#thanksgiving 2023 movie

[phefics]

ryan (thanksgiving 2023) x fem!reader blurb

ryan is rich and pretentious.

he thinks music sounds better on vinyl, and that you look twice as hot wearing lacy lingerie he bought you.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, hands running down your thighs. “knew this would look good on you, sweetheart. saw it on the mannequin and thought how sexy you’d look in it.”

it’s not uncommon for ryan to give you random gifts: he pays for your nail and your hair appointments, will order whatever you’re craving from a restaurant.

“you deserve to be spoiled,” is what he says whenever you tell him it isn’t necessary.

it makes you feel so special, walking around with his initial on a necklace he bought you, with hickies from him hidden underneath your clothes.

he fucks you hard, the panties he bought you pushed to the side for easy access.

“you like your present, sweetheart?” he asks.

“yes,” you whimper. “thank you.”

“good girl, thankin’ me,” he says, breathless as he gets close. “always so good for me, so pretty—”

while ryan is rich and pretentious, there are moments where he is so down-to-earth, so undeniably sweet and generous and human. like, when he pulls out of you before he cums, fumbling to get it on your body and not your sheets, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy.

in his clumsy state, he managed to get his cum all over the brand new panties, and you both couldn’t help but laugh at the mishap.

“i can always buy you another pair,” he teases.

[theplaguedogs]

Alternate Thanksgiving (2023) posters

[junkfoodcinemas]

Thanksgiving (2023) dir. Eli Roth

[schrutexbucks]

"He's going to tag me? I'm going to send that motherfucker a DM: 'Come get me, bitch.'" "Don't slide into the killer's DMs." Thanksgiving Directed by Eli Roth (2023)

xx/13 days of Halloween 2024

[hunnam]

Ty Olsson Thanksgiving (2023) dir. Eli Roth

[littlenightma]

John Carver/Eric Newlon Relationship Headcanons

Author’s Note: I just finished Thanksgiving (2023) and have now adopted a new killer. Enjoy.

Warnings: Spoilers for the Thanksgiving (2023) movie

• He’s paranoid that you’ll leave him for someone else. Amanda was going to leave Bobby for him. What would stop you from doing the same? No amount of reassurance will ever ease the doubt. It won’t stop the glances he takes when you smile at a text that isn’t his or when he subtly pulls you back by your belt hoops when another man is closer than he likes. All you can really do is be there by his side no matter what.

• No matter what.

• Forbids you from Black Friday shopping unless you do it online and it must be delivered to the house. You don’t want to know what would happen if he ever came upon you in one of the stores. With so much commotion happening, no one would blink an eye in your direction if he dragged you out the store by your shirt collar and pushed you into the back of his police cruiser.

• He’s also possessive, but he’s never too aggressive with you. He won’t raise his voice unless he needs to (like finding out you disobeyed his order to stay in the house on Black Friday). Won’t ask you to not hang with your friends or get upset when you wear revealing clothing, but expect to be ambushed when you come home. He’s not going to keep his hands off you. You smell too much like other people, like the outside world, when you need to smell like him.

• Pouts. A lot. Like I said, he doesn’t voice his disapproval often. He doesn’t want to dampen your happiness with his sour mood, but it isn’t hard to tell when something is bothering him when he suddenly becomes withdrawn. You’re going to have to pester him until he finally says what’s on his mind and appreciates when you try to find a middle ground for him. He adores your considerate nature so very much.

• Would give up his life for you in a heartbeat. He protects people everyday. It was his job to do so. What is expected of him. But for you? He’d bring the whole world to its knees if it meant keeping you safe. You’ve resurrected the light he thought he’s lost, banished the darkness and hatred he’s held for months. There was an extra umph to his step when he left for work and a new sparkle in his eye when he kissed you before leaving bed to make breakfast.

• He dares anyone to come and disrupt this newfound peace.

• Loves when you stop by the station to drop off a surprise lunch. Loves it even more if you’re both able to enjoy each other’s company while you eat. All the guys say he’s lucky to have someone like you. He couldn’t be any luckier. Couldn’t be more thankful.

• When the time comes when the leaves change color and the air becomes cooler, you carefully bring up Thanksgiving dinner and what you plan to cook. He leans into his hand, smiling softly toward your attentiveness to his reaction and says it sounds wonderful.

• And when you bring up where you would do with any extra food, he chuckles and slyly winks at you, “Don’t worry, baby. There won’t be any leftovers for us to deal with once I’m through.”

[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.

[exhalcyon]

BABYGIRL

[ladamarossa]

Thanksgiving (2023)

[saucefunk]

fun movie

[fanofspooky]

Thanksgiving

2023 • R • 1h47m

After a Black Friday riot ends in tragedy, a mysterious Thanksgiving-inspired killer terrorizes Plymouth, Massachusetts - the birthplace of the infamous holiday.

[phefics]

ryan x reader (thanksgiving 2023)

autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

[esqueletosgays]

THANKSGIVING (2023)

Director: Eli Roth Cinematography: Milan Chadima

[junkfoodcinemas]

Thanksgiving (2023) dir. Eli Roth

[askmovieslate]

Seriously, this movie kicks some real ass.

The way they do everything they can with the concept, the very creative set pieces, the fact that is both incredibly over the top and yet paced so well. It manages to be both incredibly mature and incredibly juvenile at the same time. It shows that Eli Roth has the chops to be a great horror director, far from the times of "Cabin Fever", and that also he was so sick of working in "Borderlands" he needed to get away from it with some good ol' holiday horror.

This one's gonna go up there next to "Krampus" and "Trick 'r Treat" as that one holiday movie you watch to get a spook and have fun.

Oh and, regarding Jamesy, don't worry. He'll be ok. He volunteered after all, didn't you, you Feather duster?

Jamesy: *muffled panic birb noises*

See? He's alright. Get ready! We have five more buckets like this.

Jamesy: *birb noises of absolute panic*

[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.