request: Rage smut to reassure you he doesn’t care about cinna
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.”
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.
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.
i think this is my first time writing smut for joshua, hopefully u guys like it hehe
ALSO ADA IS LITERALLY A MAN WHORE LMAOO
