#✨ my thanksgiving meal is eating him out ✨

[duketibbitswaifu]

🌸 Thinking about Duke hole right now <3333 ✨ 🤤 I recently got this artwork from Syfor and 💕 ughhhh. 💕 Get me in there~11!1! ❣️ ❣️ I need to drag my tongue 👅 down the top of his crack ✨ down to the tip of his manhood, ✨ rinse and repeat. 🍰 I need him so bad,,, 🌸

[charnelhouse]

What if Lloyd was “sad” for a moment seeing Court fingering 33 (using the fingers he no longer has), and they noticed the change in his mood and focused the moment totally on Lloyd, to make him feel ✨better and special✨

A/N: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader x Court Gentry (Six). Smut. Jealousy. Insecurity.

“I love you.”

Lloyd said it to his mirror. He watched the way his lips rounded about the vowels. He had stared death in the face time and time again and yet he struggled with this simple statement. 

I love you.

They were celebrating Thanksgiving in the French house. Six was pleased. He didn’t say it, but Lloyd could see it. The stupid fuck’s mouth curled into a playful smile when 33 told him that she’d be cooking the full meal. 

It started a few days ago. She had crawled into Court’s lap, her hands skating along his jaw. “You haven’t had a real Thanksgiving dinner have you?”

The blonde lifted his brows, surprised that she would think of that. Of course, he’d never had a Thanksgiving. He’d been in jail where they served him canned sweet potatoes with cold, chalky marshmallows and slices of dried turkey. Watery mashed potatoes from a box. Packaged dressing. Post-prison, he’d probably been overseas for any other Thanksgiving.

Lloyd assumed all that. He felt it. He’d bet his other fucking hand that Gentry probably had one single sad childhood Thanksgiving with his shitty mother and that was the pitiful memory he nursed at night. So saccharine. So angsty. 

Still, Lloyd watched as 33 stroked her thumb across Court’s cheekbone, her mouth brushing his own as he spoke to her in a quiet, rumbling voice. Their girl had no doubt just managed to break Court’s heart a little bit more. It was a good break. A tender break. She had shattered his hard surface. The man was enchanted and it sometimes pissed Lloyd off.

They had something sweet. Suburban. Normal.

Lloyd had her blood and her teeth. He had her anal virginity so there was that.

But - what else did he possess beyond her darkness? Did she love him?

He thought she did. She looked at him like she did. 

From upstairs, he could smell the roasting onions and carrots. The butter and the turkey. He could taste fresh chives and creamed spinach and balsamic vinegar. There’d be pie and whipped cream and maybe he could eat it off her cunt.

Lloyd turned to his mirror again. He scraped his mutilated hand over his jaw, the rough scratch of his beard. The scars were ugly. His fingers gone to joint. 

He parted his lips. 

“I love you,” he practiced.

***

Perhaps, he should have realized it when he was feet away from the kitchen. He knew her moans - her soft, blushing songs of pleasure. Still, he was slightly taken aback when he stepped through the doorway and found Six finger-fucking 33 on the counter.

It was a sight. Propped on the counter, she was in the sexiest little getup: thigh-high black suede boots, a rust-red velvet mini skirt, a cream sweater that clung to everything. Six was between her spread legs, his cheek firmly pressed to hers as he whispered something in your ear. His hand was working her pussy in urgent strokes. He’d ease his fingers out of her before adding another and sinking them right to the knuckle. 

“What else do you want, baby?” he growled into her ear. “You wanna come on my fingers? Can’t wait to eat that pretty little pussy after this. Look at everything you made for me.”

She was a mess, whimpering and crying out as she fisted his hair and dragged her teeth across his jaw. Her eyes still shut, her brow knitted in pleasure. 

“Let me touch your clit, sweetheart.” He grunted. “Spread your legs for me.”

He twisted his hand, his thumb finding the apex of her sex. She was soaked. Lloyd’s attention remained pinned on where Court was working her. The crotch of her lacy underwear had been wrenched to the side, her folds glistening and raw from his touch. Even under the smooth treble of Frank Sinatra swirling from the speakers, Lloyd could hear the wet suck of your cunt accepting Six’s fingers over and over again.

Six’s fingers. All of them. He could play her perfectly with one hand and something in Lloyd’s chest grew tight. Fuck. Why was he hurt? Why was he upset?

Six was never one for dirty talk. Obviously 33 cooking him an elaborate holiday meal like a darling wifey, had made the normally stoic stick in the mud’s blood run hot.

It was at that moment that Lloyd realized she was staring at him. Her lashes fluttered and her lips quirked into a soft smile. “Lloyd,” she cooed. Six turned his head, glancing at Lloyd over his shoulder. He too looked blissed-out, drunk off 33’s pussy that was no doubt gripping him.

Lloyd bolted. 

***

“Are you on crack?” 

Lloyd whipped around. “Come again?”

She was hot on his heels, still tugging her skirt down as she followed Lloyd out into the garden. It was cold. The air tight with a chill. The ash-gray branches had few leaves left. He felt a frost coming.

“Are you high?” she snapped.

“No,” he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. He needed a jacket. His thin wine-red sweater was not doing shit. 

“Then why’d you run like that?” She rested her hands on her hips, her expression bewildered.

“I needed some air.”

She arched an eyebrow. 

He glared down at her upturned face. She really had to look like that right now? Her eyes wide and beckoning, her lips berry-dark and glossy. The moon was high in the sky and it illuminated her, stuck to her like a spotlight. “Tell me,” she implored quietly.

He huffed, his gaze darting anywhere, but at her or the house where Six was probably stuffing his fat face with pie. 

“What’s wrong, Hansen?”

He fucked up. Reflexively, his eyes fell to his ruined hand that was curled against his sweater. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh Lloyd.”

“Shit,” he groaned. “Shit - no - it’s not that.”

She was on him. She collided with his chest, snatching his fist from his body and peppering it with kisses. 

“Babe…” he started. “Seriously - it’s not-”

She peeked up at him through her lashes, her lower lip shiny with spit. Wordlessly, she put the nub of his ring finger into her mouth. She sucked on it, her little tongue swirling around the scar tissue.

It was so weird and yet it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

His other hand clasped the back of her head, urging her closer. Her breasts were warm and full against his sternum. He felt her fingers trailing along his belt buckle.

“We’ll freeze,” he croaked and she drew away. He almost wanted to force her back on it, lick every part of him, but it was really cold.

On her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sealed her lips to his. She kissed him fiercely and he returned it. “You don’t need all your fingers to please me,” she murmured. 

He rolled his eyes. “I know…I was being dramatic.”

She combed his hair back, her breath was visible as it puffed lightly against his mouth. “If I tell you something, you promise not to rub it in Six’s face.”

He blinked at her before squeezing her ass cheek. “Go on.”

“You’re better at going down on me.”

He laughed and she yelped, her palm flying to his lips to muffle it. “Shhh - fuck, man! He’ll hear.” 

“God!” He beamed down at her. “A Christmas miracle! What a gift.”

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Yeah - but now I know what you’re grateful for, you little slut,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh my god,” she groaned and snatched his wrist to drag him back into the warm house. 

Halfway down the stone path, he stopped abruptly, jerking her with him. Over her shoulder, she looked at him, her brow furrowed. 

“Yes?”

“I-I just -”

She nodded.

“I love your ass.”

She wrinkled her nose, turning back around and yanking him with her.

He parted his lips and mouthed what he really wanted to say. He traced every vowel with his tongue.