thirteenth doctor one shots (old)

too much. - 13 x reader

TRIGGER WARNING

The voices in your head. They were becoming too much. Far too much. You sat, still, on your untidy bed, and pulled your hair, trying to get everything to just shut up. But, as you knew, but failed to admit, nothing could distract you from the screaming, commanding words from inside your mind.

You fell back onto your pillow, your body sprawled across your bed in clothes that you had worn for the past two days. You felt numb, like all the emotion had been drained from you, and nothing was left of you, just a blank face that had given up already. Weak, pathetic little thing you were - everyone knew it. The Doctor did, you could tell; how could she not think that? The amount of times you had been a coward, or given up on something in front of her was uncountable. Sighing, you took out the only thing that could make you feel, and take away that numbness for a few minutes. You twiddled it in between your fingers, taking a deep breath, before holding your wrist out and digging the edge into your skin and dragging it along. Blood began to seep out of the cut, dripping onto the bed sheets. You drew another cut. And another. Another. You got too carried away, and before you knew it, your wrist was covered in blood. Realising what you had done, you frantically searched for a tissue to stop the mess, otherwise the Doctor would find out. There wasn't a single tissue in your room. Your breathing increased, and tears built up in your eyes, glazing over your vision. All you could see, or hear was the blurry mess of blood, and the screaming voices in your head. They were even louder now.

What if you just killed yourself now?

What if you just let yourself bleed out and die?

The Doctor wouldn't care.

She has better things to think about.

It was true. The Doctor did have better things to think about than you. You were a burden, getting in the way of her, always being a coward and never happy with what you had. So you let yourself bleed out, alone. The voices had stopped. You had listened to them, and now they wanted nothing more of you. They would let you die. And now, without the voices, all you could think about was the Doctor. The beautiful, goofy, energetic, caring Doctor. She was perfect. Her lips were so soft and her eyes were so telling - they reveal everything she's done, everything she's seen with a glance. You loved her. You had since the day you met her.

You blinked, letting the tears fall down your face. You looked down and saw your scars on both arms, both old and fresh. This had been your life for the past two years - there was a pause, though, for about a couple of months, when you met the Doctor. You had been so caught up with the adventures to realise that you probably didn't mean anything to her. That was when you started again. It was your coping method - it relieved pain, and it brought a sense of feeling. This was the last time you'd be doing that. The last time-

The door flung open.

"Hey Y/N-" The Doctor saw what you were doing. She saw your body sprawled out amongst blood stained sheets, your wrists covered in scarred skin and huge splodges of blood, your face scratched with tears. "Y/N! What are you-" She ran over to you, grabbing the bed sheets and pressing them down on your cuts. You tried to stop her, wishing that this would all just end.

"P-Please don't.. I just want it all to end." You looked at her with bloodshot eyes. She paused for a moment, looking at your face. She was completely stricken by the obvious mental state you were in. She consider-

"No. I won't let you, Y/N. I don't want you to.. die," She continued to put pressure on your wounds, "You're so important to me. I don't ever want you to forget that."

You sobbed.

"It will be okay. Maybe not today, but I swear that one day, it will be okay. This will be over. If you let me do this," The Time Lord had tears in her eyes.

"But- This will make the voices stop."

"I will help you make the voices stop in a different way. A better way." You stopped struggling, and let her do what she needed to do. She went to your bathroom to collect bandages and wipes.

The Doctor removed the sheets from your wrists, and started wiping the blood away. She then wrapped a bandage over your whole arm, covering every cut. Once she was done, she put everything back and then walked with you to her room, since it was cleaner. You sat down on her bed, your head in your hands, tears dripping off of your chin.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so pathetic-"

"Don't apologise. I'm always here for you. Try and get some sleep, Y/N, please. You'll feel better in the morning."

You didn't bother getting changed and slid under the sheets. You had calmed down from earlier, but didn't feel much better. The Doctor took off her coat, shoes, and suspenders and turned off the lights, getting into bed with you. You shuffled closer to her, and so did she. You snaked your arm over her stomach and back round so your hand was under the back of her shoulder. She eased into you, her arm reaching under you and onto your back, so your face was resting on her chest.

"Thank you." You whispered. "For saving my life."