REVERSE ISEKAI'D IN AN OFFICE ROMANCE? chapter seven! (Patreon)

synopsis: who'd wanna trade a fantasy world for a studio apartment and a shitty job? well, you when you've got a ridiculously hot coworker you're sure is your new prince charming! it's just, uh, you didn't think you'd get caught up in a love triangle when your new neighbor starts noticing your new behavior!

pairing: dorky!coworker x isekai'd!reader x grumpy!neighbor

content: light smut and fluff, reverse isekai, slow burn, (POTENTIAL SPOILER FOR THE UNNAMED EXTRA SO MAKE SURE YOU ARE CAUGHT UP HERE FIRST) reader is the og priestess from tue in that reader's body, tension, domestic fluff, crushing hard, neighbor pov!!, masturbation, sleazy behavior, pining, jealousy

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

Wooing women had always come easily to him. 

So why the fuck were you being so difficult? 

And really, why the hell did it turn him on so goddamn much? 

Leaning against the shower wall, jaw locked and tense as he furiously pumped his fist, fucking it to the way that short sundress swung around your thighs, how your pretty eyes narrowed at him when you dismissed him, god, even the way you carried his kid like it was your own. 

He wanted to knock you up. 

Okay, no, not really. But his horny brain couldn’t decipher the difference, aching to claim you when you’d so swiftly blew him off without so much as a second thought. 

Picturing you on the other side of the wall, sprawled out in your bed, maybe laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, chewing your glossy bottom lip – clueless that he was thinking about how it would taste. How soft it would be when he sunk his canines into it, how he’d tangle his fingers in your hair and tug. 

Finishing hard and fast, almost embarrassingly so, your name slipping out in a filthy groan as his cum splattered on the shower tiles, coating his hands as he bit down hard enough on the inside of his cheek for blood to tinge his tongue. 

Thinking of a hundred different ways he could take you, what sort of sounds you’d make when your mouth wasn’t preoccupied making promises you had no plans on keeping. 

Who didn’t fucking like ice cream? 

And really, who would turn him down? 

He wasn’t delusional, or insecure. No, he’d spent years in the gym and taking all the stupid supplements and vitamins needed to pack on muscles, to perfect the kind of form that would get him whatever he wanted. 

Which was money. 

The world revolved around how padded your pockets were. 

And he’d perfected a scheme to make sure that his were never empty. 

There was nothing women loved more than a handsome man with some sob story to sell them. A single dad raising his son by himself. A down on his luck loser for them to fix up. 

He didn’t date. Not in the conventional sense. 

Not that he’d call himself a sugar baby either.  

But these shallow relationships were only ever meant to last a few months. 

Long enough for them to pay for whatever living expenses he had, to feed his gambling problem, just not so much that they figured out they were being conned. They ended the same way. Things thrown. Words shouted. Maybe a few of his clothing items burned before they blocked his number and disappeared from his life.   

He’d never really paid much attention to you before. 

Just a cute girl that he passed by in the hallway sometimes. 

You clearly weren’t doing much better than him financially. Busy with your own work and life he knew nothing about. So why bother with anything more than the occasional grumbled hello or awkward grumble? 

Anyway, a breakup would be messy when you lived next door. 

Not worth his time. 

Still, he did feel sort of bad when he needed you to watch his son after a…work thing came up and heard what happened to you. Stomach twisting uncomfortably when he shoved his kid over to you, not the type to handle serious shit like that well, avoiding all the usual questions you were probably expecting when you admitted you had amnesia. 

And okay, yeah, he was an asshole, but what could he say?

All it took was the words monetary settlement for him to see dollar signs in his eyes – and decide that maybe instead of an impromptu babysitter, you might be something more.

He preferred to keep his kid out of his schemes. 

But he seemed to like you. Or well, not complain about you the same way he did with the old lady downstairs. What was the harm in you hanging around him? 

The kid could use someone like you. 

Steadier than him. 

Even with a head injury. 

You took the little brat to the park. Bought the candy he wanted. Smiled at him instead of scowled. 

A loud knock on the other side of the wall snapped him out of it, his stare narrowing as his head whipped around – and he realized that maybe he wasn’t quite so discreet as he pictured. Blinking a few times in the following silence with furrowed brows, jaw unclenching before his gaze glided down to his throbbing erection and the thick white cum still leaking out onto his leg. 

Washed away by the hot water, circling down the drain as he thought he faintly made out a giggle.

Were you fucking laughing at him? 

His body knew he should be humiliated, even if his brain hadn’t caught up. Cheeks burning beneath his skin, his throat going dry as he tried to come up with something smooth to say. What? Could he invite you over to join him? 

His mouth wouldn’t move. 

And he was bristling over it by the time he got out, drying off with a ratty towel, pocked with holes and the ends fraying. Tying it around his waist and half-stomping over to the fogged-up mirror, wiping it away to glare at his own reflection. 

He could get anyone he wanted. 

And he would get you. 

He just might have to try a lot fucking harder than he was used to. 

Get out of his comfort zone and try his luck at being the kind of guy that could qualify as boyfriend material. 

That wasn’t impossible. 

Even if an irritating voice in the back of his brain tried to suggest that this was just trouble, it didn’t convince the rest of him. Getting redressed, muscles sore and aching from his last job, walking back out to the living room to see his son groggily waking up from where he’d put him on the couch. 

“You hungry?” 

“A little,” he sleepily yawned, rubbing his eyes as his father walked over to the pantry and pulled out the generic brand box of cereal. 

“Did you have fun with her?” He heard himself to ask, clearing his throat as he grabbed a bowl and the last clean spoon from the drawer. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Was fatherhood always so awkward? A never ending of dishes to do and laundry to wash and starting conversations he never knew how to finish? 

“I don’t think she likes you,” his kid muttered, glaring accusingly at him while he poured the sugary overpriced shit into the bowl. 

“Shut up and eat your cereal.” 

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒

“So, uh, how do you think you’re adjusting?” 

“Good, I think,” you lied to your coworker, tracing an annoying run in your tights as you tried to stop your leg from bouncing in the passenger seat of his car. 

Another half a week of work hadn’t gotten you any more accustomed to it. Actually, it had probably been the worst one yet. The same group of girls were still being bitches. And you’d screwed up some document after getting distracted with another one of those notes left at your desk. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed that it was wrong if he hadn’t helped you fix it. 

But that just meant he fell behind on his own work and you both got stuck staying an extra hour late, returning home with the sunset dipping low on the horizon, street lamps flickering on as the radio played some soft rock song you found rather pleasing. 

Way fucking better than the lutes they used to play at the taverns or the low drone of the organ at the temple. 

“I’m sorry for messing up today,” you muttered, but he just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you without missing a beat, his hand reaching out to brush over yours automatically, fingertips skimming over your knuckle softly – and just as fast as it was there, he was pulling it back and placing it back on the steering wheel. 

That was a sign, wasn’t it? 

Or were you so desperate for even an ounce of attention from him you were making something out of nothing. 

You didn’t know if there were, like, rules you were meant to follow in the workplace when it came to dating coworkers. 

But you couldn’t really fathom what the problem would be. 

Besides, you had just deposited that pretty check you were sent from whoever hit you with their car. Some fancy law firm was on the name of it, but the money went in your account just fine – and from all your research and understanding about the currency and economics of this world, it definitely looked like enough zeroes were now tacked onto your account that you had to be set for years. 

Really, you could probably quit if you wanted to. 

Start over and see what other career ladders you could try to climb in this fascinating new world. 

But you sort of liked the struggle. Learning new things next to someone like him. Getting to chat with him over coffee and swiveling around in your chair to peek at him whenever you pleased. 

Maybe you’d leave if he rejected you. Stopped looking at you with those soft eyes and speaking to you all timid and tender. 

For now, you were just fine where you were. 

Better than fine when you were studying his side profile, comfortable in his passenger seat as he offered quiet words admitting that his brother wouldn’t stop asking about you. 

“He was sweet,” you failed to suppress a giggle, happiness fluttering up in your chest as your stare slid down to his pale knuckles. The skin stretched taut as he gripped the steering wheel tighter at the sound of your light laughter. “Must get it from you.” 

He blushed. 

Pink dusting his cheeks as he awkwardly chuckled – only for it to turn into clearing his throat and coughing.

“You’re a little ridiculous,” he mumbled, refusing to look back over at you when he recomposed himself. 

“How so?” You pressed, tilting your head up as you tried to read his mind. 

Figure out what was going on behind his dark eyes. Decipher whatever he could possibly be thinking about you.

“You never say what I think you will,” he softly revealed, keeping his face forward. “Or do what I think you will.” 

“Is that good or bad?” You asked, amusement bubbling and building. Was this what fun felt like? Unburdened by so many expectations and demands you’d spent what felt like an eternity trying and failing to meet. 

There were no mysteries or murders. No rigid rulebooks you had to bend your life around. No strict morals you needed to abide by. 

You could want him without feeling awful about it. 

“Good,” he finally answered, the single syllable coming out all low and slow. 

“I’m glad I can keep you entertained,” you teased, a little tempted to reach out and touch his forearm where his sleeves were rolled up. Trace the veins sticking out on his pale skin, see just how much he’d let you get away with.

He made a small sound, but he didn’t actually reply, brows pinching together in focus when he had to make a left turn. 

For a moment, just to keep the conversation going, you considered asking again about the notes. 

Pressing to see if he’d seen anyone, but you’d already asked if he could let you know if someone stopped by your desk while you were in the break room or the bathroom. 

You didn’t want to annoy him. 

Or do anything that might make it awkward. 

So you tried to be content with what he gave you. Find comfort in his easy quiet.

That was one thing you had gotten used to here. 

Him. 

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. The opposite really, since you’d practically been a stranger when you first met him. Someone who was just supposed to exist on the periphery of his life.

Or rather, someone who wasn’t supposed to exist in this world at all.

But you were here, and so was he, so why not believe that fate had finally rewarded you for having faith in something greater? 

Passing you a prince on a silver platter? Well, uh, a pretty boy working a 9-5 in a beat-up car? 

You had yet to discover something you didn’t like about him.

Except for maybe his reluctance to do anything that might not be considered platonic. 

But you could be patient for him. 

Especially if his affection was the prize you were promised. 

He parked outside your building, but this time, he did something different. Twisting the key in the ignition and turning the car off, glancing over to you as his hand hesitated over the seat belt buckle. 

“Um, do you want me to walk you up?” He offered, your lips curling up into a big smile before you could stop it. 

“Please,” you answered a little too eagerly. 

It should make you feel pathetic. 

Embarrassed to be excited over something so simple, but how were you supposed to help it? Unbuckling deliberately slowly so that he had enough time to walk around and open the door for you, holding out a hand you took without hesitation. 

He helped you out, but his fingers let go of yours rather than staying laced there, swallowing your disappointment instead of voicing it. 

“So, um, this weekend-” You started, not sure where you were going with it even as you spoke. 

“I’m supposed to take my brothers out of town,” he sighed, and your displeasure was a lot harder to hide this time. 

“Oh,” you breathed, making yourself smile at him anyway. “I hope you guys have fun.” 

“Thanks,” he muttered – right as you missed your next step and nearly face-planted. 

But he caught you. 

One hand grabbing your waist before you could fall, fingers digging in and holding you steady as he wrinkled your shirt, sucking in a sharp gasp of surprise as he looked down at you. Worry glinted in his eyes as he held you for a moment, making sure you were okay and found better footing before he let out a quiet exhale. 

“Scared me,” he muttered. 

“Concerned about me?” You asked, eating up his anxiety probably more than you should be. 

“You’re clumsy,” he quietly commented, but it didn’t sound like a complaint. “I have to be concerned.” 

“I hope you don’t think I’m horrible, but it’s kinda nice to have someone be all worried about me,” you casually confessed, your breath catching in your throat as his palm pressed down a little harder. Fingers splayed across your spine as if he could get used to touching you like this, the lump in his own throat bobbing before he suddenly let go of you. 

Returning his hand to his side as if it was nothing to him, like he hadn’t lingered there. 

“I don’t think you’re horrible,” he replied. 

“How kind of you,” you hummed, a hint of sarcasm bleeding in like you weren’t sort of fishing for a compliment somewhere in the truth you casted out. 

“I’m glad they called me,” he abruptly added. 

Yeah, you were too. 

What would you have thought of him if you had just met him at work after your hospital stay? Would he still help you the way he had been? Or would you be stuck figuring everything out on your own? 

You didn’t want to think about it. 

Simply by showing up, he had recolored your entire experience in this second chance in pretty hues, painted everything all bright and shiny just because he was there. Helping you when you stumbled. Making sure you were standing steady instead of letting you suffer and struggle all on your own.  

“Thanks for walking me up,” you murmured once you made it up to your door, leaning against the wall as he paused in front of you. His dark eyes drifted to your lips again slowly, and for a second, you considered saying screw it and pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to kiss him. 

“Of course,” he shrugged. “Want to make sure you made it up safe.” 

“I appreciate it,” you hummed, trying to make it obvious that you were looking at his lips too before speaking again, “And you.” 

But because things could never be even remotely direct in your first or second life, loud footsteps interrupted your little moment – and drew your attention down the hall to where your neighbor was returning home with his kid in tow.

“I guess I should get home,” your coworker mumbled, offering you a small smile as he cleared his throat. “See you in the morning.” 

“Yeah, sure, good night,” you muttered, defeat and disappointment coiling in your stomach watching him walk away. Forcing yourself to look down to get your keys out of your bag, shoving it in the lock as you tried to not let yourself get irritated at your neighbor, not when nothing probably would’ve even happened between you and your coworker anyway. 

Whenever it did happen, you’d rather it be private. 

Something solely for the two of you. 

All intimate and discreet, preferably on a date or stolen in a secret moment with his hands on your hips and your fingers tousling his dark hair. What would he taste like, you wondered? 

You’d given him a cherry chapstick on Monday when he bit his bottom lip nearly raw working on a report. 

Part of you wanted to see if he was wearing it. 

But you supposed you would just have to wait. 

Pushing your door, you were quick to close it behind you the moment you were inside, twisting the lock and kicking your shoes off as you started to unbutton your blouse once you hung up your purse by the door. 

Your neighbor was surely preoccupied getting his son settled and unpacked, maybe setting him up at a kitchen table or coffee table and grunting at him to do homework while he made dinner. Something domestic like that. You’d been trying to avoid him lately. What were you supposed to say after you heard him fucking his fist to you in the shower? 

Hello? How are you? 

No thanks, I don’t want to get ice cream. Oh, why? Because I can’t stop thinking about what your cum might look like dripping down your fist. 

Did it turn you on a little? 

Okay, yeah, but that was just because it had been so long since you’d seen any kind of action. Who wouldn’t be a little flattered by some ridiculously attractive guy getting all hot and horny for you? 

Before you could even get down past your bra, there was a sudden knock at your door. 

Your mouth curled up, convinced that maybe your coworker had come back – maybe to claim that kiss you surely had both been thinking about. Which was why you didn’t button your shirt back up when you twisted around to turn the lock and yank it open. 

“Damn.” 

Damn was right. 

It took everything in you not to grimace at your neighbor, sighing as you grabbed your shirt and closed the gap to halfheartedly cover yourself back up. 

Better to not give him any more jerk off material. 

“I can’t watch your son right now,” you exhaled, bracing your resolve for whatever excuse he must’ve cooked up. You were starving and tired and you really just wanted to watch some terrible tv to turn your brain off to. 

“I didn’t ask you to,” he retorted, his glossed over stare fixed on your fingers in your shirt, a tight frown on his face.

“What then?” You asked, all exasperated. 

“Who was that?” He grumbled, and it almost sounded like he was jealous. Grinding his molars as he crossed his arms over his bulky chest, beefy biceps quite literally bulging in the ridiculously tight compression t-shirt he changed into. 

“My coworker?” You feigned confusion, arching up a brow as you tried to shut the door on him.

“Why was he here?” He followed it up, green eyes glaring unhappily at you as you held back a laugh. “He drives me to work and home?” You offered an explanation you didn't even really owe him. “I don’t have a car. Or know how to drive.”  

“I’ll teach you,” he grunted, and you did giggle now, looking up at him with disbelief as you recalled his quite frankly horrible driving skills before you pointed them out. 

“You don’t have to, I’ll-” 

“Tomorrow night,” he grumbled. “We’ll use my car.” 

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵