chloeᢉ𐭩

"Can't even trot in this place." He grumbled, beginning to complain about the city. "Can't remember the last time I made my horse walk. Stagecoaches everywhere, a trolley in the middle of the damn pathway..."

"This is why people hitch their horse and walk, Arthur."

"I'm not leaving my horse anyplace I'm not familiar with. I came down here once looking for information about Bronte, I got my satchel snatched. They're gonna have to get it off my dead body next time."

Your feet until touch the ground until you arrived at the Theatre Raleur. You stepped back, trying to get a good look of the tall building without breaking your neck. "See? Nothing like Valentine."

He let out a low, impressed whistle. "That it isn't."

Arthur bought both of your tickets, four dollars total—two for each person. He didn't think the visit would be long, but he ws glued to the seat for the multiple acts. A magician performed, sending doves off into the audience. Someone would bravely dance with a large snake around her arms and neck, and there was a woman who sang about how pleasant it is to be living in Saint Denis.

He wouldn't admit that he enjoyed the experience, but he'd say that it was entertaining. It was something that he'd write about in his journal that night.

After the performances, the both of you went to the saloon and would be on the way back to camp after. You were sat at the bar, looking at the menu—which Arthur was completely taken aback from.

"What are these prices? Five dollars for prime rib? Hell, are they giving me the animal?"

You laughed at his outburst. "This place is fancy, it makes sense..."

"Sense or not, I worked for this money." He retorted, and you gave him a knowing look. "Robbin' and shootin' is still work."

"You look like the type to rob and shoot." A man commented, still sober. "If you're going to do that, I suggest you leave." You looked away from him, not wanting to cause more trouble for the gang. Arthur didn't want trouble either, but he wasn't known for letting people get away with slick comments. He could defuse or antagonize.

"We're not going anywhere, Mister. Just came from the theater, now we're going to have a chat over food."

"A chat, huh? Oh, I know you. You let the gun do most of the talking, Arthur Morgan." He hissed. Arthur was in a similar situation in Valentine. A man said he saw him in Blackwater—but there was a lack of a cliff to hang off of. "I'll report you, and that woman."

"Listen here, alright?" He took the man by his collar with one hand, the other hovered over his pistol. "You got the wrong man. I don't know what you're talking about. You can threaten me, I can take it—but she had nothin' to do with this. If you know what's good for you, you'll realize that also applies to me."

The man's eyes drifted down to his belt, noticing his hand hear the gun. His eyes widened before he vigorously nodded. "We have an understanding. I—I must've mistaken you for someone else. My apologies."

"That's right." He let go of the man. "Apologize to the lady."

The man quickly apologized before rushing out of the bar, shoving past people to get past the doors.

"Thank you." You hummed, tapping a finger on the bar table. "Well, it could've been worse."

Arthur glared at you before chuckling again. "Sure." That was an understatement. If that man had stood his ground, they'd have a bounty on their head, actively running from the law again. Despite that, Saint Denis was a little enjoyable. He'd still never come alone, though.

He'd ride with you more often.

Nanami adored every hairstyle you wore. The simple slickbacks, half-up half-downs, the occasional side part swoop. There was one style he would always help you with—the high buns. You spent so much time trying to make sure it looked cute before doing anything else. Your arms get tired from how long they've been raised, pulling at the curls in hopes of perfecting the style.

That's where Nanami comes in. He takes your hair in one hand, hair-tie in the other, and made a ponytail. He'd ask "Is this too tight? What do you need me to fix?" routinely. He loved your hair, he didn't want to be the one to mess it up.

"It looks great." You reassured. "Just shape it a bit, pull the curls out." His eyebrows furrowed in focus, and you couldn't help but laugh at his seriousness. "Relax..."

"Right." His face softened. "I just want to make sure you're happy with the result." He looked over to the mirror. "You already look beautiful."

You waved him off. "You always say that."

"I don't say things I don't mean."

Nanami goes on trips with you to the beauty supply store and tries to find the exact products you use. He's scanning the aisles, looking at every shelf, even behind the products to see if someone hid it to come back and purchase later. "I found it. Strong hold gel, right?" He questioned, holding up a purple squeeze tube.

"Right, but wrong. That's not my brand."

He blinked. "Doesn't it do the same thing?"

"It might." You shrugged. "I wouldn't know, because I've never used it. I use the pink one."

"I didn't know it was that serious." He went back to looking. "Pink, pink..." He murmured, looking around the same area.

"I'm about to just order it online." You sighed. "It's never in stock—"

"Pink tube, same brand." He held out the right product and watched your defeated look turn into a bright smile. With that reaction? He was tempted to find any and everything you've ever wanted just to see your smile again.

You waved him off. “You are overly dramatic. This is staying right here, it’s not getting printed or framed.”

“I just want people to know how talented my girlfriend is.” He leaned down to place a kiss on your neck. “Do you have any more sketches? Can I see?” He questioned, hovering near your ear.

You flipped through the sketchbook and every drawing made him gasp. You were in a world of praise that seemed endless. “You just do this for fun? You could earn money for this.”

“You want me to start doing commissions?”

“Yes! I’ll be your first client.” He paused. “and second, then third…”

Gojo kept two of your sketches in his pocket at all times. One was a landscape of a beautifully shaded sunset with trees in the middle and background. There were intricate specks of white where the sun would reflect off of the leaves—little details you incorporated to compensate for the lack of color. The second sketch was a quick one you made of him. It was only a headshot, and everything was in black and white—execpt for his eyes. You used a few shades of blue colored pencils for accuracy, but nobody could truly capture the essence of the six eyes.

Gojo thought that sketch was the closest thing to it, and he would unfold it and show any and everybody.

On meetings with Nanami, Shoko, or Yaga, mostly. He'd hum and look at the sketch while the others spoke. "Gojo!" Principal Yaga tried to get his attention. "What on that peice of paper could be that interesting?"

Yaga immediately regretted asking.

"This? My wonderful, talented girlfriend made it!" He held it up, pulling the paper at the edges as a soft 'pop!' sound was made from the material. "Looks good, right? I know. It's one-of-one." He smiled. "But don't be jealous! She's taking commissions!"

"Why am I listening to an advertisment right now?" Nanami flatly inquired, his hand rested on his knee while he tapped his finger against it with impatience.

"I'm her number one supporter, it's my job." He continued to talk about the sketch of him, and everyone in the room collectively groaned when he unfolded the landscape sketch.

Needless to say, he's your biggest fan.

You snapped out of whatever trance you were in and looked at him. You smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready." Your voice lost it's earlier excitement, and your eyes betrayed you. It didn't take much for Nanami to figure out how you really felt.

His eyes softened. "Talk to me."

"I'm alright, Kento." You nodded again as if that would convince him.

"Try again." He hummed. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You sighed, knowing any attempt to deter the conversation would be futile. "Do I look okay?"

"You look amazing. You almost took my breath away when I entered the room."

"How could you say that?" You scoffed. "Look at me."

"I haven't taken my eyes off you."

"Really look at me. These rolls, my arm fat, my pudge, everything is so unflattering. I know there's going to be so many pretty women at the beach, and then there's me. I just—" You glanced back at the mirror. "I look terrible, Kento."

"It pains me to hear you talk about yourself like that." He slightly frowned. "To know that you don't see the same person I do." He led you to the bed with a hand on your lower back. He sat with one leg hanging off the bed so he could face you. "If it's other women you're worried about, don't be—you shouldn't be. They may look 'okay,' but they can have nasty personalities, that cancels out all of the 'beauty' you think they have."

"And if they're nice? If they have a good personality?"

"Their body does not define their beauty, it only fits a current trend that people have convinced you to believe in." He held your hand. "There has never been one day where I haven't thought that you were absolutely gorgeous. Your body is beautiful." He ran his hands down your arms, sides, and thighs. "If it were to change, even in the slightest, I'd still think you were beautiful. I truly believe that I am the luckiest man," He kissed your left cheek. "to have someone like you." then your right cheek.

"I wish I could see myself through your eyes."

"I wish you could too, but believe me, I will continue to try until you can destroy that deprecating image of yourself. It may take days, months, years—I will not stop trying."

"Thank you, Kento. You helped me a bit today."

"A bit is great. One step further." He continued to pepper kisses all around your face, making you giggle. "Ready to go?

"Yeah," You smiled and nodded again. "I'm ready." This time, you meant it.

"Sukuna," You held up your damaged silk garment. "it's damaged, again."

"And it will be taken care of again." He matched your attitude.

"That was one of my favorite garments." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Could you stop tearing my clothes? It is becoming irritating."

"I find your change of opinion humorous." He lowly hummed. "I remember you being irritated, but for a different reason."

"What ever do you mean?"

"I believe you were telling me to tear it. You wanted to feel my hands carress your plush, hot—"

"I do not need a retelling." You quickly interrupted him, feeling warmth crawl up your neck and elevated heart rate. "Have it fixed, please."

"It will be, beloved."

Sukuna always called you to his chambers. It became so frequent to the point where you wouldn't see your own quarters for weeks, much to your enjoyment. He excelled in bed, and treated you with reverence while you both were not tangled under sheets. When you did go back to your quarters, the other concubines had questions. 'Why haven't I been called?' or 'What is going on?'

You could only respond with a shrug, trying to mask the pleased look on your face.