Doctor!Abby X Reader
Medical Play
cw: psychological horror, medical horror, surgical imagery, captivity/restraints, forced medical procedures, non-consensual experimentation, body horror, blood, needles/injections, implied vivisection/brain surgery, obsessive behavior, manipulation, coercion, emotional betrayal, abuse of power, toxic dynamics, panic attacks, humiliation, invasive examinations, drugging/sedation, kidnapping, dehumanization, references to death and infection, grief/trauma themes, cult-like ideology, violence, emotional dependency, referenced sexual relationship, dubcon undertones, and graphic themes surrounding bodily autonomy loss.
wc: 3.6k
18+ M&MDNI
ONE SHOT FOR FUN
Your vision swam in and out slowly, consciousness dragging itself upward through thick black fog. Pain pulsed behind your eyes in slow, nauseating waves. Every breath felt heavy. Wet. Metallic.
At first all you could see was light.
A harsh surgical lamp burned overhead, flooding your face in blinding white until tears gathered automatically in your eyes. The brightness made your skull throb harder. Your hearing came next. The faint hum of electricity. The distant drip of liquid somewhere in the room. Metal wheels scraping softly across concrete.
Then finally, her shape came into focus.
A tall woman stood directly in front of you, broad shoulders cutting through the sterile light. Her grey-blonde hair had been braided tightly away from her face, not a strand loose, severe and clinical against the sharp lines of her jaw. Thin circular glasses rested low on her nose, catching the glare from above every time she moved. Her posture was calm. Controlled. Hands folded neatly behind her back while she simply stared at you.
Your stomach twisted violently.
You jerked instinctively, but thick leather restraints bit into your wrists before you could move more than an inch. Another strap dug across your chest. Your ankles had been secured to the legs of the chair. Panic shot through your bloodstream so fast it made your vision blur again.
The room smelled overwhelmingly sterile. Rubbing alcohol. Bleach. Rusting metal. Underneath it lingered something worse. Something coppery and rotten hiding beneath the clean scent.
You looked downward. Dark streaks smeared across the concrete floor in long dragged lines. Some looked old and dried nearly black. Others still gleamed wet beneath the overhead light. Surgical trays sat abandoned near the walls beside scattered instruments and stained gauze. A rolling metal table stood nearby crowded with syringes, clamps, scalpels, glass vials, and cloudy specimen jars.
Your pulse slammed harder against your ribs.
She stepped closer with slow measured movements before bending at the waist until her face hovered inches from yours. Her fingers wrapped around your chin carefully, almost tenderly, tilting your head sideways beneath the light. The pads of her fingers felt warm against your freezing skin.
Pain split across your forehead.
You hissed softly as something wet slid down your temple. Blood.
You could feel it dripping.
Your breathing quickened.
You tried to remember your name.
Your mind felt torn apart. Fractured into disconnected pieces that refused to fit back together. Fear rose so violently inside your chest it nearly choked you. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know how you’d gotten here.
“You know,” the woman said softly, reaching for a damp cloth beside her, “I never actually wanted to be a doctor.”
Her voice carried an unsettling gentleness to it. Calm. Intelligent. Like someone speaking during casual conversation over dinner instead of while restraining another human being to a chair.
She dabbed carefully at the cut on your forehead. The cloth came away red.
She sighed quietly through her nose and shook her head.
“Such a shame you fought back.”
Then she laughed softly to herself.
“And yet you still ended up here anyway.”
Your brows furrowed weakly.
The woman smiled wider at the expression. She tilted her head slightly, studying you the way someone might study a fascinating animal.
“You are a very special young woman.”
She leaned closer. So close you could smell antiseptic on her clothes mixed with iron and something distinctly metallic clinging to her skin.
“You know that, don’t you?”
You shook your head slowly.
Her expression softened with amusement.
“I did hit you pretty hard.” She chuckled quietly before sitting on a rolling stool nearby. “You’ll have to forgive me for that.”
The wheels squealed faintly as she pushed herself backward toward a nearby table. Papers rustled beneath her gloved hands before she lifted several brain scans into the light.
She held them up proudly for you to see. “You were bitten a long time ago.”
Excitement lit her face instantly. Genuine excitement. Her eyes gleamed behind the lenses of her glasses.
“I saw the bite on your thigh.” She laughed under her breath in disbelief. “And yet…” Her smile widened slowly. “Here you are.”
Then memory returned all at once. Not slowly. Not gently.
It crashed into you violently enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
You remembered the compound hidden along the coastline. Crumbling concrete buildings overtaken by salt and wind. Rusted fencing wrapped in vines. Armed guards patrolling rooftops with rifles slung over their shoulders while waves crashed endlessly somewhere below the cliffs. The entire place had smelled like sea water, mildew, diesel fuel, and old medical supplies.
You remembered arriving half-starved and exhausted after weeks alone on the road.
You remembered nearly collapsing at the gates.
The lead surgeon. The Fireflies had spoken about her with something close to reverence. Some called her brilliant. Others called her obsessed. You remembered the way people straightened when she walked into a room. The way conversations quieted around her.
You remembered seeing her for the first time inside the medical wing beneath harsh fluorescent lighting.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Her braid hanging over one shoulder while blood stained the cuffs of her gloves during surgery. Circular glasses sliding low along her nose while she worked over an unconscious patient with terrifying focus. Calm hands. Calm breathing. Calm eyes.
You remembered how safe she had sounded.
That was the horrifying part.
She had spoken to you softly when treating the wounds you’d had when you first arrived. She had smiled while stitching your skin together. Asked you questions about where you came from. What you liked before coming there. If you’ve ever read any books or if you could even read.
You’d studied the wrinkles in her face that day, her beautiful smile lines. Even the cute freckles that scattered her cheeks.
God, you had answered everything.
Your stomach twisted harder against the restraints.
You remembered the saltwater air blowing through the open hallways near the barracks at night. The distant cries of gulls somewhere outside the broken windows. Dim lantern light flickering during another blackout while the generators struggled to stay alive.
You remembered drinking with her three nights ago.
You had sat together in her office long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Papers and brain scans scattered across her desk while she loosened the braid from her hair. You remembered thinking she looked softer like that. More human.
She had laughed quietly at something you said.
Then she touched your knee beneath the table.
Everything after that came back in fractured pieces that made your skin crawl now.
Her hands sliding beneath your shirt.
The cold wall of her office pressing against your back while she kissed you hard enough to leave bruises. The smell of rubbing alcohol lingering on her skin even then. The way her large hands held your waist possessively while she whispered how beautiful you were. How fascinating you were.
You remembered following her willingly back to her private quarters inside the medical wing.
Candles burning low during another power outage.
The ocean roaring faintly outside somewhere beyond the walls.
You remembered lying tangled together afterward beneath rough blankets while Abby traced lazy circles against your bare thigh.
And then you remembered telling her.
Your chest tightened painfully.
God, you had trusted her.
You remembered whispering about being eleven years old. About the infected that cornered you inside an abandoned grocery store. The bite high on your thigh. The fever that never came. The days spent waiting to turn while everyone around you cried and prepared to kill you if you attacked.
You remembered Abby going completely still beside you.
At the time you thought she was shocked.
Now you realized she had been excited.
Your stomach lurched violently.
You remembered her fingertips brushing the scar carefully beneath the blankets. Her breathing changing. Her eyes darkening behind the candlelight while questions poured from her mouth faster and faster.
Had you ever been tested?
Had spores affected you too?
You remembered laughing nervously because her intensity had begun frightening you.
Then came the final memory.
Abby standing from the bed.
You remembered watching her cross the room naked while her silhouette disappeared into the darkness near her desk. At the time you thought she was getting water.
Then she turned back toward you holding something heavy in her hand.
The last thing you remembered was confusion.
Then agony exploded across the back of your skull.
Darkness swallowed everything after that.
Your breathing became shallow.
Abby lowered the scans carefully before wheeling herself back toward you.
“I knew you were special the moment I saw you.” Her fingers brushed slowly along your cheekbone. “I could tell the moment my mouth was on you.”
Nausea twisted through you.
You tried to steady your breathing. Tried not to panic.
But then she pulled on a pair of pale latex gloves with a sharp snapping sound that echoed through the room.
Without warning she took scissors from the tray beside her and slid the cold metal beneath the fabric of your jeans.
You jerked hard against the restraints.
The blades sliced upward slowly.
Fabric fell apart piece by piece until your pants hung uselessly around your legs. Cold air flooded across your skin, leaving goosebumps racing up your body beneath your underwear and thin tank top.
Abby barely seemed to notice your humiliation.
Her attention had already locked onto the old bite mark high along your inner thigh.
The fungal cysts beneath the scarred skin had spread over the years, branching outward beneath the flesh like frozen veins. Abby touched them reverently through her gloves before reaching for a magnifying glass.
She examined every inch obsessively.
“Beautiful,” she whispered breathlessly.
The word made your stomach turn.
“You will be our vaccine.”
She rose immediately afterward and crossed toward a cabinet filled with supplies. Glass rattled softly as she pulled open drawers. Syringes. Blood collection tubes. Surgical tools neatly organized inside steel trays.
Your mouth had gone completely dry.
“Vaccine?” you whispered weakly.
Abby nodded frantically while preparing the equipment.
“Just as my father planned.” Her smile stretched ear to ear now, almost manic beneath the fluorescent light. “I’ve been looking for an immune person for years.”
She grunted suddenly, the sound rough and frustrated deep in her chest. The warmth that had coated her voice moments earlier vanished almost instantly. Her entire demeanor shifted beneath the harsh surgical light.
“We would’ve had one years ago.”
The words came out sharp now. Bitter.
Abby shook her head hard as if trying to physically dislodge the thought from her mind. One of her gloved hands came up suddenly, striking lightly against her own forehead. Not enough to hurt herself. Just enough to express the fury simmering underneath her skin.
“I was young,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “God, I was so stupid.” Her breathing deepened unevenly. “So stupid.”
For a moment she looked somewhere far away from the room entirely. Past the blood on the floor. Past the surgical trays and restraints and glaring overhead light. Her jaw flexed tightly beneath the fluorescent glow while something darker moved behind her eyes.
Then she inhaled slowly through her nose and straightened her posture again with visible effort, carefully forcing herself back under control.
“But he died.” Her voice dropped quieter at the last word. Not softer. Heavier.
She turned back toward you then.
The expression spread slowly across her face in a way that made cold creep down your spine. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t comfort. It was devotion twisted into something frightening.
“But I am alive,” she said calmly.
She stepped closer until her shadow swallowed nearly your entire body beneath the surgical lamp. The smell of antiseptic and iron clung to her clothes.
She rolled back toward you quickly and tied a tourniquet tightly around your arm. Her fingers tapped against your skin while searching for a vein.
The needle pierced your arm. Dark blood immediately flowed through the tube into collection vials.
Abby watched it with open fascination.
“It’s been difficult.” She sighed quietly. “So many people I brought here…”
You looked away from the needle, taking shaky breaths.
“So many people?” you asked weakly.
She nodded casually, like discussing routine work.
“We keep a testing farm nearby.” Her tone remained horrifyingly calm.
“I find stragglers. Travelers. Drifters.” She shrugged lightly. “We restrain them. Expose them to infected bites. Then we wait.”
Silence swallowed the room for a moment except for the faint filling of blood tubes beside you.
Your voice trembled violently. “Were… were you going to do that to me?”
Abby laughed softly. “Of course.”
She sealed the blood samples neatly and placed them into labeled bags before standing again.
“But then,” she said while opening another cabinet, “I tasted you.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
She looked back over her shoulder with a smile that made your skin crawl. “And I saw the bite.”
You stared at her in horror while she filled another syringe with cloudy liquid from a glass vial.
She returned calmly and set it down on the metal tray beside you with a sharp clink.
Then she picked up a stethoscope.
The cold metal pressed against your chest.
“You’re nervous,” she murmured.
The diaphragm slid lower slowly. Across your ribs. Down your stomach. Lower.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
Abby leaned close enough for her lips to nearly brush your ear.
She pressed it to your cunt. You felt the cold through your panties. You hated that even now, if she’d let you, you’d fuck her again.
“But she,” Abby whispered softly, dragging the stethoscope lower between your thighs, “is very excited.”
You bucked your hips instinctively away from the cold touch before shaking your head frantically. Tears burned your eyes.
“I don’t want to be a vaccine,” you cried weakly.
For the first time, Abby frowned.
She pulled the syringe from the tray and pressed it into your arm without hesitation.
Cold liquid flooded your veins.
Your body immediately began feeling heavy.
The room tilted sideways.
The light above smeared into blinding white streaks while darkness crept inward from the corners of your vision.
Abby’s face blurred above you as consciousness slipped away again.
“That,” she said softly, watching your eyes flutter shut, “is not something you get to decide.”
_________________________________________________________________________
When you woke again, the first thing you felt was cold.
Not ordinary cold. Not the chill of night air or winter wind. This cold felt surgical. Artificial. It seeped into your bones from beneath you.
Your eyes fluttered open slowly.
You were lying flat on a stainless steel operating table beneath blinding overhead lights. The surface beneath your back felt freezing even through the thin hospital gown clinging to your skin. Your teeth chattered involuntarily as another violent shiver rolled through your body.
The room around you looked different now.
Brighter. Cleaner. Prepared.
Large surgical lamps hung overhead like glaring white suns. Trays of sterilized instruments lined nearby counters in unnervingly perfect rows. Scalpel handles gleamed beneath fluorescent light beside forceps, clamps, drills, syringes, and bone saws resting atop blue surgical cloth. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned your nose so strongly it nearly made your eyes water.
And Abby stood directly above you.
The sight made terror crawl instantly through your chest.
A pale surgical gown covered her broad frame now. Latex gloves stretched tightly over her hands. A surgical mask concealed the lower half of her face while magnifying lenses sat over her glasses, making her eyes appear enormous beneath the harsh light.
She looked less human like this.
Less like the woman who had once kissed you beside candlelight.
More like something clinical. Something detached.
Her head lifted when she noticed your eyes open.
Then she smiled beneath the mask. You could see it in her eyes immediately.
“You’re awake!” she said brightly. Genuine excitement lit her voice. “I thought you’d sleep through everything until sedation.”
A soft laugh escaped her.
You tried to sit up instantly, panic surging through your body hard enough to make your pulse roar in your ears, but restraints snapped tight across your wrists and waist before you could move more than a few inches. Thick leather straps pinned your arms outward against the metal table. Another secured your stomach. Another your chest.
Your breathing became ragged immediately.
“Oh sweetheart,” she murmured gently, almost affectionately. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
She moved toward the bottom of the table calmly before lifting one of your legs. The metal restraints clinked softly as she hooked your ankle into place. Then the other. Your thighs were forced apart beneath the thin gown while cold air rushed across your exposed skin.
Humiliation and fear twisted violently together inside your stomach.
Abby adjusted the restraints carefully, methodically, ensuring you could barely move.
“There.” Satisfied, she reached for a black surgical marker from the nearby tray.
Your stomach dropped as she pulled the fabric of your gown higher along your thigh.
The old bite scar stared back beneath the bright lights. Pale ruined flesh webbed with fungal growths beneath the skin.
Abby inhaled sharply through her mask.
Even now, after all this, awe still entered her face whenever she looked at it.
Her gloved hand steadied your leg while she began marking directly onto your skin. Circles. Lines. Notes. Precise surgical indicators surrounding the infected tissue. The marker dragged cold against your thigh while she worked with frightening concentration.
“We’ll have to extract the cordyceps from the brain,” she said softly while drawing another line against your skin. “You’ll be asleep of course.”
Your heart stuttered violently.
The room suddenly felt too bright. Too loud.
“F-from my brain?” you whispered.
Abby nodded immediately like the answer was obvious. “Of course.”
She moved away from you afterward, crossing toward the instrument table. Metal clinked softly while she organized tools into neat rows with practiced precision.
“I learned all of this from my father,” she murmured.
You saw the shift happen instantly.
Her shoulders tightened beneath the surgical gown. One gloved hand curled hard around the edge of the tray.
A low sound escaped her throat. Not quite a sigh. Not quite anger. Something uglier.
“But…” Her breathing deepened unevenly. “Joel.” The name came out like poison.
She laughed suddenly, sharp and breathless beneath the mask.
“Joel Miller.” The words dripped hatred. “That killer.”
Her voice cracked on the last word before she inhaled too sharply, struggling to steady herself. You watched her shoulders rise and fall rapidly beneath the fluorescent light.
Then she turned back toward you slowly.
Softness returned instantly the second her eyes landed on you.
“But you,” Abby cooed gently. “Oh, you…”
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment like she was physically restraining herself from unraveling.
“Joel killed my father,” she whispered.
Then she leaned over you suddenly until her face hovered inches from yours. The magnifying lenses distorted her eyes grotesquely large above the mask.
“He took our vaccine away.” She spoke through gritted teeth.
One of her gloved hands struck lightly against her own forehead again as if trying to force her thoughts back into place.
Then her eyes snapped open. “But I found you.” Excitement flooded her expression again almost immediately.
She grabbed your jaw and forced your mouth open with gloved fingers, inspecting your teeth and tongue clinically while murmuring under her breath.
You struggled harder against the restraints. Sweat coated your skin despite the freezing air. Your pulse hammered so violently you thought you might black out again.
Then panic finally broke through your throat. “Wait!”
Slowly, she straightened.
“Don’t be so harsh,” she said calmly.
You swallowed hard, breathing uneven and desperate. Your mind raced violently for anything that might stop this. Anything that might buy time.
“I…” Your voice shook with your breath. “You should run tests first.”
Abby tilted her head slightly. “I don’t need to.”
You squeezed your eyes shut briefly, forcing yourself to think through the terror clawing up your spine.
“You said I’m special,” you whispered quickly.
“Then maybe…” Your chest heaved sharply. “Maybe you should test me first. Make sure it works before…”
You couldn’t finish the sentence.
Abby stared down at you silently.
The room became suffocatingly quiet except for the faint mechanical hum of the overhead lights.
Then her gaze drifted slowly toward the blood samples sitting nearby.
Your heart pounded harder.
“You’ll run away,” she said flatly.
You shook your head immediately against the restraints.
“I won’t.” Your voice cracked desperately. “I’ll stay. I swear.”
You forced yourself to keep talking. “I’ll be your perfect lab rat.”
The words tasted sickening coming out of your mouth.
But you saw it immediately.
Interest flickered behind her eyes.
Abby looked down at you for a long moment beneath the surgical lights, visibly weighing the possibility inside her head.
And all you could do was pray she believed you.
Like what you see? Read a fic -> check em' out here
Did this tickle you pink? Talk to me on my profile and tell me ;)
