thef1diary

[thef1diary]

awhhh that’s so sweet 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Me when my fav fanfic writer posts another banger

[thef1diary]

Max relate.

[thef1diary]

more reverse it with boss!daniel au. this time..

making him a coffee in the break room, but making sure to spit in it— OR, moving your fingers under your underwear, gathering your slick and stirring the coffee with your finger. it burns, but it’s worth it. 👀

— speechless. literally speechless. 18+ content below. *part of 5k celebration*

The coffee machine hums steadily, the rhythmic drip of dark liquid filling the break room with its rich aroma. But that’s not the most intoxicating thing in the air.

No, that would be the tension between you and Daniel.

He stands by the door, hands clasped behind his back like the obedient assistant he is, his gaze locked onto you. He’s always been so well-behaved, so devoted. Always ready to serve, never stepping out of line.

But you’ve noticed the way his eyes linger when he thinks you aren’t looking. The way his breath hitches when you get just a little too close. The way his fingers twitch when he’s desperate to touch but knows he can’t.

Today, you decide to push him further.

“You’ve been such a good assistant for me,” you murmur, voice smooth as silk, watching the way his chest rises and falls. You pick up a mug, running a single finger along the rim. He tracks the motion, but says nothing. His lips part slightly, a hint of anticipation curling at the edges.

The machine continues its slow work, giving you time—time to toy with him, to watch the restraint flicker across his face. You reach for the top button of your blouse, undoing it with deliberate slowness. Not out of necessity. Not because you’re warm.

Because you want him to see.

Daniel’s reaction is immediate. His eyes snap to the movement, jaw tightening. His nostrils flare as you let the fabric gape slightly, revealing just a hint of lace, the curve of your collarbone. You don’t look at him right away—you let him feast on the sight, let him sink into it. And only when you know he’s fully absorbed do you finally meet his gaze.

His breath catches.

You smile.

The coffee machine hisses, signaling the brew is done, but instead of reaching for the pot, you do something else entirely. Something far filthier.

Slowly, you lift the hem of your skirt.

Daniel stiffens. His hands tighten behind his back, shoulders squared, but you see the way his body reacts—the way his thighs tense, the way his breath leaves him in a shallow exhale.

And you don’t stop.

You pull the fabric higher, inch by inch, revealing more of your bare thighs until the black lace of your panties comes into view. Sheer, delicate, sinful. You let him see all of it. You let him see you.

Still, no words are exchanged. Just the heavy weight of your gaze on his, and the silent command in your expression: watch.

Daniel obeys.

You hook a finger beneath the lace and tug it aside, baring yourself completely to him. Heat pulses through your cunt, wetness gathering between your folds—and he sees it. He sees everything.

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

You drag two fingers through your wetness, coating them in your arousal, spreading yourself open with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. The slick sounds are obscene, echoing in the quiet break room, and Daniel’s breathing turns ragged. His restraint is cracking, unraveling thread by thread.

You make a show of it, circling your fingers over your clit, dipping them inside, pulling them out glistening. His jaw clenches so tight you think it might snap.

Using your other hand, you fill the mug with coffee, the scent wafting through the air. And then, as casually as if you were stirring sugar into his drink, you lower your slick fingers and slip them into the steaming coffee.

The burn is immediate, a sharp sting against your skin, but you don’t flinch. You stir, watching the slick dissolve into the dark liquid, mixing your wetness into his drink.

Daniel watches too. His pupils are blown wide, his breath uneven.

You finally offer him the mug. “Your coffee.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes it, the briefest touch sparking heat between you. He hesitates, just for a second. But then he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks.

Your pussy throbs.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, licking a stray drop from the corner of his mouth. His voice is lower than before, rougher.

You smile, tilting your head. “Good.”

After adjusting your clothes back in place, you turn on your heel and leave him there—still holding the cup, still staring, still aching for more.

[thef1diary]

✮ ~ smut | ◈ ~ oneshot | ◉ ~ drabble | ❑ ~ q&a’s/au lore | ♡ ~ rambles

Gathering Intel ✮◉

Staged Meet Cute ✮◉

Gun To Your Head ✮◉

Guilty As Sin (Prosecutor!Reader) ✮◉

[thef1diary]

hi hi, coma!max nonnie here… glad everyone else is hung up on the idea that maxie isn’t really dead too😭 can’t wait to see what you do next with ghost!max though, im absolutely hooked — @pitlanepeach

You’ve single-handedly shaken up the whole AU in the best way possible! No promises on when I’ll be posting ghost!max next but I’m almost finished my semester so hopefully sooon 👀

[thef1diary]

it’s me again with biker!carlos…..

sooooo im thinking there’s got to be a leather kink of some sort, either from him or reader 🙄

could be something simple, like carlos taking reader shopping for a leather jacket so she can ride with him, but the way it pushes her breasts up when she zips it up?? yup he’s gone, getting handsy in the fitting room 😔😔

or maybe reader asking carlos to keep the jacket on when they go home from a lil trip… idk…. my mind is everywhere…

-🐱

— I said it once and I’ll say it again, Carlos is a boob guy! Had too much fun w this one hehe 18+ content below

Carlos insists on getting you a proper leather jacket before you ever get on the back of his bike. “Safety first, nena,” he had told you in a firm tone, but there was something undeniably fond in his voice.

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t, not with him holding a hint of concern in his big brown eyes as he spoke about it. Plus, the idea of riding with him—arms around his waist, pressed up against his back—thrills you, and if a jacket is all it takes to make him feel better about it, you’re more than happy to purchase one…with his card, of course.

So, true to your word, you’re standing in front of a mirror outside the fitting rooms, pulling the leather jacket into place. The fit is perfect—snug around your waist, comfortable across your shoulders, the sleeves are the perfect length. It’s exactly the kind of protection Carlos insisted on, built for safety rather than style.

But as you grab the zipper and start pulling it up, you feel the resistance.

It’s fine at first, gliding smoothly over your stomach, up to your ribs—but the second it reaches your chest, the leather tightens, resisting as you try to tug it higher. You bit your lip, pulling a little harder, shifting your shoulders to help the fabric stretch. It doesn’t.

Carlos, who’s standing behind you, notices everything.

Through the reflection, his dark eyes track every movement. He watches as you struggle, as the jacket pushes your boobs up, compressing just enough to make your low-cut top underneath look even more sinful. The tension in the zipper only emphasizes the way the leather cuts your shape, lifting and framing in all the right ways.

After a few more seconds of fighting it, you finally give up, leaving the zipper not fully done up. It’s more comfortable like this, but somehow that only makes it worse. The open neckline leaves more of you exposed, emphasizing the push-up effect, the smooth skin barely covered beneath.

You turn around to ask Carlos what he thinks—and maybe comment on how you probably need the next size up—but the words die on your tongue the second you see his expression.

He isn’t just watching you.

He’s staring. Jaw tight, fingers twitching at his sides, his breathing heavier than it should be for someone who’s done nothing but just stand there.

His gaze flicks up, locking with yours directly, and he doesn’t even pretend that his eyes weren’t stuck to your boobs.

He just exhales, slow and sharp, then mutters, “fitting room. Now.”

Before you can say anything, he’s already grabbing your wrist, pulling you inside, the door shutting behind you with a quiet but final click.

Carlos crowds you into the narrow space, his body heat sinking into you, his presence all-consuming. He doesn’t waste a second—his mouth is on your neck, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin. The first few are soft, teasing. But then he starts sucking, biting, leaving marks he knows will be visible to others later.

Then, his mouth moves to the opening of the jacket, where the zipper had struggled.

He kisses there, right where the leather pushes your tits up, pressing his lips into the soft curves spilling from the unzipped space. A slow, hot breath fans across your skin before he sucks lightly, his teeth barely scraping.

You shiver, fingers digging into his arms as he cups your boobs, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. His thumb drags over the curve, pressing against the firm leather, feeling the way it pushes against you.

“Too tight here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, testing the fit, squeezing just a little harder.

His fingers slide lower, tracing the unzipped edge, teasing over the exposed skin where the jacket parts. He dips a fingertip beneath the leather, tugging just slightly, like he’s thinking about unzipping it completely—but he doesn’t.

“And here…” His voice drops even lower, lips brushing against your collarbone. “The opening lets me see whatever I want.”

Your breathing stutters as his thumb circles over the edge of your boob, teasing the sensitive skin, his touch firm but unhurried. He’s watching you, watching your body, his eyes dark with something almost possessive.

Then his hands drop to your hips.

In one smooth motion, he grabs you, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the wall, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He doesn’t even look up—his gaze is still locked onto your tits, on the way the jacket squeezes and frames you perfectly.

Carlos groans, fingers digging into your hips as he presses you further against the wall. His breathing is uneven, jaw tight as he drags his gaze back up to yours.

“You’re gonna be a fucking distraction on the bike,” he mutters, voice thick with frustration. His fingers slip beneath the hem of the jacket, brushing against your bare back. “Sitting behind me, pressing against my back…”

His hands slide down, gripping your ass through your jeans, pulling you flush against him so you feel everything—how much he wants you, how much this jacket is ruining him.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours, teasing but not kissing you yet. His voice is a growl when he speaks again. “You want to distract me on the road?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe.

Carlos tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he doesn’t quite believe you. His hands tighten on your hips, pressing you harder against him.

“Then what are you gonna do about it, nena?”

Instead of answering him verbally, you crash your lips onto his. It’s claiming, devouring, all heat and frustration as his mouth instantly moves against yours with desperate hunger. His hands roam your body, lingering on your hips.

You gasp against his lips when he grinds against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine. Carlos takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he drinks you in.

He kisses you like he needs it to breathe, like he’d lose his goddamn mind if he had to stop. His hands never stop moving, never stop touching, and when he pulls at your hips again, forcing you to rub against him, you moan into his mouth.

Carlos growls in response, low and rough, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips down, kissing, biting, sucking at your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin above your collarbone, and you shudder, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

And then—

Knock. Knock.

Your entire body stiffens, the sound breaking through the haze of lust clouding your mind just in time to hear an associate on the other side, asking if everything is alright.

Your heart pounds, panic spiking, but before you can even open your mouth to respond, Carlos is already moving.

His hands fly to the zipper of the jacket, yanking it down with a single, swift motion, exposing your low-cut top. Before you can even react, he tugs it down, baring you to him, and seals his mouth around your nipple.

A sharp, strangled gasp escapes you, one that you barely manage to swallow down before it turns into something louder.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling tight as his hot mouth works over your sensitive nipple, sucking, teasing, his tongue flicking just enough to have your legs shaking around him.

Carlos groans, deep and needy, the vibrations shooting straight to your cunt, making it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but hold on.

The associate waits. You can hear them shuffling outside, expecting an answer.

You press your hand over your mouth, desperately trying to compose yourself, trying to think of anything else besides how wet you are, how close you are to falling apart—

“I— I’m fine,” you somehow manage when you move your hand away, voice breathless, unsteady. “Don’t need help—”

And just as quickly as he started, Carlos pulls back, his lips leaving your overly sensitive skin, a thin line of spit connecting you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Your chest heaves, pulse racing, as you watch him step back, eyes dark, amused, taking in the way you’re struggling to fix yourself, your fingers shaky, your breaths coming too fast.

The associate hums, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you hear their footsteps retreating.

But Carlos?

Carlos doesn’t move back toward you. He doesn’t return to what you were doing moments ago.

Instead, he crosses his arms, leans back against the fitting room wall, and smirks. “You’ll need to buy this jacket,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, “if you want something from me.”

You blink at him, stunned, your brain short-circuiting for a moment before you manage to yank your top back into place.

But even with everything covered again, there’s no hiding it—

Your nipples are still hard, clearly visible through the thin fabric, evidence of what he just did to you.

Carlos notices immediately.

His smirk deepens as he steps closer again, his fingers find your nipple, rolling it between his fingertips through your shirt. The sensation is too much, another strangled sound catching in your throat as you sway toward him.

Carlos chuckles, dark and pleased, leaning in close until his lips brush against your ear.

“Use your words, nena,” he murmurs, pinching again, this time just a little harder, making you shudder.

want more biker!carlos? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[thef1diary]

WOULD YOU BE INTERESTED IN BEING MOOTS PLEASE

Send me a message!!! I’d love to chat <3

[thef1diary]

Hi uhm so... What the fuck?! I woke up to your notification and read it immediately, am I going to hell 😭 😭 😭?!

On a serious note, that new Dirtybag!Danny was sooo oooo good and it's all I'm going to be thinking about for the rest of the day - 💜

nonnie if you’re going to hell for checking my notification, I’m probably already there 😭 thank youuuu <3

[thef1diary]

Oops, it's getting late and I had an overactive brain. Mafia!danny in which he fucks the lawyer prosecuting him 🤭🤭🤭

Live, laugh, lobster

-🦞

— nonnie gimme more of your overactive brain plz cuz as a future lawyer…yeah this got me 😵‍💫😩 18+ content below

Daniel wasn’t the type of man to beg. He wasn’t the type of man to answer to authority, either. He was the authority. So, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let some prosecutor ruin everything he’d built. He was untouchable—or at least, he had been until you came along.

The moment he stepped into your office, he had every intention of scaring you into making you drop the charges against him. A little intimidation, a few well-placed threats, maybe even a bullet left in your desk drawer for good measure.

But then he saw you.

And fuck, that changed everything.

You weren’t some grizzled old prosecutor who’d spent years clawing their way through the legal system. No, you were young, yet carrying yourself like you belonged here. You were all sharp edges and tailored perfection, your blouse tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that hugged your curves in a way that had no business distracting him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he drawled, standing by the door, smirking. “Charging me for half a dozen crimes? You must have a death wish.”

Your head shot up from the contract you were meticulously reviewing, eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him. The weight of his presence filled the room instantly—too tall, too broad, too confident, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the damn place. Your fingers tightened around the pen in your hand, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you met his gaze with an unwavering stare, your voice cool and precise when you finally spoke.

“And you must also have a death wish, walking into a prosecutor’s office like you belong here.”

His grin widened, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock made something sharp curl in your stomach.

He stood in front of you as if he’d already won. Like he wasn’t moments away from going on trial.

You had spent weeks gathering evidence against him. Witnesses were silenced. Paper trails were scrubbed clean. But you were relentless. You had worked too hard to let a man like him slip through the cracks.

Daniel tilted his head, eyes dragging over you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t looking at you like a man about to be convicted. He was looking at you like a man assessing his next target.

“I should have known they’d send a pretty little thing like you after me,” he mused, voice thick with amusement. “Smart. Dangerous.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral. “Mr. Ricciardo, unless you’re here to turn yourself in, I suggest you leave before I call security.”

He shook his head, an amused expression on his face. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice slow and thick. “We both know security ain’t comin’ in here. And if they did? You think they’d get me out before I put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours?”

You swallowed but didn’t back down. “So you are here to threaten me.”

Daniel sighed dramatically, striding closer towards you with a lazy confidence. “Was gonna. Had a whole plan, too. But then…” He let his gaze drag over you, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your blouse stretched over your chest.

Your skin prickled, heat curling low in your belly.

“Then what?” you pressed, forcing your voice to stay even.

His grin widened. “Then I saw you. And now I’m thinkin’ I’d rather fuck you than kill you.”

A sharp laugh left your lips, and Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“You think I’d ever let that happen?” you scoffed.

He chuckled. “Oh, darlin’… you’re gonna let it happen.”

You knew you should’ve been scared. You should’ve been reaching for your phone, pressing the emergency button under your desk. But instead, heat pooled between your legs, your breath quickening.

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “You really think I’d ruin my career for some lowlife criminal?”

“Lowlife? Wow, sweetheart, you wound me,” he spoke with a hand held over his heart. “But no, I’m not telling you to ruin your career.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I came here to make a deal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A deal?”

His smirk widened. “Yeah. I’m gonna fuck your pretty little pussy and you’ll drop the case.” Another step forward. “And in return…” His fingers grazed the edge of your desk. “I won't make you disappear.”

Your pulse spiked, but you held his gaze, refusing to let him see even a sliver of fear. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Daniel exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was disappointed. “See, that’s the problem with women like you. Think you’re untouchable.” His fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist, dragging you up until you were nearly chest-to-chest. “You aren’t.”

You gasped, but before you could wrench free, his other hand slid up your throat—not squeezing, just holding—forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart.” His lips curled. “Maybe you are scared.”

You swallowed, refusing to give in. “And maybe you want me to be.”

Daniel’s grin darkened, his grip tightening just enough to make you swallow hard. His thumb brushed along your jaw, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You got a real mouth on you,” he mused, tilting his head. “I like that.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. He smelled like expensive cologne and smoke, like sin itself, and every nerve in your body was telling you to push him away—to fight back, to remind him that you were in control here. But control felt like a slippery thing when he was this close, when his heat sank into your skin and his gaze made you feel like prey.

You forced yourself to smirk. “And you’ve got a real problem with authority,” you countered, voice steady. “I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

“You want this,” he murmured. “I can see how tense you are. All that fight, all that righteous bullshit you spew in court—deep down, you want a man like me to ruin you.”

Your cheeks burned, but you gritted your teeth. “Go to hell.”

Daniel just laughed. “Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well make myself comfortable.”

You should have pushed him away. You should have fought.

Instead, you clenched your thighs together.

Daniel smirked. “I definitely like knowing you’re wet right now.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“I should throw you in a cell for this,” you hissed.

“Only if you’re there. Naked.”

Then he spun you around and bent you over your desk. Papers scattered to the floor, forgotten.

With one swift motion, he flipped your skirt up over your hips, exposing the soft lace of your panties. He groaned low in his throat, his fingers teasing the thin fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured. “Never thought I’d say this about a prosecutor, but I think I just found somethin’ worth keeping.”

You tensed as his fingers pushed aside your panties, running through your folds with lazy confidence.

“You’re wet,” he taunted. “Bet you’re ashamed of that, huh? Gettin’ off on being bent over your own desk by the man you’re tryin’ to lock up?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting against his touch.

Daniel chuckled darkly, unbuckling his belt with one hand, the clink of metal making your stomach flip. He didn’t waste time—he yanked his cock free, lining himself up and pressing the thick head against your pussy.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “This is gonna be fun.”

“D-Daniel—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, sliding his cock through your folds. “I don’t have time for your little power trip, baby. I have court soon, remember?”

You tried to push up, but his hand held your throat from behind, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Go on,” he murmured, teasing your pussy. “Tell me to stop.”

Your pride screamed at you to fight. To tell him to get the fuck off you.

But instead—

“Don’t stop.”

Daniel groaned, “that’s my girl.”

With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you open around his thick cock. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your nails clawing at the wooden surface of your desk.

“God, you feel fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, setting a ruthless pace. “Takin’ me so well for someone who hates my guts.”

Your walls clenched around him, and he grinned. “Oh, you like that,” he mused. “Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this before. Not one of those uptight lawyers you work with.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Daniel wasn’t having that. He tangled a hand in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips were right against your ear.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Tell me no one’s ever fucked you like this.”

A shudder wracked through you. “No one’s—” You cut yourself off with a whimper when he thrust particularly deep, brushing against that spot that made your vision blur.

“That’s what I thought,” he purred.

His free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit and circling it roughly. Your body tightened, the pleasure too much, too fast.

“I should be pissed at you,” he stated, bringing his palm back before slapping your ass, jolting you harshly towards his fingers on your clit. “You’ve been making my life real difficult, baby.”

Tears welled up in your eyes due to the sudden pleasure, and you moaned loudly, forgetting about where you were.

Daniel continued his relentless torment on your cunt while smacking your ass every now and then. “But I’m a reasonable man. I’m willing to forgive.”

“Please—” a moan tore from your lips, cutting your sentence.

“Gonna come for me, prosecutor?” he taunted. “Come all over the cock of the man you’re tryin’ to put in prison?”

Your body betrayed you. The orgasm hit you like a violent wave, stealing the air from your lungs as you clenched around him. Daniel cursed, his pace stuttering as he slammed into you a few more times before spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sound in the office was the ragged pull of your breaths, your bodies still tangled together in the aftermath.

Finally, Daniel pulled out, adjusting his pants while you remained bent over the desk, your legs weak.

He leaned down, pressing a lazy, mocking kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk into that courtroom in ten minutes,” he murmured, fingers sliding between your legs to collect the cum dripping from your pussy before pushing it back in. “And you’re gonna act like you don’t have my cum dripping from your pretty cunt.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “And you’re gonna sit there in cuffs, knowing the only reason you’re not going to rot in a prison cell is because I’ll let you walk free.”

Daniel’s smirk widened, something dark flashing in his eyes. He slid your panties back in place, trapping his cum inside.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, finding your clit through the fabric and pinching it sharply as a warning. “I love a woman who plays dirty.”

want more mafia!daniel? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[thef1diary]

thoughts on Danny being so obsessed with his girl, as she with him (and his thighs) that he gets a thigh tattoo saying “princess seat” or something along those lines 🤭

this is me adding fire to my love for his thighs and tattoos

~🪼

— I totally see dirtbag!danny doing this for you! It took me a while to form a single coherent thought about this 😭 18+ content below

Dirtbag!danny would love this. He’d do it half as a joke, half because he’s just that obsessed with you. And because he knows you’re just as obsessed with him.

The idea forms in his head one night when you’re sprawled across his lap, barely paying attention to whatever show is playing on the TV in the background. Your fingers keep trailing over the ink on his thighs, tracing the lines, the curves, the dips of muscle that you’ve spent more time riding than you’d ever admit out loud. He notices—of course he does.

“You like ‘em that much, huh?” he teases, flexing just to watch your eyes darken, that little shiver running through you.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Because you are obsessed. Always have been. It’s in the way you shift whenever he spreads his legs just a little wider, in the way your gaze drops every time he’s wearing those sinful little shorts that barely cover anything. He knows.

So, one day, he just fucking does it. Walks into a shop like it’s any other appointment, picks the inside of his thigh and gets it inked. It’s your spot, the place where he loves to feel you the most. Right where your pretty little pussy is always grinding down, where your hand rests when you’re on your knees for him as he deepthroats you.

And then he waits. He doesn’t tell you. Just sits on the couch all casually one day, a short pair of shorts on, arm draped over the back, legs spread like a fucking invitation, watching you melt the second your eyes drift down.

It takes you a second. But then—oh, then you see it. Right there, stretching across the inside of this thick, tanned thigh.

Your mouth parts, eyes going wide, and Daniel just smirks. Smug, filthy, completely insufferable. Your first instinct is to scoff, to roll your eyes, to pretend like this doesn’t instantly send heat surging between your legs. But the way your breath catches gives you away. The way your fingers twitch at your sides.

And Daniel knows it.

His smirk deepens, full of amusement, full of that filthy self-satisfaction that makes you want to smack him—or sit on his lap and grind until you’re both a panting, moaning mess.

He reaches for you, grip firm on your waist, pulling you in until you’re standing between his legs.

“Do you like it?,” he murmurs, voice a low, teasing drawl. Then his fingers hook into your waistband, tugging at your shorts.

Your pulse spikes.

“Danny—”

But he’s already dragging them down, sliding them over your thighs, letting them drop to the floor with a careless flick of his wrist.

“It’s healed now, sweetheart,” he says, smug and slow, fingers tracing up the back of your thighs, dragging higher, higher—until he’s gripping your ass, pulling you down into his lap.

Your knees land on either side of his thigh, bare except for your panties, your cunt pressed right against the muscle—but not touching the ink.

Not yet.

And fuck, that’s the worst part.

Because he knows you’re desperate for it.

Knows you ache to feel it under you, to coat that fresh ink with the mess he loves to pull from your cunt.

You squirm, but his grip tightens, holding you there, just barely out of reach. Your lips part, breath shaky, but Daniel’s already leaning in, mouth brushing against your ear.

“Time to break it in, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, with command.

Then he flexes.

And fuck.

A gasp rips from your throat as the muscle tenses beneath you, sending a pulse of pleasure straight to your pussy.

His fingers slide between your thighs, tracing your clit, feeling the growing wetness on the flimsy scrap of fabric barely covering you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and smug, the pads of his fingers pressing just enough to make your hips twitch. “Soaked already? You really are obsessed with my thighs, huh?”

You make a weak sound in protest, but it’s cut off the second he presses harder, rolling slow, lazy circles over the wet fabric.

“You gonna deny it?” he taunts, lips grazing the curve of your jaw. His other hand tightens on your hip, holding you still when you try to grind against him.

You shake your head because it doesn’t matter if you try to deny it, he already has proof of how much you love it.

Your breath shudders, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence, losing your train of thought instantly when he pulls your panties to the side, fingers hooking into the lace, dragging the sticky fabric away from your cunt.

And then—oh, fuck.

He slides you forward, drags you right onto the tattoo.

Your gasp is sharp, nails clawing at his skin as your slick pussy presses flush against the ink, against the heat of his thigh.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, watching the way your body reacts, the way your thighs tremble at the first roll of his hips.

Your breath stutters as Daniel’s hands tighten on your ass, forcing you to move, grinding your bare cunt against the inked muscle beneath you. The heat of his thigh is scorching, every flex sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting up your spine.

“That’s it,” he mutters, eyes dark, hungry, glued to where you’re dragging yourself over him. “Fuck, baby, look at you. So desperate to make a mess on me.”

And you are. Every slow roll of your hips leaves another slick imprint against his tattoo, marking it in the filthiest way possible. Your arousal coats his skin, a thin, glistening sheen spreading across the ink.

Daniel groans, his cock straining against his shorts as he watches. “You see that, baby?” His fingers trail forward, catching your inner thighs, spreading you wider, exposing the swollen, soaked mess between your legs. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’. Soaking me like you were made to sit right here.”

You whimper, thighs trembling, but he’s not done yet.

With a wicked grin, he presses two fingers to your folds, spreading them apart, forcing your clit to drag directly over the ink.

A strangled cry rips from your throat. “Daniel—fuck—”

“Mmm, that’s better,” he murmurs, watching the way you jerk, the way your hips roll uncontrollably at the added friction. “Right there, huh? Feels good, princess? Fuckin’ knew it would.”

His fingers stay right there, keeping you open, making sure every desperate, frantic drag of your cunt rubs your swollen clit against his thigh. The stimulation is brutal, each slick, messy stroke sending another wave of pleasure rolling through you.

“That’s my girl,” Daniel rasps, completely enthralled by the way you move, by the way you’re coating his tattoo with your arousal. “Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby. So greedy. Just can’t stop grindin’ all over me, huh?”

You can’t. You won’t. Because it’s too much, too good, too perfect, and you can already feel it building, that desperate, tightening coil ready to snap at any second.

And Daniel knows it too.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he purrs, voice thick with filth and satisfaction. “Mark your fuckin’ seat.”

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your thoughts—filthy or not—and I’d love to write you a little drabble <3

[thef1diary]

Daniel at Scotty’s competition in Switzerland | 3.27.2025

[thef1diary]

i'm absolutely dying with that last ghost!max theory. i might cry.

don’t die!! max isn’t dead either so… 😭😭 but fr I gasped when that got dropped in my inbox with absolutely no warning

[thef1diary]

OH DI HI MY GIRL JUST WANTED TO DROP IN AND TELL YOU I AM OBSESSED W EVERY SINGLE THING YOU POST AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! love from gracie always XOXOX

THANK YOU GRACIE <333 mwahhh

[thef1diary]

DIIIIII!!!! A new profile picture and the return of ghost Max?! You just made my week so much better 😭😭😭 (aka you fixed the damage caused by academic burnout) - 💜

Yesss, sticking w the purple but I missed his beautiful face and aww I’m so glad I could but omg I can totally relate to the academic burnout, it’s brutal 😭

[thef1diary]

have we had the theory that ghost!max is actually just stuck in the middle, and is actually in a coma after a bad crash but genuinely believes that he’s dead?!👀

NONNIE!?!?! I— in bon’s words I like need to kiss your brain come here rn 🫵🏻 We haven’t had this theory yet and now I need it like yesterday. I need to put this out into the world right now so all you masterminds can brainstorm with me but this version of the AU is definitelyyyyy coming soon!

[thef1diary]

the most random find 😂😭

[thef1diary]

oh, how i've missed your writing

oh 🥹🥹 i missed writing too