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cr4zyoosh · 10 days ago

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I LOVE THIS SO MUCH.

—Don’t dream it’s over

Tobias Rogers x reader

summary. you have a night terror and Toby comforts you

A/N. idk i feel like this whole fanfic is stupid😭😭 this will flop so bad i alr know it

word count. 2.4k

You woke up choking on nothing—no sound, no hands on your throat, but the pressure was there, heavy in your chest, pressing down like something had followed you out of the dream and pinned you beneath it.

It took you a moment to realize you were awake.

The room was dark and quiet, but your heart thundered like the most violent of thunderstorms, hinting at the pure terror you had just woken up from. You sat up, fingers trembling against the sweat-damp sheets, trying to shake the residue of the terror still crawling under your skin. The dream itself was already blurring at the edges, melting into a vague collage of shadows, breathless panic, and something unseen that knew your name.

You looked over.

Toby— sprawled in the mess of the blanket, one leg hanging off the bed, hair sticking up at every angle. Mouth half open. Asleep.

At that moment you felt jealousy eating at you. You would’ve done anything to fall back asleep, peacefully in Toby’s arms but there was no going back to sleep. Not now.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, grabbing warm clothes, thick socks, and the old blanket from the foot of the bed. You wrapped it tight around your shoulders like it might muffle the buzzing in your brain. The kitchen had the morning sun seeping through the small window above the stove, giving you a sort of comforting feeling. You filled your kettle with shaking hands, every creak of the floorboards too loud, every shadow flickering like it moved just before you looked at it.

The tea helped. A little. Steam rising, warm between your palms, a tether to something real.

You stepped outside into the cold before your thoughts could follow you.

The forest greeted you in silence. It stretched far in every direction, tall black trees cloaked in white, the snow turning the world into a frozen cathedral. The porch creaked under your weight as you walked to the hammock strung between the two thick posts. You climbed in slowly, careful not to spill the tea, and let it sway.

The cold didn’t bother you—it felt cleaner— less suffocating than the air inside. The fear didn’t go away, not exactly, but it dulled.

You sat there, eyes fixed on the edge of the woods. Every crack of ice settling in the trees made you flinch, but you didn’t move.

The sound of snow crunching approached from the thick fog, your heart stopping for a moment. At first, your chest seized, convinced it had come for you again—but no.

Deer. A small herd stepping into view a few meters out. Their coats were thick and dusted with snow, their breath fogging the air. One twitched its ears toward you, head tilted. Another bounded a few steps and scattered snow like glitter.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It was quiet. Beautiful. Fragile in the way things are when you know they can’t last.

Then the cabin door clicked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch, you knew who it was.

Toby’s voice cracked the silence. “Well this is ju—just sad.” You closed your eyes for a second. Of course.

He took a slow step forward. “Blanket. Anxiety tea. The thousand-yard stare. You look like one of those tragic Russian poets about to dramatically fre— fr—freeze to death.”

You sipped your tea. “Well, good morning to you too.”

“Morgen,” he muttered, like the word tasted bad.

You felt the hammock lurch violently as he climbed in beside you, socked feet brushing against your leg, and then he was pulling you into his side without ceremony. He muttered a string of curses when the blanket bunched under his elbow, then yanked it over both of you, tugging you closer.

“Up at five in the goddamn morning, sitting out here like a rejected snow elf,” he grumbled, pressing his cheek to your temple. “Are you trying to die of exposure or just emotionally spiral wh—where it’s scenic?”

There was quiet again. The deer had disappeared back into the trees. The sky had started to shift— pinks and yellows shifting into a light blue softening at the edges, hinting at morning.

Toby’s voice was lower now, less sharp. “You should’ve woken me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I’m a— always sleeping. Doesn’t mean you g— get to wander out here like a s— sad little frostbite fairy.” He shifted, resting his chin on your head. “Du bist so ein Idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot.” You never understood when he switched to his mother tongue— but that phrase had been etched into your mind after the countless of times he had said it. “Really? Because it somehow keeps b—be—eing true.” He was silent for a beat. Then added, barely audible, “Mein Idiot.” And he wasn’t even wrong.

He stayed pressed close, twitching now and then, whispering little nothings—Liebling, Schatz, mein Herz. Pressing soft kissed to your cheek, jaw and temple.

You took another sip of your tea. The heat had dulled, but the spice still lingered, sharp on your tongue. It anchored you. Toby cupped your cheek, making you look at him. “What’s going on Y/N?” He stared into your eyes, brows furrowed.

Eventually, you exhaled slowly and said, “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Because drinking anxiety tea on a frozen porch at ass-o’clock and staring into the snow-covered woods like you’re auditioning for a tragic ghost story is the perfect description of being fine.”

You gave him a look. “It’s just tea.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s cinnamon-clove-nightmare juice. That’s not casual sipping tea, Liebling. That’s ‘I woke up in a cold sweat and now I’m contemplating mortality’ tea.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t argue. Because you knew he was right.

And, annoyingly, so did he.

“I see you don’t wan—wanna talk,” he said, quieter now. “And I get that. I do. But don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re o—out here breathing like the world’s gonna collapse if you make t—too much noise.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in, but not sharply. “I’m not mad. Just.. don’t lie to me. Not about that.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His eyes weren’t mocking or smug or teasing like usual. They were serious. Focused. A little tired, maybe, with the shadow of something soft and bruised underneath. He kept looking at you like he was memorizing this version of your face. The quiet one. The one you usually kept tucked away.

“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” he said suddenly. “The one when you’re trying not to c—cry.”

You blinked.

His fingers traced down from your cheek to your jaw, tapping it lightly. “Rig—r—right there. Tight. Like you’re ho—holding something in your teeth.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Don’t argue, Schatz, you’re terr—terrible at it.” He leaned his head back against the edge of the hammock, letting out a long breath that steamed in the cold air.

“I can’t always tell what you’re feeling,” he said. “I know I mess up sometimes. I say the wrong thing. I make it worse. But I notice. I see y—you.”

The words settled into the cold like something heavier than they should’ve been.

“I know,” you said, voice rougher now.

He looked over at you again. “You don’t have to pretend, Y/N. Not with me. You can be a wreck and I’ll still—” His voice caught slightly, so he covered it with a twitch of a grin. “I’ll still annoy the hell out of you.”

You breathed in through your nose and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. His words were the kind that didn’t demand anything from you. They just landed. Sat beside you like a warm coat you didn’t realize you needed until it was there.

Then you sighed.

“I said I’m fine Toby.”

And just like that, he blinked—expression flickering from open concern to exaggerated disbelief in one beat.

“And I call bullshit Shatz.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effort to keep your expression neutral was already slipping. Something in your throat pulled tight.

You didn’t say anything for a while and Toby decided not to push.

The sky was starting to change—slow and subtle, grey giving way to soft blue, like someone was brushing light across it with the edge of their thumb. The trees didn’t move. The world was still holding its breath.

“Y’know,” he said finally, “you’re allow— allowed to not be okay.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m serious. Even if you wanna be the emotionally cryptic badass a— all the time. I still notice.”

You looked down at your entwined fingers.

Then up at him.

You didn’t mean to say anything. You meant to sit in silence, like always. But your hand tightened around the mug until your knuckles went pale, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I feel like something followed me out of it.”

Toby stilled beside you.

You kept your eyes forward, locked on the snow-laced trees, but your voice dropped into something quiet and raw. “The dream. It—something in it.. it didn’t stay in there. It crawled out with me. I know how that sounds.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just shifted slightly, the hammock creaking.

“It’s like—” You hesitated, breath fogging in the air. ��Like there’s something just outside my vision. Watching. Waiting. I know it’s not real, but I can’t convince my body. It’s like my skin knows something I don’t.”

There was a long silence.

And then your hands started shaking.

“It won’t go away,” you whispered. “That feeling. That something is wrong. That something’s here. With me. All the time. Even now.”

The tears started then—not loud, not dramatic. Just slow. Relentless.

Toby didn’t say a word. He just moved—gathered you up in his arms like it was instinct. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.

You buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his hoodie. “I can’t make it stop,” you said into the fabric. “My brain knows there’s no one watching. That it was just a dream. But my body—my body is stuck. I keep checking the shadows. The windows. I feel like if I blink too long, something’ll be there when I open my eyes.”

He let out a quiet sigh, shifting closer to you, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“Look at me, Schatz.”

You hesitated, then slowly turned your head. His eyes were softer now, focused on you with something almost tender—a rare calm in his usual storm of teasing.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said again, this time a little more firmly. “You know I—I’m right here with you. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

You nodded slightly, still feeling the unease tugging at you, but his words grounded you, like an anchor you hadn’t known you needed.

“Stop looking ov—over your shoulder,” he said softly. “Whatever it was, it’s not here now. You’re not in that dream anymore. You’re right her—here with me, in the cold, on this stupid porch. Not in there. Understand?”

You swallowed, still hesitant but feeling a little lighter, just by the firmness in his tone.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You think I’m letting some ghost take you? N— nah,” he said with a soft laugh, though it wasn’t light. “No chance. Not as long as I’m around.”

You didn’t laugh, but you felt the weight on your chest lighten just a little bit.

Toby shifted so that he was fully facing you, his body pressing just slightly against yours. He didn’t pull away or try to make it less serious.

“Listen to me,” he said, a bit more forceful now. “I get it. I really do. That shit lingers. It sticks to you like sap, and it’s har—d to shake off. But if you think for one second that I’m gonna let you be alone with it, you’re wr—wrong.”

You finally looked at him, meeting his eyes—his gaze was steady now, no teasing, no nonsense. Just the familiar softness of someone who understood.

“I’ve got you, Liebling,” he said, the words simple, but there was weight in them. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not doing this alone.”

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking the last of the tears away, the unspoken understanding passing between you.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you murmured, a shaky exhale escaping your lips. “Make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he said with a quiet confidence, though his words were steady, like a promise. “The ghosts? They don’t st— stand a chance against me.”

You couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“True,” he agreed, his grin finally breaking through. “But I’m your i—idiot.”

His arms tightened around you, the warmth of his touch the only thing that seemed to push the icy feeling away. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch comfortably between you.

“You’re safe, Schatz,” he murmured after a while, voice low. “I don’t care what the dream says, or how it feels. Nothing’s watching you. Just me. And trust me, these eyes can never get enou— en— enough of you.”

You let out a quiet breath, something in your chest loosening just a little.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, the word solid and final, like a vow. “I’m here, sweet thing. Nothing’s taking you fro—from me.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, allowing the tension to slowly, slowly start to fade. The world was still cold, and the paranoia lingered at the edges of your mind, but for now, in the quiet of the moment, it felt easier to breathe.

“Okay,” he said. “Now that we’ve sh—shi— shared our souls and cried into each other’s hair, I vote we go inside.”

You sniffed. “You don’t have hair long enough to cry into.”

He blinked, mock-wounded. “So rude. My hair is the perfect length to cry into, thank you very much.”

You smiled weakly, which, for Toby, was a challenge—to make you at least giggle. He kissed every inch of your face, covering it with the love he had for you. Slowly, he began to tease, making his way from your jaw to your neck. You chuckled softly, pressing your hands against his chest.

“Enough, Toby. I get it,” you laughed—not too energetically, but it was still a laugh.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered. “Then I’ll go burn toast for us.”

“You always burn it.”

“It’s got layers, Liebling. It’s com—complex. It tells a story.”

“It tells a story about fire hazards.”

He gave you one final kiss to your temple and scooped you into his arms, going back into the warm embrace of the cabin.

“You know you love it,” he murmured.

And like always, he was fucking right.