#Sheriff eric newlon

[immoral-loser]

Don't Move {Sheriff Eric Newlon x f!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: Sheriff Newlon has you cockwarm him in his office, but you just can't seem to sit still.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: nsfw 18+, dirty talk, cockwarming, p in v penetration, degradation, slight spanking, dom!eric, sub!reader,

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Main Masterlist | Sheriff Eric Newlon Masterlist

"Shh baby, you wouldn't want anyone to hear what you're doing right now, would you?" He whispers as he holds your hips down in a tight grip.

Your arms encircle his neck as you whimper, trying to stifle your moans as his length throbs inside you.

"Eric," you whine, "Please." He smirks as you attempt to grind your hips down, seeking some relief. Rough fingers dig into your hips, preventing your efforts.

"Don't move." He commands in a low growl by your ear, "This paperwork needs to be done today, sweetheart. Once it's done, I'll give you what you need."

This man was going to be the death of you. He was the one who called you, begging you to come join him on his lunch break, saying he needed to see your pretty face to get him through the rest of his day. It's his fault you're in this situation, yet he has the nerve to tell you to wait. Maybe if you readjusted yourself on his lap, you could relieve yourself a little.

"I'm not going to tell you again. Stay still." He demands, squeezing your hip before letting go and picking up his pen.

As he writes down the information of his latest crime-stopping achievement, you lay your head on his shoulder and try to focus on anything but his thick cock inside of you. His breath. Focus on his breath. His steady breath which doesn't falter whenever your walls squeeze around him, unlike yours. How does he do it? How can he be so calm? You want to see him break. Want him to be a wreck just like you are right now. But he told you not to move, to stay still. If you do anything to defy him, god knows what he'd do.

As your mind begins to wander to what his punishment would be for you, your hips automatically rolled into his.

The pen in his hand drops onto his desk, and you know you've made a mistake.

He leans back into his chair, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." You say, trying to lessen his frustration.

"Didn't mean to? That's hard for me to believe, sweetheart, considering it's not the first or second time you've done that." He chastised.

"I really didn't-"

"I gave you one simple instruction. Do not move. And you couldn't do that." He continues, "You want to be fucked so bad - fine."

His hand swipes at his desk, scattering everything across the floor. He picks you up, his cock falling out of you as he turns you around and pushes you down face-first on his desk. He kicks your legs further apart and forces himself back inside.

"This what you wanted so badly, baby?" He asks as he starts to roughly thrust into you. You know he wants an answer but all you can manage is a small moan. After a second, you feel his palm connect with your backside harshly.

"Use your words, sweetheart," He tells you as his hand strikes you again.

"Yes!" You cry out, as the stinging sensation begins to fade.

"Yes, what?" He sternly says, not letting it go until you tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

"Yes, this is what I wanted, Sheriff!" You reply, giving into him completely.

"Good girl."

He collects your hands and holds them behind your back as his other hand holds your waist, pushing you further into the desk. His cock drives deep inside you, forcing several cries from your mouth. He groans out as your pussy tightens around him, getting closer and closer to the edge. He begins to pull you back to meet his thrusts, somehow pushing even deeper into you. The pleasure becomes too much, your eyes rolling back as an orgasm takes over.

His thrusts slow down before coming to a halt.

"Oh sweetheart," He says with false sympathy, "Surely that's not all you can take." He pulls out and rolls you over so that you are on your back. As you look up at him, you realise just how perfect this man is. With his dark silver hair, those piercing eyes that make you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and that thick cock which is currently covered in your first orgasm. Whilst admiring him, he begins to line up his dick again and quickly bottoms out before you can protest.

He grabs your thighs and hammers into you. Your moans slip out and you're unable to stop them as he fucks harshly into you.

"Such a fucking whore for me, aren't you sweetheart? Making me take you right here in my office where anyone could walk in. I should take you outside and let everyone see how much of a cockslut you are." He growls out, his grip tightening on your hips, sure to leave marks. Your walls tighten as the words leave his mouth, the thought of him forcing others to watch as he fucks you until you can no longer walk turning you on even more.

"You like that?" He asks, "You want me to show them that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck whenever I want? Want them to see how pathetic you are as I fuck this tight pussy?" His movements become sloppier, seeking his own release. A hand leaves your hip and travels up your chest to then rest on your neck lightly, the other going down to draw circles on your clit. A tear slips from your eye as you approach your second orgasm.

"Come on baby, give me another one." He says as he puts more pressure on your throat and clit.

You can only breathe in short breaths, your hands coming up to hold his own that lays around your neck. "Fuck, Sheriff, need it." You plead as he thrusts into you one last time before you explode with pleasure. Your pussy clamps down on him and sends him over the edge, coming inside you in hot spurts.

He removes his hand from your neck and pulls out of you completely, finally allowing you to catch your breath.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he pulls out his phone and before you can comprehend what he's doing, a flash goes off. You raise yourself up on your elbows but are quickly pushed back down.

"No. Stay there until I tell you that you can move." He tells you, as he tucks his phone back into his pocket.

And so you do.

You lay on his desk with his cum leaking out of you as he goes around the room collecting everything he threw on the floor. He lays it all out around you until everything is back where it belongs. Then he picks up his pen and starts with his paperwork once more.

"Eric?" You speak quietly.

He looks at you, placing his hand on your cheek, "Yes sweetheart?"

"Can I get up now?"

"No, I'm not done with you yet." He replies nonchalantly, and he begins to write again.

[alessiathepirate]

He might be a murderer but he'll never forget to feed your cat.

True husband material<3

[megangovier]

Pairing: Slasher! Eric x f!reader

Summary: As you were finding your missing friends, Eric locks you in a room and humiliates you on camera.

Words-480

CW: 18+ ONLY | Smut | Humiliation | dirty talk | age gap 20+ | Eric videos you | Dacryphilia | oral!m | praising | Hair pulling | Minors do NOT interact!

Thanksgiving was normally a fun day with the family, making each other laugh and joking around along with stuffing yourselves with good food and spending time with them. After you would meet up with your friends and celebrate with them, making memorable memories. But this was no normal day, there was a madman around killing people you knew or met. As you were walking through corridors trying to find your friends you could hear a phone ringing a few yards away from you. The closer you got to the phone you realized it belonged to your friend, as you tapped answer your phone died, that's when the face popped up on your phone from behind you.

As you ran ahead trying to find a safe space from the killer, you found a small room. As you closed the door he had locked it behind you, tears started to run down your face. Turning away from the door your eyes came across a phone as you picked it up you could tell it was live. Without you realizing it Eric had sneaked in and was standing behind you, as you could feel someone's hot breath on your neck backing away from him, he had grabbed you and forced you down on your knees.

Taking the phone from you, your face was the one on live now thousands of people watching. A smirk slipped onto Eric's face. "Oh baby, the way your tears stains your cheeks makes me so fucking hard." expression of disgusts slipped on your face. Grabbing your hair roughly "look at me while I'm talking to you slut." a shade of red appeared on your cheeks. Mentally kicking yourself, "oh someone has a degrading kink, how fucking disgusting and pathetic of you".

Looking at him, he undoes his belt and ties it around your wrists "now princess, do as I say, and you'll get out of this alive". Nodding your head, he grabbed your chin "need to hear you say it!"

"yes sir"

"Good girl, now open that pretty mouth of yours so I can show these people what you're" as you did what you were told, Eric's head falls back "fuck princess, you're doing such a good job, now I know you can take even more" as he slams back into your throat making your eyes roll and the back of your head. "you're doing so good, the way it hits the back of your throat, you're such a hungry little slut, huh" you nodded in reply.

"I'm so fucking close, my personal little fleshlight huh, maybe we could do something else next time" a moan vibrated on his throbbing cock. as he grabbed your head with both hands pounding your tight throat a growl escaped his throat. "Oh, fuck fuck fuck, I'm going to come." As Eric thrusts a few more times he painted your throat white.

@toxicanonymity 💗

[tangerinesgirl]

Turfucken

(gif credit to Sony Pictures on tenor. can someone please make some HD GIFs from this movie, I suck at making them 😭)

**SPOILERS FOR THANKSGIVING (2023)**

AFAB!Reader x Sheriff Eric Newlon

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: explicit, 18+, no minors

Warnings: smut, feeding/food play/sitophilia, pregnancy, cream pie, daddy kink, some silly jokes, age gap but reader is legal

Summary: Sheriff Newlon is preparing for the best Thanksgiving yet, you have other plans. Set after the Black Friday Massacre but before the Thanksgiving the following year. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

You were greeted by the smell of sage and onion, cranberries and roasted potatoes before you even walked through the door. Eric liked to be well prepared for Thanksgiving every year, his favourite holiday. This year he wanted it to be the best yet, he had all sorts of new recipes to try, and you weren’t complaining.

As you walked through the door and unwrapped your scarf you heard him summoning you in the kitchen “Babe! Come here, you have got to try this!”

You throw your keys in the ceramic pot with a satisfying clink as you walk into the kitchen. Eric was practically dancing around the kitchen; thanksgiving themed apron and oven mitts on, removing a pot of cranberry sauce off the stove. He removed his mitts and slammed them down on the counter, a very small act but he made it look so hot. His hair disheveled from the heat of the kitchen, he shook his head to remove the stray hair that landed on his forehead.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and dipped it into the sauce, he blew on it to cool it down and beckoned for you to try it with a raise of an eyebrow and a look down at the spoon. You take the utensil and lick it clean with a pop. It was unlike any cranberry sauce you have eaten. Usually no one bats an eyelid at the sauce at Thanksgiving dinner, it always tastes the same. But not this one, it was sweet and sour with the perfect amount of umami.

“Holy shit what did you put in it, crack?”, you say, immediately going in for seconds.

“Ah ah no double dipping! And yes I put cocaine in the sauce, pros of my job”. You were pretty sure he was joking, but it was hard to tell the past year, ever since the Black Friday Massacre he was like a totally different person, and you fell for him, hard. You fooled around a lot, but never anything more, but you liked to test the water occasionally, maybe today is one of those days. It was difficult for him to get over Amanda, which was totally valid to you, she was your friend too and you were in this revenge plot together. You knew his plans this year and you both want it to be perfect.

You both were quite the town gossip, people kind of knew something was going on between the two of you, but your age gap of 32 years was extreme for a lot of people. You were perfectly within legal age though, and it was none of their business. You couldn’t help but admit it was kind of a turn on for you though, being a slut, and for the soon to be serial killer. 

The kitchen counters are covered with food, with foil on the top to keep warm, you think he’s been cooking all day while you were at work. You sit down on the kitchen island and admire the sight of him dashing around the kitchen, making sure everything is turned off.

He reaches into a dish of roast potatoes with his hands and puts some stuffing and sauce on the top and holds it out to you. You go in for a bite but he pulls back and smirks. You drag him towards you with his apron, your legs spread embracing him and passionately kiss him, his stubble tickling your face.

He still has the potato in his hand and stuffs it into your mouth between kisses. You put on a show and moan while you eat the best roast potato of your life. You grab his wrist and lick his fingers clean, looking him dead in the eye as you do so. He watches you, deciding his next move.

He walks to the counter and uncovers a whole roast turkey from behind him. You walk over too and watch him carve it, he gives you the first piece. After you eat it, you pull on his hair and whisper in his ear, “I want you to stuff me like that turkey, put a baby in me, or two, just call me a turducken… well, more like a turfucken really”. He laughs, but you see his erection, clearly turned on by feeding you and enjoying yourself.

He suddenly snaps and slams you into the kitchen island, empty pans flying across the room. He kisses you wildly, his hands roaming your body frantically. You remove his apron and his trousers as he removes your underwear from under your dress. He grabs your hands around your back, making you turn around so you’re bending over the island.

He slams inside you, impatient, like a man starved. You moan at the sudden intrusion, he is larger than average and always hurts so good as he reaches to your cervix. He pulls on your hair and you arch your back as he thrusts into you manically, the B word clearly a turn on for him. You cling onto the side of the island for dear life.

He stops and turns you around, kissing and nibbling on your neck. He lifts you up and walks you to the dining room table, and puts you down, facing him. He strokes your belly gently and says, “when I’m finished with you, I want you to stay put and lift your hips up. I can’t wait for you to grow so large and make everyone think you’re pregnant with quadruplets, be the talk of the town and make people on the street talk shit about us. And when I catch them I’ll put them in their place, as I’m the fucking town Sheriff ”, you are taken aback at his commands but god it was so hot, and whisper a “yes daddy”.

"Good girl", he starts pushing inside you again, the table shaking with the weight. He leans on the wall behind you to go even deeper inside you. You’re both close, you could have come at his words alone, so it didn’t take much to send you over the edge. He stops and you keep him inside you, wrapping your legs around his waist. He moans and strains as he unloads inside you, you can feel him releasing stream after stream, there’s a lot and it takes a while for him to stop, some of it leaks onto the table. He gives you some to try on his fingers that still taste of cranberry sauce. He stays inside you a little bit after he finishes, stroking your belly and looking into your eyes. You move a bit further down the table so you can lift your hips quicker as he pulls out of you. He watches you lift your body, nods, and leaves. He comes back later with a towel, some water, and a plate of trimmings to share.

If this is the sex before the John Carver plan, you can't wait for what’s to come next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Editors note: I was going to include a pigs in blanket joke at the end but it turns out that's only a British thing and not a Thanksgiving food?? You learn something new every day.

[winterfieldfrontiers]

Slasher Lover

I don't know if Patrick was John Carver, but I want he will, cause i'm going to ship Mark and Stu but Killers version.

like Springtrap x John Carver

[lettherebemonsters]

I absolutely love this photo of Eric Newlon because he just looks so broken. Everyone else just partying and barely giving two shits about their lives while he's consumed by his pain.

I wonder if anyone...literally ANYONE....just stopped to give him a hug. To talk to him. To just do ANYTHING that showed that someone cared.

Plus seeing how unkempt he is....he just doesn't take care of himself anymore. He doesn't have a reason to keep going outside of the John Carver kills.

Personally for me....this is a suicide run for him. Once he gets his revenge, he'll go see Amanda again.

[lunastar92]

Patrick Dempsey!

Sexiest Man!

[cellard0ors]

November means Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving means I updated my phone screen 😉 Thanks again @lacteaway. As always, I promote commissioning them!

[changethecircumstances]

I hope the killer is the sheriff cause I love Patrick Dempsey and he's way to chill lol

[3llisarts]

WIP Wednesday on a Thursday

Finally getting around to that Thanksgiving fic. Have a good day / evening yall!

———————————

One year before the Right Mart incident

Micheal’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel of his police cruiser as a sigh whistled past his nostrils. His brows furrowed in the start of a frustrated expression, as he glanced over to his passenger seat. His younger brother Milo sat with his head down and shoulders squared, refusing to meet his older brother’s gaze. “If I have to keep picking you up from the front office because you and your little idiot friends decided to get into trouble again,” Micheal muttered with another, particularly long sigh before he brought his cruiser to a rolling stop on the hill.

Milo lifted his head as he frowned, “I didn’t mean-.” “There’s the thing,” Micheal highlighted his younger brother’s response, “you didn’t. Because one of those idiots throws an idea out there and you just jump on board. Do you see how bad that can turn out?” Milo was silent before he nodded, “Yeah. I do.”

In the back of Micheal’s cruiser, Micheal’s K9 Marvel, a big Belgian mal, lifted his head with a soft sigh.

“Good,” Micheal muttered and his expression, “now please, for the love of god, stop doing shit like that. I can’t keep picking you up, nor can Eric, whenever I cannot myself.” Lord knows, he owed his partner a ton for swinging by and picking up his little brother when he was busy. “Yeah yeah, I got it,” Milo replied with a soft, huff of a laugh. He smiled at Micheal, “Thank you, Mikey~.” Micheal simply rolled his eyes in heavy amusement and shook his head, “Yeah yeah~ you’re welcome, you little pain in the ass.” Milo feigned hurt as he exited Micheal’s cruiser, “Mhm, but you know you love me.” Micheal threw back his head in the start of a laugh, “I do~ and that’s what makes it pretty damn impossible to stay mad at you.”

Milo smiled smugly at his older brother, “That was the plan this whole time.” Micheal shook his head with a soft huff before he slid out of the driver seat of his cruiser, pausing to readjust his vest. Whenever he sat for too long, whether in his cruiser or the Precint, the heavy thing tended to ride up on him and get on his nerves. Something Eric had teased him relentlessly on. As though the Clarke man couldn’t quite sit still, no matter how hard he tried.

As the two Clarke brothers made their way up the hill, talking and laughing, Micheal stopped. The cool air moved through his short, dark brown hair as he turned and gifted Milo a small smile. Milo turned back, chuckling at something Micheal said.

All until Milo froze, it looked like the color had drained from the younger Clarke brother’s face. Two fiery gold eyes stared back at him from the dark, and a puff of warm breath materialized in the air. The way smoke would rise into the air, after being exhaled past a smoker’s lips. “Mikey…” Milo mumbled, and in the instance, Micheal turned, something large and dark slammed squared into his chest with a loud, rumbling snarl.

Milo yelled in surprise, falling backward as he realized what had ahold of Micheal. A massive black wolf. Its teeth buried in his older brother’s shoulder as it yanked him this way and that.

As soon as the wolf let go, Micheal rolled to the side and kicked it hard in the shoulder. “Milo go!” Micheal yelled, at the same time two more wolves barreled over the hill, their yellow eyes gleaming with excitement. Milo scrambled to his feet, his lugged Converse scuffing up bits of frost-covered grass as he dashed for the safety of his brother’s cruiser. Micheal’s howling scream ripped through the night air as the wolf threw itself at him once more, jaws clacking and snapping as spit sprayed across his face.

The other two wolves tore after Milo, their breaths coming out as quick steamy puffs. Milo threw himself into the passenger seat of Micheal’s cruiser and slammed the door behind him, at the same time one of the wolves slammed into the door at speed. Micheal’s cruiser swayed as Milo scrambled back, his heart hammering in his chest a mile a minute.

Marvel barked and snarled, throwing himself at the walls of his built-in crate. The Belgian shepherd was just about going bonkers, as Milo threw his arm out, straining to reach the door that unlocked the police dog’s crate. “Go!” Milo hit the door-popper button and Marvel streaked past him with a loud bark, bowling into the wolf that’d slammed into the cruiser door. Belgian malinois and wolf rolled across the frost-covered grass, snapping and snarling. Milo slammed the door after Marvel and watched as Micheal fought off one of the wolves and staggered to his feet, blood bubbling from his lips as he took a few, staggering steps before the second wolf caught him by the right arm and dragged him down all over again.

“No! C’mon… c’mon Micheal please!” Milo screamed, his voice seemingly muffled by the dense make of Micheal’s cruiser’s interior. The younger Clarke brother snagged the radio off of the center console, his hands shaking so bad he was shocked he’d managed to keep a grasp on the damn thing. Micheal’s scream of pain ripped through the temporary silence and tears welled up in Milo’s eyes as he pressed the speaker button on the side of Micheal’s radio, “Please! Oh god oh god please send help! Micheal’s bein’ attacked by… b-by wolves! Please! Hurry!” “Milo?” Came the voice of Sheriff Eric Newlon, Micheal’s partner. “Hang on!” Milo could hear the sounds of the man jumping into a car, followed by the seemingly distant wail of sirens.

It didn’t take Eric long to arrive on the scene, bringing his cruiser screeching to a stop. Backup- in the form of one of their coworkers, came with. The wolves that’d had ahold of Micheal, as well as the one that’d been fighting Marvel, looked up and bolted, tearing off into the woods just as soon as Eric discharged his service weapon. The sheriff sprinted to Micheal’s side and fell to his knees beside the bloody, battered man. The same time Marvel came trotting over, whining softly.

Micheal’s hazel eyes were glazed over as he slowly looked up at Eric, blood seeping from one corner of his mouth. “No…” Micheal murmured and he frantically shook his head, “Check… check on Milo…” Eric offered Micheal his best smile, “No no! Milo’s safe! He’s safe!” The backup, Sheriff Ellis Thompson, had carefully opened the passenger door of Micheal’s cruiser and checked on Milo, holding up a thumbs up to Eric in response. “He’s fine, okay? I need you to look at me, Micheal,” Eric insisted and Micheal managed a slow nod. Pain flashed and flared through Micheal’s body, as he rested his head in Eric’s lap.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Eric spoke carefully, as he quickly assessed the state of Micheal’s wounds. There was a deep bite on Micheal’s left shoulder, the fabric of his police uniform shredded and blood stained, while there was another one on his right forearm. A multitude of smaller scratches and scrapes covered the sheriff’s body, as well as another deep bite on the man’s left thigh.

“Just stay with me, I gotcha, I gotcha,” Eric soothed. Micheal’s broad chest heaved with shaky breaths- as Ellis radioed for an ambulance, all while remaining by Milo’s side. As the ambulance sirens grew louder and louder, Micheal felt his vision blurring in and out of focus like a bad camera. He offered Eric a soft, weak smile as the other man sat with him, talking to Micheal in hopes of keeping him awake. Micheal did his best to reply, even if his words were so soft and pained. Marvel laid down beside his handler, his dark ears perked as he remained alert, in spite of the little scratches littering his tawny-colored form.

“You’re gonna be a-okay, Micheal,” Eric repeated, “Just stay with me.”

[immoral-loser]

Sheriff Eric Newlon Masterlist

Main Masterlist | ** indicates smut

Don't Move**

[tawneybel]

Get Stuffed: Chapter 1

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. 

[batterycityghoul]

Patrick Dempsey as Sheriff Eric Newlon in Thanksgiving (2023)

[tangerinesgirl]

Just watched Thanksgiving (always a good film when you're down bad for the slasher) and I have a really silly but also a really hot idea for a fic

(spoilers in tags!)

[littlenightma]

Hello. Could you write more about Sheriff Eric Newlon (if he's dark or yandere it would be great.) Your article about him was great.

Yandere!Eric Newlon Headcanons

• Eric comes off as a normal guy. Always has a smile on his face, greets everyone with warmth and is always there when someone needs him. His dazzling charm sucked you in. No one could have ever seen the darkness brewing beneath the surface of his nice guy facade.

• Eric thrives off of protecting you. He loves the way you curl into him with his coat wrapped around you as you two walk down the sidewalk or when you tighten your hold on his hand when you pass a group of unfamiliar people. You have no idea the lengths he would go to in order to keep you safe.

• No idea.

• And damn it what kind of man would he be if he allowed you to wander the world without him, alone, naive to the dangers that were lurking around every corner.

• Eric isn’t just in love with you. He’s obsessed with you. Everything about you Eric thinks about every waking hour of the day from your twinkling eyes, your gorgeous hair, down to your luscious body. He’s practically itching to get off his shift so he can drive home to find you curled up on the couch waiting for him.

• He has access to everyone’s files at the station, including yours. Especially yours. He keeps a copy locked in his desk drawer, tucked safe and sound, where he can pull it out whenever he wants to. All of the info he could ever want to know is right there within arm’s reach.

• He knew which cafés you preferred, which stores you liked shopping at, and where you got your car maintenaced. He knew everything about you before you even knew his name.

• You didn’t actually believe running into him as much as you did was all due to chance, did you? Silly one, you should know by now when it comes to Eric, nothing is ever just a coincidence.

• He pulls it out when he’s having a particularly bad day in order to run his thumb across the picture he took of you while you were out shopping with your friends. You’d stayed out longer than usual so he felt the need to check up on you and he got so enthralled by your beauty that he just had to snap a photo to remember the moment forever.

• You start noticing Eric’s paranoia emerge the longer you two are together and the more his feelings for you grow. At first, he comes as extremely protective, but then it progresses into something more darker, more…possessive.

• When he comes home to find you not there, he checks his phone. To his dismay there is no text and he becomes scared thinking that you were hurt. Call after call there is still no answer. Eric rarely shows himself so when you come home in the middle of his breakdown he is instantly in your face asking you question after question not letting you answer the first one. He chides you about not informing him of your whereabouts and berates you about who exactly you were with.

• You brush it off, believing it to be a symptom of being a cop for so long. You explain that you had to stay back at work to put finishing touches on a project and this seems to calm him some. He pulls you into a hug.

• “I’m sorry I acted like that, baby. I just get so scared when I don’t know where you are.”

• Puts a tracking app in your phone and on your car without you knowing. He can’t allow that to happen again. What if you had been hurt and what if he didn’t reach you in time? He can’t risk it.

• Black Friday shopping was always off limits to you, but when your friends invited you to go with last minute you decided to go. Eric had been constantly hovering and you yearned for space.

• What a stupid decision on your part.

• Eric is livid. He’s like a bull ready to charge as he’s driving out to find you. When he does, he is suspiciously calm. He asks you to come with him and you do and on the way home you apologize but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are trained on the road. Inside the house though it’s like a matador had finally raised their red flag.

• He’s roaring. “I fucking told you not to be out on Black Friday! Why can’t you listen to me?! I’ve lost so much. So many people. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!”

• “Eric, you can’t expect me to stay home when everyone’s out shopping.”

• And then he snaps. He yanks your hair, his handsome face dangerously close to yours. “Don’t fucking do it again or I swear to God you’ll regret it.”

• And the worst part is that no one would ever believe that highly adorned and doting Eric Newlon would ever do something so horrible and so vicious.

• You’re stuck with no where to turn. If you leave, he’ll track you down with the plentiful resources he has at his disposal. You are trapped, forever his.

NSFW 18+

• You have pushed Eric past his limit. You are tied to the dining room table, legs spread and mouth gagged. He has presented you like an oven-baked turkey and he can’t wait to take a bite out of you. He runs his cock over your slick opening teasingly, preparing you to get basted by his cock.

• “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you? After everything I have done for you, all the love I have ever given and you still want to leave me.

• He thrusts exactly three times. “So. Very. Ungrateful.”

• You moan against your gag. Your body is betraying you. It accepts him with open arms, like he was meant to be inside you. You tried so hard to get away from him, but he always managed to reel you back in.

• Eric sees the turmoil on your face, sees the fight you’re having with yourself. With every snap of his hips he knows he’s closer to breaking you down and he’s desperate to do it.

• He pours cranberry sauce on your chest, letting it dye your chest maroon. He rubs the sticky liquid over your body and it looks like blood. Your blood.

• “I could fake your death so easily, you know. Then lock you up and keep you all to myself. No one would come looking for you. Or I could always find someone else who will appreciate my efforts.”

• You fight your binds, not liking that he was talking about someone else while he was rearranging your guts.

• “Ah, so you do care. What is it, dear? Want me all for yourself then?”

• Crawling on top of you, he unknots the gag and kneels over your face. He puts his cock to your mouth. “Why don’t you show me just how grateful you are.”

[winterfieldfrontiers]

It's real, John Carver X Springtrap

And they are coming back in sequel of both film.

but they are power couple slasher of 2023 now.