Can you write human Lyle x cleaner!Reader x Fike smut, reader is a timid loner cleaner and the two best friends decide to keep them for themselves
Reader is resistant to the idea and tries to escape every chance they get but secretly lets themselves be caught?
Resistance
Pairing: Lyle x fike x reader
Warnings: smut, nsfw, Mdni
A/N: hiya my love I hope you enjoy thank you for the request and as always I hope you enjoy 😁
The mop bucket tipped over with a loud clang, soapy water spreading across the lab floor like a slow-motion flood. You froze, hands shaking, already hearing the heavy footsteps rounding the corner before you saw them.
Lyle Wainfleet leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Messy little thing, aren't you?" Behind him, Fike chuckled, cracking his knuckles like he was savoring the sound. Neither of them moved to help.
You'd seen them around the base—always together, always watching. They weren't supposed to be in the sanitation sector this late. But rules never seemed to apply to them, especially not now, with the way Lyle's eyes dragged over your hunched shoulders like he was tallying up weaknesses.
"Think we oughta teach you how to clean up proper," Fike mused, stepping closer. The words curled around you, sticky-sweet and dangerous. You backed up until the counter dug into your spine. Nowhere left to go.
Lyle's boot came down on the mop handle with a decisive crunch, trapping it—and by extension, your escape route—beneath his weight. "Aw, don't look at us like that," he cooed, tilting his head like you were some skittish animal caught in a spotlight. "We're just gonna help." The way he said it made your stomach twist, the promise hanging between you like a noose waiting to drop.
Fike moved like he had all the time in the world, plucking a roll of duct tape from a maintenance cart with an ease that suggested he'd done this before. His fingers made quick work of tearing off a strip, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Hands out, sweetheart," he murmured, and when you hesitated, Lyle's grip on your wrist was sudden and unyielding, pressing your palm flat against the wet tile.
The first loop of tape bit into your skin, too tight, and you gasped. Fike's thumb smoothed over the edge like he was admiring his handiwork. "There. Now you'll stay put while we... assess the situation." Behind you, Lyle exhaled a laugh, warm against the nape of your neck. His fingers trailed up your arm, proprietary, mapping the flutter of your pulse.
"See?" Lyle whispered, close enough that you could smell the stale coffee on his breath. "We're real invested in your job performance." The words dripped false concern as Fike's hands settled on your hips, backing you into the solid wall of Lyle's chest. The counter dug into your thighs, the sharp edge a counterpoint to the slow, inevitable press of them crowding you in. Somewhere distant, a faucet dripped, marking time. They weren't letting you leave—not until they'd taken what they wanted.
The tape around your wrists was already chafing, the adhesive pulling at your skin every time you tested the bindings. Lyle clicked his tongue, dragging a calloused thumb over the reddening marks. "Naughty," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You keep squirming like that, we'll have to reinforce things." Fike chuckled, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free with a whisper that made your stomach drop.
Lyle's hands were suddenly everywhere—tilting your chin up, gripping your waist, sliding under your uniform shirt to pinch at the soft skin beneath. "Bet you've never been properly appreciated," he mused, his voice rough. "Always just... cleaning up after everyone." His fingers dug in, possessive. "But we see you. Every little flinch, every time you bite your lip." Fike crowded closer, his thigh pressing between yours, forcing them apart. "We've been watching," he confirmed, his palm sliding up your inner thigh, slow and inexorable. "Thinking about how pretty you'd look stretched out between us."
You gasped when Fike's teeth grazed your neck, his grip tightening to keep you still. Lyle's fingers tangled in your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your throat. "Shh, just take it," he coaxed, though his tone left no room for refusal. The counter dug into your back as Fike ripped your pants open, the fabric tearing with a sound that sent a jolt of fear—or something hotter—down your spine. Lyle smirked at your sharp inhale. "Yeah, you like that, don't you? Being ours."
The first slap landed hard enough to make your vision blur, Fike's handprint blooming across your thigh. "Good thing we're keeping you," he growled, leaning in close. "Doubt anyone else would know what to do with you." Lyle's laugh was dark as he pressed a kiss to your temple, almost tender, even as his fingers circled your throat. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured. "We'll take real good care of you." The promise twisted in your gut, heavy and undeniable, as they began to claim you in earnest.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the walls as Fike dragged you backward by your bound wrists, the tape biting deeper with every step. Lyle's fingers twisted in your hair, steering you toward the storage closet—the one with the broken lock they'd clearly scouted earlier. "Gonna keep you where you belong," Fike murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he kicked the door open with a thud. The scent of industrial cleaner and mildew hit you, undercut by something darker—the metallic tang of anticipation.
Inside, Lyle shoved you down onto a stack of folded tarps, the rough fabric scratching your bare thighs. "Stay," he ordered, pressing a boot between your shoulder blades when you twitched. Fike rummaged through the shelves, tossing aside bottles until he found what he wanted: zip ties, the thick industrial kind. He looped one around your ankle before you could kick out, cinching it tight enough to draw a whimper. "Ah-ah," Lyle chided, palming the back of your neck. "You're not leaving this closet until we say so." The words weren’t a threat—they were a fact, settling over you like a second skin.
Fike’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your ruined pants, yanking them down to your knees with a rip. "Look at you," he crooned, tracing the welt left by the zip tie. "All marked up before we even started." Lyle crowded behind you, his belt buckle digging into your spine as he leaned close. "Bet you’ve dreamed about this," he lied, knowing full well you hadn’t—that was the point. His hand slid between your legs, calloused fingers dragging over sensitive skin. "Gonna make sure you don’t forget who owns you."
The first thrust stole your breath, Fike’s grip on your hips bruising as he fucked into you from behind. Lyle’s laughter was a dark hum against your ear, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make spots dance in your vision. "That’s it," he coaxed, voice dripping false sweetness. "Take it like a good little cleaner." The title twisted in your gut, degrading and electric. They moved in tandem, overwhelming you with sensation—every gasp, every flinch cataloged and exploited. When Fike finally came with a groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, Lyle was already unbuckling his belt. "Don’t worry," he murmured, pushing you onto your back. "We’ve got all night." The closet door swung shut behind him, sealing you in.
The flickering overhead light buzzed like a trapped insect, casting erratic shadows across the storage closet’s grimy walls as Lyle loomed over you, his belt buckle glinting in the dimness. "Gonna need you to be real quiet now," he murmured, pressing a finger to your swollen lips. The threat was unnecessary—you’d already learned how sound carried in the empty corridors, how the echo of a whimper could bring curious eyes. Fike’s grip on your thigh tightened, his thumb digging into the fresh bruise blooming there. "Unless you *want* someone to find you like this," he added, voice rough with amusement. The zip ties around your wrists had rubbed raw patches into your skin, but the pain was secondary to the way they anchored you between them, a living tether to their whims.
Lyle’s fingers traced the curve of your hip, possessive and slow, as Fike dragged a knife from his pocket—not to cut you free, but to slit your shirt open with a single, practiced flick. The fabric parted like skin under a scalpel, exposing your heaving chest to the stale air. "Better," Fike approved, palming a breast with casual ownership. "Should’ve had you working in just this from the start." His teeth grazed your nipple, sharp enough to make you jerk against the restraints. Lyle chuckled, catching your chin to force your gaze upward. "Look at you," he mused, thumb smearing the tears tracking down your cheeks. "All messy and used up. Bet you never thought you’d be *this* kind of dirty, huh?"
The taunt coiled in your gut, humiliation and arousal twisting together as Fike shoved two fingers into your mouth without warning. "Suck," he ordered, watching your lips stretch around his knuckles. "Gotta get you ready for round two." Behind you, Lyle unbuckled his pants with deliberate slowness, the sound of his zipper louder than it had any right to be. "Think she can take us both this time?" he asked, though the question wasn’t for you. Fike’s grin was all teeth as he withdrew his fingers, dragging them down your sternum. "Oh, she will," he promised, spreading your legs wider with his boot. "Or she’ll learn the hard way."
The first thrust punched a choked sound from your throat, Lyle’s hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. Fike’s hand clamped over your mouth before the noise could escape, his breath hot against your ear. "Told you to be quiet," he reminded you, punctuating the words with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. The pain blurred into the overwhelming fullness of being stretched around them, their synchronized movements leaving no room for resistance—only surrender. Somewhere beyond the closet door, a mop bucket clattered to the floor, abandoned. No one was coming to clean up *this* mess.
The overhead bulb chose that moment to burn out with a dying flicker, plunging the closet into near-darkness—just the faint glow of emergency exit signs painting Lyle’s smirk in sickly red. "Perfect," he murmured, fingers tightening in your hair as Fike’s shadow loomed closer. "Now nobody’ll see how wrecked you look when we’re done." The zip ties creaked as you twisted instinctively, but Fike just chuckled, pressing a knee between your thighs to spread them wider. "Keep struggling," he urged, voice dripping mock encouragement. "Makes it more fun when you finally break."
Lyle’s palm cracked across your ass hard enough to leave a stinging imprint, the sound echoing off the metal shelves. "Think she’s learned her lesson yet?" he asked, dragging a fingernail down your spine. Fike hummed, considering, as he traced the bite marks littering your shoulders. "Nah," he decided, gripping your hips to yank you back onto his cock with a wet slide. "Gotta make it stick." The groan it punched out of you was smothered by Lyle’s hand clamping over your mouth, his other hand working his zipper open with teeth-gritting patience. "Swallow every drop," he ordered, pressing the head of his dick to your lips. "Or we start over."
Something metallic clattered outside the door—a dropped wrench, maybe—and for a heartbeat, all three of you froze. Then Fike laughed, low and dangerous, thrusting deeper as if daring someone to intervene. "Hope they’re listening," he growled, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave tomorrow’s bruises. Lyle’s thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, stretching it obscenely wider. "Bet you’d come just from the shame, huh? Knowing anyone could walk in and see you like this." The truth of it coiled hot in your gut, your muffled whimper vibrating around him as he fucked into your throat in time with Fike’s punishing pace.
When Lyle finally pulled back, letting you gasp for air, he wiped his thumb through the mess on your chin like he was cataloging evidence. "Looks like we found your real talent," he mused, showing it to Fike with a grin. The other man leaned in, licking it off with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact with you. "Told you she was worth keeping," Fike murmured, before sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he came. Lyle’s hand returned to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision swim. "Don’t worry," he soothed, as if that word could ever apply here. "We’re not done with you yet." The closet door rattled in its frame—from the wind, or a passing worker, or maybe just the force of their hunger—but it didn’t matter. You were theirs now.
