TempestVerse: PhaiDei route
Mydei's kinks
College!AU, A/B/O!AU: Yandere!Alpha!Phainon x Beta!Reader x Yandere!Alpha!Mydei
wordcount: ~4400
tws: MNDI, DARKFIC, NON-CON/DUB-CON, yandere, obsessive /possessive behaviour, POLY-REALATIONSHIP, gaslighting, angst, cruelty, loss of bodily autonomy, forced & sexualized pregnancy, SMUT-HEAVY: oral (m->f, m->m), breeding, babytrapping, period sex, scent kink, ngl Mydei is disgusting in this one, this is highly disturbing.
(If you find some more, please let me know.)
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Not proofread. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Dom/sub dynamics and forced compliance
You see, Tempest!Mydei is a traditional Alpha at his core, and nothing can change that. Everything he does is rooted in the belief that your, Omega’s, place is in his arms, under his weight, within the space of his breath.
I hope that by this moment, you’ve already understood that in the PhaiDei route, resistance is simply impossible. Always postpartum soft, always cycling, constantly swollen with the results of their devotion, you are a fragile creature in their care, and Mydei treats that fragility like a sacred treasure of your little dysfunctional family. The moment a doctor confirms your body is healed enough to be bred again, he is already on you, coaxing your legs open again, filling the empty space, claiming it in the only language he trusts: heat, weight, seed. You’re never truly recovered, never unclaimed long enough to even try to rise against them.
Tonight, the heavy atmosphere of the bedroom had already choked the oxygen from your lungs. Eos, your second-born son, was asleep in his sound-dampened bassinet in a nearby room. You just hoped the sound of your wailing won't wake your little miracle up.
For your own sake, today Mydei required the soothing position that offered maximum skin-to-skin contact and minimum escape. That's how you ended up lying on your side, completely nude, every curve of your body exposed.
Your face was buried deep in a pillow, the material muffling the inevitable tears and choked whimpers that had become your almost silent protest. The intense heat radiating from his massive form made your head spin, made the pastry scent of your hair mix with the heavy sandalwood of his musk.
The skin-to-skin contact was non-negotiable. Mydei needed the absolute sensory confirmation of your presence, your slickness, your immediate compliance, so his corded chest was pressed flush against your back like an unmoving wall. One powerful arm snaked beneath you, his enormous hand resting with unsettling tenderness on your vulnerable abdomen in a gesture of adoration for the life you had just delivered and the many more he actively sought to create. His fingers occasionally slipped lower, tracing the pearl of your clit, rubbing it, and pinching it until it was beautifully engorged. Such a gentle massage that was less for your climax and more for the constant reassurance that you were wet for what was your intention (in his eyes, mind you).
The other hand held your top leg high, bent at the knee, leveraging you open to grant him the perfect angle to drill into your stretched pussy. Mydei was already sheathed inside, and his pierced cock, pressed against the raw tenderness of your inner walls, demanded acceptance, thrust after thrust. The metal beads in his shaft felt like abrasive rocks dragging against the still-sensitive channel bruised by your previous delivery. Mydei seemed to intentionally utilize this small but constant ache of trauma, never quite pressing too hard, but never letting you forget the price of his pleasure.
He always began with this agonizingly slow, deep, maddening rhythm.
“Agape mou,” he rasped hoarsely, burying his face in your temple. “Don’t hide from me. Need to hear you. Let your Mydei hear these precious sounds, yeah?”
When you didn't respond, his hips pounded in the fat of your ass, his rigid tip slamming against your still-too-tender cervix, sending a sharp jolt through your form. The sudden action elicited a desperate cry from you, and Mydei purred at the sound, tightening his hold on your leg, forcing a new angle that made your inner walls clench around him.
“Such a good girl, my darling, such a good mate…” he whispered, his movements never faltering. His voice held a request for your compliance, for the love you couldn't give. “You take me so deep. Look at how good your pussy is around me, swallowing so well. No one else has a cunt like this. You were made for this, agapetos. Sing for me.”
Mydei paused again and pulled back almost entirely, the head of his cock, with the sharp feel of the piercing, grazed the very entrance before plunging back in with punishing force, mashing the head of his cock deep into your tender cervix, sending a shockwave of sensation through your pussy. You arched backwards, trying to get away, but he was unmoving like a giant rock.
“I said, sing for me,” he commanded, the low growl intensifying to a dominant snarl. His massive palm glided down from your belly to the place where you took him in so good. Calloused fingers stroked your labia as if to coax you into compliance, running a thumb across your clit, fingertips stroking your stretched hole that swallowed his fat length.
“N-no,” you choked out, the word barely a gasp against the damp cotton, a pathetic stand against the tidal wave of hormones he pressed on you. And the scariest part of it all – your body was already betraying you, arching slightly, hips trying to meet his relentless rhythm.
“My mate. Don’t deny the truth that runs in your slick,” Mydei murmured, his voice thick with sincere affection. “That's what family is. That's what love is.”
You couldn’t answer anymore. The rhythmic insistence of his fingers, the damned feeling from his deep pounding, and the hormonal wash of his sandalwood musk – all of it broke down the last of your resistance. Your sobs finally gave way to a series of involuntary whimpers that Kremnoan’d been waiting for. Your slick, already profuse, gushed, turning the bedding beneath your hips into a wet mess.
“There it is,” Mydei purred, the sound vibrating through his chest and into the hollowness between your ribs. He shifted behind you, bringing your top leg higher and tucking it flush against your side, opening you wider, rawer, absolutely obscene, "good girl, so perfect f'me…"
With these words, Mydei drove in with the reckless energy of a man possessed, finally aiming his force at the deepest part of your womb, where he had been meticulously depositing his seed for month.
His fingers pressed into your clit, his thumb grinding down relentlessly while his hips hammered against your rear. The friction of the pierced cock, the pressure on your womb, the overwhelming hormonal bath, and the merciless stimulation of your channel became too much. It was a humiliating and violent affair; a wave of convulsions that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with a body finally giving up the fight. Your inner walls weakly spasmed around his shaft, clenching and squeezing in an involuntary reflex that felt as if your entire core was being wrung dry.
“Good girl,” Mydei cooed, and your vision fractured, the burning throb inside you escalating into a white-hot storm. A heartfelt cry tore from your throat, no longer muffled, but a clear and loud shriek of shattering desperation. Your entire body convulsed in his arms, and your hips bucked in a final spasm, sending another torrent of hot slick gushing down his thighs. Just like this, you were done for, momentarily deaf and blind to everything but the all-consuming release that sent a sharp pain through your belly.
“Good girl!” Mydei roared, his voice a sound of primal triumph, the scent of his iron and sandalwood now exploding into a choking scent of ruined battlefield.
"Taking such good care of our kids, agapētos!" The sensation was unbearable to him, the forceful pounding almost reopening the internal wounds you were fighting to heal. Deep in your cunt, his cock throbbed desperately.
"Now give me another one!" Your mate roared over your head as his knot swelled, his piercings grating violently against your walls one last time before the thick tissue of flesh locked him inside you with a heavy throb.
His cock emptied itself into you. Wave after wave of thick seed gushed against your cervix, entering your womb, hopefully starting the next cycle.
"Such a good little momma you are... Gonna give us many more, yeah? Bet 'Cander, Eos, and Thalla would love to have lots of playmates…"
Biting/Marking Kink (giving/receiving)
There is no denial that almost every yandere is possessive of their darling, and of course, Mydei isn't an exception. What I would like to talk about here is where this side of him takes root and how he expresses it.
In Tempest!Mydei’s culture, ownership is displayed not by rings or deeds, but by the visible testament of the bite. This tradition stems directly from the culture of Castrum Kremnos, an archaic, militaristic, Spartan-like society within the greater realm of Amorpheus. A marked neck is seen as a declaration of allegiance, of belonging to a specific lineage, a specific Alpha. The history of his culture states that the stronger the bite, the stronger the connection to the lineages, and the higher the expected output of heirs. Such scars are badges of honor, proving a connection to a powerful line.
For Mydei himself, the tradition is too powerful to resist. His biting kink is the respect for the culture of his homeland, the tribute to his ancestors, the visceral expression of his territoriality. Each new bruise, each fresh break in the skin, is a testament to his renewed claim, his victory over any lingering doubt that you might one day escape their control.
This evening, when Mydei finally bullied another creamy load right into your awaiting womb, he collapsed between you and Phainon, and his heavy head fell to the exposed side of your throat, his jaw stretching in a predatory yawn. The tiny beads of sweat on your skin felt like salt in an open wound as his canines scraped against the overused flesh near your scent gland.
Your neck was already a grotesque tapestry, a geography of ownership – layered bruises of mottled red scars from Phainon’s frantic bites, and the softer ones – a dedicated presses of Mydei’s canines.
His teeth never hesitated, even if his mind did sometimes. His fangs sank in hard enough to break the surface, sending a sting of hot pain that was so intense it tore a desperate whimper from your throat. The raw pain, however, was quickly washed over by the immense relief of his pleased pheromones flooding your senses, dulling your reality into a black nothingness.
Mine. Safe. Ours.
Beads of deep crimson blood welled up, mixing with the sweat and your own slick scent. Mydei licked them clean with a swipe of his tongue before he settled down for the night. His cock, creamy with Phainon’s previous load that he fucked deeper into you, his own thick cum, and your natural slick, rested on his meaty thigh, tiny beads of his Jacob's ladder glimmering on the softening shaft.
Mydeimos, still panting, bared his own neck, the flesh thick and muscled, waiting for the familiar sting. And it always came, because Phainon had taught you with terrifying efficacy what would happen if you disobeyed. Obedient as usual, you weakly sank your teeth into Mydei’s neck to prove your subjugation and secure a momentary peace. Phainon, eyes never leaving your marked throat, joined you, sinking his own fangs deep into Mydei’s skin on the other side, completing the pack bond.
“Good mates, so good…” the blond purred through his paling lips, bleeding on the pillow contentedly.
Bodyhair Fetish
Now then, by this paragraph, you should understand that Tempest!Mydeimos is a man consumed by nature's laws. For him, body hair is the ultimate signal of this primal state, a visible flag of your inherent animalism. So, no razors, no waxes, no creams (for you, at least. They need razors to shave their facial hair like the two faced bastards they are).
The clean, pre-packaged aesthetic of modern life holds no appeal for him. Instead, he loves the musky aroma that clings to the soft pubes between your legs, as it’s a visible extension of your scent gland, a flag of your reshaped nature. The soft, wiry chaos of the unkempt strands meant that your body is fully surrendering to its purpose.
What do you mean it's scratchy and uncomfortable? His ancestors have been living like this for centuries! Stop trying to deny your own biology and comply, as a good Omega must.
Buckle up (and say goodbye to the last bits of your bodily autonomy), because your opinion doesn't matter. This is the disgusting truth of your new existence, where your own flesh betrays you simply by growing hairs that Mydei find so appealing.
The morning after a particularly rough night was his favorite time for the ritual. Your opening was still raw and tender from the harsh double filling, swollen folds still holding the mingled musk of his and Phainon’s seed. Mydei, delighted by yet another successful mating, licked and kissed your filthy pussy, his mouth working its way down the swollen folds, occasionally darting deep into the slick entrance of your cunt, tasting the remnants of last night’s filling. The disorder, the smell, the sensation of your pubes tickling his cheeks, lips, and tongue, the necessity of working through the mess, heightened his own arousal to an almost unbearable degree. It was messy, it was dirty, it was beautifully uncivilized, and it was yours, which made it undeniably his.
"You still taste of us," he mumbled against your clit, his tongue working around the swollen pearl, the praise low and continuous. "I love it."
The rhythmic pressure quickly pushed you past the point of intellectual resistance. You were whimpering and arching against his face, wailing like a trapped animal.
"Perfect, love," he sighed, his chest rumbling against your thigh. "You smell like a good Omega should. You smell like a pack."
Even Phainon, red as a tomato, submitted to this primal routine as a show of shared allegiance to Mydei's primal demand. Our Golden Boy’s light-colored body hair was coarse and plentiful, and Mydei occasionally required the same ritual of burying his face in his pale curls, seeking the same confirmation of primal biology.
This often happened late at night, after you had finally succumbed to exhaustion and passed out after another too-harsh round of lovemaking. After pleasuring you, Mydei slid over to Phainon, cupping the other Alpha's flaccid cock. Phainon, ever the horny one, was instantly hard, his knotted shaft springing up like a weapon, weeping on his abs and demanding attention again. Mydei dropped his head, taking the demanding length into his mouth. The air in the room grew thick with two competing scents, Mydei’s aged leather battling Phainon’s obsessive ash.
"You’re just delaying the inevitable," Phainon rasped, his voice tight with lust, clutching Mydei’s hair. "She’ll be screaming for my knot again in an hour. You know she needs it."
Mydei paused his rhythmic sucking, pulling back only far enough to speak, his eyes dark, lips brushing the weeping tip of his mate. "She is already full of us both, Phai. Be content with this for now and let me enjoy you."
With these words, he gulped down the rigid shaft, making the other choke on his lustful pleas.
Pregnancy Fetish
Okay, now it is time to talk a little bit more about the Castrum Kremnos traditions, which influenced Mydei’s world views greatly. The core of Mydei’s being, rooted in the traditionalist culture of Castrum Kremnos, is the family structure. The society that he was born into is the backbone of Amorpheus’s military. In the past, it actively prized strength and required constant and mass-scale reproduction to replace the fallen soldiers.
So yeah, it's only natural that the Cult of War and Battle is as sacred as the Cult of Motherhood and Fertility. A pregnant body is not merely admired; it is revered as the ideal form, a living blessing from the gods, the most potent state one could achieve. The emphasis on fitness and procreation elevated the fertile Kremnoans to a semi-divine status. And nowadays, even in a peaceful world, his people still preserve this side of the Kremnoan culture.
Mydei had grown up in the shadow of this ideal. His own parents, two Betas who miraculously birthed an Alpha, were anomalies whose single-child family had left him yearning. Experiencing the uncanny loneliness of childhood, Mydei had vowed that his own family would be vast, a minimum of six children, a fortress of his lineage. He was genuinely overjoyed that both he and Phainon contributed to your pregnancies, seeing it as the ultimate expression of the reverent feeling they harboured for you.
Therefore, this Kremnoan here is obsessed with your evolving body: the way your skin stretches taut and then softly collapses into the aftermath, the tired curve of your aching back, and, most of all, your full breasts, heavy and engorged with milk for your pups. You glow, a Juno of their own design, the living embodiment of Kremnoan strength.
The moment the very first pregnancy test showed two lines, confirming Alcander's conception, Mydei’s libido became a continuous need, sustained even after your first was born. Blonde’s hands were a constant presence, either resting on the baby bump or cupping your leaking breasts.
He constantly spoke to the babies, his baritone rumbling against your stretched skin.
“Alcander, my little pup,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you in the dim lights of the dining room, his lips pressed to your navel. “Your fathers are waiting. Your mother is taking such good care of you. We love you. Grow beautiful and strong for us, okay?”
Mydei was meticulous in performing his duties as the caring partner. It was a rigorous ritual of self-justification, his way of proving he was a good Alpha, a devoted family man, even as he kept you imprisoned.
However, Mydei was still an empathetic man, even after what he’s done to you.
That’s why, maybe, juuust maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, some alarm was going off.
The look of distress on your face appeared too often, and the sounds that you made sounded too much like suppressed grief.
Well, too bad that Mydei was not only empathetic, but dedicated as well. That actually helped him convince himself and silence the inner sirens.
Not paying attention to your distressed, bitter smell, he would kneel to tie your shoes, his massive hands carefully lacing the fabric. After the short walk in the garden (only in his or Phainon’s presence, not more than 30 minutes a day), he would sit for hours, kneading your swollen feet, massaging the cramps and aches from your body. Mydei would even help you with the painful ritual of milk expression, his large warm hands gently massaging your full breasts, squeezing the viscous liquid into the small pump, ensuring the continuity of the Omega function.
And for you, my dear, that cognitive dissonance would be agonizing.
One late night, you lay in the massive nest, sandwiched between Phainon’s restless heat and Mydei’s solid presence. Your rounded belly, unbelievably heavy and swollen with ‘Candder, pressed into Mydei’s taut abs. In his sleep, your mate arched his back, curling protectively over your front, with his hand splayed over your belly.
As Mydei’s thumb sleepily rubbed a soothing circles over your skin, your mind betrayed you.
Maybe…
In another life, in another world, without the madness, the possessiveness, the compulsion…
Mydei could have been a perfect partner.
He could have been a wonderful husband and a truly marvelous father.
He could have been so lovable…
The thought was instantly followed by a fresh flood of tears. It was the crushing weight of what could have been colliding with the brutal reality of what is.
The deep bruises on your hips, the layered bite marks on your neck, the memory of turning – all of it reminded you of your gilded cage. You quickly bit the edge of the pillow, muffling your sobs, terrified that your tears might wake the two monsters on either side of you. The last thing you needed was for them to mistake your grief for a need for "comfort," which always ended in another agonizing session.
Period Sex
The menstrual cycle, when it arrives (rarely, as you can probably guess), brings with it a sense of failure for Mydeimos. He doesn’t see the blood as a simple biological process, a natural rhythm of the body. He sees it as a stark confirmation that they both failed. He and Phainon failed to seize the opportunity, failed to place another child in your womb, failed to fulfill their sacred duty. He, the Alpha of the house, failed his beloved mates.
This sense of crushing guilt manifests as a strange sense of bloodlust, rooted deep in his core. It is a primal arousal Mydei can’t explain, yet rationalizes instantly. He justifies it as an apology, a necessary treatment, a form of personal penance. He firmly believes that the physical pleasure of intense sex helps to alleviate period cramps. So, if he failed in breeding you, he can at least try to help you live through these vulnerable times. It is his duty, his perverse act of care for his suffering mate.
Mydeimos would find you curled up in your massive nest, pale and aching, the metallic scent of fresh blood reaching his keen nose even from the doorway. He paused there, letting the copper odor seep into him, inhaling deeply, like a starved animal finding its fill. He wasn’t disgusted, not in the slightest. He was content like a satiated lion in the sun, because you smelled like a pack and a prey all at once – like the poisoning addition stripped bare just of him.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured, his voice deep and heavy with misplaced responsibility, even as his eyes glittered with an unsettling excitement. “We will fix this. Let me help you, yeah?”
Your resistance, your soft tears, shy protests of embarrassment and pain, meant nothing. Mydei had long ago convinced himself that his actions were for your benefit, that his care and touch were curative. Your quiet pleas were merely the confused sounds of a pet refusing medicine.
He moved to the bed. His large hands immediately pressed down onto your aching abdomen, firm and unrelenting, as if trying to massage your womb into compliance. The pressure was intense and jarring against your cramps. The sight of the fresh blood soaking the makeshift cloth between your legs, the scent of the coppery mess, sent a jolt of something dark and ancient through his core, a memory of the hunt, of the feast, of dominance.
Mydei was on you in a second, a blur of motion, lowering his head between your trembling thighs. You cried out in pain and terror, the sound muffled by the pillow. He didn’t stop. He buried his face in the bloody folds, his breath hot and humid against your sticky flesh. His tongue immediately went to work, lapping at the crimson mess, consuming it with an obscene pleasure.
You, poor, desperate thing, tried to object, whimpering and sobbing, threading your fingers through his blond hair to push his head away. The feeling of his mouth there, the hot, wet suction on your bleeding flesh, the metallic tang filling the air above you, made bile rise in your throat. You wanted to vomit when he feasted on you.
“P-please stop,” you begged desperately, the words barely a whisper, your voice choked with tears. “It hurts, Mydei, I feel sick.”
Driven by his singular arousal and the potent taste of your life fluid, Mydeimos only deepened the pressure of his mouth. He sucked your clit into the hot cavern of his mouth, trying to elicit a needed response, a gush of more taste.
“This will help, my love,” he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure and his twisted self-justification. “You’ll feel better in a moment, I promise.”
“N-no, no, stop,” you buckled your hips instinctively, trying to escape the pain and the sheer revulsion. Tears now flowed freely down your temples, pooling on the pillow. It was too painful, too disgusting, too violating. And when you tried to buck away, he answered with two thick fingers plunging deep into your hurting core. Mydei used the blood and the natural slick as lubrication, pulling them out nice and glistening. He was focused solely on the taste and the texture: the iron tang of the blood, the thicker, sweeter slick of your arousal, the soft, fleshy folds of your lips against his mouth.
“Stop this,” he growled when you bucked again, trying to save the last bits of your tarnished dignity. As a measure of punishment, his teeth scraped against your clit. Mydei worked his tongue deep inside your hole, tasting the concentrated mess in your channel, pushing past the clot and mucus until his chin was damp with the runoff.
This was one of the few moments when he did not care about your pleasure at all, only for his own overwhelming need. The blood from the womb was the only blood that wasn't forged by violence, and maybe that's why it was the tastiest.
Or maybe just because it was yours.
Mydei kept you trapped, forcing you to grind and buckle against his face until your body betrayed you. You finally stopped thrashing, arching, and exploding with a nauseous orgasm against his lips, too exhausted and disgusted to continue the fight.
Finally, when Mydei licked the obscene remains, he pulled back. He hovered above you, his massive, muscled body taut, his face stained crimson in your blood. He looked like a primordial predator who had just finished his kill. The sight was terrifying, but the hollowness in your chest cavity suggested nothing at the sight. He licked his lips clean, slowly, deliberately, a low, satisfied snarl rumbling in his chest, his eyes fixed not on the bloody mess below, but on your miserable face.
And God forbid Mydeimos looked down between your legs and saw the rawness of your folds, the deep red stain on the bedding, the swelling of your flesh. He would see the raw tenderness of your flesh and told himself with a renewed surge of delusion that his fingers and tongue hadn’t gone deep enough.
“Do not worry, love. Phainon and I will work harder. We will ensure this never happens again. All these problems, all this pain, are solvable,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your forehead with a blondied finger. His touch left a smear of crimson on your skin, a horrifying alpha mark.
And then, with a final, obscene justification, he settled his rock-hard cock over your bleeding cunt, using the slickness to guide his way. The mix of warm blood and spit was the perfect lubricant for him. One rough, thrust, and Mydei bried himself in your bleeding womb.
“Now,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost devotional, “Let me give your womb a couple of soothing kisses. Just to make sure those cramps are truly gone, yeah?
Hello, my loves!
It's been quite a while, isnt it?
To be honest, November hit my mental health incredibly hard, and my physical health suffered as a result. I realized I had to step back and take a break. Trying to balance 3 jobs, uni, and writing a couple of fics at once completely overwhelmed me. I was always tired, easily irritated, and had zero focus. So, any attempt to write in that state ended up being la garbage~.
(The one exception is that Ratio/Reader/Aventurine piece from the Tempestverse. It's dark because it was written during a low point, but I'm still proud of it haha) Regarding this piece, I hope you enjoy it. It's still a little rough around the edges and maybe not my best, but please be patient with me. Shaking off this unexpected state of mine is much harder than I anticipated.
You are free to send me any thoughts on this verse any time (yes, even tho my requests are closed, this series is an exception). Tumblr or AO3. However, I kindly request that you check my rules first.
I also have several other ideas and I wanted to hear your opinions on what i should post next in this verse:
What to post next (Tempestverse)?
Ratio/Reader/Aventurine (1st part).
What if our reader was more bold and stubborn? (Bratty!Beta!Reader route)
Phainon's kinks
Stellaron hunters…
Gallagher
Other suggestions (send a request or just comment this post c: )