Out of My Head

A private jet. A different country. You really can't believe it's real. Not even as you come down the tall steps from the plane door. Or when you're led to a car with Nick; sleek and sporty. He gets in the driver's seat as you settle into the low passenger's, the angle awkward and slightly uncomfortable.

"All buckled in, sweetheart?" He reaches over to squeeze your knee. You flinch in surprise.

"Sure am." You answer.

He lets go and shifts the manual stick. You take off your crochet hat and shake it out before putting it back on. You hesitate with your fingers along the ruffle. It's not very European. Oh well.

"We'll settle in at the hotel. I don't have to be on set until the day after tomorrow. I have edits I could do in my sleep. No interviews right now. Told Colleen to keep me out of that stuff as much as possible." He says.

You nod. Unsure what to add.

He steers onto a plaza and parks. You look around, confused. He turns off the engine.

"No driving in the old city." He says. "We'll catch a town car just past the Piazza."

"Oh, uh."

"My guys got our luggage. No worries. We just gotta worry about each other, sweetheart." He assures.

"Oh yeah of course." You undo your seatbelt. "Sorry I'm just a little bit lost. Or a lot lost.”

He chuckles. “I got you, don't worry.”

He watches you. You shift and tap your fingers on your belt bag. He steps closer, hesitates, then tilts his head sideways.

“This way,” he nudges you gently with his hand behind your upper arm.

He urged you through the secured lot to the Piazza where signs announce your official arrival in Venice. The space is bustling as tourists in wide-brimmed hats and floral shirts squint at their phones, snip at errant children to hush, or look around in the same disorientation you feel. Nick's touch slips down your arm and he grips your wrist, pulling you back just before you get stampeded by a group of older women trilling about wine and pasta.

“Come on, let's get a team.” He slips his hand around yours and pulls you through the crowd.

You come out to the street as Nick pulls down his sunglasses with his other hand. He doesn't let go of you. You're happy for it. You feel like you might get lost if he did.

“Ah, here.” He says and tugs you towards a crowd shuffling onto a wired tram.

You blink at a zapping flash. You glance over at a man with a camera. You glimpse in the direction of his aim, right behind you. He must be taking pictures of the Piazza.

You trip behind Nick and he pauses, turning back to keep you steady as he catches your shoulder. “Y’okay, sweetheart? Just tell me if I need to slow down.”

“I'm fine. Promise.” You insist with a nervous smile. “It's… Venice.” You exhale away your nerves. “It's real.”

He chuckles and puts you ahead of him. He follows you up to the tram door. As you board, he calls behind you.

“Got her. For two please.”

He presses against you as he feeds the fare meter and says something in Italian to the driver. You watched the coins spiral into the slot. You didn't even think to exchange your currency, you just brought your card.

You have no idea what you're doing here. You don't know where you're going. You don't have the right money. And really, what reason do you have to be here? You don't have a job here. Not like Nick.

“Come on, sweetheart, pick a seat.” He nudges your shoulder blade.

You find a seat. He sits beside you, your backs to the window. As you wiggle your foot nervously, you catch a woman staring in your direction. Nick groans as he stretches and lets his arm fall behind you.

“Like it so far?” He asks.

“Sure, I mean… just got here but it's so pretty and exciting. And… could you imagine if LA was car free? That would be…”

“A fantasy,” he scoffs. “You know some of the studios even feel like cities. It's why I can't stand them. You got idiots on those golf carts too, acting like they can't walk the same ground as everyone else.”

“Oh, yeah, I don't…”

“Sweetheart, I been meaning to ask something.” He says. Your anxiety tweaks as he plays with the seam of your sleeve right at the top of your shoulder.

“What?” You bat your eyes at him.

“Do you think… maybe one day you'll let me see where your from?”

“What?” Really?” You cheep.

“Yeah, sure. I love little towns. They're great. I'm looking for the perfect middle of nowhere to shoot my next project.” He explains as he raises his other hand, showing his palm as he drags it through the air. “Quiet, quaint, but full of life.”

“It's really not that… interesting.” You shrug. “But if you want… I don't know if they have anywhere to land your plane.”

He laughs again. “You're funny.”

“Oh… I … know what that means.”

“Huh?”

“People say that. You're funny… when you say something stupid. I don't speak Italian but I'm learning how to speak Hollywood.” You sniff.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he sits up, squeezing your shoulder. “Never. I'd never ever… you're not stupid and nothing you say is stupid. I love it all. Everything. Just the sound of your voice.” His hand settles on your knees. “Really, you make me laugh. You make me… forget who I am. Who people need me to be.”

He rubs your knee, trailing up your leg, then pulls back. He sits against the seat and sighs. He quiet as his tongue slips out between his lips.

“Do you know what what a vaporetti is?” He asks.

“Mmm, no. That wasn't in my Duolingo.” You hum.

“Waterbus. We gotta hop off this thing shortly and we'll get one….” He stops and stares at your perplexed face. “A boat. We gotta cross the canal.”

“The canal?” You utter.

“You're not afraid of water, are you, sweetheart?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I don't think so.”

You’d spot a birthday card half opened on his nightstand as you were tucked into his bed, and soon snug against his chest as he held you tight to sleep. You’d murmur a small “happy birthday” against his chest and earn yourself a slight squeeze and pet to the top of your head.

In the morning, you’d wake him by cautiously peeling yourself out of his arms, wanting to keep him asleep just a little while longer and slide yourself down until you could lay between his legs, head resting on the meat of his inner thigh as you reached up to carefully peel back his boxers, cock springing free and resting heavy on his stomach as if he already knew what to expect.

He’d wake with a sleepy moan, deep in his chest as your tongue massaged the head of his cock, letting spit pooling your mouth before letting it run free down his length. Giving it to him exactly how he’d like, lazy and messy. Soon enough, his eyes would flutter open as his hands found your hair, tangling his fingers up as took your time, letting the tip of your tongue map out every vein, every inch, every spot that would make him buck his hips a little and hiss out a strung out; “fuck, baby, yeah, right there.”

As usual, the second he let go, he’d be rambling away, voice low and thick with sleep, rough and quiet. “So good at taking care of your Daddy, hmm? You love making a mess, don’t you, Sugar?”

Soon enough, spit is pooling at the base of his cock, soaking his balls as you sloppily work your mouth up and down his length, Steve absolutely losing it above you, until he uses the grip on your hair to thrust up into your mouth, using your throat as his own personal toy. “Such a good girl, so fucking hard for you, s’all for you, Sugar. Come on, baby, open wide for me. Let Daddy in, sweet thing. Little deeper, you can do it.” He’d gasp and groan as you swallowed around him, throat constricted around his length.

“Gonna let me use that pretty cunt after? Yeah? Exactly how I want? S’my birthday after all, Sugar. Gotta be nice on my day, gotta be so good for Daddy. You’re always so good for me, fuck, fuck fuck.”

You’d rest your head back on the meat of his thigh after he would guide you off his cock, one of his hands gripped your hair while the other hand fisted his cock, spurts of cum landing on your cheek, your open lips and chin. His head would be thrown back as he chanted your name. You’d clean him up with delicate laps of your tongue, wet eyes peering up at him as he cupped your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek.

The favour is quickly returned, Steve would haul you up, your thighs knees either side of his head, hands gripping your hips as he slides his tongue through your folds. Your hands would grip at the headboard, head falling forward as his tongue lapped at your clit, tip of his tongue catching the sensitive bundle over and over again. He’d eventually guide you to actually sit, shamelessly rocking your hips against his open mouth, your hand gripped in his hair, the other splayed over his large hand pawing at your breast. Blue eyes would lock on yours, wordlessly spurring you on.

You’d cum with his name on your lips. “Steve, Steve, Daddy, m’cumming, don’t stop, Daddy. Daddy, fuck.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon would be spent doting on him, despite him whining that he likes taking care of you and that because it’s his birthday he should get to what he wants, and what he wants is to take care of his baby. But you refuse. You tidy up the room, help him shower, change the sheets. You make him coffee while he rattles away on his laptop and perch yourself at his feet, humming happily around his cock that sat heavy on your tongue, whenever his hand cards through your hair.

Later on in the evening, you’d have dinner together. Obviously you can’t go out to a fancy restaurant, so you’d both get all dressed up and have a meal in the dining room which would be scattered in candles and soft, light music. You’d spend the meal with light touches, bumping your foot against his until eventually your hands are bound behind your back, his silk tie in a tight knot around your wrists, his large hand holding your bound wrists as he drives into you. The plates on the table clatter with each thrust, mixing with both of your moans.

“Fucking made for me.” He’d spew, gravel in his voice as he attempted to tame the monster. “Should keep you like this, fuck the others. Keep you ready for me. Daddy’s baby girl, huh? Just mine, yeah? You mine, Sugar? This pussy belongs to Daddy, right? Come on, give me the best present I could ask for, cum on Daddy’s cock, tell me how much you want it.”

As an added bonus: Darker Steve would keep you chained to the bed, bound and gagged. Your legs spread, tied to opposing bed posts for him to use you throughout the day however he wanted. Can’t have you running off, or worse… Running to one of his brothers or uncles. That just won’t do.

Logan notices you at first, of course. You wear the same pink, graphic hoodie no matter the weather. You never order more than a coffee or a water. 

The staff is kind to you. No one ever bothers you or asks you to leave because you’ve been taking up the same space for hours. 

Tucker notices you next when he sees the way Logan stares at you. He asks one of the waitresses, “Hey, can we send her a milkshake?”

Of course, Tucker knows that their strawberry milkshakes are the best on the menu. 

When it arrives at your table, you insist that you didn’t buy it. “It’s from those guys over there.”

The shy, scared smile that you return to the four of them is what gets both Dean and Garrett interested in you. 

You assumed it was a prank at first, but you were too hungry to dwell too long on it. 

Dean insists that they approach you officially, but the guys argue about the timing. They don’t want to rush things. They don’t even know you or why you camp out at Della’s every day. 

They plan to talk to you the next time they see you at Della’s, but you don’t return for the next week. 

Logan notices you at the auto shop and your beat-up sedan. He watches how you seem to shrink smaller as the mechanic explains how much it’ll be to fix your car. 

“I don’t have that much.”

“You can try the shop across town.”

You’re not sure your car will even make it that far. 

Logan approaches you when you’re sitting on the curb. He offers to take a look at your car, free of charge. He insists you follow him home and park it in his driveway. 

His eyes are trusting enough, and you don’t have many options. You didn’t want to go back to couch surfing. You needed your car to sleep in. 

Tucker notices the two of you when he’s bringing in groceries. “Hey, are you hungry?”

It takes a little convincing and Tucker insisting. He’s so warm, inviting, and talkative. Although you speak in three- or four-word sentences, Tucker has you opening up quickly. 

Garrett and Dean come inside the house after their workout and find you sitting at the kitchen island, hands inside your sweatshirt, legs kicking nervously. 

You think Dean might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. And Garrett’s dark features and muscular build make your heart race. 

Dean is forward; he can’t help it. He’s staring you down, arms closing you in as he leans against the island. Garrett’s watching you carefully. 

“Y/N’s gonna stay for dinner. Logan’s gonna take a look at her car.”

“Sweet.” Dean and Garrett seem to say at the same time. 

When Logan comes back in, he says something about needing to buy a part from the store in the morning. “How much is it?” He says you shouldn’t worry about it. 

Garrett is already changing the subject after that. Your attention is everywhere. Dean is complimenting your eyes. Tucker is asking about your preferences for food. Logan is starting to set the table and, at the same time, plotting with Garrett about how you can stay the night. 

For the entire time, you’re convinced that you’ll turn them down. You’ll sleep in your car, but before you know it, they’re making excuses. “It’s really not a big deal.” “You should stay.” “Stay, please.” “You can stay in my room.” — Logan smacks Dean on the shoulder. 

Garrett brings up the idea of watching a movie. They don’t give you a chance to argue. They just guide you where they want you. Gripping you around your wrist. Strong hands against the small of your back. 

You end up between Logan and Dean. It starts to get late; you feel the anxiety in your stomach, and you’re not sure how you’ll convince them you need to leave. You can’t keep your eyes open after a while. 

When you fall asleep against the couch, they reposition you, your head on Dean’s lap and legs extending into Logan’s lap. 

“She’s kind of precious.”  “Awe, what a sleepy girl.”  “Can we keep her?” “Shhh, let her sleep.” 

The plot to keep you begins then. 

Tucker plans out the meals he’ll make you, how he’ll cut off your crusts, and leave little notes for you to discover when you take lunch to class. He loves the idea of waking up next to you, of going through your morning routine, and helping you pick your outfit for the day. 

Speaking of outfits, Dean’s already thinking about all the clothes he’s going to buy you. You could use some things. Even the basics. Baby pink tees, woodland animal printed socks, and sundresses. Lots of sundresses. Sundresses are so convenient. 

Logan’s plotting how he’s gonna stall when it comes to fixing your car. Maybe he’d convince you that a girl like you shouldn’t be traveling in that deathtrap. He could take you anywhere you needed in his truck. He loves the idea of playing with you, reading your favorite books with you, and generally anything that would make you smile. 

Garrett notices the practical things. Your life needs more order. More routine. A little girl like you needs her rest, so he’d be the one to set your bedtime. He’d love going through your nighttime routine with you to make sure you’re all set for the next day. 

And rules. Garrett and Logan would be the strictest. “Look at me, tell me what’s wrong?” “You stayed up all night. That’s not happening again.”

Dean’s punishment would be more pleasurable than painful. “You look like you need a good spanking, babygirl.” 

Tucker’s the gentle one. “You don’t have to finish your plate, but I’d like you to eat enough.” “Could you tell me what’s worrying you the most?”

Yeah, it wouldn't be long before you forgot what life was like before. You’d forget the time when you worried about everything. It would be like they solved all your problems overnight. 

“You guys are acting like … like … my Dads.”

Naked. 

Your thighs pressed together as he picked up your discarded clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket. The man had a body made for sinning and the delicious burn between your thighs served as a reminder of that. He could very well be the death of you and your pussy one day. 

Maybe they’d put on your headstone, “Dicked to death and enjoyed every second of it.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned to give you a panty melting smile. 

Oh, wait, he pulled those off with his teeth hours ago. 

“Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you breathed, watching him spin around and make a show of it when he picked up one more thing. 

Harlot. 

“You’re staring.”

Your cheeks went hot. It was kind of funny that him knowing you were staring was the thing that embarrassed you and not the noises he pulled out of you the night before. You seriously didn’t know how he managed to do that. 

Then again, it was Hal and it shouldn’t have surprised you. 

“I’m not staring,” you lied while staring directly at his backside. 

You didn’t know if you should smack it, grab it, or sink your teeth into it. 

Maybe all three. 

He put his hand on his hips and faced you. Your eyes went right to his glorious dick. You were pretty sure you whimpered. 

“I know you like what you see, but my eyes are up here,” he teased, gesturing to his face. 

“Great. I can look at your tits on the way up,” you teased back. 

He chuckled. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you just how much he loved you. 

Oh, I want him. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

You laughed a little. “This is a Ouija board. You don’t get premonitions from that.”

You weren’t sure how your friend, Beth, convinced you to do this in your new home. It was a little older and needed some work, but it was still nice. A perfect place to make a home. 

Though for the few days you had been there, the rooms felt inexplicably cold at times. It felt like someone was watching you, especially when you were in the bathroom or bedroom. And you swore someone was whispering your name before you went to sleep. 

But it had to be jitters since you lived alone. 

No one was there except for you. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun,” she joked, closing her eyes. “Is there someone here with us?”

“I don’t think-”

The planchette began to move, Beth’s eyes going wide when it landed on “YES.”

“That…” She swallowed hard. “That wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t me either,” you said, your heart racing faster. “What’s your name?”

The planchette moved again, slowly stopping at five letters. 

“Bucky,” you whispered. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Beth asked. 

You shrugged because you had no idea. “Are you the one watching me?”

“Watching you?” she questioned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The planchette went back to the word “YES.”

You both froze. Beth had a terrible poker face, so you knew she wasn’t doing this. But spirits didn’t exist. 

Right?

“What do you want?” you asked. 

Y. O. U.

Your heart stopped. 

“I think we’re done.” Beth practically shoved the board away, laughing nervously. “Old houses, huh?”

You tried to laugh. Play it off like a joke. But you couldn’t. 

Because someone named Bucky was watching you. 

And what would he do to have you?

Ooh. What will he do? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️