Chapter Text
"I don't know about this..." you murmur into the phone, your hand grazing over the knee of your stockings. "It's been hours, and I'm still waiting to be interviewed." You pinch a wisp of fluff hanging from the elastic and twist it between your fingers.
"Oh, darling..." your best friend chortles on the other end of the line, "I wouldn't worry about it! That resumé I wrote was nothing short of brilliant. He said so himself, didn't he?"
"Yeah. Your resumé."
"Ah, yes, but they're your achievements, Miss [L/N]!" You don't respond as his chuckles ring through the speaker, starkly contrasting your bitter attitude.
"This is so wrong...what happens if he finds out that I...you know what?"
"What, that you’ve got that little crush of yours? He won't!"
"But what if I slip up and then the interview goes sideways?"
"Enough of that nonsense! You'll do just fine! Anyhow, I was just wondering...are you still on for the clubs tonight, darling? The others and I were going to leave a bit earlier so we can snag a spot in the line."
"I dunno..."
"Oh, you should! It'll be fun! You can let your hair down for once..."
”But I don’t even have any money! That’s the whole point of me looking for a job!”
”Oh my days, you know I’ll cover your entry and drinks! I’ve always got your back!”
"I'll try and come home first," you promise him. "But knowing how long this is taking, I'll probably just have to meet you there."
"Well, at least you're dressed the part! Ha ha, I'll see you tonight, [Y/N]..."
"At this rate, Mettaton," you chortle back, "I'll see you next week."
His oodles of laughter are short-lived as you hang up the call.
Your interview for the internship with the Underground's hottest television network was supposed to have started three hours ago. With every passing moment, however, it seems that you'll never get to prove yourself. That feeling of dread, doom...despair. It courses through your stomach again, weeding its way through your veins.
The last candidate started hours ago. Did he really forget you were out here?
Crossing your arms over your chest, you instead decide to focus your attention on the framed posters. Each one is lovingly adorned across the bright red walls, with bold titles and colourful graphics depicting a multitude of shows you've watched over the years. Your heart flutters at the very sight of the main man himself, Tenna…
No, [Y/N]. You can't. Think of the money. All the money you owe Mettaton.
Choosing to glance away from your admittedly intense crush, your eyes wander towards your bag, which is tucked neatly under your chair. You can hear hushed voices behind the door. A snicker here and there. Their dulcet tones, masked by obscurity. You'd give anything to make out what they're saying.
Are they talking about you? Trying to figure you out?
Your insides churn. They twist. And you're reminded of your humanity. The target on your back. A fatal flaw.
This was a stupid idea. I'd better just go home.
You stand up and brush the dust off your navy dress pants when you hear your phone's notification chime. As you reach into your pocket, your fingers graze against the edges of your phone. You pull it out and tap on the screen.
m: hey [y/n] can you stop by the mtt and grab some glamburgers on the way to the show? heard the food at the place is pretty nasty 🥴 thx queen lol
Your heart sinks. Mettaton already knows you'll be late; it's practically all you are these days. Even though he usually plays it off for laughs, you're embarrassed by just how late you seem to be. You've been out of work for months because of it. Late, late, late. Lately, you've been applying for anything you can. Each sequential job you aim for pays even less than the last, and you're becoming increasingly desperate, but not even the retail places will hire you at this point. Rejected, rejected, rejected.
It was a miracle your application was accepted this time around. Especially considering this is your dream job, and you’d found it online.
But then again...Mettaton did amend your resumé for you last week—
The doors burst open, and a rather short man in a dark blazer and blindingly white trousers stumbles out, a look of complete and utter horror plastered across his pale, gaudy face. With a glint in his eye, he peers at you over the top of his tinted sunglasses. One lens is lemon yellow, while the other is a striking magenta. It strangely reminds you of a pack of highlighters.
"The deal's [[hyperlink blocked]] off," he assures you in your direction. Strange speech pattern aside, you're deeply unsettled.
Your heart sinks.
"All that time I waited..." you murmur, "and I don't even get a chance?"
A wide grin spreads across his face, his round cheeks puffing up slightly.
He dashes past you, his maniacal laughter chortling behind him as he darts back down the hallway and towards the elevator. You scoop up your bag, the scent of bourbon and cigarettes lingering in the air as you toss the strap over your shoulder.
It's over, [Y/N]. Go home.
You're about to follow him into the elevator, but you realise the doors into the office are still wide open. Your eyes wander around the room.
It’s…empty.
At least you got to see a bit of the studio, [Y/N]. Maybe in another life—
A hand rests on your right shoulder.
"And you must be my final candidate of the day!"
The voice of the man behind you is confident and charming, soothing any worries that linger in the back of your mind. You spin on your heel, hoping that it's who you think it is. As your eyes confirm that yes, it's really him, your heart skips a beat.
"It's...it's really you!" you go to say as you hold out your hand.
But all that comes out is a stammer.
"You must be the lovely Miss [L/N]! I'm awfully sorry for the wait, my dear. Some people, I tell you..." With a dazzling smile, he reaches for your hand and shakes it. You catch a glimpse of his wrist between his white glove and the sleeve of his ruby red suit. You can see your own reflection in the shiny, polished titanium, the blush creeping across your cheeks...
Your eyes quickly dart back up towards his face. That gorgeous smile...you could just melt away.
"Yes," you manage to get out. "It's...it's an honour to meet you, sir—"
"Please, Miss [L/N]," he assures you as he slings an arm around your waist. "You can call me Tenna. Now..." He guides you through the double doors, his hand lingering on the curve of your back. "Why don't we have a little chat about the job?"
You step into the office, met with a plush carpet and even more framed posters displayed on the bright red walls. On the right wall, a floor-to-ceiling screen displays a multitude of shows currently on air. The enamoured hosts of the weather channel, Lanino and Elnina, are reporting a cold front coming in from the west, with each exchanging equally loving glances in the other's direction. Meanwhile, on the bottom-right screen, the cooking show's host is stirring brownie batter while chattering a mile a minute with her guest. Your eyes wander from screen to screen, wondering which one you'll be on.
Fingers crossed it's a daytime show, you think to yourself.
"Take a seat, my dear [Y/N]," he decides with a grin, gesturing to the leather armchair in front of the intricately-carved, wooden desk. "Not literally, though. That one cost a lot of money!"
A giggle escapes your lips, although you quickly cover it with your hand.
You have to be professional, [Y/N]! Goddamn it!
As you sink into the armchair, however, any lingering doubts ease away into thin air. It's like you're lounging on a fluffy cloud, blissfully floating away from the worries of your day-to-day life.
Tenna closes the door behind him, snapping you out of your trance.
"I have to say, Miss [L/N]..."
You don't know if it's the unusually husky voice or the fact that his hand is lingering over the handle, but regardless, your heart skips a beat.
"Yes?"
"Your resumé is perfect. Ten out of ten, if you will. Valedictorian of your high school, graduated with honours from your college, and you even anchored for your hometown's news station last year! Hotland, right?”
"Oh, it was nothing..."
"Nothing? Well, I'd expect nothing less from my star applicant."
His star applicant.
His.
You bite your lip.
"So...what sort of star could I be?"
The corners of his lips downturn, and his brow furrows ever-so-slightly.
"Let's cut to the chase."
Oh, God...you think to yourself with a bitter tone, here we go. He's found out Mettaton wrote the whole thing, and he's trying to let me down gently. Or worse, he's found out about the crush. Or even worse...I'm gonna be an errand runner—
At your facial expression, he starts grinning.
"I...I..."
You can't muster any more words. Just being in the same room as your idol is making your heart race. Your skin feels like ice, and you're stuck to the chair, unable to move, unable to breathe.
No, [Y/N]. You can't. You need this job.
"Gee, you look a little tense there!" he chuckles, leaning against the door. You can feel another blush coming on. As you bring the back of your hand to your face, you notice that it's burning hot against your skin. "Relax, [Y/N]...we're not live!"
"I...I'm so sorry," you murmur, covering your hands with your face. "I...I don't know if I can do this."
"Pre-show nerves, huh?" He makes his way over to a cabinet pushed up against the wall, matching the design of the desk. "It happens to the best of us, my dear!" Opening the cabinet, his fingers graze against the neck of a crystal bottle. He grabs the bottle and two glasses before collapsing into his chair. That grin is still plastered across his face, almost as if it's mocking you, teasing you. "Why don't we wind down, relax a little?"
You give him a smile.
“I can do that,” you decide.
"I have to admit, my dear..." He pours you a rather generous serve of scotch and slides the glass across the desk. You bring it to your lips. "I'm curious about your intentions." As he pours a glass for himself, he glances at you. "What made you apply to a little old studio like mine?"
He swirls the glass in his own hand, admiring the caramel sheen underneath the lights.
"With a resumé like yours,” he continues, “you could do anything!”
"Oh, I...um...that's a really good question!" You set your glass back down on the table, trying your hardest not to choke on the liquor as its burning sear coats the back of your throat. "I applied because I really admire your work. I used to...well, I still do stay up late to watch your shows." You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "They really mean a lot to me. And...um..."
Your hands tremble. You know what you're about to say, and you can't help yourself. Your compulsion. Desire. Human nature.
"Yes?"
You close your eyes. In this world, you're still struggling to find your place. To know your place.
You’ll always cross the line. What else, if not your human nature?
"I really admire you, too."
"How...how so, my dear?" he asks, a hint of nervousness underlining his usual tone. Your heart stings a little. Did you say something? Did you do something wrong?
What were you expecting? Of course you did something wrong.
"Well, um...you're always so confident and charismatic on the screen, you know? And you're so well-dressed, too. You’re the perfect TV host."
You glance back up, having just realised the words that escaped your mouth. A distinct, scarlet blush creeps across his face, and he loosens his vivid yellow tie a little to tug at his collar.
"Aw, you!” Tenna props his elbow on the desk and rests his head on his hand. “Are you trying to flatter me?”
You freeze like a deer caught in headlights.
"N-n-no!"
There you go again. Lying. Lying to him and lying to yourself. You know with all your heart what you’d planned on doing here. The measures you’d taken to even be here. And the lengths you’d go to stay. You bite your lower lip and avert your gaze.
“Okay…” you admit to him, “maybe I was. But what kind of candidate would I be if I didn’t even try?”
He downs his drink in one shot and flashes you a smile before getting up out of his chair.
"Oh, no...did I say something wrong?" You cover your face with your hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything!"
"No, no, of course not, my dear! On the contrary!"
Tenna reaches under his desk for a folder, drawing out a bundle of stapled sheets and tossing it on the table. The words ATN Presenter - Permanent Full-Time Position are printed in big, bold letters. You finally let go of your breath, the sweet relief of closure settling in.
"You're a sweet, young thing, and just what I'm looking for on the network! A fresh, new face to brighten up the air and bring smiles to the world.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. And with my mentoring, you'll be just the groovy gal I know you can be in no time!"
"I...I got the job?" you ask him quietly.
"Only if you want it," he assures you, drawing a pen out of his breastpocket. "Now, this here is a permanent, full-time role..."
He pauses to poke the end of your nose with the pen. You find yourself giggling, and this time, you don’t try to stop yourself. A smile of his own emerges, although he’s quick to focus on the documents again.
"...with only the best perks for my employees."
Twirling the pen inbetween his fingers, he presses the button on the end and flips straight over to the back, scrawling across the top line with a series of rather fancy, intricate curls to form his signature.
"Sign the bottom line for me, dear, and you'll be more than just a presenter for my network..."
"More?"
"You'll be my co-host, dear. But only if you want it."
Co-hosts. You like the sound of that.
You take the pen from Tenna’s hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. It's a smooth, solid shade of onyx. His name is engraved on the barrel in a delicate script. You clasp it, admiring its golden detailing, and go to sign the line with shaky hands.
But before the pen touches the page, he drags the paper away.
"Huh?"
You cock your head to the side, confused by the sudden change of mind as he takes the contract back and makes his way over to the door.
"Wait!"
You jump up from your chair and follow Tenna, hovering your hand over the handle in an effort to stop him. You aren't leaving without this job, no matter what happens.
"I don't get it..." you mutter under your breath. "I waited so long out there for the interview. But when I finally got in, I thought it was going well. Did I get the job or not?"
He leans in closer, his nose barely grazing your own.
"Do you want it?"
"Of course I want it—"
He shoves you against the door, pinning your wrists above your head. You blush as his thumbs press against your palms. The contract tumbles to the floor, and before you can grab it under your shoe, he kicks it away under his desk.
"Do you want it, Miss [L/N]?" he murmurs in your ear.
"I...I need it."
A thin, black wire snakes its way up your thigh, causing your skin to prickle underneath your trousers. You try to fight off the blush across your face, realising what it is.
“Is…is that your tail?” you murmur, your lips brushing against his. An ache courses through your wrists as he tightens his grip around them.
"How much?" he demands of you.
“Stop…deflecting, Tenna…”
“How much do you want it, [L/N]?”
"I need it."
The wire starts to tighten around as he presses himself up against you. You’re aching again, but this time, it’s a different kind of ache. Anticipation for what you know happens next. A moan trembles from your lips as he strokes the side of your face with the back of his hand.
“We could do this all day,” Tenna smirks as he props your chin up with the other hand, “but I have a network to run.” The wire around your thigh loosens a little, and your breath hitches as it starts sliding up your blouse. It brushes against your bare stomach a couple of times, and it takes every ounce of willpower in your being to stay cool and collected. “Now, I’ll ask you one more time, my dear. Do you, [Y/N] [L/N], want to be my co-host?”
“I—“
“Answer my question properly…or we'll do this until you like it."
“Until I like it? But I thought we were only just getting started.”
He falters for a moment, his hand falling to his side. He looks dejected at first…but then you realise he’s watching the screens again.
He’s making sure nobody’s around to see what he’s about to do to you.
Tenna locks the door behind you and shoves you back against the wall again. And this time, you know he won’t be holding back.