#danny ramirez no exit

[ex0rin]

DANNY RAMIREZ as ASH | NO EXIT (2022)

[chaoticsolsworld]

“After The Fire” Ash Garver x Reader (No Exit)

Author’s Note: Night, after the kidnapping is revealed, post-confrontation (canon divergence: Ash is alive and hasn’t fully crossed the point of no return) Dark Romance, Betrayal, Raw Intimacy, Post-Angst Smut. Warnings: Smut, emotional manipulation, morally gray, reader knowingly engages with the antagonist, intense power dynamics, complex consent (fully consensual but emotionally conflicted) Minors DNI.

You shouldn’t have gone looking for him.

Not after what he’d done. Not after you saw the child bound in the van, not after you heard the panic in Darby’s voice. Not after Ash pulled a gun like it was nothing—like the mask he’d worn around you had never existed.

But there he was.

In the service hallway, near the bathrooms, blood on his sleeve, snow melting off his boots. He looked up when you approached, his eyes tired, wild, like he didn’t know whether to fight you or kiss you again.

“I was going to tell you,” he said first. His voice was hoarse. “Before everything blew up.”

You stopped a few feet away. “Were you?”

His mouth twitched. “Eventually.”

A bitter laugh caught in your throat. “You lied. The whole time.”

“I didn’t lie about everything.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. You should’ve turned away. Should’ve screamed or spat or run. But you stepped closer instead, drawn like a moth to a flame.(Foreshadowing)

He reached out but hesitated. “I never meant for you to be in the middle of it.”

“You touched me like I meant something.”

“You did.”

The ache in your chest cracked wide. “Then show me.”

Ash’s eyes darkened, like you’d said the one thing he wasn’t ready to hear. He stepped forward, crowding you against the wall with that same quiet, brutal intensity you remembered from before but now it was laced with regret. Desperation. A hunger fed by loss.

“You’re crazy,” he murmured, fingers brushing your jaw.

“Then make me forget,” you whispered.

His kiss hit like a crash, no teasing this time, no careful control. It was raw, furious, starved. His hands dragged down your body, not searching for permission but for forgiveness in every inch of skin. And you gave it to him but not with words, but with how you clung to him like it still mattered. Like the fire between you hadn’t turned to ash yet.

He shoved your coat off, lips never leaving yours, teeth scraping your lower lip until you gasped and he swallowed that sound with something near a growl. His hands slipped under your shirt, pulling it up and over before you even noticed the chill. He needed you exposed. Needed the feel of your skin against his palms like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice ragged against your throat.

You nodded, breathless. “I want to hate you.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Me too.”

Then he dropped to his knees again but this time, there was no gentleness, no hiding. He worshipped you like a man begging for absolution, mouth wet and urgent, tongue dragging sin from your body like he could taste the guilt and needed more.

You moaned his name, your hands in his hair again, nails digging in when he slid two fingers inside you and pumped slow, deep. His eyes stayed locked on yours, pupils blown wide.

“Say it,” he breathed. “Tell me you still want me.”

“I want you,” you gasped. “God, I still want you—”

That was all he needed.

He stood, kissed you like he could climb inside your skin, and unzipped himself without breaking eye contact. You helped him, desperate fingers pulling him free, guiding him to you like your body already knew him. He pressed you against the wall, one hand under your thigh, and thrust into you hard enough to make you cry out.

You bit down on his shoulder to muffle it.

His pace was relentless, deep, punishing, like he was trying to fuck the guilt out of both of you. Your breath came in sharp bursts, each thrust harder than the last, until you were clinging to him like he was your last breath of air in a burning room.

And maybe he was.

Your release hit like thunder, sharp and shaking, and Ash followed with a broken moan, burying his face in your neck as he came inside you, everything in him unraveling.

You both stood there for a long time after. His breath on your skin. Your heart breaking quietly in your chest.

He didn’t say he was sorry. And you didn’t ask him to.

But you still let him hold you.

Even in the aftermath. Even in the dark.

[wiiblerr]

guys i know hes evil but lord

[lastofdanny]

this haircut!!!!!

[almadelsur]

❤️‍🔥 Crucifix

Linecook!Ash (No Exit) x Waitress!reader +18

Summary: How could you resist giving yourself to sin, when the devil himself is just so beautiful.

a/n: For the sweetest bestest @rae-gar-targaryen who’s Ash fic inspired me to write this. (Go check it out rn bc it’s truly a masterpiece)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫ .

You know Ash doesn’t have many friends. It doesn’t strike you as anything of concern when you see him huffing silently around the sweaty restaurant kitchen, a perfect picture of a shadow on a mission. Lots of people are introverted you tell yourself. Maybe it should have rung some alarm bells. Maybe it would have if his eyes didn’t hold dark alluring promises of sin, of that deadly pleasure you came to crave from him.

The first time you spoke to him it had been as if he had physically reached down into your lungs and robbed all the oxygen you had been holding, keeping it for himself. Greedy.

“Uh- table 9 are getting a little antsy” you stumble out the best you can, masking your nerves as frustration at the busy restaurant. And yet Ash just looks at you, studying as if he had all the time in the world.

“What’s your name?” The question is a simple command yet it leaves you fumbling your answer.

Ash just hums knowingly and hands you the plate, ready and prepped like he was waiting for you. His twisted game kicking off without you noticing the dark path you were about to barrel down. Looking like he could wreck your entire life without as much as lifting a finger. A roaring flame scorching over you until you’re reduced to nothing but-

“Ash.” He introduces himself and you swear you have never met anyone with a more fitting name.

A few months later and you’re hooked on him. He was good at that. It’s heady and unsettling just like he is, and yet you always succumb to the craving of him.

It goes as usual– you laying on your back beneath him, caged in and helpless to the relentless pleasure he draws out from you, the rhythmic push and drag stretching and burning and feeding.

You struggle to form a coherent thought in the heat of it all. All you can see is dark curls and smooth tan skin, and yet he’s sharper than ever. His gaze laser focused on each and every one of your features. The way your eyes water and- is that pleasure or fear that has you crying on his dick like that? He doesn’t think he’d want to know, he knows he wouldn’t care.

He has you tied up against your bedframe, arms stretched across like a crucifix, an image of penance. His very own sweet docile offering to a higher being for his sins. His eyes flicker to your tender chafing wrists and an image of a previous life flashes through his head– a fallen brother and a brunette with nails through her wrists. It only makes him more determined, increasing his pace and shuddering at the mantra of his name that falls past your lips.

He can’t get enough of you, he knows this when the familiar feeling of your legs begin to shake beneath him.

“Open your eyes.” he gruffs in your ear as one lethal hand comes up to grip at your hair. “Look at me.” he forces again when your fucked out brain fails to adhere to the command the first time.

When you manage to flutter your eyes open, his jaw grits.

You look at him like he’s a god. He knows the glossy gaze is prompted by the way his cockhead bullies your g-spot, but still he can’t bring himself to look away. The pure worship in your blurry eyes makes him want to lean down and lick at your tears.

He doesn’t.

The motion seems too soft, too comforting. And he doesn’t want that, he wants to hurt you. He knows you would let him too. The thought spurs him on to grab at your jaw and push into you hard and deep until your cried moans become silent and you snap, like holy water leaking all the way down to his thighs and onto the bed sheets.

When he himself is satisfied and spent, he collapses on top of you, your tied hands and heavy eyelids make it hard to console this moment as a loving one, but your mind silently wills it anyway. A warmth settling over you and pulling at your heartstrings for the man above you.

You fall asleep like that, with false feelings of security and the devil on top of you feeding into your fantasy. Keeping you hooked and placid.

And his.

[ohhoneypascal]

On today’s addition of take Elenore’s phone away I present…. 🤭

[dan5202]

If you download it, the resolution will be better🥲

[hwaquin]

[saintbusan]

maladaptive daydreamers disconnecting from earth as soon as they found a new celebrity crush

[andy-15-07]

Hello could I request a sweaty summer smut with any Danny character on ur list 🥹 thank you in advance 💘

Too Damn Hot

PAIRING: Manny Alvarez x Reader 💥💋 WORD COUNT: 1159✍️ REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The heat was fucking unbearable.

A sticky, suffocating July sun had welded itself over the compound, trapping everyone inside the rusted Firefly base like bugs in a jar. The old military ventilation unit sputtered every few minutes, doing little more than circulating warm air and dust. Shirts clung to skin. Tempers ran short. And Manny Alvarez… well, he hadn’t stopped smirking at you since morning.

“Chica,” he said now, voice like a lazy drawl as he leaned in the doorway to the weapons room, “you are sweating like a sinner in church.”

You didn’t even look up from the workbench. “It’s ninety-three degrees and I’ve been cleaning rifles for two hours. What’s your excuse for looking like you just ran a marathon?”

He scratched his jaw, eyes shamelessly trailing down your tank top and the way it stuck to your chest. “Maybe I was imagining you bent over this table, giving me orders.”

You rolled your eyes. “Try imagining a cold shower instead.”

“I would,” he said with a wink, “but you keep distracting me.”

You finally looked up. His curls were damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His tan skin shimmered with a summer sheen, and his Firefly tank clung to his chest and biceps like it was painted on. He looked every bit the cocky, infuriating flirt you’d known for the last year and lately, every bit the man you wanted to pin against the wall and ride until he shut the hell up.

Instead, you tossed him a rag. “Make yourself useful.”

He caught it mid-air, grinning. “You sure you want my hands on something long and hard?”

“Manny,” you warned, but your voice wasn’t nearly as annoyed as you wanted it to be.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckled, setting down next to you. “Let’s see who can clean their rifle faster.”

“You’ll cheat.”

“Only if you promise to punish me.”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. God, he was impossible. And yet, you let yourself glance just a second at the way his forearms flexed as he unscrewed the bolt, the way sweat beaded at his temple and trickled down his throat.

It wasn’t the first time you noticed.

It definitely wasn’t the first time you wondered what it would feel like to kiss him when he was like this: hot, reckless, and just this side of trouble.

You were halfway through reassembling your rifle when he leaned in close, voice low and rough in your ear.

“You ever do it in a supply closet?”

You paused. “Jesus, Manny.”

“What?” he grinned, pretending innocence. “It’s a simple question.”

You turned to glare at him, but he was too close. His arm brushed yours, and his breath was hot on your cheek. The air between you was already thick,but now it sizzled.

“Manny,” you warned again, but this time it came out softer.

He tilted his head. “Say the word and I’ll lock the door behind us.”

You stared at him, heartbeat kicking up. For once, there was no smirk on his lips. Just a low simmer in his gaze, a quiet dare. You could’ve laughed it off. Could’ve shoved him and gone back to your work.

But instead you stood, rifle forgotten, and said, “You’ve got five minutes before someone comes looking.”

His eyes darkened. “That’s all I need.”

You grabbed him by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him like he was the last drop of water in the desert. His hands found your hips instantly, tugging you close, grinding into you like he’d been holding back for weeks.

The door slammed shut behind you as he shoved you into the narrow storage room, lips never leaving yours.

“You’re insane,” you panted.

“You love it,” he muttered, teeth scraping your jaw.

And fuck,maybe you did.

His hands were already under your shirt, fingers rough and greedy, thumbs grazing under your bra. He lifted it without ceremony, growling when he saw your hardened nipples.

“Look at you,” he whispered, mouth trailing down to latch onto one breast, tongue flicking fast. “All hot and bothered…”

“You’ve been teasing me all goddamn week,” you gasped, hands threading through his curls. “This is your fault.”

He smirked against your skin. “Then let me fix it.”

His hands were on your shorts, tugging them down, then your panties. The cool air on your thighs made you shiver, even in the heat. You reached for his belt, fumbling, desperate.

“Fuck, Manny please”

“I got you, mi cielo,” he said, voice softer now, reverent.

He turned you, bent you over a crate of ammo, and knelt behind you like it was worship. You cried out when his tongue found you, broad and slow, licking from base to clit with maddening patience.

“Manny fuck”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the crate, legs trembling as he licked, sucked, and moaned against you like a man possessed. His fingers joined the mix,two thick digits curling just right while his mouth never left your clit.

“I can’t, gonnna”

“Come for me, hermosa,” he said, voice ragged. “Let me taste it.”

You did, gasping, knees buckling, thighs shaking. He held you through it, tongue lapping up every drop like he needed it to survive.

When you turned around, breathless and still shaking, he was already stripping off his shirt.

“You’re not gonna let me return the favor?” you teased, still panting.

He pulled you close, hand fisting in your hair. “Next time. Right now, I need to be inside you.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you effortlessly onto the crate. One swift thrust, and he was seated deep, both of you moaning at the stretch.

“Fuck you feel so good” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours.

You tightened around him in response, smirking. “Still think five minutes was enough?”

He growled, hips snapping into you faster, harder. You clawed at his back, thighs wrapped tight around him, both of you covered in sweat and barely holding on.

“You gonna come again for me, baby?” he panted.

“Only if you don’t stop , fuck,right there”

Your nails dug into his back as you came again, clenching around him. He gasped, thrust twice more, then stilled with a deep groan, spilling inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your breathing. Then his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest, sweaty and spent.

“Shit,” he whispered into your hair.

You laughed weakly. “Yeah. That happened.”

He kissed your forehead, then pulled back to look at you. “Still think I’m trouble?”

You smirked. “I know you’re trouble.”

“But you like it,” he said, nuzzling your nose.

You shrugged, grinning. “Maybe I like a little heat.”

“You like me,” he corrected smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. “Then let’s get outta here before we both get court-martialed.”

You reached for your clothes, still flushed and breathless. “Next time, Manny, I’m on top.”

“Oh, chica,” he said, laughing. “You can ride me all summer long.”

[luckyyfin]

I need this man. Religiously.

Danny Ramirez as Ash | No Exit (2022)

[chaoticsolsworld]

Those eyes. Can he look at me like that please? It’s not a hear me out but a hold me back. I would’ve stayed in the van idc.

[lastofdanny]

[ohhoneypascal]

Yeah…

[yourauthorjen]

|| ALL EYES ON ME (ii) || — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | l’appetito vien mangiando— in which apparently appetite comes with eating. yet it also seems to come with your clingy bodyguard who can’t seem to keep his hands off you. or the food.

| includes: | bodyguard!joaquintorres x italianmodel!reader, flirting, some suggestive content, steamy, fluff, clingy joaquin, grumpy reader x sunshine

| word count: | 1.7k

| a/n: | from this lovely request! thank you for this idea! can be read as a part two of all eyes on you or can be read as a standalone. inspired by the song viva la vida by coldplay. to add, i am not italian so if i do portray anything wrong please tell me!

THE SPATULA IN your hand quivered slightly as you watched Joaquin reach for the saucepan for the fifteenth time in a row.

Or was it the sixteenth time?

At this point you weren’t even counting anymore.

“Back off,” you snapped, smacking his hand with your wooden spoon. “If I see you look at that goddamn pot one more time I’m chopping you up into pieces and turning you into meatballs.”

Your bodyguard smiled with an awful lot of pride for someone who had just been threatened to be turned into traditional sicillian meatballs, raising his hands in mock surrender as the grin plastered to his lips widened.

“Just trying to help, sweetheart.”

“You can help,” you said, “By not touching that fucking pot every ten seconds.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to die happy.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumbled, sticking your utensil back into the simmering pot of red sauce tomato sauce, a dizzying aroma wafting to your nose in return.

“You like me,” he singsonged.

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re beautiful when you’re furious.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, mostly because your cheeks betrayed you and went warm as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

It had been two months now, since Joaquin Torres had strolled into your life as your new “babysitter”. Your old bodyguard, Clint, had left you in the hands of this big baby man to take care of his new infant, and now you were stuck with this big doofus who had an unseemingly large appetite for your cooking and had a really bad habit of walking around the house shirtless.

And now that the two of you were a little more closer than your PR team would’ve liked, he had become terrible at boundaries. He clung to you like a sponge, making sad puppy eyes when you so much as walked to the other room without inviting him, or he’d spend an hour lying in your lap without moving an inch, just for you to run your hands through his hair once.

Now he was leaning against your marble counter, watching you cook, eyeing the pan like a starved hyena.

“You know what you look like?” you questioned, turning around to face him properly.

“A hot, charming man, who happens to be your boyfriend?”

“No,” you snorted, “You look like those hyenas from Lion King— what where their names?” You snapped your fingers, trying to recall, “Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed.”

His eyebrows flew to his hairline as his mouth dropped open and his posture straightened. “Seriously? Not even Scar? At least he had some dignity.”

You raised your spatula like a pointer. “Scar didn’t beg for scraps.”

He grumbled underneath his breath, before positioning himself back against the counter, legs crossed and eyes glued back onto the saucepan.

For a moment, it was silent, just the soft sound of the bubbling sauce and the occasional clinks of the wooden spoon hitting the pot.

“Ahem.”

You turned back around eyes flitting towards Joaquin as he stared at the stove, before he inhaled deeply and opened his mouth.

“Absolutely not!”

“What?” he whined, crossing his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to ask if you could have a bite.”

“It could’ve been a compliment about you!” he defended.

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Oh yeah? What were you going to say then?”

He blinked, and you could practically see the gears in his head spinning. “That… your pasta smells like heaven and I’d risk my life for a bite of that stuff.”

“Exactly,” you said, stabbing your spoon into the sauce with emphasis.

Joaquin sighed. “I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are,” you snorted, “You’re six feet tall and built like a damn brick wall. You probably burn three thousand calories just existing.”

He smiled smugly, the one where his eyes glinted with mischief and his grin turned crooked— one you despised and loved at the same time. “So what you’re saying is you think I’m hot.”

“Stop twisting my words.”

“I didn’t twist anything,” he said, pushing off the counter and sauntering over to you. “You said I was tall, muscular, and hungry. Sounds like every woman’s dream.”

You raised your spoon threateningly, but he was already in your space, crowding you, forcing you to back you slowly up against the counter. His hands landed on either side of you, caging you in as you shook your head, trying to muster out the words. “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the point,” he murmured, leaning in, brushing his nose against yours. “I could distract you all day if you’d let me.”

“Joaquin—”

He kissed you before you could finish. Soft at first, just enough to steal your breath. Then deeper, with that usual confidence of his that always left your knees a little wobbly. His hands found your waist, then your thighs, and in one swift motion, he lifted you up and set you on the counter like you weighed nothing at all.

You let out a surprised noise, which he promptly swallowed with another kiss, all heat and teasing tongue and a barely restrained laugh between your lips. And with no place for your legs to go, you had no choice but to wrap them around his waist.

“Joaquin,” you breathed against his mouth, cheeks flushed, “The pasta—”

“Can wait,” he mumbled, lips tracing down your jaw, “This is my appetizer.”

Your brain turned into fudge— like the Italian fudge you used to eat as a kid, as his fingers grazed your thigh, absolutely wrecking your common sense.

He smirked against your mouth, messy and warm, as his fingertips ghosted under your shirt. God—why was he so good at this?

“Joaquin,” you tried again, more desperate this time, even though your fingers curled around his shoulders, “Seriously, the food—”

His eyes darkened as he cupped your chin, thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “Let it burn,” he murmured, voice low and rough with want. “You taste better.”

Your heart did a ridiculous flip as he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he had all the time in the world to savor you. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him, your legs parting instinctively as he pressed between them. You could feel his smirk widen against your lips when you gasped a little, warmth flooding every inch of your body.

At that point, you’re brain had turned into pure fog as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, and his mouth traced your neck. “This isn’t fair,” you grumbled, palms bracing against his chest.

“Of course it’s not fair,” he murmured, “You said I couldn’t have food. You never said anything about you.”

You groaned, half in protest, half in delight, tilting your head as he nipped at that spot just below your ear that made your knees tremble.

“Okay,” you panted, shoving him away. “No more of that, not until I make sure my food’s not burnt.”

He pouted, his lips tugged downwards. “You care more about your food than me.”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed, “I’m just trying to feed your grumpy ass so you stop staring at the food and me, like a crazy hyena.”

“Too late,” Joaquin muttered, following you like a lost dog as you returned to the stove. His chin landed on your shoulder like dead weight, arms snaking around your waist as he swayed you side to side. “You’re all five courses and dessert.”

“Don’t you have security cams to monitor? Maybe a rooftop to patrol?” you said, dishing the chicken you had made for the secondo. “Or I don’t know—an actual job?”

“This is my job,” he argued, as you turned to the cupboard. “To make sure you’re not… doing anything dangerous in the kitchen.”

Rolling your eyes you turned and reached out to grab a cup, but by the time you had faced Joaquin again his mouth was chewing and his eyes were blinking too innocently. Beside him, a corner of your grilled chicken had dissapeared and when your brain finally clicked he had already swallowed.

“Che Dio ti fulmini!” you seethed, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “Stop that!”

His eyes met yours, tawny coloured and wide as your brows narrowed.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Joaquin smirked, “But whatever you put in that chicken is really good.”

You whacked him with the nearest thing you could find— an oven mitt.

“Ouch,” he said dryly, rubbing his shoulder like you’d just hurled a brick at him. But his lips quickly formed into a delighted grin again.

"No dinner for you," you scowled, "Keep doing this I'll feed you solo pane secco for the rest of the week.”

"What's that?" he asked smugly, grabbing your waist to spin you into a kiss.

You rapped your knuckles onto his temple before your hands found his shoulder again. "It means if you keep touching my food like that I'll feed you dry bread. Now, go set the table before I make you eat outside with the pigeons."

He groaned, burying his nose into the crook of his neck. "You're so bossy."

You smirked, mimicking his forever cocky smile. "Yet you still love me."

[3vln]

I love a man that can clap back in Spanish. I want him sooo bad y’all.

User:

The good: The actors are having a blast, and I think it's great. The bad: They've been doing nothing for days because there's no script, and every day that passes without them doing something will inflate the film's budget and force Marvel to overexploit the visual effects team as always.

Danny:

Have you ever heard of the cultural phenomenon called "The weekend"? It happens every seven days and is sometimes enjoyed with friends.