Doctor Who X reader Imagines, preferences and one-shots

Bad dreams (10)

(If you can't draw, just say you learnt how to in the many years you've spent with him).
You were sitting in your study, where you spent most of your time away from the Doctor, inking and watercolouring a drawing of the Doctor in your (mostly art, barely filled, only the first fifty pages out of god knows how many) journal, pencils, eraser shavings and black pens over your desk.

There was a gentle and patient knock on your Study door.

You keep drawing but call out a "Come in,"

"Just wanted to check you were okay dear," The Doctor would quietly assert himself and step into your study, closing the door behind him, quietly sniffling, standing awkwardly.

"I would offer you somewhere to sit but, don't think you want to sit on me." You chuckle, keeping your head down, focusing on colouring his hair accurately.

"What are you drawing?" He would ask contorting to see the drawing you were hunched over, adding too it.

You, not moving, give a solemn reply of,"You."

"M-me?" The Doctor rocks back and forth on his feet, twiddling his fingers nervously, a tear flowing down his cheek.

"Don't worry, I didn't make it bad on purpose." You chortle softly, practically sensing his nervousness.

"Oh, okay... can I see it?" He would ask. You nod, the nervousness being transferred to you, as you move away from the drawing and push it along the desk so he can see what you've been working on for two hours. He stares at the drawing after wiping his eyes, face showing no emotions.

You awkwardly shake your head and clarify,"I'm not fini-"

"This is amazing... Is THIS how you see me?" He would ask, now looking at you.

"W-well, I think you look so much better," You disclose, smiling softly at him. He moves closer to you an kisses your forehead.

"You're brilliant, you are! I mean it! Writing, Art and even that weird instrument from that one planet!" He would smile. You feel yourself blush slightly, pulling the journal back and working on the eyes and other details, the Doctor watching you intently the entire time, but you forget about his presence in the room until you've finished the drawing and stand up, starting to pack away.

He would romantically wrap his arms around your waist, he vocalises, "You're amazing."

"So are you." You grin as he rests his chin on your shoulder, yawning and swaying as you tidy your pencils and etcetera.

You shrug him off you, apologising.

"We should get you to bed. Any idea what time it is?" You ask, sliding a hand from his shoulder, down his arm, to his hand, fingers locking softly.

"It's three in the morning." He would admit.

"I thought you slept earlier than that?" You ask gently.

"I did. I woke up. I... uhm, had a bad dream." The Doctor pulls you into a hug hides his face against your neck. You feel a warmish liquid starting to stain your pyjamas and run down your neck. You shush at him a few times, holding him close to you and shedding a tear yourself, kissing his head as he sobs into your neck.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've stopped drawing to comfort you, I would've stopped doing anything to help you." You keep delicately shushing him in-between the nearly inaudible sentences, only moderately disturbed by the muffled sobs from the Doctor.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could but I couldn't." The Doctor's words dissipating back into bawling and blubbering into your neck, his intense, clasping hug dwindling like an old fire.

"It was just a dream." You move onto comforting him about the dream, securing him in your arms. "Everyone is still here, and everyone still loves you."

"Even Martha?" He would ask, in need of the comforting.

"Especially Martha." You chuckle, tears working their ways from your eyes.

"Jack? Donna? R-rose?" He would snivel.

"Everyone, my love." You cradle him.

"You?" The Doctor would hold his breath, attempting to withhold his pathetic tears.

"Nothing could separate me from you when you need me, not even yourself," You purr, petting his beautiful soft-brown hair, that was flecked with dazzling gold and many variations of brown.

"You're too shaken up to sleep, let's go to the library," You begin, whispering in his ear gently, next, addressing the TARDIS, "You know what I'm thinking, old girl."

You lace yours and the Doctor's fingers again, opening the study door and leading him to the library.

The fire was lit, its yellow and orange luminosity gleaming against the spines of ancient books, dressing the bookshelves like water fills the ocean, some books untouched for many years. A single loveseat about a meter away from the fire with no coffee table in the centre.

The TARDIS puts on one of your songs, a slower and more relaxing one.

"Dance with me?" You suggest, removing his hand from yours so you can cup his cheeks, wiping his tears with your thumbs, admiring him, despite his cheeks being red and slightly puffy and his eyes glazed over with tears.

The Doctor would nod, sniffling before accepting. You quietly start cheerfully dancing through the library, until you both feel tired enough to climb into your bed, the Doctor embracing you tightly.