#tulsa king fanfiction

[dameronscopilot]

my ghosts are yours to keep

Mitch Keller x f!reader

Summary: After nearly a year of skirting around your undeniable attraction to Mitch Keller, things finally come to a head one evening after the bar closes.

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, size kink, dirty talk, voice kink, there’s absolutely an OSHA violation going on here

His voice is rough as he responds, his lips just barely ghosting over yours, “Because I’d ruin you.” “I beg to differ,” you whisper.

Something inside of you aches deeply whenever you look at Mitch Keller.

Beneath his easy, warm drawl and gentle demeanor, there’s so much pain and regret buried just below the surface, a lingering ghost that haunts each and every smile that crosses his lips. He doesn’t talk about it, not really. But you know it’s there, can see it in the faraway look that bleeds into his gaze when he thinks nobody’s paying attention.

But you don’t miss it.

You never do.

Mitch hired you to wait tables at Bred 2 Buck nearly a year ago when you sheepishly walked into the bar on a bustling Friday evening with your resume clutched in your hands. Following a catastrophic breakup, you’d left Chicago in a whirlwind and relocated to Tulsa with a car packed to the brim with all your belongings and no real plans save for a desperate need for a fresh start. He’d hardly finished looking over your credentials before he stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the bar countertop, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he reached out to shake your hand and asked when you could start.

Initially, you’d only intended to stick around at the bar until you found something better. But Mitch was more than happy to give you as many shifts as you liked, and the tips you raked in—paired with the considerably lower cost of living in Oklahoma—left you well off enough that you decided you weren’t really in a rush to find another job. Not anytime soon, anyway.

And if your decision was also heavily swayed by your undeniable attraction to your boss, well, nobody needed to know about that.

Try as you might to ignore it, it’s impossible to deny the instinctual pull you feel toward Mitch, as if the broken, lonely fragments inside of you ache for the kinship of his own jagged edges. And it’s by no means conducive to your own self-preservation, but some nights, you start to think that perhaps Mitch might just feel the same.

You see it in the way he steps out from behind the bar counter whenever he spies you dealing with a troublesome table, brusquely waving off the bouncer and placing his own solid frame between yours and the unruly patron in question. It’s how he says your name afterward, tentatively resting a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re alright, his soothing drawl smooth as honey and comforting as the sun peeking through the clouds after a blustering, rainy day.

You can feel it in the protective weight of his gaze as he always finds a convenient excuse to step outside for a cigarette just as you’re heading to your car on late evenings when you close with him, his eyes tracking your moments until you’ve safely made it across the parking lot. He never finishes the cigarette; it’s always stamped out under his boot by the time your tires begin crunching across the gravel.

Perhaps you’re overthinking it.

Perhaps you’re just too far gone on the way his blue eyes sparkle with mirth when you make him laugh—it’s a deep, rich sound that makes your toes curl. On the way the muscles of his exposed forearms flex when he rolls up his sleeves to work, fingers dancing a familiar pattern across glasses and bottles. On the way his hair’s begun to curl its way out from under the brim of his hat lately. On the way your name rolls off of his tongue with what you swear is fondness sometimes.

Or something close to it, anyway.

Something that sets off a dizzying flutter of emotions in your chest each time he says it.

Perhaps you’ve just taken things a step too far in romanticizing the handsome, broken man tending the bar. You’d turn yourself inside out to show him how fucked up you are on the inside, too, if it meant he’d finally let you in.

--

It’s on an otherwise unremarkable Monday evening that you finally toe the line.

Mitch has been a bit distant all night, which isn’t necessarily out of character for him from time to time, but it nags at you all the same anyway. The bar is empty, the doors are locked, and you have a few tables left before your shift is finished when you decide to poke your head into the kitchen to check on him.

His back is to you, and he’s hunched over one of the counters against the wall, his hat lying discarded beside him. Waltzing up beside him and conscious to let your shoes tap loudly enough on the tiled floors to alert him of your presence, you hip check him as you come to stand beside him.

“Hey, I’m almost finished out there. Just wanted to see if you needed any help back there,” you say gently.

He doesn’t look up at you as he responds, “Thanks, don’t worry about the rest. I’ll finish ‘em up. Give me a minute, and I’ll walk you out.”

You take in the defeated tone of his voice, the tired slump of his shoulders. The way his fingers are desperately gripping for purchase on the steel surface in front of you.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Gruffly, he answers, “’M fine, don’t worry about it.”

But you are worried.

You’re always worried about him.

Carefully, you lay your hand over his. He doesn’t say anything, but when he glances over at you, his gaze is conflicted.

“Let me in, Mitch. Please,” you plead.

He looks back down at your hands.

“You don’t need my bullshit,” he mumbles, making to pull his hand away.

You squeeze, holding it in place as you counter, “I think I can decide what I want.”

Sliding your fingers up the back of his hand, you wrap them around his wrist, and Mitch inhales, but he doesn’t move. You lift his arm out of your way, slotting yourself between him and the counter, tilting your head to look up at him. The knot in your chest loosens at the feeling of him tentatively lacing your fingers together.

You reach out with your free hand, cupping the side of his face, and Mitch’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch and quietly laments, “I can get by most days, but sometimes I feel like I just suddenly forget how to block it all out. How to keep going.”

The honesty in his voice hits you like a ton of bricks. “It’s okay to let yourself feel it.”

He sighs, “’s easier not to, though.”

“I know,” you agree with a nod.

When Mitch’s eyes meet yours again, it’s with a burning gaze. You have your own personal demons you keep at bay day in and day out, and while you’ve only scratched the barest surface of sharing any of those details with him, he knows you’re hurting, too. He knows this is your way of telling him that you understand.

That you’ll accept him for all he has to offer.

For all he is and all that he’s been.

His expression is unreadable, so you break the silence as you ask, “What are you thinking about?” He bites down on his bottom lip, eyes darting to the ceiling as he breathes out, “Doin’ somethin’ I shouldn’t.”

His eyes slide back down to yours, your faces closer together than before, and you’re suddenly incredibly aware of the way you’re caged in between his arms, enveloped in the intoxicating, musky scent of his cologne.

“Maybe you should,” you counter, and you don’t miss the way he steals a glance at your lips.

His nose brushes against yours, his breath a warm caress on your face as he murmurs, “I tell myself every day not to.”

“Why not?”

His voice is rough as he responds, his lips just barely ghosting over yours, “Because I’d ruin you.”

“I beg to differ,” you whisper.

And Mitch finally relents, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he closes the final gap and kisses you.

Mitch’s lips are soft like his disposition, and they press into yours with a pliant, tender warmth that leaves you boneless in his arms as his other hand drifts down to clasp at your hip, pulling you close. His beard tickles your face as his lips move languidly with yours, his tongue embarking on an exploratory journey as it flirts with the seam of your mouth. He deepens the kiss as you open up for him, and you arch into his touch at the feeling of his fingers dancing along the small of your back.

Suddenly, both of his hands are at your waist as he hoists you up onto the counter, his large, warm palms burning hot like a brand through the thin material of your dress. The hem rides up high toward your hips as you spread your thighs, beckoning him to step between them.

He holds your face in both hands, dipping down to steal another kiss, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him close. You can feel the outline of his erection pressing against you, the denim seam teasing the meager cotton panties covering your hot core. Emboldened by the jolt of arousal that zips down your spine, you reach down to run your hand over his shaft, and he groans into your mouth.

“Honey…” he drawls, voice strained as he pulls away slightly.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about doing this back here,” you say, squeezing his cock. “Because I sure have.”

His forehead drops against your shoulder as he rasps, “Fuck.”

Your fingers stroke up and down the tented denim. “I like to think about you bending me over the counter out there, too.”

“Yeah?” he asks huskily.

“Every night, Mitch.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he groans, hips bucking into where the heel of your palm is pressed firmly against his shaft.

“How come?” you ask innocently.

He leans in, nipping at your earlobe, “Because I’ll fuck you all night on every flat surface we can find in this building, sweetheart.”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe out.

Mitch rocks back on his heels slightly, looking down at you in wonder for a beat before his mouth crashes back into you with a bruising kiss, one that you can taste the hunger in as his lips slot against yours.

Hand still cupping his erection, you pop open the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper and reaching inside of his boxers. As you wrap your fingers around his cock, you nearly choke into the kiss as you feel the size of it, and he chuckles in amusement against your lips. You can’t help the way your mouth waters at the mere thought of him easing that inside of you, and you involuntarily rock your hips into him.

Mitch’s mouth leaves yours, but he firmly holds your gaze as he pushes your dress up higher and hooks his fingers in your underwear. He slides them down your legs, still staring up at you as he kisses his way from your thighs, to your knees, to your ankles, pocketing the fabric before straightening.

He grasps your ass for a moment, pulling you closer to the edge and nudging your thighs even further apart. His lips hover over yours as he drags a finger through your folds, humming appreciatively at the arousal leaking from your cunt.

“This all for me, honey?” He asks, and you nearly keen from the gravelly tone of his voice of his voice alone.

“Yeah, Mitch,” you pant out, chest already heaving as he begins to slip a single digit inside of your soaked channel.

You suck in a sharp breath when he inserts another finger, crooking them inside of you and stroking your walls before pulling both out and popping them into his mouth. His eyes fall shut for a moment as he laps off your juices.

“You taste so fuckin’ good.”

And as much as you want to feel his mouth on your cunt, his tongue lapping broad strokes up and down your slit until you’re a whimpering mess, it’ll have to wait. Not this time. Because right now, all you can think about is the feeling of him splitting you open on his cock.

He must understand that’s what you want, how desperate you are for him, how badly you need him to fuck you now. Because when you take his dick back into your hands and scoot closer to slide your folds up and down it, he kisses you hard, rutting against you for a moment before reaching down to notch the head of his cock at your entrance.

He parts from your mouth for a moment, his eyes searching yours. The moment you nod, he anchors one hand against the small of your back as he presses forward and begins to sink into you. Your walls greedily clench down on the pleasurable stretch of his cock as he inches deeper and deeper inside of you, both of you panting hard once he bottoms out.

His name falls from your lips when he begins to move once more, dragging his shaft out of your cunt almost to the tip before plunging back inside with a snap of his hips. He’s so fucking big, your pussy throbs from the delicious, punishing stretch, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth as he feels you gripping tightly at his shoulders.

“Feels so good, Mitch,” you whine, feeling more and more cock drunk with each rough, deep thrust.

You can hear the smile spread across his lips as he drawls, “So fuckin’ pretty on my cock, sweetheart.”

Your muscles tighten in tandem with the tension coiling in your gut at the praise, and Mitch is quick to clock the way your mouth falls open, lips parted and eyes slightly glazed over as he continues to sink into your cunt. He hums lowly, the sound a pleasant rumble in his throat, one hand reaching up as he brushes his thumb across the curve of your jaw.

“You gonna come for me, honey?” he asks, his deep voice stoking the fire crawling through your veins.

You nod, your legs trembling slightly as you begin to lose your composure.

Mitch reaches down, rubbing circles into your throbbing clit, and when he murmurs, “Good girl,” you fall apart, your climax washing over you as your walls spasm and contract around his cock.

Mitch drives his length into you with one last powerful thrust before pulling out, moaning as ropes of cum spill from his cock, splashing your thighs and dripping down to the floor below. Once the last of his seed finishes leaking out, he leans forward and kisses you again, softly this time.

When he pulls away, a boyish smile tugs at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tilts his head and asks, “You free tonight?”

You laugh, reaching out to grasp the collar of his shirt and pulling his mouth back to yours.

“For you? Always.”

—

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