#yourrage fluff

rage = red

reader = pink

NO COMMENT

warnings: teasing, implied relationship, mild language, streamer/chat dynamic, light flirting, overall fluff

it was supposed to be a chill night stream.

rage wasn’t even doing anything crazy — just reacting to clips, scrolling through chat, laughing every now and then. he was in his usual hoodie, half-slouched in his chair, looking like he hadn’t slept enough but was still in a good mood.

and then his phone buzzed.

once. twice.

he tried to ignore it, but chat caught him glancing down — and worse, smiling.

“nahhhh who’s texting you like that”

“look at his face bro he’s GONE”

“we know that smile anywhere.”

“this motherfucker is drooling.”

rage blinked, shook his head, muttered a quiet laugh. “chat, i can’t smile now? damn. y’all weird for that.”

but his tone gave him away — the lazy grin didn’t fade, and every time his phone buzzed again, his eyes darted toward it before he forced himself to look back at his screen.

“look he’s tryna fight it.”

“WHO texting US, rage?”

he leaned back, groaning. “bro… i’m just tryna react to memes. y’all turn everything into a conspiracy.”

then someone sent a clip from last week. he clicked it without thinking — mistake.

it was a ten-second clip of him walking past his mic midstream. faint in the background:

“babe, you want water?”

rage froze. his expression said everything before his mouth even opened. he facepalmed, laughing under his breath as chat exploded.

“WE GOT HIM!!!”

“babe?? we heard that CLEAR.”

“your mom ISNT calling you babe”

he was shaking his head the whole time, trying not to smile but absolutely failing. “nah, y’all reaching. could’ve been anyone.”

“‘babe’ could’ve been anyone’ is a CRAZY line.”

“ig it wasn’t y/n? sob”

“we already know.”

he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “i’m not admitting shit. y’all be making up lore like it’s a fucking netflix show.”

“so you’re not denying it either”

“his pr team typing rn.”

“don’t lie to us, rage. we’ve seen the signs.”

he laughed again — one of those real, breathless ones — and leaned back, running a hand down his face. “you guys gotta find hobbies. like, touch grass or somethin’.”

chat didn’t stop. they never do. every few messages, another line popped up: “he’s smiling again,” “caught lacking,” “we love love.”

after a few minutes, he sighed. “aight, fine. believe whatever you want. i’m not confirming or denying anything.”

“translation: confirmed.”

“WEDIDIT, THEY ARE DATING.”

rage grinned, shaking his head. “yeah, whatever. y’all annoying.”

but the grin stayed.

he finished the stream like nothing happened — half pretending to be focused, half reading chat with that quiet, helpless smile that gave him away more than words ever could.

and as the stream faded out, his last line before ending was soft — almost drowned out by music.

“y’all think you funny, huh?” he said with a small laugh. “see you fuckers tomorrow.”

then he ended his stream, leaned back, and finally let out the laugh he’d been holding the whole time.

(NOT PROOFREAD!)

reader = pink

rage/josh = red

PROVE IT TO ME

warnings: contains explicit sexual content (18+), jealousy and possessive behavior, rough sex and dominance dynamics, strong language, and emotional conflict involving insecurity and reassurance.

the “rinna” thing started as a joke.

yourrage, josh to you, and cinna had been streaming together for months—duos in valorant, late-night just-chatting, the kind of easy chemistry that makes chat spam hearts and ship edits. you’d always rolled your eyes at the “when’s the wedding?” dono messages, the #rinna trending clips. josh laughed it off too, called it “content fuel.” you believed him.

until last night. the clip was everywhere: cinna leaning into his frame during a ranked match, whispering something that made him grin wide, her hand lingering on his knee under the desk. chat lost it. edits flooded tiktok, twitter, even your dms. you watched the vod on mute, stomach twisting, replaying the way he didn’t pull away.

he texted at 3 a.m.: it’s nothing, swear. just playing it up for the bit. you left him on read.

this morning, your apartment is quiet. sunlight filters through the blinds, casting stripes across the hardwood. you’re at the kitchen island, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, scrolling through the edits on your phone, each one a fresh stab.

the coffee in your mug is cold. you hear the front door click, the jangle of keys. josh walks in from the gym, black hoodie zipped, forehead damp with sweat, gym bag slung over one shoulder. his eyes are red from no sleep, jaw tight when he sees you.

“you didn’t answer,” he says, voice low, rough from the morning.

you don’t look up. “didn’t feel like it.”

he drops the bag by the door, steps closer. “it was a bit. for the stream.”

“looked real cozy.” your voice is flat, but your grip on the phone tightens.

he exhales sharp through his nose. “you’re jealous.”

you slam the phone down, screen cracking against the marble. “fuck you, josh.”

he grabs your wrist before you can turn away, fingers firm but not bruising. “look at me.”

you yank free, shove at his chest. “why? so i can see how much you don’t care?”

his jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “you think i want her?”

“the internet does.” you step back, arms crossed. “everyone does.”

“fuck the internet.” he closes the distance, backs you against the counter, hands planting on either side of you, caging you in. his breath is warm, mint and sweat. “i want you.”

you shove him again, harder. “prove it.”

- the bedroom door slams so hard the frame rattles. josh doesn’t speak. just grabs your face with both hands, kisses you hard—angry, desperate, all teeth and tongue. you bite his bottom lip, taste the sharp tang of blood.

he groans low, hips pinning you to the wall, the plaster cool against your back. you claw at his hoodie, rip it over his head, the fabric catching on his hair before it hits the floor. his hands are everywhere—under your shirt, gripping your waist, yanking your shorts down with a rough tug. the elastic snaps against your thigh.

“still think i want her?” he growls, lifting you onto the dresser. perfume bottles and a half-empty water glass crash to the floor, shattering.

you wrap your legs around his waist, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails. “show me.”

he drops to his knees, spreads your thighs wide with strong hands. his mouth is on you—slow at first, deliberate, tongue flat, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. you gasp, fingers tangling in his damp hair, pulling hard. he doesn’t tease for long. just sucks, licks, tongue circling your clit with perfect, relentless pressure, humming low when you arch off the dresser. the vibration shoots through you.

“josh—” you moan, hips bucking, trying to chase more.

he pulls back just enough to speak against your skin, breath hot. “say my name again.”

“josh—”

he thrusts two fingers inside you, thick and calloused, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. his mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast. the stretch burns, perfect, overwhelming. you cry out, thighs shaking, the dresser creaking under your weight.

he doesn’t stop—fingers pumping in and out, slow then fast, mouth relentless, until you’re whining, oversensitive, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“too much—” you sob, trying to push his head away.

“not enough,” he snarls, standing. his gym shorts are gone, kicked somewhere across the room, cock thick and flushed, the head slick with pre-come. he lines up, grips your hips, thrusts in slow—one inch, two, pausing to let you feel every bit of him. your breath hitches, walls fluttering around him.

“look at me,” he says, voice low, commanding.

you do. his eyes are dark, locked on yours, pupils blown wide. he pulls out slow, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, deep, deliberate. the dresser creaks louder, wood groaning. again. again. each stroke measured, dragging against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. his hands slide up your sides, under your arms, until he’s braced over you, chest to yours, lips brushing your ear.

“who’s this for?” he asks, hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip, smearing the tears there.

“you,” you whisper, voice breaking.

“louder.”

“you—!”

he speeds up, hips snapping, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, wet and rhythmic. his other hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit, circling fast, slick and relentless. the heat coils tight, slow, maddening, building with every thrust, every stroke. your moans are high, desperate, spilling out uncontrollably.

“she’s nothing,” he says, voice rough, almost broken. “you’re everything.”

you cum hard, clenching around him, a broken scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and punishing. your whole body shakes, thighs trembling, nails digging into his shoulders. he follows right after, hips stuttering, spilling inside you with a deep groan that sounds like surrender, hot and pulsing.

he doesn’t pull out. just holds you there, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and trembling. the room smells like sex and his cologne, the air thick. after a minute, he kisses you slow, soft, lips lingering.

“believe me now?” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

you nod, still trembling, arms wrapping around his neck. “don’t make me doubt again.”

“never,” he swears, arms locking around you, pulling you off the dresser and into his chest. he carries you to the bed, lays you down gentle, still inside you. the sheets are cool against your back. he kisses your temple, your cheek, your lips.

(NOT PROOFREAD!)

i think this is my first time writing smut for joshua, hopefully u guys like it hehe

rage/josh = purple

reader = pink

RAGE HEADCANONS

warnings: flirty & teasing energy / sexual tension, lingering touches & suggestive innuendos, protective & attentive moments, playful & goofy moments, nothing explicitly sexual, but definitely heated + soft vibes

josh “rage” headcanons (fluffy edition)

• he’s lowkey a giant softie. like everyone thinks he’s all chaos and teasing, but when it’s just you, he’s goofy, giggly, and actually cares about all the little stuff.

• loves lazy mornings with you. he’s the type to let you curl into him while scrolling on your phone, just wrapping an arm around you and sighing like he’s in heaven. “don’t move, you’re perfect like this.”

• big on hugs. like full-body, squeeze-you-so-you-can’t-breathe kind of hugs. sometimes he’ll just pull you into his chest from behind while you’re doing something and whisper nonsense in your ear.

• talks to you about random dumb stuff. he’ll tell you about the weirdest little things that happened during the day, half of it just to see you laugh. he really likes the sound of your laugh.

• soft teasing exists too. he still teases, but it’s gentle. like poking your side when you’re pretending to be mad at him, or pretending not to notice when you’re doing something cute.

• loves seeing you comfortable. if you’re wrapped up in a hoodie or slippers, he’ll melt. “you’re so warm. don’t ever leave me.” and he really means it.

• random acts of affection. hand on your thigh when you sit together, brushing hair behind your ear, forehead kisses when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

• protective but in the cutest way. if someone’s being rude or you’re upset, he’s silently ready to step up—but if it’s just everyday life, he’s just content holding your hand and making sure you’re okay.

• sleepy cuddles are peak josh. he snores a little, tucks you close, sometimes talks in his sleep. he looks so soft and harmless when he’s like this, and it makes your chest feel warm just watching him.

• he’s the kind of person who remembers tiny details about you. favorite snack? little habits you don’t even notice? he knows them all and uses them to make you smile. “i got you your chocolate. don’t look at me like that.”

josh “rage” headcanons (steamy/suggestive)

• he’s obsessed with the tension. if you tease him back, it’s over. that cocky smile shows up immediately. he loves when you push right back, get all smug, roll your eyes at him—he feeds off it.

• always finding excuses to touch you. nothing crazy—just little things. brushing his hand over your back when he walks by, fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. he’s subtle, but his touch lingers just a second too long.

• his stare does way too much. he’ll look at you from across the room, head tilted a little, eyes half-lidded like he’s bored—but he’s not. he’s watching you, just waiting for you to notice. and when you finally meet his gaze, he smirks like he just won something.

• when he finally gets close, it’s intentional. his hand slides to your jaw, thumb tracing slow along your cheek. he doesn’t rush it, doesn’t need to. he’s all calm confidence, like he knows exactly how you’ll react before you even do.

• he’s a menace with proximity. leans in until there’s barely space between you two, voice low like, “you sure you want me to stop?” — even though he knows you don’t.

• his voice when it drops? unfair. that lazy, rough tone he gets when he’s tired or just messing with you—yeah, that one. it makes whatever he says sound ten times heavier than it is.

• he loves whispering stuff that sticks in your head. things like “you drive me insane, you know that?” or “keep looking at me like that, see what happens.” always said quiet, like it’s just for you.

• you getting shy is his favorite thing. you could just look away or trip over your words a little, and he’ll grin so wide. “what’s that look for?” he’ll tease, acting all innocent.

• underneath all the teasing though, he’s stupidly soft. if you’re having a rough night, he drops the act completely. just pulls you into his chest, kisses your hair, and mumbles something like, “you’re good, i got you.”

(NOT PROOFREAD!)

reader = pink

josh = purple

warnings: none, fluffy aff!

the door creaked open slowly, and you tiptoed inside, careful not to jostle the air too much like even that might hurt him. he was exactly where you left him — propped up on a nest of pillows, legs wrapped in gauze and buried under too many blankets, his brows slightly furrowed in his sleep.

you carried a little tray with apple slices, a protein smoothie, and his pain meds, setting it gently down on the nightstand. then you sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray curl off his forehead.

josh stirred with a groggy little groan, voice low and rough. “mm… baby?”

“i’m here,” you whispered, kissing his temple. “i brought snacks.”

he blinked up at you, eyes soft and heavy from the meds, but still full of warmth. “you my nurse or my girl?”

“both,” you said with a tiny smile, sliding into bed beside him.

he turned slowly, careful with his knees, and winced. you wrapped your arm around his shoulders, helping him sit up just enough to sip from the straw you held to his lips.

“ugh,” he muttered after a sip. “tastes like chalk.”

you laughed quietly, wiping the corner of his mouth. “doctor’s orders. gotta get your strength back.”

he leaned his head gently against your shoulder, letting out a tired sigh. “i miss the guys.”

you glanced at him. “have you checked your phone?”

he nodded toward it, sitting on the nightstand. “haven’t looked today.”

you reached over and unlocked it for him, tilting the screen so he could see. his eyes scanned the texts slowly.

silky had sent:

“hope everything went smooth bro. proud of you.”

then adapt, a few minutes later:

“miss you, gang. let me know when you’re up for a visit.”

josh’s lips tugged up just slightly. “they’re being too nice. it’s weird.”

you smiled. “they love you. they’re just giving you space to heal.”

he went quiet for a moment, thumb lightly brushing over the screen. “i still feel useless just laying here.”

you looked at him softly, your hand finding his under the covers. “you’re not useless, josh. healing is something. you’re doing the hard part — being still.”

his throat bobbed a little like he was swallowing emotions. “i don’t deserve you.”

you didn’t hesitate. “you don’t have to. just let me take care of you.”

he didn’t say anything else, but his fingers laced with yours under the blanket like that was his way of saying thank you.

you helped him lie back down, fluffing the pillows behind him until he looked more comfortable. he exhaled deeply, his whole body relaxing as he settled. you slid in beside him, careful not to bump his legs, and he immediately curled toward you, his hand never letting go of yours.

“you’re so warm,” he mumbled sleepily. “don’t leave.”

“never,” you whispered.

the tv played something soft in the background, but neither of you were really watching. he drifted off with your hand in his, the sound of your breathing close, grounding him.

and when he murmured “love you” in that barely-there, sleepy voice, you smiled against his shoulder and whispered right back:

“love you too.”

(NOT PROOFREAD!!)