Coven_smut

MC: Rika (Femele Fujoshi in Omega Male Body)

Original Life:

Day job: Overworked, underpaid office assistant in a publishing firm, usually stuck fixing the copy machine or ghost-editing erotica for lazy male authors.

Night job: Secret identity as @BL4geddon, a popular underground smut manga artist, known for her disturbingly accurate depictions of alpha×alpha energy.

Constantly broke, so she’s forced to take boring editing jobs during the day—and draw d** jokes and breathy uke whimpers* at night.


Now in the novel?

Accidentally possessing Riven Zhaeris: A too-beautiful-for-this-world omega who smells like heat and sugar and says the most obscene things without knowing it.

Doesn’t even try to be seductive—she’s just constantly commentating like a dirty-minded fangirl, and the alphas are slowly unraveling.

Fujoshi Chaos Aura: Constantly draws yaoi doujins, makes A×A comments out loud, and thinks she's being subtle while literally eye-f**king every dramatic moment she witnesses.She still thinks like a woman—so her inner monologue is all about “these hot boys being dumb tsundere lovebirds.”

But everyone else sees a smirking, seductive omega who leans in during heated conversations, tilts his head just so, and "moans" softly while sketching.

This contrast between inner chaos gremlin and outer unintentional siren is what kills the alphas.

“Alpha,omega, I’m Just lost”

The sheets clung. The air reeked—honey peaches and cassis swirled like pheromonal witchcraft.

Her thighs stuck together with betrayal.

"I am… a walking lube dispenser. God help us all."

She rolled out of bed with the grace of a disgruntled cat stuck in a sex dream.

Showered. Dried. Powdered. Sprayed. Stuffed herself into the blackest XXXL hoodie mankind could produce.

Underneath: pitch black leggings. Hair? Loosely bunned, dom-pen tucked inside. Sunglasses large enough to moonlight as satellite dishes.

She grabbed her bag, manga folder, and today's smut update title:

"Please, Sensei—I'm Too Pregnant With Your Regret"

A tale of deep emotional pain, forbidden lust, and… tentacles.

She uploaded it. Instantly, her anonymous account's notifications screamed.

25,000 likes in ten minutes.

She passed the beta café. They saw her. Blushed. Whispered. One of them dropped a tray.

She walked by like a ghost in thigh-hugging sin, hoodie flapping.

Accidentally made eye contact with a newly employed beta.

He looked away, ears red. She looked down. Lube trail.

"My ass is betraying me," she muttered. "Note: don't sit on any white chairs."

THE SEX SHOP: THE QUEST FOR THE CRYSTAL PLUG

She entered like a lost nun. The cashier—a tall, pierced Alpha girl with dyed silver hair and soft butch vibes—froze.

"Yes. I am leaking sin and I need to plug it."

She picked one. A sleek, red crystal heart-shaped butt plug. Medium. Silicone base.

"I'll take it. 24-hour wear. Walking lube is not ideal for class."

She walked out leaving a confused Alpha questioning her sexuality.

She sat four rows back, hoodie still drowning her figure.

She looked like a blackout ghost that had been ravished by an orc and wore his walk-of-shame hoodie.

But her eyes—her fujoshi radar—locked onto the OTP.

"Angry, loud, wants to punch love into someone."

She watched like a jungle predator—emotions snapping manga panels in her head.

LUNCHTIME: THE NEW INSPIRATION

She sat under a tree, new tablet in lap.

"He pressed him to the library shelves, panting—'Don't pretend you hate me when your scent screams please claim me now.'"

A beta administrator passing by blinked twice. Tripped on flat ground. Dropped his clipboard.

"Sorry, pheromone malfunction. I'm having a medical moment. Don't sniff me."

She bit into her sandwich, looked back at the OTP arguing under a vending machine.

Morning Plug, College Mug, and OTP Stalking in Orc Couture