𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 (part 1/3) – 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 perfect boy…meets a perfect girl, in a perfect world…?
read on ao3
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: late 2000s (pre-fame) gesa is in my your city and you meet him at a club. reader is me in college and over the age of 21. third person pov. drinking, smoking, smut near the end (m!masturbation).
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k
note: my first ever x reader fic omg……and my first rpf too 🤯 i've only ever written fictional characters x oc and aside from how surreal it feels to write rpf i also never realized how hard it is to try and write a character with no name (and i refuse to use y/n). i want to thank @the-sunflower-room as well for inspiring me to write reader fics in third person pov 🫶 also idc how down bad i get for this man i just can’t keep a straight face whenever i have to refer to to him as mike, i feel so bad but every time i type his name out i laugh a lil 😭
It was strange being out at night all alone in an unfamiliar city thousands of miles away from home.
Usually, on a night like this, he would be behind the computer at some little venue with his friends, turning knobs and flipping switches while the crowd cheered for them, but tonight, Mike was on the other side of the action, sitting quietly at the bar of this random club and staring at the whiskey swirling in his glass while his friends were performing at an event without him on the other side of town.
He glances at the dance floor, at the hot, sweaty bodies bumping into each other and suddenly feels lonelier than he should. He takes a careful sip of his drink as his eyes drift toward one girl in particular. While most people danced in pairs or among groups of friends, she, oddly enough, seems to have also come by herself. He rests his chin in his palm, captivated by the way she swims so freely through the crowd, her loose hair whipping around her head like a halo and miniskirt-clad hips rocking to the beat of the music.
As the song draws to a close, she lets the lingering euphoria in her limbs carry her to the edge of the floor in slow, floaty skips, and Mike's interest in the table suddenly piques. Through his peripheral, he sees her approach the bar to order a yuzu Belvedere. He steals a sly glance at her, catching only a glimpse of her thick-soled boots. He clamps his glass firmly in both hands, snapping his eyes back to the seam where the bottom of his glass meets table and the shadow of the liquor briefly masks the peeling paint.
“Hey, cutie,” she calls out.
He rotates his head slowly, checking all around him only to find that absolutely no one else has looked up. When he finally meets her gaze, she waves.
He points at himself in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”
She grins. “Well, I haven’t seen any other cuties in here tonight.” She downs about half of her drink in one go before walking over to put herself between him and the empty seat beside him “This is your first time here, isn’t it? Because I feel like I’d remember if I’d ever seen a gorgeous face like yours around.”
He laughs shyly, her proximity to him spiking his heart rate. “Yeah, I’m…ah…only in this town for a few days.” From here, not only can he see the warm glow that seems to shine through her makeup, he can also feel the heat radiating from her body. He quickly brings his eyes back into his glass. “You…come here often?” He gulps down a few sips of whiskey, his sweaty palms making it rather difficult to keep the glass steady.
“More often than I probably should,” she admits, finishing the rest of her drink. “So you’re just in town for vacation?”
“Mm…sort of, I guess,” he answers, not looking up. “I’m technically here for an event this weekend.” He runs the tip of his finger over rim of his glass. “But, yeah, the rest of the time is just like a vacation for me.”
Her gaze departs from him, returning to the dance floor as another song comes to a close. “Wanna dance?” she asks, her heart absent from the question.
“With you?” He was typically only one to dance after at least three drinks and a copious amount of peer pressure, but this time, he eagerly pours the rest of his drink down his throat and scrambles to his feet. “For sure,” he manages to rasp through the burning sensation.
She takes him by the hand and pulls him out to the floor. He lingers at a polite distance, but she grabs his arm and loops it around her waist, leaning in until her back is pressed against his chest. She rocks her hips against his, and when she puts her hands up at the beat drop, the lacy fishnet fabric of her top rides up just enough for his palm to feel up on her bare stomach. He can feel the hot rush of blood up his neck and into his ears, and reflexively, he kneads his thumb against her soft skin, to which she responds by angling her head to glance at him.
Flustered, he quickly opens his mouth to apologize, but she turns around with a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye, draping her arms over his shoulders and pulling him close while she massages the nape of his neck. She takes a step between his legs, rolling her hips and grinding on him. He feels his knees go weak and fights to steady himself by latching onto her hips, but as she rides on his thigh, he can practically feel his life force evacuating through his lungs.
She brings her hands away from his neck, rubbing them up and down his chest before settling at his waist. He wants to push his fingers up under the hem of her shirt, or maybe slide his palm down to grab her ass, or even just draw her in for a kiss, but she’s too pretty and he hasn’t had enough to drink. It doesn’t help that she’s watching him with the most beautiful pair of eyes he’s ever seen. All he can do is turn his burning cheek while his arms remain frozen.
The song closes out, and they retreat to the bar. She hugs his bicep and gives it a teasing pinch. “You need to loosen up a little.”
As before, he takes a seat while she stands dangerously close to him. He unbuttons his blazer and runs a hand gingerly over his neck. “Sorry, I don’t dance often. I’m not very good at it.”
She takes a shot of reposado, chasing it with mango juice. “I think your skills are fine. You just seemed a little nervous.”
“…I am nervous,” he confesses, struggling to hold her gaze.
She nods contemplatively but misinterprets his statement. “Yeah, I guess dancing isn’t really for everyone.” She slides her crossbody purse off of her shoulder and holds it out to him. “I’m gonna get back to it, though. Could you watch my bag?”
“Okay, yeah. Of course.” He takes the purse and hugs it against his stomach. “I’ll keep it safe for you.”
She smiles, giving him a light peck on the cheek. “Thanks! You’re so sweet.”
He watches as she is absorbed into the crowd. He orders his second drink and wonders if he should call it a night after this one. The memory of the time he lost count of how many cinnamon whiskeys he drank in one night and ended up waking up in someone’s pitch black hotel room with sunglasses that did not belong to him and no shirt on haunts him, and he was not going to embarrass himself like that again—not tonight, at least.
As the subject of his infatuation dances her night away, he notices the leering eyes of suitors gawking at her, understanding that he is not alone in finding the way her body moves to be so hypnotic. There was no reason for him to be so invested, yet here he was, contemplating whether he should chase after her and keep her all to himself for the rest of the night. He decides against it, and sits back to sip on his drink slowly, until he sees someone trying to get uncomfortably close to her. He sets his drink down and rises to his feet, but she turns around and shoves the guy away before he even has the chance to intervene.
“Dude, get off me!” she scoffs, ready to storm off when she bumps into Mike. “Oh, hey…” She hugs him around his waist, seeking comfort from a touch that she feels safe in.
“Are you alright?” he asks her, before warning the man, “Don’t touch her.”
“Or else what, huh?” he taunts Mike. “Next time, try actually dancing with your girl instead of sitting at the bar like a fucking cuck if you care so much!”
“We…should probably just give him some space,” Mike murmurs, “he’s clearly had too much to drink.”
But she doesn’t seem to hear him at all, instead whipping her head around so fast she nearly knocks herself off balance. “Oh, well excuse you! Why don’t you try staying the fuck at home next time?” With that, she slams her fist straight into the guy’s nose, knocking him back a few paces as he cups his bleeding nose.
“…Okay, and so have you,” Mike sighs to himself. He hears a bystander exclaim, “Barfight!” and quickly drags her away before either party can escalate the situation further.
“Ugh, I hate guys like that!” she groans. “Like, if a girl wants your attention, she’ll probably come to you first. It is not that difficult of a concept to grasp.” She slumps onto a barstool. “Gross. I need at least two doubles to move past that.”
He sits down beside her and takes her hand. “Are you hurt?”
“My hand? It’s fine, don’t worry.” But then a smile spreads across her face. “Unless you wanted to kiss it better…in that case, it hurts so bad and only you can fix it.”
He lowers his head to hide his cheesy grin and burning cheeks behind his hand. After taking a moment to compose himself, he kisses each one of her knuckles. “Does that help?”
“Oh, wow, it literally doesn’t even hurt at all anymore,” she giggles, knocking back two concerningly oversized shots of Cointreau without so much as a flinch. “Is that guy gone?”
Mike looks around. “Hm…I think security removed him.”
She rolls her eyes. “Good fucking riddance.”
He closes his hand around her wrist as she stands. “Wait—would you like me to come with you?”
“What, still don’t think I can handle myself?” She ruffles his tousled hair with a wink. “I got this! I won’t force you to dance if you don’t want to. Thanks again for watching my stuff.”
He wanted to pick her up and put her back down in her seat, maybe ask how many drinks she’d had for the night and suggesting that she either get some plain water or go home and sleep, but then he realizes—what role beyond a stranger in passing does he even play in her life? Just because some drunk guy thought she was his girlfriend doesn’t mean that she actually is.
Once he finishes the last of his drink, he excuses himself to the balcony, where he retrieves a pack of Marlboro golds from inside his jacket and raps it against his palm, pulling a cigarette out with his teeth. He swaps the box for his Bic lighter and furrows his brow in deep concentration as he lights up, cupping the flame protectively behind his palm. He stands at the edge of the balcony, gazing out at the ocean to one side and the city to the other.
“There you are!” The sound of heavy footsteps and muffled bass accompanies the sweet voice, succeeded by two arms clinging to his waist. As he turns around, the pretty girl whose purse he’s carrying plants her face into his chest.
“Sorry, I really needed a cigarette,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Is everything okay?”
“Missed you…” She sighs dramatically, then murmurs, “You smell really good,” her vocal cadence drunkenly cheerful.
“Really?” he chuckles. “I stink of smoke and sweat.”
Her voice muffled by his lapel, she insists, “No, this is nice.”
His cigarette burns away between his fingers as watches the waves crash against the pier. He wonders if any of those skyrises in the inner city might be home to her. “The view is beautiful, no?”
She hums in incomplete concurrence, the final note of the sound lilting just a little bit.
“I imagine it must be wonderful to live here,” he muses.
“It gets lonely,” is her flat reply. “My friends are busy. Everyone’s busy. I’m busy.” She lifts her head up off of his chest slowly as if it were made of lead, careful not to let it loll back and tip her off balance. She grabs onto his shoulder and cracks a half smile. “But who cares, really?”
He watches as the chilly nighttime breeze rustles through her hair and quickly deposits his cigarette between his lips. He shimmies out of his jacket, wrapping it around her. “You’re going to get cold if you wait for me to finish smoking.”
She tilts her head in amusement. “But it’s not cold at all.”
He hugs her close, making sure his blazer keeps her warm as another gust of wind raises the hair on his exposed arms.
“Now you’re going to be cold…” she pouts, her fingernails lightly scratching the back of his neck.
He can’t help but smile at this contrarian shift. “So you admit that it is cold, then?”
She reaches up plucks the cigarette from his lips and puts it between her own. Tendrils of smoke twist and curl around him and her, as if binding them to one another. He watches as she takes a long, smooth drag before returning the cigarette to his mouth. She laughs as she does so, expelling the smoke through her nose.
The flame burns out and the lifeless butt of the cigarette is discarded, but neither of them makes a move toward the door. Between the nicotine and alcohol fighting his hormones for control over his blood, the heat of her body pressed against every inch of his anterior, and the dreamy, beckoning eyes walking over his face, Mike can’t tell which one is making his head feel like it’s floating, and which one is bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. His mind racing so fast it turns blank, he surrenders his lips against hers.
He can feel her melting into him, sinking deeper into his embrace as her tongue darts past her lips to tease against his. He welcomes her in eagerly, pulling her closer than the laws of the universe might permit. His eyes roll back in bliss so pure that nothing has ever come close to it nor ever will. But the taste of liquor in her kiss is quick to shatter the illusion.
He breaks from the kiss delicately to find her blinking up at him slowly—almost hungrily, the way a coyote might stare at a rabbit—her lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. Something profound washes over him—the product of an affair between sadness and guilt, cultivated at the hands of loneliness—and he tears his gaze away from her pretty face.
“Let’s go back inside,” he suggests.
“That’s a great idea…!” Her disposition brightens instantly, and the heavy air that hangs above them dissipates with it as she laces her fingers with his. “Come on. I could really use a drink right now.”
She drags him inside, tripping over nothing at all and practically collapsing at the bar. “Can I get—” she declares loudly— “five shots—”
“Of water,” he mouths to the bartender as he takes a seat. “Please.”
“—of…like…anything, really,” she mumbles.
He catches her by the waist and attempts to guide her to the barstool next to his, but she instead falls into his lap.
“Oh, sorry,” she giggles. She runs her fingers through his hair, tilting his head toward the lights on the ceiling. “Gosh, you are so cute.” She massages his scalp in slow, wandering motions, gently tugging on his hair every now and then. “And I’m so in love with your eyes,” she breathes as she loses herself in them, lips grazing against the tip of his nose.
She shifts her weight in his lap to better look at him, and he can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, seeking the heat of her bare thighs. It doesn’t help when she cups his burning cheeks in her hands and peppers kisses all over his face and neck, so occupied with marking him up that she hardly even notices the bartender bring in their five tall shots of water.
“Thank you,” Mike nods, sliding over his credit card in return. “You can close the tab for the both of us,” he clarifies. He then picks up a glass. “Are you…going to join me?”
“Hm?” Her attention diverts at last. “Oh!”
He tries not to laugh as he watches her down two shots of water in rapid succession. “Smooth, no?”
She nods. “Yeah, wow. What is this stuff?”
“That’s a secret,” he winks, finishing his second glass. “You can have the last one.”
She leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, her fingers weaving through his hair and splayed against back of his head. “That’s so generous of you…” she sighs.
The bartender returns Mike’s card. “You two have fun tonight.”
“You bet we will!” she laughs, squeezing Mike’s waist as he stands up.
He leads her outside, where they wait under a street lamp watching cars pass by. “Where should we go?”
“Back to your place,” she murmurs with a grin.
“Please, I’m serious. I have to take you home.”
“And so am I.” She looks up at him and blows him a kiss. “Take me home with you…please?”
He considers his waning collection of options and sighs, waving down a cab. “Okay.” He holds the door for her. “Get in. You can come with me.”
“Yay!” She hops in, and as he climbs in, she immediately throws her arms around him.
“The Harbor Tower, please,” Mike tells the driver.
The ride is quiet—suffocatingly so, almost. Here Mike sat in the backseat of this yellow cab, with this beautiful drunk stranger that he met at the bar leaning on his shoulder and running her hands all over him. She starts with his face, tracing over his dark eyebrows with her fingertips, dragging them down to scratch at his stubble while she runs her thumb over his lips. He offers her a brief smile, the heat of his arousal burning into the tips of his ears and rendering him unable to even look at her. She kicks her legs up over his lap, gently rocking her thighs over the bulge in his pants with every move the car takes. Now, it wasn’t as if he had never been touched this way before—nothing could be further from the truth, in fact—but it was humiliating how much restraint it took to keep himself from moaning out loud and finishing in his pants. And as much as he wants to, he knows he can’t return the favor tonight—not when the likelihood of her even intending to behave this way was incalculable. All he could do was hold her by the thighs to keep them still to the best of his ability and hold his breath to steady his heart whenever she touches his chest.
What a truly bizarre welcome to this city.
The cab pulls into the hotel’s drop-off zone at last, and Mike pays his fare as he helps his dependent for the night out of the vehicle.
“Somebody’s getting lucky tonight,” the driver teases before leaving.
Mike frowns in disgust. Perhaps he made the right call bringing her along with him. He loops one arm under her knees and the other around her back, holding her close to his chest. She nuzzles her nose against the crook of his neck, her breath tickling his jaw as he carries her through the lobby and into the elevator.
He sets her down to unlock the door to his room, and she topples against him, evidently unable to stand on her own. He pushes the door open and, holding it in place with one foot, pulls her arm over his shoulders and props her upright to the best of his ability as she stumbles into the room. He lets the door close behind them and quickly scoops her up again, carrying her to his bed.
She giggles as he sets her down, barely able to keep her eyes open. She smacks her hand against his chest, slowly letting it find its way toward his waistband. “Come lay with me,” she drawls out, a cheesy grin on her face.
Mike takes her by the hand before she can start tugging on his belt loops or grabbing him where he aches for her touch the most. He presses her fingertips tenderly to his lips. “I’ll be right there,” he lies.
She hums softly, letting him go. He sprints to the bathroom and sinks against the lockless door, holding it shut with the weight of his body. He fumbles with his belt and sags his jeans below his hips. He hates that he’s doing this, but he hasn’t got enough brainpower to even worry about the disdain he has for his own depravity right now. He coaxes the tawny shaft of his already-drooling cock, smearing his precum all over his rosy tip. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and quickly squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks about the pretty girl laying in his bed just a few feet beyond this door, and he imagines her inviting him to make love to her. He wonders what she might ask him to do—how would she like his hands and mouth on her while they do it? Would she rather he hold her thighs open or let her keep her ankles crossed?
His cock throbs under the fast, uneven strokes of his fist, the moment of force of which hinges at his elbow rather than in his wrist. He throws his head back, flexing his back to push his hips up from the door. The act of standing upright makes him unbearably dizzy, and his body threatens to give out completely. He bites down hard to stifle his lewd moans as he staggers forward, finishing in messy spurts all over the palm of his hand.
He gasps for air, his body shivering with every breath that he takes. He cleans himself up with trembling hands that he then scrubs ferociously under the sink, unsatisfied until he feels he has successfully washed away the perversion that lingers beneath the semen. He stares at his reflection, the pressure of his guilt and self-loathing bearing down on him almost enough to crack the mirror. He quickly throws a few splashes of water onto his face with the hope that this might cleanse him of his sins. Pushing his hair off of his damp forehead, he quietly returns to the main room.
As he had expected, she is already fast asleep. He kneels by the foot of the bed, and ever so gently so as not to wake her, he undoes the laces on her boots, pulling them off to reveal lace-detailed socks that rather endearingly complement her top. He then makes his way to where she lies and slips his arms underneath her to turn her onto her side. As he pulls back his blazer draped over her, he covers her instead with blankets. He realizes that her hair is crumpled against the pillow and very tenderly sweeps it out from underneath her head. Fascinated by how her hair feels against his skin, he crawls into bed beside her, raking his fingers through sections of her hair, and before long, he finds himself weaving plaits into it.
Once he finishes, he retreats quietly to the couch and, hugging his blazer and deeply inhaling the scent of perfume she left behind, dozes off for the night.
