Drowning
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- Parts 5
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Richard Hammond's recovery from his 2006 Dragster crash. Seen through the eyes of, surprisingly, Richard himself. Through hazy, fragmented, damaged memories. Platonic/family-like Top Gear (Hammond, Clarkson and May). Hurt/Comfort, fluff, angst. - Excerpt - A voice, in his ear. "-doing so well, mate." It whispers. A waft of warm air against his cheek. It tickles. "So, so fucking well. We're right here, okay? We're right here. We're not going anywhere." There's a soft, gentle weight on his arm. Fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing loosely. The pressure grounds him, just a little. He wishes it was stronger. If it was strong enough, it'd help him out of the heavy, cotton-like fog his mind seems to have shoved him into. At least, he thinks it would. "You're a tough little bastard, Ham." The voice cracks a little, like a stuttery record. "You know that, right?" "Want a minute?" Another voice asks softly, from further away. He becomes aware of a weight against his leg. A hand? "I can go, if you want." "No, no, I... I'm okay." It breathes. He can't feel the warmth on his cheek anymore, but he hears the breath. Trembly and upset. "God, Rich, you scared the shit out of me." "You and me both, Jezza." The other voice murmurs. "You and me both." - - -Complete
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Fragments (Hannigram Oneshots)
"Will. Does it hurt to much?" "It hurts the right amount."
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Richard Hammond Imagines
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the pictures or the cover! Just some imagines about our favorite British presenter, Richard Hammond. Because I love him, he's so funny. And I didn't see so many fanfictions about him, I believe he deserves so many more. Anyway, I might also add some of the other presenters. When it's requested or when I feel like it. Enjoy, XXX Luna❤ A/N: *WARNING, this story might contains some rude language and other things that some readers might find offensive! Read at on risk!*Complete
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Richard Hammond's recovery from his 2006 Dragster crash. Seen through the eyes of, surprisingly, Richard himself. Through hazy, fragmented, damaged memories. Platonic/family-like Top Gear (Hammond, Clarkson and May). Hurt/Comfort, fluff, angst. - Excerpt - A voice, in his ear. "-doing so well, mate." It whispers. A waft of warm air against his cheek. It tickles. "So, so fucking well. We're right here, okay? We're right here. We're not going anywhere." There's a soft, gentle weight on his arm. Fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing loosely. The pressure grounds him, just a little. He wishes it was stronger. If it was strong enough, it'd help him out of the heavy, cotton-like fog his mind seems to have shoved him into. At least, he thinks it would. "You're a tough little bastard, Ham." The voice cracks a little, like a stuttery record. "You know that, right?" "Want a minute?" Another voice asks softly, from further away. He becomes aware of a weight against his leg. A hand? "I can go, if you want." "No, no, I... I'm okay." It breathes. He can't feel the warmth on his cheek anymore, but he hears the breath. Trembly and upset. "God, Rich, you scared the shit out of me." "You and me both, Jezza." The other voice murmurs. "You and me both." - - -
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