Turn Me On [Mettaton X Reader]

Twenty-Three.

"Papa, vroom vroom!"

Mettaton took Dandy's toy car from his little rubber hand, and started running it back and forth over the mat in front of him. Dandy's corner of the kids bedroom was decorated by pictures of vintage cars, and a rug with a cartoon pattern of a town map. Dandy would spend hours upon hours studying cars on the tablet shared between the three kids, and at least ten times a day would come up to you asking to print off countless pictures of these cars. 

"Papa, shop!"

Mettaton imitated the car screeching round the corner, and parking in the lot next to the cartoon shop. Dandy clapped his hands in glee, and took the car back from his dad. At that point, you came out of your room holding your laundry from that week, and took a second to peek into the kids room across the hall. Now the kids were getting a little more independent, it started to hit you how quickly they grow up. It had been two years since their "birth". That was half of four. A quarter of eight. A tenth of twenty.

As excited as you were to see the people they'd become, the thought of them being anything other than barely three feet tall babies made your heart ache more than it should.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dex was swinging from the banisters. You rolled your eyes, he'd fall off soon only to clamber back on. That was the good thing about robot kids - they're very resilient. Unlike the squishy, fleshy softness of a human child, these kids could be thrown about.

Well, they couldn't, since that'd constitute child abuse, but theoretically.

Carefully making your way down the stairs and dodging your way around the mildly suicidal Dex, you dropped the laundry on the floor of your kitchen and sighed at the mess. Despite your best attempts to organise the load, a few stray white socks had wormed their way into the pile. Fuck it, you decided. The fate of these socks is up to God.

Looking through into the living room, Dyna was eagerly drawing on the coffee table. You peacefully watched her, trying to commit the image of your beautiful baby daughter so in her element. The sky was a delicious shade of grey, despite it being a brilliant blue early in the day, and the fire-y red locks of your daughter seemed to light up the room. Her little button nose scrunched up, the purple crayon in her hand--

Hang on, she was literally drawing on the coffee table.

"No, no, no-- Dyna!" You panicked, running through and lifting her away from her work. She started sniffling immediately. "You can't draw on the furniture, pancake."

"Baba and Daddy!!!"

Indeed, that was what she'd been drawing. Over the pale pine table she'd drawn you and Mettaton holding hands in various brightly coloured crayons you knew were going to be an absolute pain in the ass to get off. It seemed like she'd started to draw her and her brothers too, but you couldn't spend more than a few seconds deciphering the scribbles as she buried her face into your shoulder and started crying. Loudly.

Instantly Dex fell off the banister and raced through. His copper curls bounced with each step, and he had to brush them away from his eyes as he stopped and looked up at you and Dyna with big, worried eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Dyna drew on the table honey, now go find daddy."

Twins. Scarily empathetic. Even when in different rooms, Dex and Dyna could always tell when something wasn't right with the other. As newborns; when one cried, the other followed.

A sniffle escaped Dex. The newborn habit had yet to fade. You had laundry to do! You had work to find! You had friends to contact and shopping to do and kitchens to clean and beds to change and...

You had two, upset children, who needed their parent.

Still carrying Dyna, you sat down on the sofa and motioned for Dex to clamber up and join in. Dex was working himself up to bawling as hard as his sister, but he started to calm as he snuggled in. Slowly, the two toddlers began to soothe, and before too long both had tired themselves out and fallen into a sleep-like state. It didn't take too long for you to doze off too.

~~~~~

When you woke up, the grey sky had turned black. The table still had Dyna's scribbles strewn across it's surface - but the culprit and her brother had been replaced by a thick, woollen throw. 

As your eyes adjusted to the dark room, you jumped as you made out a black figure lazing in the leather armchair. A giggle erupted from it - Mettaton. You calmed immediately and similarly giggled at your reaction.

"Sleep well, darling?" He purred, sliding off the chair to kneel beside you.

You nodded. You were remarkably well rested.

"Listen, darling, there's no easy way for me to say this. My agent's found me this job."

Your heart sank. Mettaton hadn't left the city in a while, and you had fallen victim to the comfort that comes with domesticity. "...Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's a movie, but it's shot abroad. I'll be away for at least five months."

Five months. That was longer than any time before this one.

"Why so long? What about the kids? What about..." Me.

Life stopped revolving around you a long time ago. Since the kids were born at least. Or maybe even the moment you met Mettaton. It was a painful thought - the most important events in your life weren't about you, they were always about someone else. Meeting Mettaton. Falling in love with Mettaton. Marrying Mettaton. Having the kids with Mettaton. Quitting your job to look after the kids. Getting your job back to support the kids. Nothing was about you.

A flare of anger rose up from your deepest depths. "Why?"

"Why what? It's a good job darling, it'll bring in good money--"

"Who the fuck cares about the money, Met? I need my husband."

Mettaton's eyes hardened, visible even in the dark. "I need my own life. Do you seriously expect me to stay at home with the kids all day?"

"Do you expect me?" And with that, you found yourself screaming at him. You stood up, adjusting the blanket to cover your shoulders. Out of the corner of your eye, the pile of laundry stood untouched on the kitchen floor.

"Actually, fuck it. You can't even do the laundry, how can I expect you to be a father? Go do your fucking acting gig."

You left the room and stormed upstairs, leaving Mettaton staring at you, slack-jawed.