sorry if this was asked before! could you write stalker/obessive tenna🙏📷?
also I read two of your fics from Ao3 and they are chefs kisses on my pretty weary head ☺️
Pillow Talk | Tenna/Reader (Explicit)
Tenna gets his hands on your dirty clothes. Your shirt makes an excellent pillowcase. TW: Non-consensual voyeurism, stalking.
Read it on AO3
Every day, you wore a white button up to work. You mixed things up with your slacks and your skirts — integrating pops of color, fun patterns, and textured fabrics — but your blouse was always the same. The cut was professional, but it hugged your waist and chest just enough to lead Tenna’s thoughts down a rather unprofessional path.
Your shirt wouldn’t hug his pillow quite the same. The buttons would strain and the stuffing beneath the fabric would be too airy to come anywhere close to emulating your soft, warm body. That would be a-okay with him, though; the important part was that it would still smell like you.
And he had the perfect plan to ensure that it would.
***
“You’re taking this like a champ!” he chirped, watching you push a particularly heavy prop between sets. “Thanks again.”
An annoyed frown tugged at your lips. “For being the only one here willing to come early again to help you set up, sir? Or for staying even though the studio is swelteringly hot this morning?”
He only smiled. If you’d asked him if he had anything to do with the lack of air conditioning, he would have been honest with you and told you that he’d shut it off a few hours ago — but you didn’t ask, thank the Angel above, so as far as he was concerned… there was no moral obligation for him to disclose that information.
When you eventually pushed the last prop into place and collapsed onto your knees, Tenna found himself staring. Nobody else was around, so as long as you weren’t looking at him, he could observe you as closely as he wanted. This was a rare treat, because usually he had to hide away in his office watching the office’s live security footage.
Your chest was heaving, the back of your hand wiping the sweat from your brow. Without a grainy CCTV filter obscuring his view, Tenna could make out the curve of your collarbone and the way your baby hairs stuck to your neck. Your thighs tensed as you tried to rub away the soreness that was already overtaking them. Maybe, one day, you’d trust him enough to ask him to do it for you.
And now he was hard. Fuck. He turned away from you and pretended to be adjusting the stage lights. “I feel just awful for working you so hard under these conditions, superstar.”
“Right,” you grumbled. “I’m sure you do.”
“I do! You’ve been a model employee. You know… I actually think it’s about time you get some well-deserved recognition!”
You perked up a bit at that. “A raise?”
“Well, we don’t quite have the budget for something like that. Ratings aren’t what they used to be! It’s a temporary slump.” He glanced over his shoulder at you. “I was actually thinking something more along the lines of free dry cleaning and some merch. We have TV-time branded stuff in the supply closet — why don’t you go ahead and find something to change into, and I’ll get those dirty clothes taken care of?”
You stood back up, your expression weary. “Could I just stop home and shower maybe? Grab my own things to change into? The workday doesn’t officially start for another few hours, and you said I’m not on the clock until it does.”
The thought of you standing nude, lathering your body with soap was almost enough for him to agree. He had to keep his eyes on the prize, though. “Nonsense! I need you around this morning to—” He racked his brain for a suitable excuse. “Fix the AC! We can’t have an entire crew working in this heat.”
“Electrical work was not listed in my job description, Mr. Tenna.”
“Oh, but you’re so adaptable!” It was part of what made you so irresistible. “I’ll let you leave early today if you can get this taken care of. You have my word.”
Finally, after a moment of agitated deliberation, you stalked off to the closet.
By the time you reemerged — now wearing a too-big t-shirt and swim trunks spotted with the TV Time logo — he’d gotten himself under control enough to saunter up and take the bundle of laundry out of your hands. They smelled like your sweat and perfume, exactly the way he had hoped. It took everything in him not to bury his face in it and inhale right in front of you.
“I’ll get these back to you by the end of the week.” He tucked the clothes under his arm with a giddy smile. “And if I can’t, go ahead and submit a reimbursement request.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I what?”
“Um.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Why wouldn’t you be able to give me my clothes back by Friday?”
“Well, you know how those pesky dry cleaners can be.”
“No, I don’t think I do.”
“Hah, great talk!”
***
The workday had been grueling. Even more so than usual. Tenna normally loved the days where he spent his entire shift filming, but he couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm under these circumstances. He would have much rather been in his office making good use of the prize he’d worked so hard to win.
Now that he was finally home, shut away in his bedroom and dressing his pillow in your clothes, he felt a sense of relief. There were so many pleasant surprises to be found on the fabric: the lipstick mark pressed into the inside of your collar, tasting of strawberries; the sweet aroma that your perfume took on after it set in; the lingering taste of you, subtle on the inner crotch of your slacks.
He groaned as he ran his tongue against it. He wished you had let him “dry clean” your panties as well.
He rubbed himself through his pants before promptly giving in and stripping down completely, desperate to feel your clothes against his skin and even more desperate to have your scent pressed into him. He was such a sicko, taking advantage of your trust like this, but maybe you wouldn’t even mind. If you saw him like this — your clothes in his mouth and his dick throbbing in his hand — would you take pity on him and give him a taste of the real thing?
He fumbled with the buttons tucked under his chin until the studio’s security footage flickered to life on his screen. He flipped through different rooms and angles until he got to the supply closet, then rewinded until you were on screen, pulling off your sweat-soaked clothes.
He curled in on himself and groaned, using the precum beading at his tip as lubrication so that he could thrust into his hand. The reality was that you would probably hate him for this. You would yell at him and demand that you be transferred to a different studio. There was a list of cruel names you would hurl at him with a snarl, chiefly among which would be filthy pervert and creep. You would notice the strain in his pants your insults prompted and glare at him with disgust.
How could he expect to run family friendly programming when he was doing stuff like this behind the scenes? He would deserve it if you cracked his chest open and reenabled his parental controls, leaving them on until he was sobbing with his need for release and then — only once you decided he’d suffered enough — flicking them back off and leaving him to jerk off alone, not unlike he was doing now.
A shudder ran up his spine and your name choked past his lips. “F-fuck, mmn, I can’t help myself — I — I’m, hahh, sorry —”
He whined as he zoomed in on the footage of your chest, which was finally free from the tight confines of your shirt. You hadn’t even worn a bra to work. His hips moved faster, a sinking sense of arousal pushing down deep within him. He clicked the security footage off as guilt sparked in his stomach.
He let out a frustrated whimper and let go of his dick so that he could slide the pants onto the pillow, right under the shirt. Then, he leaned over it and licked at the area your nipples would be, his aching dick grinding against your clothes.
He wished he’d left the AC on and set the temperature as low as it would go this morning, just so he could’ve caught a glimpse of your chest poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. Maybe he’d do that tomorrow and blame the freezing air on you for not fixing the system properly.
“I’ll, nnhh, forgive you for the oversight,” he gasped, already imagining you laid out on his desk, squirming underneath him. “But only if you do this for me — only if you make Mr. Tenna feel good. You’ll do that right? Always so sweet to me, no matter what l-lines I cross.” His breaths were uneven and loud. “Because you’ve, ahhhHHah, wanted me all along, haven’t you? Y-you’re just as bad as I am.”
He swallowed hard as his precum set into the crotch of your slacks, in the same area you had left damp with your own fluids hours before. His body felt weak as he increased his pace. The image of you on his dick was so, so clear. He could practically feel the slap of your thighs against his, he could see your parted lips begging him not to be so rough with you, and he could hear the pretty little moans tumbling out that made it clear you didn’t actually mind his roughness.
Every jerk of his hips caused your scent to waft up to him.
“Oh-my-s-stars.” To hell with the guilt. It wasn't as though he could sink much lower than this.
He clicked the supply closet footage back on and watched you bend over to pull your pants down. Your thong certainly wasn't part of the studio dress code. Your ass looked so full and soft and it would bounce so incredibly nicely against him and, oh, oh no—
No, no, no, no.
You looked over your shoulder, and your gaze flicked up to the camera, your lips turned down in a perplexed frown.
His hips slammed hard enough into the pillow that his bed was creaking beneath him. “N-no, I’m sorry — please, please f-forgive, mm, me — noooo — I don’t want — I’m g-gonna — ahhhHHHhahNNNG!” All at once, he collapsed and jets of his coolant spurted out of his twitching dick, smothering your work clothes and his bare chest. His synthetic heart hammered in his chest, overclocking to keep the fans in his casing circulating cool air.
Did you know what he’d done? You had seen the camera, but did you know he had put it there? Did you know he could retroactively access the footage? Did you know he had planned all along to pleasure himself to it?
He tried his best to wipe the mess off your clothes using his sheets, smoothing down the wrinkles as he went.
Part of him hoped you knew.
