vox had insisted on this.

you weren’t entirely sure why—he barely ate, had no real need to cook, and yet here he was, standing in your kitchen with a sleek apron stretched over his suit like he’d just stepped onto a cooking show set. his screen-face glowed a confident blue, complete with a chef’s hat on his head.

“alright, sweetheart,” vox said, clapping his hands together a little too dramatically. “today, i—voxtek’s most eligible chef—will be teaching you how to cook.”

you blinked at him. “…i know how to—”

“shhh,” he replied instantly, placing a finger to your lips, the tip buzzing faintly with static. “this is about bonding. also control. mostly bonding.”

he moved behind you, long arms reaching around your sides to grab a knife and a cutting board. his presence was warm in a strange, electric way, his antenna twitching happily as he guided your hands.

“rule number one,” he said, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret, “confidence. cooking can sense fear."