Serena's Topics (5)

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.

This is Suguru at his most devoted. He doesn't lead, he anticipates. Every move, every kiss, every touch is for Gojo's pleasure. He exists to fulfill every unspoken desire.

"Tell me what you want," Suguru whispers, kneeling between Gojo's spread legs. "Anything. I'll give it to you."

Gojo cups his face, thumb stroking his cheek. "I want you to make love to me. Slowly. Like I'm something precious."

Suguru's eyes soften. "You are precious."

He starts with kisses, trailing down Gojo's neck, across his collarbone, pausing at each sensitive spot. He knows them all. He's studied Gojo's body like scripture.

When he reaches Gojo's cock, he doesn't take it in his mouth right away. He nuzzles the shaft, breathes warm over the head, watches Gojo shiver.

"You like that?"

"Mhm—"

"Good. I want you to enjoy every second."

He takes Gojo in his mouth, but it's not about deepthroating or speed. It's about tongue, swirling, teasing, lapping at the frenulum. Gojo's fingers card through his hair, not tugging, just holding.

"Can I have your fingers too?" Gojo asks.

"Of course."

Suguru slicks his fingers, reaches behind, presses a finger to Gojo's hole. He waits for Gojo's nod before pushing in. Slow. Gentle. He stretches him while his mouth works, building a rhythm.

"More," Gojo breathes.

Another finger. They scissor, open, prepare. Gojo's moans are soft, breathy, not desperate, content.

When Gojo is ready, Suguru crawls up, lines up his cock. "Ready?"

"Yes. Please."

He pushes in, slow, inch by inch, watching Gojo's face for any sign of discomfort. There's none. Only bliss.

He fucks like a lullaby. Deep, steady strokes. Every time Gojo's eyes close, he kisses them open. "Stay with me. I want to see you."

They move together, perfectly matched. When Gojo comes, Suguru feels it, the clench, the shudder, and he pulls out, spilling across Gojo's stomach instead of inside, because that's what Gojo asked for.

He cleans him with a warm cloth, kisses his forehead. "Did I do well?"

"Perfect," Gojo murmurs, already half asleep. "You're perfect."

The service top's reward is satisfaction, knowing he fulfilled his purpose.

Gojo loves to push. He smirks, talks back, and ignores orders. All because he wants to be put in his place. And Suguru? He knows exactly how to handle it.

Gojo is sprawled on the couch, legs spread, stroking himself lazily. "What's the matter, Sugu? Can't handle me? Maybe I should find someone who actually knows how to—"

Suguru's hand wraps around his throat. Not squeezing, just there. A promise. Gojo's smirk falters, breath hitching.

"Finish that sentence," Suguru says, voice low, calm. "I dare you."

Gojo swallows. "Or what?"

Suguru's thumb presses into the hollow of his throat, just enough to make him gasp. "Or I'll make you take it back. On your knees. Sweeter than honey."

He doesn't wait for permission. He drags Gojo off the couch, forcing him to kneel. Gojo's cock is hard, flushed, betrayed by his own body.

"You want to be a brat?" Suguru says, unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock. "Then earn the right to talk back. Open your mouth."

Gojo glares, but he opens. Suguru feeds his cock into that warm mouth, slow, letting Gojo taste him.

"Look at you. So pretty when you're quiet. Such a good little mouth."

He fucks Gojo's throat, not brutally, controlled. Every thrust measured. He watches Gojo's eyes water, his nose pressed against Suguru's pelvis.

"Don't you dare cum," Suguru warns. "You haven't earned it yet."

He pulls out, leaving Gojo gasping, chin slick. Grabs his hair, forces his head back.

"Now. What do you say?"

"...Sorry."

"Louder."

"I'm sorry, Suguru. I'll behave."

"That's my good boy."

He flips Gojo onto all fours, positions himself behind him. No lube? Gojo is already wet from his own precum, from anticipation.

"You're going to take every inch. And you're going to thank me."

He pushes in, and Gojo moans, a broken, grateful sound. The brat is gone, replaced by a trembling mess. Suguru fucks him hard, punishing with pleasure, until Gojo is babbling apologies and pleas.

"Please—I'm—I'll be good—please let me—"

"Cum," Suguru commands. "Now. Show me you mean it."

Gojo cums instantly, body shaking, and Suguru follows, spilling deep inside him with a growl.

After, he pulls out, kisses Gojo's sweaty shoulder. "You always look prettiest when you've learned your lesson."

The pleasure dom doesn't take, he gives. Relentlessly. His entire focus is on your body, your reactions, your gasps, your pleas. He learns every twitch, every sensitive spot, every sound you make when he hits the right angle.

Suguru has Gojo spread out on the bed, wrists loosely pinned above his head. Not restraining, just holding. A reminder of who's in control. His mouth traces down Gojo's chest, tongue circling a nipple, teeth grazing, until Gojo arches into him.

"You like that," Suguru murmurs against his skin. "But I'm not done yet."

He takes his time. Licks down Gojo's stomach, nuzzles into his hip, breathes hot over his cock. Gojo bucks, trying to chase the contact, but Suguru pulls back, smirking.

"Patience. I'm going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."

He wraps his lips around the head, tongue swirling, then takes Gojo deep, slow, deliberate, every inch a deliberate choice. He hums, vibrations traveling through Gojo's shaft, and Gojo cries out, fingers tangling in Suguru's hair.

"Fuck—Suguru—"

But Suguru doesn't speed up. He draws out each stroke, hollowing his cheeks, letting Gojo feel every ridge of his throat. He brings Gojo to the edge, then backs off again, until Gojo is a trembling mess, begging shamelessly.

"Please—please—let me cum—"

Suguru pulls off, lips slick, eyes dark with satisfaction. "You want to cum? Then tell me what you need."

"I need you to fuck me—please—"

"That's my good boy."

He slicks his cock. It's thick, curved, leaking, and lines up. Doesn't push in yet. He presses just the tip at Gojo's entrance, teasing, watching Gojo's face screw up with desperate need.

"Tell me again. Who makes you feel this good?"

"You—only you—fuck, Suguru, please—"

He slides in, slow and deep, savoring the way Gojo clenches around him. He fucks like a massage, like a worship, each thrust aimed at Gojo's prostate. He doesn't stop, doesn't change pace, until Gojo is sobbing, cumming untouched, body convulsing around Suguru's cock.

And even then, Suguru keeps moving. Gentler and easing him through it, whispering praise. "That's it. You did so well. Let me take care of you."

The pleasure dom's goal isn't just an orgasm. It's total surrender through overwhelming sensation.