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mettaloverxx · 3 months ago

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This is amazing 👏 keep up the great work!! Everything is so in character! I like how you let papyrus cuss, and the lil font change when texting is a cute feature!! I also absolutely love how you portray mettaton and how he feels alone at times, and he even has a little dark side to. Awesome job ❤️

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝑔𝑔ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝒶𝓃 ₊ ⊹ 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 4 (Coming soon...) 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ACTUAL NEXT CHAPTER (Coming soon…)

❤︎ Pairing ₊ ⊹ Mettaton x GN! Reader

❤︎ Summary ₊ ⊹ After a few too many drinks, you lose track of what happened, and panic sets in. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a paparazzi magazine has taken your relationship with the celebrity robot seriously, and now Mettaton himself is stepping in to fix the situation.

❤︎ Warnings ₊ ⊹ Slight mentions of masturbation and sex. Cursing (Idk why that’s a warning).

❤︎ Notes ₊ ⊹ As said in previous chapters, reader is gender neutral and afab.

❤︎ Word count ₊ ⊹ 4758

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred slowly, savoring the warmth of the blankets that cocooned you, but there was something more... Your head throbbed lightly, a dull reminder of last night. The scent of alcohol still clung to the air, mixed with the familiar scent of Mettaton’s cologne, which made you pause for a moment.

You blinked a few times, rubbing your eyes in realization. Mettaton was still asleep beside you, his hair tousled and his usually impeccable appearance had slipped a little. The blanket covered only half of his body, and though he still wore his dressing gown, his chest was fully exposed. A strange sense of confusion settled in as you tried to recall what had happened after the two of you had settled on the sofa.

"Hey," you said softly, shaking him awake, careful not to startle him. He hummed groggily in response, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. "Wake up. We need to talk."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. "Five more minutes," he muttered, his voice husky with the remnants of sleep and last night’s drinks.

"No," you insisted, giving him a firmer shake.

You couldn’t afford to waste any more time with the irrational thoughts beginning to spiral in your mind. Mettaton raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he studied you.

"What exactly happened last night?" Your voice was tentative, the uncertainty evident in your tone. Your eyes darted around the room, as if searching for clues that might explain it all.

Mettaton’s face twitched, a look of panic flitting across his usual carefully composed features. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that was rarely seen from him.

"Wait, hold on, you’re telling me you don’t remember anything?" His voice was tight now. "At all?"

"Yeah. I’m not sure what happened last night." You let out a nervous laugh.

Mettaton rubbed his forehead, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together the hazy fragments of his memory. "I remember the movie, the drinks… but after that, it’s all a blur. Did we…?" His voice faltered, the question hanging in the air, unspoken yet unmistakable. A flush crept up his neck as the thought sank in.

"I’m not sure," you replied, your voice faltering slightly.

You both remained silent for a moment, trying to gauge the situation, unsure of how to proceed. The soft hum of the city outside filled the silence, but the question still hung in the air.

"I don’t want to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant now. "If I did… something you didn’t want to do…" He paused, as if searching for the right words, his fingers tugging at the hem of his dressing gown.

The sincerity in his voice cut through the panic swirling in your chest, and for a moment, you could breathe again. You reached out, carefully, almost without thinking, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin under your touch steadied you.

"Mettaton," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "If anything happened... I don’t think I would regret it."

He looked at you, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter. Slowly, he let out a breath, his tension easing, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer to you on the sofa, the space between you shrinking until there was no more distance left.

"I’m glad you think that," he murmured, his voice barely a breath. "I was starting to panic. I don’t remember much either, but..." he paused for a moment. "This feels to important to just be a forgotten blur."

Your chest tightened at the way he said that. His words carrying so much more meaning than just the situation at hand. His gaze never left yours, and you slowly began to calm, the fear of what might have happened dissipating. Then, you noticed something that gave you a sense of relief—you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Mettaton noticed this and kindly offered you a pair of his pajamas. Naturally, they were pink, and the T-shirt featured a drawing of himself. It was likely merchandise from one of his TV shows.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?"

He nodded and led you to his modern bathroom. It had a luxurious jacuzzi style bathtub, and he was eager to show it off to you. As he filled the tub with water, you waited patiently while he excitedly explained the various modes it had. He also showed you all of the products he owned. The conditioners, oils, hair treatments, shampoos, and body hydrating creams. He took great care in detailing each one for you. Although they were specifically formulated for his use, he made sure to mention that they might not work the same on you. Before leaving, he added one last touch—a pink bath bomb.

"Have fun, darling!" he said, closing the door behind him.

You slowly stripped off your clothes, feeling a wave of relief to be finally rid of them. You quickly tossed them onto the floor and made your way to the bathtub. After a bit of experimentation, you found a jacuzzi setting that you liked.

"What a night..." you thought, a blush creeping onto your face as you recalled the fact that Mettaton was sleeping right next to you.

It was hard to stop thinking about him, his presence had already become so important in your life. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of curiosity and uncertainty. Mettaton had a way of making everything feel both thrilling and confusing, leaving you questioning what was real and what was just his charm at play. Or maybe you were just blind for not seeing how obvious it was.

As the water swirled around you, the warmth and the lingering scent of roses only seemed to deepen the growing tension inside you. The sweet, floral scent of the bath bomb filled the air, but it didn’t seem to help you relax. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the calming fragrance, your thoughts kept drifting back to Mettaton.

"Is he flirting with me?" you wondered, feeling a mix of confusion and excitement. You had been cuddling with him all night. But he was drunk. However, you’d been receiving endless compliments and attention from him and even if he had a darker side, you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. You closed your eyes, and with a deep breath, you slowly massaged your thighs under the water, the heat from the tub spreading to your cheeks as your mind wandered to the image of him, slowly undressing from that ridiculous pink dressing gown.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you imagined his naked body, all ready to have you. The thought of having him all hard for you intensified your breathing. You tried to push the thought away, but the more you tried, the stronger it became. Did he want this too? Did you want him? Yes. You massaged yourself trying to mirror his touch exploring your body. This place would be great to fuck. Just the two of you. Him on top. A moaning mess. The sounds of the water splashing. That fucking smile of his.

"Hey," you heard his voice from outside the door. "Don’t worry, I’m not going to come in." You felt a sudden rush of panic. Had he heard you? "I’ve got some towels for you. I’ll leave them outside, okay?" He paused, waiting for a response, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

"Thank you!" you replied, your voice a little louder than you had intended.

"Take all the time you need," he said with a light chuckle from the other side, noticing you’d been in the bathtub longer than expected.

His voice only made the heat rise in your cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was the bath or his words causing it, but either way, the feeling was unmistakable—a mix of embarrassment and an intense yearning for him.

You waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade away, and once they did, you exhaled a long breath. The moment was far from over, but at least the pressure of his presence was momentarily lifted. Still, thoughts of Mettaton lingered—his voice, his touch, his body—and you couldn’t help but wonder when to take the first step.

Even though you still wanted to touch yourself in the bath, you didn’t want to keep the diva waiting. The thought of Mettaton, perched at the breakfast table, tapping his fingers impatiently, was enough to nudge you into action.

With a reluctant sigh, you stood from the tub, the warm water trailing down your skin as you reached for the towels he’d left outside the door. The soft, plush fabric felt like a comfort, wrapping around you as you dried off quickly, trying not to linger too long.

Once you were dressed, you took a moment to steady yourself before stepping out into the hall. The air felt different now. You looked around and noticed that the apartment was much cleaner than it had been before. The empty glasses were gone, and the faint scent of something delicious teased your senses.

Your stomach growled slightly at the smell of whatever he’d been preparing, and you realized just how hungry you were. Whatever it was, it smelled divine.

"Looking good," he complimented with a playful wink putting some scrambled eggs in a plate. If this moment were taken out of context, someone might assume you had sex with him.

"Shut up, you’re the one who looks great," you complimented back, though it felt a bit forced. But if you wanted something to happen, you knew you had to start now. "What creams do you use?" you asked, a bit awkwardly, the embarrassment creeping in as you realized how shallow your attempt to flirt might seem.

"Thank you, darling." Mettaton smiled, a faint pink tint coloring his cheeks. "I’m made of synthetic materials, so I don’t really need creams. Aside from my hair, of course." He grinned, before shifting the focus to the meal he had prepared.

You took a seat in front of him and took a bite of the avocado toast. The moment felt comfortable, like a peaceful, slow morning routine you might share with a partner. For a brief moment, everything seemed to be falling into place. But your hopes for more closeness were quickly interrupted when Mettaton flipped through the pages of some magazine, his eyes widening as he read the contents.

"Find anything interesting?" you asked, a hint of worry in your voice, unsure of what he was about to reveal.

"I was hoping for a peaceful breakfast..." he sighed, holding the magazine out to you. "But it looks like we need to talk about this."

"Oh my..." you gasped, covering your mouth as your gaze fell on the photo in the paparazzi magazine.

You felt a flush creeping up your neck as you glanced at the magazine, realizing the person in the photo was unmistakably you. Your heart thudded in your chest. It wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined becoming famous. You had no idea who snapped the shot, but it was clear they were professionals. The image captured the exact moment when Mettaton had taken your hand.

HIS BIGGEST FAN: Mettaton’s Secret Romance Revealed? Fans Shocked as the Robot Star Holds Hands with Mysterious Lover!

In an exclusive reveal that’s sure to have fans talking, Mettaton, the larger-than-life robot sensation, was caught in an unscripted moment of affection. The star, usually known for their flashy performances and robotic charm, was photographed holding hands with a mystery companion at a cozy restaurant in Waterfall.

Sources have always speculated about Mettaton’s romantic life, but until now, the enigmatic robot has kept his relationships out of the public eye. The companion, whose identity remains a mystery, was photographed at the exact moment Mettaton tenderly grasped their hand—an unexpected display of affection for the usually egocentric star.

Could this be the start of a new romance for Mettaton? Fans are desperate for answers. Some are asking: How could he? Are they prettier than me? and many more self-deprecating questions! Stay tuned for more details as we dive deeper into the truth behind this mysterious connection.

"Did you finish reading?" he asked, impatience taking over him. Mettaton moved his eyes to the side, wondering what your reaction might be when you finish reading it.

"Bastards..." you spoke out loud as you read what they had written.

"I knew my private life was always a bit of a circus, but this?" he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I swear, if they keep doing this, I might just start a romance with the nearest toaster for some real drama." He stood up and walked around the kitchen. "How do they even come up with this stuff?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. “An ‘unscripted moment of affection’? Please. That’s what they’re calling holding hands now?” He said dramatically, pacing nervously around the kitchen. "Well, I guess we’ll just have to officially announce our 'relationship' next week, huh?" he quipped, his sarcasm masking the unease beneath.

"That would definitely be worthy of the cover of the magazine!" you added, a bit amused by the idea.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said, walking closer to you. "I didn’t want you to get caught up in this nonsense."

"Don’t worry," you said. "Besides, they could have written worse things. I mean, ‘secret romance’? I’m flattered." You couldn't help but laugh nervously, the blush on your cheeks refusing to fade. "Still, I wish they’d at least gotten my good side."

Mettaton let out a light chuckle, his voice teasing yet warm. "Next time, we’ll make sure we hire a professional photographer to capture the moment. No more paparazzi. How does that sound?"

You smiled at his suggestion, feeling a little lighter despite the chaos of the situation. "Sounds perfect," you replied, your voice playful. "Though, I can’t promise I’ll be photogenic under pressure."

Mettaton raised an eyebrow, his signature smirk returning. "Oh, darling, you’re always photogenic. It’s the rest of the world that needs to catch up."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension easing between you. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, caught in a little world of your own, far away from the drama and the headlines.

"Hey Mettaton," you stood up to meet him at eye level. "I..." you wanted to kiss him, but you didn't dare to.

"Yes, darling?" he patiently waited for you to speak, a kind smile forming on his lips.

You stood there, heart racing, trying to muster the courage you lacked just moments ago.

"I— I should go," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Mettaton’s smile faltered, a hint of disappointment flickering across his face. He took a small step back, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to understand the sudden shift.

"Wait… You’re leaving?" His tone was gentle, almost coaxing.

You bit your lip, taking a step back toward the door, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. "I just… have something to finish that I couldn’t get to yesterday."

"Alright, darling," A small, knowing smile curled on Mettaton’s lips, and he tilted his head slightly.

You glanced at the door, the urge to leave growing stronger. But Mettaton was already so close, his presence warm and undeniable.

"Let me accompany you," he offered. "I don’t want you going out there alone with all that paparazzi chaos," he sighed, a touch of guilt lacing his words.

Mettaton walked over to the large window, his fluffy slippers squeaking against the floor. With a smooth motion, he pulled back the heavy curtains.

Outside, the scene was exactly what he had feared—a swarm of paparazzi gathered at the foot of the building. Mettaton’s gaze lingered for a moment, the familiar stir of irritation flickering in his eyes. He turned back to you, offering a soft, understanding smile.

"See? I told you," he said with a sigh, his voice laced with a touch of exasperation. "I don’t want you caught in that mess."

You swallowed, your stomach knotting at the sight. The paparazzi weren’t just there for Mettaton—they were after both of you now.

"You don’t have to worry," he added, his tone reassuring yet firm. "I’ll make sure you get out of here safely." He offered you his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it.

His fingers brushed lightly against your skin, a tender caress, sending a shiver down your spine. The moment was brief, but the intimacy of it was undeniable—like a secret shared only between the two of you in the midst of all the chaos outside.

His eyes met yours again, his gaze steady, yet there was something vulnerable in it, something raw that he didn’t often show. "We’ll get through this," he murmured, the words almost a promise.

You nodded, unsure of where this path was leading but knowing, in that moment, you couldn’t do it alone.

"I have to get dressed first!" Mettaton suddenly said, changing the topic. "I don’t want to end up on the cover of the magazines in my dressing gown. Even if I do look breathtaking in it..." He twirled dramatically, the fabric of his robe swirling around him as if he were on the runway.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his theatrics. His usual flamboyant energy was back, lifting the weight of the moment. His confidence was infectious, and the image of him strutting around in nothing but a dressing gown somehow felt like it belonged in a fashion magazine.

"Hey!" He grabbed your hand with a sudden, forceful tug, nearly pulling you to the ground. "I need my assistant to help me figure out how to dress for the runway."

"Alright, alright!" you replied, scratching your head as he dragged you to his bedroom.

"Fantastic! I’ll have them eating out of my hand." Mettaton winked, clearly enjoying the banter. He sashayed toward the wardrobe, a mischievous glint in his eye.

As he rifled through his clothes, you could sense that despite the chaos outside, he always knew how to lighten the mood.

Mettaton began trying on various outfits, each one more extravagant than the last. What you didn’t expect is that he was going to do it right in front of you. He still had his boxers on, but you could admire the rest of his body.

"Cat got your tongue, darling?" he asked playfully as he put on some tight fitting pants. He paired it with a form-fitting jacket that barely left room to the imagination. He struck a pose in front of the mirror, a dramatic hand on his hip, his lips curling into a playful smile.

"What do you think?" you couldn’t contain your nerves as you watched the outfit hug his very best parts.

"Perfect!" you managed to say.

"But isn’t it a bit... scandalous?"

"Well, I mean..." you paused to think as he scanned his body on the mirror. "You look good, so who cares?"

"You like it?" he asked walking closer to you with a flirtatious smile. You nodded, not being able to say anything. He took a moment to think and then simply started to take off the jacket. "But I don’t know, it’s a bit much for a quick exit..."

He chuckled, turning to change into something else. Next, he pulled on a more classical ensemble—a sharp, tailored suit. The deep red color accentuated his features. He looked like a very sophisticated gentleman, his posture perfect as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves.

"How about this one?" He gave you an exaggerated twirl, his grin wide. "Classy and mysterious. Just the right amount of drama."

You smiled, nodding. "Definitely more… subtle. And you look great."

Mettaton looked pleased and you couldn’t help but laugh, the mood light and easy now.

"You really are a walking fashion show, aren’t you?"

"Why, of course, my dear," he replied, a dramatic flourish in his voice. "What else would I be?"

After another quick glance at the mirror, he finally settled on the red suit—a perfect mix of bold and elegant, something that caught just the right balance between attention-grabbing and refined.

"Alright, darling," he said, smoothing down the last wrinkle in his clothes, "This is it. Let’s face the madness outside." he added, tapping his outfit with a flourish.

"Wait, I’m not going anywhere in your pajamas." You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head in amusement.

Once Mettaton found an outfit for you, you both made your way out of the building. The instant you stepped into the open air, the world exploded into flashes of light. Cameras snapped relentlessly, blinding you for a moment as you tried to navigate the narrow path between the front doors and the paparazzi. You tried to keep your composure, but the constant barrage of questions and the blinding flashes made it hard to focus. A camera was practically in your face, and you instinctively recoiled, flinching from the aggressive lens. The world around you felt like it was closing in.

Mettaton, however, glided through the chaos with ease, his smile never faltering. He moved with grace and poise, his every step calculated, as if the chaos itself was just another stage for him to perform on. But his eyes flicked over to you, his gaze softening with concern when he saw the strain on your face.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he said, his tone now low and reassuring, the drama in his voice replaced by something far more gentle. "You’re doing great, darling. Just stay close to me. We’re in this together."

You could feel Mettaton’s hand strongly guiding you forward with a protective force. His body shielded you from the brunt of the photographers as he kept you close, his arm lightly touching the small of your back.

"Just keep moving, darling," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely audible over the noise. "Focus on me, and everything else will fade away."

It was hard to concentrate, but you tried to follow his advice. With each step, you felt a little more disoriented by the constant flashing. The shouts of the photographers—questions about your relationship—faded into a background hum, as if they didn’t really matter at all. You clung to the rhythm of Mettaton’s movements, the feeling of his touch guiding you through the madness.

"Don’t let them rattle you," his voice a quiet whisper in your ear, a constant reassurance. "They thrive on chaos, but we don’t have to. I’ve been doing this long enough to know how to handle it. Just keep your head up, and I’ll protect you."

He gave you a glance, his expression soft but serious, a side of him you hadn’t seen before—focused, protective, and determined. His usual theatrical flair was muted now, replaced by an authentic care for your well-being amidst the chaos.

The crowd kept pushing forward, demanding more attention, but Mettaton adjusted his posture, widening his stance as if to block out them.

"You’re fine," he whispered, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear, "I won’t let them get close to you."

Despite everything, his calm presence helped steady you. It didn’t make the chaos go away, but it was a reminder that you weren’t alone in this storm. As the sea of paparazzi continued to surge forward, he was focused on getting both of you out of it in one piece.

"Just one more step," he said, and you could hear the quiet determination in his voice. "We’re almost there. Stick with me."

After what felt like an eternity, Mettaton led you to the car that was waiting on the curb, a sleek, black vehicle with tinted windows. He opened the door with a dramatic sweep, ushering you inside with a flourish.

"After you, darling," he said, his voice light and serene despite the circumstances.

You climbed into the car, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion settle over you as the door clicked shut. The flashes from outside continued to bleed through the windows, but within the car, it was a moment of relative calm. Mettaton slid in beside you, giving a little sigh as he settled into the seat.

"Well," he said, looking over at you with a impish smirk, "That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You shot him a look, but the humor in his voice was enough to make you chuckle despite the tension.

"I do hope they got some good shots," he muttered, adjusting his gloves, as if the whole ordeal were just another part of the performance. He glanced at you, his eyes glinting with a playful intensity. "After all, darling, you're the star of the show today."

"I think you were the star of that show," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though you knew full well he had taken most of the spotlight.

Mettaton’s lips curled into a satisfied grin. "Well, someone has to set the stage for you, darling. You're simply dazzling. And besides, the cameras love you." He gave you a once-over, as though checking your outfit one more time. "I must admit, I do have impeccable taste."

"I’ll give you that," You shook your head, amused by his confidence. "I hope they don’t follow us. What if they—"

"They will," Mettaton interrupted, his tone still light but with a touch of seriousness that made you look at him. He gave you a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "But don’t worry. I won’t let them near you. Not a single one."

"But Mettaton," you said, almost about to cry. "This isn’t like anything I’ve ever dealt with before. My life is going to be exposed. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t even step outside without being followed now, can I?"

Mettaton’s gaze softened, and he reached over, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. His touch was cool, yet comforting in the midst of your growing anxiety.

"I’m sorry you’re feeling this way," he said, his voice lowering. "I didn’t want this for you. But I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll make sure you can live your life as peacefully as possible. No one will get close to you." He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked with yours, a tint of something darker hiding beneath them. "I promise..."

Despite his reassurance, the weight of your situation settled heavily on your chest. The world you had known, the peaceful life you had kept for so long, was slipping away. You were no longer in control, and that scared you more than anything else.

"I wish it was that simple Mettaton, but you can’t control everything."

The car pulled up in front of your apartment building. The area was quiet, but you could feel the tension in the air, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Mettaton opened the door, stepping out in his usual dramatic fashion. He turned to you, his expression soft but determined.

"You go inside," he said, voice low, but with an edge that left no room for argument. "I’ll handle things here."

"What do you mean, handle things?" You frowned, anxiety creeping as you got out of the car. "What are you going to do?"

Mettaton’s smile was sharp, a glint of something dark and fierce in his eyes. "If the paparazzi want a show, darling, I’ll give them one they won’t forget." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "No one will be following us after tonight." There was a sense of finality in his words, a quiet promise that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—threaten your peace again.

You blinked, stunned for a moment, the cold intensity in his voice striking you. But before you could respond, Mettaton was already closing the door of his car.

You watched him go for a moment, the worry still knotting your stomach, but something in his words echoed in your mind: No one will be following us after tonight. You weren’t sure what lengths he was willing to go to, but something told you Mettaton would stop at nothing to protect you.

And in that moment, despite your unease, you couldn’t help but trust him. Even if it meant facing a storm you were unprepared for, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

#not my writing #mettaton x reader #mettaton #plz show this author some love ❤️

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