. On your hands and knees, you hear a high-pitched, demon-like laugh again, and for a few seconds, all is calm. The wind bellows at you with the sound of a bomb, the power of the wind practically nailing you to the wall. It's unwavering, oppressive, and it steals your breath, suffocating you with its force. When you try to move, your joints and muscles ache, practically scream, and as you panic, you start to feel yourself leaving your body, as your eyes roll to the back of your head. In an instant, the wind flies away from you, dropping you on the floor and leaving you gasping for air. You shake and cry in the corner that it left you in, fearing for its inevitable return. Suddenly, blaring pink lights randomly appear in front of you, instantly blinding you for more than two minutes. As you look up and your vision comes back, you find that in front of you is a wide stage, and you are now front row in a stadium, with Drake walking towards the edge of the jet black stage. He looks down at you with the most chilling, evil smile you have ever seen. He grimaces at you, the only concertgoer in an empty stadium, and says nothing. The only thing you can hear is your heart pounding inside of your chest as you crumble in fear, and he puts the mic to his mouth.

Chapter Text

You sob as you aimlessly walk barefoot around the stadium. You had hurried to find every single door or potential exit in the building, even going as far as running to each dark, empty kiosk in the giant food court and practically scratching at the locked doors, with the hope that they could've been the one secret exit that could get you out of hell. But as each door revealed itself only to fail you, you slowly resigned and dragged yourself along the cold glass tile floor with less vigor and eagerness. When the last opportunity to escape, a simple janitor's closet near the Auntie Annie's you just tore down, bore the same dammimg message as every other door in the building, you dropped, and cried sobs that cracked you from the inside, while the booming bass of "Weston Road Flows" pounded on you from the stage. So now, you walk barefoot around the empty stadium, leaving a trail of tears and hopelessness in every section. Until suddenly, a sharp pain envelops your foot and shoots up to your knee. You look down, and it's your Barbie! You quickly snatch her up, and wrap both of your hands around her in a tight squeeze and pray, facing away from Drake as he performs another fuck ass song from 2017 to no one. Suddenly, the lights blaring from the stage turn pink, and "Como La Flor" by Selena starts playing. He welcomes Ash Trevino to the stage, and they both start dancing and laughing to the intro before beginning to sing. Your eyes start to well up in tears as you watch them butcher this song. To make it worse, Ash pulls out a rubber chicken and starts dancing with it on stage. The site sends chills down your spine, and you double over, puking all over the floor. As you're on your hands and knees, everything starts to become a blur, the wet ground below you becomes shaky, and the music becomes replaced by high-pitched ringing noises, and suddenly, you're out of it.

FLASHBACK #2

You woke up to the smell of eggs and grits the next morning, not needing your Mama or grandmama to get you out of bed like usual. Before even sitting up, your first thoughts were about Lorenzo. You wondered if he was truly okay and how he managed to endure a night bearing the sins of his father. How he must have felt being tortured by the sound of his father fucking eight percent of the world's population night after night. And the idea that the chief and his daughter were involved, the most seemingly upstanding people on the island, was devastating. If they were whores and sinners, who could you trust? You sat on your bed for a moment, staring off into space, silently. The act of getting out of bed felt preposterous to you, because at this point, even the floor could betray you, and swallow you the fuck up. Your mother, in a purple quilted dress, walked into your room, surprised to see you already up and not doing anything.

"What you doin' up this early?"

"Nun," you mumbled.

"Well, come on and eat these grits and go take some bread and wine to your father's grave, I got a quilt to make for Ms. Bunny's old ugly ass dog that just died," she said, her hand still on the gold-painted doorknob. Your mother was a tall, chubby, dark-skinned woman with two French braids running along the back of her scalp.

"Remember? Mr.Bean? Old ugly ass. Was always running around chasing people. I don't know why she let that dog misbehave like that, ain't never chained him up or nothing. She lucky it ain't never tried to bite on you, cause' I'd of root on him and that heffa," she declared. She noticed you lowkey didn't give a fuck about what she was saying, still spacing out and thinking about all that you had learned yesterday.

"Y/N, you okay?"
"Yeah, just a little tired."
"You stay up too late?"
"Yeah," you mumbled. She wasn't convinced this was the whole truth, but she didn't press.
"Well, eating'll do you some good, come on."
Your grandmother was sitting at the table, eating walnuts and reading the bible when you walked in.
"Well, what 'chu comin' up in here lookin' all sad for? What you got to be sad about?" she demanded.
"It ain't nothing, grandmama, just tired is all," you repeated. It wasn't even halfway through the morning, and you already wanted to hang yourself on the ceiling, dangling right above the small dining table your grandmother was sitting at.
"You a lie, something's wrong with you...it's a boy, ain't it?"
You hesitated a little bit and stuttered, "N-no!"
"Chile," she said, sitting back in her chair.
"You just make sure you ain't being fast. I ain't getting ready to raise no more kids anytime soon."
"Mama," your mother countered from her quilting chair.
"It's true! I'll be dammed if I have to spend my last days minding after your baby. You better not let no lil' nigga get you pregnant, cause I ain't breaking my back over nothing no more. Let me rest!"

You sat down across from her and started eating.

"Done spent my whole life minding one child after another, just for most of 'em to turn out dead, crazy or up and leave me, sides you Emma."
When grandmama said stuff like that, you always thought about your aunt Cheryl, who wasn't dead and had stayed on the island, and felt bad for her. Just because she's crazy and a little gay doesn't mean she should just be ousted from the family; you knew that even then.

Your mother gave a knowing glance and sighed.
"Yeah, it's a shame. We all we got, the three of us."

"Damn right," your grandmother supported.
She was only 54 at the time, but she looked older, with silver plaits running down the back of her head, and a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses that she said used to be her father's, Corduroy White. Your mother's side of the family had high social standing on the island before the occupation, you'd been told. They had the third largest number of sheep, only behind the Chief, and the Bookers, with whom the Whites were fierce rivals. It was in the 80s, when the Islamic Alien Nubian Sultanate of Muhammad violently took the island. The IANSM was an afro-centric cult that believed Black Americans are the original indigenous peoples of ancient Egypt, all non-black people are aliens from an evil planet called Stellia, and that the Prophet Muhammad eventually sent himself down to earth from the good planet Os as a fetus to stop non-black people from taking over the world. Corduroy, the patriarch of the family, openly criticized the IANSM and refused to convert to their afro-futuristic sci-fi dupe of Islam with vague Hindu and Christian peppering, and the misappropriation of ancient Egyptian mythology littered throughout its schizophrenic teachings. He was then sent to a prison camp on the mainland, while the rest of his family, including your pregnant grandmother, were enslaved in corn fields on the island. Her oldest child, Hammond, was sold to the mainland and was worked to death by age 11, and your mother had spent the first half of her childhood toiling under the unforgiving sun in the now-abandoned corn fields on the west side of the island. The family had assumed Corduroy died in the camp until three months after the civil war ended in 1994. When he was brought back, he weighed 101 pounds at 6'2. His back was branded by the scars of whips, and his legs and arms were covered with third-degree burn marks. His hair, which was much longer than any male on the island, and his pride and joy, was completely gone, the hair from his head substituted by a fully gray beard at only 45. He died on the kitchen floor the morning after coming home. From then on, your family was mentally ill as fuck and broke. On the other hand, the Bookers, who totally sold the fuck out for the Nation of Islam on plant-based steroids, were not enslaved, and eventually moved to the capital to enjoy their immense wealth and security, while the rest of their people were forced to work like dogs for nine years.

"Y'all is all my poor soul got left in the world," Grandmama stressed. "Don't let me down."

After breakfast, you started towards the creek on the northern side of the island, with a basket holding a brandless bottle of wine imported from the mainland. It was a hot, quiet, sunny day as you trotted along the forever car-less dirt road. Short bursts of wind cooled you down, and you liked the sound of the weeping willow leaves rustling, and lifting off into the air a little, like a long green cotton skirt. All was calm and serene, in a dreadfully painful way. You looked toward the town grocery store, a wide wooden building about 30 feet tall and painted in a dull, aging sky blue, cracking in various places to reveal a dark, ashy brown beneath it. There were two ancient men in rocking chairs shooting the shit and chewing tobacco on its porch as if the store were their own home, only, they were the owners. Rain and Rocco thought they were the hottest niggas on this side of the ocean because of their shitty grocery store with off-brand Mexican products imported from the cartel that the villagers would only buy because it was foreign and couldn't read the labels, as if half of them could read English in the first place. Even though every time you were in their presence, they would oggle the shape of your body and fire archaic yet clever pickup lines at you at the speed of light, you felt a sort of pity for them. To be born in a station that led you to believe that owning a fuckass grocery store on the middle-of-nowhere island was the greatest thing you could achieve in this lifetime was beyond depressing to you. Especially because you knew it was true. And so, when you imagined your future, assuming you were forever condemned to Rock Island, the best you could come up with was marrying one of their fifty-eleven sons, enduring the birth of multiple children, and raising several bad ass kids while cooking and cleaning all day until you die at 67, looking 98. You'd passed this pathetic, boring grocery store on an annoyingly hot summer day to do the same thing thousands of times before, and at that point, the thought of going this same route to do the same things again for the next 40-50 unbearable years made your stomach churn. There was nothing here. Not for you, at least. And the one thing you'd dreamed of since you were a little girl was to completely abandon this backwoods shit hole and move to a place like New York, or if God didn't permit that, at least Holiday City. To be anywhere but here was a miracle.

Once you made it to the creek, you walked over to your father's grave first, marked by a tall, old tree decorated with hanging Barbies, a photo of your father drilled into the tree, and some blue-stained bottles at the base of his tree. It was believed on your island that the Barbies, with eyes colored over in blue crayons, watched over the people buried at the creek, and that the spirits of the dead could possess them and watch over you as you stood at their gravesite. You lit some incense, and poured some wine in one of the glasses, and snuck a little bit for yourself, of course. You decided to sit by his grave for a little while before going to your great-grandpa. You remembered that he was a kind, dark, tall man who never spoke a harsh word, and never lifted his hand against you in the short time you shared. As creepy as it was looking back, the hanging naked Barbies with ropes around their necks staring into the distance with blue-stained eyes really helped you grieve your father. You hoped that he was watching you from one of those Barbies, and somehow guiding you towards the paths that would lead you to your dreams. That was the least he could do. You loved your father, but you were somehow envious of him. You loathed how easy it was for him to be free at sea, at times going so far off into the ocean that he wasn't in view, and being able to drift so far from the dismal conditions that tethered you to the island. Even if it was temporary, something so small, the ability to leave the village and experience some version of tranquility that wasn't painful, even if only for a few hours, was something you'd gladly give your life for. Too bad you couldn't swim and were scared of live fish. And to make things worse, he left you here again, only this time, forever. You resented it then and resent it now, how that nigga just couldn't sit his tall ass down somewhere and bear the horror of mundanity like everyone else. Why couldn't he just stay with you? Would things be as bad with him still here, you wondered? But, good for him, you thought to yourself as you looked at the Barbies lightly swinging from the tree. You decided to grab one of the Barbies from the tree, snapping a weak branch in half as you yanked it, and put it in your basket, next to the bread you had yet to give to your father. You didn't know why you had the urge to take something from him, but it would prove to help you in the future.
"...Y/N?" You heard from behind. You spun around to find Lorenzo, with his long curly hair thrown into a bun and a cigarette in his hand.

"What is this," he said, staring at the heavily decorated trees with confusion and a hint of fear in his face.
"This my daddy grave right here."
He looked as if he started rearranging things in his mind.
"Okay..." he said as he walked toward you with the cigarette in his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. It was so jarring that it almost felt like a violation for him to be in such a sacred place.

"I was just walking around the island, exploring, and I found you here," he smiled.
"What's in the basket?"
You pulled it away from his as he asked subconsciously, and told him
"Bread," without further explanation.
"You gonna give the bread to him? " he asked
"Yeah," you replied, feeling as if the question was a little stupid.
"Can I join you?"
"Join me doin' what?" you thought to yourself. How would he join you in putting bread on your dad's grave and then move to your great-grandpa's grave and do the same thing? But something about the way he smiled at you so kindly and innocently when he asked made you ignore the strangeness of the question.
"Sure...!" You said.

When you looked up from pouring wine into your great-grandfather's glass, you caught Lorenzo staring at your side profile, and quickly averted his eyes to the center of the tree trunk.
"You know, the more I get used to all this, the more I think it's cool," Lorenzo announced
"It's very pretty."
"Thanks," you said curtly, out of discomfort more than anger.
"I think everyone should have stuff like this on their grave."
"I agree," you said unconvincingly. He looked up at the Barbies hanging from the trees, just as you did before he came.
"Except for me," he added.

"I would just want a tree with nothing on it, just left alone, while I'm at peace."

"You wouldn't want nobody to remember you?"

"No, I'd just finally wanna be left alone. I don't need anyone to waste all their food on me, nigga I'm dead."

"But you don't think your spirit'll get hungry and want something to eat and drink? Just all up in heaven hungry and ain't got nothing or nobody to watch over your grave?" He looked up again.

"Is that what the Barbies are for?"

"Yeah, you'd need protection! 'Cause say they get ready to bury somebody else up under your tree, and they end up diggin' you up and having your spirit all disturbed 'cause you didn't want your tree to have nothing on it. Then you still won't be left alone and won't no spirits come and do nothing 'bout it 'cause they ain't there!"

He chuckled as you spoke, although you were being dead serious.

"And it ain't just about food and offerings and Barbies and whatnot, but claiming what's rightfully yours. Let them niggas know you got at least one place in the world, even if that's your grave."

For a moment, you saw a sad realization come to his eyes after you said that, but once you blinked, it was gone, and replaced by a playful look that made you feel warm inside.

"Well, I guess you're right, but I just wanted to thank you for last night," he started.

"You didn't have to do that-"

"Yes, I did," you asserted.

"Y/N, I'm fine, I'm so used to their bullshit, I know how to endure it."

"But you don't have to, really, you don't, you could stay with me, and-"

He grabbed your shoulders gently and looked you in the eyes.

"You don't need to get caught up in my shit," he professed.

"If anything, I should be helping you," he said, a smirk slowly rising across his face.

You raised an eyebrow.

"With what?"

"What you're gonna wear to the wedding, it's in two days, and I wanna match with you," he smiled. You mentally sifted through the five dresses you had, and suddenly, you felt embarrassed. The two nicest dresses you owned were an ankle-length black dress with puff sleeves and a cinched waist, and a short-sleeved white dress with a lace skirt.

"Well, I got a white dress and a black dress, but they ain't as nice as the ones I know you people got," you stated shamefully while looking downward. He put his hand on your back and said,

"Don't worry, you'll look great, they're not judgy people, they like to hug trees and kiss dogs and shit, they have no room to judge," he retorted.

"But I just... don't wanna embarrass you," you whispered.

"This probably the first time you even talked to a girl like me, and I just hope they don't think I don't belong with you, and you need a girl of your station."

He looked you in the eyes and said, "You're too pretty to embarrass me. Even in a chicken suit, I'd be lucky to have you," he assured. You lit up at his words and believed him for a moment, as you weren't used to being called pretty. Usually, boys always gave you shit about having a dark skin complexion.

"W-well, thank you," you blushed.

"No need to thank me, thank your mother for making you so pretty," he said. You got even more flustered at this.

"I'd like to meet her someday," he added.

"Well, why don't you?"

"That's a little fast," he giggled,

"But I done already met some of your family," you countered.

"That's true, but I really wish you didn't," he said, embarrassed.

"But I'm glad I did, 'cause I met you too," you said lowly. You both stared into each other's eyes, hesitating to act, but eventually, your lips met. It felt more moist than you expected, but you enjoyed it anyway, and silently stared at him for a few seconds, before developing post-kiss clarity.

"Oh nah, I'm taking too long and my momma gon' be thinking I'm up to something," you blurted out. You sprang up, and he jolted up with you.

"I'll see you later?" he asked.

"Tomorrow, 'round noon, I'll be at my daddy's grave again."

"Okay," he said, and kissed you on the lips again as a goodbye.

"Bye...," you said, smitten, before hurrying out of the creek, and reflecting on the fact that you had your first kiss in front of your great-grandpa.

Chapter Text

When you wake back up, BTS is on the stage, singing and dancing with Drake, acting real homosexual. Beenson Boone is tied up in a metal chair, as Jimin, in full female BDSM gear, twerks all over Boone, while Ash Trevino watches, biting her lip. When you see Jungkook swaying next to Drake as he raps, your heart sinks into your ass. And right when you notice him, he locks eyes with you. In response, you immediately close your eyes and recite the Lord's Prayer as you clutch your Barbie doll over and over again until you feel a sudden warm breath in front of you. Startled, you open your eyes. Jungkook is in front of you, and he immediately punches you in the jaw. He laughs as you're on the ground, standing over you as pink lights continue to blare behind him. He's wearing a jumpsuit with the MAGA flag, in both traditional and inverted forms, plastered across its denim fabric.
"You thought your dumb ass could get away," he spits softly. You scramble for your Barbie doll while still on the ground. You won't lose her again.

"..w-What?" you tremble.

"He's wanted you all along," he sneers.

The world all but stops at that moment, and everything around you is in slow motion You can feel the earth rotate on its axis, and feel as if you're standing atop the mountain peak of time, watching the river of the past and the future flow in opposite currents, and you realize that you are the master of both, an refuse to allow your future to flow toward BBL Drizzy. You hear every whisper of the electrons firing in your brain, and they all unanimously day, "Enough." Jungkook's dumb ass face goes from snarky confidence to agonizing pain after you kick that bitch nigga in the balls, and run to the stadium. However, you're not running to escape. Since you exhausted every potential exit you could find in the building, there's no point in trying to run away. You're running toward that stage for war. You jump on stage and punch Ash Trevino in the nose. Drake wastes no time and grabs your arms from behind, while the rest of BTS charges towards you. You kick Jin, dressed in a chicken suit with a bra on, in the mouth, and Yoongi, in a "White Lives Matter" tee and ethika boxers in the stomach. Drake throws you on the ground, blood pooling out of your nose on impact, and them niggas start putting the boots to you. You grasp at the laces of RM's black military boot while still getting your back kicked in by seven other grown ass niggas, and pull on them motherfuckers as he's trying to kick you, making him fall on his ass. Although that made you chuckle while getting your ass beat, the pain of their feet and hands mercilessly raining down upon you wasn't subsiding; in fact, increasing in intensity, and infuriated, you tried to accept death. Until both J-Hope and Jimin fall beside you, unconscious. You look up, and Benson Boone is holding the metal chair he was tied to in his hands, pushing against Drake and Yoongi as they pull on its legs. Even after being beaten half to death, a rush of adrenaline overtakes you, and you rise again, bruised, but powerful enough to sock the fuck out of Jin, while elbowing Taehyung in the solar plex from the back when that nigga tries to run up on you. You turn around and say,

"Now if you wanna still call me and fuck with me after I whooped you, you can," until Jin tackles you, and you land on Taehyung.

"You know what, I just might," Taehyung whispers, and kisses you on the mouth. You feel Jin rise from your body, and turn your neck to see him with both his hands raised in a ball, ready to smash his hands into your skull. You stare into his animalistic eyes, watching his hands plummet towards your face, until Benson swipes the chair across his head. You look to your left, and see Jin laid out in a disorderly position, tongue out and eyes closed. You look to your right, and Yoongi has joined J-Hope and Jimin incompasitated on the stage. Ash Trevino is crying her Latina eyes out in the corner, scared as shit that she's going to get knocked out too, with blood dripping from her nose. Drake stands in the middle, breathing heavily, with blood on his face, and staring at Benson Boone. Jungkook, getting over his balls  (you kicked them so hard it's almost a school shooting), looks at his unconscious band members, at Drake, and at you on top of Taehyung. Jungkook yells at Taehyung in Korean. Tae yells something back, and kisses you on the cheek, while grabbing your ass. You giggle and blush at this. Jungkook lets out an angry laugh.

"So this is how you move," he says.

"Move like what?" You get up and start walking towards him aggressively, until Benson gets in front of you and holds you back, his magical chair still in hand. He doesn't want to whoop niggas anymore, you suppose.

"YOU WORRIED 'BOUT HOW I MOVE?????? NIGGA YOU DID THIS TO ME." Your voice echoes through the arena.

"LIKE I REALLY LOOKED UP TO THIS NIGGA. I TRUSTED YOU AS MY BOYFRIEND. I LET YOU FUCK ME, I LET YOU SLEEP IN MY BED, I LET YOU EAT UP ALL MY FOOD IN MY FACE, I EVEN OPENED YOUR TINDER APP, SAW YOU FUCKING ON FAT WHITE BITCHES, AND I DIDN'T SAY NOTHING 'CAUSE I LOVED YOU." Tears fall down your face, to your embarrassment, which makes you even more irate.

"AND I FUCKING LOVED YOU TOO, DRAKE!" You turn toward him to see his annoyed, dismissive expression.

"YOU WERE EVERYTHING TO ME. YOU WERE SO MUCH MORE THAN MUSIC! YOU SAVED MY LIFE." Through your sobs, you manage to cry;
“I THOUGHT I COULD NEVER BE APART OF THIS SOCIETY.” You hiccup some more and scream, “BUT YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE I COULD MAKE MYSELF BELONG HERE. ‘CAUSE YOU WAS A NEW, CANADIAN LIGHTSKIN FACE IN HIP HOP. YOU WERE JUST LIKE ME!”

Drake pops his head back at this comparison, a confused expression appearing on his face.

“NIGGA YOU AIN’T NO BETTER THAN T-PAIN.”

Drake looks at you with a face full of disgust, surprise, irritation, and a hint of pity. Heartbroken by this, you turn to Jungkook, pain stabbing you in the chest, and rage enveloping your body as you see his face.
"Was you plotting this since we met?" you squeak. He stares at you, sadness suddenly coming to his eyes, and he looks down.

"NIGGA," you yell.

"WHEN I FIRST MET YOU. AT 18 YEARS OLD. AND I HAD ALREADY HAD LORENZO. WERE YOU PLANNING THIS," you demand, beginning to shake behind Benson. Still, Jungkook looks down, unresponsive, and ashamed.

"I've wanted you since I saw you, Y/N," Drake says, not moving from his position. The sound of Drake's voice, so stale and matter of fact, enrages you, and you spit:

"Wanted what? Like, what the fuck is this? WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE?" You scream so loud that it seems as if the walls shake. It’s then, at that moment, that you realize you don’t need an answer. Drake starts talking, but your ears become muffled, and although your sight becomes blurry, you start to see clearer than you ever have before. You sift through every individual moment in your life, from birth to boarding the plane to Jungkook's island. Through every memory, one simple truth is apparent. You are light. A light that shines so bright that men from foreign lands traveled across oceans and airwaves to get to you, and it was subconscious. God gave you the super divine-pussy. And if the government is run by men, and men need sex, then that means men need you, including the government. Your pussy runs the nation and is the energy source of the world. And so you ask yourself, Why must the world feed off of your body? Why must you carry the weight of nations on your back? Whether it was Kangodad, St.Love, or America, the tears shed from your pussy were the breastmilk of societies. And now that you were being free, and owning your body, the government sent these motherfucked to stop you, and use your divine, God-like energy for evil. In the middle of whatever Drake was blabbering on about, you yell:

"ARE YOU FIXIN' TO SELL MY PUSSY TO NANCY PELOSI?!" Drake stops in the middle of his speech and glares at Jungkook. That further confirms your suspicions. He's selling your energy. Your mind comes up with a thousand words per minute, but you settle on these to speak.

"YOU'RE GONNA SEND ME BACK TO KANGODAD SO THEY CAN MAKE A DEAL WITH THE GOVERNMENT TO GET THEIR LAND BACK." Everyone still awake looks very confused, but you don't care; you know you're right.

"Y/N, I think,"

"YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING," you angrily blurt out, as you try to move out of Benson's way.

"YOU KNOW YOU WANT THIS PUSSY." Some realization crosses Drake and Jungkook's minds in that moment, probably that you're too strong and clever for them to traffick you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your Barbie doll lying next to J-Hope. Without even thinking, you sprint and grab her, pointing it between Benson, Jungkook, Drake, and Taehyung, but you choose to land it on Jungkook.
"Let me tell you something nigga." He freezes while walking towards you, his arms extended in offense.
"Till you lift this burden up off my back," you say, lowly, almost as a whisper, eyes dilated and wide open.

"You and your little high-yellah homeboy gon' go through hell on earth for the rest of your sorry ass lives." You walk over to Drake, slap him, grab Benson Boone's hand, and sprint backstage.

"Where are we going?" He puffs.

"How'd you get in here," you ask.

"Diddy's dressing room."
You’re not even taken aback. Of course, Diddy’s involved.

"Where is it?"

Benson Boone looks behind him to see Drake and Jungkook running towards you, Ashley following, with her phone out, recording.

"Down the hall to the left," he huffs as he pulls you through the hall and dives through Diddy's dressing room, quickly putting a chair under the doorknob once inside.
"It's that door," Benson says, as he points to a creme colored metal door next to the lighted vanity mirror with Diddy's cherry colored wig on it. He grabs a backpack and abruptly comes up behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your stomach.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING," you shriek.

"Saving our lives," he says, as he rips the door open, to reveal a cushion of clouds lying below the golden sun. Air rushes out of the room as you feel yourself being pulled into the sky, and shocked into silence. Before you can say anything, only trembling as you stand before heaven, he leaps into the air with you in his arms. You fall into what seems the last moments of your life. Plummeting through the sky somehow felt more violent and harsh than you would expect. As you tumble through the clouds, cold and damp, at the speed of what feels like light, you begin to see a lush, green land mass with a small town and water surrounding it on all sides. You close your eyes to brace for impact, only to feel yourself falling slower, and terrifyingly, notice the wind pushing and pulling your bodies, almost like leaves gracefully falling from a tree. Convinced your mind is punishing you to perceive a slower plummet to your demise, you open your eyes, to see an orange parachute attached to Boone. Realizing that you've still held a tight, loving grip on your Barbie doll through all of this, you kiss her on the head, and cry tears of gratitude and terror.

Chapter Text

You and Benson frantically sprint toward a dull log cabin in front of a hill, a few feet from where you landed, stomping on wet soil as tall grass brushes against your legs. The cabin is small, made from old-looking dark brown wood, but on the inside, it has unfittingly modern furniture and appliances, such as a sterling silver oven, a Samsung refrigerator, yellow couches, and a flatscreen TV in the living room. You both dive through the door of the only bedroom, still filled with adrenaline, and crouch behind the bed, sweaty, and catching your breath.
"Where the fuck are we," you whisper, shaking as you squat on the floor. You lay your hands on your moist thighs, still in the same panties you fell from the sky in.
"One of Drake's islands". He shifts his eyes around the room, shivering with you, and follows with:
"Scorpio, I think."
You lift your sacred Barbie closer to your heart.
"Do we just hide here," you utter, feeling yourself getting lightheaded. He pauses and looks at the closet door with wide eyes as he ponders what to do. He then responds,
"We need to get a boat."
"From where?"
"There's a boathouse on the beach."
"You think they gonna come down here too and find us?"
"Yeah, but I'd rather die trying to get off this island than stay. They'll find us sooner or later."
The mention of death made your heart sink. You had heard rumors of him brutally murdering his enemies in dungeons tucked under the island for years when you lived on St.Love, but now, they seemed realer than ever.

"Come on, we still have time to steal a boat before they get down here." He abruptly grabs your clammy hand and runs out of the cabin.

"How the fuck we gon' steal a boat," you whisper, crouching behind bushes and trees as you scurry along the gravel road.

"I'll show you," he says. Although he's obviously shaking and breathing erratically with you, something about his furrowed brow and determined eyes gives you hope, and you intuitively trust him...a little bit. As you're erratically jogging down the road, surrounded by high grass and being assaulted by demonic tropical mosquitoes, a green dump truck suddenly creeps up the road, and you two frantically duck between a thick bush and the left side of pale pink adobe cottage. Across from you is a dumpster, and a man dressed in an orange vest and neon sunglasses is getting out from the back of the truck to do his job.

"Wait here," Benson whispers.

"What the fuck are you doing," you whisper scream as he rises. He picks up a boulder, still crouching as he peeks his head over the bush.

"This nigga can't be serious," you think to yourself, as fear riots inside your body. You're really about to get pimped out to the government because this nigga likes throwing rocks. You start to imagine what they would do with your body after Drake sells you to Nancy Pelosi. Would they knock you out and harvest your brain waves to decode sacred geometries, or would they hook you up to a machine that synthesizes your brain and pussy waves into an AI supercomputer? Would they harvest your skin, nails, and hair, take your thoughts, worries, and memories, and use your dreams as an energy source to power their desired reality? You could already envision how they would so perfectly snap the spine out of your back, and offer it to the Gods of war and math, so that even in death, you'd have to carry the weight of the world. And in an instant, you snap out of your all-consuming thoughts when you hear a snore-like groan, followed by the sound of something plummeting to the ground. You peek over the bush, its leaves grazing your exposed skin, and see the man face down in the gravel, blood covering the back of his head, while his co-worker rushes out of the truck. Benson, hesitantly at first, charges toward the man and tackles him to the ground. Once fully on top, he wraps both of his hands around the poor worker's neck and squeezes the air out of his lungs as roughly as he can. You watch the man writhe and wiggle under Boone, sweat dripping down his back, and the golden hour sun slowly dipping into the ocean, turning its head away from the grizzly scene. The man's frantic jerking turns into slow squirming, and then to sparse, sharp contortions, until his leg twitches a final time, and there are no more movements. You stay squatting behind the bush, unable to move, as Benson rises above the man and stares down at him. For a few seconds, time and the world stop for you two, until Benson jerks his head up and runs to grab your hand. You say nothing as you step over the strangled man's body and hurry into the passenger seat of the truck. Benson turns the key, already in the ignition, and immediately hits the dumpster upon putting the gear in drive. He then tries to back up, but upon moving forward again, the truck feels as if it lifts slightly into the air, accompanied by a combination of cracking and popping sounds from underneath. It takes you a minute to realize that Benson ran over one of the bodies, but he still drives off without any acknowledgment.

Once the marina becomes slightly visible, Benson starts speeding up exponentially.
"Benson, please," you cry as you grip the door handle for dear life, only being a passenger inside an accelerating ballistic missile. He doesn't acknowledge you, and only increases his speed, his eyes teary yet smoldering. You snap your head toward the windshield and see a group of middle-aged men racing to disperse in all directions, but one balding white man refuses to move, still holding his bottle of Bud Light, frozen like a deer in headlights. The truck slams into him and through the wooden cabin standing before the boats stationed in the water. Frozen, you sit in the passenger seat, staring at each other, your arms lifted slightly in the air.

"The fuck are we waiting for? Get out," he hisses, and rips his door open. You crawl out of the truck, legs wobbly and ears ringing, still trying to piece together what just happened. Your eyes dart from the army of miniature white yachts to Benson picking up a shotgun that was lying in the cabin, and then to the body of the man he had just run over. Benson points the gun at the men, who ran past the other side of the gravel road, standing frozen in the grass with their beers still in hand.

"Someone give up their boat keys," Benson demands, his voice shaky, yet still trying to sound calm. When the men respond by simply staring at him, he cocks his gun in the air.

"I SAID GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING BOAT KEYS."
The five men scramble to fit their large, hairy hands into their khaki pants pockets, some of their hands shaking so much that they drop the keys upon taking them out. Benson points the shotgun at a skinny, clean-shaven, tall man with piercing blue eyes and thinning light brown hair.
"You. We're gonna use your boat."
The man starts trembling, not moving an inch, but before Benson could say anything, the man utters
"Okay...," in a thick Spanish accent. When the man steps one croc-covered foot forward, Benson points the gun at the rest of the men, and they all take a step back. You watch as the man goes from slowly to hastily leading Benson to his boat towards the right of the boathouse. Once at his boat, a small, luxurious yet bland two-level yacht, Benson snatches the keys and climbs into the yacht. Following him, you turn your head back while climbing in, studying the man's ghastly expression, his skin having gone from a pinkish red while your truck was making impact to white like paper now
"Wait," the man pleads. Benson turns around, still holding the shotgun.
"Will I see her again?"

"No," Benson answers. He marches toward the helm at the front of the ship and puts the keys in the ignition. As the boat starts to move, you look down at your Barbie, still with blue-stained eyes, that you've held a firm grip on the whole time, and up at the pink sky.
"God," you whisper.
"Why did you choose me?"