Serena

A self-proclaimed vers shipper who spends all day trashing one side of a ship dynamic is a little questionable to me.

If you genuinely enjoy both dynamics and have no preference, then you should know both sides have people who've been accused of the exact same things. Mischaracterization. Feminization. Racism. Sexualization. Fetishization. Romanticization. Glorification. Commodification. Buzzwordification. Californication. Pick your favorite fandom accusation of the week.

And before anyone starts with

"Well, I didn't mean the other side doesn't do it. I just see it more often on this side—"

No. Stop.

You don't have a magical fandom statistics database. There is no objective "more" and "less" here. What you're calling "more" is usually just the side you've been paying attention to, scrutinizing harder, or already dislike more. The moment you start consistently noticing one side's flaws while overlooking the other's, that's called having a preference.

Which is fine.

The weird part is acting like you don't.

And please retire the

"As a vers shipper, I can confirm—"

Confirm what?

You're not a peer-reviewed study. You're a person with opinions.

If you're deeply invested in t/b discourse, constantly arguing about it, constantly policing it, constantly dragging one side over it, and somehow always arriving at conclusions that favor one dynamic over the other, then congratulations. You have a preference.

There is nothing wrong with having a preference. Most people do.

What's strange is treating "vers shipper" like a badge of perfect objectivity while spending your time doing exactly what the partisan shippers do.

If you genuinely didn't care whether a ship was top/bottom, bottom/top, vers, upside down, sideways, or levitating in the stratosphere, you wouldn't be this invested in proving one side is uniquely problematic.

At some point you're not standing outside the ship war anymore. You're in the trenches throwing rocks with everybody else. The only difference is that you're insisting you're neutral while doing it.

Suguru hasn't seen Gojo in a week. He's been gone on a mission, and every night he ached for him. Now Gojo's in his lap, grinding down, teasing, and Suguru's patience is gone.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls, hands gripping Gojo's hips hard enough to bruise.

"Show me."

Suguru flips him onto the bed, rips his clothes off. No foreplay. No teasing. He spits into his hand, slicks his cock, and shoves into Gojo without warning.

Gojo screams, pain and pleasure, and Suguru doesn't slow down.

"Take it. Take all of it. You're mine. Say it."

"Yours—fuck—yours—"

He fucks like a man possessed. Primal. Every thrust claims. He bites Gojo's shoulder, marks him, licks the blood.

"I missed you," he snarls, voice breaking. "Missed this—missed you—"

He flips him again, fucks him from behind, one hand in Gojo's hair, pulling his head back.

"Look at me. I want you to see who's inside you. Who owns you."

Gojo's eyes are half-lidded, wrecked. "You—only you—Daddy—"

That word 'Daddy' unlocks something. Suguru roars, pounding into him, losing rhythm. He's close. So close.

"Where?" he demands.

"Inside—fill me—please—"

He comes with a shuddering groan, spilling deep, holding Gojo flush against him. His hips keep twitching, milking every drop.

He collapses on top of Gojo, heavy, breathing hard. But his arms wrap around him, possessive, protective.

"Never leave that long again," he mumbles into Gojo's hair.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Hungry Daddy doesn't just fuck, he feasts. And he always, always keeps what's his.