Mirewyn Thornveil vs Flick Sterling – “Tangled in Bloom”

[DJPow]

Mirewyn saw the hop-step. She saw the weight shift, the ankle protesting under Flick’s recovery. In her mind, the equation was simple: damage applied, balance shaken, space controlled. So when Flick came forward again, Mirewyn expected another tangle. A collar tie. A clinch perhaps. Or if she was lucky, maybe something grounded where joints could be wrenched and she could carve a place amongst her opponent's supple body once more. What she did not expect, however, was flight.

Flick closed the distance in a blur of motion, three quick steps that compressed the space between them before Mirewyn’s hands had fully risen to meet her. Then the Brit sprang. Flick’s body twisted through the air with dancer’s precision, hips turning, thighs opening as she rotated into the attack. By the time Mirewyn’s arms started to lift in reflex, it was already too late.

Flick’s legs snapped around her head, sending Mirewyn skyborne!

The impact came fast and tight. One thigh slapping across Mirewyn’s cheek while the other hooked behind her skull, clamping down like a vice. The sudden pressure cinched around her neck and jaw, the heat of Flick’s body locking in as momentum carried them both sideways.

“—ghh!”

The world lurched, and Flick’s rotation dragged Mirewyn’s upper body with it, wrenching her posture off center as the headscissors took hold. Mirewyn’s feet lifted off the canvas, bare toes scraping as she tried to plant against the torque. Her hands shot instinctively to Flick’s thighs, fingers digging into muscle as she attempted to brace and slow the spin. But the contortionist’s momentum was already in motion.

They crashed to the canvas in a thump of bodies and shifting flesh.

Mirewyn rolled through the landing with a sharp grunt, Flick’s legs still cinched tight around her head and neck as the hold carried them across the mat. One shoulder struck first before the rest of her body followed, the impact knocking the air from her lungs in a brief burst. Still tangled in the scissors, Mirewyn planted a palm against the mat and forced herself up to one knee, refusing to simply lie there. Her grip tightened against Flick’s legs, forearms bracing against the inside of those powerful thighs as she tried to wedge space between the pressure and her throat.

“Impressive…” she managed through clenched teeth, breath warm against Flick’s leg.