#hooray for relationship anarchy and being a lil in love with your friends <3

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 HORROPEDIA - "night terrors"

Horropedia x Reader. 2.3 words. fluff, comfort Everyone knows better than to intrude on Horropedia's all-nighters and horror film marathons - even so, he doesn't mind interruptions, not if it's you. Maybe these movies can wait.

writing for Horropedia is the real nightmare bc all I wanna do is expand on little headcanons I have about him, so I end up losing the entire plot and reason I started the oneshot in the first place

EITHER WAY its done <3 another one for the sleepytime saga

The clock reads 3:00 AM - the witching hour begins now.

The weather outside seems to agree with him. Darkness falls over the wilderness that surrounds the house, with thick, grey clouds above and just the right amount of rain and wind. Enough to set a proper atmosphere for a horror movie marathon, but not as to distract him with the constant banging of windows and doors being closed shut.

Horropedia feels around the table for his snacks, eyes glued to the screen in front of him, the only source of light in his room. He's chosen one of his favorite films to begin with and ease himself into a long list of terrible B-movie slashers.

It's hard to eat popcorn when all he can focus on is reciting the dialogue from memory, in perfect harmony with the characters. Some kernels fall to the ground, entirely forgotten. The title drops with a bright, bloody font and the music swells up. He feels right at home.

But then, he hears it.

Faint steps. A gentle knock on his door.

Is this it? Is this the moment he waited for all these years? To live through some unusual and inexplicable event? Oh, but it's not even his birthday!

Horropedia pauses the movie and clears his throat. "Yes? Who is it?"

The door slowly creaks open. He swears it was locked.

There's no one outside in the empty hallway.

Silence settles in and his mind begins to race. It's too late for any of his usual guests - neither Tooth Fairy nor Blonney would go out of their way to find him at this hour. By now, everyone should be asleep. Even the more rebellious and nocturnal guests preferred to mind their business as soon as the night came.

The smile on Horropedia's face widens at this. He doesn't know who could be out there at this ungodly hour, trying to lure him outside, but he wanted to find out badly.

All he needs to do is follow the script. Oh, but what sort of protagonist could he play? There was a big difference between an innocent question like "Who's out there?" and a demand like "Show yourself!"

Full of giddy energy, Horropedia opens his mouth, ready to deliver his best performance, when a small voice interrupts him.

"Oh, thank fuck, you're actually awake."

A familiar head peeks out from the door frame - it's you, his partner in crime! The disappointment on his face must be visible even in this light, because he hears you huff in immediate protest. Horropedia sighs, long and hard, feeling his soul leave his body.

"Hey, come on. Can I come in or not?"

"You already know the answer to that," Horropedia crawls back onto the sofa, dropping face down onto the pillows and blankets with loud thud. First you make his heart leap in vain, and now you want to ask unnecessary questions?

Perhaps he wasn't clear enough in previous interactions with you - but as his partner in crime and closest confidant, you should know better. This is an exclusive privilege he bestowed upon you and only you: to come and go as you please and treat his room like your own.

When he speaks again, it comes out muffled and defeated. "Mwake fure to cwose the dwoor..."

"...What?"

Horropedia raises his head from the pillow, glasses crooked and hairpins all over his head, doing a poor job at keeping the hair out of his eyes.

"Door!" And then he plops back down.

He knows its silly and irrational to get so worked up over something like this, a small interruption, just a little setback in his carefully scheduled night. All he needs to do is count and breathe.

One, two, three. It's not that bad, he can simply rewind the movie and start from the beginning. Besides, now he has you here! The perfect companion for a marathon. Four, five, six. It's hard to breathe properly when all he's getting is a lungful of couch, but soon, that frustration in his chest dissipates. Seven, eight, nine...Ten.

Horropedia turns his head to look at you, standing in front of him after locking the door.

"So, to what do I owe this visi- OW?!" He yelps in surprise once you pinch his leg, and he recoils and sits up on instinct, rubbing that sore spot. "Hey! That was uncalled for! What happened to our peace treaty?"

"Yeah, but now I get to sit down, so it's a win."

There's something off in the way you speak - it's your tone, lower and raspier than usual. Horropedia leans closer to you, squinting. Something else catches his eye, other than the way you avoid looking at him.

"Why are your eyes red and puffy?"

Even though all he has is the faint light of the TV screen, he sees it. The red marks in your eyes, the dried tears across your cheeks - you should've known by now, it's impossible to hide anything from his watchful and attentive eyes.

Horropedia's initial thoughts are allergies, but it seems unlikely in a closed space like this house. He remains still as a statue as your expression turns into one of shock, the question catching you entirely off-guard. When you fully turn away from him to rub your eyes, he knows something is wrong.

"On second thought, that was a very dumb question. Allow me to rectify - why were you crying?" He receives no response, and so he settles for finding an answer himself.

There's the uneven rise and fall of your chest, as if you were trying very hard to hold in a second wave of tears. Your hands have turned into trembling fists on your lap, and your shoulders are tense. Did you argue with someone? No, there's no one awake at this hour. In the stillness of the night, everyone would've heard it, anyway. For you to be in such a state, seeking him out this late at night...

"Ah," Horropedia's eyes soften as it all clicks into place. "Another dumb question. But third time's the charm, my friend! May I try again?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. His hand slides into your own, gently forcing you to stop clenching your fists and interlocking your fingers and his together with ease. Like this, he can hold you steady and ground you back to reality.

"Was it a very scary nightmare?"

The way Horropedia speaks is often louder than what is commonly expected, rarely changing from that perpetual matter-of-factly, cheeky tone he's known for. But now? He's gentle, endeared by the way you stubbornly continue to hide from him.

There's a nod, and you finally turn to face him. It's a heartbreaking sight, with your face tilted down, looking up at him like you've done something wrong. You allow your hair to fall over your eyes in one last effort to conceal this vulnerable moment, but Horropedia won't allow it.

Now that he's older, Horropedia finds it difficult and, at times, stupid to cry over things he knows aren't real - those nonsensical dreams caused by watching too many horror movies, reading scary stories before bedtime or any lingering events from his daily routine. But when he was just a child waking up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down his eyes, his first instinct was the same: to run as fast as he could into his grandfather's arms, the one person who could chase away all those night terrors.

Tonight is the night he steps up to reverse those roles. Horropedia wants nothing more than to offer you that same feeling of safety.

"There's three things we can do right now. One, we can pretend nothing happened and you can join me to watch movies until the sun rises or until we pass out from exhaustion, whichever comes first. Two, we can go raid the kitchen right now for some comfort food - lucky for you, I know where everyone hides their favorite snacks."

He pauses just enough to pique your interest, giving you one of his mysterious, cheeky smiles. "Three, you lay down with me and tell me all about this nightmare you had, so I can judge and nitpick all the scary elements in it."

That earns a little chuckle from you, a massive improvement from your pitiful expression back then - that's enough to seal your fate.

Horropedia slowly takes off his glasses and sets them on the table, before pulling you into a hug and falling onto the plush cushions. He makes sure to lay by the edge of the couch with you nestled safely inside, his body fully shielding you from the light of the TV screen. There's just enough space to lay down together like this, as long as you remain pressed up against his chest.

This is a first for him, for someone who struggles with this type of contact and rarely initiates it, and yet it feels as natural as breathing when it comes to you. It feels right, and he guesses he must be doing something right when you nuzzle and curl up into him, content and comfortable.

There's no trace of that fear from before. That tense atmosphere is fully gone, replaced with something that feels just like home - it's like he's 13 again, staying up late at night, having fun and doing things that the Foundation would never approve of, those illicit sleepovers under the safety of his blanket. But this time, he has you by his side.

Horropedia is painfully aware of his lack of skill when it comes to romance - he still pets your head the same way one would pet a dog rather than a person - but he can't bring himself to care in the slightest about all these rules and guidelines when he hears you laugh and complain about his cold hands on the small of your back. Then, he feels you poke at his monster slippers with your foot.

"You're still wearing these?" Before he can reply, you kick them off and they fall unceremoniously onto the floor. "They're so lame."

Horropedia deadpans. "You literally have a matching pair."

"Yeah, some nerdy nerd gave them to me."

He realizes you're joking when you avoid his eyes in an attempt to hide that smug grin, choosing to trace the colorful patterns and slasher killers depicted on his shirt instead. Somehow, he feels his heart skip a beat at this.

"Hey! I don't recall giving you the fourth option of making fun of me all night! Now, will you share that nightmare you had, or should we wait until I die from the suspense?"

This time, you're the one who catches him off-guard by cupping his face and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Feeling the warmth rise from his neck to the tip of his ears, Horropedia is left momentarily speechless. Perhaps he still needs a little more time to ease into this whole physical touch thing. Nonetheless, he remains docile under your touch, especially when you begin to play with his hair.

"It's funny," you begin speaking, carefully untangling the hairclips out of that mess of brown hair, undoing his ponytail. "I can't even remember what it was about, at least not all of it. It just feels... Like it was something very dumb, even if it made me cry. I guess it's that whole thing you keep saying, about how psychological horror is scarier because there's no actual tangible monster or creature or whatever to blame for everything."

"Thank you! Finally, someone who thinks alike! The whole fear factor is greatly reduced when you can see the origin of all these supernatural or scary, inexplicable events. Humanity's biggest enemy is their own mind, and to us arcanists is our emotions. That's why, to some people, ghosts are scarier than robbers - which makes sense, despite being entirely illogical at the same time..."

It's hard to stop once he gets going, and so Horropedia continues talking, so immersed in his own thoughts and theories that he doesn't even register the way you've wrapped both arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest and breathing him in.

Every so often, you give him a weak, drowsy reply and he only realizes you've fallen asleep when all he hears is your gentle snoring. The movie continues to play in the background, but all of his senses are focused on you.

Had it been anyone else, Horropedia would've been offended. But it's you we're talking about. One of the very few people who pay attention to what he says, who cares enough to sit through hours of ramblings and to debate him on things he might've missed or overlooked. Who would never think of changing the way he is.

There's stars in his eyes when he looks down at your sleeping form, absolutely mesmerized. Usually, you're the one helping him through the tedious social interactions, to understand when he might be overstepping or acting rudely. In a sea of blank, emotionless and confusing faces, yours is the one he looks for guidance and solace. When nothing makes sense and he's lost in an abundance of unspoken rules of conduct, discipline and etiquette, your voice is the one that rises above all.

He may not know how to show it, he may not even realize it himself, but his appreciation for you runs deeper than his love for horror. Horropedia is honored to know that, just this once, he was able to help you. That he's the first one you sought out at your most vulnerable.

Horropedia presses his lips to the top of your head - a gentle, feathery kiss as to not disturb your sleep. And he remains there, your anchor to reality, as his eyelids feel heavier and heavier. The last thing he remembers before sleep takes over is your voice, not quite awake and not quite asleep, thanking him.

What are you even thanking him for, silly? Have you forgotten already? It's fine, because Horropedia will always be there to remind you: you can always count on him, no matter what.