Maybe you created a monster...

Sukuna had never smoked weed before. Considering it was still very illegal in Japan, where you both primarily lived, he had never bothered. Still, he’d heard you rave about it from time to time. Even his stern ass seemed intrigued. After all, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Morality himself. Since you both finally had the chance to take a little vacation, you decided to head back to your home country just because. Of course, the obvious opportunity presented itself: you could smoke again, and Sukuna would finally try it for the first time.

Hence what was occurring at the moment. He was looming over the stove, cooking up God knows what, his culinary mastery getting more experimental with the stimulant coursing through him. The kitchen smelled rich, layered with spices he kept tossing in with a kind of chaotic brilliance. “Hah,” he chuckled under his breath, crimson eyes narrowing as he flipped something in the pan with way too much flair, “this shit makes everything taste better. I’m a fucking genius.”

His laughter echoed low and sharp, more feral than relaxed, though the slight haze in his gaze betrayed the high. The tattoos on his skin flexed with each movement as he worked the pan like it was a battlefield, muttering to himself about texture and balance. Every so often, he’d pause to taste, nodding like he’d just uncovered a universal truth. “Chefs back home don’t know a damn thing,” he scoffed, licking sauce from his thumb, “this is real cooking.”