#tanner grayson

Masterlists

William Afton 

Michael Afton 

Henry Emily

Tanner Grayson 

Hallowe’en Event 2023

Remember

This is an 18+ blog . I check all interaction and will block anyone without an age visible on their blog, I don't want minors on my blog.

Some of my fics contain violent and dark subject matter, I always tag appropriately, so please read them and remember that you're responsible for what you read.

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I'm from the North of England, which means I'm on BST and GMT.

Harassers and non-constructive critics will probably be blocked, I'm too old for that shite.

Request rules.

I will write...

Female or gn reader (request what you like)

Kink requests.

Dark themes, things like kidnapping, violence, stalking, cnc, predator/prey dynamics and possessiveness.

I won't write...

Pregnancy and pregnant reader. I cannot stress this one enough, I’m just really not comfortable with it and reqs with this theme will be deleted.

Paedophilia, incest, animal abuse.

Dirty kinks (shit, piss, feet etc.)

Thank you very much!!!

KIDNAPPED

Tanner kidnaps (fem) reader.

Part one (kidnapping, stalking, needles)

The room was a whirlpool of 70s era colours when you finally came to, it was hard to make anything out, all you could focus on was the rain outside. Hard, pissing-it-down rain bouncing off tarmac, and very occasionally the sound of a car going past. 

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, and it takes you much too long to remember why: you’d been drugged. Injected in the throat in your own bedroom by that psycho you’d found hiding in your cupboard. That man in the lab coat- what was his name? God, whatever he’d put in that syringe was taking a long time to wear off.

Forcing them to stay open, you try to get a look around wherever you are: its cold, that’s something, the walls and floor were dark and solid, concrete you’d have to guess. Looks like a basement. How very original. You nearly laughed at that thought, be it due to mounting hysteria, you couldn’t tell. 

Training! You’ve had training for a situation like this, fuck, if only you’d paid attention. All you could remember was to stay calm. Panicking was illogical after all.

Yet it was becoming increasingly more likely, as you come into the knowledge that your hands and feet are bound to the chair you’re sitting on. At least it was tape- you’d have a shot at breaking that. You try pulling up your arms: to no avail. They weren’t moving an inch. Then it occurs to you that perhaps it’d be easier to break the feet first, then you could use your weight to break the hand bonds. And so, you kick your legs out from the chair as hard as possible on the count of three. 

One. Two. Three. Instantly, you send the chair tipping back and you along with it. Your head smashes brutally against the floor. 

So much for your training. 

~

Coming to, for the second time, your head is pounding the rhythm of Toto’s Africa. You’d been put up-right again, meaning that someone else had been here. You look past the blinding headache, quickly scanning the room and your eyes land on the man from earlier. 

“At last, you’re awake... I was getting worried for a moment.” The oddly handsome assailant stood before you, a small smile on his face. His coat was crumpled and dust-marked, probably from getting you up from the floor. He moved to opposite you, his hands grasping a chair in front of him. Perfectly manicured fingers tapping near silently on its back. It struck you as a nervous action. Good. You can play off nervous. 

“Quite the hit to the head you took there. How’re you feeling?” He spoke with an out of place jovial infliction and you couldn't tell if he was mocking you or not.

“In pain.” You reply bluntly, “Pissed off and tied to a chair.” you add. 

“Not so nice, is it?” He grinned, reminding you that if you’d got the better of him before, you can do it again. “But I’d have thought you’d know better than to throw yourself on the floor.” 

He began stepping forward but upon seeing your eyes widen, he stopped midway. 

“You must be worried. Realising you’re in a basement- and we all know what happens when the kidnapper gets the pretty lady in the basement.” 

“Lay a finger on me and I’ll castrate you with my bare fucking hands, you sick freak.” You make your voice low and serious, eyes brimming with malice. Head tilting back with laughter, he pulls the chair closer to you and takes a seat. 

“Relax. I’m only kidding, besides-” He didn’t have the time to finish before you speak again, continuing your intimidation.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to-” 

“If.” He says with a shrug, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “If you get out of here, you’ll have to be a lot nicer to me for that.” You feel your face twist into a scowl. Clearly your idea of scaring him into letting you go wasn’t working. 

Abruptly he stands, walking over to a table against the wall.

“You’ve not had a drink in over ten hours. You must hydrate.” You nod, quickly determining your new course of action. If you want to have the strength to get out of here, you’ll need that water. 

He approaches with the glass in hand, proffering it to you when he got close enough. Though you knew it was necessary, you eye it suspiciously, he could have done anything to this after all. Seeing your suspicion, he drops his shoulders in faux exasperation. 

“There’d be no sense in drugging your drink, y/n.” He reasons with an eye roll. “If I wanted you asleep, I’d just leave you and the floor to accomplish that yourself.” You grunt at the jeer, nodding your head in acceptance of the beverage. Arguing to yourself that the situation could hardly get any worse and so why not have a drink? He brought the glass to your lips and you begin drinking slowly with caution. But you quickly realise your thirst, becoming greedier and more reckless, as you drink the water, your captor mumbles, “Good... good.” 

When finished, you watch him take the glass back and place it back where it came from. Again you clock how he was fidgeting, his hands playing with the hem of his coat and it occurs to you: you’d though perhaps he was nervous, that’s why he projected restlessness. In your flat he’d done the same and you’d assumed agitation the cause. But now you’re struck with the idea that maybe he was nervous or agitated because he’s impatiently waiting for someone. An article you’d read previously crosses your mind, something about a trafficking ring and his earlier comment about a ‘pretty lady in the basement’ seemed much more sinister now.  

“Hey, listen uh... Tanner. right?” You internally congratulate yourself for remembering that what with your ordeal and all. “Perhaps you and I got off on the wrong foot, you have to understand why I’d be... aggressive.” Attempting a smile, you hope looks pleasant rather than a grimace, you see vague amusement flicker in his eyes. “You don't have to do this, you know? Whatever I’m digging too deep into- I’ll stop. You could take me somewhere and drop me off, cover my eyes so I don’t know where we are? And I uh wouldn’t report it! God knows it’d look bad on me anyway...” The concealed laughter in his eyes had devolved into a full-blown grin, his perfect teeth exposed at your expense. Fuck, you’d love to smash a brick through them right now. 

“Why would I go through all the trouble of getting you here, just to waste more petrol undoing it all?” He giggled, dragging a chair opposite you and sitting down. “I understand your aggression, I’m sure I’d be the same way.” You try to go along with him for now smiling at his unnecessary comment. He’d sat rather close to you, close enough that you could touch him, if your hands were free... 

“Why am I here?” You ask, not trying to show your thought process, a plan had occurred to you and all you needed was time. 

“I have a friend, who has a problem with you, y/n. I say ‘friend’ our mutual interest in you is what brought us together. And they want to know what you know- about them.” You nod, that was something at least, something you can use. The news of this being informational gave you something to bargain with, but how he looked at you suggested that for him, maybe he was in this for something else. 

“I see.”

“Your work is quite impressive, I must say. There’s not grave you won’t dig up, huh? I’ve followed you for quite some time, and it is all really admirable.” He spoke like a fan who wanted an autograph or some shit and although it had scary undertones, you sensed he was telling the truth. 

You let him speak of your accomplishments a little longer, only listening as much as you had to, focus diverted on loosening your foot restraints: part 1 of your plan. But as you did so, trying to engage him as much as possible your eyelids begin to feel heavy. It must have shown, because he waved a hand slowly in front of your face, a grin spreading across his cheeks. 

“Fascinating...” He murmured. You had known not to trust the drink he offered you, and you still did. The room felt velvet around you, comforting almost but to your surprise you weren’t rendered unconscious. 

“I must confess I haven’t been entirely honest. What you’re experiencing now is the effect of sodium thiopental.” You looked at his hazy frame, unsure of what he wanted you to say to that. 

“Truth serum?” Your eyebrows must have raised because he laughed. “Though not clinically proven, I have high hopes for it. Let’s test it, shall we?” 

“How old are you, y/n?” You screw your eyes closed for a moment, trying to overcome the drug but eventually give in.

“27.” 

“Good. Now where do you live?” You parrot back your information to him like you were filling out the fucking census, giving him all the answers to questions he already knew. He seemed delighted by that. 

“Those were all easy questions, to test your compulsion to tell the truth, let’s try something a little more personal.” Though slightly out of it, you don’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you for a second too long. “What colour panties are you wearing, y/n? 

You scowl, more than wanting to kick this weirdo’s head in but you spit your answer, “Black.” 

“Wrong.” He said, making the sound of an incorrect buzzer. You lean forwards as far as your binding would allow it and look at him through your eyelashes.

“I must’ve forgotten.” You say acting the part of a flirt, voice sounding like you were twirling a strand of hair on your fingers. 

He laughs and does the same, his head coming close to yours, “Perhaps you-” You cut him off by slamming you head against his hard, barely feeling the impact for the adrenaline and the sodium thing-mabob. He grasps his face in pain and taking you chance you kick his chair as hard as you can, knocking him to the ground. 

“You should really pay more attention to your captives.” You spit at him, grabbing the syringe from the counter. All that stupid quizzing had given you a lot of time to wiggle your legs free, and the momentum of your standing had made easy work of the restraints on your hands. 

“Stay the fuck down or I’ll-” 

“What?” He shouts from the floor, blood on his hands from the cut you inflicted on his brow. He looked from it to you in disgust. “You’ll stab me? Do what you want, y/n. But it’s a 12-digit numerical code on the door. You’ll dehydrate before you get out. Laws of probability.” Whatever silly demeanour he’d had was gone, shattered when you cut his face.