To Tag: Cora Jade. - Blog Posts
there is no one who knows her better than him, no one who understands the delicately chaotic workings of a mind that could just so easily break as it could blossom. for all the effort of saying he wasn't taking her seriously, cora knows there's no one better to press her – no one better to test the strength of a surgically repaired knee. even if he's more distraction now than teacher. more hazy fog clouded into her mind when she needed it clear to think, more inhaled scent of him – smoke and his cologne, a little bit of sweat. it takes effort to breathe against his teeth on her neck, to not allow dark eyes to fall shut as she leans back into the open air of their garage. “ you're not fighting fair. ” she mumbles, half - whine for the mark she knows she'll bear upon tanned skin, before hungry brown eyes scan over his body in search of her exit strategy.
she's not a flyer, prefers her feet on the ground – a few reckless stunts from tops of cages that'd left her shoulders less than perfect that insist she doesn't continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. but cora's nothing if not inventive, if not willing to try anything once if it suits her; right now anything to put him flat on his back suited well enough. her fingers tangle into his beard, gentle at first before wrenching tight to shove him back, a delicate nudge of her foot to his chest – fingers curled around the ropes as she maneuvers up to stand upon the turnbuckle, letting go one by one until she's balancing hands free and staring down at him with the same sort of quiet determination one might see in a toddler before they reigned down chaos.
she doesn't know what exactly she's going for, doesn't really know what to do with her hands or . . . any other part of her – half crossbody, half flying nothing, meant to collide into him and little else. a reckless leap of faith without a secondary thought or hesitation – shit eating grin curled onto her mouth.
he had pushed her into the turnbuckle with his palms on her hips first. the motion of his hips followed right after. experimentally first, then with purpose. moxley knows about training for a comeback⸺ knows about the feeling of carrying a chip on the shoulder that is so heavy, one might lose balance and stumble off the path of determination and instead end up with doggedness. fuck, he’s wandered down the wrong road once or twice or a hundred times before. it is the tenacity of waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for body to comply with mind again and shit ; fuck him if he’d let cora crash and burn the way he had. fuck him if, between fight and bite, he didn’t make sure to remind her why they even step in the ring. together.
“ i’m taking you so fuckin’ seriously. “ mumbles between kisses and breaks the touch of tongue to tongue just for a second⸺ just long enough to dig fingertips into the skin of her thighs and lift her up onto the top turnbuckle. she’s taller than him now, his lips right against her throat to suck on sensitive flesh and rub his beard against the quickly irritated skin. “ c’m on⸺ ‘m sure ya know a wait outta here. “ and he knows a way further in, sinks teeth into muscle and skin and groans in excitement over the salty taste of her body.
@sickfcks said: an abrupt , heated kiss during the middle of a fight. cora and jay if you dare. (i do in fact dare)
she doesn't remember what originally started their argument, an oversight on her account – perceived touchiness on his. cora always had a tendency to pluck at nerves without meaning to, especially when it came to him. whatever had started it, had left cora's mind now – had no longer plagued her, despite the fact that jay had still seen fit to argue with her. was still unleashing his own fury from behind the kitchen counter, hands moving with each syllable . . . but she'd long since stopped hearing. stopped listening, her gaze focused instead on his mouth, on the way it moved – on the way his tongue would occasionally glide across his bottom lip.
she lets him continue for a minute, or two, before boredom strikes a little deeper and she no longer wants to just watch his mouth. careful steps around the kitchen counters, creeping closer despite the fact that his body language screams for her to keep her distance – until cora's curling her smaller frame in between his arms and wrapping a hand around his jaw to pull his mouth down to hers.
“ you can stop now. ” she mumbles, lips mere centimeters away from his, dark brown eyes flickering up to his for a moment before she crashes their mouths together.
Cora Jade - Twitter/X & Instagram (August 6, 2024)
cont. from here , @sickfcks
her fingers clench at her side, unable to avoid the way they curl into fists, an urge to ball them up completely and swing without a secondary thought. but she was meant to be behaving, a guest there for the night at the behest of punk, it wouldn't do her – or him – any good if she went 'round handing out black eyes to everyone that got on her nerves. instead she lets out a long exhale of breath, willing to allow him to walk away without saying a word, until he continues to speak. continues to poke and prod at her to the point where dark eyes flicker up to his face.
“ he's not the boss of me. ” a careful glance away over to where punk's leaning over the catering table, before she swats his hand away from her chin, and presses a manicured nail into his chest. “ don't call me baby, either. ” dictating her own terms, as her finger drags up his chest, before her fingers curl into his beard and yank at the hair, bringing him down a few inches. “ we can talk now just fine, can't we? doesn't look like you're all that busy right now. ”
she can hear the warning in his voice – the low timber that tells her to watch it, if she knows what's good for her. problem is, cora's never really known what's good for her; if she had, she might not have ended up here with him – might have learned her lesson by now, might have realized that hotel rooms with men treading closer and closer to being old enough to be her father held just as much trouble as the boys closer to her in age. but she's never been very good at listening, either.
a deep inhale before she spins on her heels, turning ‘round to face him, dark eyes that linger on his face like a wild animal that’s been caught in a trap. “ she called you sweetheart seven times. ” jealousy's always been her sticking point; always been the nasty, lingering feeling that wells in her stomach each time someone so much as breathed in the direction of anything she'd deemed hers. he was no different. “ saw her put her hand on your shoulder three times, too. that's not hospitality. ”
jaw set, clenching as cora hears his words – hears the threat within them, and instead of slinking away, instead of allowing the moment to die down between them, crosses her arms over her chest. an expectant look settled onto her features, daring him to finish the statement – daring him to make a decision that'd leave them both upset for weeks to come.
“ you want someone who's quiet and demure, you're in the wrong fucking room. ”
this is the game they play , of late. this back - n - forth that adds grey to his beard and another set of wrinkles at the corners of dark eyes. it makes roman feel his age , quiet regard for her enough to silence most , most days. but cora isn't most. she's far from the norm , her lips taking on a pout he wonders the authenticity of. for a moment , at least. one just fleeting enough he fails to stifle the groan when it comes , shaken by frustration.
❝ i’m not jealous, who said i’m jealous? ❞
" never said you were , " is quick , a bite that warns her as sure as it does himself in its echo. insists he calm down. loosen the fists that formed , defensively , on instinct. because her fingers know how to coax his nerves. because he's made this mistake again and again.. wound up with her in one more hotel room , listening to a tirade that can't quite settle as it drops in his stomach. " said you showed your ass back there. " to a waitress who was doing her job. to the prying eyes of several onlookers who all whispered their quiet judgment as they left. " an' you wonder why i don't take you out more often. " advertise a relationship that wobbles day in , day out. what breathes shallow breaths and always feels one false move from capsizing. " got me fucked up , you think that's gonna fly. " | @petitmortes
cont. from here , @br4wl
when she'd asked to spend time with him tonight, she'd wrongfully assumed that meant he'd have no issues making time for her while also hanging out with his friends. but mox had spent the last hour ignoring her, his gaze focused on the television screen, his drinks, his buddies, meanwhile cora had been left at a table a few feet away, alone, and forgotten about until seth had settled down next to her and started making conversation.
it'd been nice to be remembered; to not be subjected to forgotten tendencies, left to rot on the table and wait for him to remember that he'd agreed to her being there. what'd started as simple conversation with seth had slowly transitioned into casual flirting, and though cora had known better, wasn't it also just and fair for mox to have sit through it a little – if he even noticed it at all? it took longer than she'd thought for him to settle down in the seat across from them, even longer for him to actually voice his displeasure, sending seth off to get another round before his accusations were started and directed to her alone.
red lipstick stained lips purse together as she tilts her head at him, fingers curling around her glass, pulling it closer to her as dark eyes roll. “ if i were trying to fuck seth, i wouldn't have waited for you to notice that he was flirting with me. ” her glass is brought to her lips, a sip of the whisky before she settles it back onto the table and shakes her head. “ just keeping myself entertained since i clearly wasn't good enough for your attention tonight. ” the words tumble cold and cruel from her lips, a matching tone for the one he'd used for her.
“ if you didn't want me here, you should've said no. ”
usfw prompts , less cringy edition ; accepting.
@br4wl said : [ GRIND ] sender grinds on receivers thigh , for cora and mox .
what was meant to be training for her in ring return had quickly devolved into something else entirely, the makeshift ring she'd begged him for in their garage now no longer in use for her to run the ropes – not when he'd pulled her into the corner and held her there as if both of their lives had depended on it, had pulled her up from her feet just a little to notch her smaller frame against his to give him the friction he'd wanted to grind himself against the bare skin of her thigh. a grumble at first, brushing stray hairs from her face, back of her hand wiping away sweat from her brow in the action as brown eyes focus on his face, pout of her bottom lip as she feels the swollen head of him through his shorts.
“you're not – taking me seriously.”
she says with a huff, trying to retain her level of professionalism, trying to not fall into the delicious trap he's set before her. but it's too easy curl her fingers into the thin fabric of his tank top, to keen up and press her lips against his – all greedy mouth, who needed to train further, anyways?
usfw prompts , less cringy edition ; accepting.
@sickfcks said : [ PUSH ] sender pushes receiver onto bed + reverse , for cora and seth .
his very presence grates at her being, the way he carries himself an affront to her – a sickening display, considering just how very much so he's her type. considering just how much so with every action she should want to find herself running for the hills for only draws her in deeper. red flags were many on both sides, and yet here they were again, seth pushing and prodding at her until the levee broke, and black nails curl around his wrist, digging stiletto points into the flesh as she steadies him with a gaze.
“enough.”
all fun and games until cora got her feelings a little too hurt, a little too much like punk to allow the game to go on for too long before she was tired of his antics and more interested in his actions. warn brown eyes flicker over his shoulder to the large bed, untouched and made pristine – a devilish curl of lips as she loosens her hold on his wrist to plant a rough, forceful shove to his shoulders to send him wheeling back to the mattress. once, twice, three times. until he's flush against the comforter, and cora can toe out of her converse just quick enough to slink on top of him and pin his wrists to either side of his head, pressing her ass down to his groin.
“i'm tired of hearing you talk. do something more productive with your mouth.”
no option given, she releases one of his wrists to curl her own hand underneath the scraps of fabric she calls a shirt, peeling it from her frame to toss to the floor, leaning down to press heaving chest closer to him as her hips set a gentle rolling pace against him through their clothes.