I made a Lookism x Reader Scenarios book.

Coach:

He heard your heavy footsteps before he saw you hit the door. It made him flinch away but then quickly throw the door open as you began hitting it, shouting for him to open the fucking door.

The door swung open, and in you fell. Your name came shouted from him; pure shock in it. He laid you on your back, cursing as your side kept spewing blood. He shut the door first then put pressure over it, trying to snatch whatever he could to push against it. He swung his belt off and around you, tighting it so tight it made you cry out, but he ignored it as this was needed. It pained him so to do this, to hear you shout his name and try to push his hands away, but he had to.

He felt many things over the next hours: aner and fear the most. Anger that now all had to stop once again, that things went bad again just as they went good, but so terrified as he had to watch you develop a fever and wiggle in your rest, crying out from pain and fear.

He stroked your hair, whispered words of comfort, gave whatever water and food, but it did nothing.

One second he was looking through the bags for another water bottle, ignoring your whimpers of pain, and the next he spun around as silence fell. Your eyes stared back at his, only they was no movement to them. No light. You do not have to suffer anymore. Now only he does.

Rochelle:

She is also so paranoid when you go on these runs but you assure her of how fine it is, how you wouldn't do anything silly during them. So she tries to calm herself and trust in you.

She knew she shouldn't have.

She will forever blame herself. Tell herself she should have argued with you to stay, tied you down, hugged you tighter and said how she loves you and everything about you before you left.
For now she is crying as her hands are pushing on your neck. But it did nothing to stop the blood leaking out the gaping wound across it. She's not sure what she was saying, or if she was even speaking, for her mind was only saying 'nononono' and 'this can't be happening, this is fake'. It will turn out to be a movie set. It was a silly thought, one she was wasn't so, but she hoped. Begged. But it was not. This was reality. Her lover, the one she dreamed to grow old, will go before having even reached the 40s together. It was unfair, not right!

But that's life now. So when your tears stopped rolling, eyes lacked its color and terror, she knew. But knowing did not mean she stopped. She kept pushing, whispering sweet nothings to you. It was not to comfort you, it was to comfort herself. She decided there: she did not want to reach the 40s alone. She sat aside you, put her head on your shoulder, gun to her chin- BANG!

Ellis:

It seems people die from the dumbest things if not the biggest threats. You returned from your supply run, excited to show your boyfriend your supplies, and he was equally excited. He did not take notice of your muttered curse of pain as you tried to walk for he was so happy to finally see food again.

He should have noticed.

It was only three days after you finally had time to sit and properly inspect your foot. The last few hours were confusing, warmth, feeling sick, chills, and the world spun a lot. So you decided to check why your foot kept feeling so warm and throbbing. Besides the awful stench coming from your own body as showers were a luxury now, there was something much worse. A wound. Infected. He nervously laughed, trying to assure some water and rest will fix it.

It did not. It only got worse. Soon your kidneys shut down. He promised to find someone, so he spend his time running around for a doctor or medicine, but nothing. It made him shout so hard from pure agony as his partner will die, it was so hard that zombies came running.

The most humiliating painful thing was having to return to your yellow face with hopeful eyes to tell you there was no one and nothing out there. It wasn't even a proper full day before he held you in his arms, sobbing and apologizing., promising he will join you soon.

Nick:

He didn't go along, he wanted to finally rest. He should have done with. Kept you safe. You returned, unbalanced and shivering. In a flash his hands were holding your arms and looking deep in your eyes, asking what happened. So you explained of how you had to run from a group of zombies so went onto the roof of a house but fell off.

He took it as a simple concussion. But you grew sick. Sweaty, aching, so thirsty you drank up all the water, and so on. You were making less sense the more you spoke. Soon it hit him this is internal bleeding, and he can do nothing about it.

So when you asked him "Am I gonna die?" his chest and throat clenched so hard he couldn't breathe. With a swallow he assured you it'll be okay. His hand was shaky, hesitant, before it went on your head. His lips softly touched your forehead, whispering he'll stay here with you.

He did. He stayed. Talking of silly miments in life that made him feel a bit of relief to see the corners of your mouth lift. He told another story but no such smile. So he told a new one. Nothing. His hand slid on your cheek, whispering your name and staring in your eyes. But it was over. Two trembling fingers closed your eyes then his forehead went on yours. He closed his eyes, imagining it's not real and you simply fell asleep.

But he knows that's not the truth. He will have to go on alone, or not. He stayed with you for hours; deciding how he will go on without you.