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You love your job.
It’s your creative outlet, never dull, never repetitive, and always pulling the best out of you. Sometimes you wonder how life would feel if you’d ended up in fast food, retail, or behind some dull desk. But every time that thought creeps in, you shake it off with gratitude. You couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here.
Because your job isn’t just designing costumes. It’s designing for him.
Mr. Ant Tenna. Your boss, your collaborator, and (though you’d never admit it out loud) the center of your daydreams. Costume designer, technician, wardrobe supervisor, your titles blur together when it comes to keeping up with his wild ideas. Normally, handling all those roles would be chaos, but with Tenna it feels natural. He makes the impossible manageable just by flashing that easy smile and talking about his vision like it’s already a reality.
Mr. Ant Tenna, or simply Tenna, as he insists you call him, always dreams up the wildest costumes for his latest show segments, and you’re right there beside him, sketchpad ready. He’s the kind of man who walks into a room and makes the air change, like gravity tilts just slightly toward him. And every time you pick up your sketchpad to bring his visions to life, you’re reminded why you never tire of this work.
Especially the fittings.
A gentle, rhythmic knock pulls your head up just in time to catch his winning smile filling the doorway.
“I hope I’m not late!”
You smirk, scoffing lightly as he ducks inside, antenna brushing the frame. Even that tiny detail makes your stomach flip, how someone larger than life can still look so endearingly sheepish.
“In the three years I’ve worked here, you’ve never once been late… well, except for that one time.”
His shoulders shrink a little, antennae drooping over his now black screen as he closes the door behind him.
“I’m still terribly sorry about that.”
You burst into laughter at his theatrics, shaking your head. “One second, I’m just finishing up here. And quit apologizing, you had to hide from fans. That’s a pretty valid excuse.”
He tugs at his tie, watching you intently. Even that small movement pulls your attention, how his hands are always just slightly too big for the delicate adjustments he tries to make.
“Ah, but that’s part of the price for being everyone’s favorite TV host!”
You hum, holding the finished piece up with satisfaction. “Alright. You know the drill.”
You rise, layering the shirt, pants, and vest over your arm. Grinning, Tenna shrugs off his jacket, handing it to you before taking the new pieces with obvious excitement.
“I just know the audience, and myself, are going to love this look!”
His enthusiasm makes you laugh and that’s what you adore most about him along with how he believes in everything so wholeheartedly. You watch him vanish into the retrofitted booth, muffled commentary leaking out as he sees himself in the costume pieces for the first time. You bite back a smile. He never does seem to realize how much joy he gives you in the simplest moments.
When the door opens, your heart stutters.
He looks incredible.
And that’s your problem. Because as much as you love your job… you’ve fallen even more in love with your boss. Hard.
Could anyone blame you? He’s larger than life, impossibly charismatic, and underneath all that energy is a kindness that feels rare. After three years together, you’ve learned his quirks, his rhythms, his laugh and you’ve fallen in love with every single piece of him.
And now, standing there in cowboy gear, he’s every dangerous, romantic fantasy you never let yourself entertain.
“Wel-”
“WAIT!” you yelp, rushing to the accessories table. Snatching up the hat, you dart back to him and gesture for him to bend down. He leans in, his long pointed nose almost brushing yours. Carefully settling the hat over his antenna, your fingers graze the side of his casing and a familiar spark of static jumps to your skin. You’re used to it by now, but it never fails to make your cheeks burn.
He strikes a pose, hands resting on either side of his belt buckle, before tipping his head.
“Well, howdy there. Reckon I’m looking mighty fine, thanks to your help.”
Words fail you. Instead, you just motion to the mirror.
“Just… look.”
When he sees his reflection, he gasps and claps his hands to the sides of his face.
“Ladies and germs, our star costumer has done it again! Think of the ratings! Think of the fun-o-meter! This will be one for the history books and you’re the one making it possible!”
Your blush deepens under his relentless praise. You duck your head, fiddling with your apron. “Oh please, Tenna. You could walk out there naked and they’d still scream. The costumes help, sure, but you’re the reason they go crazy.” You swallow, speaking softer now. “I’m just glad I get to be the one who makes your ideas real.… I’ve got a soft spot for westerns.”
You step closer to pin an adjustment, your fingers brushing fabric stretched over him. His voice drops just slightly, making it harder to focus.
“The censors would definitely have a field day if I tried that. Besides, it would mean no chance to wear something made by my favorite designer-ow!”
“Sorry!” you gasp, realizing you’d pricked him. His gloved hand waves it off, but the faint blush flickering across his screen makes your stomach flip.
“Consider it payback for being late that one time,” He teases.
You chuckle and can't help but wonder if it really weighs on him. Stepping back, you take a long look at the fit, trying very hard to keep your focus where it belongs.
“You said you love the western look,” he muses, “but what exactly do you love about it?”
The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, cheeks warming. “I guess… it feels dangerous. Romantic. Like stepping into a world where anything could happen.”
Your eyes drift, lingering too long on how well the costume fits him, before you snap yourself out of it, scribbling notes in your pad.
“Alright, Tenna. We’re all done here.”
He disappears into the booth and re-emerges in his usual crisp shirt and slacks, tie slightly crooked.
“Perfect! A week until the Old West segment airs, the set’s almost ready, and now I’ve got the perfect look! I can already hear the crowd losing their minds!”
He bows repeatedly, hamming it up until you’re doubled over with laughter.
“You’re incapable of turning it off, huh?”
“Turn what off?” His voice is flat, his expression deadpan.
“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “Go knock ’em dead, Tenna. You’re gonna do great.”
Once he leaves, you gather the costume pieces, laying them out for alterations. Reaching to flick off the changing booth light, you spot the cowboy hat abandoned on a chair. Without thinking, you plop it onto your head, spin on your heel, and shoot finger guns at your reflection in the mirror.
“Bang bang.”
The door suddenly bursts open. You yelp, caught mid-pose.
“Oh- sorry. Wrong door,” mutters another Darkner before backing out.
You sag against the table, drained enough to finally admit you need a break before diving back to work.
Alterations on the costume pieces had gone smoothly or rather almost too smoothly. You’d been grateful for the extra time, because you knew chaos would descend once production started. Backstage during a live taping was its own kind of battleground. So, while you had the chance, you’d been running between departments, organizing paperwork, tracking each costume piece: when it was needed, what segment it belonged to, and which side of the stage quick changes had to happen. It was exhausting, but you thrived on the details.
By the time lunch rolled around, you sank into your usual spot at the back of the audience seating. It gave you the perfect view of the crew working on the set and lights. Their lunch break always came later than yours, one of the few perks of working in costumes, so you got to watch them while stealing a little peace for yourself.
That peace shattered the moment a large crew wheeled in something big, covered by a tarp, and set it up on the side stage. The area reserved for Tenna’s physical challenges. Your curiosity spiked, and when the tarp was yanked off to reveal a mechanical bull, you almost choked on your sandwich.
A Pippin crew member hit a button, and the machine whirred to life, rocking in a slow, taunting rhythm.
Abandoning your food, you jogged down the stairs, excitement bubbling. The crew clustered around, chatting and laughing, until the whistle blew and most scattered for lunch. A few lingered. Someone joked about testing the bull, and a shadow guy hopped on only to be flung off almost immediately, even on the lowest setting. You snorted out a laugh… right before several of them turned on you, shoving you forward.
“Ugh, fine, fine! I’ll try it.”
Cheers went up, whistles echoing through the studio. Your face burned, but there was no escape now. Climbing over the fence, you swung a leg over the bull and settled into the saddle, the leather surprisingly warm under your palms. You gave a quick thumbs up.
The bull lurched forward, jerking you hard enough to make your breath hitch. You clung to the horns at first, knuckles tight, but as the rocking steadied, so did you. Slowly, your body began to find the rhythm.
Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Spin.
Your hips shifted with the movement, rolling to counterbalance the sway. The plastic horns became less of a lifeline as you leaned into the motion, hands now free thanks to your balance. Laughter bubbled from your chest, unrestrained, the thrill of the ride catching you off guard.
The speed cranked up, gears clicking, and you rose to meet the challenge. Each buck jolted through you, but instead of resisting, you moved with it and kept your hips rolling, thighs tightening around the saddle as if you’d been made for this. Your body loosened into the rhythm until it almost looked like a dance.
The small crowd cheered louder. Whistles cut through the air, voices calling your name. Confidence flushed through you, and you lifted one arm, tossing your hair back in playful exaggeration. For just a moment, you let yourself bask in it, laughing like you belonged on center stage.
And then-
“Whoa, Mike, let’s hope the cameras aren’t rolling! I doubt the censors would let this slide!”
His voice.
Tenna’s voice cut across the noise, smug and dripping with amusement.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Heat surged to your cheeks so fiercely it made your head spin. He was watching. Watching you, rolling and laughing and grinding against a mechanical bull in full view of the crew.
The crowd’s whistles suddenly sounded too sharp, the lights too hot. Panic seized you, and you faltered. The Pippin at the controls must’ve noticed, because the bull gave one violent kick-
And you were airborne.
You yelped, bracing for impact, but instead you crashed into something solid. Red filled your vision, the rich poppy shade strikingly familiar. For a split second, you thought you’d smacked your face into the stage itself…until warmth steadied you.
Tenna’s suit.
Your hands splayed against his chest as you clung to him, his gloved palms bracing your shoulders. A sharp spark jumped between you when his hand reached up to tilt your head to look at him, a tiny jolt of static electricity. It zinged straight through you, stealing your breath the way it always did.
Your stomach dropped. He’d caught you. He’d caught you.
“Are you alright there, cowpoke?”
His grin curled, gentle yet impossibly smug, and for a moment you forgot how to form words. Nervous laughter spilled out instead, and you scrambled upright, stepping back as if distance might help you recover.
“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Just… having some fun. They, um, offered to let me test it. I’ve never had the chance before.”
He let go, straightening to his full height. Hands planted on his hips, he beamed down at you like you’d just pulled off a flawless performance.
“Wow!! Folks, would you believe it? Our very own star costumer, a natural! I can only hope the contestants handle the challenges half as well as you just did!”
Your blush deepened until it felt like your skin might combust. You were grinding on that thing in front of him. And worse, he’d been watching with that grin. Thank the stars you couldn’t see your reflection in his screen right now or the humiliation would’ve finished you off.
You forced a laugh, fumbling with your words. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll all go fine. I, uh… should probably finish my lunch before I head back to work. Later, Tenna.”
You ducked out of the pen, pulse hammering, and practically bolted back to your abandoned food. But even as you tried to calm yourself down, you swore you could still feel his gaze on your back and just how bright, amused, and impossible to ignore it is.
The first taping had gone off without a hitch, the audience eating the Old West segment up. You’d known it would be a hit with them, but seeing it unfold in real time was another thing entirely. Even backstage the excitement was palpable, buzzing through the crew like static.
Yours, however, came from something far more specific: watching Tenna in his cowboy outfit again, his energy practically radiant. He thrived on the crowd’s cheers, on their laughter, and it was… disarming, how sweet it was to see him so genuinely happy. The way his chest puffed with pride, the way his grin widened at every roar of applause and how it made your chest ache. That soft, painful kind of ache that only came from caring too much. From seeing someone you cherished get exactly what they wanted, and realizing you wanted nothing more than to keep seeing it happen.
That feeling carried you through the rest of the show and well into cleanup. You helped the props department reset, packed away your tools, and stacked paperwork neatly in its folder. But when it came time to collect costumes, one glaring problem emerged: Tenna’s cowboy outfit was nowhere to be found.
You frowned, double-checking racks, bins, even backstage corners where things tended to pile up. Your lone wardrobe crew member had already gone home and she hadn’t said a word about anything missing. Anxiety nipped at your stomach. Had the outfit been misplaced? Lost?
Biting your lip, you headed for Tenna’s dressing room. Maybe he’d gotten distracted and left it there. Knocking softly on the door, you waited. Silence.
“…Tenna?”
No response.
You sighed, hand closing around the doorknob, twisting carefully. Just as the latch began to shift-
“Well, well, well… lookin’ for me, pardner?”
The low drawl froze you in place.
You turned on your heel, and there he was. Tenna stood only a few feet away, still in full cowboy regalia. One hand rested on his belt buckle, the other tipping his hat in that exaggerated showman’s flourish of his.
Heat rushed to your face before you could stop it. Relief flooded you, mingled with a sharp flutter in your chest. Of course he’d still be here. Of course he’d still be in costume.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you released the door handle. “Tenna, what are you doing? You should’ve gone home forever ago. Besides, I need you out of that costume so I can wash it for the next show.”
Instead of obeying, he struck a pose, hand shooting dramatically skyward. “Ah, but I needed to wait for the set to be empty!” His grin stretched wide, gleaming, almost boyish in its excitement. “Come! I wanted to show you something!”
Your heart skipped, your body already reacting before your mind caught up. That spark of curiosity, of him, pulled at you the way it always did. And though you told yourself you should insist that costumes, schedules, and responsibilities take priority….the truth was you wanted to follow.
You always did.
Tenna didn’t wait for your agreement. He simply turned on his heel with a dramatic flourish and gestured for you to follow, cowboy hat still tipped just so.
You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself, and trailed after him.
The set was different when it was empty. Without the audience chatter or the cameras rolling, it felt… bigger somehow. Echoes carried differently. Each lamp hummed quietly overhead, stage lights still glowing faintly in standby mode, tinting the wooden saloon facades and dusty props with an amber haze. It was like stepping into the ghost of the Wild West, eerily still, yet strangely romantic.
Tenna strolled ahead of you, pointing things out with the casual ease of someone giving a private tour. “Here’s where our brave contestants squared off in the quick draw duel. Lucky thing we use blanks, huh?” He mimed a pistol twirl, his hand drawn like a gun, before flashing that grin over his shoulder.
You laughed softly, following as he moved past swinging saloon doors and wooden barrels stacked high. He paused at a card table, fingers brushing over the deck left scattered there. “And this is where our gamblers nearly lost more than their boots… ah, the thrill of high stakes! The fun-o-meter was nearly breaking by that point!”
He didn’t sit, didn’t linger long, just kept drawing you deeper into the set and through the jail cell bars, past the weathered “Wanted” posters with ridiculous caricatures plastered on them. His energy was contagious, every gesture grand, every detail spun into a little performance just for you.
Finally, he stopped beneath the balcony of the mock saloon, hands resting lightly on his belt. For a moment, he simply looked around, as if taking it all in. Then his screen-face tilted toward you, his grin curling higher.
“Well? What do you think?”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “It’s… beautiful. Different, without the crowd. Quieter. Almost…” You hesitated, searching for the right word, then smiled faintly. “…romantic.”
The word slipped out before you could catch it. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you glanced away, suddenly fascinated by the flickering lantern prop on the wall.
Tenna, of course, didn’t miss it. He never missed anything.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping low and playful, but softer than usual. “Funny you should say that. You know… I remembered. That you like the romantic vibe of the Old West.”
Your head snapped back toward him, startled. “You… remembered that?”
“‘Course I did,” he said easily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. His grin widened, but there was something else behind it now, something slower, heavier. “Hard to forget something when you said it with that look in your eyes.”
Your breath caught. He was closer now, the glow of the lanterns painting his costume in warm shades of gold and red. The air between you buzzed faintly, and for a second you swore you could feel it again, that spark, the same one that always happens when you come into contact with him.
This time, it hummed steadily, stretching the space between you tight like a drawn bowstring.
You swallowed, nerves and anticipation tangling in your chest. “So… is that why you brought me here?”
His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, until the tip of his glove brushed just barely against your sleeve. The contact was feather-light, yet it sent a shiver racing through you.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice smooth, low, threaded with mischief. “Or maybe I just wanted to see how red your face gets when you’re caught in the lamplight, cowpoke.”
Your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it. The set felt too quiet, too private, and the way he loomed just close enough, without closing the distance, left you dizzy with want. Your chest was tight, your breath coming too shallow, and you couldn’t take how close he was, how warm, how sharp that spark in the air felt. Without thinking, you took a hurried step backward to break the tension.
Your heel caught on the wooden edge of the saloon porch.
The world tilted. A startled cry escaped you as your balance gave way and the stage lights spun overhead, but before you could tumble, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly back against a solid chest.
The fall stopped dead.
You froze, blinking up into Tenna’s screen, which hovered only inches above your face. His grin was gone, replaced by something quieter, intent, like you were the only thing in the world he was focused on.
“Careful there.” he murmured, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. His hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, but they didn’t move away. Every nerve in your body lit up where he touched you, heat radiating through the fabric of your clothes.
You realized just how little space separated the two of you now. If either of you leaned in, even slightly-
The air between you snapped faintly, that same electric spark sparking across your skin. Your breath hitched, your lips parting wordlessly as you looked up at him.
His grin tilted, knowing, as his hand lingered just long enough to make your heart stutter. “You know…” he said slowly, “a moment like this almost begs for a dramatic ending.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he dipped his head, closing the distance.
The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It was steady, deliberate, like he’d decided the moment belonged to you both. His mouth was warm, gentle at first, testing, but the spark that leapt between you made your knees weak. You leaned in without thinking, one hand clutching at his sleeve, the other finding its way to his chest as if to ground yourself.
He deepened it slightly, confidence rolling off him, though you swore you felt the faintest tremor of excitement in the way his grip adjusted at your waist.
When he finally pulled back, just barely, his screen glowed brighter, grin sharp again but tinged with something almost breathless.
“Well,” he drawled softly, “I guess I really did catch you.”
For a moment after, the world seemed suspended, almost silent, glowing, still crackling faintly with static.
And then, of course, you laughed.
It burst out of you before you could stop it, half from nerves, half from disbelief, bubbling up until you had to press a hand over your mouth. The ridiculousness of it all, the empty western set, the swoon-worthy rescue, the kiss, sent your heart racing even harder.
“Oh my god,” you managed between breathless giggles. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
Tenna leaned back slightly, one hand still hovering at your waist before he finally let it drop. His screen glowed brighter, his grin flickering with a static stutter. For once, he looked almost caught off guard. Almost.
“Can’t believe it?” he said, voice dipping into that usual host-tone, though there was a faint crackle of nerves under it. “Well, cowpoke, I’d say you got the dramatic ending you didn’t know you were looking for.”
You gave him a look, part teasing, part wide-eyed, and his grin softened into something less polished, more sincere. He tipped his hat, antennas twitching faintly underneath as he stepped back just enough to give you space.
“Don’t go thinking that was just for show,” he added, quieter now, the words landing heavy in the air between you. “That was… real. At least for me it was.”
The confession lodged in your chest like a spark waiting to catch fire.
You swallowed, heat rushing back to your cheeks, and managed a small smile. “So what now, cowboy?”
His hand flicked to his handkerchief necktie, straightening it out of habit like he would with his usual tie, maybe to ground himself. His grin curled again, back in full swing. “Now? Now we both show up ready for the next taping, and maybe… maybe after the show, I steal you for another encore.”
Your laugh came easier this time, warmer. “An encore, huh? Bold of you to assume I’ll stick around that long.”
He leaned in just a touch, his voice a low drawl that sent shivers racing through you. “You’ll stick around.”
The moment lingered, and then he tipped his hat once more before finally stepping back, giving you a clear path away from the set. His confident stride returned, but you caught the way his shoulders were just a little too stiff, like even he hadn’t quite recovered.
And neither had you.
You lingered for just a breath longer, the warmth of his lips still tingling against yours. It would’ve been easy to stumble off in a daze, pretending the moment hadn’t unraveled so sweetly, but instead, something new settled in your chest. A sense of boldness. Of hunger.
“Well,” you said softly, smoothing your hands over your apron to ground yourself, “goodnight, Tenna.”
He bowed at the waist with exaggerated flourish, tipping his hat with a grin. “Goodnight, cowpoke. And uh, don't worry if Mike or any of the others find out. ”
A laugh bubbled from your lips, but this time it wasn’t nervous. It was low and certain, just a shade suggestive. “Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your eyes locking on his, “I don’t plan on hiding it.”
The way his grin faltered, just a flicker on his screen, was delicious. He was quick to recover, straightening with a cocky lift of his chin, but you’d seen it. He could talk a big game, but when the spotlight shifted back to him, he wasn’t nearly as steady.
You left him standing there with that smile pasted on, turning toward the stage doors with your heart hammering in triumph. The thought burned in your mind: now there’s no reason to hide anymore.
When you finally made it home, the silence of your apartment felt deafening after the noise of your pounding heart. You slipped off your shoes, barely remembering to set your bag down before collapsing onto the couch.
Your body still hummed, a live wire from head to toe, and every time you shut your eyes you swore you could still feel the heat of his mouth, the way his presence swallowed you whole.
A laugh broke free, shaky at first but quickly bubbling into something richer, warmer. Not nervous, never nervous again. “No more hiding,” you whispered into the empty room, the words tasting sweeter than anything you’d ever admitted aloud.
Because the truth was undeniable now: he wanted you. Not just as his costumer, not just as the one who kept his wild ideas stitched together, but you. And the fear that had always clawed at the back of your mind, that a slip of affection might cost you your job, might shatter everything, crumbled like dust.
You stretched out across the couch, pressing the heels of your palms into your burning face. Every memory of the night replayed on loop from his ridiculous bow, his cocky grin faltering when you pushed back, and even the way his voice had dipped soft when he called you cowpoke.
God, you were hot all over again. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even here, and yet your chest ached, your skin prickled, and your pulse raced like you’d just been launched off the mechanical bull again.
You bit your lip, curling onto your side with a groan. The thrill of it all, the kiss, the tension, the delicious certainty, had carved something restless inside you. You wanted more. Craved it.
And the best part? You didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
Next time, you thought, smiling into your pillow, next time you wouldn’t hold back at all.
Later, long after the theater had emptied and hushed, you wandered back to the old west set. The painted saloon doors stood still, the bull silent in the shadows, the porch glowing faintly under the dimmed work lights.
You climbed the wooden steps and leaned casually against the railing, fingers tracing the grooves. Glancing up and down the set, you couldn't see him anywhere and after a moment longer, you wandered into the saloon. The quiet was thick, comforting, but you weren’t here for the silence.
You were here for him.
And you weren’t planning on waiting politely anymore.
The idea thrilled you, teasing him the way he teased you, watching him fluster when the tables turned. You wanted to see him stumble over his own charm, wanted to watch his composure crack just a little under the weight of your attention.
If he came through those doors, you wouldn’t be shy this time. You’d be ready to corner him with words and glances until he had nowhere to run.
And if he didn’t… well. You’d still have the memory of that kiss, humming against your lips like a promise.
The creak of the saloon doors made your pulse skip. Footsteps echoed, uneven, and then his familiar silhouette filled the entryway. Tenna paused there for a beat, letting the dim lights catch on the brim of his hat, striking his usual confident pose.
“Well now,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “looks like I’ve stumbled onto a midnight outlaw. Should I be worried?”
You smirked, straightening from the saloon counter, letting your eyes travel slowly over him in his open vest, cowboy shirt and hat. “Depends,” you said, stepping closer with deliberate slowness, “are you the sheriff… or the man I came here to rob blind?”
For the first time since you’d known him, his usual quick-witted retort snagged in his throat. The grin on his face stayed wide, but you could see the way his screen stuttered, just for a split second-like even his own programming tripped. You could’ve sworn you heard a faint ‘mamma mia’ slip out of him.
You tilted your head, savoring it. “What’s the matter, Tenna? Cat got your tongue? You’re usually the one tossing out lines.”
“Oh, I-I’ve got lines,” he insisted, straightening up quickly, one hand smoothing down his vest like it would steady him. “Plenty of them! I just… wasn’t expecting you to… shoot first, is all.”
You stepped right up to him then, close enough that you could feel that static charge between the two of you again. The tension made his posture stiffen, his screen flickering faintly as though he couldn’t quite decide whether to lean in or retreat.
“Well, get used to it,” you murmured, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Because I don’t plan on playing shy anymore.”
His breath hitched audibly. For all his bravado, for all the charm he could dish out, you could see it now….when you turned it back on him, he was the one left scrambling.
And you couldn’t help but love it. You didn’t give him a chance to recover. Not this time.
Every step you took closer had him faltering just slightly. His hat began tilting too far back, his hands twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them, his usual confidence slipping the longer your eyes lingered on him.
“Y’know…” you said lightly, dragging your fingertips along tables as you circled him, “for someone who never shuts up about being in control of the room, you look a little out of your depth right now.”
He laughed, a quick burst of static that didn’t hide the flicker on his screen. “Out of my depth? Ha! Don’t- uh, b-be ridiculous! I am always in control. This is… this is my set, after all!”
“Uh-huh,” you teased, letting your gaze dip slowly, deliberately. “Funny, because you look more like the rabbit cornered by the fox.”
That shut him up. His grin stayed plastered on, but the stammering hesitation in his posture gave him away.
You were about to press further when your eyes caught on something hanging from a hook just inside the saloon doors. A coil of rope. The prop lasso from the cowboy segment.
The grin that spread across your face must’ve been dangerous, because Tenna’s flicker sharpened. “Wait, hold on, what are you thinking?”
You strolled past him, lifted the rope from its peg, and began looping it casually between your hands. The coarse fibers slid warm against your palms, the weight of it oddly thrilling.
“Just a little game,” you said, your tone light, almost sing-song like. You stepped back toward him, letting the rope coil and uncoil like a snake. “You know… after yesterday's kiss, I think it’s only fair I get to try taming the bull again.”
His screen went pitch black, antenna shooting up so fast that they knocked his cowboy hat clean off his head. He settled back into his grin, but the static in his laugh betrayed him as he spoke. “O-oh! A joke! Right, very funny, ha ha! The bull, yes, very clever-”
You leaned in, close enough that your lips nearly brushed the tip of his nose. “I’ve had some practice, remember?”
That did it. His posture stiffened, his hands flew to his belt, and he suddenly seemed very, very interested in looking anywhere but at you. "Ah, y-yes, I su-suppose you d-"
And before he could recover, you gave him a gentle shove back into the nearest chair. He toppled into it with a surprised yelp, and you were quick to loop the rope around his upper body and the back of the chair, securing him with playful precision.
“Hey!” His voice cracked on the single syllable as his smile somehow managed to get even more flustered looking. “Now hold on just a minute-”
“You’re the one who said you were always in control,” you teased, knotting the rope tight enough to keep him there. “So let’s see how you handle things when you’re not.”
His grin stayed plastered on, but you could see it, his whole body buzzing with nervous static, his voice scrambling into a jumble of smooth words that failed to land.
And you’d never felt more powerful. You tightened the last knot and stood back, admiring your handiwork.
“W-wow,” he stammered, trying to rally his composure, “look at you. Real handy with knots. You sure you’re not the one auditioning for the show?”
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders, bringing your face close to his. “Guess you’ll just have to sit still and find out.”
His grin wavered. Not gone, never gone, but softer, more vulnerable. He dropped his voice lower, the edges of static curling through. “You know, uh… usually I’m the one making the audience blush. Not the other way around.”
“Good thing there’s no audience tonight,” you murmured, your lips brushing so close to his. “Just you and me.”
The screen flickered again, bright and jittery color bars replacing his expression for but a moment, as though he couldn’t quite keep his cool when you pressed this close. He shifted against the ropes, laughing weakly. “Uh, yeah ha ha, good thing. You’re playing a dangerous game here, cowpoke. I mean, w-what would the censors say?”
“That’s the fun part, they're not around and I've always liked my games dangerous.” you whispered. Your fingers skimmed the edge of his vest, tugging lightly before retreating, just enough to leave him twitching against the chair. You circled him slowly, letting the silence stretch, letting him feel the weight of your attention.
“Besides,” you added with a grin, “I already rode one mechanical bull... This just feels like the next step.”
He jolted at that, his head snapping toward you as his antenna tweaked wildly again. “Y-you-”
You pressed a finger gently to his chest, cutting him off. “Shhh. You started this with your little showboating.” You leaned closer, so close he had no escape. “And now I’m going to finish it.”
For once, Tenna didn’t have a comeback. His flustered grin remained, but the silence that filled it was heavy, trembling with anticipation.
You could feel it too, heat pooling between your legs, the rope creaking faintly as he shifted, his bravado unraveling thread by thread under your gaze.
And as you loomed over him, your hand sliding deliberately down the front of his chest, you knew there was no going back.
Not after this.
“Just relax… and know that I’ve thought about doing something like this for… quite some time now,” you murmured, leaning in close. Your fingers curled lightly at the edge of his vest as his screen flickered with static. For a moment, you let him squirm beneath your gaze before closing the distance, pressing your lips to his.
The ropes creaked faintly as he jolted, his usual bravado dissolving into unguarded heat beneath your kiss. Slowly, he began to melt into it, lips moving hungrily against yours. You could tell he was struggling with the restraint, aching to use his arms, to pull you in.
When you finally pulled back for breath, you caught the goofy grin spreading across his screen, a thin thread of saliva still connecting your mouths. Straddling his lap, you lowered yourself until you were sitting flush against him. Your brows arched and a grin curved your lips as you felt the undeniable press of his arousal straining through his pants beneath you.
“L-listen, Star-”
You silenced him with a finger against his lips, then drew it away with a playful wink as your hands trailed up his torso. Slipping beneath his vest, you let it fall open, exposing more of his shirt. Your fingers plucked lazily at the buttons, one by one coming undone. To be fair, you hardly had to do anything, he was breathing so hard with nerves that they seemed ready to burst open on their own.
“Giddy up, cowboy,” you teased, gripping his shoulders before rolling your hips forward slowly against his trapped erection. His screen went dark as his head fell back with a strangled sound.
“Hah, oh-y-you!! I-I-”
You couldn’t stop your laughter, the sound breathless as you continued to grind against him, feeling the hard length beneath you and your own arousal beginning to dampen your pants. Soft moans slipped past your lips without shame.
The instant he heard them, his antenna perked, his flustered grin flickering back into place-adorable, desperate.
“Come on, Tenna. Use your words… Or have I broken everyone’s favorite TV host?” Your voice dripped with coy amusement, spoken between gasps and moans, a smirk tugging at your lips.
The ropes creaked again, his struggles intensifying, and you grinned even wider at the thought of him trying to break free.
“P-please… I-I need more.”
His sudden confession startled you, so much so that your hips stilled. A giggle bubbled out of you, teasing. “I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that… one more time?”
A sudden 'whoom' sound startled you and his screen was suddenly black again, antenna bent forward in sharp focus. A second later, you heard something hit the floor.
The rope.
It had been sliced clean through.
Your stomach dropped as your gaze snapped back up to Tenna, only to see something you’d only ever caught glimpses of once in a blue moon.
His faceplate flickered back on, not with that easygoing grin or playful sparkle, but with jagged static cutting across the edges. His fangs, normally tucked away, glinted sharp and deliberate in the glow, his mouth curled into something between a smile and a snarl.
“Cowpoke…” he drawled, his voice lower, darker, the playful lilt gone. He leaned forward in the chair, pushing you back slightly on his lap, the air around him humming with power as if the entire set itself bowed to him. “You think you can tie me down?”
You barely had time to stumble back and off him before he rose to his full, towering height. The chair scraped against the floor, forgotten, as he loomed over you, his screen burning with bright light.
Your pulse hammered, thrill, fear, desire, all tangled together, because the power had shifted in an instant. And judging by the sharp edge of his grin, Tenna had every intention of showing you just what it meant to play with fire.
Before you could even think to run, his hands were on you, large, gloved, and startlingly firm as he hauled you off your feet like you weighed nothing. A yelp tore from your throat, cut short by the sudden heat of his chest pressed against you.
The rope dangled from his fingers, the same one you’d so smugly tied him with only moments before. Static buzzed along your skin as he dragged it up, looping it around your wrists in one smooth motion before you even thought to resist.
“Don't you know games usually involve taking turns?” he rumbled, voice dripping with satisfaction.
In seconds, you found yourself lowered onto the edge of the stage platform, your arms tugged high above your head and secured. And then, with a deliberate, almost mocking flourish, he spread your legs with his arms, pinning you open in a way that left you entirely, helplessly displayed.
Tenna leaned down, his fanged grin flashing bright as he braced his hands on both of your thighs, his voice a dangerous purr.
“Looks like you're ready just in time for your 
You could only stare in disbelief at how quickly the tables had turned on you, his confidence back and with a vengeance, it seemed. Heat rushed through your veins, a blush covering your face as the pulse throbbed insistently between your legs. Your eyes widened when his fingers curled into the fabric of your pants and, with a sharp yank, pulled them down just far enough to expose you. The air felt stifling, and you couldn’t tell what was making it so, the dim stage lights, your racing blood, or simply him.
The warmth only grew as he tugged your pants fully off, tossing them aside before gripping your legs again. Your breath hitched when he leaned in.
Any thought you might have had was erased in an instant, leaving only one.
Holy shit.
Your head fell back as his mouth pressed to your folds, a choked cry tearing from your throat. Your hands struggled against the ropes binding you, your hips bucking up into his tongue. A gloved hand shot up and shoved you down firmly, claws pressing faintly through the fabric to scratch along your skin.
It had been your idea to take control but in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to lament how things had shifted.
“T-Tenn… Tenna!” you whined, as he dragged his tongue languidly through your folds, only teasing your clit for the briefest second. He ignored your pleas, focused entirely on unraveling you, pulling you closer to the brink with every deliberate stroke. You fought against his hold, hips jerking in desperation, but he pinned you down with unyielding strength.
Your movements must have swayed him, though because suddenly, his mouth locked onto your clit, relentless, sending white-hot pleasure surging through you. Broken, uneven breaths escaped your lips, tears threatening to gather at the corners of your eyes. And then, with a low, guttural growl, he slid a finger inside you, curling it just right.
“F-Fuck! I-I’m- Ah! Tenna!!”
Your body seized, thighs trembling and straining to clamp around his head, but his grip kept you spread open. Your back arched off the wooden stage, your mouth falling open in a moan that echoed across the empty soundstage. It's a damn good thing he tied your hands up or you'd be yanking on those damn antenna of his…
When at last your climax ebbed, Tenna leaned back, licking his lips with deliberate slowness before flashing you that wicked grin, his incredibly sharp canines on display.
“I’m going to have to give you some points,” he said smoothly, “for just how delicious you taste.”
You chuckled weakly at his joke, still reeling from the intensity of your climax.
“Now, how about a bonus round? No viewer donations necessary, I’ll fund this one myself.” His voice purred as his hands moved to his belt, gloved fingers flipping open the TV-shaped buckle.
“Mmm… good thing too, b-because I don’t think I’ve got the money myself,” you managed breathlessly, chest still heaving as you watched him unzip.
Your eyes widened when he freed his cock, the sheer size of it making your pulse spike. Why was it always the tall, thin ones packing the most? A nervous laugh slipped from you, but you only wiggled your hips enticingly in response.
“Ah, I’m sure you’d have found some way to pay for a bonus round,” Tenna teased, stroking himself before pressing the tip against your slick folds. Your hips jolted at the contact, still so sensitive, and the friction pulled a low moan from his throat. He rutted lazily, sliding along your cunt, savoring the glide before guiding himself into place.
“It’s about time you got a proper bull ride, right, my star?”
Before you could answer, he pushed in smoothly, stretching you wide. A gasp tore from your throat, your walls fluttering around him as you struggled to handle the fullness. His screen flickered chaotically, cycling through static and color bars before landing back on that flustered grin.
“W-well… l-looks like a perfect f-fit,” he stammered, pulling back to begin a slow, steady rhythm. His hands roamed your hips, then slid higher, gripping either side of your shirt placket. With one sharp tug, buttons scattered across the floor. Any other time you’d be furious about the repair job, but right now you couldn’t care less. His hands explored greedily before his mouth claimed yours, tongue pressing in a deep, desperate kiss. You moaned against him, wordlessly begging him to understand just how good he was making you feel.
When you whined his name, his screen darkened, canines flashing in a manic grin. In one swift motion, he hauled you up from the stage edge, holding you upright against him as he thrust deeper. The new angle had stars flashing behind your eyes.
“F-fuck! Oh my god, T-Tenna!” you cried, the pressure in your core building fast.
He gripped you firmly, raising and lowering you onto his cock in time with his thrusts, using your body like a toy. His face buried against your shoulder, kissing and nipping before he tilted toward your ear.
“S-say it…”
“W-what?”
“Say y-you love t-tv.”
You would’ve promised him the world in that moment. Between ragged breaths and broken moans, you obeyed. “Ah-I-I love TV!”
The instant the words left you, he picked up the pace, slicing the ropes from your wrists with a quick flick before holding you tight again. Your arms flew around his shoulders, clinging desperately.
Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, tears pricking at your eyes as your body convulsed in his grasp. He didn’t let up, fucking you through it until you were shaking and breathless.
“St-star, I-” he choked, his thrusts turning erratic before he groaned long and low. His antenna stood rigid as he buried himself deep, cock twitching inside you as his release spilled hot and thick.
You panted, already drifting down from your high, and reached up to cradle his face. Pressing kisses to his black screen, you giggled softly, wondering how long it would take for him to boot back up.
It took longer than expected. When it finally came, the familiar 'whoom' filled the air. His screen crackled, flared white-and then his nose appeared with a bright red flower blooming at the tip.
Blinking at the absurdity, you couldn’t help but laugh, kissing his cheek again. “You okay there, Tenna?”
His goofy grin flickered back, boyish and utterly unbothered.
“Never better, my star.”
A few days later, you were back in the costume shop, needle in hand, mending one of Tenna’s jackets for the next taping. The hum of the stage outside carried faintly through the walls, set crews, lights being adjusted, the usual pre-show chaos.
You were so focused on your stitching that you didn’t notice him until his shadow stretched across your worktable.
“Well, well,” Tenna drawled, leaning against the doorframe with all the subtlety of a cartoon character. “Hard at work making me look dazzling again, my star?”
You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with a smile. “You manage to steal enough attention on your own.”
His screen flickered briefly, static, then that goofy grin. He smoothed his tie like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Funny,” you said, deliberately not looking up as you tied off the thread, “I seem to recall it also got me tied up last time.”
Static snapped across his screen, the grin faltering into a flustered sputter before he recovered, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “H-hey, that was-uh-that was a team building exercise!”
You finally looked up, smirking at the way his antenna twitched. “Mhm. Real professional.”
For a moment he just stood there, grinning sheepishly while you set the jacket aside. Then, with exaggerated slowness, he leaned down so his face was level with yours, his voice dropping into a low purr.
“Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll have to schedule… another
You laughed, shoving at his chest playfully. “Get out of here before I pick out every other stitch in your pants so they rip on stage.”
“Worth it,” he shot back, sauntering out the door with that same bounce in his step.
And though you tried to return to your work, your smile wouldn’t leave you. The show might’ve gone on, but so had something else, something just between the two of you.