The Flesh is Sin and I Am Inside ItShe wakes up mid-gasp.
Chapter 3:
It's dark. The sheets are satin. There's the faint hum of an expensive air purifier and—
She can feel her thighs.
Too soft. Too smooth. Too... pressed together in a way that makes her panic.
But that's not the terrifying part.
The terrifying part is—the storm in her brain.
Memories not hers. Thoughts not hers.
A name. Riven.
A hand. Tattooed. Reaching for a lighter.
Heat. Alone. Always alone.
A hospital. A listless diagnosis.
"Emotionally disassociated omega."
Piercings. Each one a choice.
"If it hurts, it's real."
The sound of a belt being buckled after a meaningless night.
The smell of rain and regret.
The whisper: "I only like it when they don't talk."
Rika gasps again—she's not Rika.
She's Riven.
A body that took every bit of emotional trauma and wore it like a high fashion statement.
And now—she is inside it.
Still lying down, her hands go under the sheets.
Not for that, you perv. (Okay, maybe a little.)
For confirmation.
Small waist. Check.
Flat stomach. Check.
Ridges of lean muscle. Check.
Hips. OH GOD.
"These thighs were drawn by a man who doesn't believe in pants."
And there.
Soft, but thick.
The bulge.
Resting heavy, innocent, and somehow insultingly hot.
She yanks the covers over her face and lets out a scream muffled by imported satin:
"I'M A MALE OMEGA UKE WITH A PRINCE D***—WHAT KIND OF SICK FANTASY NOVEL IS THIS?!"
And the pheromones.
They're leaking.
She smells like spiced peach honey and rain-soaked cassis sin—like a tease during an emotional breakdown.
Her hand accidentally brushes her chest—
clink.
The NIPPLE RINGS.
Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall, Who's the BL Bait with No Boundaries at All?Stumbling like a newborn deer in a porn studio, she makes it to the mirror.
And sees himself.
A body that should come with an NSFW warning:
Hair: Jet black, silky, sin incarnate.
Eyes: One gold, one violet—f**king heterochromia, really?!
Skin: Pale shimmer. Wants to be touched.
Lips: Plump. Slight pout. Looks kissed even when angry.
Piercings: Nipples, belly button, ear.
Crimson tattoo: Starts at the nape, follows the spine in spiral ancient runes down to the peach.
Lower back dimples.
Waist: Illegal.
Hips: Stop it.
Thighs: Kill me.
The bulge? Woke up like this. Respectfully: THROBBING UKE ENERGY.
She looks like a side character from a smut game who's unlocked every bad ending but still walks sexy.
Author's Note in Her Head (aka Her Deranged Inner Fujoshi Commentary)"This body is a doujinshi."
"This body is the climax panel of chapter 12."
"No one draws this body unless they want it sprawled and sobbing."
"Why is my back arched by default?!"
And Then… the VowStill in the mirror, she grabs the edge of the vanity like she's doing a tokusatsu transformation pose.
She remembers.
Scarlet Rivalry.
That first manga.
The start of everything.
Valen. Calume.
Two alphas punching through their trauma and into each other's pants.
She, Rika, was once just a bystander.
A passive fujoshi who watched from the shadows.
But no more.
She balls her fist and holds it to her chest. It rests just bellow her choker.
"On the sacred yaoi altar of angst and inappropriate eye contact, I swear—"
"I won't stalk my OTP."
"I won't interfere."
"I will just observe... and draw everything. In detail. Including the fluids."
A single tear rolls down her cheek.
Because she knows.
The flesh is weak. The bulge is strong.
And she—
She is so back.