Mettaton x Reader

Tired of it all . . .

After years in the spotlight, the sta was growing tired of it. All of it. Yes, he was meant for the spotlight, it was his dream after all! But what was the point now? He was no longer the only star Monsterkind look forward to. He wasn't the only one many went to buy merch from. He wasn't even the only idol for many anymore. Sure, he should feel happy his fans had found joy on the surface and all, they had found and achieve their hopes and dreams. But what about his? Wasn't his dream to entertain those? Wasn't it to be there for those who had no one? Was he needed anymore?
It was this same thought that currently had the star up at night, sleepless and unable to be himself anymore. The wonder leads to fear, fear of being overlooked, forgotten, and ultimately replaced. He didn't want to lose it. Not his fanbase, his hard work, his recognition, non of it. But he felt it . . . He felt as if he would lose it all, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

With that thought in mind, the star continued to look himself in the mirror. His once majestic and well down face was covered in a mixture of tears and mascara that ran down his cheeks, cheeks that were red from the crying. To this end, only sniffles had come out, his tear docks that were made by Alphys hardly producing any more tears to fall. And fall they did, right on some of the now old and dust-covered fanmail he received. Much of it now was old and far past anything he got in a while. Guess many of his fans weren't carry as much? That thought alone led to another sniffle then him angrily slamming his fist down hard against his table, causing the wood to splinter and small fragments shoot up from the table.
Letting out a shaky sigh his gaze moved from the glass in which he saw himself, and instead moved it to the other side of the room across from him over to the piles of fan mail he had saved over the years. Much of it was old, only a couple were really new or from his newer fans. This made him cringe internally at the thought of that.

Standing up and walking over to the pile, he reached a hand for and picked up one of the newer letters he got. This one from only a year after he and his people were finally freed and it was from a human fan. One that complimented him on his looks and work. They went on and on about how great he was . . . yea right . . . 'Then why am I losing fans?' He muttered under his breath and let the letter go, watching it sway as it slowly falls to the ground. Upon it landing, he just stared at it for a moment longer before turning away and walking over to his couch. Taking a seat, he crossed his legs and pulled out his phone. Tonight was his last performance before he went on break, which was honestly the best thing he could now since he was getting tired and losing hope in himself and the show.

Swiping the screen and few times and taping a couple more, he checked the news feed and his eyes focused on the news report on his shows. The headline made him squeeze his phone tightly and he struggled not to even crush it. (News Article): "Mettaton's Shows have reached an all-time LOW in ratings and Views! Critics say the monster Star is on his way out!" God, he felt his teeth grit harshly against one another as he heard his internal fans pick up speed. His gears tighten hard as he struggles to control his rage. Was this a bad dream? If it was it was definitely his worst by far. His dream was slipping away and there was nothing he could do about it. He was just about to toss his phone against the wall opposite of him when he stopped himself and just slumped back against his small couch, a low groan escaping past his lips as he just laid there, unsure of what to even do now.

Mettaton felt like he was suffering really . . . everything he worked hard to achieve and wanted, his dream especially, was being lost. With that thought dancing around in his mind he got up from his seat and prepared to leave the studio for the night, tomorrow he would deal with things and come up with a plan. Hopefully . . .

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As he continued to stare down at the wooden yet smooth surface of the bar counter, he allowed himself to drown out all the noise of the world surrounding him. Currently, at Grillby's Diner, he reached for his glass of red wine and took another long sip, downing half of his glass, and soon he would be asking for his third refill. His eyes narrowed as he continued to examine the material of the counter, seeing the small lines and holes in the wood. Thinking of his life to this point he facepalmed and let out a slow sigh before he closed his eyes and let his head hang low.