Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4152669.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan, Norse_Religion_&_Lore
  Relationship:
      Jean_Kirstein/Loki
  Character:
      Jean_Kirstein, Loki_(Norse_Religion_&_Lore), Sleipnir_(Norse_Religion_&
      Lore), Ymir_(Shingeki_no_Kyojin), Keith_Shadis
  Additional Tags:
      Animal_Transformation, Mating, horse_sex, Magic, Implied_Mpreg, Gods,
      Mythical_Beings_&_Creatures, Canon_Era, Crack, Bittersweet_Ending
  Collections:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_Kink_Meme_Fills
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-17 Words: 4262
****** Magnificent Stallion ******
by Island_of_Reil
Summary
     “You are, my young friend, an absolutely magnificent stallion. And
     you are destined to sire the Best of All Horses, the Steed of the
     All-Father, upon me.”
Notes
     Kinkmeme_prompt. I had to rewrite it a bit after looking up the
     gestation period of horses.
Early spring 854
After almost two years of training, Jean didn’t have very much modesty left. In
the year gone by, he’d started thinking he didn’t have much to be modest about.
Unlike certain suicidal bastards he could name whom he’d caught more than once
glancing enviously at him in the showers.
Still, though, Mikasa was on the training grounds with him and the others. He
didn’t care if dumbass Sasha saw his junk, or, well, a girl like Ymir. But
something in him cringed at the thought of taking a leak in front of the most
beautiful girl in the 104th. Even if only because she might have kicked his ass
for it.
By the time he’d made it behind the big oak tree at the edge of the grounds, he
thought his bladder was going to explode. For the thousandth time he thanked
whatever gods there were that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the
straps were, whoever designed the uniform had at least made it easy to whip
your dick out of it. Jean got his in hand, aimed at a clump of weeds, and —
head tilted back, eyes closing in relief — drenched them thoroughly.
“A most enticing show,” a strange male voice said over the patter of the last
few drops.
Jean’s eyes opened again as he raised his head with a frown. He started to make
his usual snide remark about peeping toms, especially the kind who peeped on
teenage boys, but the words died in his open mouth.
The man standing off to Jean’s right wore a long green cape, much longer than
the ones the Survey Corps wore. His pants and boots were unremarkable if nice
enough. But his upper body was encased in a type of armor Jean had never seen
before. The interlocking metal pieces were green and gold, reminding Jean of
beetles. He had a long staff in his left hand with what looked like a big chunk
of blue glass at the top — that couldn’t be a jewel, could it?
The weirdest thing about the guy, though, was his helmet. It had long horns on
it that rose up to curve back in on themselves, like that one deer-like animal
in Armin’s heretical book.
“Greetings, Jean Kirschtein,” the man said.
“How do you know my name?” Jean demanded, the hairs on the back of his neck
starting to rise as he hastily tucked his dick away. Was this guy stalking him,
maybe hoping to kidnap him? Jean wasn’t exactly prime goods for slavers, but
there were perverts out there who liked all kinds of things. Could be this
weirdo was one of them.
The man smiled. He had brilliant blue eyes under black brows that, though
slender, were strong and expressive. Jean’s dick twitched a little. What could
he say, he was a sucker for blue eyes. Sometimes literally. That didn’t mean he
was going to go off into the bushes with some guy who’d probably gotten the
wrong directions to a costume ball in Sina, going by his outfit and his fancy
accent.
“I am privy to many sources of information that would surprise you,” the man
said, continuing to smile as he leaned against another tree. “I have been
keeping my eye on you for a while, Jean.”
Jean’s teeth ground together. “Fuckin’ creep,” he spat out from between them,
bracing his shoulders and clenching his fists.
The black brows lifted. “Oh, no,” the man said mildly. He opened both hands
completely, letting the staff fall to the ground. “Please, do not mistake me
for a common debaucher of youths. I mean you no harm. I would that you would
listen to what I have to say, as … unlikely as you may find it.”
Jean’s spine and shoulders remained taut, but he unclenched his jaw and fists.
It occurred to him that if this dude was just out for a piece of ass, he
probably wouldn’t have dressed up like that to go trolling for it. The armor,
maybe. Odd choice for getting someone into the sack, but he could see the
appeal. The horns… yeah, maybe some people popped wood over those, but Jean
kiiiiiinda doubted it was a common kink.
“Okay,” he said. “So. Who are you, why have you been ‘keeping an eye’ on me,
and what the fuck is up with your outfit, anyway?”
The man grinned. “My name is Loki Laufeyson. I am one of the Æsir — that which
you might call a ‘god.’ I am clad in royal vestments, as suits my rank. And I
have come from Asgard, the realm of my people, here to Midgard to make your
acquaintance — for you, as well as I, are burdened with glorious purpose.”
Jean frowned. “‘Midgard’? This is southwest Rose. I’ve never heard of a place
called ‘Midgard.’” Other than his name, it was the least ridiculous of the
things the guy — Loki — had just said. But maybe if Jean focused on that,
everything else might fall into place. Somehow.
“Midgard, Jean, is the realm of humans. There are nine realms, all in all. But
I did not seek you out to give you such lessons.”
“So,” Jean said. “Why did you, then?”
The blue eyes twinkled. “Because, Jean, you are destined to father my child.”
A few seconds of silence went by.
“Um,” said Jean.
Loki stood there with the same gentle, yet unnerving, smile on his lips. Jean’s
mouth worked a few times before he said, “You’re, uh, a guy.”
“Yes, and?” Loki asked, his expression unchanged.
“Well… I mean… two guys can’t make a baby. Unless, you know, uh…” Jean turned
red. “I mean, a really smart friend of mine says there are some guys with girl
parts and some girls with guy parts.” Jean really hated Loki for making him
come out with a dumb, awkward sentence like that. He didn’t even know why he
should feel awkward around some dude who’d come up to him out of the blue and
told him they were going to make a baby together. “But… there aren’t a lot of
them around. You don’t have, you know, girl parts, do you?”
Loki started to chuckle. “Well, Jean, I can have any ‘parts’ I choose to. But
the ‘parts’ I would assume in order to conceive our child would not be,
precisely speaking, ‘girl parts.’ They would be more aptly termed… ‘mare
parts.’”
Jean’s back went rigid again. With a snarl of “Fuck you, asshole,” he turned
around to begin the walk back to the training grounds — and banged into
something solid that didn’t appear to be there at all. He fell square on his
ass, his forehead and nose smarting.
“What the hell….?” he said dazedly.
“A simple force field,” Loki all but sang, sounding rather proud of himself.
“My apologies for the incipient bruises, but you do receive worse several times
a day in the course of your training.”
Jean rubbed his face, then craned his head around to glare at Loki. “So first
you make fun of me, then you stick an invisible wall in front of me so I can’t
walk away from you. You always this smooth when you’re trying to pick a guy
up?”
“Yes, of course, I prevented you from taking your leave,” Loki replied. “But
please believe me when I say I did not mock you. You are, my young friend, an
absolutely magnificent stallion. And you are destined to sire the Best of All
Horses, the Steed of the All-Father, upon me.”
Jean’s first impulse was to say that Loki was fucking crazy. But Loki had just
turned the air in front of Jean into a goddamn wall. So maybe it was Jean who
was fucking crazy. Maybe he’d wake up on the ground in a few minutes to Shadis
slapping his face and telling Reiner to carry Jean’s feverish ass to the
infirmary.
Or maybe this Loki Laufeyson guy was telling the truth.
“All right,” Jean said. Not that he was agreeing to any of this yet. Okay, Loki
was kind of hot. He’d probably be even hotter if he took that dumbfuck helmet
off. But… he was going to turn into a mare? And Jean was supposed to fuck him
in that form? That… really wasn’t a turn-on. It wasn’t like Jean never had any
perverted thoughts, he had them all the time, but banging a horse wasn’t one of
them. He stood up, brushed the dirt and grass off his pants, and said, “So, uh.
How is this supposed to happen?”
Loki’s smile broadened. Jean thought for a minute he could fall right into that
smile and never come up.
And then Loki raised his right hand.
Jean gaped. He hadn’t even blinked, but standing before him now was not Loki.
It was a mare with a blindingly white coat and a long mane as black and silky
as Mikasa’s hair, her right foreleg lifted in the air. She looked at him with
the same blue eyes that Loki had, and, he’d swear, she fucking winked at him.
And then she turned tail and ran, and—
—Jean’s bones began to stretch under his skin, the muscles following to sheathe
them. His skin, suddenly bare to the cooling breeze, began to thicken. The toes
of each foot merged into one hard mass, leather no longer encasing them; his
fingers too melded together to become harder than any fist. New hair seemed to
erupt from his shorn nape as his neck itself stretched and rose. The bones of
his face shifted and narrowed, his nose elongating, his eyes suddenly able to
sweep the landscape nearly all the way around his body—
—and then the stallion was running after the mare, head lowered, all hooves
pounding hard against the dirt and grass, the wind whipping through his mane.
The sway of her haunches, the twitch of her tail, the scent of her heat carried
back to him on the wind, all these made the pipe-like length of his sexual
organ stiffen beneath him.
How far they ran, he had no idea; measurement was a notion of men, not beasts.
But they left the structures of humans far behind them, racing across open
fields and into a forest redolent of pine and of fallen greenery being folded
back into the earth. She crashed through thickets and shrubs, the thorns
glancing off her coat. His hooves shredded them anew in his pursuit of her; the
brambles caught and tore at his skin, but he paid them no mind.
She stopped in a clearing, the deadfall hissing under her hooves as she skid to
a stop. Her flanks heaved, and he could see her nostrils flaring with his
scent. White showed all around the unhorselike blue of the eye that faced him.
Holding his gaze, she slowly and deliberately lifted her silken black tail,
displaying the engorged, winking heart of her sex as a stream of urine gushed
forth from it.
His lips flared over his teeth as he raised his muzzle, his rampant organ
bumping against his underside. And then he was upon her with a triumphant
neigh, scrambling to his hind legs and throwing his forelegs astride her flanks
as she switched her tail to the left. His rear hooves danced in the molding
leaves and twigs until the tip of his sex found purchase just within her
opening. Anchored, he thrust and thrust. The sinews of his groin and thighs
strained, and his thorn-scratched skin fluttered over his full-sprung ribs as
he rested them against her hips. Once, twice, she shifted beneath him to
accommodate his weight, but otherwise she stood acquiescent to receive him.
Within moments his thrusts grew short and stuttery, and then he peaked,
releasing an endless stream of seed into the white mare. Whickering softly, he
gave her mane one last nuzzle before he dropped to the forest floor behind her,
hooves regaining their purchase in the shifting deadfall. She turned her head
to the side once more, and the lid fell and rose just once over the strangely
blue eye—
*
“Cadet Kirschtein!”
Jean groaned and rolled over onto his side, but powerful hands grabbed his
shoulders and pulled him upward to make him sit on the ground.
“What the hell’s going on with you, cadet?” the commander bellowed in his face,
sounding and looking fractionally less furious and more concerned than he
usually did. Jean cringed. Goddamn, Shadis’s breath was nasty.
“Whatever it is, it’s something fun,” Jean heard Connie say from a short
distance away. “Look at the front of his pants.” A wave of titters rose around
Jean and Shadis. Jean pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them hard,
lowering his reddened, scowling face over them.
“Cadet Braun!” Shadis yelled. “Help him to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine, sir,” Jean muttered, standing up and turning around fast.
“You sure, man?” Reiner asked, looking concerned, a little grossed out, and a
little embarrassed at being grossed out.
“Yeah, I’m sure, thanks,” Jean said. He began to walk back to the barracks,
grimacing at how sticky his pants felt. Not the ordinary come-in-your-pants
kind of stickiness, but like someone had hosed the entire front of them down
with—
Then he remembered. And stopped short just a few meters away from where he’d
stood up.
“Cadet Kirschtein!” Shadis hollered again. “Get your ass to the infirmary.
Walk, be carried, I don’t care which.”
“I— I’m okay, Commander,” Jean stammered, feet frozen to the ground.
“Then get your ass back to the barracks, change your pants, and get back here
immediately,” Shadis snapped.
“Maybe you should get looked at, Jean,” Marco said with concern. “You were
unconscious when we found you, not just asleep. On the ground.”
Jean closed his eyes and sent up silent a prayer of thanks that Marco didn’t
mention … the other thing. “Yeah,” he said. Maybe Loki had drugged him somehow,
then ... Jean didn’t want to think about the part after the “then.” Or maybe
... that shit actually happened, and who the hell knew what it could’ve done to
his body. His human body.
“Yeah, Marco, you’re right,” he said. “I’ll go to the infirmary, Commander.”
“Did you, uh, want a hand?” Reiner asked tentatively. Connie snickered.
“No,” Jean all but snarled. Unfortunately the infirmary was in the opposite
direction from the barracks so he had to turn around again. Hunched over, arms
crossed over his groin, he stumbled back across the spot where he’d been found,
the giggling all around him making his ears burn.
The medics on duty at the infirmary didn’t laugh at him. One of them looked at
him suspiciously, while the other seemed extremely concerned, almost alarmed.
Somehow, Jean thought, both those reactions were worse than getting laughed at.
He hadn’t been drugged and sexually assaulted… right? But he hadn’t been in the
stables jerking off the horses, either, which is what he’d have sworn the first
medic was thinking. He let them take his vitals, feel his neck glands, listen
to his chest, and examine his junk. He obediently pissed in a glass flask so
they could examine it. He curtly declined to give a blood sample, which they
didn’t press him for. And then he trudged back to the barracks, the front of
his pants feeling like they’d been double-starched by now, to shower and
change.
To Jean’s vast relief, that was pretty much the end of the story. Well, except
for some snide remarks from Daz and Connie, but after he threw Daz into a
trashcan and ripped Connie’s underwear in half giving him a wedgie, that shit
stopped. Even Eren didn’t say anything about it, although Jean kinda wished he
would have. You can’t really punch someone in the face for giving you
embarrassed, awkward looks for weeks.
Mikasa, for her part, acted like the entire thing had never happened. She
really deserved better than Eren Jaeger, Jean thought for the eight thousandth
time since having met her.
 
Early spring 855
“Military Police, here we come!” Jean whooped, banging his mug into Marco’s and
sloshing ale over his own hand. Marco, with a grin, upended his own mug.
Jean followed suit, ignoring the scowl from Eren at the table kitty-corner to
theirs. If that suicidal bastard wanted to be titan fodder, that was his
business. Too bad he’d be taking the hottest and strongest girl in the 104th
down with him. But, even if she was a lot more level-headed than Eren (which
admittedly wasn’t saying much), Jean had learned over the last three years that
you couldn’t tell Mikasa anything, either.
He wasn’t going to let any of that ruin his and Marco’s night out on the town.
Graduation was only a month and a half away, and then they were in for nice,
cushy, and — most importantly — safe jobs with the MPs for life.
A few minutes later, the barmaid came back to their table. “Hey, Jean, honey.
There’s a fella at the back door wants to talk to you.”
Jean put down his mug with a frown. Who’d be looking for him here on a party
night, besides maybe his mom, and as far as she knew her little Jean-bo never
touched ale or vine anyway? “Know who it is?” he asked the barmaid.
She shook her head. “No, never seen him before. He’s got this funny accent,
kinda like Sina but not quite. Nice-lookin’ fella, dark hair, bright blue eyes.
And he’s carrying some kind of bundle.”
A stab of cold went through Jean. “Um. Okay,” he said, pushing his chair back
and standing up.
“Who’d you piss off this time, Jean?” Connie called out from the table behind
Jean and Marco’s.
“Your mom, for dumping her after she sucked me off,” Jean snapped, earning a
burst of jeering laughter from a dozen other soldiers and Connie chucking a
handful of sawdust at his back. He didn’t look at any of them as he followed
the barmaid out into the rear hallway of the tavern, ducking other barmaids and
a busboy, and to the back entrance.
“Many thanks, my sweet,” Loki Laufeyson said to the barmaid from the other side
of the door.
“Sure thing, honey,” she replied, turning back toward the serving hall. Jean,
his heart pounding, stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
Loki wasn’t wearing his armor, helmet, or cape, just a tunic that, like his
pants and boots, was plain but obviously well made. He didn’t have his staff
with him. His long black hair was tied back in a queue. And, like the barmaid
said, he held a bundle in his arms, one that was large and strangely shaped and
covered with a lightweight blanket.
“What are you doing here?” Jean hissed.
Loki smiled, which made the skin around his eyes crinkle, which did things to
Jean’s groin. “I thought you might want, just once, to see your child. Our
child.”
You are destined to sire the Best of All Horses, the Steed of the All-Father,
upon me.
Jean’s throat tightened. So he was now the father of a goddamn horse. On the
other hand, he’d heard that parents almost always loved their kids from the
first moment they looked at them. Just once? Was he gonna fall in love with the
… foal, then mope for the rest of the night and for days, maybe even years,
because he’d never see it again?
But if he decided not to see it, would he regret it for the rest of his life?
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” he said, his voice rough.
Loki slowly drew back the blanket several centimeters. The little silver-grey
face beneath it had an amber eye on either side of its long, pointy-noised
head. The fluffy bit of mane that Jean could see was black.
“Jean, meet Sleipnir,” Loki said.
An odd warmth began to spread in Jean’s chest. He reached out tentatively, and
Sleipnir nuzzled his hand.
“Here,” Loki said, and a peeled chestnut suddenly appeared between Jean’s
fingertips. Refusing to think too hard about that, he offered it to the foal,
who began to nibble it delicately.
“He’s… it’s a colt, right?” Jean asked. Loki nodded. “He’s pretty.”
“That’s not all he is, Jean,” Loki said, and drew the blanket the rest of the
way off Sleipnir.
“Um,” Jean said quietly. “Is that, like, a birth defect or something?”
Loki laughed softly, a rich, velvety sound that did more things to Jean’s
groin. “No, my magnificent young friend,” he said. “To be born with eight legs
is the mark of a sacred horse, one better than any other. When Sleipnir is
full-grown, he shall stand taller than any other horse and have teeth that
runes shall be cut on. He shall be able to ride for days and nights without
sleep, fly through the air, and journey to all the realms. As I have told you,
he shall be a most fitting steed for my foster-father Odin, the All-Father.”
“Wow,” Jean said. His throat felt tight again. “So… you said ‘just once.’
Meaning, I’ll never see him again. Right?”
Loki suddenly looked very sad. “No, Jean. I fear that cannot be.”
Shit, why were Jean’s eyes starting to burn? “Will you tell… I mean, is there
any way to tell him about me? His dad?”
Loki smiled again. “Not in human words, Jean. But… he will know. I promise you
that much. And I promise you more than that: as his honored sire, you shall
have me and the All-Father keeping watch on you in battle, that you have the
chance to grow into a fine warrior and a finer man. Someday, many years hence,
we will all share a drink together in the Hall of the Fallen.”
Jean nodded. He didn’t feel able to get words out right at the moment. He
reached out again and ruffled Sleipnir’s baby-mane, then stroked the colt’s
pale face. Sleipnir whuffled happily against his palm.
“And now we must depart,” Loki said softly, a world of sadness in his rich
voice.
“Goodbye,” Jean whispered, withdrawing his hand.
“Farewell, Jean Kirschtein,” Loki murmured.
Jean closed his eyes briefly to hold back the tears. When he opened them again,
Loki and Sleipnir were gone.
“You know him?” a low voice came from behind him. Jean spun around hard to face
a narrow-eyed Ymir.
“Huh?” he croaked, her question jolting him out of his melancholy. “What are
you doing out here?”
“I went to the outhouses for a piss and heard voices over here when I was
walking back. Recognized both of them. So: Loki Laufeyson. Where’d you meet
him, anyway?” she demanded.
Jean stared blankly at her for a few seconds, then glared back. “What the fuck
business of it is yours? And where do you know him from?”
Ymir’s mouth flattened. “Long story,” she said.
“Yeah, I bet it is,” Jean muttered, passing a hand over his face.
“But yeah, you’re right, it’s not my business,” Ymir said. “So all I’ll tell
you, Jean, is to be careful around him. He’s… not a good person, no matter how
you slice it.”
Something cold knotted in Jean’s gut. “Really?” he asked woodenly.
“Yeah.” Ymir shook her head. “I can’t really tell you about it, but yeah.”
“When you say ‘not a good person’…” Jean swallowed. “Is he someone who’d harm
kids? Like, his own kids?”
Ymir's face went blank, unreadable. A few seconds later she carefully said,
“Dude wouldn’t hesitate to kill other people’s kids. His own? Nah, I don’t
think so. Other people haven’t been all that good to them, but, I gotta say,
some of it was deserved. And, generally speaking, any kid of Loki’s can more
than fend for themselves.”
“Okay,” Jean said, feeling the icy knot loosen somewhat. He leaned against the
outside wall and closed his eyes again with a sigh.
“Are you all right?” Ymir asked. When Jean opened his eyes again, she seemed
genuinely concerned, a look he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on her before.
“Yeah. Yeah… I’ll be fine,” Jean said. “Sounds like I’m not gonna see him ever
again, anyway. At least not… not in my lifetime.”
After a few seconds, Ymir said, “You can probably guess, but I overheard about
the horse.”
Jean’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You better not fucking tell anyone.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I totally want to spend the rest of my life in the insane
asylum in Mitras. If they didn’t just toss me over Wall Rose instead. Who’s
gonna believe that shit? I mean, other than you and me.”
Jean sighed again, loud and deep. This night had started out so well. And… it
was still well, he guessed. He had a … a son who’d do awesome things someday,
and he had gods looking out for him. But it was a much different night than it
had been just half an hour ago. Not as much fun. Kind of serious and sad.
“I need a drink,” he said to Ymir, to himself, and to the back alley in
general. “A lot of drinks, with a lot of booze in them.”
“That’s a great idea,” Ymir said, hooking her arm in his. “You and Marco can
come sit with me and Krista. We’ll all get totally shitfaced, and then we’ll
split a coach four ways back to the barracks.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jean muttered, letting her lead him back in through the
rear door of the tavern.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!