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Lets think what would john do with a black reader with a freshly done silkpress?
Such a pretty girl i mean really..she comes home from the hair salon her once curled up hair now straightened. She opened the door to their shared home john seated on the couch with nothing but a shirt and sweat pants "hii" she beamed he looked up from his phone staring at her for a good minute before speaking "you look amazing love..c'mere" he patted his lap coxing her over to him. She walked over to him and plopped down on his lap straddling him "thank you" she gave a quick small kiss his mustache tickling her upper lip, as she sat there his big arms wrapped around her waist as he stared down at her wondering how this brown beauty was all his "your so pretty" he spoke in a low tone his hands going under her shirt his fingers now tracing the dimples on her back "so so very pretty" john slightly moved her hair away from her gold adorned neck leaving kisses and small bite marks down her pretty brown skin as he continued to mark her going down her breast as she decided to wear a shirt with a extremely low cut.
"john..i cant im gonna sweat my hair out" she whined as he worshiped her skin.
He simply ignored her whines and continued doin what he did best soon enough his thick fingers unbuttoned her jeans and went inside of her underwear playing with her arousal for a bit before sliding two of his thick digits in her wet and velvety walls making her whine out his name. His pace quickened making her hips shudder as her orgasm was just around the corner then he stopped... John stood up grabbed her and simply tossed the poor horny thing over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing he tossed her on the bed with a grunt before flipping her over and delivering a harsh slap to her jean covered ass yet the pain still reached her wet and hungry pussy making her thighs clench "fuck" she whined out it wasn't long before john snatched her jeans off riping her pretty pink panties off in the process "john! Next time don't-" too bad she couldn't finish before he delivered another painful slap to her now bare ass.
"don't even." john always knew how to shut her up and that worked instantly, "ass up. Now." (and i mean if john told you to put your ass up and ya face down you listen right?) john slapped her ass a few more times before something familiar ran across her clit making her brown body shudder that same angry red tip oozed precum that had explored her pretty pussy so many times her mouth too before even a sigh could come out of her mouth he rammed into her a loud yelp erupting from her throat "FUCK" her hair pulled back as john hios began to move at a steady yet fast pace his strokes making her tremble and whine "fuck- john- s'too much- wait" she knew he wasnt gonna stop her pleas went unheard "shh you doing so well just t-take it yea?" as one hand pulled at her hair one grabbed at her chubby yet small waist "oh fuck-" her pretty nails clenching at the sheets that would soon be wet with cum and other fluids. The room filled loudly with groans and pornic moans. By the time he was done with her the silk press was no more "john you messed up my hair" she spoke annoyed as she ran her hot comb thru her hair "mhm m"sorry" john laid in the bed naked covered in scratch and bite marks still very sleepy "are you?- of course you asleep" she finished fixing her hair and wrapping her hair, sighing as she got into bed and cuddled up next to him.
This ☝🏻☝🏻 Tag. them. right.
Can you guys please tag your noncon, dubcon, grooming, toxic and abusive fics properly.
I don't want to even see that shit on my timeline suggested to me because you're too lazy to add it to the hashtags. How can we filter out content that disturbs us if you don't tag it?
I'm seriously so over it. If you can use the tags to tag the ship, you can use them to tag your dead dove content. It's your responsibility to tag your content properly.
Hybrid AU! Task Force 141 x Female!Reader
Final Part: No More Running
The facility was falling apart.
The explosion had set off a chain reaction—**fire licking at the walls, metal groaning as it threatened to collapse.** But none of that mattered.
Not when you stood face to face with the man who had been hunting you for years.
**Cole Stanton.**
He looked almost amused, his sharp eyes flicking between you and **Ghost,** who was standing half a step in front of you.
“Didn’t expect you to have company, little hybrid,” Stanton mused. “And here I thought you liked being alone.”
Your claws twitched. **Ghost was tense beside you, silent but deadly, waiting.**
“I stopped running,” you said, voice even. “Figured it was time to end this.”
Stanton smirked. “Brave. Or stupid.”
Ghost’s gun was up in an instant. “**Try your luck and find out.**”
It happened fast.
**Gunfire. Movement. A blur of chaos.**
Ghost was a shadow beside you, a whirlwind of **violence and precision,** tearing through Stanton’s men while you focused on the real threat.
**Stanton was fast.** Strong. He moved with a predator’s grace, blocking your strikes, countering your attacks.
But you were faster. **Angrier.**
A sharp **slash—your claws catching his side.** A snarl of pain. **A misstep.**
That’s all it took.
You surged forward—**one final strike, a blade through his chest.**
Stanton’s breath hitched, shock flashing in his eyes.
“You—”
You twisted the knife. “**You lost.**”
And with that, you let him fall.
The fight was over.
Ghost was at your side instantly, gripping your arm, scanning you for injuries. His hands were rough but **gentle, grounding.**
“It’s done,” you whispered, half-disbelieving.
He exhaled. “Yeah.”
But the facility wasn’t done collapsing.
“We need to move,” **Price’s voice** crackled through the comms. “Now.”
Ghost didn’t let go of you as you ran.
---
### **Outside – Aftermath**
The night air was cool against your heated skin. The facility burned behind you, but you barely noticed.
**Ghost hadn’t let go of you.**
Not since the fight. Not since you won.
The others were regrouping, checking injuries, securing the area, but **you and Ghost stood apart.**
Finally, he spoke.
“No more running.”
You swallowed, staring at the ground. “I don’t know how to stop.”
Ghost’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. His mask was still on, but his eyes—**those piercing blue eyes—**were filled with something raw.
“Then let me show you.”
Your breath caught.
And then **he kissed you.**
This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed, fueled by adrenaline and fear.
It was **real.**
A promise.
No more running.
Not from him.
Not from this.
Not anymore.
Hybrid AU! Task Force 141 x Female!Reader Part 6: The Hunt
The briefing room was tense.
You sat at the edge of the table, tail flicking restlessly as **Price** laid out the situation. A map was spread before you, marked with **too many red dots**—enemy movements, intercepted transmissions, and one undeniable truth:
**They were hunting you.**
“They’ve been tracking us since we left the first safe house,” **Gaz** said grimly. “This wasn’t just an ambush—it was a message.”
Your ears twitched, stomach twisting. You weren’t surprised. **You knew how this worked.**
They didn’t stop.
They never stopped.
“How?” **Soap** muttered. “How the hell are they keeping up?”
“Doesn’t matter,” **Ghost** said, his voice low and hard. “We stop running. We end this.”
The weight of his words settled over the room.
**We end this.**
You knew what that meant. A final confrontation. A fight you might not walk away from.
Your fingers curled into fists. You weren’t scared of dying. **You were scared of what you stood to lose before then.**
Your gaze flickered to **Ghost.** He wasn’t looking at you, but his entire body was taut—coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Since that night, he’d been… different. **Distant.** He didn’t speak to you unless necessary, didn’t touch you, didn’t even meet your eyes.
Regret.
The thought burned more than it should have.
You didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“We’ve got a location,” Price continued. “Abandoned facility a few miles out. If they’re operating from there, we’ll know soon enough.”
Silence.
Then, Ghost stood. **“When do we move?”**
---
### **The Facility – Hours Later**
The mission was going **too well.**
You could feel it. The tension in the air, the quiet before the inevitable storm. You moved through the facility with **Ghost at your side,** your senses sharp, scanning every shadow.
Bodies littered the halls—**their** bodies, not yours. The 141 worked with brutal efficiency, clearing room after room, but something wasn’t right.
They had expected more resistance.
And then—
**The trap was sprung.**
An explosion ripped through the lower levels, sending shockwaves through the structure. The floor beneath you **buckled, collapsed—**
You barely had time to react before you were **falling.**
---
You hit the ground hard, pain lancing through your side. Dust and debris clouded your vision. Your ears rang.
A groan. A presence near you.
**Ghost.**
He was already moving, shaking off the impact. You barely had time to register that he was **on you, covering you, shielding you** from falling debris.
The moment stretched, too much, too fast—
And then you heard the footsteps.
**They were waiting.**
Shit.
You scrambled up, but **Ghost was faster.** He shoved you behind cover just as gunfire erupted. You bared your teeth, ears flattened, ready to fight—
But **Ghost didn’t let you.**
He was a wall between you and them, moving with **lethal precision,** cutting them down before they could reach you.
One of them lunged at you—**big, fast, aiming for a kill.** You braced—
**A gunshot.**
The attacker crumpled.
Ghost stood over him, pistol raised, his breathing ragged.
Then—**he turned on you.**
“You trying to get yourself killed?” he snarled. His voice was raw, rough with something you couldn’t name.
You glared. “I can fight—”
“I **know** you can fight.” His hands grabbed your arms, hard enough to make you freeze. His grip trembled. “But you don’t have to. **Not alone. Not anymore.**”
You opened your mouth, but no words came.
Something inside you shifted.
Ghost exhaled sharply, his forehead briefly pressing against yours before he pulled away. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s finish this.”
And just like that—**the moment was gone.**
But the fight wasn’t over.
Not yet.
---
### **To Be Continued…**
The morning after **burned** in a different way.
You woke up before Ghost. **Simon.**
His body was still pressed against yours, warm and solid, his breath slow and steady. The **mask was gone**, discarded somewhere in the dark hours before dawn. For the first time, you could see him—really **see** him.
**Scarred. Strong. Beautiful.**
You barely had time to process it before your instincts screamed at you.
**What the hell did you just do?**
Your tail twitched as you carefully untangled yourself, slipping from the bed as quietly as possible. Every inch of you still **felt him—his hands, his mouth, the weight of him over you.**
It had been reckless. **Too much. Too close.**
You weren’t supposed to let people in. **You weren’t supposed to let him in.**
Your ears twitched at the shift of sheets. A deep exhale. You **froze.**
“Where are you going?”
His voice was rough, still heavy with sleep, but there was something else underneath. Something **dangerous.**
You didn’t turn around. “I… need air.”
Silence.
Then, the bed creaked as he **stood.** You swallowed hard as his warmth approached from behind, stopping just close enough that you felt the heat of him without touching.
“You regret it.”
Your heart **stammered.** You clenched your jaw. “I don’t know what I feel.”
Ghost—**Simon**—was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was unreadable. “Liar.”
You turned then, looking up at him. **Maskless. Bare.**
Your chest tightened. **This was dangerous.**
But before either of you could speak, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
“Get dressed,” **Price’s voice** came through the wood, low and serious. “We have a problem.”
The moment **was over.**
And the hunt had begun.
---
### **Elsewhere…**
A man in a dark suit scrolled through the surveillance feed, pausing on an image of you.
Alive. Protected.
He smirked, fingers tapping against the desk.
“She’s not going to be easy to take.”
Another figure stepped forward, their voice laced with amusement. “Good. I like a challenge.”
The first few days at the **141 safe house** were tense.
You barely spoke, barely moved unless necessary. Your body was still healing, but your mind remained in fight-or-flight mode. Years of being hunted had taught you that trust was a luxury you couldn't afford.
The others gave you space—**except Ghost.**
He was always near. Never intrusive, never speaking much, but watching. You should have been unnerved by it. Instead, it made your instincts settle, just a little.
---
On the third day, you sat on the edge of the cot, ears flicking toward the sound of boots approaching. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Ghost.
He stopped at the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You should eat.”
You scowled, curling your tail around yourself. “I’m fine.”
A huff. “You’re not.”
Annoyance flared in your chest. “I don’t take orders from you.”
His head tilted slightly, like he was studying you. "Didn’t ask you to."
You bared your teeth at him—an instinctive warning. But he didn’t react, didn’t flinch like most people did when you showed a hint of aggression. Instead, he took a step forward and placed something on the nearby table.
A plate. Food.
Not just military rations. Freshly cooked meat, still warm, along with bread and some kind of broth. Your stomach betrayed you with a low growl.
Ghost said nothing. Just turned and left.
You stared at the food for a long time before giving in.
---
That became a pattern.
Ghost never pushed, never forced conversation. But he left food, blankets, small comforts that you hadn't expected.
And slowly, your walls started to crack.
One night, after another quiet meal, you spoke without thinking. “Why do you wear that mask?”
Ghost stilled, his hand pausing on his cup of tea. You almost regretted asking, but then—
“Why do you keep your tail tucked in?”
You blinked, ears twitching. “What?”
He didn’t look at you, just leaned back in his chair. “You’re always hiding it. Like you’re afraid to take up space.”
Your tail twitched on instinct, curling tighter against your leg. You hadn’t even realized you did that.
Ghost finally glanced at you, his blue eyes sharp but unreadable. "We all got reasons for hiding parts of ourselves."
You didn’t know what to say to that.
But for the first time, silence between you wasn’t so heavy.
---
### **Meanwhile…**
A shadowy figure scrolled through surveillance footage, pausing on an image of you with **Ghost** standing nearby.
"Looks like you've made some new friends," the man mused, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Let’s see how long that lasts."
Got it! Here’s **Part 2** of the series.
---
## **Hybrid AU! Task Force 141 x Female!Reader**
### **Part 2: A Safe House, Not a Home**
The scent of antiseptic stung your nose before you even opened your eyes. Your ears twitched at the distant hum of machinery, the soft murmur of voices somewhere nearby.
You weren’t in the village anymore.
Your body tensed instinctively, tail curling around your leg as you cracked your eyes open. The room was small but clean, the dim lighting easing the pounding in your skull. You were lying on a cot, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of something unfamiliar—gunpowder, metal, and the faintest trace of warmth.
You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through your ribs, forcing you to suck in a breath.
"Easy there, lass," came a voice from the corner. Your ears twitched toward the sound before your gaze followed. The mohawked soldier—Johnny—sat sprawled in a chair, arms crossed, watching you with an easy smile. "Didn’t think you’d wake up so soon."
You blinked, your muscles coiled tight as you shifted slightly. The door was closed. No visible weapons near you. But he wasn’t alone.
A heavy presence loomed by the door. Ghost.
His skull mask was in place, arms folded across his chest as he observed you in silence.
Your throat felt dry as you spoke, voice raspy. "Where am I?"
Johnny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "141 safe house. You were in bad shape when we found you."
You swallowed, your ears flattening. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why bring me here?"
Ghost finally spoke, his voice unreadable. "You needed help."
Help. A foreign concept. No one helped hybrids without expecting something in return.
Your tail twitched, still on edge. "And what do you want from me?"
Johnny exhaled, shaking his head. "Not this again. Look, we’re not here to sell you off or experiment on you. We just—" He hesitated, then gestured vaguely. "We couldn't leave you there."
It sounded too good to be true.
Your instincts screamed at you to run. But your body was too weak, your options too limited. For now, you were stuck.
Before you could push further, a knock at the door interrupted the tension.
Price stepped inside, his expression firm yet not unkind. "She up?"
"Aye, Cap," Johnny confirmed. "Tense as hell, but up."
Price studied you for a long moment before nodding. "Good. We need to talk."
That never meant anything good.
---
Somewhere Else
The man flicked through the grainy security footage, his fingers tapping against the metal table. The hybrid was gone. Taken by soldiers.
Task Force 141.
A slow smirk pulled at his lips.
"Found you."
The world had never been kind to hybrids. People feared what they didn’t understand, and what they feared, they often tried to control.
You had learned that the hard way.
For as long as you could remember, you had been running—drifting from one place to the next, never staying long enough to be noticed. Survival was all you had known, until the day **they** found you.
It had been a cold night when the Task Force came across you, barely conscious and curled up in the wreckage of an abandoned village.
Your ears twitched at the sound of boots crunching against gravel, your instincts screaming at you to flee. But you were weak—exhausted. When the first figure crouched down in front of you, you bared your teeth in a weak snarl.
The man was massive, dressed in tactical gear, a skull-patterned balaclava obscuring his face. He studied you with piercing blue eyes, his head tilting slightly.
“Got a stray here,” he rumbled, his voice deep and unreadable.
A second man stepped closer, this one sporting a mohawk and an easy smile. “Looks like she’s been through hell,” he murmured, his brown eyes scanning your trembling form. “You alright there, lass?”
You tried to move, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. The world tilted, and suddenly, strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground.
A third man—darker-haired, with a sharp gaze that screamed authority—watched with an assessing look. "She’s scared," he observed. "And injured."
The fourth man, taller and built like a tank, crouched beside you, his concerned brown eyes softened by a pair of tinted goggles. “Easy now,” he said gently. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”
Lies. You had heard that before.
Your tail twitched as you let out a low growl, though it came out weaker than you wanted. But instead of recoiling, they exchanged glances—calm, patient, as if they had all the time in the world.
"Look," the mohawked one—Johnny—said, his voice light. “I get it, lass. World’s a cruel place for hybrids. But we ain’t your enemies.”
You wanted to believe him. But trust was dangerous.
Then, the man holding you—Ghost, you would later learn—shifted slightly, adjusting your weight in his arms like you were nothing. His voice, still unreadable, was softer this time.
“You can fight us,” he said simply, “or you can let us help you.”
Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The exhaustion won, your eyes fluttering shut against your will. The last thing you heard before slipping into unconsciousness was a quiet, almost gentle murmur.
"She’s safe now."
I feel this so much, sometimes it's nice and strange and awkward and beautiful to finally be seen by the right people
Thinking about designationless reader...
Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.
Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.
She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.
The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.
Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.
ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes
You weren’t used to being seen.
Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.
No.
Not now.
Not you.
It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.
You stopped knocking eventually.
You stopped trying.
You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.
Scentless.
Designationless.
Invisible.
School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.
You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.
It was easier that way.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.
But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.
Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.
But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.
They cared.
They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.
Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.
And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.
Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.
You didn’t know what to do with it.
They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.
Like you didn’t belong.
You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.
When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.
And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.
They didn’t have to.
You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.
But they made it hard not to.