Pairing: DBF! Hwang Inho x Fem!Reader
Summary: Y/n has always been the quiet, well-behaved daughter—bookish, polite, the kind of girl no one suspects of harboring filthy fantasies. But when her father’s best friend, Hwang Inho, catches her reading one of her smutty romance novels, everything she’s buried deep starts to surface.
Warnings: Age gap (legal), smut with tension-filled buildup, forbidden relationship, mutual obsession, dirty talk, possessiveness, light dom!Inho, emotionally loaded first time, mild praise kink, name kink, rough(ish) but caring sex, lots of heat, lots of feelings, and a book title that says it all.
Author's Note: I had written this a long time ago but got the chance now to post it and also cause I had promised you guys that I'll give you something delicious after I recover. So yeah, here it is!
Tag list: Lemme know if anyone wants to get tagged in LBH fics.
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Y/n had always been the sweet, well-mannered girl in the family. The kind who helped everyone, never raised her voice, and made her parents beam with pride.
In every way that mattered, she was perfect.
But what no one knew—what she kept tucked away behind innocent smiles and neatly folded cardigans—was a secret. A dark little indulgence.
Not to candy, not to gossip, not even to shopping.
But to smutty romance novels.
Not the soft, flowery kind either. No, she craved the dark ones. The ones with possessive, morally grey men and filthy scenes that made her heart race and her thighs press together.
Everyone knew she loved to read.
No one knew what she was really reading.
Whenever she had the house to herself, she’d curl up in bed or sneak off to a quiet corner with her favorite books. She’d lose herself in the stories, imagining herself as the heroine—the one being ruined, worshipped, claimed.
And as for the male lead?
Well… she imagined someone she absolutely shouldn’t.
Someone who lived far too close.
Y/n was upstairs in her dimly lit room, sprawled out on her stomach, legs lazily kicking in the air as she flipped another page of the book that had gone viral on TikTok.
Oversized hoodie, soft cotton shorts, messy bun—she looked like every bit the cozy, innocent girl lost in her little world.
Downstairs, the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes filled the air as her parents set the table.
Tonight was special—her father's childhood best friend, Hwang In-ho, had come over for dinner. He was practically family, a regular presence in their home since she was a baby.
"Where’s our little girl?" In-ho asked, glancing around the living room with a fond smile.
"Up in her room, probably reading another one of her books" her father chuckled.
"Would you mind calling her down?" her mother added, carefully placing the last plate on the table.
In-ho nodded with ease, climbing the familiar staircase.
She used to cling to him as a child—her tiny arms wrapped around his leg, tugging at his sleeves for attention.
But as she grew, something shifted. The clinging stopped. The eye contact faded. Y/n became quieter around him, shyer… almost nervous. He always chalked it up to teenage awkwardness.
He knocked gently on her door.
“Its me...your ajusshi” he said lightly, fingers curling around the knob. “I’m coming in, alright?”
He pushed the door open—and froze.
There she was, stretched out across the bed, the soft glow from her lamp bathing her bare legs in a golden hue. Her oversized hoodie had slipped slightly, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulder. She didn’t even notice him, eyes glued to the pages in her hand, lips parted ever so slightly as she read.
Inho’s breath caught for a second—just a second.
He knew he shouldn’t look.
But God, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
He reminded himself—she’s off-limits.
Still, something stirred deep in him, something he’d buried the first time he realized her smile lingered a bit too long, her gaze flicked toward him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.
And now here she was—curled up in bed, absorbed in a book she definitely didn’t want anyone to see.
Inho stepped fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He wasn’t sure what came over him tonight—maybe it was the whiskey from earlier, maybe it was the way she looked bathed in that soft yellow lamp-light—but something told him not to walk away this time.
Without a word, he strode closer to the bed and, in one swift motion, snatched the book from her hands.
Y/n flinched, eyes going wide. “A-Ahjussi!” she gasped, scrambling off the bed to chase after him. “Give that back!”
Inho smirked, holding the book high above his head with ease as she stood on her tiptoes, trying in vain to reach it.
“What’s the rush, hm? Let me see what kind of stories you’re so obsessed with, little one.”
“Ahjussi—no, seriously—!”
But he had already flicked the book open, eyes scanning the lines she’d been reading just moments ago.
His brows arched slightly as the words registered.
“His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open with ease. ‘You’re mine,’ he growled, voice low and thick with need. ‘You’ve always been mine.’”
Inho let out a slow, surprised chuckle. “Well, well,” he murmured, glancing down at her flushed face. “Didn’t expect this from our sweet little Y/n.”
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, lips parted, but no excuse came out.
He flipped another page, reading out loud again, this time with an exaggerated growl in his tone.
“She whimpered as his teeth grazed her neck, and he whispered filth into her ear—things no good man should say. But God, she didn’t want him to stop.”
He clicked his tongue playfully. “So this is what you’ve been doing when you lock yourself in here, hmm?”
“I-It’s just fiction,” she mumbled, reaching for the book again. “It’s not— I mean, I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think I’d catch you?” Inho teased, slowly lowering the book but keeping it just out of reach. “Or didn’t think I’d be the one reading it to you?”
The silence between them stretched, heavy and warm.
And though she couldn’t quite look him in the eye, the way her fingers nervously fidgeted and her breath caught said enough.
He leaned down just a bit, voice dipping lower.
“Careful, sweetheart. Reading things like this might summon the wrong kind of man…”
His thumb slid across the edge of the page.
Y/n’s face turned crimson, burning hotter than ever. She fumbled for a response—anything to shift the weight of the air between them, anything to forget that the man she secretly imagined in place of those bookish love interests was now standing barely inches away.
She didn’t even know when it started—when the fantasy bled into reality.
Maybe it was the way he always looked after her, or the way his voice dropped low when he said her name. Or maybe it was the books… maybe it was just him.
“Give me my book back, Ahjussi,” she tried again, this time quieter—more breath than demand.
But Inho only raised the book higher, smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Or what? You’ll tell your parents?” He cocked a brow. “Go ahead. Tell them what their little girl’s been reading.”
She stepped forward on her toes again, trying to snatch it back—but in her haste, she didn’t realize just how close they had gotten.
One hand landed on his shoulder for balance. The heat between them flared.
She reached higher and finally snatched the book from his grip.
“Careful, baby girl” he murmured, his hand hovering near her waist, so close she could feel the warmth of his palm through the cotton of her hoodie—but he didn’t touch.
She stepped back instinctively, but before she could retreat, his fingers caught her wrist gently, guiding her hand to his chest. Firm. Solid.
And beneath it—his heartbeat, fast and unsteady.
“Tell me” he said, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Who do you imagine reading all those dirty stories, huh?”
Her lips parted slightly, and without realizing, she licked them—nerves, maybe.
Whatever it was, it made his gaze flick downward, jaw tightening as though holding himself back.
Then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled away—like something inside him snapped taut.
He stepped back, eyes dark. “Dinner’s ready” he said, tone suddenly rough. “Your mom’s calling you downstairs.”
And without waiting for her answer, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room—leaving her standing breathless, flustered, and with a book that suddenly didn’t feel like fiction anymore.
The book felt heavy in Y/n’s hand as she stood still in her room. Her heart was still racing, lips slightly parted, wrist tingling from where his fingers had held her just moments ago.
By the time she reached the dining room, she’d stuffed the book behind a pillow in her room—out of sight, but not out of mind.
“There you are!” her mom smiled. “Come, sweetie. Sit.”
Y/n nodded quietly and took her usual seat at the table. Inho sat directly across from her, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar slightly open. The silver watch on his wrist gleamed under the warm lights.
He was pouring himself some wine—calm, collected… like nothing happened upstairs.
But for her, everything had changed.
She tried not to look at him. She really did. But her eyes kept flickering up through her lashes. His jawline. The veins running up his forearms.
The memory of her hand against his chest, the sound of his voice saying baby girl—it echoed louder than the casual clinking of plates and cutlery.
“Y/n” her dad said, scooping rice onto her plate “Inho was just telling us about that conference in Busan.”
“Oh?” Her voice cracked slightly. “That’s... nice.”
Inho’s lips twitched. He hadn’t looked at her yet. Not once.
He cut into his meat slowly, deliberately. “Yeah. It was mostly boring. Long meetings. You’d have fallen asleep in the first five minutes.”
His voice was smooth. Normal. Polite. Completely unfazed.
But beneath the table, her knees brushed the wood, tense, squirming from the ache settling between her thighs.
And across from her, Inho’s jaw clenched ever so slightly as he finally—finally—looked up at her.
But in that second, something passed between them. Something hot.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and her breath hitched.
He returned to his meal, taking a slow sip of wine like he hadn’t just stripped her bare with a single glance.
He was back to being Ahjussi. The beloved guest. The family friend.
But her mind was spinning with that question he whispered upstairs.
Who do you imagine reading those dirty stories, huh?
She clenched her thighs under the table.
And from across the table, Inho exhaled softly through his nose, fighting the urge to reach over, grab her by the wrist again, and take her upstairs—this time, without stopping.
He simply lifted his glass, his voice calm, his eyes too unreadable. “You seem quiet tonight, Y/n.”
And this time—she didn’t look away.
“So” Inho said casually, slicing into a piece of grilled beef, “what have you been reading these days, Y/n?”
She blinked, eyes darting up to him. His face was calm, lips curled in a polite smile. Like it was just a normal question.
Like he wasn’t the same man who held her hand to his chest upstairs and whispered filthy things that still echoed in her head.
“I—I, uh…” she stammered, cheeks turning crimson, “just some… light fiction.”
He tilted his head, reaching for the sauce dish. “Oh? Any recommendations?”
Y/n’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Her mother chuckled, oblivious. “She’s always nose-deep in those novels. She finishes a new one almost every week.”
“She’s a smart girl” Inho said, gaze flicking to Y/n for a second too long. “Sharp imagination, I bet.”
She looked down at her plate, stabbing at her food like it had personally wronged her. Her heart was racing. The air was thick. She could feel it—his eyes, the weight of his words.
“Have you always liked stories like that?” he asked, tone still light, warm.
“I—uh—yes. I mean—depends,” she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes again.
“You should lend me one sometime,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of wine. “Maybe I’ll finally understand what keeps you so… enthralled.”
Y/n nearly choked on her rice.
Her dad laughed, shaking his head. “She’d be thrilled to have someone to talk about her books with. Right, sweetheart?”
Y/n nodded mutely, pressing her legs together under the table. Her palms were sweaty. She could barely taste her food.
Every breath Inho took felt intentional—every comment like a tease only she could hear.
“You okay, sweetheart?” her mom asked.
“Y-Yeah,” Y/n breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… hot.”
“Oh, is it warm in here?” her mom asked, already reaching for the fan remote.
“No need” Inho said, ever the gentleman. “She’s probably just tired. You had a long day, didn’t you, little one?”
The nickname made her breath catch again.
Y/n looked up at him, wide-eyed—and this time, his eyes met hers and held. Calm. Unbothered. But deep beneath… hunger. Control.
He was playing with her. Masking filth behind courtesy.
She wanted to scream. Or run. Or kiss him. She didn’t even know anymore.
“Would you mind helping me with the dishes after dinner, Y/n?” Inho asked, smiling sweetly.
She nodded, dazed. “O-Okay.”
“Good girl” he said softly, and her fork slipped from her hand with a clatter.
The room fell quiet for a second.
Her mom raised an eyebrow, concerned.
Inho simply leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine with the same devil-may-care smirk.
The kitchen was quiet, the clinking of dishes and the gentle rush of water the only sound.
Y/n stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hands moving mechanically—but her mind was nowhere near the dishes. Not with him standing so close.
Inho was beside her, drying each plate she passed him. His shoulder brushed hers every now and then—subtle, just enough to feel. Each time, it sent a ripple down her spine.
He wasn’t saying much. But he didn’t have to.
He was too calm. Too close. Too composed.
Like he hadn’t just whispered filth into her ear upstairs.
Like he hadn’t held her wrist, watched her squirm, and walked away like it hadn’t wrecked them both.
“You’ve grown up a lot” he said suddenly, voice low—but just loud enough to carry meaning.
Her fingers froze around a dish. “…W-What?”
He reached for the plate in her hand, and this time, his fingers lingered—pads brushing over hers like a caress.
“I mean,” he said smoothly, “you were always bright. But now you’re…”
A pause. A look. A faint smirk.
Her pulse kicked. She turned back to the sink, pretending to focus, but her hands were trembling slightly beneath the stream of water. “People change” she mumbled.
“Mm.” He stepped half an inch closer. “Some changes are… hard not to notice.”
She nearly dropped the dish.
His voice had dropped lower—barely a murmur, meant for no one else but her.
She passed him another plate, but when he reached for it, his hand brushed against hers again—knuckles this time, warm and slow. Not an accident.
“Still want to be a writer?” he asked casually, like they weren’t standing chest-to-arm, heat building in the inches between them. “Or maybe…”
His eyes flicked to her lips,
“…write your own stories one day?”
“I—I don’t know” she whispered.
“Hm.” He leaned in slightly, enough that his lips nearly grazed the shell of her ear when he spoke.
“From what I saw earlier… you already have the imagination for it.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
She dropped the sponge into the sink with a soft splash and gripped the edge for balance, her breathing shallow.
“You okay, little one?” he murmured, closer now, his hand brushing the small of her back. Light. Barely there. But enough.
She nodded too quickly. “Y-Yeah. Fine.”
He looked at her flushed cheeks, the slight tremble in her arms, the tension in her thighs as she pressed them together under the pretense of standing still.
And he was enjoying every second of it.
He picked up the last plate. Dried it slowly.
Then, just before he stepped away, his fingers dragged ever so slightly down her spine—barely skimming through the fabric of her hoodie.
“Good girl” he murmured, low and warm, like praise laced with warning.
And then he was gone—walking out of the kitchen, towel in hand, like nothing had happened at all.
And aching for something she wasn’t sure she could wait for anymore.
The movie had ended, and the cozy warmth of the living room still clung to the walls. The soft hum of the credits played in the background as her parents stretched, murmuring something about heading to bed.
“Inho-ssi, it was so good to see you again. Y/n, will you see him off, please?” her mother called, already halfway down the hall.
Y/n nodded, though her heart was slamming against her ribs.
Inho was already standing by the door, slipping into his coat—slowly, deliberately, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.
The silence between them was thick, pulsing.
She moved toward him, her fingers curling at her sides.
He looked at her once—then again, longer this time. His eyes dragged over her face, down to her bare legs, then back up like he was memorizing her.
“You looked beautiful earlier,” he said softly, voice meant for no one but her.
“Lying there on your stomach…” he added, stepping forward just slightly, his tone low and rough like gravel and honey. “All soft. All exposed. So deep in your little world.”
She shifted on her feet, instinctively retreating—until her back hit the wall.
Slow, quiet, like a shadow.
“Did you touch yourself while reading it?” he whispered, now close enough that his coat brushed her knees. “Or were you saving that for later?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her breathing was shaky. Her thighs pressed together again, instinctively.
Inho’s gaze dropped, catching the motion.
“I know” he murmured, reaching out—his fingers brushing the side of her neck, the lightest touch. “That when you read those stories... you picture me.”
“Don’t lie.” His thumb skimmed up to her jaw, tilting her chin just slightly. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. That look you try to hide. That breath you hold when I stand too close.”
She was trembling beneath his touch.
He leaned in—nose grazing the shell of her ear, his lips ghosting just above her skin.
Close. So close. But not kissing.
“You smell like trouble” he whispered, breathing her in. “Like heat. Like sugar. Like something I should never touch.”
His hand slid from her neck to her hip, fingers splaying lightly over the curve. He didn’t pull. Didn’t grab. Just rested there—possessive in stillness.
Her hands had risen to his chest without her realizing, palms pressed to the fabric of his coat like they could stop him.
He leaned back enough to meet her eyes. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me” he muttered.
Just a whisper of a kiss.
His lips barely touched the corner of hers—not a real kiss, not quite. Just the promise of one. The kind of touch that wasn’t enough. That would drive her insane.
Fingers sliding from her body slowly, like he hated letting go.
“Goodnight, baby girl” he said, eyes darker now—hungrier.
He turned, opened the door, and stepped out into the cold night.
Leaving her against the wall.
And a heat between her legs that no book could satisfy anymore.
A week since he whispered “goodnight” like it meant more.
A week since his fingers curled around her waist and nearly didn’t let go.
A week since the almost-kiss that haunted her every time she closed her eyes.
Her parents were out of town now, off visiting relatives for a few days. Inho had been asked to check in, just to make sure she wasn’t completely alone at night.
Harmless, her mother said. He’s family. Trusted.
It was nearing midnight now.
They had dinner, watched a show, shared soft conversation like nothing was brewing between them. At some point, Inho had murmured something about getting some sleep and retired to the guest room down the hall.
Y/n curled up on the couch, one leg folded under her, another bent at the knee. A blanket draped lazily over her thighs. A new book in her hands. Another dark, smut-filled story that she couldn’t seem to put down.
She didn’t hear the door creak open.
Didn’t hear the soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor.
Inho had only meant to grab a glass of water. But when he saw her—so absorbed, lips parted, face flushed—something snapped inside him.
He walked up behind her without a word.
Then his voice, low and razor-sharp, cut through the quiet:
“He pushed her thighs open, growling against her skin, ‘You’ve teased me enough. Now I’m going to ruin you.’”
Y/n gasped, eyes flying wide. “Ahjussi—!”
She scrambled to her feet, the book slipping from her hands and landing on the floor with a soft thud.
Inho didn’t smile this time.
He stepped closer. His eyes dark.
“Another one?” he murmured. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
She backed into the wall behind the couch. “I—I was just reading—”
“I know what you were doing” he said, voice thick now, full of restraint about to snap. “You were picturing it again, weren’t you?”
Inho’s hand came up—fingers gently tracing along her jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
“I tried to be good” he whispered. “Tried to stay away. But you just keep tempting me, little one. Every night, every look. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”
She trembled. “Then don’t stay away.”
His mouth crashed onto hers, hands sliding into her hair, pulling her closer like he needed her just to breathe. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, desperate and hungry, and he groaned into her mouth like he’d been starved.
He gripped her thighs and lifted her easily, making her gasp against his lips.
Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
“You wanna be touched the way those men in your books touch?” he rasped against her neck. “Is that what you’ve been waiting for?”
“Y-Yes,” she whimpered, breathless. “Please.”
Inho didn’t wait. The second she said please, something inside him snapped loose.
His mouth crashed against hers—hungry, breath-stealing, devastating. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her close like he couldn’t stand the space between them for one more second.
She melted into him, fingers clinging to his shirt, legs trembling.
“You want to be ruined like in your books?” he growled into her mouth, kissing her deeper. “Want me to make you forget every line you've ever read, except the ones I write on your skin?”
“Y-Yes,” she breathed. “I want you. All of you.”
By the time they reached her room, she was already trembling.
Inho laid her on the bed—not gentle, not rough, but like he owned her. Like he’d waited too long to pretend anymore.
He stripped her slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin he revealed. Her hoodie. Her top. Her shorts. All discarded one by one.
“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he muttered, thumb brushing up her thigh. “This tiny little outfit—hoping I’d look.”
She nodded, breathless. “I wanted you to see me.”
His mouth curled into something wicked.
“You’ve got no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this,” he murmured, kneeling over her. “Thought about you, under me, begging.”
She reached up, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch him back. He helped her, yanking the fabric off, baring his chest—strong, veined, warm. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his neck, lower...
Inho caught her wrist. Brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m trying to be good.”
“Don’t” she whispered. “I don’t want you to be good.”
His mouth was on her throat, her chest, her stomach—leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down her skin. His hands roamed, possessive and slow, as if he was memorizing her inch by inch.
Then his lips hovered just above her inner thigh.
“Spread for me” he ordered, voice dark.
She obeyed, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear her own breath.
He slid his hand between her legs, fingers gliding through the heat of her. She was already soaked, aching, twitching under his touch.
“So wet” he muttered, biting back a groan. “All this… just from your books? Or is this for me?”
“For you” she whispered, arching. “Only you.”
“You” she gasped. “It’s always been you.”
Inho leaned down and pressed a kiss just below her navel. “You filthy little thing” he murmured.
“Lying in bed at night, reading those scenes, thinking about my hands on you. My mouth. My—”
She pulled him, capturing his lips again, needing him too badly to wait.
He let her. For a moment.
Then he pulled back, eyes blazing.
“Turn over” he said, voice gravelly.
She hesitated, breath caught.
“Be good for me” he added, and her body obeyed before her brain could think.
She turned, chest pressing to the mattress, hips slightly raised. He leaned over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down the curve of her spine.
“You ever been touched like this?” he whispered against her ear. “Or have you only imagined it?”
He kissed the back of her neck. “Then let me ruin the fantasy.”
Slow at first—teasing, controlled, pushing into her inch by inch until she gasped and clenched the sheets. He moved inside her with a rhythm that made her whimper, whispering filth into her ear the entire time.
“You feel that? That stretch? That’s what happens when you tease a man for weeks.”
Her moans filled the room. He growled against her skin, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her back into every thrust.
“You love this, don’t you?” he rasped. “Being taken like this. Like you’re mine.”
“I—I do,” she sobbed. “I love it. I love you—”
His rhythm faltered for a second, jaw clenched, hands trembling.
“I love you,” she gasped, “I’ve always—”
He kissed her shoulder—hard—then rolled her onto her back and slid deep again, locking eyes with her as he moved.
“I’m not stopping” he warned. “Not until you forget every man you’ve ever read about. Not until you know you’re mine.”
“I already am,” she whispered, legs wrapping around him. “I always have been.”
He swore under his breath and moved faster now—deeper, rougher, her body writhing beneath him.
She came first—crying out, nails digging into his back, trembling like she was breaking apart in his arms.
“A-ahjussi—!” she moaned, the word tumbling out between gasps.
Inho growled low in her ear, hips driving deeper. “No” he rasped. “Say my name. Not ahjussi. Say it.”
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and soaked in pleasure. “I-Inho” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Again,” he demanded, gritting his teeth as he chased his own release. “Louder.”
“Inho—” she cried out, trembling. “Please—I’m yours, Inho—!”
With a harsh groan, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her. His body trembled over hers, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight around her like he didn’t want to let her go. Like he couldn’t.
They collapsed together, tangled in the sheets, skin sticky with sweat and breath still ragged.
Silence settled around them—soft, heavy, full of something warm and unspoken.
Inho lay on his side, one hand brushing the damp hair from her face. She nestled into him, tracing lazy fingers across his chest. Their legs remained tangled, their bodies pressed so close it felt like one.
Then, after a quiet beat, she spoke—voice soft and dreamy.
“I think I found what I’ll write about in my first book.”
Inho chuckled low, his hand still stroking her back. “Yeah?” he murmured. “What’s it going to be about?”
She looked up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.
“You and me” she whispered. “This night.”
He smirked, already knowing where this was going. “And what will you call it, hmm?”
She smiled wide, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered
Inho barked out a laugh—deep and unfiltered, the kind that rumbled in his chest.
“You little brat” he muttered, pulling her closer and kissing her hair.
They laughed together under the blankets, hearts pounding in sync.
And just like that… her story began.
