#submisive loser

i love submissive, tired, overworked men🤤

(please consider voting for him, I worked very hard on this drawing)

Edit: it has come to my attention that people have been reposting this artwork on other platform like tiktok without permission or credit. If you want to use my art in any videos, please add a link to my account and credit me. Thanks♡

Some reasons to vote for Tenna:

He made a huge cultural impact online, spawning many AU's, fanfiction, fanart, ASMR Videos, a dating sim fangame and much more! People are feral for this TV!

He's middle aged, past his prime and terrified of becoming obsolete (so we must show him that he's loved!)

He's bad with modern technology and doesn't even know what an e-mail is

He is a deeply flawed, relatable comfort character for many

He'd be the FIRST object head to win the contest!

He is canonically queer

He canonically whines when he's asking for a walk and wants you to be gentle if you want to touch that dial (yep, he says that)

He introduced a lot of people to wireplay and contributed a lot to the entire robo smut genre (a lot of new tags exist solely because of him)

He is around 15 feet tall and can shrink to the size of an ant ("Tall enough to be a giant, handsome, apron- wearing older husband, and small enough so he can be like a glooby, cute pet that can be kept in a cage.")

He was originally supposed to look more like an Ant and had four arms in his early concept drawings

He'd do ANYTHING to entertain you and is desperate for validation

He has abandonment issues and deeply misses his ex who also happens to be a tumblr sexyman

He's emotionally unstable and has rapid moodswings

He would definetly cry and be depressed for weeks if he lost the contest

He's a single dad who loves his daughter

His idle animation is a silly little dance, he is very expressive and can't stand still for the life of him

He is essentially a traumatized child of divorce and just wants to be loved

Vote for Tenna here if you love TV!

Sub!Yuji x Fem!Reader

18+ SMUT!

⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔

Synopsis: Yuji chose a Zoom study group over you. You let yourself in anyway. Now he's trying to keep it together on camera while you ruin him from below—and everyone's about to hear exactly how sorry he is.

Cw: Dubious consent (initial surprise/secret contact), exhibitionism (risk of being seen/heard), sexual activity during video call, accidental exposure (unmute), humiliation, overstimulation, semi-public sexual activity, explicit sexual content

if you loved this story you’ll definitely love this one

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The text sits read for forty minutes before he finally answers.

Yuji: sorry cant!! study group thing w megumi and nobara

You: :(

You: but I wanted to see you

Yuji: i know im sorry!! tomorrow??

You: you're not even sorry

Yuji: i am!! i promise!!

You: you sure about that?

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering. He's always choosing other things. Training. Missions. Study groups with people he sees every day anyway. And you're supposed to just wait? Be understanding?

Fine. You'll be understanding. You'll understand exactly how much he wants you—and make him regret every second he chose a Zoom call over your hands on his skin.

You have his spare key. He'd given it to you three months ago with that bashful smile, cheeks pink, muttering something about emergencies. You'd never used it. Until now.

The apartment is quiet when you slip inside, save for the muffled sound of his voice from the bedroom. You kick off your shoes, pad down the hall in socked feet. His door is cracked open—just enough to see him hunched at his desk, laptop glowing, headphones on.

"—don't really get this part," he's saying, running a hand through his pink hair. He's wearing that stupid muscle shirt, the one that rides up when he stretches, exposing the golden line of his stomach. "Can you explain it again?"

Perfect. He's distracted. Locked in. Committed to this call.

You push the door open wider. He doesn't turn. Too focused on Megumi's monotone explanation filling his ears.

You crawl.

The carpet is soft beneath your knees as you approach from behind, staying low, out of camera range. Yuji shifts in his chair, rolling his shoulders, completely unaware. You can smell him from here—soap and sweat and that particular Yuji scent that makes your mouth water.

You reach his chair.

Rise up on your knees.

And slide your hands up his thighs.

He jumps, whole body jerking, chair creaking loud enough that Nobara's voice cuts through the speakers. "Yuji? What was that?"

You press your palms flat against his inner thighs, spreading him wider, and he makes a sound—choked, surprised—before catching himself.

"Nothing!" he squeaks, too high. "Just…stretched. Cramp."

Your fingers walk higher, teasing along the seam of his sweatpants, and you feel him tense beneath you. He reaches down with one hand—not to stop you, but to grip the armrest, knuckles white, silently begging.

You find him soft. Warm. Vulnerable.

You cup him gently, just holding, letting your heat seep through the cotton, and he whimpers. Actually whimpers, loud enough that you see his eyes dart to the mute button, checking, double-checking that it's on.

It is.

You squeeze. Lightly. Experimentally.

His hips buck up into your palm, betraying him completely, and he slaps his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan. You can feel him hardening already, filling out against your palm, growing thick and heavy as you knead him through the fabric.

"Yuji, you're being weird," Nobara says through the speakers. "You're all flushed."

"Warm," he gasps, and you bite back a smile, pressing your mouth to the back of his thigh. "Heater's…broken. Probably."

It's July.

You drag your palm up his shaft, feeling him twitch and throb, feeling the first damp spot bloom beneath your touch. He's sensitive—always so sensitive—and you haven't even pulled him out yet. You stroke him slowly through his pants, watching his free hand white-knuckle the armrest, watching his chest heave with shallow, desperate breaths.

"Can we move on?" Megumi asks. "To the practical applications?"

"Yeah," Yuji chokes out. "Yeah, let's…let's do that."

You peel his waistband down, just enough to free him, and his cock springs out flushed and heavy, already leaking, the tip slick with precum. You catch it on your thumb, spreading it in slow circles around his sensitive head, and he bucks, hips flying up, a ragged cry catching in his throat.

"Yuji?"

"Fine!" he blurts. "I'm fine! Keep…keep talking."

You stroke him properly now, fist tight and twisting, using his own arousal to slick the way. The wet sounds are filthy, masked only by the white noise of the call and the pounding of his heartbeat. He's trembling all over, thighs tense, trying so hard to keep his face neutral for the camera while you ruin him from below.

"You're doing so good," you mouth against his knee, and he whines—high, broken, desperate.

"Did you just make a noise?" Nobara asks, suspicious.

"Cat," he gasps, lying again. "Neighbor's cat. Outside."

You sink lower, taking him into your mouth, and he screams into his palm—muffled, choked, absolutely wrecked. His hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking your mouth, and you hum around him, the vibration making him thrash in his chair, making it creak loud enough that the whole call goes silent.

"Yuji," Gojo says slowly. "Are you…alone?"

Your eyes meet his—wide, panicked, desperate. You pull off with a wet pop, replacing your mouth with your hand, stroking him fast and relentless. You reach up with your other hand, hovering over the trackpad.

Unmute, you mouth.

He shakes his head frantically, tears filling his eyes, but you press down, clicking the button. The green light blinks on.

"Sorry," he croaks, voice absolutely destroyed, even as your hand flies over his cock beneath the desk. "Bad…bad connection. I'm back."

"Jesus, Yuji," Nobara laughs. "You sound like you ran a marathon."

You whisper—just loud enough, just there—"Come for me. Make a mess. I want them to hear."

He sobs, biting into his wrist as his orgasm crashes through him. Thick ropes of release spill over your fingers, his stomach, dripping onto his ruined sweatpants, his cock pulsing and twitching through it as you milk him dry. He keeps coming—keeps coming, oversensitive and broken, his hips jerking helplessly into your grip while he tries to maintain some semblance of composure for the camera.

When you finally release him, he's wrecked—panting, crying softly, face buried in his hands. You bring your cum-covered fingers to your lips, licking them clean while he watches with dark, blown-pupil eyes.

"Unmute," you whisper.

He clicks it with shaking hands, the green light dying.

"Sorry," he mumbles, voice wrecked. "Had to…take care of something. I'm good now."

"Alright," Gojo sighs. "Moving on."

You press your palm—the one covered in his release—against the bulge in his sweatpants again, feeling him twitch, still sensitive, still hard despite having just finished.

"Positive," he gasps, shooting you a desperate, begging look that only makes you smile. "Just…needed to handle a distraction. I'm focused now."

You stay there, between his thighs, for the rest of the call—teasing, stroking, keeping him on the edge until he's trembling and tear-stained and yours.