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cloudtransprncy · 9 days ago

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Desk

IVE Gaeul x Male reader | 4647 words Part 1 of ? Tags: Oral Fixation, Bratty GF, Teasing, Semi-Public Risk, Deepthroating, Spit Play, Messy, dirty, head.

You're locked into a late-night Valorant grind with the boys, but Gaeul has other plans. With teasing glances, a knowing smirk, and a slow descent under the desk, she dares you to stay focused—except she knows you never win against her.

The monitor’s light spills into the dimly lit bedroom, merging with the deep purple glow from the LED strips running along the ceiling.

The rhythmic clicking of the keyboard mixes with the muffled voices from Discord, filling the room with an ambient hum.

You’re leaned back in your gaming chair, its ergonomic shape supporting you as you shift slightly, adjusting your position. Loose shirt draping over your frame, fingers moving fluidly across the keys, you call out plays with the boys.

The faint scent of fresh linen from your undone sheets lingers in the air, the bed tidy but lived-in, a slight contrast to the sleek, modern aesthetic of the rest of your space.

The game’s reflection flickers across the sleek, minimal art on your walls—fractured neon streaks from a custom Vandal skin shifting with the movement on-screen. Sleek frames devoid of any band posters enhance the modern aesthetic, while a small collection of Funko Pops stands neatly on a floating shelf, their colorful forms a playful contrast to the room’s sharp design.

The match is tense, but the banter is casual—friendly jabs, loud reactions, the usual chaos of a night grinding Valorant.

“Bro, how’d you miss that?!” one of the homies shouts, half-laughing.

“Relax, I got this,” you mutter, adjusting your aim. Your screen flickers with movement, and you line up the perfect shot. “Headshot. Easy.”

The boys erupt in a mix of cheers and mock complaints, but before you can ride the high of the play, the door creaks open, the soft sound barely cutting through the steady hum of your PC fans.

Instinctively, your fingers flick over the keyboard, hitting the hotkey that mutes your mic—just in case.

Gaeul steps in.

Your eyes flick to her, and for a second, your brain lags like a bad connection, your pulse stuttering as if your body is catching up to what your eyes are seeing.

A flush of warmth spreads through your chest, your grip tightening on the mouse as your mind scrambles to register the sudden shift in atmosphere. She’s stealing your breath before you even realize it.

Her black cropped tank top clings to her, spaghetti straps exposing her toned shoulders, the smooth curve of her collarbone, and just enough of her creamy, flawless abdomen to make your throat dry. Her skin glows under the purple LED light, soft and inviting, each inch begging to be touched.

The shorts she wears showcase her long, silky legs, every movement making the light catch the supple smoothness of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. A pair of simple socks cover only her feet, emphasizing the bare elegance of her form. Her hair is tied up, loose strands falling around her face in a messy yet intentional way, the wisps framing her delicate features. Her full lips slightly parted, painted with a soft hue that catches the dim lighting.

The contrast between the sharpness of her jawline and the smoothness of her skin is striking, making her look effortlessly stunning even in the simplest setting.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She lingers in the doorway, her gaze flickering over you, lips pressing into a playful pout. Then, with a slow, deliberate sigh, she finally flops onto your bed dramatically, stretching like a cat, her arms extending above her head. The motion makes the fabric of her tank top shift slightly, hinting at the tautness of her stomach.

Her movements are relaxed, nonchalant, as if she isn’t trying to draw attention to herself. She rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet behind her lazily, her cute rear forming soft, tempting hills under her shorts. Her fingers idly scroll over her phone screen, her expression neutral, almost detached. She shifts slightly, her toned legs flexing as she shifts position, before finally speaking up.

“Babe.”

You hum in response, still locked onto the screen.

“I’m horny.”

Your grip on the mouse tightens, but you force a chuckle. “Yeah? Sucks to be you. I’m with the homies right now.”

She groans dramatically, causing you to glance over, and the sight nearly makes you miss your next shot. She's biting her finger absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on her phone, but it’s the way her tank top strap has slipped off her shoulder that catches you.

The loosened fabric barely clings to her, revealing just a teasing glimpse of her collarbone and the soft swell of her cleavage. Her lips part slightly, her teeth grazing the tip of her finger as if lost in thought, though you know better—she knows exactly what she’s doing.

She sighs, getting up from the bed, the movement slow, deliberate. Her sock-covered feet shuffle lightly against the carpeted floor as she makes her way towards you, her presence growing impossibly closer. She drags a hand down her stomach lazily, adjusting her tank top as if unaware of your eyes on her, though you know better.

As she reaches your left side, she leans in, and the familiar, clean scent of cherry drifts over you—subtle yet distinct, a fragrance that clings to her skin, comforting in its familiarity. It mixes with the warmth of her body, the closeness making your breath hitch as she presses just slightly into your space, her presence wrapping around you effortlessly.

“Come on,” she murmurs, reaching up to gently tug your headset back, just enough to expose your ear. She nuzzles against your neck, her lips hovering close, her breath warm as she inhales softly, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your focus slipping.

She moves fluidly, settling just behind you, her arms draping lazily over your shoulders. One hand trails across your chest, her fingers tracing slow, feather-light patterns, while the other lingers at the edge of your headset, still tilted from her tug. She tilts her head slightly, pretending to check something on her phone again, the glow reflecting on her smooth skin.

You almost think she’s given up—until she suddenly shifts closer, her fingers ghosting over your wrist before she reaches for your headset, her lips curving into a knowing smirk before she glances at you through her lashes, biting her lower lip absentmindedly.

Then, with deliberate ease, she shifts her hips subtly, pressing against you just enough to make you notice. Her lips hover just beside your ear, her voice smooth, teasing, sinking into your skin like warm honey.

“I don’t need much,” she breathes, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, but just before the words slip into your ear, she pulls back slightly, letting the moment hang between you.

Then, suddenly, she leans in closer again, her lips brushing just faintly against your skin as she whispers the last word, the sensation sending a deep shiver down your spine, as if she’s already won.

You inhale sharply, fingers hovering over the keys, willing yourself to stay focused. It’s just Gaeul being Gaeul, you tell yourself. She loves to mess with you. But the warmth of her breath, the way she moves without even trying—it’s getting harder to pretend you’re unaffected. Your fingers hesitate on the keys. Just for a second.

She sees it.

The smile she gives you is soft—knowing, smug, just a little bit spoiled.

Her hands drift down, playing with the hem of your shirt, her nails grazing your stomach lightly, sending a wave of heat coursing through your veins. A sharp exhale escapes you before you can stop it, your muscles tensing under her touch. The sensation is maddening—just enough to tease, to remind you of how easily she can unravel you. Your mind races, fighting between keeping your cool and giving in to the way she’s setting every nerve in your body on fire. The feeling sends an involuntary shiver up your spine.

You try to focus, try to keep your cursor steady, but she’s right there—warm, teasing, a living distraction you can’t ignore. You know exactly where this is going. And you should stop her. You should. But when have you ever been able to tell Gaeul no?

Your character moves erratically on-screen, and one of the guys on Discord notices.

“Yo, what was that flick?”

You clear your throat and adjust your mic. “Slipped.”

Gaeul giggles, her warm breath ghosting over your skin. She nuzzles against your neck briefly, then tilts her head, her lips brushing softly against your cheek instead, a fleeting yet deliberate touch that lingers just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Come on,” she whispers. “I promise I won’t be a bother.”

She shifts slightly, fingers trailing down your chest before gripping the edge of your shirt. ‘Maybe I should just sit here instead,’ she muses, voice laced with amusement. You brace yourself, already anticipating the warmth of her weight on your lap, but she smirks.

You exhale through your nose, but you don’t object.

That’s all she needed —and sinks to her knees instead.

And just like that, she disappears under the desk.

Your heart kicks up a notch.

The second she disappears under the desk, your heart rate spikes. She shifts beneath you, adjusting herself before pausing. No touch, no teasing—just the warmth of her presence lingering between your legs. The lack of contact makes it worse. Your pulse thrums in your ears, waiting, expecting. The seconds stretch unbearably. Then, finally, her fingertips graze your thigh, featherlight, sending a ripple of heat straight to your core. Your breath comes just a little faster, anticipation creeping into every inch of your body. You sit up a little straighter, adjusting in your chair as if that will somehow help you keep your composure.

Her hands, warm and soft, brush along your thighs, fingertips featherlight at first before pressing in with teasing intent. She’s taking her time, letting you feel every little touch, every stroke of her nails against your sweats. Your grip on the mouse tightens as you glance at the screen, trying—failing—to focus on the game.

She palms you slowly, deliberately, the heat of her hand pressing through the fabric in lazy, teasing strokes. It’s maddening. The kind of slow torture only she could get away with. Your jaw clenches, but you force yourself to stay still, barely shifting in your seat as you adjust your headset.

The boys on Discord are still talking, oblivious to the way your body tenses under her touch. One of them cracks a joke, and you let out a forced chuckle, hoping no one hears the slight waver in your voice.

Then, Gaeul pauses, dragging it out. She blows warm air over you first, waiting, making sure you feel the anticipation crawling under your skin. A quiet hum leaves her lips as she rests her cheek against your thigh, her breath steady, unhurried. You feel her smile against you before she finally moves.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she hooks her fingers into your waistband and tugs down—not too fast, not too slow, just enough to make you lose your breath.

Cool air rushes over you for all of a second, and the relief is immediate—skin stretching, blood thrumming as your hardness finally breaks free from its constraint. The sensation is dizzying, your cock pulsing as it fully unfurls, heat rushing straight to your core. Before she does anything else, she pauses, taking in the sight of you—her breath hitching slightly, her fingers ghosting over your length in reverence.

She nuzzles against it, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side, her warm breath sending another shudder through you. She’s told you many times before how much she loves sucking your cock, but whenever she’s actually doing it, it feels like more than that—like she’s worshiping you, indulging in something she can’t get enough of. She’s savoring every inch before she even begins. A soft hum escapes her, as if just having you like this is enough to satisfy her. Only then do her lips part, and she finally takes you in.

Wet. Warm. Hot.

The first flick of her tongue sends a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine. Her lips wrap around you, slow and firm, dragging along your length with teasing precision. The suction is just right, enough to make your fingers twitch over the keyboard. It starts clean, controlled, but soon the warmth of her mouth deepens, her spit coating every inch. You glance down between ragged breaths, watching as she slowly drags her tongue from the base to the tip, only to scoop up the slickness pooling at your crotch, bringing it back to the top with a slow, deliberate stroke.

Your hand flies to the mute button.

The first few slow, obscene strokes of her tongue make your head tip back slightly, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk. It’s wet, so wet, messy from the start.

She doesn’t hold back. Not today.

Her tongue glides firmly along the underside, tracing every vein, her movements deliberate as she circles the tip before enveloping you again, her lips stretching around your girth with practiced ease. The lewd sound of her lips smacking around you is barely muffled under the desk, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten.

You will yourself to stay composed, to not give anything away, but it’s a losing battle.

She’s relentless—her mouth hot and soft, taking you deeper each time, her spit slicking every inch of you. She bobs her head with a slow, steady rhythm, a mix of suction and slippery, messy tongue work that makes your breath stutter.

You will yourself to focus, force your fingers to keep moving on the keyboard, but it’s useless. You tell yourself to think about the match, about the callouts, about anything but the heat pooling in your stomach. But then her breath ghosts over you again, and it's like a wire short-circuiting in your brain.

Your grip tightens on the mouse, but the effort is futile—your body betrays you, drawn irresistibly to the way she moves, to the slow, maddening rhythm she’s building beneath you. The second her lips ghost over the fabric, you’re gone. The game, the boys on Discord, the match—it all fades. Your only reality is her, beneath the desk, and the slow, maddening heat pooling in your stomach. Your breathing grows heavier, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Yo, you good?” one of your friends asks.

You clear your throat, forcing a neutral tone. “Yeah, just—uh, adjusting my seat.”

Beneath the desk, Gaeul giggles, and the vibration of it alone makes your stomach clench. Then, she spits, warm and thick, letting it drip down your length before she spreads it with her tongue. A wet, filthy glide.

A sharp inhale rushes through your nose. Your free hand tightens on your thigh. God.

She deepens her rhythm, her mouth molding around you, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with more urgency, a wet, obscene symphony filling the space beneath the desk. The slick sounds grow louder, more obscene, as spit pools and dribbles from the corners of her mouth, coating your length in a messy sheen.

A soft gag stutters in her throat, and when she pulls back slightly, her breath is ragged, chest rising and falling as she pants through the high. For a brief second, her eyes roll back, dazed, before she collects herself with a quiet, needy hum.

Then, she spits again, slow and deliberate, watching the saliva trail down before she gathers it with her tongue and takes you in once more. Some of it drips onto the chair, smearing across the leather, but you don’t care—your mind too fogged with pleasure to register anything beyond the mess she’s making of you.

Sloppy. Wet. No hesitation.

Her throat clenches around you before she pulls back, eyes fluttering as a garbled moan escapes her, her breath labored. She lets another thick strand of spit fall, her fingers smoothing it down as she strokes you with both hands, her grip greedy, insatiable. Then she goes back in, her nails digging lightly into your thigh, like she’s steadying herself, like she’s getting lost in it.

Your cursor drifts aimlessly on-screen, and the boys notice.

“Bro, what are you even doing? We’re losing.”

You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to refocus. “Shut up, I got this.”

But you don’t. Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s ruining you beneath the desk, her tongue flicking, her lips tightening, her throat swallowing around you just enough to make your vision blur.

Your next move is purely instinct. Your hand finds the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as you press her down just a little more. She hums in approval, her lips glistening, strands of spit clinging between them as she lets her drool drip deliberately onto your skin, smearing the mess with slow, deliberate kisses. Then, her throat tightens as you push just a bit deeper, the tip hitting the back of her throat, making her gag around you.

The air around you is thick, tainted with the intoxicating mix of her hot breath, her saliva, and the lingering scent of her cherry perfume. It clings to your skin, seeps into the fabric of your chair, wrapping the space in something primal, something undeniably filthy. It’s overwhelming, making your head swim, as if the very atmosphere is charged with the evidence of everything she’s done to you.

You bite down on your lip, head tipping forward as pleasure crashes through you. Then she pulls back with a lewd, messy gasp, a wet pop breaking the tension as she stares at you, her composure long gone. What started as slow, deliberate control has unraveled into something raw and desperate. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her lips swollen and slick, spit clinging to her chin and trickling down her throat. She blinks, dazed, before a quiet whimper escapes her, her body shivering like she’s addicted to the taste of you. Her eyes roll back slightly, lids fluttering as if she’s dazed, drunk on the feeling of having you in her mouth. She pants softly, her breath ragged as she collects herself, a cough slipping out before she snorts, shaking her head slightly like she’s high off it.

A hum of satisfaction vibrates in her throat before she spits on you again, her hand wrapping around your slick length. She strokes you slow, loud, and proud, her fingers working you with a deliberate pace. Looking up at you from under the desk, she looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen and slick, spit trailing down her chin, her eyes glassy and dark with hunger. Drops of saliva dot her chest, some clinging to her collarbone, dampening the fabric of her top. She pants softly, her breath shaky, as both hands work you with slow, messy strokes, her fingers coated in the evidence of her own devotion.

Muted again.

She’s winning. And she knows it.

Your thighs tremble as Gaeul keeps stroking, her grip firm, fingers gliding over your slick length with a slow, almost lazy confidence. Her breath is uneven, hot, little moans slipping past her lips as if she’s lost in the act itself, dazed by the sensation of having you in her hands. Her spit coats every inch, her palm twisting just right as she drags it up and down. Her eyes stay locked on yours, her smirk hidden behind the mess she’s made of you.

She doesn’t just stop there.

Gaeul lets your cock rest against her tongue for a moment, her eyes locked onto yours, dark and hazy with need.

She holds it there, savoring the weight of you, before spitting thickly onto it, her lips parting just slightly as if mesmerized by the sight.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she slaps it against her wet muscle, the obscene sound cutting through the heavy silence between you. The sound is obscene, sticky and loud in the quiet room. She giggles, flicking her gaze up at you from under her lashes, her fingers still stroking steadily as she tilts her head slightly, as if daring you to break.

And then she goes lower. All the way down.

Her lips trail to your base, kissing, licking, before her tongue glides further—dragging along your balls, her breath warm and heavy against your sensitive skin. She pauses for a moment, savoring, letting her lips graze over them before she sucks one into her mouth with a messy, drawn-out slurp. A deep, muffled moan vibrates through you, the sensation sparking along your spine.

You shudder, thighs flexing, your fingers tightening involuntarily as she hums against you, relishing every second, her tongue swirling, teasing. Her eyes flutter closed as if she’s lost in it, indulging herself, her own pleasure evident in the way she sucks greedily, releasing with a wet pop before shifting to the other.

She breathes out a small laugh, breathless, her lips slick as she licks back up, dragging her tongue purposefully before kissing back down, making sure every inch of you is drenched in attention. She doesn’t stop stroking, her grip tightening as she jerks you in slow, deliberate motions, the slick warmth of her saliva spreading over every inch. Her palm glides with a perfect mix of pressure and indulgence, squeezing just enough to make your thighs tense.

The wetness pools, smearing between her fingers, dripping down in messy trails, but she doesn’t slow—if anything, she seems to revel in it. Every stroke makes an obscene sound, every twist of her wrist drawing you closer to losing it.

She releases you with a pop, licking up the entire length before wrapping her lips around you again. This time, she doesn’t tease. She dives in.

Your body tenses as her throat tightens around you, her free hand rolling your balls in her palm as she bobs up and down with an unrelenting pace.

It’s overwhelming.

Her movements are fast, ruthless, each descent pushing you deeper into her throat. She takes you over and over, no hesitation, no mercy. Her moans turn breathier, more frantic, as if she’s unraveling with every greedy suck, every eager, wet drag of her lips, lost in the heady rhythm of it all.

Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily, a faint tremor running through, completely lost in it. Her fingers twitch slightly, gripping your thigh tighter for balance, her breathing faltering between moans, her body responding instinctively, greedily, to the act itself.

Her tongue presses against the underside, rubbing against that sensitive spot as her lips stretch around your girth. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, spit dripping from her chin, but she doesn’t stop.

She can feel it. You’re right there. Your thighs twitch, seizing in tight, instinctive pulses, the tension sparking through you like an exposed wire.

A hushed moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as your breathing catches. Her nails dig into your thigh, her body shuddering, her eyes rolling back for a brief second as she gags around you, spit bubbling at the corners of her lips. It’s filthy, it’s intoxicating, and she looks like she never wants to stop.

She grips your thigh, steadies herself, and swallows you whole, her throat convulsing around you in quick, desperate gulps. The wet heat, the tight pressure, the sound of her gagging and moaning all at once—it shatters you.

Your head tips back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your hips jerk forward involuntarily. Pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, blinding, unstoppable. Your muscles go taut, your grip tightening on the desk as your breath catches, lost in the sheer intensity of the moment.

Thoughts scatter, dissolve into nothing but the heat of her mouth, the desperate pull of her throat, the way your body surrenders completely to her. The first pulse erupts deep inside her, and she moans around you, swallowing greedily as if she’s desperate for every last drop. The thick warmth shoots down her throat, and she takes it all effortlessly, her lips sealed tight, sucking you through every wave. Her body trembles, her exhale shuddering slightly as she savors the taste, the sensation.

A blissed-out hum escapes her, reverberating through you, her eyes fluttering in a heady trance, completely overtaken by the moment. Even after you’re drained, she stays there, swallowing once more, her lips still wrapped around you as if reluctant to let go. Finally, she pulls back, her tongue flicking out to clean up anything left behind, her lashes heavy, her gaze hazy with satisfaction. Only then do you finally look down, watching her beneath the desk.

She’s on her knees, her body slumped slightly, as if she’s been completely overtaken by the moment. Her hair is a mess, strands clinging to the damp sheen on her flushed skin. Her tank top is a disaster, the thin fabric darkened in places, speckled with spit, barely hanging onto her frame. She looks utterly ruined—stunning in her disarray, a vision of chaos and need, her lips still slick, slightly parted as she catches her breath.

There’s something almost innocent in the way she gazes up at you, juxtaposed with the depravity of what she’s just done. And yet, she’s still hungry, still savoring the taste of you, a soft, breathy hum leaving her lips as she drags her fingers over your oversensitive skin, enjoying how you twitch under her touch.

Your fingers grip the desk like a lifeline, chest heaving, body wrecked.

And when she finally pulls away, a string of spit still connects her lips to your spent length, her expression smug as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

The boys are still talking. The match is still going.

You don’t even know who’s winning anymore.

Your hand is still gripping the mouse, your fingers twitching slightly as you struggle to recover. The warmth of her breath still lingers on your skin, her presence under the desk unmistakable.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your entire body is still pulsing from the aftershocks, and you barely process the sound of your friends in your headset. When you finally force your fingers to move, they don’t feel like your own

You clear your throat, exhaling hard through your nose before unmuting. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Bro, you disappeared for a sec,” one of your friends laughs. “What happened?”

Gaeul leans forward, resting her chin on your thigh, her fingers tracing light patterns against your oversensitive skin. She looks up at you, amused, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just… needed a breather,” you manage, voice hoarse.

A chuckle from your homies, some light teasing, but they move on, diving back into the game.

Gaeul, however, doesn’t budge. Her eyes remain locked on you, heavy-lidded, her lips still slick and parted as if savoring the moment. A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but there’s something else there too—an insatiable hunger, a quiet challenge lingering in her gaze, like she’s not quite done with you yet.

You exhale, still reeling, and finally push your chair back slightly, giving her space. Gaeul stretches out lazily, her body still humming from everything she’s just done, then crawls out from under the desk with slow, unsteady movements.

Her tank top clings to her skin, damp, wrinkled, barely hanging onto her shoulders. With a small, bratty huff, she tugs it back into place, though it does little to fix the absolute mess she’s become.

Before you can react, she leans up and presses a kiss to your cheek, soft and fleeting, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrays the false innocence of it. "Next time, I’m riding you," she murmurs, voice still thick, breathless, her words dripping with amusement. "Let’s see how well you mute then."

Your fingers tighten on the mouse.

Game over.

AN: I was gone and stopped writing and thinking of shit, had some changes in my life, but im back to writing again. Keep an eye out I got some more ready to go

#smut #gaeul #ive #malereader #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #ive smut

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