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Ronald's Couch - Female & Male Noir x Reader

Tw: dub-con/malexfemale/femalexfemale/trio/voyeurism/mentions of violence/threats/coercion/pornwplot

Summary: You go to your ex-boyfriend's apartment to retrieve some of your things. Instead, you find two masked individuals who have better plans for you.

“It’ll be quick…” you murmured under your breath, pulling the keys from your pocket.

It had been a month since you broke up with your now ex-boyfriend, Ronald. Things just weren’t working between you two, so you decided to end it. You hadn’t spoken much since then aside from a few calls—calls you (mostly) didn’t answer. You didn’t want to face him. But you had left some of your clothes at his apartment, so you finally made up your mind and came back for them.

You knocked a few times. When no one answered, you huffed and shuffled through the keys, looking for the copy of Ronald’s apartment key he gave you after a few months of dating in case he forgot his inside (which happened more than once).

When you entered, the lights were on, but no one was inside. Even the PC was running. You figured he must’ve left in a hurry.

You took out your phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail.

“I know we don’t talk anymore… I’m at your place picking up my things. I'll lock the door and I'll leave the key in your mailbox, please don’t call me back.”

You ended the call and slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

Looking around, your eyes landed on a Polaroid beside his PC—both of you smiling at the camera. You took it and your finger fidgeted with the photo as your brows knitted together for a moment, leaving the polaroid on the desk before you looked away and headed to the bathroom.

A shadow moved in the corner of your eye.

You flinched and turned quickly… but there was nothing.

You hesitated for a second, then shook it off and stepped into the bathroom. Opening the drawers, you grabbed your skincare and perfume. A few brushes were scattered inside; you scooped them up and dropped them into your bag. After a quick look around, you headed back out and made your way to the bedroom.

Almost on autopilot, you walked straight to the dresser and grabbed the clothes you kept there—some hoodies, a few shirts, a pair of pants, and some of your underwear.

As you packed everything into your bag, you turned to leave the bedroom—

And froze.

The living room lights were off.

Your heart skipped.

You hadn’t turned them off.

Slowly, you stepped closer to the door and peeked out.

Everything was dark.

Swallowing hard, you gathered what little courage you had and stepped into the living room. Pulling out your phone, you turned on the flashlight and lifted it, searching for the light switch.

The beam of light slid across the wall—

—and landed on a masked woman standing inches away, staring directly at you.

You screamed and dropped your phone.

Spinning around, you bolted for the door—only to slam straight into someone.

Your face hit a solid chest. Strong arms wrapped around you instantly, spinning you around as a hand clamped over your mouth. The stranger’s body pressed firmly against yours, trapping you.

Your survival instincts kicked in and you bit down hard on the hand covering your mouth. A low grunt escaped him as his grip loosened for a split second.

You scrambled toward the door—

But a sharp kick knocked your legs out from under you.

You hit the floor.

Tears filled your eyes as panic surged through your body, your mind flashing with the awful realization that this might be it.

Then—

The lights flicked on.

You blinked against the sudden brightness.

The masked woman stood by the light switch, watching calmly.

Behind you, the man grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the floor—one on each side of your head. He straddled your lap, breathing heavily as he looked down at you through the mask.

Up close, he was… unfairly attractive. Broad shoulders, strong arms, the kind of build that made the black fabric of his clothes stretch just right. Even through the mask you could feel his gaze on you—slow, deliberate, almost curious.

Like he was studying you.

Your chest rose and fell quickly beneath him, and he didn’t move.

Not away.

Just watching you.

“Please let me leave…! I won’t say a thing, I swear, I dont live here.” You begged.

The masked woman tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting toward her accomplice.

The man stood and grabbed your arm, dragging you up with little effort. You stumbled as he manhandled you toward the living room couch, forcing you down onto it. The woman leaned back against the wall nearby, crossing her arms over her chest like she had all the time in the world.

“I’m not the owner of the house,” you said quickly, your voice shaking. “I don’t want anything to do with this, I promise.”

The man crouched down in front of you.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said calmly. His eyes moved slowly over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. “If you don’t make us have to.”

While he spoke, the woman wandered around the apartment like she was browsing through someone else’s mess. When she passed the desk, something caught her eye.

The Polaroid.

She picked it up from where it had been resting, beside the PC.

“Hm.” Her voice carried across the room. “Look at this, Patrick.”

She walked over and handed him the photo.

“She seems very close with him.”

Patrick took it, studying the picture for a moment. His gaze flicked between the photo and your face.

“What’s your relationship with Ronald Evans?” he asked.

No—demanded.

“He… he’s my ex-boyfriend,” you stammered. “How do you know him…?”

Your voice trembled as the woman moved behind the couch, stopping just behind you.

“You could say he’s someone with… great abilities,” Patrick said slowly, still looking at the photo. “Abilities that would be very valuable to our boss.”

He didn’t even seem to care that he was telling you this. If anything, there was something amused about his tone—like the whole situation entertained him.

“Abilities…?” you repeated weakly.

“Yeah.” Patrick finally looked up at you again. “Seems like he kept you in the dark about it. But Ronald is in a very shady line of work… and he could be quite useful to us.”

Behind you, the woman hummed softly. She had your phone in her hands, you have no idea when she took it, but she was going through it.

“He seems kind of obsessed with you,” she chimed in, her voice almost teasing. You furrowed your eyebrows. "The amount of messages he has sent you... and unaswered calls..." she trailed off.

“I don’t talk to him anymore. I was the one who dumped him… he was a little controlling,” you murmured. "I left some of my things here, and I came to grab them and go." You tried to explain yourself.

While listening to your explanation, she went to Ronalds computer, and it was already on when she quickly began to check it. You tried to see over your shoulder but always turning back to look at the male, he had a resting yet observant stance. Watching you closely and making it clear to you even without words a clear warning: do not try anything.

The woman stepped closer behind you. Her hands settled on your shoulders, slowly sliding over them in a lazy, almost absentminded way. The touch made you flinch immediately. You didn't notice when she came back from the computer.

“I went through his computer,” she said casually. “He has a lot of photos and videos of you. Doesn’t really seem like he’s over it…~”

Your stomach twisted.

“…Whatever he does doesn’t concern me,” you muttered quickly. “I didn’t even want to come here. I just needed to grab my stuff.”

“We know,” the man said.

Your eyes lifted to him.

His gaze had dropped to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before slowly climbing back up to meet your eyes.

“We heard you earlier, you said that over the phone.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine.

“But,” he continued calmly, leaning forward a little, “I lied a little to you, we might need to rough you up a bit… to send a message.”

Your eyes widened in panic.

“Please—I’m not part of this,” you blurted out. “Please don’t. I… I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt me.”

For a moment, the man went still.

“…Anything?” he asked slowly.

You nodded quickly, panic written all over your face.

Patrick glanced at the woman behind you.

You heard something shift, the faint sound of fabric moving—then suddenly a warm breath brushed against your ear.

“You are a pretty girl,” she murmured. "No wonder Ronald isn't ready to let go."

Heat rushed to your face despite the fear twisting in your stomach. Patrick watched the interaction, running a hand through his hair as if mildly amused by the whole scene.

“I think you can help us send the message in a… less violent way,” he said.

You slowly turned your head.

The woman had taken off her mask.

She held it loosely in one hand.

And she was breathtaking.

Sharp eyes, dark lashes, and a cunning little smile that made it clear she knew exactly the effect she had. Confidence radiated off her like heat.

“You can call me Myra,” she said smoothly.

She tilted her head slightly toward Patrick.

“You already know his name.”

Before you could react, Myra reached down and gently grabbed your cheek, turning your face toward her. Her thumb brushed across your lower lip, rubbing it slowly as she studied you with clear interest.

Patrick moved and sat down on the couch beside you, close enough that you could feel the dip of the cushion under his weight. He watched the two of you quietly, one arm resting on the back of the couch. Unlike Myra, he didn’t take off his mask.

Myra’s hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck. Her fingers wrapped around it—not tight, but firm enough to keep you still. Slowly, she leaned in.

Her nose brushed along the side of your jaw… then down your neck… all the way to your collarbone.

You gasped softly at the sudden closeness.

Your eyes darted sideways toward Patrick.

He was leaning into his hand, elbow propped on his knee, watching you with steady focus. Even through the mask, you could feel his gaze locked onto yours, studying every little reaction you made. He didn’t interrupt—didn’t move.

He was just watching.

Myra huffed softly before suddenly grabbing the back of your head, pulling you forward.

Her lips crashed into yours.

The kiss caught you completely off guard. She bit down on your lower lip, not hard enough to hurt—but enough to make you gasp. Your mouth opened on reflex, and she took the opportunity immediately, slipping her tongue in.

The kiss deepened fast.

Myra kissed you like she meant it—slow at first, then more insistent, her hand still tangled in your hair to keep you close. You struggled to keep up, breath shaky as you tried to follow her lead, the kiss turning messy and breathless.

Myra smiled against your lips as her hands slowly began groping your chest. Her fingers worked their way down, unbuttoning your shirt one button at a time while the kiss lingered between you. She only pulled away briefly to slip the fabric aside and unclasp your bra, her lips moving down to your collarbone as she continued kissing along your skin.

A soft moan slipped out before you could stop it.

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

Suddenly—

Smack.

A sharp slap landed on your ass.

You jolted slightly.

“Don’t hide them,” Patrick warned from beside you, his voice low and firm.

Myra only giggled at that, clearly amused, her lips brushing your collarbone again as if she found the whole situation entertaining.

Her mouth traveled down to your breasts. With one hand, she pulled at one nipple while her mouth latched onto the other.

You let out a light moan, your legs instinctively closing together, your panties already wet from Myra’s touches.

She kept sucking, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your lip and grabbed a handful of her hair, your fingers tightening slightly.

Soon you heard Patrick huff.

When you turned your head to look at him, you saw him palming himself over his pants while holding your phone in the other hand, recording the two of you.

“HUH?! W-why the ca-camera?” you whined.

Myra pulled away from your nipple and licked her lips. “So we can mess with your little ex-boyfriend, of course~”

Patrick laughed.

Myra glanced down at the obvious tent in Patrick’s pants. “Help him a little, won’t you, Angel?” she hummed, giving you a light push toward him.

You ended up on your knees, your hands between Patrick’s legs while he kept holding the phone, pointing it down at you, watching expectantly.

Shyly, you reached to undo his pants—

—but the woman behind you grabbed your wrists.

“Don’t use your hands, okay?..” she whispered in your ear before leaning down to kiss the back of your neck.

You used your teeth to pull the zipper down. You could feel the warmth emanating from him. Using your mouth again, you tugged his boxers down—only to get lightly hit in the face by his cock.

It stood tall, veiny, and neatly trimmed. Your mouth watered at the angry tip.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around his shaft and began bobbing your head up and down, your lip gloss smearing over the skin as you moved.

“Ah—fuck…!” he groaned.

You kept moving your head, going a little further down each time. Soon, a ring of saliva formed around the base.

“Keep going angel,” he praised, grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you. The camera pointed at your face and recording the lewd act

Myra pushed you forward against Patrick, leaving you on all fours. While your tongue worked at the tip of the man’s cock, Myra slowly pulled your jeans and panties down, revealing your already wet and glistening pussy. She gently caressed it, making you almost choke.

When you felt her tongue tracing along your wet folds, you instinctively pushed your hips back, chasing the friction.

She stopped.

Looking up at you, she held your gaze.

“Don’t forget about Patrick, angel. He really needs your help…” she said, her hands roaming over your hips.

You nodded quickly and went back to him, taking him deeper until you nearly gagged.

Myra continued licking before sucking gently at your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you.

Suddenly, Patrick grabbed your hair more firmly, guiding your head as he thrust deeper past your lips. Your eyes rolled back, tears clouding your vision as he groaned, finishing down your throat and leaving a salty aftertaste on your tongue.

He exhaled shakily before taking hold of your chin, gently squeezing your cheeks to make you open your mouth, angling the camera toward you.

“Look at that,” Patrick laughed softly.

You showed your tongue to the camera.

“Drink up, angel,” he commanded.

You swallowed quickly, then stuck your tongue out again to prove it.

“That’s it,” he praised.

Your hands trembled as your upper body collapsed against the couch, legs still parted for Myra, who continued between your thighs while absentmindedly using her free hand on herself.

You could feel yourself getting closer, tension coiling tighter and tighter—

Then suddenly—

Myra stopped.

She pulled away and stood up.

A soft whine escaped you before you could stop it, the sudden loss making your whole body ache with frustration.

“So eager, hmm?” Myra mocked softly, her voice carrying that same playful amusement as before.

Her hands wandered over your body at an agonizingly slow pace, fingertips trailing along the insides of your thighs with deliberate care. Every touch lingered just long enough to make your muscles tense before she moved somewhere else, never giving you enough to satisfy the ache she'd created.

Patrick let out a quiet laugh.

The sound only made your face burn hotter.

One of his hands settled against your waist, his grip firm but controlled as he slowly guided you onto your back against the couch. The cushions dipped beneath your weight, leaving you looking up at the ceiling for only a moment before your attention snapped back to him.

You were about to protest—

Then you felt it.

The head of his cock brushed lightly against your entrance.

Your breath caught.

Almost instinctively, your hips lifted, pressing back against him.

The movement made him push forward just enough for the tip to press more firmly against your folds, threatening to slip inside before stopping again.

Patrick hissed through his teeth.

His head tipped back, the muscles in his neck tightening beneath the edge of the mask.

"...Fuck," he muttered, the word barely audible beneath the fabric covering the lower half of his face.

Myra lowered herself in front of you.

Slowly.

Purposefully.

She spread her legs apart without ever breaking eye contact. She was already wet, her breathing just a little heavier than before.

She reached for the back of your head, her fingers sliding into your hair before gently guiding you forward.

Your face was pulled between her thighs.

She, too, was neatly trimmed, leaving only a small patch of hair that brushed against your nose and cheeks as your mouth met her.

A quiet sound escaped her lips.

Your own breathing quickly became uneven, the room filling with little more than muffled breaths and the wet sounds between you.

Behind you, Patrick still hadn't moved much.

Instead, he continued teasing you, rocking his hips slowly so only the head slipped inside before easing back out again. Each shallow movement left you anticipating more, only for him to pull away at the last second.

It was maddening.

Myra noticed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she tightened her hold on the nape of your neck, encouraging you closer. Soft, breathy moans escaped her now, mixing with the quiet sounds you couldn't quite suppress.

The apartment had gone strangely silent otherwise.

No television.

No traffic.

Only the three of you.

Then—

Smack.

A sharp sting spread across your backside.

A weak cry slipped from your lips.

Patrick's hand rested there for a moment afterward before he leaned down slightly.

"Open wide," he said.

His voice was low, calm... almost patient.

The next moment, his hips rolled forward in one smooth motion.

He pushed all the way in.

Your breath hitched sharply.

Your body tensed, your eyes watering from the sudden stretch as your fingers instinctively curled into the couch cushions beneath you. Patrick let out another strained groan, his grip tightening around your waist while Myra watched your reaction with quiet satisfaction, her thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. For a brief moment, the room fell silent, filled only with uneven breaths and muffled sounds.

Your arms quickly gave out beneath you.

Patrick pulled you closer, pressing your body against Myra as he kept moving with a relentless rhythm. Every thrust knocked another shaky breath from your lungs, making it harder to keep yourself upright.

Myra steadied you with one arm wrapped around your waist while holding the phone in the other, angling the camera so it captured both you and Patrick. A smug smile tugged at her lips as she watched the screen, making sure every second was recorded.

Your eyes squeezed shut.

Hot tears gathered along your lashes before spilling down your cheeks.

Patrick buried himself deeper with each movement, forcing soft whimpers from your throat as your body struggled to adjust. The comparison flashed through your mind before you could stop it.

He stretched you far more than Ronald ever had.

The realization only made your cheeks burn hotter as another tear rolled down your face, Myra's quiet chuckle reaching your ears while the camera remained fixed on you.

Your moans only grew more strained as you arched your back. Your breathing came in uneven gasps, your arms trembling beneath you from exhaustion. The room felt suffocatingly warm, every second stretching longer than the last.

Then—

Click.

The faint metallic sound of a key sliding into the apartment door froze everyone.

Silence.

Your heart lurched into your throat.

Another click.

The doorknob turned.

You didn't even have time to react.

Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Myra had already composed herself. She slipped away from your side, disappearing toward the entrance as if she'd rehearsed this exact moment a hundred times before.

Patrick reacted just as quickly.

His hand came up, covering your mouth before a sound could escape.

"Quiet, princess..." he whispered.

His voice was calm, almost amused, as if the person about to walk through the front door wasn't the entire reason they'd come here.

Your pulse hammered against his palm.

The front door creaked open.

"Hello?" Ronald's voice echoed through the apartment.

No answer.

You heard the door shut behind him.

His footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, slow at first, then quicker.

In his hand was his phone, the Contacts app still open.

Your name filled the screen.

"Y/N?" he called, sounding more confused than angry. "Are you still here?"

He stepped farther inside, his breathing slightly ragged from rushing home.

His eyes swept across the apartment.

Then they landed on the living room.

His phone slipped from his fingers.

It hit the hardwood with a loud clack, the sound seeming to echo throughout the apartment.

Neither of you looked away.

Ronald stood frozen by the corner of the living room.

Patrick slowly lifted his head to meet his gaze, making no attempt to hide. Even behind the mask, the smugness in his posture was unmistakable.

The room became deathly quiet.

For several long seconds, no one spoke. Only the sound of Ronald's uneven breathing filled the silence as he stared, trying—and failing—to process what he was seeing.

A hand rested on Ronald's shoulder.

He immediately tensed.

He knew he couldn't move if he wanted to live.

"...Why?" he couldn't help but ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Myra only giggled. "Seem we won't be needing the video after all..."

Patrick didn't even bother looking at him. His attention remained entirely on you.

You were completely out of it.

Slowly, your unfocused eyes met Ronald's.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Ronald couldn't tear his gaze away.

Disgust twisted in his stomach the moment he felt blood rush to his pants. Shame followed almost instantly, burning hotter than anything he'd ever felt. Fear for your life gripped his chest, yet beneath it all was an arousal that made him sick to his stomach. After so long... seeing you again like this completely shattered him.

His breathing became uneven.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

Every instinct screamed at him to pull you away.

He couldn't.

Patrick finally glanced at him.

Without saying a word, he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you closer, positioning you directly in front of Ronald while continuing to move behind you. Close enough that Ronald could see every expression crossing your face, and how his cock buried deep into your cunt.

Close enough that there was nowhere else to look.

Myra's hand remained resting on Ronald's shoulder.

Not tight.

Not threatening.

Just enough pressure to remind him that one wrong move would be a mistake.

She leaned in slightly, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched his expression crumble.

Patrick let out a shaky breath.

"I'm close... how about you, angel?" he huffed, his voice rough.

The apartment was filled with heavy breathing and the sounds echoing through the room, drowning out Ronald's ragged breaths. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, his nails digging into his palms as he stood frozen, forced to watch, unable to do anything but pray this would end soon.

A dark wet spot slowly spread across Ronald's pants as he watched your breasts move with every thrust.

"Too bad she's ours now..." Myra mocked, leaning in just enough to whisper into Ronald's ear.

His heart—and his... pants—throbbed painfully.

"Y-yes... yes, I'm... close..." you mustered the strength to say.

Patrick let out a low grunt in acknowledgment.

"Inside or out, angel?" he asked.

Ronald's eyes widened.

"Outsi—"

"Inside, pleaseee!" you cried. "Please... oh, fuck... I need it..."

Your ex's mouth went dry.

His words died in his throat.

He felt like he was choking on the air in his lungs.

"Ah... fuck... as you wish, sweetheart..." Patrick groaned.

His pace became brutal, balls slapping against your pussy as you pushed back to match his rhythm.

Ronald felt like crying.

He hadn't cried since you dumped him.

Not when you left.

Not during the sleepless nights.

Not while staring at old pictures of the two of you.

But now...

Now he could barely hold himself together.

Patrick jammed himself to the hilt, twitching as he filled you with his seed. Your climax hit at the same time, your body tightening around him as you squeezed him dry.

For several long seconds, neither of you moved.

The room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing.

Cum slowly overflowed from your hole, dripping onto the couch in thick spurts.

Completely spent, you collapsed into Patrick's arms.

He steadied you effortlessly before carefully laying you back against the couch. Calmly, almost casually, he pulled his pants back up.

Ronald could only stare.

Speechless.

His knees finally gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud. He didn't even care if Myra decided to cave his skull in.

She didn't.

Instead, she let him drown in his own despair.

Without saying a word, she walked over to you and began helping you back into your clothes.

You tried to cooperate, but your body refused to listen. Your arms only lifted a few inches before falling limply back to your sides.

Patrick stepped over and scooped you up bridal style.

As he walked past Ronald, your ex's eyes desperately followed every movement.

"W-where..." His voice cracked. "Where... where are you taking her?"

Myra crouched beside him, resting a hand against the side of his head. The gesture almost looked comforting... if it weren't for the unmistakable amusement dancing in her eyes.

"You're going to stop working for the Shade," she explained calmly. "Then you're going to contact Adam immediately."

She tilted her head slightly, smiling.

"When you start following orders, you might earn the privilege of asking him for things."

Ronald swallowed hard.

"...Until then..." Myra continued, glancing over at Patrick carrying you in his arms, "...we'll take care of her."

Before Ronald could even react—

Thunk.

The back of Myra's hammer connected with the back of his head.

His vision blurred instantly.

The apartment spun.

Then everything went black as he collapsed unconscious onto the middle of the living room floor. Not enough to kill him, but enough to leave a ringing sound for the next week.

Myra straightened up, giving him one last glance to make sure he was really out before walking back over to Patrick.

Your eyelids had grown impossibly heavy.

The last thing you remembered before finally succumbing to sleep...

...Was Myra's laughter echoing through the apartment.

I've written smut before, but never anything this long or this serious, so I'd really love to hear your thoughts! If you notice any mistakes or have any feedback, please let me know. 💖🦭 I love this pair so much. 😊

I know the dialogue isn't pink like I usually make it, but Tumblr has been kind of broken since the new update. 😭 The text coloring isn't working properly for me, so I'll try to fix it later.

#welcome to the game #reflect studios #wttg #wttg2 #wttg3 #dead signal #wttg x reader #ronald evans #male noir #fem reader #female noir #smut #trio #trio smut #dead signal x reader #wttg2 x reader

Ronald's Couch - Female & Male Noir x Reader

Tw: dub-con/malexfemale/femalexfemale/trio/voyeurism/mentions of violence/threats/coercion/pornwplot

Summary: You go to your ex-boyfriend's apartment to retrieve some of your things. Instead, you find two masked individuals who have better plans for you.

“It’ll be quick…” you murmured under your breath, pulling the keys from your pocket.

When you entered, the lights were on, but no one was inside. Even the PC was running. You figured he must’ve left in a hurry.

You took out your phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail.

“I know we don’t talk anymore… I’m at your place picking up my things. I'll lock the door and I'll leave the key in your mailbox, please don’t call me back.”

You ended the call and slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

A shadow moved in the corner of your eye.

You flinched and turned quickly… but there was nothing.

Almost on autopilot, you walked straight to the dresser and grabbed the clothes you kept there—some hoodies, a few shirts, a pair of pants, and some of your underwear.

As you packed everything into your bag, you turned to leave the bedroom—

And froze.

The living room lights were off.

Your heart skipped.

You hadn’t turned them off.

Slowly, you stepped closer to the door and peeked out.

Everything was dark.

Swallowing hard, you gathered what little courage you had and stepped into the living room. Pulling out your phone, you turned on the flashlight and lifted it, searching for the light switch.

The beam of light slid across the wall—

—and landed on a masked woman standing inches away, staring directly at you.

You screamed and dropped your phone.

Spinning around, you bolted for the door—only to slam straight into someone.

Your face hit a solid chest. Strong arms wrapped around you instantly, spinning you around as a hand clamped over your mouth. The stranger’s body pressed firmly against yours, trapping you.

Your survival instincts kicked in and you bit down hard on the hand covering your mouth. A low grunt escaped him as his grip loosened for a split second.

You scrambled toward the door—

But a sharp kick knocked your legs out from under you.

You hit the floor.

Tears filled your eyes as panic surged through your body, your mind flashing with the awful realization that this might be it.

Then—

The lights flicked on.

You blinked against the sudden brightness.

The masked woman stood by the light switch, watching calmly.

Behind you, the man grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the floor—one on each side of your head. He straddled your lap, breathing heavily as he looked down at you through the mask.

Like he was studying you.

Your chest rose and fell quickly beneath him, and he didn’t move.

Not away.

Just watching you.

“Please let me leave…! I won’t say a thing, I swear, I dont live here.” You begged.

The masked woman tilted her head slightly, her gaze shifting toward her accomplice.

“I’m not the owner of the house,” you said quickly, your voice shaking. “I don’t want anything to do with this, I promise.”

The man crouched down in front of you.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said calmly. His eyes moved slowly over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. “If you don’t make us have to.”

While he spoke, the woman wandered around the apartment like she was browsing through someone else’s mess. When she passed the desk, something caught her eye.

The Polaroid.

She picked it up from where it had been resting, beside the PC.

“Hm.” Her voice carried across the room. “Look at this, Patrick.”

She walked over and handed him the photo.

“She seems very close with him.”

Patrick took it, studying the picture for a moment. His gaze flicked between the photo and your face.

“What’s your relationship with Ronald Evans?” he asked.

No—demanded.

“He… he’s my ex-boyfriend,” you stammered. “How do you know him…?”

Your voice trembled as the woman moved behind the couch, stopping just behind you.

“You could say he’s someone with… great abilities,” Patrick said slowly, still looking at the photo. “Abilities that would be very valuable to our boss.”

He didn’t even seem to care that he was telling you this. If anything, there was something amused about his tone—like the whole situation entertained him.

“Abilities…?” you repeated weakly.

“Yeah.” Patrick finally looked up at you again. “Seems like he kept you in the dark about it. But Ronald is in a very shady line of work… and he could be quite useful to us.”

Behind you, the woman hummed softly. She had your phone in her hands, you have no idea when she took it, but she was going through it.

“He seems kind of obsessed with you,” she chimed in, her voice almost teasing. You furrowed your eyebrows. "The amount of messages he has sent you... and unaswered calls..." she trailed off.

“I went through his computer,” she said casually. “He has a lot of photos and videos of you. Doesn’t really seem like he’s over it…~”

Your stomach twisted.

“…Whatever he does doesn’t concern me,” you muttered quickly. “I didn’t even want to come here. I just needed to grab my stuff.”

“We know,” the man said.

Your eyes lifted to him.

His gaze had dropped to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before slowly climbing back up to meet your eyes.

“We heard you earlier, you said that over the phone.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine.

“But,” he continued calmly, leaning forward a little, “I lied a little to you, we might need to rough you up a bit… to send a message.”

Your eyes widened in panic.

“Please—I’m not part of this,” you blurted out. “Please don’t. I… I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt me.”

For a moment, the man went still.

“…Anything?” he asked slowly.

You nodded quickly, panic written all over your face.

Patrick glanced at the woman behind you.

You heard something shift, the faint sound of fabric moving—then suddenly a warm breath brushed against your ear.

“You are a pretty girl,” she murmured. "No wonder Ronald isn't ready to let go."

Heat rushed to your face despite the fear twisting in your stomach. Patrick watched the interaction, running a hand through his hair as if mildly amused by the whole scene.

“I think you can help us send the message in a… less violent way,” he said.

You slowly turned your head.

The woman had taken off her mask.

She held it loosely in one hand.

And she was breathtaking.

Sharp eyes, dark lashes, and a cunning little smile that made it clear she knew exactly the effect she had. Confidence radiated off her like heat.

“You can call me Myra,” she said smoothly.

She tilted her head slightly toward Patrick.

“You already know his name.”

Myra’s hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck. Her fingers wrapped around it—not tight, but firm enough to keep you still. Slowly, she leaned in.

Her nose brushed along the side of your jaw… then down your neck… all the way to your collarbone.

You gasped softly at the sudden closeness.

Your eyes darted sideways toward Patrick.

He was just watching.

Myra huffed softly before suddenly grabbing the back of your head, pulling you forward.

Her lips crashed into yours.

The kiss deepened fast.

A soft moan slipped out before you could stop it.

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

Suddenly—

Smack.

A sharp slap landed on your ass.

You jolted slightly.

“Don’t hide them,” Patrick warned from beside you, his voice low and firm.

Myra only giggled at that, clearly amused, her lips brushing your collarbone again as if she found the whole situation entertaining.

Her mouth traveled down to your breasts. With one hand, she pulled at one nipple while her mouth latched onto the other.

You let out a light moan, your legs instinctively closing together, your panties already wet from Myra’s touches.

She kept sucking, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your lip and grabbed a handful of her hair, your fingers tightening slightly.

Soon you heard Patrick huff.

When you turned your head to look at him, you saw him palming himself over his pants while holding your phone in the other hand, recording the two of you.

“HUH?! W-why the ca-camera?” you whined.

Myra pulled away from your nipple and licked her lips. “So we can mess with your little ex-boyfriend, of course~”

Patrick laughed.

Myra glanced down at the obvious tent in Patrick’s pants. “Help him a little, won’t you, Angel?” she hummed, giving you a light push toward him.

You ended up on your knees, your hands between Patrick’s legs while he kept holding the phone, pointing it down at you, watching expectantly.

Shyly, you reached to undo his pants—

—but the woman behind you grabbed your wrists.

“Don’t use your hands, okay?..” she whispered in your ear before leaning down to kiss the back of your neck.

You used your teeth to pull the zipper down. You could feel the warmth emanating from him. Using your mouth again, you tugged his boxers down—only to get lightly hit in the face by his cock.

It stood tall, veiny, and neatly trimmed. Your mouth watered at the angry tip.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around his shaft and began bobbing your head up and down, your lip gloss smearing over the skin as you moved.

“Ah—fuck…!” he groaned.

You kept moving your head, going a little further down each time. Soon, a ring of saliva formed around the base.

“Keep going angel,” he praised, grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you. The camera pointed at your face and recording the lewd act

When you felt her tongue tracing along your wet folds, you instinctively pushed your hips back, chasing the friction.

She stopped.

Looking up at you, she held your gaze.

“Don’t forget about Patrick, angel. He really needs your help…” she said, her hands roaming over your hips.

You nodded quickly and went back to him, taking him deeper until you nearly gagged.

Myra continued licking before sucking gently at your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you.

He exhaled shakily before taking hold of your chin, gently squeezing your cheeks to make you open your mouth, angling the camera toward you.

“Look at that,” Patrick laughed softly.

You showed your tongue to the camera.

“Drink up, angel,” he commanded.

You swallowed quickly, then stuck your tongue out again to prove it.

“That’s it,” he praised.

Your hands trembled as your upper body collapsed against the couch, legs still parted for Myra, who continued between your thighs while absentmindedly using her free hand on herself.

You could feel yourself getting closer, tension coiling tighter and tighter—

Then suddenly—

Myra stopped.

She pulled away and stood up.

A soft whine escaped you before you could stop it, the sudden loss making your whole body ache with frustration.

“So eager, hmm?” Myra mocked softly, her voice carrying that same playful amusement as before.

Patrick let out a quiet laugh.

The sound only made your face burn hotter.

You were about to protest—

Then you felt it.

The head of his cock brushed lightly against your entrance.

Your breath caught.

Almost instinctively, your hips lifted, pressing back against him.

The movement made him push forward just enough for the tip to press more firmly against your folds, threatening to slip inside before stopping again.

Patrick hissed through his teeth.

His head tipped back, the muscles in his neck tightening beneath the edge of the mask.

"...Fuck," he muttered, the word barely audible beneath the fabric covering the lower half of his face.

Myra lowered herself in front of you.

Slowly.

Purposefully.

She spread her legs apart without ever breaking eye contact. She was already wet, her breathing just a little heavier than before.

She reached for the back of your head, her fingers sliding into your hair before gently guiding you forward.

Your face was pulled between her thighs.

She, too, was neatly trimmed, leaving only a small patch of hair that brushed against your nose and cheeks as your mouth met her.

A quiet sound escaped her lips.

Your own breathing quickly became uneven, the room filling with little more than muffled breaths and the wet sounds between you.

Behind you, Patrick still hadn't moved much.

It was maddening.

Myra noticed.

The apartment had gone strangely silent otherwise.

No television.

No traffic.

Only the three of you.

Then—

Smack.

A sharp sting spread across your backside.

A weak cry slipped from your lips.

Patrick's hand rested there for a moment afterward before he leaned down slightly.

"Open wide," he said.

His voice was low, calm... almost patient.

The next moment, his hips rolled forward in one smooth motion.

He pushed all the way in.

Your breath hitched sharply.

Your arms quickly gave out beneath you.

Your eyes squeezed shut.

Hot tears gathered along your lashes before spilling down your cheeks.

Patrick buried himself deeper with each movement, forcing soft whimpers from your throat as your body struggled to adjust. The comparison flashed through your mind before you could stop it.

He stretched you far more than Ronald ever had.

The realization only made your cheeks burn hotter as another tear rolled down your face, Myra's quiet chuckle reaching your ears while the camera remained fixed on you.

Then—

Click.

The faint metallic sound of a key sliding into the apartment door froze everyone.

Silence.

Your heart lurched into your throat.

Another click.

The doorknob turned.

You didn't even have time to react.

Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Myra had already composed herself. She slipped away from your side, disappearing toward the entrance as if she'd rehearsed this exact moment a hundred times before.

Patrick reacted just as quickly.

His hand came up, covering your mouth before a sound could escape.

"Quiet, princess..." he whispered.

His voice was calm, almost amused, as if the person about to walk through the front door wasn't the entire reason they'd come here.

Your pulse hammered against his palm.

The front door creaked open.

"Hello?" Ronald's voice echoed through the apartment.

No answer.

You heard the door shut behind him.

His footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, slow at first, then quicker.

In his hand was his phone, the Contacts app still open.

Your name filled the screen.

"Y/N?" he called, sounding more confused than angry. "Are you still here?"

He stepped farther inside, his breathing slightly ragged from rushing home.

His eyes swept across the apartment.

Then they landed on the living room.

His phone slipped from his fingers.

It hit the hardwood with a loud clack, the sound seeming to echo throughout the apartment.

Neither of you looked away.

Ronald stood frozen by the corner of the living room.

Patrick slowly lifted his head to meet his gaze, making no attempt to hide. Even behind the mask, the smugness in his posture was unmistakable.

The room became deathly quiet.

For several long seconds, no one spoke. Only the sound of Ronald's uneven breathing filled the silence as he stared, trying—and failing—to process what he was seeing.

A hand rested on Ronald's shoulder.

He immediately tensed.

He knew he couldn't move if he wanted to live.

"...Why?" he couldn't help but ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Myra only giggled. "Seem we won't be needing the video after all..."

Patrick didn't even bother looking at him. His attention remained entirely on you.

You were completely out of it.

Slowly, your unfocused eyes met Ronald's.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Ronald couldn't tear his gaze away.

His breathing became uneven.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

Every instinct screamed at him to pull you away.

He couldn't.

Patrick finally glanced at him.

Close enough that there was nowhere else to look.

Myra's hand remained resting on Ronald's shoulder.

Not tight.

Not threatening.

Just enough pressure to remind him that one wrong move would be a mistake.

She leaned in slightly, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched his expression crumble.

Patrick let out a shaky breath.

"I'm close... how about you, angel?" he huffed, his voice rough.

A dark wet spot slowly spread across Ronald's pants as he watched your breasts move with every thrust.

"Too bad she's ours now..." Myra mocked, leaning in just enough to whisper into Ronald's ear.

His heart—and his... pants—throbbed painfully.

"Y-yes... yes, I'm... close..." you mustered the strength to say.

Patrick let out a low grunt in acknowledgment.

"Inside or out, angel?" he asked.

Ronald's eyes widened.

"Outsi—"

"Inside, pleaseee!" you cried. "Please... oh, fuck... I need it..."

Your ex's mouth went dry.

His words died in his throat.

He felt like he was choking on the air in his lungs.

"Ah... fuck... as you wish, sweetheart..." Patrick groaned.

His pace became brutal, balls slapping against your pussy as you pushed back to match his rhythm.

Ronald felt like crying.

He hadn't cried since you dumped him.

Not when you left.

Not during the sleepless nights.

Not while staring at old pictures of the two of you.

But now...

Now he could barely hold himself together.

Patrick jammed himself to the hilt, twitching as he filled you with his seed. Your climax hit at the same time, your body tightening around him as you squeezed him dry.

For several long seconds, neither of you moved.

The room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing.

Cum slowly overflowed from your hole, dripping onto the couch in thick spurts.

Completely spent, you collapsed into Patrick's arms.

He steadied you effortlessly before carefully laying you back against the couch. Calmly, almost casually, he pulled his pants back up.

Ronald could only stare.

Speechless.

His knees finally gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud. He didn't even care if Myra decided to cave his skull in.

She didn't.

Instead, she let him drown in his own despair.

Without saying a word, she walked over to you and began helping you back into your clothes.

You tried to cooperate, but your body refused to listen. Your arms only lifted a few inches before falling limply back to your sides.

Patrick stepped over and scooped you up bridal style.

As he walked past Ronald, your ex's eyes desperately followed every movement.

"W-where..." His voice cracked. "Where... where are you taking her?"

Myra crouched beside him, resting a hand against the side of his head. The gesture almost looked comforting... if it weren't for the unmistakable amusement dancing in her eyes.

"You're going to stop working for the Shade," she explained calmly. "Then you're going to contact Adam immediately."

She tilted her head slightly, smiling.

"When you start following orders, you might earn the privilege of asking him for things."

Ronald swallowed hard.

"...Until then..." Myra continued, glancing over at Patrick carrying you in his arms, "...we'll take care of her."

Before Ronald could even react—

Thunk.

The back of Myra's hammer connected with the back of his head.

His vision blurred instantly.

The apartment spun.

Then everything went black as he collapsed unconscious onto the middle of the living room floor. Not enough to kill him, but enough to leave a ringing sound for the next week.

Myra straightened up, giving him one last glance to make sure he was really out before walking back over to Patrick.

Your eyelids had grown impossibly heavy.

The last thing you remembered before finally succumbing to sleep...

...Was Myra's laughter echoing through the apartment.

I know the dialogue isn't pink like I usually make it, but Tumblr has been kind of broken since the new update. 😭 The text coloring isn't working properly for me, so I'll try to fix it later.

#welcome to the game #reflect studios #wttg #wttg2 #wttg3 #dead signal #wttg x reader #ronald evans #male noir #fem reader #female noir #smut #trio #trio smut #dead signal x reader #wttg2 x reader

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