Cum-Induced Reprogramming (AU incl DC, Worm, Super Powereds)

Author's note: This is a weird little mishmash of the Marvel, DC, Worm and Super Powereds universes, but I think it still fits in this Story. If that is not your jam, however, I understand. You probably don't need to know a lot about any of them to read this, but if you do then please consider every nonsensical departure from the various canons something I did deliberately, instead of a mistake I made because I was too lazy to look something up.

The current arc spans roughly 14 Chapters and a whopping four (4) in-universe days of pretty much just pure power fantasy and debauchery. I have it pre-written and will post new chapters whenever I have the time to edit.

Path Tags include: Mind Control, , Domination, Cuckolding, Slavery, , , Feminization, Bimbofication, Race Play. This chapter has only hints of the first tag, and the others will come into play in roughly that order.

Jack, Rising

Ch 1

Wednesday 8th of June

10:05

We live in a world of mutants. Aliens. Cybernetic enhancements and lifeforms. Fucking. Magic.

Gods, and Demons. Capes.

I'm not sure where I fit into all of that.

I was in an accident, way back. Some sort of chemical. Should've killed me, by all rights. The crash alone killed both one of my best friend, and the driver of the truck that was transporting the chemicals.

I guess that's where it all started.

After pulling myself from the wreckage and crawling away from the fumes, I managed to call 911 despite my bloody hands and crushed phone screen. I passed out.

And then I woke up in the hospital.

The redhead that was looking over my chart was dressed as a nurse. Only, somehow, I was immediately aware that she wasn't a nurse. She noticed my eyes blinking open the moment it happened, but pretended that she didn't.

Five foot seven, blue eyes. The hair was a shade of darker, lustrous red that I knew would be striking in loose curls falling down beyond her shoulders, but was currently tied back in an efficient bun.

She wore glasses, but didn't need them. It was cosmetic, part of the disguise. Her body was athletic, far more so than any nurse could be expected to accomplish. Her figure was voluptuous despite this, her breasts large, but flattened and minimized by her choice of bra. Didn't want to draw attention right now. No make-up for the same reason, but she still looked stunning.

Some sort of connection had formed in the half-second it took these thoughts to run through my head, and I could feel her mind running a mile a minute, just like mine was. But more orderly, trained, regimented.

What I felt from her mind was like an abstract song of hidden knives, ready to put down a rampaging beast.

And I... Well, I was the beast.

While that was worrying, terrifying in fact, I felt strangely calm - my regular emotions muted under a protective blanket of some kind. I could feel the danger slowly dulling, and interestingly - though she showed no sign of it outwardly - I could smell her growing arousal.

I wouldn't have been able to tell you how I could do that. But I could.

I cleared my throat, and she feigned a slight jump of surprise with well-honed skill, her eyes jumping up to meet mine.

"Sorry. What day is it?" I asked, because I genuinely didn't know. I felt fine, which should have required weeks of recovery considering my previous injuries. My voice was gravelly from at least some period of disuse, but more than that, it was lower than I expected - thrumming and rich, and resonant.

The woman knew her part well. She gave a slight, comforting smile.

"Good to see you awake, Mr Anderson. I'm Nurse Roberts." Lie. Not her profession, nor her name. "It's Wednesday the 8th of June. You've been out for about," She glanced to check the timepiece on the wall, even though she already knew. "40 hours or so."

That was surprising, and I let it show. Played up my confusion, even as I let the knowledge seep into my constantly analyzing thoughts.

"How am I...? Did - did my friend -" I took a ragged breath, let my futile hope seep into my tone, "Did Mason Gonzalez make it?"

The faux-nurse stepped around the bed to my side, letting some genuine sympathy into her expression. "I'm sorry, no. He was pronounced dead at the site of the accident."

"I understand..." I sighed, showing no reaction to this, other than somber acceptance that my friend had passed away.

I'd known that, intellectually. Had seen the sharp chunk of metal debris sticking out of the bloody hole in my friend's chest when I woke up and crawled out of the wreck. It still didn't feel good to hear.

She patted my arm consolingly, and something shifted, though I couldn't tell what. Not yet. It was like a charge of electricity was suddenly in the air, and I could feel her mind shifting gears more quickly. The sharpness in her mind receded, dismissing me as a threat.

Mildly insulting, but useful.

"In regards to your other question, we aren't quite sure -" She fiddled with the chart as she spoke. "You seem to have made a remarkable recovery. No concussion, and all of the cuts and scrapes seem to have healed up overnight."

That was certainly strange. I didn't fight the temptation to examine myself. Anyone would be curious, surely? My hands were fine. Couldn't be sure if it was just some trick of the mind, but they seemed larger. Stronger. The cuts hadn't left any semblance of scar tissue.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were Captain America or something." She gave a light laugh, a tinkling and infectious sound. Well practiced. "We were hoping you might be able to enlighten us about that?"

I released the neck of my hospital gown, having been peering down at an inexplicably well-muscled torso. Not bodybuilder ‘big’, but far more athletic than I'd ever been. I shrugged helplessly.

"I -- I don't know. I think I mentioned during the 911 call that there was some sort of chemical involved... Broken barrels from the truck that ran us off the road? Fumes. Have they been able to test that? Maybe it was a medicine of some kind."

"Ah, yes, we were informed of that. You had to be thoroughly washed and disinfected before we could treat you, hazardous material procedures."

"Hazardous?" I paused for just a moment, as though hesitating, just as calculated as she was. "This is going to sound crazy, but I... Uh, seem to have grown more muscles."

Her eyebrows raised in convincing surprise. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly an underwear model before all this." I gestured down at myself with feigned confusion. "I have visible abs."

"I... I see." Judging by how she was handling this volunteered information, it seemed like a test of some sort. Underneath the mask, she was pleased that I'd brought it up myself. "Let me go speak to the doctor, and see - see how we should handle that. I'll be right back, fifteen minutes at most, alright?"

I sighed, but nodded, making a show of forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I get it. It's weird. Thank you, Nurse Roberts."

She put the chart back in its holder on the bed as she passed, turning just before the door to give me a genuine smile. "See you soon."

The door closed behind her, and I was alone. But not fool enough to think I wasn't being monitored. The only question was: government agent or something else? Signs would point to the former. Put someone who appeared weak in front of me when I awoke, but was actually dangerous, while backup waited nearby. Ask me questions in order to... Accomplish what?

I couldn't quite get a handle on what the point was.

I also wasn't sure how or why she'd decided to dismiss me so quickly as a potential threat. Or whether I should even trust that intuition. It felt trustworthy enough, but it was like a sixth sense I hadn't experienced before. Might as well be a hallucination.

There was an IV drip to my side, but no IV in my arm, which was curious. Plenty of equipment for monitoring vital signs, but it was no longer hooked up.

So, nothing prevented me from sitting up, dangling my legs off the side of the bed. My legs, too, looked stronger. Thicker and more muscular. I stretched them, before moving on to my torso, and my neck.

Everything as it should be. Better, even.

I'd be extremely suspicious about my good fortune if I had any idea what anyone could possibly hope to gain from me. I did alright for myself, but I wasn't rich. I was pretty clever, but no genius.

At least before the accident. Now, it felt like my brain had sped up significantly, picking apart the slightest inputs, visual or otherwise.

Wherever the so-called Nurse Roberts went (down the hall to the left, then a right), it wasn't that closeby. I could hear every word of the conversation happening between two nurses at the station about nine feet outside my closed hospital room door, and snippets of conversation from others nearby.

But not her. So it felt safe to assume they had some idea of my abilities. Maybe more idea than I did. I kept my demeanor glum, which was easy, because Mason was just... Dead. We'd known each other for a decade and a half.

He might not have been my best friend, but he was certainly the one who'd been there for me the most recently. We worked together. Marketing, very exciting, I know.

With a sigh, I got to my feet and headed slowly towards the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised to find a small tube of toothpaste and a single-use toothbrush there waiting for me.

So I drank some water, brushed my teeth, had a piss. I was contemplating the cramped-looking shower stall when I heard someone enter the room again outside.

So instead I finished washing my hand, calling out. "Be right out!"

"Take your time, Mr Anderson." New voice. Also female, perhaps early thirties. Cultured, I think, good early education - the kind that takes money. While that fits for a doctor, she almost certainly isn't one.

I dry my hands and step out with an awkward smile. "Apologies, doctor. Call of nature you know? And I seemed to be safe to move about."

I detected a flicker of worry in her expression, but refrained from reacting. Our eyes met, and I had that strange feeling again. In this case, there were no sharp knives. Her role was protective in a more literal sense, a whisper of puppets and strings, and something like gale winds.

She recovered relatively quickly, "Glad to see you awake, Mr Anderson. I'm Doctor Grey." That, surprisingly, didn't feel entirely untrue. Correct name. Something like a doctor?

I shuffled awkwardly back to the bed, well aware of my exposed backside, wearing nothing beneath the gown. "A pleasure."

She was a redhead, too, though a brighter shade and with sparkling green eyes. Perhaps an inch shorter than "Roberts", with light make-up. A touch softer. Still well-trained, but not to those upper limits of human potential. She was slightly less busty at perhaps a C-cup, but with wide birthing hips flaring out from a tight stomach, and making no attempt to play down her attractiveness.

That's not to say she played it up either. A thin black turtleneck sweater and gray slacks beneath a white doctor's coat.

I didn't let my eyes linger, though some part of me wanted to. Almost demanded that I feast at the sight of her. Her thoughts felt spread out, for lack of a better term. Yet still intensely focused, somehow.

She smiled reassuringly as she approached, some part of her genuinely amused at my show of shyness. "Nurse Roberts mentioned that you said your body had undergone some changes?"

I gave a wan smile in return. "Other than miraculously recovering from a car crash?" She chuckled lightly. "Yes, I seem to have put on some muscle. Lost some fat around the midsection. I'm not exactly sure… I think I might be taller."

I decided that my previous show of good faith had seemed to work, and offered another. "I took a better look while I was in the bathroom. And... I'm missing a few old scars. Like they've healed over completely."

Strangely, I could feel her grow tense at this confession, but somehow I didn't think it had anything to do with me directly.

"It sounds almost like an M-gene mutation, though that would've normally manifested in childhood or early during puberty..." Dr Grey pondered aloud, and it was a genuine statement. Less of a liar than Roberts. Not a doctor, but a scientist?

I'd heard the M-gene mentioned only briefly in news coverage on mutant protests after various disastrous cape battles, but nothing I'd heard would indicate a complete transformation as an adult.

She actually started an examination. She shone a light in my eyes to test pupil response, took my pulse and blood pressure, before moving on to other reflexes. The doctor gasped quietly when she touched my wrist, and I caught the slightest hint of a blush rising in her cheeks before it was suddenly wiped away.

Admirable self-control, whatever she was. I could smell the arousal again. Not a coincidence, then. I doubted it had anything to do directly with my recently enhanced appearance. More likely the same cause, two different effects.

"There have been cases, over the past few years, of people spontaneously gaining powers similar to M-gene mutations, after a particularly triggering event." Her green eyes met mine, full not of wariness, but compassion and that barely-suppressed desire. "Yours seems like it might be a case like that. I'm very sorry. No one should have to go through anything like that."

Couldn't detect a lie. Hadn't heard of it either. But that made sense.

I shrugged uncomfortably. "Some people get unlucky. I was still luckier than my friend, the driver, so... Can't really complain. But I appreciate the sentiment."

She just nodded, putting away the blood pressure monitor again. After a brief pause, I asked, "So... What do we do now? I'd like to get out of here if I'm in good health, but I don't really know anything about powers and whatnot. What's the procedure?"

"If you were younger, there's a program you could've entered, a school up in -" Dr Grey stiffened ever so slightly, her eyes widening marginally. "O-or you could’ve been put under Ward status with the Protectorate. B-but that's unfortunately not an option here. Because of the high destructiveness of many powers, we... Have to submit your case for monitoring. It's... Fairly non-invasive."

She tried to smile reassuringly again, but I could detect the underlying discomfort. "There might be some officers dropping by to ask some questions within the next few weeks, as you discover more, but you should be largely left alone. I'd like to ask your permission to do a blood draw for analysis, if you don't mind?"

I got the gist. Technically voluntary, but they'd get it with a warrant if they had to. With all of the troubles recently, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. Public sentiment about mutants and powered people wasn't exactly at an all-time high.

"That doesn't sound like I have much of a choice." The fake doctor flinched ever so slightly, "But sure, go ahead."

Her smile was relieved. Not a huge fan of the implications here.

I waited until she was touching my arm again, and I felt that strange connection deepen, before I spoke quietly. "I'd really like to avoid any conflict with the authorities, ma'am. Anything you can do or advice to assist with that, I would very much appreciate it. Will you help me?"

She looked up into my eyes in surprise when I spoke, and the connection strengthened further. "I - um, of course."

The slight blush was back. My eyes flicked down to her left hand, noting the lack of ring, before once more boring into hers.

On a whim, I added. "And I'd really like to see you again. Once I'm no longer your patient, of course. How about we meet for coffee in a few days?"

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, the blush shining through in full . "I - I'd like that."

You cannot imagine how strange that was to hear. I was confident enough in my attractiveness, especially now, but I'd never been a ladies man. Still, I was not about to look a gift hottie in the mouth, as it were.

"Great." Perhaps my first genuine smile since I awoke.

What a day.

***

11:30 Wednesday

Natasha drove them back to the nearby SHIELD base, with Jean in the passenger seat, cradling the blood sample box.

"I know you don't do undercover often, Grey, but coffee dates with targets are usually a big no-no." Natasha wasn't jealous, she assured herself. Just educating their on-loan telepath on operational procedure.

Jean snorted. "You know that earpiece only dampens telepathic influence, right? I can hear you. Besides, he isn't a target anymore. You agreed that he was safe, so it’s going to be the monitoring division taking over from here."

Natasha didn't want to dwell on how not-jealous she was, so she conceded the point, but chose another vector instead. "I thought you had a thing with One-Eye? Or Wolverine, for that matter."

Jean bit her lip, looking away. "It's complicated. Part of why I'm working with SHIELD currently."

Scott had proposed. Logan hadn't taken it well. Even without Logan incessantly trying to sabotage their relationship, Jean wasn't sure if they were ready. Scott loved her, she didn't doubt that, but… She had needed to get away for a while, and think.

"Thought you had something going on with the green guy?" Jean shot back. Natasha snorted in turn.

"Banner is cute, don't get me wrong, but he's broken. And so am I. People like me don't really get to have a happy ending."

That was heartfelt enough to make Jean pause. What a depressing outlook.

"You deserve happiness too, Natasha."

"Thank you, but I'm not sure that's true." The younger woman shook her head ruefully. "Don't know how Clint does it. Balancing everything."

The chain link gate opened automatically, having read their plates and analyzed their faces through the security cameras. Natasha pulled around to the garage, and that door retracted into the ceiling.

"You'll figure it out." Jean tried to be encouraging.

"Then how come I'm not the one with a coffee date on Friday?" Natasha felt quite satisfied about the slight blush on the telepath's face as she parked.

"Well, I need to get this to the lab." Jean said, indicating the sample box, rather than respond.

"Knock yourself out, I'm going to file our report before heading to lunch." Natasha responded, unconcerned.

Jean was immensely relieved. It would be a hell of a lot easier to falsify a blood report without a senior agent hovering over her shoulder.

***

11:30 Wednesday

It was an actual nurse who brought me my personal effects. Not nearly as cute as the fake nurse, unfortunately. A crushed phone. At least my keys and wallet were mostly unscathed. The tattered clothes I'd been wearing had been cut off of me and thrown away. Couldn't really wear that out.

Luckily, my sister Claire had been called as my emergency contact and she had left a change of clothes when she visited, while I was still passed out.

Claire is... Claire. We had a bit of an antagonistic relationship growing up. She's younger than me, just finishing up college. But we do care for each other, and she would have been here when I woke up if she didn't have to work.

Left a note and everything. Don't want you to think my little sister is an asshole.

That still left me to grab an Uber home. Driver was a talkative guy. Indian. Pretty charming, even if his overwhelming interest in the local sportsball team wasn't something I shared.

I was tempted, both before leaving the hospital and here, to try and experiment with whatever that strange connection I seemed to establish was. But I took it easy.

I was probably still being monitored, and it couldn't hurt to be discreet. I got home sometime just past noon. I was a single guy, lived alone. One bedroom apartment, nothing fancy, but spacious enough and I liked it. Semi-messy in that way it just gets after a week of distractedly putting stuff down where it doesn't quite belong.

First thing I did was go find an old Samsung phone, extracting my SIM card from the crushed one and transferring it over. Put it in the charger, but it was going to take a while.

Checked the fridge. Empty. Figures. Caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. Ah, yes. And my clothes didn't fit right. I'd gained a couple of inches in height, now at 6'5", and at least 30 lbs of muscle on top of that.

So, I headed to my bedroom. About thirty minutes of trying on clothes told me that most of my wardrobe was a lost cause. Not great news, but I wasn't exactly hurting for money even after the hospital bill.

I changed into loose sweats, the best fitting clothes I had at the moment. I thought back to the strangeness of my final few minutes with "Doctor" Grey.

She'd tied a tube around my arm to bring out the veins, prepared a vial and uncapped the needle. But she just couldn't penetrate the skin. Not because I had ultra tough skin, mind you. No, there was some aspect of my power - supposedly - that prevented her from deliberately trying to harm me. She just couldn't.

I knew this because she told me. Not aloud, mind you, but in my head. Projecting her thoughts straight into my mind. Then she told me that it was exceedingly difficult to read me, or project thoughts to me.

I took all of this calmly at the time, but inside I was panicking. Mind reader isn't exactly far from mind controller, as a concept, right? But since she was being forthcoming, I outright asked. Well, in my head.

Once I wanted to communicate with her, the thoughts flowed more easily, it seemed. An entire conversation happened in the span of a few minutes. She was a mutant, one of the most powerful telepaths alive. She really could control minds, but not mine. Or so she told me.

The other woman, Natasha Romanoff, was a spy and assassin. Sent by an organization called SHIELD, which Jean was also working for at the moment. They were the ones who were going to be monitoring me.

It was a lot to take in.

Despite the fact that she had a hard time affecting me with her powers, and could apparently not try to harm me, Jean still didn't see me as a threat. That was illuminating, but I didn't want to call her attention to it.

Another aspect of my power, no doubt. Would be stupid to risk breaking the grip it had on her by pointing it out. But... I had no one knowledgeable in these sorts of things to go to, now did I? I'd have to ask her eventually, if I wanted to know.

I tried to take the blood sample myself, at her telepathic directions. It wasn't words exactly, more like she could project the knowledge to me. Not a perfect transfer, but my mind assimilated it easily enough.

Trouble was, I really did have ultra-tough skin, too. While I could try to harm myself, I couldn't break the skin with a simple needle, it just bent.

Her solution was an interesting one, that made my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline.

Jean Grey, government sanctioned mind controller, was going to falsify the bloodwork report. I had to ask why, even though it was to my benefit. Calculated risk.

She'd really taken to heart my request to help me avoid conflict with the authorities, even if she was technically part of "the authorities".

She assured me that she could fabricate a believable but understated result that would explain all of their observed data on me without drawing any more unwanted attention, or potential conflict.

I hesitated only a moment before agreeing.

I very deliberately did not think about the only reasonable conclusion I could draw from all of this. Not until she was far away from me.

The only conclusion I could come to was that Jean Grey wasn't the only mind controller in my hospital room. I had influenced her mind without even meaning to.

Just by experimenting, by floundering aimlessly with my new abilities.

Now that... That was intriguing.

***

A/N: Feedback appreciated.