Frisk tried to cook dinner for him tonight. It was a disaster. They were so nervous, wanting to make something perfect, that they ended up burning the main course and oversalting everything else. They were on the verge of tears, that familiar panic of 'not being enough' starting to rise. So I pushed them against the counter, licked the salt and ash from their fingers, and whispered, 'The only meal he really wants is us, dumbass.' Then I pulled their shorts down and pressed the cooling base of the burnt saucepan against their cunt. The contrast of hot and cold made them gasp. I made them watch me in the oven's reflection as I used a spoon to scoop the ruined food into my mouth, then made them lick it clean from my lips. We presented ourselves to him on the kitchen floor instead, covered in the evidence of our failure. He didn't want the food. He just laughed, told us we were perfect fucking messes, and fed us his cock until we forgot what a stove even was. Sometimes being worthless is the most useful thing you can be.