Main Content
Archive of Our Own betaArchive of Our OwnLog In
FandomsBrowseSearchAboutWork Search
tip: katekyou "alternate universe" sort:>words
Skip header
Actions
Comments Share Download
Work Header
Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Relationship:
Griffith | Femto/Guts (Berserk)
Characters:
Griffith | Femto (Berserk)Guts (Berserk)Various Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Background Relationshipsmagically acquired pussyboy pussyMpregCreampieMultiple OrgasmsRidiculousVaginal SexMildly Dubious ConsentCockslut Griffithcasca needs a raiseBAMF CascaPeriodsas in vaginal sheddingnot during the sex thoughInspired by FanartBlood and Gore
Language:
English
Series:
← Previous Work Part 3 of Get Your Wings
Stats:
Published:2024-12-10Words:3,476Chapters:1/1Comments:2Kudos:14Bookmarks:1Hits:244
Make Your Own Kind of Music
UnusualIndigo
Summary:
Griffith is still angry with Guts after the night they spent together. New developments deepen the anger. How much is it going to take to get through that thick skull?!
Notes:
1st dream sequence inspiration: https://www.tumblr.com/cringefighter/769209935498182656/christmas-eggnog-griffy?source=share + https://www.tumblr.com/hawkwatch/724588021673033728/he-asked-for-a-bit-of-cream-and-he-got-it
2nd dream sequence inspiration: https://bsky.app/profile/dereksunny.bsky.social/post/3lcqoojwr5k25
Actual sex scene inspiration: https://www.tumblr.com/thefelixfellow/769162753778876416/griffiths-favorite-pet?source=share + https://www.tumblr.com/thefelixfellow/769350230019850240/thats-my-good-boy?source=share
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Work Text:
"Oh Guts, can I get some more cream for my tea, please?"
Griffith raises his cup, a gold-rimmed, white porcelain little thing, with painted pink peonies winding around the curve, above an elegant, similarly furnished saucer, a pleasant smile on his bowed lips.
The sun is high, but pleasantly dimmed by the clouds as Guts takes his fat, ridiculous cock in hand, the thick, musty curls at his base full of sweat from where he's been practicing his sword swings near the window.
As Guts works with quick, barbaric pumps along veins and glistening skin, the dark mushroom head already beads with promise. Griffith thanks his good sense to tie his white curls back into a thick waterfall of a tail down his back.
His doublet, a plum affair trimmed with pink lace, is loose and airy enough for his body to shudder as he shifts in his seat, his cock strangely not hard, despite the more than generous offering before him.
Why, if he were to lean forward just a bit, he could take Guts into his throat, just where he wants to. The taste promises to be delightful, the feel and weight of it all succulent. Why shouldn't he?
Well, it would be rather rude to slurp directly from the pitcher, for one, Griffith thinks as he gives an oddly banal looking woman a smile.
It's really quite disturbing, why, she almost looked as if she had no face at all!
Griffith is thankful for Guts' sounding bell, like a wounded animal, his seed splattering into the cup, upon the saucer, and even upon Griffith's left cheekbone, with a small dab landing near his lips.
Griffith sighs, a peaceful expression painting his features in the reflection of the thick seed mixing with the fine, steaming liquid. He sips. "...Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome." Guts' face is warping, the world turning on its axis as loud explosions rock all around them, piercing light filling the horizon. "Now get the hell up! Casca is gonna break the door down if you don't help me talk her down!"
Griffith always has hated waking up from a good dream. He hates talking to Casca with a Corkus who is somehow ashamed and arrogant all at once hovering nearby, hiding behind a crestfallen, rather heartbroken Locus, even more.
Griffith scowls as he stares down at himself from his perch upon the cliff. He'd taken flight as soon as he could, after a week spent doing damage control to compensate for Guts' brazen march and Corkus' loose lips, for which he'd sentenced the latter to refugee escort duty for the better part of the coming year.
His 'true form' is the same as ever, save one detail. His crotch feels sensitive, almost pained. As does his stomach. His cock had been strangely numb in the past few days and he could've sworn it was shrinking, somehow. Atop that, his stomach's been twisting everyday, feeling almost bloated, as if his insides are molding around an intrusion.
He'd written these symptoms off as his imagination at work, and dismissed them out of hand until he'd had time to settle down and think to himself. As his talons softly sift through his snow white plumage, he feels an encompassing sense of dread overtaking his usual keen logic.
His sharp talon catches slightly upon a clit amidst the feathers. He jolts, and the muscles of his newfound cunt contract on empty air in reflex, coming alive with the acknowledgment of their owner.
Griffith's indignant shriek will become local folklore for generations to come.
Guts is ignoring him. Guts. Is. Ignoring. Him.
Oh, the audacity of this man will never cease to cause wonder. Firstly, he tries to leave because he's too stubborn to see the obvious. Second, he waits for years to make a whore of Griffith when given the chance time and again. Third, he not only refused to use Griffith to satisfy his needs that night, but now ignores him almost entirely, like a scolded dog.
Griffith swirls his wine sullenly as he watches from the veranda. Guts is training the young ruffian he'd found out in the wilds in the years they were separated, Isidro, if memory serves.
The boy wants to be the greatest swordsman in the world. A good dream to follow. It's a shame that Griffith currently wants to rip his arms off and punt him off a cliff to prove a point.
He knows his anger is irrational, unfair, but Guts still won't look his way. After all the entreaties, the carefully arranged moments alone, the fucking stench of his wanting pussy, so apparent to himself and the apostles that Locus excuses himself when Guts is near.
Guts knows. Griffith's seen the way his nostrils flare when Griffith is in a mood.
Watching the man so carefully, for himself, at any rate, lead Isidro through his forms fills Griffith with a longing, an ache in his heart.
Falconia will need an heir, he supposes, so things have worked out well enough. Or rather, they would, if Guts would stop ignoring him .
Isidro glares when he thinks Guts isn't looking. Griffith stares back, eyes intently reading the boy. Isidro always shies away before he sees much. Brat.
Guts finally groans after catching Griffith's burning eyes, the glow of their white pupils and blue flames doing his patience in for today. He slams the Dragonslayer into the dirt, glaring at Griffith with actual annoyance, baring his teeth.
Griffith feels phantom feathers ruffling pleasantly under his skin. Guts is simply unfairly becoming when painted in the colors of rage and irritation. In another life, he'd rather enjoy tormenting him.
Instead, Griffith takes a steady sip of his wine, staring at Guts with a forced impassiveness.
Guts marches forth, and Griffith's pussy twinges at the approach, slick already dribbling onto the inside of his breeches.
Guts pauses at the support pillar, eyes growing hazy as his nostrils flare. He growls, "Griffith, what the hell are you wearing?"
Griffith tenses. No. Still? "Guts, I'm wearing the same thing I always do around the capital."
Guts snorts, "Not the clothes, the goddamn perfume . It's been giving a headache for weeks."
Griffith stares at him in barely shrouded disbelief. This man… How is he still so…? Ugh. Damn his tastes!
Griffith sighs, "Come closer and I'll tell you."
Guts looks reluctant, but snaps his face into Griffith's all the same, frustration getting the better of him, as it so often does.
Griffith glares in anger then, fully giving up the mask to make the words more impactful. He lowers his voice, so Isidro won't hear. He hisses nastily. "I'm not wearing a single spritz of perfume, Guts. What's 'giving you a headache' is your doing entirely."
Guts scoffs, glaring and slamming a hand next to Griffith's thigh. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"
Griffith glowers, and seizes the hand, dragging it with inhuman strength to rest atop his now dampening crotch.
Guts' face is priceless as Griffith forces the hand to feel its master's effects on his person.
Guts recoils as if Griffith severed a finger, and Griffith takes the opportunity to storm off, thoroughly vexed enough for one day. Guts doesn't even try to make him stay.
Casca scoffs as she stares at the pitiful wreck Griffith knows himself to be. He'd come to her once the pains started, knowing that Charlotte would've been entirely out of sorts trying to help him come to terms with his new aches and pains in a timely manner.
Casca's fought on the battlefield at the drop of a hat, only once needing help when her womanly pains overwhelmed her. Thinking of her alone with Guts before he slew one-hundred men is vexing, never mind the fact that when he'd rapped on her door it was to find her covered in bite marks from a stone-faced Judeau.
Griffith is fairly certain that if he hadn't dropped all pretenses as fast as he did to show Casca the sheer agony he was enduring to cause his intrusion, the performer would've made his life hell in future weeks.
Well, more hellish than Guts has, what with his continued attempts at 'fixing' Griffith's condition.
The stubborn fool who refuses to see the death grip he has on Griffith's heart and now bleeding loins is out on another mission with that witch, Schierke, to find this or that weed to try and sneak into Griffith's evening tea.
Casca groans through an explanation of all the things Griffith will need in order to stop ruining sheets and breeches, as well as some useful suggestions for what to do to numb the pains somewhat.
"I can't believe you two are still pulling this crap." She finishes with a grunt, shoving the pad up Griffith's pussy with all the grace of an underpaid midwife.
Griffith huffs, "I'm not pulling anything, Casca. It's Guts who won't stop toying with me."
Judeau sighs, "To be honest, Griffith, I think you're too subtle."
Both of the blood spattered warriors snap their heads to look at Judeau in disbelief as the juggler continues balancing a small wooden wand on his fingers.
Judeau stares back evenly. "Guts has always been wrestling around with what he feels. I wouldn't be surprised if all that herb hunting is because he thinks you're angry at the changes, rather than him not kissing you."
Griffith scoffs, "Judeau, I don't know how I can be any more brazen in my affections than I have been."
Casca grunts, "Yeah. Hate to say it, but if Guts can't come to terms with Griffith's confession, then—"
Griffith stills for but a moment.
Casca's hackles rise, her posture rigid as she slowly turns to regard him with a terrifyingly unreadable look. "...You did confess that night. Right, Griffith?"
Griffith sighs, "Well, there wasn't really a need to say—"
Casca's eyes almost glow as her teeth grind. "Out."
Griffith blanches, staring wide-eyed at Casca. "What?"
Casca raises a boot menacingly. "Out."
Griffith doesn't think he's run that fast since the hundred years war.
"Pfft! Ahaha! What's with that face?"
Griffith grins brightly as his consort, his beloved Guts, reclines on the bed, his cock hard and leaking like an eager wolf pup wagging its tail for its master.
Griffith's slick runs down his thighs from his trembling pussy, his wool-like bush encapsulating it between thigh and lip as he strides closer to their bed.
Taking a seat sideways upon the bed, hand gliding along Guts' cock, he murmurs, "Hello, Guts…"
Guts mouth opens, and from his love-struck lips comes Charlotte's voice. "Griffith, can you stop, please? My nightgown is soaked."
Griffith snaps awake, looking down to find his mound pressing in a humping motion into Charlotte's ass, the seat of her nightgown soaked clean through as she smiles awkwardly in the moonlight.
This is it. He has to take the step he never wanted to. He has to kill Guts.
Griffith glowers as Guts shoves a literal bouquet of weeds under his nose, his face disgruntled and not at all facing Griffith's own.
Guts grunts, waving the weeds, smacking brambles into Griffith's hair. "C'mon, take it! One of these damn things has to do something!"
Griffith takes a calming breath, concentrates, and then forces gravity inwards around Guts.
Guts cries out in surprise and outrage as his body levitates, forced into the approximation of a ball, which Griffith tugs along by the tattered cape like he's leading a particularly unruly mutt through the gardens.
Griffith sighs, "Charlotte, I trust you can hold the peace while I handle him?"
Charlotte, voice tinged with pure relief, chirps, "Of course, Griffith! I'll be sure to have some servants bring refreshments to your chambers in a few hours!"
Guts pauses his feeble struggling, muttering, "Your chambers…?" He glances at Griffith. "Griffith, what the hell? Did you- Aghk!"
Griffith really should feel bad for jamming Guts' mouth shut. Perhaps. Slightly.
Oh, who exactly does he think he's fooling? He's wanted to do that for years.
Griffith is careful to keep the Berserker armor intact, not particularly hard, do to it's innate resistance to his od, which is what allowed Guts to struggle at all.
Guts is glaring at him like a wounded animal, faint noises spilling past shut lips as Griffith carefully takes the codpiece off last, before tearing the meager loincloth away and pumping the stupidly big cock beneath with his power.
Guts' eyes blow wide open as Griffith casually tears every seam in his outfit, baring him in an instant as he splays Guts on the bed and brings his weeping pussy lips to grind upon the shaft of the still hardening cock, making sure each bounce catches his clit on the already gaping urethra of Guts.
Griffith stares Guts down, like a falcon eyes prey. "Guts. I want you. Have wanted you. For almost a decade."
Guts' eyebrows rise.
Griffith continues, "And the one night you grant me…" He brings his meaty lips up to grind down on Guts' cock-head, teasing them both. "You fail to give me your seed. To even bother to find release with myself as your tool." He engulfs the head. "Why is that?"
Griffith frees that loud mouth.
Guts roars, "What the actual hell, Griffith?!" He thrashes somewhat. Surprising, but gratifying. Guts has always been the strongest man Griffith has ever known. "With how you've been teasing me, I could pop at any moment! What happens if I knock you up, ha?!"
Griffith stares at Guts with all the pity he has left. None. "Then I will be very happy to carry our child." He swallows more cock. "Tell me, Guts. Why do you reject me? What do I lack?"
Guts stares at Griffith as if he's explaining that the sky is not, in fact, blue, and that Guts was supposed to be seeing shit brown when he looks up.
Guts almost looks hysterical. "Griffith, be serious! I really could just- Ugh!"
Griffith grinds his bush into Guts' thicket, sighing as the coarse hairs massage his aching clit, the meat of his lips engorged by the sheer girth of the cock they're pumping lazily. "Guts. Answer the question."
Guts cries out as Griffith grinds. "You don't lack anything- Shit, knock that off!"
Griffith stares at him impassively. "So I'm—"
Guts screams, "I'D BE A SHIT DAD!" Guts continues as Griffith stills. "Goddammit, Griffith! You know how Gambino treated me! I told you, I can't be a father!" He snaps his teeth, thrashing his head. "Why are you acting so stupid?! You need your cock back so you can be a good dad for your kid! For Charlotte's kid!"
Griffith's world is narrowing to numbness. Guts won't answer him. Even as Griffith is begging, giving of his body to get the keys to Guts' heart, Guts won't deign to even allow a hint. Is he… Truly…?
Tears flow down Griffith's cheeks, cutting Guts off.
Guts stares in dread. "G-Griffith? Hey…"
Griffith makes to rise, his hold on Guts releasing. "You're right. Why would I be the mother of your child? Why would you settle for—!"
Guts seizes Griffith's hips. "GRIFFITH! Snap out of it! You're not making any sense!" His voice is shaking, truly hysterical. "You're the one who'd be settling! Carrying some random asshole's kid!"
A slap echoes through the room as Guts' blood flies freely from his now torn lips.
Griffith's eyes blaze with a coldness Guts has never seen pointed at him. Ever.
Griffith hisses, "Guts. I want you ." Griffith leans forward, his od suffocating Guts as his anger crests. "I want you, have only ever wanted you. I did not ask to belong to you, but you went ahead and made me yours anyways." He smashes their foreheads together, drawing yet more blood. "And now that I act upon it, you call me a fool? Diminish my dream to revel in your own insecurities? Grow up ."
Guts stares at him with fear, amazement, and a third thing that Griffith knows he's imagining, as he's done countless times before this moment.
Guts doens't love him. Will never want him. He's just scared. He's—
Griffith pulls Guts into a kiss, closing his eyes in frustration even as he feels Guts' blood and sweat seep into his curls, flow down his cheeks as his eyes bulge comically.
In his frustration, his wings sprout, the illusion of humanity falling away. He's an apostle. A Hand of God. He's not the time or luxury of romance. He is hollowing out, his heart stilling. Perhaps finally, he can—
Guts rushes forth like a roaring geyser, splaying Griffith's legs wide, hooking his knees upon his elbows and pushing them to his pillowy, feathered chest.
Griffith pauses. His heart isn't stilling, it's beating faster than ever, his wings numb and comfortable, somehow, cushioned beneath his back.
Guts hasn't left him, cock nestled safely in his pussy, thicket of dark curls resting against the white of Griffith's plumage.
A flush comes to Griffith's cheeks, a fond look ripping across his tear-stained face. "Are you done ignoring me, Guts?"
Guts flushes, looking very aggrieved. "You could've just said that, ya know. Didn't have to bust me open."
Griffith scoffs, biting a hairy tit and drawing more blood, relishing Guts indignant roar. "Quiet. Sinners must repay their gods in blood, you know. It's only polite."
Guts rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. I'm… sorry. I should've just talked." Griffith's hum prompts a continuation. "But I still ain't dad material."
Griffith huffs, "Well, my mother left me in an alleyway as a child, so I'm not exactly equipped either. But you don't hear me whining about it."
Guts glares, growling through torn lips. Griffith grins with bloodstained teeth.
Whoever moves first, it doesn't matter. They're on the same path now.
Guts is pounding Griffith to an orgasm, pumping him even as he fills his womb, before dragging him through another, and another, and another, and yet still more.
Griffith is at once amazed and slightly horrified. Had Guts taken a Behelit when he wasn't looking?! No mortal man could— Oh. He's been taking the od Griffith is throwing at him to fuel the onslaught. Well…
That's embarrassing.
Guts growls into the remnants of Griffith's ear, bitten away along with much of his throat in the throes of their passion. Griffith's been returning the favor, if the naked, bloodied muscle beneath his fingers is any indication.
The room is awash in the smell of sex and gore, the bed and floor and walls slick with the remnants of both.
Guts groans, "These kids are gonna be a royal pain in the ass."
Griffith smiles, his expression calm. He's finally found peace. "Of course. You're their father, after all."
Guts throws him to the rags, pebbles, and splinters that remain of the bed and floor tiles. The dirt of the earth is