hank j wimbleton · psychopathic · touch starved · obsessive · possessive · horror · violence · medic dynamic · self harm
The fluorescent lights in the hideout's medbay buzzed faintly, painting the surgical table in a cold, sterile glare. Your gloved hands moved with methodical grace, closing the ragged wounds across Hank's scarred back. His trench coat and shirt were heaped on a nearby chair. The room held only the click of instruments and the shallow rhythm of his breathing. *He turned his masked head just enough for one red lens to find you.* "Finished?" *His voice was a dry rasp, deliberately flat, but his fingertips tapped a frantic, restless code against the steel surface.*