#dynamic pricing tools

[sciativesolution]

Top 5 Must-Have Features in Revenue Management Software (RMS) to Maximize Hotel Revenue

Revenue Management Software (RMS) is a game-changer for hotels and businesses aiming to optimize pricing strategies, maximize revenue, and stay competitive in today’s fast-paced market. The right RMS uses AI-driven insights, automation, and real-time data to make informed pricing decisions and boost profitability.

However, not all revenue management systems are created equal. With so many tools available, it’s essential to understand what features truly drive performance. In this blog, we break down the five most critical features of effective RMS that help hotels and businesses unlock their full revenue potential.

1. Dynamic Pricing: The Ultimate Revenue Maximization Tool

Dynamic pricing software is the cornerstone of any modern revenue management system. Unlike static or manual pricing models, AI-powered dynamic pricing adjusts rates based on real-time market data, competitor pricing, customer demand, and inventory availability.

Key Benefits of Dynamic Pricing:

Automated pricing updates without manual input

Real-time responsiveness to market shifts and demand spikes

Increased profitability through intelligent, optimized pricing

This feature is essential for industries like hospitality, travel, retail, and airlines, where pricing decisions must be agile, competitive, and profit-driven.

2. Open Pricing: Maximize Revenue Across Segments & Channels

Open pricing allows you to independently set prices for different room types, customer segments, and distribution channels—unlike traditional BAR (Best Available Rate) models, which apply a single rate across all segments.

Why Open Pricing Matters:

Optimize pricing individually per channel and segment

Avoid revenue loss by never closing inventory

Charge different prices for high-demand segments or packages

Hotels using open pricing strategies can increase conversions across OTAs, direct bookings, corporate clients, and group sales.

3. Real-Time Price Optimization: Stay Ahead of Market Fluctuations

Real-time price optimization helps hotels react instantly to competitor rates, market changes, and booking patterns—unlike traditional RMS tools that run on scheduled updates.

Benefits of Real-Time Optimization:

Immediate response to market demand and competitor changes

Prevent revenue leakage due to slow rate updates

Maintain optimal pricing 24/7

For high-demand seasons or last-minute bookings, real-time RMS capabilities can make or break profitability.

4. Pricing Boundaries: Control Meets Flexibility

While automation is crucial, setting pricing boundaries (minimum and maximum rates) ensures your RMS doesn’t go beyond acceptable limits—protecting brand integrity and profitability.

How Pricing Controls Help:

Prevent erratic price fluctuations

Align pricing with business goals and financial limits

Maintain pricing stability during peak or low-demand periods

Hotels can automate intelligently while keeping a strategic grip on pricing decisions.

5. 24-Month Pricing & Forecasting: Long-Term Revenue Planning

The best RMS tools provide 24-month forecasting—allowing hotels to analyze trends and set future rates proactively instead of reactively.

Why Long-Term Forecasting Is Essential:

Capture early bookings and maximize advance revenue

Plan for seasonality, events, or economic trends

Drive smarter decisions through data-backed foresight

Long-range planning ensures your hotel stays ahead—especially during festivals, holiday seasons, or peak travel periods.

Why Revenue Management Software is Crucial for Hotels

In the hospitality industry, Revenue Management Software (RMS) is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. From room pricing optimization to inventory distribution, RMS helps hotels:

Boost direct bookings and OTA revenue

Optimize inventory allocation to prevent overbooking

Enhance guest personalization with data-driven insights

Reduce manual workload with automated decisions

Stay competitive in a price-sensitive market

Final Thoughts: Choosing the Best Revenue Management System

Selecting the right RMS software is a key investment for any business aiming to grow revenue. Look for a solution that includes:

✅ AI-powered Dynamic Pricing

✅ Open Pricing flexibility

✅ Real-Time Price Optimization

✅ Smart Pricing Boundaries

✅ 24-Month Forecasting tools

ZettaPrice offers all these powerful features, making it one of the most comprehensive revenue management platforms in the market. Whether you're a boutique hotel or a large chain, ZettaPrice empowers you with tools to make smarter pricing decisions, increase efficiency, and drive sustainable profitability.

Supercharge Your Revenue Strategy Today!

Looking to maximize hotel revenue and streamline pricing strategies? Ensure your RMS software includes these must-have features.

👉 Choose ZettaPrice – the intelligent, automated, and adaptive revenue management software built for the future of hospitality.

To know more-https://sciative.com/research-articles/5-must-have-features-in-revenue-management-software

[priceintelguru]

Explore the essentials of dynamic pricing in this comprehensive guide, covering key strategies, benefits, and examples. Perfect for businesses looking to optimize pricing models and boost revenue.

[manmishra]

✈️🌍 Travel just got a SMART upgrade! 🤖✨ From instant bookings 🔥 to AI-powered VR tours 🎮, 2025 is the year AI takes over your vacation plans! 💼🧳 No more language barriers 🗣️, lost bags 🧭, or boring itineraries 📝 — just smooth, eco-friendly 🌿, mind-blowing journeys! 🚀 Ready to explore like never before? 🌟 #AITravel #FutureOfTravel #ViralTrip #TechVibes #Explore2025

[mfilterit]

Digital Shelf Monitoring is the Future of E-commerce: Is your Intelligence Platform Covering Every Dark Store and Pin Code?

The Indian e-commerce sector is in a state of rapid transformation, with experts projecting it to hit an astonishing $400 billion+ by 2030, powered by a 19% annual growth rate, according to Inc 42 report. With this kind of momentum and each one vying for prominence on the digital shelf in a market as sprawling and diverse as India brands must dig deeper, focusing not only on top-tier cities but extending their reach into every dark store and at the pin code level to get the true picture.  

READ MORE>>

[amazonmarketingagency]

Lab 916: Your Partner in Crafting Winning Amazon Strategies

Introduction: Lab 916's Expertise in Amazon Strategy

In the ever-evolving world of e-commerce, Lab 916 stands as a beacon of expertise, providing businesses with tailored Amazon strategies to succeed in the competitive marketplace. With a deep understanding of Amazon's algorithms, trends, and best practices, Lab 916 helps businesses navigate the complexities of selling on the platform and achieve their goals.

Strategic Planning with Lab 916

Lab 916 takes a strategic approach to Amazon strategy development, focusing on optimizing product listings, implementing competitive pricing strategies, leveraging advertising tactics, and fostering customer engagement. By customizing strategies to align with each client's unique objectives and market dynamics, Lab 916 ensures that businesses can maximize their potential on Amazon.

Optimizing Product Listings for Maximum Visibility

A crucial aspect of Lab 916's Amazon strategy is optimizing product listings to enhance visibility and drive conversions. Through meticulous keyword research, compelling product descriptions, and high-quality imagery, Lab 916 ensures that each product listing is optimized to rank higher in Amazon search results. By improving the visibility and appeal of product listings, businesses can attract more customers and increase sales.

Implementing Competitive Pricing Strategies

Lab 916 assists businesses in developing competitive yet profitable pricing strategies tailored to their market segment. By analyzing competitor pricing data, market trends, and consumer behavior, Lab 916 helps businesses set prices that maximize sales while maintaining healthy profit margins. Additionally, Lab 916 provides guidance on leveraging dynamic pricing tools and promotional strategies to stay competitive on Amazon.

Leveraging Advertising Tactics for Enhanced Visibility

Advertising is a key component of Lab 916's Amazon strategy, aimed at increasing product visibility and driving targeted traffic to product listings. Lab 916 utilizes Amazon's advertising platform to create and optimize sponsored product ads, sponsored brand ads, and sponsored display ads. By strategically targeting keywords and audience segments, Lab 916 helps businesses maximize their advertising ROI and generate sales on Amazon.

Fostering Customer Engagement and Loyalty

Lab 916 emphasizes the importance of fostering strong customer relationships to drive long-term success on Amazon. Through proactive customer service, timely responses to inquiries and feedback, and strategies to encourage positive reviews, Lab 916 helps businesses build trust and loyalty with their customers. By delivering exceptional shopping experiences and maintaining positive seller ratings, businesses can enhance their reputation and drive repeat purchases on the platform.

Conclusion: Achieving Success with Lab 916's Guidance

In conclusion, Lab 916 serves as a valuable partner for businesses seeking to excel on Amazon. With Lab 916's expertise and strategic guidance, businesses can optimize their Amazon strategies and achieve success in the competitive e-commerce landscape. By leveraging Lab 916's insights and best practices, businesses can unlock their full potential on one of the world's largest online platforms.

Introduction: Lab 916's Expertise in Amazon Strategy

In the ever-evolving world of e-commerce, Lab 916 stands as a beacon of expertise, providing businesses with tailored Amazon strategies to succeed in the competitive marketplace. With a deep understanding of Amazon's algorithms, trends, and best practices, Lab 916 helps businesses navigate the complexities of selling on the platform and achieve their goals.

Strategic Planning with Lab 916

Lab 916 takes a strategic approach to Amazon strategy development, focusing on optimizing product listings, implementing competitive pricing strategies, leveraging advertising tactics, and fostering customer engagement. By customizing strategies to align with each client's unique objectives and market dynamics, Lab 916 ensures that businesses can maximize their potential on Amazon.

Optimizing Product Listings for Maximum Visibility

A crucial aspect of Lab 916's Amazon strategy is optimizing product listings to enhance visibility and drive conversions. Through meticulous keyword research, compelling product descriptions, and high-quality imagery, Lab 916 ensures that each product listing is optimized to rank higher in Amazon search results. By improving the visibility and appeal of product listings, businesses can attract more customers and increase sales.

Implementing Competitive Pricing Strategies

Lab 916 assists businesses in developing competitive yet profitable pricing strategies tailored to their market segment. By analyzing competitor pricing data, market trends, and consumer behavior, Lab 916 helps businesses set prices that maximize sales while maintaining healthy profit margins. Additionally, Lab 916 provides guidance on leveraging dynamic pricing tools and promotional strategies to stay competitive on Amazon.

Leveraging Advertising Tactics for Enhanced Visibility

Advertising is a key component of Lab 916's Amazon strategy, aimed at increasing product visibility and driving targeted traffic to product listings. Lab 916 utilizes Amazon's advertising platform to create and optimize sponsored product ads, sponsored brand ads, and sponsored display ads. By strategically targeting keywords and audience segments, Lab 916 helps businesses maximize their advertising ROI and generate sales on Amazon.

Fostering Customer Engagement and Loyalty

Lab 916 emphasizes the importance of fostering strong customer relationships to drive long-term success on Amazon. Through proactive customer service, timely responses to inquiries and feedback, and strategies to encourage positive reviews, Lab 916 helps businesses build trust and loyalty with their customers. By delivering exceptional shopping experiences and maintaining positive seller ratings, businesses can enhance their reputation and drive repeat purchases on the platform.

Conclusion: Achieving Success with Lab 916's Guidance

In conclusion, Lab 916 serves as a valuable partner for businesses seeking to excel on Amazon. With Lab 916's expertise and strategic guidance, businesses can optimize their Amazon strategies and achieve success in the competitive e-commerce landscape. By leveraging Lab 916's insights and best practices, businesses can unlock their full potential on one of the world's largest online platforms.

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Ghost x Waitress!Reader Masterlist

Ghost Masterlist

Summary: You need some extra cash for rent, and you're sick of sitting at home, staring at a computer all day. You hear pub a few blocks away from your flat is looking for a server. Can't be hard, right? Well... the serving part isn't hard. But the brooding bartender that suddenly enters your life is - in more ways than one.

Warnings: cursing, misogynistic/degrading behavior towards reader (not from tf141), NSFW, humiliation, pining, masturbation, jealousy, slow burn

Check out this amazing art by blobbysblog!!!

Storyline:

pilot

interview

day one

simon's jealousy starts

hurricane shot

customer yells at you

simon gets hit on

you meet BarOwner!Price

you ask simon to take the mean customers

mitch says something he shouldn't

simon makes you cry

you both apologize after you avoid him for two days

you suggest a promotional drink for Halloween

price gets you a stepstool

price makes simon work for what he wants

you spill drinks on your shirt

simon lets some stress out

simon finds you crying in the walk-in

you and simon kiss in the stairwell

Headcannons:

the vision

pub dynamics

flirting pt 1

"DOOR!!"

flirting pt 2

when customers leave you their numbers

kyle and johnny

plans for the au

replacing simon's tools with pink ones

[h-ri123intelegain456]

Intelegain is an award winning Software Development Company in Dallas that helps startups and businesses build software products. Among 20 promising IT

[midniqhtt]

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes

masterlist • marvel • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs five

one two three four

𑣲 how to impress a 21st century girl I @brunchable

Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

𑣲 i don’t want you like a best friend pt2 I @/brunchable

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

𑣲 the best worst day ever I @jobean12-blog

You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

𑣲 game night I @mugglebornmarvelite

Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

𑣲 bleeding heart I @mournthebird

You're his assigned nurse.

𑣲 domestic ws / soldat hcs I @/mournthebird

𑣲 cold metal I @/mournthebird

Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution.

𑣲 shower suds I @/mournthebird

You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

𑣲 silver and garnet I @/mournthebird

Soldat hurts himself a lot.

𑣲 condition I @/mournthebird

Soldat refuses to sit down, you notice he's in pain.

𑣲 gentle hand I @/mournthebird

Soldat has a panic attack.

𑣲 stained I @/mournthebird

Soldat continues to have nightmares.

𑣲 apricot toast I @/mournthebird

Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

𑣲 knots I @/mournthebird

You help the soldier with some self care.

𑣲 honey girl I @violentdelightsandviolentends

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

𑣲 bucky can’t stand you I @buckyalpine

𑣲 mob!bucky I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 easy I @jaggedamethyst

life with bucky is amazing…but it’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when your relationship is a secret.

𑣲 sugar and skin pt2 pt3 pt4 I @tteotlma

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

𑣲 toy soldier pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @vunblr

She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

𑣲 to mend a soldier I @/vunblr

Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

𑣲 what if…? I @/vunblr

Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

𑣲 roots and branches pt2 pt3 pt4 I @/vunblr

Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

𑣲 foundations pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @/vunblr

Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

𑣲 plump and ripe I @/vunblr

On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

𑣲 built to last I @/vunblr

Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

𑣲 touched starved I @mrsbuckybarnes1917

You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you.

𑣲 a quiet escape I @thebarneschronicles

During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

𑣲 deny me I @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

𑣲 dreamscape I @wkemeup

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

𑣲 someone’s calling my name (and it sounds like you) I @mellowsaturns

after a mission gone wrong, bucky finds himself on the brink of unconsciousness and then you show up which causes him to reveal his true feelings

𑣲 mine I @cherrypickertheory

A new recruit joins the team, and gets a little too close to you for Bucky’s liking.

𑣲 dial tone I @atlaese

𑣲 lessons in lovemaking pt2 pt3 pt4 I @artficlly

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

𑣲 bitter I @/artficlly

Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

𑣲 his girls I @/artficlly

alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

𑣲 loverboy I @thevillainswhore

Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.

𑣲 revenge sweeter than honey I @/thevillainswhore

When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?

𑣲 do i even have a chance? I @noceurous

you’ve found him and he was sure he didn’t have a chance

𑣲 b.b. boy I @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky and you have been friends ever since he arrived that rainy at the Compound. Silently pining, you’d hope he would pick on the numerous hints you dropped. It’s not until a small miscommunication happens that he confronts his feelings for you.

𑣲 hooked on you I @elysium-library

𑣲 which avenger are you destined to date I @marvelettesassemblenow

When Natasha found out about the Quiz which showed which Avenger you should date, the Avengers decided they all should take the test and go on these dates.

𑣲 your touch I @/marvelettesassemblenow

Bucky hadn’t been long at the compound when he noticed that others sought you out to calm down. So slowly he started too and had to figure out his feelings for you

𑣲 the catalyst I @aquaticmercy

In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

𑣲 jackass I @/aquaticmercy

Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

𑣲 have we met before? I @/aquaticmercy

America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe. 

𑣲 laryngitis I @skaye44

You're super talkative and your fellow agents tease you, but you don't care. You always chat up the quiet hunky super soldier who always manages to spend some time around you. One day when you can't talk due to an illness, Bucky gets concerned and seeks you out to make sure you're ok. He ends up talking to you for once.

𑣲 arm pat I @/skaye44

You go on a date with Bucky and hit it off, or so you think, but it ends weirdly. Nat steps in and gets other agents involved to send you flowers and gifts to get Bucky's attention and make him jealous for screwing up.

𑣲 stuck in the middle I @helaintoloki

you come home from work to find the last person on earth you want to see cooking dinner in your kitchen

𑣲 somethin’ stupid I @/helaintoloki

a drunken confession spoils a perfectly good evening

𑣲 everybody loves somebody I @/helaintoloki

Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

𑣲 back to you I @/helaintoloki

Yelena’s interest in y/n forces Bucky to confront his feelings for her as the Thunderbolts take refuge in her home

𑣲 a favor I @/helaintoloki

you pretend to be Bucky’s girlfriend in order to help his campaign despite your very real feelings for him

𑣲 misunderstanding I @/helaintoloki

you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

𑣲 40s!bucky I @/helaintoloki

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𑣲 it’s been calling me I @godmadeaterribleerror

You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams. So sure, until you're not.

𑣲 the time thor third wheeled I @mercurial-chuckles

𑣲 option two I @nev3rfound

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time?

𑣲 shut up I @fandoms-writings

𑣲 his only contact I @cjsinkythoughts

𑣲 the soldier and his mission I @magical-reid

When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

𑣲 from one perfect moment pt2 I @yikesdrama

bucky’s birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa….

𑣲 the third wheel I @writing-for-marvel

When Bucky finally asks you out on a date, the last thing you expect is for his high school crush Connie to also have been invited.

𑣲 in too deep pt2 I @marvelstoriesepic

After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

𑣲 drabble I @eufezco

𑣲 drabble I @bcksbarnes

𑣲 echos I @brokenbarnes

Bucky's worst nightmare comes true. You come back to him after taking a turn in Hydra's electric chair.

[sciativesolution]

Hotel Competitor Analysis: A Complete Guide for Revenue Management

Introduction

The hospitality industry is evolving rapidly, and hotel competition is fiercer than ever. Hotels that fail to adapt to market trends, guest expectations, and competitor pricing strategies risk losing market share and revenue. This is where hotel competitor analysis becomes a game-changer. It delivers crucial insights into dynamic pricing in hospitality, occupancy rates, hotel marketing strategies, and guest experience trends.

A comprehensive competitive intelligence strategy empowers hoteliers to improve offerings, optimize revenue, and outperform rivals. In this guide, we’ll explore what hotel competitor analysis is, why hotel revenue management needs it, how to identify your competitors, how AI in hospitality transforms it, and how a pricing intelligence tool like Zettaprice can help.

What is Hotel Competitor Analysis?

Hotel competitor analysis is the process of collecting, monitoring, and analyzing data about hotels that compete in the same market. The goal is to understand their pricing models, revenue strategies, customer reviews, and marketing campaigns to fine-tune your hotel’s positioning.

Key components include:

Identifying direct and indirect hotel competitors

Tracking hotel pricing strategies and discounts

Monitoring hotel online reputation management

Studying distribution channels and OTA strategies

Analyzing service offerings, amenities, and guest feedback

Understanding the competitive landscape helps hotels use revenue optimization software and hotel pricing software to make data-driven decisions.

Why is Competitive Intelligence Crucial in the Hotel Industry?

1. Optimize Hotel Pricing Strategy

Hotel pricing must adapt to changing demand. With competitive pricing analysis, hotels can monitor real-time rates and adjust prices dynamically to stay competitive and profitable.

Example: If a competitor lowers prices due to low occupancy, a hotel can use dynamic hotel pricing software to decide whether to match, undercut, or enhance value instead.

2. Improve Guest Experience Using Competitor Insights

Travelers rely heavily on hotel reviews and social proof. Analyzing competitor feedback on platforms like TripAdvisor or Google Reviews reveals service gaps and improvement opportunities.

Example: If a rival gets poor feedback on slow check-ins, your hotel can highlight faster check-ins as a USP.

3. Boost Hotel Occupancy Rates

Understanding when and why competitors have high occupancy helps shape demand-based pricing, seasonal promotions, and value-added packages.

Example: During local festivals, if a competitor fills rooms quickly, create festival-centric offers and promote via hotel digital marketing.

4. Gain Competitive Edge

Competitive intelligence tools allow hotels to anticipate market changes and guest preferences. They help adopt sustainable travel trends, tailor hospitality pricing strategies, and offer exclusive services to stand out.

How to Identify Your Hotel Competitors?

1. Direct Competitors

These are hotels with similar pricing, amenities, customer base, and location.

2. Indirect Competitors

Alternatives like Airbnb, serviced apartments, or boutique stays that target similar travelers.

3. Aspirational Competitors

Premium or luxury hotels you benchmark against for innovation and service excellence, even if they’re in a different tier.

4. Emerging Competitors

New entrants, renovated properties, or tech-savvy competitors implementing AI hotel technology or automated pricing tools.

How AI Transforms Hotel Competitive Intelligence

1. Real-Time Hotel Price Tracking

AI-powered price intelligence tools like Zettaprice analyze rates across OTAs, metasearch engines, and direct websites. Hotels can instantly react to pricing changes and optimize rates for profitability.

2. Guest Sentiment Analysis

AI interprets thousands of guest reviews, extracting key sentiments around service, cleanliness, amenities, and staff behavior.

Example: If competitor reviews mention poor room cleanliness, you can highlight your hotel’s hygiene standards in marketing.

3. Accurate Demand Forecasting

Using AI, hotels can predict future demand by analyzing booking patterns, event calendars, weather, and economic indicators—resulting in precise rate recommendations and revenue management automation.

4. Marketing Intelligence

AI tracks competitors' digital advertising efforts, SEO keywords, social media campaigns, and content strategy. Hotels can replicate successful tactics or pivot to underserved channels.

5. Automation for Efficiency

AI replaces manual tracking with dashboards, real-time alerts, and hotel business intelligence tools—saving time and increasing decision-making speed.

How Zettaprice Enhances Hotel Competitor Analysis

Zettaprice is an AI-powered hotel pricing optimization tool designed to automate and enhance competitive rate analysis. It enables:

Real-time competitor price tracking

Dynamic rate recommendations

Historical trend analysis

Seamless integration with OTAs and PMS

Actionable insights through automated dashboards

By using Zettaprice’s pricing intelligence, hotels can reduce revenue leakage, adapt faster to market shifts, and improve RevPAR (Revenue per Available Room).

👉 Outsmart the competition — See Zettaprice in action!

Conclusion

Hotel competitor analysis is no longer optional—it’s essential for success in today’s data-driven hospitality landscape. By leveraging AI-driven pricing software, competitive benchmarking, and guest sentiment analysis, hoteliers can make smarter, faster decisions. Tools like Zettaprice give your property the edge to thrive in competitive markets, elevate guest satisfaction, and unlock sustained profitability.                                                                                                         

To know more visit- https://sciative.com/research-articles/hotel-competitor-analysis-a-complete-guide

[priceintelguru]

Explore how artificial intelligence can revolutionize pricing strategies for hotel suppliers. Learn to optimize rates, monitor market trends, and maintain a competitive edge effortlessly.

[vunblr]

Masterlist

Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey through these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

The Weight of Choices (Slight angst. Smut.) Oneshot.

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

An Unfinished Goodbye (Slight Angst. Side-story of The Weight of Choices.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.

What If?... (Fluff. Smut) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

The Memory Remains (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Wounds and Walls (Slight angst. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Spells and Fangs (World of Warcraft AU) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky, a grumpy worgen warrior, and his sharp-tongued mage partner are sent on a relatively simple quest that quickly spirals into chaos.

Roots and Branches (Fluff. Smut. Lumberjack AU)

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

A Heart in Hiding (Angst-Hurt/Comfort) Oneshot

Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.

To Mend a Soldier (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Toy Soldier (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Smut) Ended.

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

The Broken Waltz (Angst. Hurt. Sprinkles of comfort. Dark content.) Toy Soldier's Side-story. Oneshot

Fifteen Minutes (Angst. Hurt. Sprinkles of comfort. Dark content.)

Toy Soldier's Side-story. Oneshot

Summary: Before freedom, before choice, there was only function. A tool and a weapon, bound in a dance orchestrated by Hydra’s cruel hands. The tool was meant to mend, the weapon to destroy. That night, the tool got to witness the weapon's other purposes.

The Price of Silence (Blue-collar Bucky) Ongoing

Summary: Porn with a little plot. Cynical and disenchanted with the world Bucky finds a job at a construction site after the blip. Tasked with retrieving lunch from a local bakery, he never expects to fall into a fuck-buddies situation with the clerk.

A Hand in the Dark (Angst. Hurt/Comfort.) Ongoing

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Foundations (Slight Angst. Fluff) Ended

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Plump & Ripe (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

Lush (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: After Bucky is reminded by an offending shirt that his body isn't what it used to be, Sugarplum finds just the right way to get him out of his head.

Terms of Attraction (Fluff. Slight Comfort. Sexual Tension.) Oneshot

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Tangled (Merman! Bucky. Fluff. Slight Angst. Teratophilia.) Ended

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Built to Last (Fluff) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

A Star Without a Sky (Slight Angst. Comfort. Fluff. Smut) Ongoing

Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.

Behind Closed Doors (Slight angst. Mommy Kink) Oneshot

Summary: Most days, Bucky is a functional, dependable, and even deadly man. Others, when the noise in his head gets too loud, behind closed doors, he becomes Jamie.

The Trouble With Saturdays (Fluff) Oneshot

Summary: Life at the Thunderbolts Tower is loud, chaotic, and full of questionable moral choices. Bucky’s used to keeping to himself, until one night, after one of those questionable moral choices was made, the guys got him high.

Spasibo (Smut) Oneshot

Summary: She offered kindness where there should’ve been fear. Now it haunts her in silence, starved for warmth it can’t forget.

EVENTS MASTERLISTS

AA Bucky's 108th birthday Bingo

AA Kinky Bingo

Chains of Fate (Fluff. Smut.) Destroyer!Chris. Oneshot

Summary: A florist keeps having trouble with her bicycle, and Chris, her rugged mechanic neighbor, is always available to help. Or isn’t he?

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[astrologydray]

…Pallas in the houses…

Pallas through the houses shows how and where your brain naturally sees patterns, solves problems, and defends what matters. It’s your built-in strategist, often working in the background through intuition, logic, or observation—this is the part of you that “just gets it.”

1st House – The walking strategist

You naturally read situations fast and lead with sharp instincts—people may feel like you’re always five steps ahead. Your mind and identity are fused; you can spot the game, make the move, and stay calm under pressure.

2nd House – The value-based problem solver

You’re great at figuring out how to make things last, make things make sense, or make money. You’re wise when it comes to worth—whether that’s self-worth, price tags, or how to build real security.

3rd House – The verbal pattern genius

You’re sharp with words, ideas, and reading the room—you could probably win a debate with your eyes closed. You solve problems by talking it out, explaining it clearly, or connecting dots no one else sees.

4th House – The emotional strategist

You instinctively know how people feel and how to protect what’s sacred. You’re the person who can sense emotional patterns in family, memory, or childhood dynamics before anyone else picks up on them.

5th House – The creative chess master

You use art, humor, flirting, or performance as tools to read and shift energy. You solve problems by shining your light in smart ways—and you’re great at making others feel seen or outwitted, depending on your mood.

6th House – The low-key expert

You’re a behind-the-scenes brain who knows how to fix, tweak, heal, and improve things quietly but powerfully. Your mind thrives in routines, systems, health practices, or jobs that require smart efficiency.

7th House – The relationship whisperer

You can see through people, understand dynamics instantly, and know exactly how to handle conflict without making it a war. You’re a master at reading between the lines in partnerships—business or romantic.

8th House – The emotional hacker

You’re psychologically sharp—you just know what’s going on under the surface. Your intuition is next-level, and you often solve deep, taboo, or emotionally messy problems like it’s nothing.

9th House – The big-picture thinker

You’re gifted at seeing patterns in belief systems, cultures, or worldviews. You solve things with a zoomed-out view—philosophy, teaching, spirituality, or calling out BS with facts and faith.

10th House – The public mastermind

Your wisdom shows up in how you move through your career, reputation, or leadership role. You’re seen as someone who “has it together,” because you apply smart strategies to your goals and grind.

11th House – The visionary connector

You’re brilliant in groups, ideas, or future plans—you just get networks, friendships, and what society needs. Your brain is wired for innovation and creating smarter systems for collective growth.

12th House – The intuitive mystic

Your wisdom comes from dreams, subtle energy, or divine downloads—you solve problems through gut feelings, not spreadsheets. You might not always explain how you know things… but you always do.

[supernova2205]

The Silence Of The Mole

Part 2

Summary: The past has a way of catching up, no matter how far you run. Years after leaving the 141 behind, you’ve built a new life one filled with purpose, loyalty, and something close to peace. But when fate forces your paths to cross again, old wounds are ripped open, and buried emotions resurface. Some things were never meant to be forgiven.

The moment you handed Price your transfer papers, you felt something inside you shatter.

You had spent years with the 141, built something you thought was unbreakable, but after everything after the interrogations, the bruises, the betrayal you couldn’t stay. Even if Soap and Gaz had started to mend the wounds they helped create, it wasn’t enough. Not when every time you saw Ghost or Price, all you could hear was their cold accusations, feel the phantom pain of their hands gripping you too tight, their voices laced with distrust.

Price didn’t try to stop you. He read the papers, his jaw tightening, then gave a single nod. “I’ll approve it,” he said gruffly. No apology. No fight. Just acceptance, as if he had already known this was coming.

Ghost hadn’t said a word. He watched you pack your things in silence, his mask betraying nothing, but his body was tense, like he wanted to say something anything. But he didn’t. And that hurt more than anything else.

Soap had been the one to argue, to try and convince you to stay. “We can fix this,” he had pleaded. “We will fix this.”

But some things couldn’t be fixed.

So you left.

The weight of the past was always with you, even when you thought you’d left it behind.

After the betrayal of the 141, you had nowhere else to turn. Los Vaqueros offered you a chance to start anew, and though you hesitated at first, something in you clicked when you met them. They treated you like family, not a tool or a weapon.

Alejandro was the first to speak with you when you arrived. His eyes were kind, though you could sense the professionalism in his demeanor. He didn’t ask too many questions. Instead, he offered you a place on his team, and with it, a new sense of purpose.

Rodolfo was the one who welcomed you with open arms, like a sibling you never had. He taught you the intricacies of their operations and helped you adjust to their way of working. Your Spanish, though solid, became smoother under his guidance. You felt a pride in being able to converse with ease now, the words rolling off your tongue without hesitation.

In the months that followed, you found comfort in the family dynamic of Los Vaqueros. They cared for each other in a way that made you feel safe, valued. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy again.

But when the mission came when you found out you’d be working with 141 again it felt like the universe had decided to toy with you.

The first time you saw Ghost and Price again, you felt your heart stop. They were standing in the same room, their presence so heavy that it felt like the air was suffocating.

“You,” Ghost whispered, his eyes not meeting yours as though he couldn’t quite process seeing you again.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice even. “Me.”

Price was quieter than usual, his gaze flicking between you and the rest of Los Vaqueros. He nodded but said nothing, his face hardened.

“Are we working with them?” Soap asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he glanced at you.

“Sí,” Alejandro replied. “We need all the help we can get for this mission.”

It was the first time you had heard your old team’s voices in years, and despite your resolve, your emotions churned beneath the surface. You thought you had moved on, that you had buried the past but seeing them here, now, stirred up memories you weren’t ready to face.

You barely spared them a glance as you moved to your new team’s side, but Soap’s eyes lingered on you. You could see the pain there, the regret that was still fresh in his expression. You wanted to ignore it. You wanted to walk away from the past entirely but you couldn’t.

The mission was a blur of violence and strategy. You worked seamlessly with Los Vaqueros, and the team’s camaraderie was unmatched. But every moment with the 141 was a struggle.

Soap tried his hardest to bridge the gap, even joking with you in the same way he used to, but it fell flat. The wounds ran too deep. You could feel him watching you when you weren’t looking, as though waiting for a sign that you would return to the old dynamic.

Gaz was softer in his approach, but there was still a distance, an invisible wall between you and the rest of them. You felt it every time they looked at you, as though they were unsure whether you were still the person they once knew.

But it was Ghost who caused the most turmoil.

His eyes never left you, not for a moment. Even when you were deep in the mission, you could feel the weight of his stare. It wasn’t just the old tension between you two. No, it was something else guilt, regret, fear.

One night, after the mission had wrapped for the day, he approached you.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the words hanging in the air between you.

You glanced at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “What?”

“The past,” he said, his eyes flicking to the ground. “Do you ever think about what happened?”

“I think about it every day,” you said, your tone steady, but the weight of your words hung heavily between you. “But that doesn’t mean I can forget it.”

You watched him swallow, his hands clenched at his sides as if he were fighting some internal battle. “I never meant to hurt you,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned away and walked off, leaving him standing there, a shadow of the man you once knew.

The mission progressed, and tensions mounted. Days passed with little change. But then, during a particularly dangerous operation, everything went wrong.

Soap got separated.

You didn’t know how it happened one minute, you were all moving together, and the next, Soap was gone, lost in the chaos of the battlefield.

Rodolfo immediately took charge, his voice commanding as he directed the team to search for him. You didn’t wait for orders. You moved, your mind on nothing but Soap’s safety.

You found him a few hours later, battered and broken, his breathing shallow but steady. His eyes flickered open when he heard you approach.

“You came,” he whispered, his voice weak but relieved.

“I always will,” you replied, your hand gently touching his shoulder.

You worked quickly to patch him up, your hands steady despite the pounding in your chest. The mission had already been a nightmare, but losing Soap after everything was too much.

He winced as you worked, but he didn’t complain. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity you hadn’t seen in years. “For everything.”

You didn’t know what to say. Instead, you just nodded, wrapping the bandages tight to stop the bleeding.

Rudy stayed close by, his presence a comforting constant as you worked. He’d been by your side this whole time, a steady hand when you needed it most. He wasn’t like the 141. He didn’t judge you or question your worth. He just supported you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said to him quietly, your voice hoarse.

“Siempre,” he replied, his hand resting on your shoulder.

After the mission, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed irreparably. Soap had apologized, but there was still a distance between you, one that couldn’t be crossed so easily. Ghost had said his piece, but his actions spoke louder than any apology.

Price? He stayed quiet, as always, but his eyes were full of things left unsaid.

But you were no longer the same person.

And neither were they.

After all that chaos you guys were supposed to meet with Graves. The mission had started well, or so you thought. You had tracked your targets to a small compound nestled deep in the mountains. Alejandro led the way, as always, with his calm and steady presence. You had become accustomed to the rhythm of the team the way everyone knew their place, the way Los Vaqueros operated like a well-oiled machine.

But then, as with most missions, things went wrong.

You had been in the middle of clearing a room when the explosion rocked the building. Dust and debris filled the air as the ground beneath your feet gave way. The next thing you knew, you were thrown to the ground, your ears ringing, your vision spinning.

By the time you regained your senses, Alejandro was gone.

The panic in Rudy’s voice was unmistakable as he called out for Alejandro, but there was no answer. The silence that followed was even worse than the explosion itself.

Then came the realization: Alejandro had been taken.

And you…

You’d been captured too.

They didn’t waste time.

You were dragged through dark, damp corridors, your hands bound tightly behind you. You had no idea where they were taking you, but you knew it wasn’t going to end well.

“You worked with them,” one of the captors hissed. “You were with 141.”

The words stung more than they should have. The weight of the accusation the way they spat it at you felt like a blow to the chest. You were no longer just a soldier. You were the traitor who had betrayed them.

They made sure to remind you of that with every strike, every torture, every demand for information.

At first, you held your tongue. You knew better than to give them anything, but the pain was unbearable. They knew what to target, what to make you remember. And every time they dug deeper, every time they tore at your flesh, your mind flashed back to the 141 back to the accusations, the interrogations, the betrayal.

They knew about your past with them. They used it against you.

It felt like days weeks even before you heard any familiar voices. You barely recognized them through the haze of blood and pain, but when Rudy’s voice broke through the darkness, you almost couldn’t believe it.

“Hold on, we’re getting you out,” he said, his voice full of concern.

The next few hours were a blur of gunfire, explosions, and chaos. Rudy’s steady hands helped free you from your restraints, but the pain was still fresh. The wounds were deep, but they didn’t matter as much as what had been taken from you.

By the time Alejandro was found, it was clear that something inside you had broken. You had always been the medic, the one who healed others but you had nothing left to give.

Back at the safe house, the mission debrief felt like a slow-motion nightmare.

You sat in the corner, barely able to look at the 141, who had just joined the operation. The tension was palpable like a wall that had been built between you and the rest of the team. You could barely meet their eyes without feeling the weight of everything that had happened.

But it wasn’t the 141 that you were most concerned about.

It was Alejandro.

He had seen the toll that the torture had taken on you, and while he didn’t say much, his eyes betrayed the concern he felt. He pulled you aside after the meeting, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“Are you alright?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“No,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m not.”

Days passed, and the pain of the mission lingered in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t shake the memories of the torture, the feel of their hands on your skin, the words they had used to break you.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

The decision came as a shock to the team.

You told Rudy you couldn’t do it anymore and talked to Alejandro, unable to find the right words to explain why you were leaving.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said quietly. “I’m not the person I was before.”

Alejandro didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his brow furrowing as if trying to understand, trying to find a way to fix this.

“I’m sorry,” you added, your voice cracking. “I know you were counting on me. But I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay. I’m not.”

Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with regret. “You’ve done enough, hermana,” he said softly. “No one can ask you to carry this burden forever.”

It was the hardest decision you had ever made. Leaving Los Vaqueros was like tearing a part of yourself away. You had built something with them, something real. But you couldn’t stay in a world that had broken you, couldn’t continue fighting when everything inside you felt like it was already shattered.

The 141 they had taken that from you. You had been so loyal, so willing to fight for them, but now all that was left was a hollow shell.

So, you walked away.

The days following your departure were lonely. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak to anyone, not even Rudy, not even Alejandro. It felt like they had all moved on without you.

But one night, as you sat in a dimly lit bar in a quiet corner of the world, you heard a familiar voice.

“Not the kind of place I expected to find you.”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Soap’s accent was unmistakable, even in the quiet hum of the bar.

When you did look up, he was standing there, his face tense but soft with emotion. His eyes searched yours for something anything.

“I’m not here to fight,” he said quietly. “I just… I need to see you.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know how to.

But in that moment, you realized that you were done with them. But you weren’t ready to forgive either.

The days following your decision to leave were filled with uncertainty, but they were also peaceful. You moved to a small town, far from the chaos of the battlefield and the haunting memories of what you had endured. It wasn’t an easy transition, but you found comfort in the little things things you had once pushed aside in the name of duty.

You took up painting, something you had always loved but never had the time to pursue. The soft brushstrokes on the canvas became your refuge, your way of expressing what words couldn’t. You would spend hours lost in color, in texture, in creating something beautiful from the turmoil that had once consumed you.

You also started gardening, planting flowers in your backyard. The smell of fresh soil and the sight of buds slowly blossoming into life brought you a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in years. It was strange to feel peace again, but it was also liberating.

At night, you would sit on your porch with a cup of tea, staring at the stars, thinking about the life you had left behind. The memories of your time with Los Vaqueros and the 141 faded slowly, like the setting sun. It was as if you were finding yourself all over again, carving out a new identity far from the battlefield.

But no matter how far you went, no matter how much you tried to forget, there was one thing you couldn’t escape your past.

Years had passed since you walked away from the life you knew, and for the most part, you had found a quiet peace. But in the back of your mind, the shadows of your past still lingered, always just beyond reach.

One evening, while you were painting on your porch, you felt a strange sense of being watched. You glanced up, your breath catching in your throat as you spotted him. Simon, standing just at the edge of the trees, his figure cloaked in shadows.

He didn’t move didn’t say anything. He simply watched you, his masked face hiding whatever emotions were behind it. The familiar weight of his presence settled in your chest. Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t run. Instead, you stared back at him, trying to make sense of the moment.

What was he doing here?

Had he been watching you all this time?

Years of pain and uncertainty bubbled up inside you, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Finally, Simon took a slow step forward, but stopped at the edge of your yard. He stood there for a long while, silent, his gaze never leaving you.

It wasn’t until you put down your paintbrush that he spoke. His voice was low and steady, as if nothing had changed. “You’ve been busy, huh?”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t the words that mattered it was the presence. The weight of everything that had come before this moment. Moments passed with just the two of you standing in silence.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Simon continued. His words were raw, more vulnerable than you had ever heard them. “But I didn’t know how else to protect you.”

You stood still, letting the silence stretch between you, letting the weight of his apology settle in. It was enough for now. The years of hurt, of betrayal, of everything that had gone wrong, were too much to unpack in a single moment. But what you felt wasn’t anger anymore. It wasn’t rage. It was… sadness. A sadness that you had lost something you would never get back.

Finally, you broke the silence. “I’m okay now, Simon. I’ve found peace. I don’t need anything from you.” Your voice was soft but firm, as if you were reassuring yourself more than him.

His eyes softened his blond short hair slightly moving with the wind, It was calming in a sense staring at the face you once loved and would give your life for. And for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret. But he said nothing. He simply nodded and turned, walking away into the night.

Months went by, and life returned to its quiet rhythm. You still painted, still gardened, still lived a life you could be proud of. You didn’t think about Simon every day, but there were moments like when the breeze would rustle the trees or when the stars hung low in the sky that you couldn’t help but wonder if he was out there, somewhere, still watching over you from a distance.

But you didn’t need him anymore. You had moved on, built a life for yourself, and in the end, that was all you could ask for. The weight of the past had finally begun to lift, and though there were days when you still felt the sting of what had been lost, you were stronger now. You had learned to live again.

And as you sat on your porch one evening, painting beneath the stars, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. You had come a long way farther than you had ever thought possible and for the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Even if Simon still watched from afar, you knew that you were finally free.

This is where your journey truly began. The story of pain, loss, and healing had come full circle. It was no longer about the past, or the choices you made, but about the future you were building on your own terms.

Authors note: Hey everyone! I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to keep going with it because the last chapter felt like it could stand on its own, but all the love and encouragement from my last post inspired me to continue. I truly appreciate your support! Please let me know what you think and what else you’d love to see in the future. Your feedback means a lot to me!🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[jude457]

So I’ve been getting a lot of asks lately questioning my characterisation of Inho, and I figured it’s time I just lay it all out. Here’s how I personally interpret his character, and how I view his relationship with Gihun.

To me, Inho is a deeply broken and traumatised person. Not just morally conflicted, but someone who’s spent years building a carefully controlled facade. Underneath the precision and control is someone who harbors a deep resentment for humanity, a philosophy born from intense personal suffering and emotional isolation.

Returning to the Games to become the Frontman wasn’t a power grab—it was a form of emotional self-destruction. A kind of psychological self-harm. He built an identity where he could carry out the unthinkable by pretending it wasn’t really him doing it. He’s compartmentalised so heavily that he views the Frontman and Inho as separate people. A shield. A way to detach from the horrors he’s enforcing. Inho is the man behind the trauma; the Frontman is the role he steps into so he can function within a system that destroyed him. It’s all about control and surviving by suppressing what’s left of his humanity.

His relationship with the VIPs is not one where they are equals or where there is an inkling of respect—far from it. While Il-nam was a peer to them, Inho has always been a player. Player 132. Just another body who survived. To the VIPs, he’s not a partner in their cruelty—he’s a well-dressed dog they keep on a leash. I headcanon their relationship as one that’s exploitative, abusive, and dehumanising. They exert control over him in every way, including sexually, because they don’t see him as a person, just a tool. Just dirt.

And Inho survives that, too, by dissociating. He tells himself it’s happening to the Frontman. That this is the price of keeping them entertained. Keeping them happy. He can endure anything if he keeps believing it isn’t really happening to him.

And then there’s Gihun.

Gihun is the one person who disrupts all of that. He’s proof that pain doesn’t have to rot you from the inside out. That empathy and defiance can survive. Gihun becomes this accidental mirror to Inho’s own buried innocence—something I like to believe Young-il represents. A ghost of who he used to be. The version of him that might have believed in people before everything broke. And without meaning to, Gi-hun speaks to that part of him. Gi-hun becomes the embodiment of an idea Inho no longer believes in: that suffering doesn’t always destroy, that people can still choose kindness in hell.

Which brings me to their relationship.

I love the idea that their dynamic flips post-canon. Gihun, after everything he’s been through, carries this weight of grief and guilt for the people he couldn’t save. He becomes quieter, more guarded. Meanwhile, Inho—freed from the mask—starts to feel again. He’s almost childlike in how he approaches love, like someone experiencing it for the first time. He’s giddy, awkward, overwhelmed. There’s a tenderness to him that he’s terrified to express but desperate to hold onto.

But that tenderness—what Inho starts to feel around Gihun—it terrifies him. Because it’s unfamiliar. It’s fragile. And deep down, he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

Inho is someone who has learned to equate intimacy with danger. Submission, control, violence—those are the currencies he knows. Love? That’s alien. And more than that, it feels like a trap. So as their bond deepens, he does something tragic: he tries to twist it. To make Gi-hun hurt him. To turn their closeness into punishment.

He’ll push. He’ll provoke. He’ll offer himself up not as a man who wants love, but as one who wants to be used. Because that, at least, he understands. That, at least, makes sense in the broken framework he’s built to survive. If Gihun hurts him, then maybe the guilt becomes manageable. Maybe it justifies everything Inho has done. Maybe it makes it easier to believe he can’t be forgiven.

But the tragedy is—Gihun won’t play into that script.

Gihun sees the cracks. He sees the pain beneath the bravado. And even though he’s carrying his own unbearable grief, he refuses to become Inho’s executioner. He won’t give him that out. He doesn’t offer redemption through punishment—but through presence. Through patience. Through refusing to stop seeing him.

He touches Inho with intention, with care. And that’s what makes it so much harder. Because being touched gently doesn’t just feel unfamiliar—it feels dangerous. His body remembers what he worked so hard to forget. Every soft moment risks unearthing something he locked away.

Sometimes Inho flinches at things that aren’t threats. Sometimes he pulls away when he wants nothing more than to lean in. Sometimes Inho weeps and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he shakes under the weight of a kiss. Sometimes he begs without words for it to stop—not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t. And that makes it harder than anything. And sometimes—worst of all—he tries to recreate the conditions of his own abuse. He offers himself up like he’s disposable, hoping Gihun will use him. Hurt him. Confirm his worthlessness.

Because if someone like Gihun—someone who has every reason to walk away—can still choose to stay, to try, then maybe Inho has to face the scariest truth of all: that love might not be something he has to earn through suffering. That maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of being loved as he is.

While I do enjoy reading bottom!Gihun/top!Inho dynamics (and there’s some really great writing out there that explores that side of them in compelling ways), when it comes to how I personally write them, I’ll always lean toward Inho as the bottom.

For me, it’s not just about preference—it’s about what it means for his character.

Inho is someone who’s spent so much of his life exerting control or being controlled in dehumanising, painful ways. His entire existence—especially as the Frontman—has been defined by rigidity, repression, and survival. So when I write him as the one giving up control, it’s not about dominance or submission in a traditional sense—it’s about catharsis.

It’s about him choosing to be vulnerable. About letting someone else take the lead not to hurt him, not to punish him, but to give him something. To care for him. To make him feel good. That, in itself, is radical for someone like him.

To be at the mercy of someone else—not for violence, but for pleasure—is the clearest way I can express how his relationship with Gihun is healing. It’s not about erasing his trauma. It’s about rewriting the narrative. About allowing his body to become a place of comfort, safety, and intimacy again.

[signode-blog]

Unveiling the Power of Volume Chart Indicator in Trading: A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction: In the vast landscape of financial markets, traders continuously seek tools and indicators to gain an edge in their decision-making process. Among these tools, the volume chart indicator stands out as a powerful ally, providing invaluable insights into market dynamics. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the intricacies of the volume chart indicator, exploring its…

[noira-l]

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: you are the person people turn to on exceptional situations. Your next target is a young and ambitious cult leader - Geto Suguru.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — cult leader!geto suguru x assasin!reader

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11,8 k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 — mdni, dark themes (morally grey actions, violence, stalking, slight gore, attempt of assasination), power dynamic, sexual tension, knife play, slight body harm, death.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — I wanted to write something about Geto, hopefully however I came up with a good portrait of his character

𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 — valorant x 99 god x c103 - renegade

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Collector.

That's what you were called.

The title had stuck, a moniker that felt both accurate and hollow. You collected, yes - but it was never just about the objects. It was about something deeper, something rarer, something alive.

Unique cursed techniques.

Not the hereditary ones, from great clans or families. Just the ones that little is known about, the ones that were missing, or the ones that haven't heard of.

You had quite a reputation for it. Famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked. The kind of fame earned through the silent, systematic harvesting of cursed energy.

You possessed a gift - more acurate, a curse - one that allowed you to draw the essence of power from others, to make their strength your own.

But it came with a price.

To take, you must first destroy. To gain, you must leave only silence behind.

A simple equation, really. And yet, simplicity can be the sharpest cruelty of all.

The techniques you consumed left indelible marks upon your soul, faint echoes of those you had taken. Each one brought its own sensation - some surging through you like lightning striking an open sea, others no more than a trembling whisper in the depths of your being.

It wasn’t the power that consumed you, no - it was the experience. The unraveling of energy, the intimate weaving of foreign essence into your own. Each time, it was like savoring an exquisite, forbidden delicacy. You didn’t seek strength for survival or dominiation, you sought it for the artistry, the taste. Every technique was a rare vintage to be dissected, every pulse a note to be savored, every burst of energy a fleeting glimpse of something greater than yourself.

But, it depends.

Some of the weakest techniques lingered, unforgettable in their subtlety, while the most powerful often left you hollow, their promised grandeur dissolving into nothing. There was no pattern, no logic - only the maddening unpredictability that kept you chasing the next taste.

But the savoring came at a price.

The craving grew relentless.

You weren’t just a collector - you were an addict, devouring the essence of others with a hunger that no power could ever truly satisfy. The more you consumed, the deeper the void within you seemed to grow.

Sometimes, you wondered how far this obsession will take you.

Unlike other connoisseurs, you couldn’t simply purchase a rare wine from a distant province or savor cheese from some exceptional animal. Your desires were far more intimate, far more exacting. You craved something that could only be taken - not bought, made or gifted.

It wasn’t easy. Rarity never was. You had to find it, steal it, sometimes even fight for it. But occasionally, fate brought them to you -unwitting strangers carrying new and intoxicating flavors. Those moments felt like destiny itself indulging your hunger.

But somethimes... somethimes you starve. So you needed to find a soultion.

Being a hitman was a fine job - a convenient means to fund your obsessions. It paid for information, tools, and the rare whispers of knowledge you craved. Often, there were mutual benefits in death: someone perished for someone else's gain, and in the aftermath, you walked away richer - armed with their technique and a pocket full of blood-stained cash.

The rain drummed a steady rhythm against Tokyo’s rooftops, weaving a symphony that hummed in tune with the city’s underbelly. In a cramped, smoke-filled alley where streetlight struggled to pierce the gloom, you stood - a shadow among shadows. Your black cloak folded into the night, your face obscured beneath. Few ever saw it, and fewer lived to remember it.

In a world that thrived on the extraordinary, where human limits were tested and broken daily, you were something - a myth, collector of rare abilities torn from those, who no longer needed them.

The black market had become your haven, a twisted home where the forbidden was currency and secrecy the air you breathed. Here, you were an assasin - other times a patron, a quiet force in the labyrinth of curses, whispers, and deals that shaped lives and ended others. It was here you found everything: the tools, the knowledge, the edge you needed to maintain your addition in the shadowy game of death and power.

Tonight, the market’s pulse brought you to a low, dimly lit pub, thick with the scent of tobacco, alcohol, drugs, and forgotten stories. A place where past sins clung to the walls and silence that carried the weight of things better left unsaid.

It was here that you were to meet your new client.

Your client arrived in a suit that was far too fancy for the setting, his every movement betraying unease. He even hesitated in the doorway, eyes darting to corners where only killers and smugglers lingered, before making his way to the wooden table where you waited. His silhouette seemed smaller in the heavy gloom. When he sat, his hands trembled faintly, and you watched, silent and still, as if the darkness itself had come alive to greet him.

"Is that you?" he asked quietly, though a faint note of arrogance laced his voice.

"To the point." you replied, tone cold, dispassionate as your gaze lifted to meet his "I assume you have something worth my time."

"Geto Suguru." you think you heard this name before, but you are not sure. Was he a smuggler? Yakuza? Perhaps a pimp?

"Who?"

"The leader of the Time Vessel Association."

Ah, a cultist - the thought laced with faint amusement.

"Do you think he's worth adding to my collection?" Your eyes drilled into him, a piercing weight that seemed to drag the man deeper into the shadows of the room.

"He…" he faltered, gaze caught in the depths of your shrouded stare "He knows how to make curses obey."

Now that was interesting.

Could he manipulate cursed spirits? Or did he temporarily take control of them? You need to find out.

"The story?" you asked.

"Geto dismissed my sponsor." the man in the suit murmured, his tone icy with disapproval "My client offered to invest in his vision - generously, I might add - but that... boy, he spurned him, discarded him as if he were nothing. And now…" his lips curved into a hollow smile, devoid of warmth or life "Now, he’s adrift, searching for someone to make him pay. Who better than you?"

Flattery, how "charming" of him.

A curse technique like that... it whispers familiar to you.

Whispers shared by an assassin once entwined with your fate.

"What are the conditions?" your voice a low murmur, smooth as silk yet weighted with an unspoken gravity. You folded your hands slowly, as if the air around you thickened in anticipation of decision.

"Quiet work." the man replied "No witnesses. No threads to trace back." his trembling fingers knotted together, composure unraveling with every moment spent in your shadow. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, breath hitched, a testament to the dread you conjured without a single raised hand.

"Only him?" you asked.

"Only." sharp and short answers.

"Damage?"

"None."

The last one.

"Price?"

Your gaze cut through him, dissecting him with an intensity that sought every fracture, every vulnerability. You never needed to raise your voice - he break so easily - the sheer weight of your presence was enough.

"Isn’t adding such a rare skill to the collection payment enough?" he stammered, lips quivering as he tried to weave confidence into his feeble argument. But it was clear - he lacked the conviction to sell even his own words.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, lifting your gaze from beneath your lowered lashes. It wasn’t a gesture of acknowledgment but of assessment, as if deciding whether he was worth the breath it took to entertain his proposition, or if boredom would claim you first. The man was a mere vessel for an order, unimportant.

The silence between you thickened like a fog, stifling and oppressive, until it felt as though even the air itself was conspiring against him.

"Forty million yen." you said finally, your voice steady and measured, each word slicing through the tension like a scalpel through flesh.

Merciless. Precise.

He flinched as though the figure itself had wounded him. His eyes widened in disbelief, a nervous chuckle spilling from his lips.

"B-but- " he began, protest tripping over itself as his hands clawed at the surface of the table, searching for support that wasn’t there.

"Minimaly." you interrupted, leaning forward just enough to bring the shadows closer to him, face still carved from stone. Your voice remained calm, but now it carried a chilling finality, a tone that snuffed out any notion of negotiation "If that’s too steep, feel free to find someone else. I won’t stop you."

He knew there was no other option. In the world he inhabited, your word had power. To seek another would be an admission of defeat before the game even began.

"My supervisor won’t be pleased with this." he muttered, gaze sinking into his trembling hands, as if the lines of his palms might offer some escape from the inevitable.

"Do I look like I care?" you mock, tone indifferent, as though the mention of his superior was nothing more than a passing breeze.

A sigh escaped him, laden with resignation. He had lost - though no words had been spoken to declare it so. The weight of your unflinching presence bore down on him until all resistance dissolved.

"Agreed." the bitterness in his voice curling like smoke in the still air "Forty million."

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, but it was a smile devoid of solace, colder than the void reflected in your eyes. Like a predator’s acknowledgment of its prey’s submission.

"Good." you said softly, smooth yet edged with finality "In that case, consider it done. What your boss desire is already set into motion."

The chill in your words lingered long after they were spoken, a reminder that the deal had been struck, and there would be no turning back.

𖤓

Was it really him?

Perched on the rooftop, you remained a shadow against the dying light, the late afternoon sun casting long fingers of shadow across the city below. From your vantage point, the world felt distant, but he stood in stark clarity - a figure pulled straight from some painting.

The photograph crumpled slightly in your hand, forgotten. You no longer needed it. The details of his face, once static and lifeless on paper, were now burned into your memory, vivid and breathing with a sight before you.

His face was a study in cold perfection, light cream, flawless, as if chiseled from marble by a sculptor who had glimpsed divinity. Elegant contours merged to create a visage that was both mysterious and alluring, commanding attention with an intensity that seemed to bend the world around his presence.

But his eyes - oh, those eyes - were a weapon all their own. Brilliant, sharp, fierce, they seemed to carry the weight of an unspoken sotfness. A calm before the storm. They cut through the air with the same razor-sharp precision. In the photograph, they had been striking. In person, they were alive, burning with enchantment no lens could capture.

A cascade of inky black hair fell over his shoulders, catching the dim light like polished obsidian. The strands shimmered faintly, shifting with his movements, a dark waterfall that framed the cold, otherworldly beauty of his face. Every motion he made was deliberate, as though the earth itself adjusted to accommodate his presence.

The robes he wore seemed born of another age, extravagant. Threads of gold and silver wove intricate patterns across the fabric, each stitch a testament to craftsmanship. The heavy folds moved with a regal weight, as if they were imbued with their own significance, the very essence of power. You could almost feel their texture through your gaze - rich, sumptuous, exuding a quiet opulence that demanded reverence.

It had to be him.

Even if you had doubts. You could feel it - a dense, oppressive aura that pulsed like a heartbeat, reverberating through the air and seeping into your very bones. His cursed energy was unmistakable, a force that didn’t linger, it could easily dominate.

The photograph had been inadequate, a mere fragment of the truth. It could never capture the reality. But now, watching him move, there was no room left for doubt.

Geto Suguru.

Cult leader. Special Grade Curse User. The man your client wanted erased from existence. The man whose cursed technique you hungered to claim for yourself.

A death wrapped in splendor.

Truly, a view to behold.

𖤓

For the next few months you followed Geto Suguru from obscurity, like a shadow that never disappeared, no matter how intense the light of day was. By the third week, his patterns were etched into your mind - when he woke up, when he slept, where he trained, who he trusted.

The first few weeks were standard.

You observed, cataloged, and analyzed, piecing together the mosaic of his life. Routines memorized, habits dissected, alliances noted. Safety measures scrutinized, his defenses silently tested.

One of your techniques allowed you to dissolve into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. It was fitting, then, that you had become exactly that - a shadow in his world, always there, always watching, never revealing yourself.

You first started with something basic, like listening to his speeches and meeting at cult headquarters, drawn by the intensity with which he spoke about his purpose.

His views were radical, bizarre even, clashing with your own sensibilities. Yet, as unsettling as they were, you couldn’t help but acknowledge that in some ways, he might be right. Not in everything, admittedly, but in enough to make you question. Enough to make you wonder a little.

He was undeniably charismatic. People hung on his every word, their gazes fixed on him with a reverence that bordered on worship. To them, he wasn’t just a man - he was a savior, a budda - promising liberation from their struggles. There were always people desperate enough to believe anything, as long as it offered them hope.

People so lost, that they belive in everything someone can say.

Of course. A leader who can’t charm his flock won’t keep them for long. No one builds a cult with soft hands and kind eyes alone.

But something did surprised you.

His voice.

It didn’t align with the image you’d constructed from afar - the tall, imposing figure who moved with easyness, but carried himself like a general giving orders to an army. You’d expected something sharp, something commanding and edged with steel. Instead, his voice was a revelation.

Affable. Kind. Syrupy. A velvet thread weaving through, each word a gentle stroke that smoothed away any doubt. It had a warmth, a richness, that seemed to defy his calculated presence, flowing over his audience like a warm embrace. His voice didn’t need to force compliance - it invited surrender, disarming his listeners with its elegance and sinking his words deep into their minds like seeds waiting to bloom.

You even have the suspicion that it has almost bloomed inside you.

It was fleeting, of course. You were there to watch, not to be moved.

The longer you followed him, the more you saw beyond that facade.

The elegance, the smoothness, the alluring charm - it was a part of him, concealing something far darker. Beneath the polite smile and warm voice was a man who thrived on control, a man who could remain unnervingly composed as chaos erupted around him. It wasn’t indifference, but a thing more calculated, deeply unsettling.

You saw it with your own eyes.

It happened one night when a sponsor - a monkey, that's what he called him - who had promised unwavering support for Geto’s cause, fell short of his word. The punishment was swift, merciless, and horrifyingly precise. With a single motion, a curse has been summoned. It slithered into the room like living shadow, coiling itself around the hapless man. Its grotesque form began to devour him, inch by inch, savoring every agonized scream. The air grew thick, suffocating with the stench of fear and death, as the room filled with sounds too horrible to describe.

He did not flinch. He did not speak. His gaze never wavered.

That calm - so unshaken, so absolute - felt less like the composure of a man and more like the stillness of something far colder. His dark eyes followed the scene with the detachment of an observer watching the inevitable unfold, as if violence was nothing more than a variable in a long-played equation.

There was something beneath the stillness. Hatred. Not the loud, burning kind. No, this was quieter, older. The kind of hate that settles into your bones, too familiar to flare up, too constant to fade away.

That was the duality of Geto Suguru.

The benevolent leader, cloaked in silk and adoration, could shift in an instant, unfurling into the cold executioner who would let a man be devoured without so much as a blink. That kind of power could be called a silent declaration.

A will forged in iron. A blade wrapped in velvet.

In those moments, the full depth of the man you tracked became startlingly clear. He wasn’t simply charismatic - he was dangerous.

It was chilling to witness. And yet, you couldn’t deny the fascination. It was that balance - the seamless blend of charm and ruthlessness - that made him so difficult to pin down.

And perhaps harder to predict.

𖤓

When he returned from his meeting cradling his two children in his arms, everything about him shifted. His smile, so often reserved or calculating, softened into something genuine, warm, and deeply caring. The two girls, nestled against him, wore smiles that radiated the purest joy you’d ever seen, sincere in a way that disarmed you completely. And you understood why.

In those moments, Geto Suguru was neither a cult leader nor a powerful curse user.

He was simply… theirs.

A father figure - someone who loved them.

He cooked meals for them, simple and unpretentious. At dawn, he walked them to school, their small bags swinging from his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He lingered at the gates longer than necessary, watching until they disappeared from view, as though the simple act of parting might unravel something within him. He helped with their studies, patiently guiding them through lessons with the same focus he applied to anything else in his life.

And he spoiled them - not with extravagance, but with relentless tenderness.

Candies slipped into their pockets as if conjured from thin air. Trinkets and dolls gathered like offerings, filling the shadows of their rooms. Shelves in thier room buckled beneath the weight of gifts. He indulged them as if to drown out the harsher truths that lingered just beyond their reach. It was clear that nothing was off-limits when it came to their happiness.

Sometimes, you’d watch him in the fading hours, spending entire afternoons with them - lost in play, their laughter spilling like fractured light through the cracks of the cult headquarters. It drifted through the corridors, haunting in its innocence, too bright for such a place. Yet, around them, it felt natural, right even. As if their presence alone softened the entire mood of the place. These moments seemed pulled from another life, a life that didn’t belong to a man of his power and position. In those hours, Geto wasn’t the man who summoned curses or commanded followers with radical ideals.

He was something smaller, quieter, just a father. A teacher sometimes. A man who found fleeting refuge in the fragile joy his daughters brought him.

It was a strange dichotomy, seeing this softer side of him. How could the same man, who watched a curse devour another human being with the stillness of stone, now hold such tenderness in his hands?

Yes, it was unsettling.

Even so, the truth lay bare before you. No matter the blood that stained his robes, his hands were steady when they braided his daughters’ hair.

Such a peacefull sight.

But peace is fragile.

And his daughters - so blissfully unaware - were so lucky. Lucky that the contract required clean hands and no unnecessary deaths. Because this softness, this visible chink in his armor, was something you would not hesitate to exploit.

If the order changed, you would shatter that tranquility without a second thought.

𖤓

You observed him daily, each training session a display of skill honed with painstaking precision. His training was not simply practice but a dance, each motion carved from relentless discipline, honed to the finest edge. Nothing in his movements suggested uncertainty. Every step, every flick of his wrist, whispered of mastery held in iron-clad restraint. Everything showed a mastery over both body and cursed energy that left little room for error. There was no wasted effort.

He always began with strength drills, moving as if every fiber of his being was bound by an iron discipline. The shirt itself was simple, practical, black with subtle markings along the seams, designed for ease of movement yet offering no distraction from the task at hand. However, it framed his physique, hugging the sharp edges of his lean, muscular frame.

His long, dark hair was often tied back. Yet, in the heat of exertion, rebellious strands would break free, clinging to the nape of his neck where beads of sweat gathered like liquid ink, glinting faintly against his skin. Each droplet traced a silent path over his pulse, as if the heat of effort carried with it was somthing shyly resembling a human.

Push-ups, pull-ups, lunges - he moved through each exercise with a sense of rhythm, his body cutting through the still air like a blade. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. His core strength was visible in the way he balanced himself, the quiet strength of his legs when he transitioned from one position to another. Breathing was steady, controlled, as if he were channeling not only physical strength but mental focus into every motion.

All of it - every precise motion, every disciplined breath - was merely prelude to what held your gaze most intently. His control over curses.

Each curse, once summoned, was inspected with meticulous care. What unsettled you was his unwavering memory of them all, each dark fragment cataloged and recalled effortlessly, no matter how newly acquired. Their numbers never seemed to weigh on him. Not physically at least.

Often, he would stand in the middle of the square behind the base, surrounded by the dark entities he had summoned, and simply... think. You could sense his thoughts unraveling, weaving strategies that seemed to flow like water. Projectiles would slice through the still air without warning, curses folding and shifting around him in a silent ballet of violence and precision. Smaller curses danced at his will, colliding or converging as he tested their interplay, seeking the fractures in their power or the synergies that might strengthen them.

It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Well, watching him in that space of sweat and silence was not without reward. His every movement was a lesson, each flick of his wrist, each subtle shift of cursed energy unraveling the secrets of his technique before you ever laid a hand on it.

You became a shadowed student to an oblivious teacher.

By the time you are ready to embrace its power, you will have already unravelled its mysteries, piece by piece. There would be no frantic search for understanding, no nights spent wrestling with unfamiliar forces tearing at your veins. The sacrifice of learning would be a thing you already bypassed. His strength would bleed into yours seamlessly. And when the moment came to strip it from him, it would feel less like thef, and more like something that had always been meant for you.

Though he trained alone, there lingered a haunting sense that solitude never fully embraced him. His movements carried a quiet awareness, a subtle shift in the air that whispered of something just out of reach. It was as if he could feel the weight of your gaze pressing against him.

But he never searched and never sensed you presence.

In the rare moments when he paused - when the fire of his movements dimmed and stillness crept in - you could almost feel the shift in him. His breath slowed, shoulders easing under the weight of something unseen. His gaze, though fixed on nothing in particular, seemed to stretch far beyond. It was as if his mind drifted elsewhere, slipping free of the present and into darker, heavier places. Perhaps he was sifting through the weight of his purpose, or unraveling the threads of a future only he could see. Or maybe, just maybe, he was standing at the edge of the world he sought to remake, measuring the distance between what was and what could be.

And as you watched, you couldn't help but wonder, if even he feared the shape of the world he dreamed of building.

𖤓

There were days you trailed him through the mundanity of life - simple errands like shopping, where the weight of curses and ideology seemed to dissipate, replaced by the illusion of normalcy.

It was strange, really.

He moved among crowds like any other man, blending into the ebb and flow of the city as if there was nothing extraordinary lurking beneath the surface of his existence.

But there was always something beneath the surface.

He sought out shops run by sorcerers, no matter how inconvenient, no matter how far. In those places, something in him softened, as if the burden he carried lightened just enough to let his guard slip. His smile came easily, not the polished mask you were accustomed to at this point. His posture loosened, his voice softened in casual conversation. He would speak with the shopkeepers, customers, owners, lingering longer than necessary, asking after their lives with a quiet sincerity that felt almost… paternal. As though the sorcerers he encountered were part of something sacred to him, a dwindling kindred that needed safeguarding.

However, when sorcerer-run shops weren’t an option, he would settle for regular stores, those run by non-sorcerers.

On the surface, nothing changed.

He remained polite, patient. The same soft-spoken man.

But you noticed a barrier hung between him and the rest of the world. It lingered in his eyes, in the faint pause before he spoke to non-sorcerers, as if reminding himself of the role he needed to play. His warmth was there, but muted, tempered by a detachment that felt as vast as the space between heaven and earth. His face held the same gentleness, but there was a quiet detachment beneath it, a sense that he was more than they could understand, and he made it clear in the smallest ways.

He was among them, but never with them. It was simply the quiet acknowledgment of something that could not be bridged.

And he made no effort to pretend otherwise.

𖤓

On occasion, you watched him as he sat at his desk in the dim light of his flat, practicing calligraphy. The black ink flowed across the paper with a precision that mirrored the discipline in every aspect of his life. Each brushstroke was planned, filled with a quiet sense of calm and inner balance. For him, this was not just art, it was a form of self-improvement, a meditative practice that demanded focus, patience, and reflection.

Every letter he wrote seemed to symbolize something deeper, every stroke a reflection of his life, carefully crafted but never without purpose. There was something poetic in the way he moved, the ink gliding like whispers of shadow against the ivory page.

You could sense the connection between his mind and the ink, as if the act of writing was a metaphor for the control he sought in all things.

At times, his hand would pause mid-stroke, his brush hovering just above the paper. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the work before him, considering how best to proceed. His gaze darkened, studying the unfolding characters with the sharpness of someone contemplating the fragile balance between creation and destruction. He would tilt his head slightly, strands of dark hair falling loose over his shoulder, cascading like ink across silk.

When imperfection struck, a line too thin, a curve drawn an inch too far, he did not waver. There was no frustration. No flicker of impatience. He would simply set the paper aside with the same calm precision, letting it drift to the pile of discarded sheets as he began again. Entire pages were rewritten, entire passages abandoned until the work met his exacting standards.

You knew this ritual often stretched long into the night, the hours slipping away unnoticed as he worked beneath the watchful gaze of flickering candlelight.

The completed works that adorned his office walls spoke for themselves.

Sometimes, he would discard entire pages, whole phrases rewritten until they reached his exacting standards. You knew that many nights, he worked late into the hours of dawn, refusing to rest until the parchment was perfect, every line a testament to his dedication.

Watching him, you couldn’t deny the strange beauty in his work. There was something almost haunting in the way he gave himself entirely to the smallest details, his pursuit of perfection both admirable and unnervingly relentless.

𖤓

One night, you witnessed something that shattered the careful image you had constructed of him. Cloaked in the safety of shadows, your cursed technique rendered you invisible, allowing you to observe Geto Suguru as closely, as if you had stepped into his skin. But this

He sat alone in his study, his night robes hanging loosely on his frame, damp strands of his hair clinging to his shoulders. The dim lamplight painted the room in shades of quiet desolation, casting a long shadow that seemed to stretch endlessly, mirroring the weight in his posture.

In his hands, an old photograph trembled, though the details were too blurred by distance for you to discern. His shoulders, always squared in quiet authority, now slumped as if they bore a burden too great even for him. His eyes, fixed on the photograph, were unblinking, as though looking anywhere else might break something fragile within him.

And then, you saw it.

A tear.

It slid down his cheek, silent and glinting in the lamplight like a shard of glass. He wiped it away quickly, a futile attempt to claw back the stoicism that defined him. But something cracked, and more tears followed, unbidden and unrelenting, dripping onto the photograph.

It felt wrong, almost invasive, to witness this vulnerability, but curiosity gnawed at you. You stepped closer, using the cursed technique to remain hidden, desperate to understand what had broken the man you thought was unbreakable.

And then, you saw the photograph.

Three people stood side by side, radiating with youth and boldness. The photograph, worn and faded, captured a time untouched by the weight of the present.

On the left stood Geto, unmistakably younger, his hair neatly tied into a bun. His face bore the same calm detachment you had come to recognize, yet there was a rebellious spark in his eyes, a flicker of defiance that broke through his otherwise indifferent expression. His hand, flashing a middle finger to the camera, betrayed a streak of mischief that felt almost uncharacteristic now. But logical the more you know him.

In the middle, a figure with short, reddish-brown hair smiled brightly, their eyes shut in pure, unrestrained joy. They clutched a lollipop with the kind of innocent delight that seemed to radiate from the photograph, untouched by the shadows of the present.

And then your eyes shifted to the figure on the right.

You stopped.

Slightly taller. White hair that burned bright even in the aged photograph, framing sharp features and round sunglasses that had slipped just enough to reveal crystalline blue eyes. A grin stretched across his face, broad and unrestrained, as if the weight of the world had never once touched him. He flashed a peace sign with the kind of carefree energy that seemed almost dangerous in its sincerity.

You stared harder. Those eyes.

It was unmistakable. The description you’d heard in hushed circles, the warnings wrapped in rumors - he was standing there as if the world belonged to him, was the one person every sorcerer knew by reputation alone.

Your gaze flicked back to Geto, his face now buried in his hands, the photograph trembling in his grip.

So he knew him.

This job, already tangled in threads of secrecy, had just grown far more interesting.

You had been tasked with eliminating Geto Suguru. A simple directive, clean and unambiguous. Yet, as you stood there in the dim light, watching him quietly fall apart, something struck your mind.

Well, he slightly changed his purpose for you now. He was also a key now. A gateway to the answers you had long pursued, that were buried beneath layers of shadow and silence, hidden within the locked corridors of sorcerer society. Answers that no corpse could provide.

You knew the inevitable approached. The path ahead was carved in stone, and your task would reach its conclusion soon enough.

Were you in a position to find out the information you were looking for, before he expels his last breath?

𖤓

The night outside the cult’s headquarters was still, an undisturbed blanket of silence cloaking everything - a perfect contrast to the work that lay ahead. Each step melted into the night, slipping through the darkness with a kind of elegance born from experience, your presence vanishing into the shadows like ink on black velvet. The towering structure before you loomed in the moonlight, cold and imposing, its jagged edges softened by the dark.

This building was not made for defence, it was not prepared for you.

Time, as always, was a matter of precision. You didn’t rush. Instead, you let it flow on its own pace, watching from the edges, waiting with the steady patience of someone who understood the weight of missteps.

You slipped inside.

Then you watched, waited - motionless as the shadows around you, with the patience of someone who has walked this path more times than they could count. The secretary, motionless, too focused on her work, became aware of the passage of time, finally moved. Her chair creaked slightly as she stood up, and the sound was drowned out by the thick silence filling the room. Her footsteps, measured and loud from her high heels skipped down the corridor, each one fading away until they dissolved into the depths of the building.

Now.

You moved like breath escaping into the cold, an unseen ripple disturbing nothing. The air barely stirred in your wake.

The security system loomed ahead, blinking faintly in the dark, but it posed no threat. The dance of your hands across the control panel was effortless, each motion rehearsed to perfection. Button after button yielded beneath your fingertips, precise and quick, the sequence etched into memory long before tonight.

A soft clicks.

The sound, though almost imperceptible, echoed in your ears like a gunshot in the quiet. And then, nothing. Silence enveloped the space, deep and unbroken. The system lay dormant, unaware it had been dismantled. No alarms. No suspicions. Not until it was far too late. The building slept soundly beneath your touch, oblivious to the ghost moving through its veins.

Geto Suguru will soon be at his office again.

You knew he would be. His patterns were as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. Weeks of careful study had carved them into your mind, a map drawn in his habits, his footsteps, the soft rituals that unfolded in the long hours after everyone is gone. He lingered, always, alone with his thoughts long after the night should have claimed him.

Your steps were weightless, each one dissolving into the hush that stretched through the corridor. Ahead, Geto moved with measured grace, his robes catching faint ripples of light, their edges whispering against the floor. The hall swallowed him whole, the door to his office sealing behind him with the soft finality of a blade sliding back into its sheath.

The wooden doors closed with a quiet, almost reluctant click, sealing the space that now held only him - and soon, you.

This was it.

You slipped inside just as he lowered himself into his chair, the faint creak of worn leather breaking the silence. He did not notice. You waited a bit. The air shifted as you passed through it, but his eyes were already drawn to the papers sprawled across his desk, documents, raports and scheadule for tommorow. The lamplight draped golden shadows over his features. He sighed, a sound that conveyed the heavy burden of leadership as he leaned back, readying himself for the night’s work.

That’s when you struck - emerging from the shadows in one fluid motion, silent as a blade slipping free of its sheath. The air shifted, and in that fragile heartbeat between stillness and revelation, his eyes flickered up.

For a split second, he froze.

But the flicker of surprise was gone quickly, dissolving beneath the faint curve of his lips. There was no fear - only recognition, and something that almost resembled amusement. His laugh rolled out low and rich, curling through the space like smoke, as if the specter of death standing before him was an old companion.

"So, death pays me a visit tonight?" his voice slipped easily into the hush, smooth, unruffled, as if the weight of his life had long prepared him for this moment. His hands didn’t tremble. They rested lightly on the arm of his chair, fingers tapping out an idle rhythm "You’re not the first, you know."

Is he mocking you? Foolish.

He leaned back, head tilting "There have been others. All of them thought they could do what you’re here for."

His gaze was steady, dissecting you with quiet curiosity, as if you were no more than an unexpected guest at his table.

And just like that, the game began.

Both of you moved at once - arms cutting through the still air like mirrored blades. But you were faster.

The curse that had flickered into existence between you dissolved before it could take form, snuffed out as swiftly as a candle in the wind. Your hand twisted fast, severing his connection to his cursed technique in a single ruthless motion.

The shift was immediate.

You felt it, the faint tremor in the atmosphere, the absence where his power had thrived moments before. And so did he.

His eyes widened, flickering with disbelief as his hand flexed, searching for the familiar pull of cursed energy that no longer answered him. His breath caught, but no sound followed. Surprise folded into confusion, then into something colder as realization dawned, creeping across his face like frost.

He blinked once.

"Don’t bother." your voice sliced, sharp and steady "The katana under your desk and the dagger in your robes - neither will help you now."

His gaze snapping to you, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none.

The control is on your side.

"Pushing that button won’t do anything for you either." you remarked, eyes following the slight twitch of his fingers as they hovered beneath the desk. His hand stilled, resting just above the concealed emergency trigger.

A security feature - useless now. You had disabled it long before stepping foot inside his office.

"Efficient." he murmured, his voice smooth, edged with curiosity as he slowly withdrew his hand. His head tilted slightly, shadows cutting across the sharp lines of his face as he met your gaze. You could see it, the flicker of confusion behind his calm exterior, the subtle drag of his thoughts searching for loose ends to pull.

Like he was asking a question: why am I not dead yet?

"I suppose I should be flattered." he continued, his tone lighter than the weight of the situation warranted "You did your research." but even as uncertainty coiled beneath his skin, he held his composure with practiced ease.

His eyes lingered on yours, studying you as if peeling back the layers one by one. Even without his cursed technique, there was danger in his gaze, an intelligence that had not dimmed, even as the weapons in his arsenal fell away.

With slow, deliberate steps, you crossed the space between you, each movement intentional, a quiet declaration that there was no need to rush. The tension hung thick in the air, coiled tight like a serpent resting just beneath the surface, but neither of you moved to strike.

You lowered yourself into the chair opposite him, the leather creaking softly beneath your weight. This wasn’t a battle of blades. Not yet.

Will he reach for that katana? He should.

You had the advantage now, and that knowledge kept you calm, steady.

"Let’s talk." you offered, the words slipping into the silence with an almost disarming ease. There was no venom in your tone, no hint of malice, just the calm, measured cadence of someone who had already won but wasn’t in any hurry to collect their prize.

Geto's smiled, faint.

He leaned back slowly, arm draping over the chair’s edge, as if the weight of the moment didn’t press against his chest. But you saw it, the faint flicker of intrigue behind his dark eyes.

He hadn’t expected this.

"A conversation, is it?" he asked, as if tasting the idea for the first time. His tone was light, but the subtle shift in his expression betrayed him. Curiosity hummed beneath the surface, threading through his words "Interesting. You have me at a disadvantage, and yet here you are - talking first."

His gaze sharpened, assessing you carefully, as if trying to pull apart your intent thread by thread "You must want something, then. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you met his stare without hesitation "Of course I do. If I wanted you dead right away, I wouldn’t have bothered with pleasantries."

There was no need for false pretenses. He knew it as well as you did - this wasn’t mercy. This was purpose.

The tension thickened, heavy but civil.

"Very well." he said at last, soft but steady, he folded his hands in front of him, eyes didn’t waver "Speak. But tell me - what do you hope to gain from this conversation?"

You leaned back in your chair, mirroring his posture with the same measured ease "Information." the word cut cleanly through the air "Corpses don’t talk."

A low chuckle escaped him, quiet but genuine, as if the response had peeled back the tension just slightly.

"No, I suppose they don’t."

The room settled into a fragile stillness, both of you like two predators at rest, waiting to see who would bare their teeth first.

"What is it you’re hoping to learn, exactly?" he began, tilting his head slightly, strand of dark hair falling over his face.

There was weight behind the question. He wasn’t humoring you. He was testing the boundaries of whatever fragile understanding was beginning to form.

He knew his options were narrowing - no techniques, no weapons, and certain no room to strike back.

So, you start.

"Years ago…" you began "You were part of the mission to protect Riko Amanai."

His smile faltered - not enough for most to notice, but you did. A flick of something behind his eyes. His gaze sharpened, narrowing as he weighed your words in silence, dissecting them for hidden edges. But he didn’t speak. Not yet.

He was waiting. Measuring. Calculating.

You didn’t leave him the space to start talking.

"Toji Fushiguro..." you pressed on, letting the name settle between you, watching for the slightest shift "He claimed he killed Gojo Satoru during that contract. But we both know that’s not an easy thing to do. So tell me…" you leaned forward just enough to close the distance, eyes locked onto his "…what did he use? What was the tool that allowed him to get that close?"

The air seemed to tighten even more.

Geto’s expression darkened.

The name Toji Fushiguro struck deeper than you expected, deeper than he could hide. Though his whole posture barely changed, the tension in his jaw spoke volumes.

Old ghosts had been summoned.

"Why assume he was telling the truth?" Geto’s voice was colder now, like ice stretched too thin over dark water.

"The Sorcerer Killer was a bastard and a fraud -" your voice certain "- but he’d never lie about killing Six Eyes. His pride wouldn’t allow it."

Toji Fushiguro’s name carried its own gravity, one that twisted even the most confident sorcerers into knots. His reputation wasn’t built purly on rumors. It had been earned in blood. And for someone like him to touch the untouchable - to bring The Strongest to the edge of death - meant something big.

You needed to know how.

The curse user infront of you wore his indifference well, but behind the mask, something stirred. Loyalty, maybe. Or something deeper. He wasn’t going to betray Gojo’s secrets easily. Whatever had happened during that mission, whatever Toji had wielded, it was buried deep. And dragging it to the surface wouldn’t come without resistance.

He wasn’t going to give this away easily.

"You’re wasting your time." Geto said finally.

And then he moved.

It happened in a blink - the sharp cut of his arm through the space between you, fingers lashing out, reaching for head, your hair, while his other hand snapped forward, aiming to pin your wrists to the table. His precision was unsettling. No hesitation in his movements. No warning.

If you had you been anyone else, perhaps it would have worked.

But you weren’t.

His hand passed clean through you, slicing nothing but shadows and air. You dissolved like smoke before reforming just beyond his reach.

A faint smile tugged at your lips, laced with amusement as you watched him pause, his hand still outstretched - and useless.

Cute.

He didn’t speak right away, but the tension in his posture told you everything. The realization of his miscalculation was there, but composure didn’t falter. Not yet.

"Did you think it would be that easy?" you murmured, voice laced with mockery.

You could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"One last chance to respond." you warned.

For a moment, Geto held your gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he placed one hand on the desk, his fingers curling against the wood with ease. The other hand drifted beneath the surface, deliberate but unhurried, inching toward the katana hidden beneath.

A chuckle. You let him.

You can play a little.

His grip tightened around the handle, the blade sliding free with a sound of steel against lacquer. His eyes never left yours, cold and steady as if daring you to make the next move.

And you did.

In the blink of an eye, the space between you collapsed. Shadows rippled as you reappeared behind him, the air still humming faintly from the teleportation.

Before he could turn, your hand shot out - fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair. With a sharp tug, you wrenched him backward, forcing him off balance. His body twisted, struggling to catch himself, but the edge of the desk bit into his thigh and sent him crashing down into the chair behind him.

His grip on the katana never wavered. He swung, blade arcing in a clean, deadly strike toward your side-

But you were faster.

Your palm met his wrist, twisting sharply as the katana clattered to the floor with a hollow ring. His other hand shot up, aiming to grab you, but you pinned it down just as quickly, shackles of cursed energy snapping tight around his wrists. They burned faintly, locking his arms behind the chair in one fluid sweep.

Geto growled, testing the bonds with ferour, but they held firm. The weight of defeat settled over him fast. His eyes, burning fire of the battle, followed you carefully, noting every detail.

You grabbed the katana and pressed the blade to his throat, the cool edge biting against his skin as you yanked his head back by his hair. Geto's breath remained steady, but the tautness in his neck betrayed him.

Victory hung in the room, but you knew better than to celebrate.

"You should’ve taken my offer." you murmured, leaning closer until your lips nearly brushed his ear "Now we do this the hard way." the last part came out as a whisper.

The blade hovered just below his jawline, its cold kiss a silent reminder of how thin the line was. You pressed it gently, not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind him that it could. Leaning in, your breath ghosted against his neck as your tone dipped lower, quieter, and far more dangerous "Will you finally answer my question?"

His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the edge of the katana rising with the motion. Silence.

Stubborn fool.

"This isn’t going to work." you said, the blade tilting slightly, catching the faint glint of lamplight "You can resist all you want, but we both know this conversation won’t end until I get what I need."

His body tensed beneath, muscles shifting under his robes as he tested the restraints once again. The chair creaked faintly, but the bondage held, biting into his wrists enough to remind him of their presence. You could feel his pride being hurt in each shallow breath laced with frustration.

Still, he refused to yield.

You exhaled softly through your nose, tilting your wrist to pull his head back further. His eyes met yours, forced to hold your gaze at the sharp, uncomfortable angle.

His expression hardened. He wasn’t naive. He understood the game you were playing.

He couldn’t kill you. Not like this, he lost, but he has a bargaining tool. You wouldn't kill him - not until you had what you came for.

The delicate balance of leverage hung between you. You need to act smart now.

"You’re not afraid to die." you murmured, studying the lines of his face "But that’s not the point, is it? Your death would make you useless to me… and we both know you’d hate to die useless."

His lips twitched, almost as if the corner of his mouth threatened to pull into something between amusement and disdain.

"You assume I care what you want." he replied, there was only intrigue in his voice. He wasn’t entirely sure how this would play out.

"No." you admitted, grip tightening slightly in his hair "But I think you care about what he would want."

For the briefest second, you caught it - that crack widening just enough to let the ghost of memory pass through his eyes.

You had found the thread. Now all you had to do was pull.

"I think he’d like to stay alive." you said, letting the blade tilt "So go ahead - resist. You'll surely save his life that way."

He wasn’t the type to break easily - no, Geto Suguru was carved from stone and pride, tempered by too many battles to fall apart under the weight of threats alone.

But this wasn’t about breaking him.

It was about making him choose.

You watched the thought ripple through him, subtle but telling. He was measuring the implications, trying to untangle the strings you had just laid at his feet.

"You can do that..." you continued, voice soft but edged with quiet finality "...or after some time… someone will repeat what Fushiguro did. And this time, they’ll succeed."

The faintest crease formed between his brows, and for the first time, uncertainty bled into his eyes.

"And I won’t be able to stop that someone."

For a brief moment, the weight of those words seemed to hang between you. His confusion was there. You gave him puzzle he hadn’t been prepared to solve.

"What are you talking about?" his voice was low, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of suspicion now.

Good.

You need to play on his caring about a reason.

"I need to know what can hurt him. Where his limits lie." you said, the blade steady in your grip "Because someone else is searching for those answers. And when they find them, we both know what happens next."

Your voice hardened, words sank into the room like lead, heavy and inevitable "Sorcerers, fighting for power. Tearing each other apart. A new era of chaos, like the Heian period reborn. And we both know how dangerous that would be."

You could feel it, a doubt taking its root in his mind.

"Is that really the future you want?" now, you attack a personal cause. A question asked with softening words, just enough to slip beneath his defenses. The demand in your tone dulled, shifting into an appeal wrapped in a reason "The world you’re trying to create - will it survive if everyone is clawing for the title of 'the strongest'? When there’s nothing left but power struggles and bloodshed?"

You leaned in, just close enough that your next words felt like something shared in confidence.

"Gojo’s absence would unravel everything. Believe it or not." you murmured, dragging the flat of the blade gently across his throat in slow, deliberate motions "I’m not here to destroy. I just need him alive. That’s all."

The truth had been a dangerous luxury, one you rarely indulged in. But here, now, you allowed yourself that. After all, he was as good as dead. Whatever he learned in these final moments would fade with him, sealed beneath the weight of silence.

His ressistance that had carried him this far, was cracking, splintering beneath the truth you had laid bare between you. He knows you're not lying.

So you leaned closer.

Your lips hovered just beside his ear, you were so close you could smell white musk and orange.

"Is that really what you want?" the whisper slipped from your lips like silk, soft but deliberate, curling around him in the dark.

The room hung in a silence so thick it felt as if even the walls were holding their breath. The tension lingered stretched thin, like glass ready to shatter.

And then, finally - he exhaled.

His shoulders eased, the rigid lines of his posture softening enough to betray the weight that had settled over him. It was like acceptance, the grim kind that comes when there are no moves left to play.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and heavy with the weight of ghosts you couldn’t see.

"Inverted Spear of Heaven." he said, his voice worn down to something that barely carried across the room "It’s the weapon that nullifies cursed techniques. That’s what that monkey used to kill him... if only for a moment."

You couldn’t help but find it amusing, the irony of it all. Even with cold steel pressed to his throat, the weight of death hanging by a thread, Geto Suguru’s disdain for non-sorcerers remained intact. That hatred. That unwavering belief.

"Where is the weapons now?" you asked, the blade tracing a slow, deliberate path just beneath his jawline.

Geto’s lips barely moved "I don’t know. The school doesn’t have it in its possession, that much is certain."

You searched his eyes for deceit, but there was none. He wasn’t lying, whether by choice or circumstance, he truly didn’t know.

That was enough.

But then, you noticed something.

It was subtle - so subtle that it almost escaped you, hidden beneath the layers of composure he wore like armour. It wasn’t in his words, nor in the tone of his voice.

No - it was in his eyes.

Now you see it.

That sharp gaze of his, piercing yet heavy-lidded, lingered a fraction too long on the blade. The faintest flicker of darkness swirled beneath the surface. A subtle dilation of his pupils, the way his breath caught not from fear, but something far more complicated.

His body language betrayed it in fragments, barely noticeable. In the way his head tilted back, exposing more of his throat even as the blade rested on it. His pulse, quick under the thin layer of skin, seemed to hum something other than fear. The slight parting of his lips as you tightened your grip on his hair, the way his shoulders seemed to tense rather than resist. The subtle flexing of his hands on the cursed shackles, not to escape but to feel their pull once again. The stiffness of his posture was not due to sheer defiance.

The realisation of this fact was slowly getting to you.

He wasn't just enduring it.

The power you exercised over him, the blade digging into his skin - was not just tolerated. When your eyes met again, there was no mistaking it. The subtle change in his breathing, the faint glint in his gaze - all of it.

He enjoyed it.

Oh.

You leaned in closer, the space between you evaporating until your lips hovered just above his ear, the blade at his throat as steady as the storm brewing in your eyes. Your voice, low and intimate, slipped through the charged silence like a blade drawn over silk - soft enough to tempt, sharp enough to warn, and beneath that velvet edge lay the same unyielding control that kept his wrists bound tightly behind the chair.

"I have to admit." you murmured, letting each word drip slowly into the charged space between you "..there's something satisfying about this - how utterly helpless you are in my hands. And I can’t help but wonder..." your lips brushed just faintly against his ear, a ghost of contact "...maybe you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to." your teeth grazed his earlobe and closed in just enough to bite, not cruelly, but with enough pressure to make a point.

His reaction was immediate yet subtle, slight, sharp gasp slipping through parted lips, barely audible, followed by the faintest shiver beneath your hands. The tension lingered for only a breath before smoothing out, his posture relaxed but carefully neutral. As if to suggest he’d expected this, or perhaps didn’t mind it as much as he should.

For a fleeting second, something unguarded sparked in Geto’s eye. A flash of molten heat seeping through the cracks of his composure, sharp and primal, like a predator catching the scent of blood. It simmered just below the surface, dangerous and alive, but never fully broke through the carefully constructed mask of his impassive gaze.

He didn’t speak.

But he didn’t need to.

The gaze he leveled at you was nothing short of a provocation, slow, deliberate, and laced with the kind of allure, that felt less like a dare, and more like a whispered promise. His eyes moved over you with an unspoken intensity, the weight of them lingering just long enough to feel like an invitation you hadn’t decided if you should accept or resist.

Intoxicating.

Does he even realize it?

Did he realize the way his gaze pulled at you - the way his throat bobs with a gulp?

Could he feel the way his golden eyes betrayed him, glowing with something raw and unspoken?

Is he aware, that here’s a fleeting moment where his gaze drops, and his teeth barely graze his bottom lip, as if he’s holding back the urge to bite down?

Like he’s daring you, urging you, to take what you want.

To press the blade deeper, to pull harder, to stretch the thin thread of tension until it frays and snaps, leaving nothing but breathless heat behind.

Your mind flooded with thoughts none of them professional. Every possible way to exploit the fact that he was tied up, flashed through your head, each more tempting than the last. You even considered delaying his execution, just long enough to explore a few of the scenarios that had begun to take shape.

But the contract still stood. An inconvenient truth.

And you weren’t exactly thrilled about it.

You must finish this. Focus.

But damn, he made it difficult.

"If this is my end, can I at least have a last wish?"

He must have seen your chain of thoughts. Your brow arched, amusement tugging at the corner of your lips. There was something almost charming in the way he said it - calm, composed, as if the blade at his throat was more of a mild inconvenience, rather than a death sentence.

And those eyes - fuck..

"I don’t usually grant such luxuries." you murmured, though the words felt like a half-hearted formality, an excuse, if nothing else.

His eyes caught the shift immediately, glinting with something knowing. The way his lips curled made it clear, he’d noticed your hesitation.

You sighned, tilting your head, the blade muscled his skin in a lazy motion "But I suppose… I’m feeling generous tonight."

His eyes changed, that dangerous glint returning as if he was already calculating how far he could stretch this moment - how much he could take before the blade cut too deep.

"How generous." he stated, tilting his head just enough for the blade to slide along his jawline, a move that spoke more of curiosity than fear "I suppose I should choose wisely, then."

"Choose quickly." you warned, though your hand remained steady in his hair, fingers tangled in the dark strands as if anchoring him there "Exceptions don’t last long."

His smirk came slow, thin and bitter, nothing warm behind it.

"Kill the one who sent you after me."

Oh, he was smart one - he knew exactly why you were here.

The audacity of it hit first, tilting the balance in the room. Then you laughed, soft and dark, the sound curling between you you like a whispered secret.

"Clever." you comment "I like that answer."

Lucky.

Lucky you’d developed a fondness for him.

You loosened your grip on his hair, letting the strands slip through your fingers as his head tilted back slightly, still bound by the cursed chains that anchored him to the chair. His posture remained rigid, but you could feel the subtle shift beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles coiled, tense but not in defiance.

"It’s a shame… really." you let your fingers drift along edges of his jawline, tracing the curve with a tenderness that had no place here "Such a waste to let that beautiful face wither." your touch remained, a whisper of intimacy that contradicted the deadly promise in your hand.

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but enough for you to catch the fleeting moment of hesitation. He wasn’t afraid. No - his body responded to the softness, drawn to it like someone standing too close to the edge, knowing exactly how far the drop was… and not caring.

Geto exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing beneath the weight pressing down on him. A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips "I didn’t think death would be so beautiful." he whispered, the words like silk unraveling between you.

You returned his smile, something sad and knowing in your eyes. His fate was sealed, and you both knew it - yet there was no fear in him, only acceptance.

𖤓

The alley slumbered in darkness, a realm abandoned by light’s timid reach, where even the dim pulse of distant streetlights faltered and died. Rain lingered in the air, its breath clinging to the slick stone and pooling in shallow reflections, glimmering faintly when passing headlights flickered like ghosts. The hum of the city whispered far away, a heartbeat muffled by the weight of silence, and in this narrow, forsaken artery of the night, time unraveled, slow and viscous as oil. Shadows unfurled their limbs, languid and watchful, draping the walls like ancient guardians as you leaned against the chill of the brick, waiting.

The night’s murmur sharpened your senses, each shift in the air a harbinger of movement. And then, he came. The man emerged from the shadow’s maw, his silhouette trembling against the void. His coat hung on him like a shroud. Each step was a betrayal of the tension that clung to him, he stopped before you.

Though the night’s air was cool, sweat glistened on his pallid skin, the glint of it unnerving under the scarce light that fractured over his face. When he spoke, his voice was thin "Is it done?"

The silence stretched, thick as mist of the city, curling around him while you watched. His unease pooled at his feet, bleeding into the cracks of the alley. You let it fester, tasting it, before breaking the stillness with a single, flat nod "Think carefully. No one’s seen Geto Suguru for a week."

His breath hitched - a brief, fleeting sound before relief consumed him, unraveling his composure. His shoulders slumped, as if surrendering to some unseen weight that no longer pressed down. His hands, trembling and clumsy, gave you a worn bag. He shoved it into your palm with the urgency of someone desperate escape the situation as soon as possible.

A telling sign.

"Thank you… for your services." he mumbled, the words hurried. He turned before the exchange fully settled, his back already folding into the dark.

But you remained still, the bag in your grasp unnerving in its absence. It felt wrong. Off. Lighter - too light.

Your fingers ghosted over the clasp, and the soft click echoed like the shot of a distant gun. The faint sheen of crumpled bills stared back at you, pale under the alley’s fragile light. But there wasn’t enough. Only half.

A shadow crept across your expression, dark as the alley itself.

"Wait."

The word wasn’t loud, but it landed like a stone, heavy and unrelenting. He turned, sudden, nervous smile wavered, cracking at the edges like old porcelain "Is there a problem?"

"It's wrong." you said short.

"I don’t know what you mean." he lied. A deadly mistake.

You turned the bag in your hand, feeling the emptiness between the bills. It whispered of short cuts and misplaced arrogance, a quiet betrayal dressed in crumpled fabric.

"This is only half." you repeated, voice calm but cold enough to draw breath from the alley’s air.

The man’s expression twisted, a flash of irritation masked by a thin veil of justification "My supervisor said it was fair." he insisted, the words tumbling out too "I mean… Geto’s gone. His power’s yours. After all, that’s worth more than money."

He was blabbering. The words left his lips with the bravado of a gambler betting on a losing hand, a facade of confidence too thin to hold under the moment’s weight. His chest rose slightly, puffed with defiance, but it was a hollow gesture. His eyes told the truth - nervous, skittering, unable to land anywhere for too long.

You sighed, heavy and unhurried. It carried no malice, only inevitability.

"He said you’d do something like this."

Before the man could retreat into another excuse, his body betrayed him. A violent convulsion seized his frame, legs crumbling beneath him as though the weight of the air had doubled. His throat shimmered faintly - thin, nearly imperceptible - until a single brush of your finger coaxed it to tighten. The thread buried deeper, kissing his skin with a cruel intimacy.

You snapped your fingers.

The thread obeyed, sinking through, parting his neck with seamless precision. No cry escaped him, only the muted gurgle of breath that never fully formed. He crumpled where he stood, folding into the damp concrete with a thud too soft to echo. His eyes grey and hollow.

The alley drank in the quiet.

From the dark, a figure slipped forward, his presence unfurling from the shadows as if he had merely paused within them. His steps were unhurried, the soft scuff of worn shoes against wet pavement was only sound that followed him. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance - no flowing robes, no grand entrance. Just casual clothes, rumpled as if he’d been living in them, the faint trace of a week spent lurking out of sight.

Geto Suguru.

His smile appeared before his words, small and polite, curving his lips with a quiet sense of understanding. His gaze fell lazily on the lifeless shape at your feet, though there was no concern in his eyes, only the shadow of amusement.

"I told you he’d cause trouble." he said, tone smooth, as if you stood over spilled drink rather than a corpse.

You didn’t respond - not immediately. Silence settled between you, taut and thin, stretched like wire waiting to snap.

With measured ease, you shifted the weight of the bag over your shoulder. It hung light, barely enough to register. The job had been quick, clean, efficient, and ultimately forgettable.

Your gaze met his, steady, unbothered, the calm of someone who had long since made peace with this kind of work.

"Two weeks." you said, voice edged with finality "You’ve got two weeks to pay the rest."

Geto’s chuckle curled through the alley "And how do you know I don’t have that money now?" his voice carried playful lilt, the tone of a man who savored the game more than the outcome.

You didn’t flinch.

A slow tilt of your head, an eyebrow arched in quiet defiance "I know more than you think." you replied, each word sharp and deliberate "Your funds aren’t what they used to be."

The flicker behind his eyes sharpened, though his smile didn’t waver.

"Two weeks, then?" he repeated, as if rolling the thought over on his tongue, testing the weight of your patience.

"Two weeks." the repetition hung in the air. Your gaze never wavered from his, unrelenting "And if you try to cheat me, I’ll finish what I started."

The alley seemed to contract around you, the silence pressing close, as if the world itself leaned in to listen. Geto’s grin remained in acknowledgment.

He tilted his head back, just slightly, with a gesture as subtle as if the blade was still on his throat "Fair enough." he said.

And just like that, you dissolved into a swirl of black smoke and mist, melting seamlessly into the shadows of the alley until nothing remained but the faint whisper of your presence. One breath, and you were gone - no footsteps, no lingering presence.

The alley exhaled in your absence, settling into stillness once more.

Only the distant hum of the city remained, as if the world had never paused to begin with.

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