Note: “The killer John Carver aka Eric Newlon from thanksgiving movie 2023 is a DILF. Do some x readers of him whenever you get the time to see the movie.” Also posted on AO3. There’s bad dark humor and mention of male anal.
Imagine Sheriff Newlon kidnapping you, but not because he’s out for revenge.
So the Carver’s a cat person, you thought, after just missing your neighbor’s murder. The killer patted Dewey, who nonchalantly ate dry food, while Manny’s body lay a couple yards away, open neck spewing blood all over the floor.
Out of habit, you’d immediately locked the door behind you. With a murderer on the loose, it had seemed like a safe choice. As a security guard, Manny would have approved. As a corpse, Manny would remain unmoved. And have to settle for being the most useless warning ever.
John Carver straightened up. You readied the spare key in your fist, behind your back. He could probably guess what you were doing, but he hadn’t rushed you yet. Lizzie McMullan’s lower half had been displayed way up on the RightMart sign. Manny was headless. The killer was clearly determined and seemed to have a game plan. You were a surprise. And you could be a bombshell.
“Didn’t anyone tell you Americans don’t celebrate Guy Fawkes Day?”
A chuckle escaped from beneath the mask. Nobody moved. Except Dewey, who had almost finished dinner.
“Where’s the head?”
The Carver indicated a black bag on the table. Out of reflex, you looked. Gave him an opening.
You felt the prick on your neckline before locking eyes. Or trying to, because John Carver was blatantly ogling your breast. Or maybe just the dart sticking out right above your girls. Hopefully.
Then he rushed you, to catch your bountiful form before it slumped to the floor.
“I was supposed to be kittysitting,” you said after waking up in the John Carver House. Like Sheriff Newlon needed an explanation. Of course, you didn’t know your location or his identity.
It was just cute you felt the need to explain why were at that fuck’s place. Eric had been stalking his targets for almost a year. If you were sleeping with that failure of a security guard, he’d have known. It wouldn’t have kept him from “rescuing” you, though.
He felt zero guilt about seducing Amanda away from Mitch. Got a thrill out of it, even. Like how he got a thrill about thinking how horrified the other guests would be to see ______ ______ get some extra stuffing. If he’d pulled a Ghostface, maybe you’d get some sloppy seconds.
Looking through your phone, he found you were a slasher fangirl. Perfect. Eric wanted you to get off.
He and Amanda never got around to any roleplay. Again, the thrill of the affair kept them both sated. And the bun in the oven. Speaking of which…
You gazed, dazed, down at your chest. There was a Band-Aid over the entry point. Even with cranberry sauce shimmering on a stove, you could smell rubbing alcohol. You wanted to rub the blurriness from your eyes, but your arms were restrained. Why would the Carver bother disinfecting and dressing a victim’s wound? Particularly such a small one?
At least you were completely dressed. For now.
Wait, no, you realized, blinking rapidly. No socks, no shoes. Just your little piggies wriggling. Painted piggies. The color suited you, even in the dim kitchen. Newlon smiled, before returning to stirring.
Where did you put my boots?
You hoped there wasn’t any broken glass or nails or anything. In case you actually managed to get free. A free bird. Now it was your turn to chuckle. Your captor slyly glanced over, taking in your bare toes and jiggling chest. Soon. Just needed to get the other bird in the oven first.
“Hey, my bra!”
Rock hard underneath your top, all you could do was curl your toes in embarrassment. Even though John Carver was the one who had apparently gotten a glimpse of your nipples. It wasn’t too cold, wherever you were, yet they felt like they could cut diamonds.
How long was I out?
Instead of filling you with shame, the thought of the Carver playing with your chest got you a bit hot and bothered. He could’ve taken those black gloves off to get a couple handfuls. It was a longshot, but maybe they could dust for prints. If only there was a way to escape.
At least he didn’t use twine. Or piano wire, you thought with a shudder, turning away from him. Or- Oh my God.
Finding himself just a bit too distracted by those cute tits, Sheriff Newlon decided to get to work. As he made his way to Kathleen, he took a moment to run a gloved digit up one sole, then down the other. Your bound form mimicked a hypnic jerk while he continued to the other prep table. Subjecting another woman to his per/versions and touching you while you’re conscious? Just how long were you tranquilized, anyway?
Now you were mad. “Did you take my panties, too? Huh?”
He ignored you whilst brushing Kathleen’s feet with oil. Kathleen, who was either out of it or pretending to be. You couldn’t blame her. But you had to turn the Carver’s attention back to you. Somehow.
“Your toes are curling again.”
“In distaste!” you spat.
“Jealous? Don’t be.”
He was obviously enjoying whatever this was. Yet, aside from teasing you, it didn’t seem sexual. Not that I like where this is going any better, you thought, spotting the chopped veggies circling Kathleen’s body.
“Not into food play,” you muttered. Louder, “You’re, you’re going to splooge into my socks later? Aren’t you?”
That’s when you noticed the large industrial oven. Preheating or already preheated. The heat could be felt even from where you lay. You needed to cook up a better distraction and quick.
“It could be worse,” he said.
“Why?” Turkey thigh.
“You could be wearing poultry frills.”
“What?” Turkey butt.
“Like in those old cartoons.” He snapped his fingers. “Kathleen would look so funny in those.”
“You would look so funny with a meat thermometer up your ass.”
It was the best you could come up with. Cringe, maybe, but the severity of the situation was weighing on you. That, and the unwanted arousal. Sweat that had little to do with the oven’s warmth dripped down your sides.
Even from behind the mask, his body language suggested the Carver hadn’t considered butt play.
He chuckled. “Maybe with an actual rectal thermometer.” Turning away, he added, “You and I can focus on stuffing later.”
Eric really was enjoying your presence. You were saucier than he’d expected. It could have just been the sedative, but he didn’t think so. He knew the mouthy kind. Always had to have a comeback, even when backed into a corner. You had a mouth on you, and he was going to put it to good use.
Whatever he’d planned for you, it wasn’t going to be anywhere near as grisly as what he had done and was planning to do to others. The Carver wanted to have his way with you. And you had a nagging suspicion it wasn’t going to be puritanical. That unorthodox parts would be played with. Namely, your feet and his asshole. It shouldn’t be surprising that a masked killer was kinkier than most.
Pilgrim, you amended. The actual John Carver was a Pilgrim, not a Puritan.
Under your breath, “Soles are in jeopardy.”
Now unconscious Kathleen was having a handful of salt sprinkled on her face. The Carver, growing wise to your ways, rested a hand on your thigh before you could pipe up.
“Jealous, again?”
“What, that you’re getting your rocks-?”
“Huh. I was going to ad lib something about salt-”
“-on her face,” you said together. The Carver hadn’t ceased seasoning Kathleen; a salt shaker was being employed on the rest of her. Which was gussied up in mock Pilgrimess attire. Dress too short to be considered historically accurate.
“She’s the main course, but you’re the centerfol- centerpiece.”
It was clear you were horny. Both of you were horny. Kathleen was thankful neither the weird girl nor the serial killer knew she was awake. ______ ______ might not even care. You would be no help. That she was sure of. Or, rather, Kathleen thought, you could be a distraction, your voice dripping with honey. Ugh. You were freaky. Even if you were more interested in getting spatchcocked than escaping, Kathleen supposed some gratitude was due. She wasn’t going to give thanks until she got the hell out, though.
Eric knew the heat (and the boner) were getting to him, because he really wanted to show you his face. This was tiring. He didn’t want his first time with you to be next to one of his revenge victims. At least, not an alive one. But he could edge himself a bit longer. Make you anticipate something really kinky.
Horror, horniness, and heroism were duking it out inside you. Instincts were telling you to either be submissive, in order to make it out alive. And get bred. (Not to be mistaken with “get breaded,” which might’ve been on the table for Kathleen had this been another holiday.) Or be submissive, in order to help Kathleen. How was she still out?
Holding the bottle of Mydayis, Sheriff Newlon almost scoffed. If only he had fertility pills, not just dextroamphetamine. He hadn’t expected to be so charmed. John Carver mask resting on top of the oven, Eric popped a handful. Moments later he admired his reflection, particularly the singed outline around his left eye hole. If he played his cards right, you would be leaving his ass/hole burnt like that later.
Your nasty slasher kink… Surely you’d like it if he kept the mask on, right?
While Eric pondered that, you thought back to poor Manny. At least Dewey had fresh meat until someone came to check up on his owner.
when you're getting better but you've gotten so used to dealing with the problem and it lowkey became a part of your personality/identity so now the absence of the problem makes you feel empty
Note: Rafe and Barry are both so horrible. 💘 Reader is self-absorbed jillass. I need to hurry up and start season three because it premiered yesterday! :D
Imagine Rafe realizing you get excited when he does horrible things, so he lets you tag along with him and Barry while they dispose of the gun.
It was one thing to be involved with Rafe, whose family could probably shield you two from the consequences of their troubled eldest’s actions. It was another thing entirely to go with your boyfriend and his… Well, you weren’t quite sure what Barry was to Rafe. Or vice versa.
Anyway, disposing of evidence! How thrilling!
If Barry wasn’t there, you would have held your boyf’s hand, thumb circling against his palm. The ride over you had just gazed at him adoringly, politely ignoring Barry’s rearview glances. Rafe warned you before not to engage with the dealer. You assured him you weren’t interested.
“That’s not what I was implying,” Rafe’d muttered.
Barry was ex-military. Maybe he dealt arms. You also wondered whether they’d done anything else unlawful together. The thought honestly got you more flustered.
Best date ever. Third wheel or not.
“Flush them out,” Rafe ordered when Kiara Carrera’s voice rung from the sewer. Your heart skipped a beat. You were the only girl he wouldn’t hurt.
But Barry’s not really a third wheel, you amended. He’s actually useful.
“You flush that pipe,” scoffed Barry, “you gonna drown the rat.”
“Yeah.”
Your mind wandered to what Rafe would do to you afterwards.
“…pussy, you can leave.”
That brought your head back down from the clouds. Was Barry not complying?
“Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?”
“Get the hell out of the way.”
“All right, then.”
Your boyfriend, arguing with someone paid to commit crime? It was getting difficult to keep your legs pressed together.
“You don’t wanna be here for this, go find the truck, okay?”
As Barry headed off, Rafe turned his attention to you. “After I flood this pipe, I’m going to flood that pussy.”
Most girls wouldn’t find that romantic. But you weren’t most girls and Rafe knew he had you gushing. At least he hadn’t said “sewer.“
You couldn’t help but notice, out of the corner of your eye, Barry bite his lip and readjust his pants waist before walking out of view.
Thoughts on Homelander from The Boys, Omni Man from Invincible, and Goro Akechi from Persona 5?
Homelander: He’s atrocious, but you know if you’re even worse he’ll still like you. Especially if you give him access to your tittayz. Will start season three after Stranger Things 4.
Omni-Man: Never watched Invincible. On Twitter, there’s a lot of Omni Man rule 34. Which is great, except I’m not sure how to feel about his mustache. (Beard > just a mustache.) Also on Twitter, I saw that clip where he’s holding the impervious protagonist’s head while a train crashes through them. It did something for me. 😳
Goro Akechi: *goes to YouTube* Aw, he just wants to be friends. I think? More importantly, if someone told him his outfit was a little much, would he take it off…?
Imagine finding out about Kieran and Piper long before anyone else and blackmailing the former into being your sex slave. You don’t actually do anything to stop them from killing, and actually do Kieran while he’s the Lakewood Slasher.
Imagine Theo deciding to have some extra fun corrupting you.
How was Theo going to pry you away from Scott? You didn’t have a Desert Wolf or a Donovan after you. Not that the chimera wanted you in danger. Still, seeing your sweetness dissolve away a bit would be nice.
Lucky for Theo, you let slip that you had had a thing for Void Stiles. Your penchant for bad boys wasn’t something you could act on. At least, not knowingly. Not yet. It actually turned Theo on. It turned him on that you would be turned if only you knew the heart that beat for you, fueled his boners, was literally stolen.
