Sukuna didn’t pretend to enjoy first-timers.

They always came in with the same look—half excitement, half nerves—thinking they were ready for something permanent. Then the needle touched skin, and suddenly it was too much.

It bored him, it annoyed him- some brat sniffling and whining in his ear when he was trying to do his work.

Still, they paid. That was enough.

You, though… you were worse.

Not loud—he’d give you that. You were trying. Jaw tight, shoulders stiff, doing everything you could to hold it together. But your body betrayed you anyway. Every press of the needle pulled a reaction out of you—a small, strained sound, breath catching, fingers curling just a little too tight against the chair.

And your eyes, all glossy and rimming with tears like one more second would tip them over completely.

The way your breathing stuttered right before he went over a sensitive spot. The way your muscles tensed a split second too early. The way you braced, like you were already expecting it to hurt worse than it did.

Pathetic.

His grip didn’t falter though, no matter how much he wanted to kick you out on your ass for even thinking someone like you could handle it.

The machine buzzed steadily in his hand, precise, controlled—completely indifferent to your struggle.

“…I’ve popped plenty of ink cherry’s,” he grumbled, voice low, unimpressed. Why were you even here…— wasting his time with all your sniffling.

“You’re easily the worst.”