to say you were a pilates warrior would be an understatement. offensive even.

it wasn’t just for the aesthetics, oh no, it was weekly. almost daily. 

four times a week, sukuna watched as you’d dress yourself in a cute little athleisure get-up, kiss him goodbye, and leave for the next hour or two.

each time you’d come back refreshed, showered, and aching slightly, but the sensation got more addictive each time you went.

today was no different. you showered, got dressed, grabbed your things, and walked over to where he was sitting on the couch. lazily sprawled, one arm loosely draped over the back of the couch, the other scrolling through his phone boredly. a white beater clung to his muscular chest, and loose sweats on his hips.

he knew you were standing in front of him, but he didn’t acknowledge you until you took his phone straight from his grip, “going to pilates, i’ll be back in two hours.”

he looked up at you, a mixture of brief irritation completely washing away at the sight of you. “i know that woman—just go do whatever it is they have you doing.”

he huffed a laugh at something before leaning back, “i’ll bet it’s just some cute prissy shit like yoga, eh? probably isn’t even that hard. just fuckin’ matcha and matching sets.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”