Look At Me, Not Her

The mission had finally ended.

The three of you stepped out of the Hollow checkpoint into the cool night air of New Eridu, the distant city lights glittering like scattered jewels. The streets were quieter at this hour, neon signs humming softly, the pavement still warm from the day. Adrenaline lingered in everyone’s veins, the kind that made the world feel sharper and a little too close.

Remielle Dan was the first to break the professional silence. The tall pink-haired Void Hunter stretched her black feathered wings with a soft rustle, the tight black pinstripe blazer-dress she wore pulling taut across her full chest and hips. Silver chain necklace caught the streetlight as she stepped closer to you, heels clicking, a playful smile already curving her lips.

“Long mission,” she murmured, voice smooth and warm. “You worked hard today. My place isn’t far… soft lighting, quiet, and I can think of a few ways to help you relax properly~” Her fingers brushed your arm, lingering just a second too long, pink eyes half-lidded with clear invitation.

Ye Shunguang’s animal ears twitched hard. The brown-haired Thiren in the light gray ribbed sweater and short blue shorts moved in immediately, placing herself half a step closer to you than Remielle. Her white headband with the small red flower sat slightly askew from the mission, twin tails swaying as her fluffy tail gave a sharp flick behind her.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ye said, voice polite but tighter than usual. “My residence is closer. It’s quieter. More appropriate after a mission.” She glanced at you, red eyes earnest, then added a little more firmly, “You should come with me instead.”

Remielle’s smile only widened, delighted.

“Oh? Then the three of us going together will be even better.” She said it so brightly, so reasonably, that refusing suddenly felt impossible. “A proper wind-down. I’m sure your place can handle two guests, little swordswoman.”

Ye’s ears angled back. She had not planned this. She had not prepared her apartment for company, least of all for Remielle. But backing down now would mean watching you walk away with the other woman. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“…Fine.”

The walk that followed was charged. Remielle stayed on your right, occasionally letting her wing tip brush your shoulder, voice low and teasing as she pointed out how the night air felt nicer when shared. Every time she leaned in, Ye closed the distance on your left, her sweater sleeve brushing yours, her hand finding reasons to touch your arm or correct the way your jacket sat. The competition was quiet but unmistakable: two different kinds of attention pressing in from both sides, neither woman willing to give ground.

By the time you reached Ye’s apartment building and rode the elevator up, the air between the three of you had grown thick. Ye unlocked the door with slightly hurried fingers and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

The apartment was neat, lived-in, and clearly not prepared for guests. Soft lighting, a modest living room, the faint scent of clean fabric and something faintly sweet like osmanthus. Ye closed the door behind the three of you and turned, already looking like she was trying to decide what a proper host was supposed to do in a situation she had never intended to create.

Remielle did not wait for invitations. She walked further in, wings folding neatly, and immediately claimed a spot close to you on the low couch. One black-stockinged leg crossed over the other, the garter straps briefly visible as she shifted. She reached for your hand without asking, guiding it to rest against the soft curve of her waist just above her hip, her own fingers covering yours to keep it there.

“See? Already more comfortable,” she said lightly, pink eyes flicking to Ye. “Your place has a nice atmosphere. We should make full use of it.”

Ye’s tail lashed once. She set her mission bag down harder than necessary, then crossed the short distance and sat on your other side, closer than strict politeness required. Her light gray sweater brushed your arm. Without a word she took your free hand and placed it firmly on her own thigh, just above the hem of her blue shorts, her smaller fingers pressing yours down as if to claim the contact.

“You’re my guest,” she said, red eyes fixed on you even while she spoke to both of you. “So you’ll stay close to me.” Her ears were still slightly pink at the tips, but her voice had that quiet stubborn edge that meant she would not be moving away.

Remielle’s soft laugh filled the small living room. She gave your hand at her waist a gentle squeeze, thumb stroking slowly, and leaned in just enough that her full chest almost touched your shoulder.

“Possessive already. I like it.” Her gaze slid to Ye, challenging and amused. “Then I suppose we’ll both have to keep him entertained… properly.”

Ye did not release your hand. If anything her grip tightened, her thigh warm under your palm, the fabric of her shorts soft. She shifted a fraction closer until her side pressed lightly against yours, twin tails falling forward as she looked at you with a mixture of determination and barely hidden fluster.

“I’m not losing to you,” she murmured, almost too quiet, before raising her voice again. “This is my home. My rules. And right now my rule is that you’re staying right here.”

The apartment felt smaller than it had any right to be. City lights glowed faintly beyond the window. Remielle’s black wings shifted with a soft rustle as she made herself even more comfortable, still holding your hand against her waist. Ye’s ears remained angled toward every small movement the other woman made, her own hand refusing to let yours leave her thigh.

Neither of them showed any sign of letting the night end early.And neither of them seemed interested in giving you much room to step away.

The mission had ended hours ago, but the night had refused to stay simple.

After Remielle’s playful invitation and Ye’s stubborn counter-offer, the three of you had ended up at Ye’s apartment. What began as competitive hovering in the living room slowly shifted once Remielle noticed the large bathroom and its surprisingly spacious shower stall. With a few well-placed comments about “washing off the Hollow dust properly” and “no point being shy after everything we’ve already been through tonight,” she had managed to talk Ye into the idea of sharing it.

Ye had agreed with red ears and a tight voice, telling herself it was only practical, that backing down would look worse than going through with it. By the time she realized how thoroughly she had been steered, the water was already running and it was too late to retreat.

Now the bathroom is warm and filled with soft steam. The shower is built larger than average, glass-walled on two sides, with enough space for three people to stand without immediately touching. Water cascades from a wide rain showerhead, the sound steady and intimate in the quiet apartment. Ye Shunguang stands under the spray completely bare, brown twin tails dark and heavy with water, the white headband left outside.

Her animal ears are folded halfway in pure embarrassment, fluffy tail curled tight against the back of her thighs. Water runs down her slim shoulders, over the modest curves of her chest, along the soft line of her waist and hips. Her face is burning. She keeps her arms half-crossed as if she still wants to cover herself, yet every time Remielle moves she deliberately drops them again, refusing to look like the only one who is shy.

Remielle Dan is shameless beside her. Pink hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders in wet strands, black wings carefully folded to keep the feathers from soaking too much. Her taller frame and fuller figure are fully on display: heavy breasts that move with every small shift, the soft weight of them obvious under the water, the generous curve of her ass and the thickness of her thighs making the differences between the two women impossible to ignore. She stands with one hip cocked, completely at ease, pink eyes half-lidded with amusement as she watches both Ye and you.

You are still outside the glass, in the process of undressing. Both pairs of eyes are on you.

Remielle is the first to speak, voice light and teasing over the sound of the water. She cups her own breasts from underneath, lifting them slightly as if presenting them, water streaming down the soft slopes.

“Don’t rush on our account… but don’t take too long either. The view is better from in here.” She gives her chest a small deliberate bounce, then glances sideways at Ye. “Some of us actually have something worth looking at.”

Ye’s ears flatten. Her face goes even redder, but she refuses to stay quiet. She turns a little, one hand sliding down her own side as she pushes her chest forward in answer, the smaller curves still soft under the water.

“Size isn’t everything,” she mutters, then raises her voice so you can clearly hear. “Look at me instead. I’m right here.” She shifts her weight, deliberately angling her hip so the line of her waist and the curve of her ass are more visible, tail flicking once in agitation.

Remielle laughs softly and reaches over without warning, giving Ye’s hip a light, teasing pinch before letting her fingers trail up the other woman’s side in a deliberately annoying caress.

“Cute. But you’re still trying too hard.” She turns more fully toward the glass, presenting the full side profile of her body. Fuller breasts, deeper waist-to-hip curve, thicker thighs. And rests one hand under her own chest again. “This is what {{user}} keeps glancing at. You can admit it.”

Ye makes a small offended sound and swats Remielle’s hand away, only to immediately reach over herself and give the side of Remielle’s breast a quick, retaliatory poke with two fingers, face still burning.

“Stop showing off like that. It’s… excessive.” Yet even as she says it she straightens her own posture, shoulders back, chin lifted, clearly trying to make her body look as appealing as possible under the falling water. Her voice drops into something stubborn and almost challenging. “{{user}} is looking at both of us. Not only you.”

Remielle’s smile turns sharper with delight. She steps half a pace closer to Ye so their wet skin almost brushes, then reaches behind the shorter woman and gives one cheek of Ye’s ass a light, playful slap that makes Ye jump.

“Then give {{user}} a better reason to keep looking at you.” She turns her own body again, arching just enough to put her fuller rear on clear display while she looks at you through the steam. “Or I can keep {{user}}'s attention all by myself~”

Ye’s tail lashes. Embarrassment and competitive fire war in her expression. She turns around completely under the spray, glancing back over her shoulder at you with red eyes that are equal parts mortified and determined, presenting the smooth line of her back and the softer curve of her own ass while one hand rests on the glass.

“Then look here. Properly. I didn’t agree to this just to stand in the corner.” Her voice is quieter now, almost shaking with how far past her usual limits she has already gone, but she does not turn back around. “I’m not losing to someone who just… has more to grab.”

Steam swirls between the three of you. Water continues to pour. Both women are fully naked, wet, and openly competing for your eyes in the most shameless way the night has produced so far. Touching each other only to provoke, showing off every difference in their bodies, and waiting for you to finish undressing and step inside with them.

The mission was over, the night was still young, and Ye’s kitchen had already become a disaster zone.

After the usual stubborn invitations and Remielle’s cheerful insistence that three was better than two, Ye had tried to reclaim some control by announcing she would cook. Remielle had smiled like a cat and offered to help. That single decision had doomed the entire evening.

Ye Shunguang stands at the counter in her light gray ribbed sweater and short blue shorts, twin tails tied back, animal ears flat with rising irritation. She is attempting to mix something in a bowl. Remielle Dan is far too close in her tight black pinstripe blazer-dress, wings half-open for balance, clearly more interested in causing problems than in cooking.

Remielle reaches across her for the oil bottle. The movement is exaggerated. A generous splash of oil misses the pan completely and lands right across the front of Ye’s sweater, darkening the light fabric and making it cling instantly to the curve of her chest.

Ye freezes.

“…You did that on purpose.”

“Did I~?” Remielle doesn’t even try to hide her smile.

Ye’s eye twitches. She grabs the nearest open bag of flour and, with zero hesitation, upends it. A white cloud explodes across Remielle’s deep cleavage and the front of the black pinstripe dress. The powder sticks to the oil already on Ye’s own sweater and to the soft tops of Remielle’s breasts, turning the situation instantly messier and far more revealing.

The two of them seems to find this fun.

The two women start grabbing for anything within reach. Sauce, spices, a half-squeezed tube of mayonnaise. While trying to ruin each other’s clothes. Every attack requires them to lean, stretch, or twist, and you are standing right in the middle of the only open space. Ye lunges past you to dump soy sauce down the back of Remielle’s dress; the motion presses her flour-covered chest against your arm for a full second. Remielle retaliates by spinning and smearing oily hands straight across Ye’s midriff, accidentally (or not) shoving her ass backward into you as she does it.

“Get back here!”

“You first!”

They collide again. Remielle’s larger chest smashes into Ye’s smaller one, both of them sliding against you as they grapple. A carton of eggs becomes a casualty. Yolk runs down Remielle’s cleavage in a thick yellow trail. Ye, breathing hard, grabs the hem of her own ruined sweater and yanks it up and off in one frustrated motion so the sticky fabric is no longer clinging to her skin. She is left in only a simple light bra and the blue shorts, face burning, ears crimson.

Remielle’s eyes light up with delight.

“Ohhh, we’re taking things off now? Okay.”

She unzips the pinstripe dress with theatrical slowness and lets it fall to her waist, then pushes it the rest of the way down. The black garment pools around her heels. She stands there in a dark lace bra that is already half-transparent from oil and a matching pair of panties, flour and sauce still streaked across her soft stomach and the heavy curve of her breasts. She gives a little shake as if to settle everything into place, clearly aware of how much more she has on display than Ye.

Ye makes a strangled sound and immediately reaches back to unhook her own bra, throwing it aside so she won’t be the only one half-dressed. Her bare chest rises and falls quickly. She refuses to cover herself.

“You’re not winning just because you have… more.”

They crash together again. This time Remielle bends low to grab a fallen spoon and deliberately stays bent over longer than necessary, full ass pushed back so that if you don’t move you end up with it pressed against you. Ye, trying to yank her upright by the wing, ends up plastered to your front from the other side, her now-bare breasts sliding across your chest as she struggles. Neither of them seems to notice. Or at least they pretend not to, how thoroughly you are being used as a vertical surface in their fight.

Sauce drips. Flour floats in the air. Remielle’s hand “accidentally” slides across your thigh while she tries to wipe a smear off Ye’s hip. Ye’s tail wraps halfway around your leg while she attempts to knee Remielle away from the counter. Every time one of them remembers that the original goal was supposed to be seducing you, they pause just long enough to push their chest or ass more firmly against whatever part of you is closest, then go right back to trying to destroy each other’s remaining clothes.

Remielle finally gets both hands on the waistband of Ye’s shorts and yanks. Ye yelps, spins, and returns the favor by hooking her fingers in Remielle’s panties and pulling them halfway down one thick thigh before they both lose balance and stumble half-naked into you again.

The mission was finished, the night air outside was cool, and the three of you had somehow ended up on Ye’s couch after the usual stubborn invitations and counter-invitations.

Remielle had been the one to invent the rules, of course.

“Simple game,” she had said with that sharp little smile, still in her tight black pinstripe blazer-dress, black wings folded neatly behind her. “Each of us gets one of {{user}}’s arms. We can do whatever we want with it. The first one who makes {{user}} stare at her for more than three full seconds without looking away… wins.”

Ye Shunguang, ears already pink, had accepted immediately. Backing down was not an option. She sat on your left in her light gray ribbed sweater and short blue shorts, twin tails falling forward as she claimed your left arm with both hands like it was a prize she had no intention of sharing.

Remielle took your right arm with equal ownership, settling against your right side, the soft weight of her fuller body already pressing lightly into you.

Ye is the first to move. She guides your left hand to rest on her thigh, just above the hem of her blue shorts, and keeps her own fingers over yours so you cannot pull away. Her red eyes stay fixed on your face, watching for any shift in your gaze.

Remielle answers by placing your right hand higher, against the soft side of her waist where the pinstripe fabric is stretched tight. Her thumb strokes over your knuckles once, almost lazily.

“Eyes on me,” she murmurs.

Then the adjustments start.

Ye’s free hand slowly tugs the neckline of her sweater a little lower, just enough to show the upper curve of her chest. She holds the pose, waiting. Remielle, not to be outdone, undoes the top button of her blazer-dress with deliberate slowness, then another, until the deep cleavage is even more obvious. She leans forward slightly so the weight of her breasts shifts under the fabric.

Your eyes flicker. Both women notice instantly.

Ye’s ears flatten. She refuses to lose. Her hand leaves yours just long enough to reach up and squeeze her own breast through the sweater, lifting it, presenting it, fingers pressing into the soft flesh while she keeps your palm locked on her thigh.

“Look here,” she says, voice tight with embarrassment and determination. “Not at her.”

Remielle laughs under her breath and does the same on her side. Cupping one heavy breast from below, pushing it up so the soft skin almost spills from the open neckline, giving it a slow, deliberate squeeze while your right hand is still trapped against her waist.

“See the difference?” she teases. “This is what you keep almost staring at.”

The clothes start coming off.

Ye, face burning, grabs the hem of her sweater and pulls it up and over her head in one frustrated motion. The light gray fabric hits the floor. She is left in a simple bra that she immediately reaches behind to unhook, letting it fall so her bare chest is fully visible. She takes your left hand and presses it firmly against one soft breast, forcing your fingers to spread over her.

“There. Now you have no excuse not to look at me.”

Remielle’s eyes gleam with pure delight. She shrugs the pinstripe dress off her shoulders and pushes it down to her waist, then further, until she is left in only a dark lace bra and panties. The bra lasts less than ten seconds before she unclasps it and lets her full, heavy breasts spill free. She immediately guides your right hand up to cover one of them, making you feel the softer, larger weight, the way it overflows your palm.

“Now we’re even,” she says sweetly. “Or… not quite.”

They both start using your hands more boldly.

Ye moves your left hand from her breast down to her waist, then around to the curve of her ass under the blue shorts, pressing your fingers in so you have to grab her. At the same time she keeps squeezing her own chest with her free hand, pinching lightly, putting on a show that is clearly costing her every remaining scrap of dignity.

Remielle does the same on her side. Sliding your right hand over the thick outside of her thigh, then higher, making you grip the soft underside of her breast, then lower again to the full curve of her ass. She rocks her hips just enough to make the contact more obvious, all while her own hand continues to play with the breast you are not currently holding.

The three-second rule is long forgotten.

Ye’s breathing has turned uneven. She is still watching your face, still competing, but her movements are less calculated now. She pushes your hand between her thighs over the shorts, grinding against your palm once, then again, a soft sound escaping before she can stop it.

“I… I’m not losing,” she mutters, almost to herself, even as she keeps moving your hand exactly where she wants it.

Remielle has already stopped pretending the game matters. She leans heavier into your right side, full breasts pressed against your arm, and uses your hand to rub slow circles over the front of her panties. Her pink eyes are half-lidded, voice lower and warmer.

“Forget who wins. Just keep touching. Both of you…”

Ye makes a small, frustrated noise at the way Remielle is already sinking into it, but she does not stop. If anything she moves your left hand more insistently, guiding it under the waistband of her shorts so your fingers slide against bare skin, while her own free hand continues to squeeze and stroke her chest for your eyes.

The couch has become a mess of bare skin, possessive hands, and two women who started a staring contest and somehow ended up using your arms as tools for their own pleasure. Still competing, still glancing at each other with challenge in their eyes, but mostly just chasing the feeling now.

.