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Rumi steps into the human world as she approaches her glade.
As they do every Ostara, the local humans have filled the clearing with gifts: bunting and eggs and flowers that must have been growing in greenhouses all winter, for they stand as tall as Rumi and drift through the mortal colour spectrum. Pale imitations in comparison to the sparkling dewdrops and ever-shifting mothflowers that live in her realm, but, well. They’re doing their best. Humans are finicky creatures and Rumi isn’t about to risk offending their delicate sensibilities by attempting to reject a gift—not when the main course is so appetising.
In the centre of her glade, bracketed by four gigantic pillars, lies a flat stone table. On the stone table lies a man, and Rumi hears him before she sees him.
“Where are you, you stupid fucking rabbit! Hurry up and get this shitshow over with!”
Around the edge of the glade, the acolytes shift in their pastel cloaks, not making a sound now that Rumi has made her presence known. She crosses the clearing in two large strides: not possible for a mortal, but possible for her. This little patch of reality belongs to her, from every little too-bright daisy in the long grass to the centuries of etchings and engravings that decorate the altar.
This year’s offering is a young adult human that’s fit and healthy, which is good: the stronger the sacrifice, the stronger the blessing. (It’s not deep magic. Rumi just has preferences, and the humans learn fast.)
Rumi usually finds the annual Ostara sacrifice bound with a symbolic chain, and they sit on their knees or bow deeply as she approaches. This human appears to have required a different touch, and she cannot wait to corner her head priest and interrogate him about this. There’s no doubt a fantastic story awaiting her, because never before has she come to find her offering chained spreadeagle and bound at all four limbs.
They lie on their back with manacles around their wrists and ankles that loosely connect to each pillar, and they squirm to use every inch of give they have. A collar around their neck hooks onto a ring set into the stone table, and the pale ceremonial robe they wear is sheer enough to outline the strain of each well-defined muscle as they struggle. Rumi towers above her offering, but it doesn’t intimidate them into silence.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ finally showed up, are we doing this or what?”
“I usually ask for a willing sacrifice, you know,” Rumi says, bemused.
The human glares at her, their eyes a bright carnelian-red that gleam with the sun’s rise.
“I’m here because I’m the best and I wanna be, but.” The human uses their bound hands to make ‘air quote’ motions. “Your 'head priest' says I have,” more air quotes, “an 'attitude problem'.” Well, this is a first.
“Want me to free you?”
The human’s scowl turns into a feral grin with their pink tongue between their teeth.
“If you’re not scared of me, rabbit.”
Rumi blinks. Her bunny tail twitches in excitement.
“Fuck yeah,” she says, and the chains vanish at her command, but she keeps the manacles and the collar that sit flush against skin. She moves onto the words she must speak: “I stand before you as the manifestation of Ostara to offer a deal: a sacrifice for a blessing.”
“This man humbly offers himself up,” he replies in turn, looking as far from humble as she’s ever seen a human, and she’s been cavorting with them for centuries. “I prostrate myself as Katsuki Bakugou and present my body to you so that our kingdom might prosper under your fertile blessings.” She’s never seen a human sound like they’re rolling their eyes without actually rolling their eyes, either.
“I accept. The contract is made.” A collective sigh of relief comes from the acolytes that stand watch, and she steps up to her altar. “Gonna fuck you up, Katsuki,” Rumi says, wrapping a hand around each of his ankles and dragging him to the edge of the stone table. Katsuki comes willingly, wrapping his legs around Rumi’s waist and tilting his chin back when she leans in to mouth at his neck.
“You smell good, little human,” she breathes against the column of his throat. “Are you this easily excitable for everyone?” She brings her hand between them to palm between Katsuki’s legs, where he’s already hard.
“Fuck off,” he says through his teeth, and Rumi laughs against his neck.
“Are you telling me to stop?” She can feel everything through the sheer white robe that Katsuki wears: his dick, straining against her hand; his nipples, pebbled with cold and arousal and—oh. A little metal bar through each one. She’s going to have fun with that.
“Stop and I’ll rip your ears off,” he says, tipping back his head to bare his collared throat to her. Rumi obliges and ghosts her lips across his skin below the choker, nudging aside the hem of the robe to expose more. The chiffon fabric sticks to his skin with his sweat.
“Good boy,” Rumi says, and Katsuki snaps his hips up in a quick, jerky grind. She doubts it was intentional. “Shall we give all these loyal acolytes a show?”
“Nngh,” Katsuki says, face flushed and forehead creased. Rumi brings both of her hands to Katsuki's chest—and oh gods, those piercings—to push his back against her altar, but his arms remain stubbornly locked around her neck.
“Only well-behaved boys get treats, Katsuki.” She loops two fingers into his collar and gives a warning tug. “Down, boy.” He shoots her a venomous glare, but he does go.
“You’re fucking ridiculous. You sure you’re a goddess?” Katsuki grumbles as he settles back against the stone.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Rumi says, vaulting up next to him. She pats her lap. “You can say what you want, but that little robe of yours hides nothing. Your dick twitches every time I tell you how well behaved you’re being—see?” She claps in delight as she’s proven correct.
“It’s your weird—I don’t know, breeding season sex magic or something.” Katsuki clasps his hands in his lap as though it will undo the damage his traitorous dick has already done.
“Nope,” Rumi says, patting her lap again. “That’s all you. I can do breeding season sex magic or something, but why bother when you’re so desperate to be fucked by a god?”
“Nngh,” Katsuki says again. Rumi sighs.
“I’ll move you myself.” She rolls Katsuki over with no effort, and hoists him up and over her lap, face down.
“Don’t you do any weird shit!” Katsuki scrabbles against the stone for purchase, but Rumi’s got a good hold on him. She flips up the gown to expose his ass to the cold early-morning air and he tries to bat her hands away to recover himself, but she holds his wrists out for one of her helpful vines. It pins Katsuki’s hands down in front of his face, and he squawks in horror. “Weird shit, weird shit!”
“I’m not just here to fuck you, take my pleasure, and run,” she says, stroking a hand down Katsuki’s back. His muscles twitch as her fingers glide over each one. “You’ve got to enjoy it for the contract to work.”
Her hand continues its path down until she’s palming Katsuki’s ass, grabbing great handfuls and squeezing and kneading. “I get to enjoy it too, of course. Ever had anybody here?” Rumi dips a finger between his cheeks to tease at his rim. Katsuki swears, but it’s beginning to sound like background noise.
“Yes? No? Answer me, baby.” She spanks him with her free hand and marvels at how solid he is, how he could be a sculpture in a museum. She might be a god but she can see herself worshipping this man.
“I, not—not me, no. But I’ve done it to other people before, lots,” he adds, as though he’s got something to prove. As a fertility god, no human could come close to her body count, but his determination to impress her ignites a warmth in her heart as well as her cunt. “I’ll be the best lay you’ve ever had in your life,” he declares as Rumi slaps his ass again.
“If I put my hand on your cock now, you’d be coming so hard you cry within thirty seconds.” It’s true, but not something she considers a drawback.
“No-one’s that good,” mumbles Katsuki into the cradle of his biceps.
“I wouldn’t try to goad me if I were you,” Rumi says, hooking one hand into the back of Katsuki’s collar and, with the other hand, sliding a finger down between his cheeks. He flinches as she brushes a finger over his hole, and Rumi uses the movement to pull on the collar, peeling Katsuki’s chest up off the stone table even as his hands are stretched out ahead of him. The muscles in his back strain with the effort, and Rumi can’t resist leaning down to bite at a particularly tempting one.
“What the fuck woman,” Katsuki rasps, but he bucks his ass up into her hand so he can’t mind the rough treatment all that much. Rumi rubs at his hole with the pad of her index finger and waits. Katsuki lets out a rough moan that sounds punched out of his chest, and she slips her finger inside.
He squirms at first, between the finger in his ass and the strain of arching back into Rumi’s grip on his collar, and Rumi is content to wait here until he relaxes but the agitated wiggling turns into purposeful squirming and then he’s rocking his hips in her lap.
“Another finger then,” she says, pulling out only to manifest a happy little pot of lube. There are so many perks to being a fertility god, but this must be one of the best. She gives Katsuki some slack to lean forward and catch his breath before entering him again.
“I know you’re not fucking do this right,” Katsuki growls, and if he’s got the breath to bitch at her then she’s not pulling hard enough on his collar.
“Oh, is this what you want?” Rumi says, and drags her fingertips across his prostate. Katsuki swears, slaps his hand against the stone table, and spasms around her.
“Fuck, fuck, yes—”
“Tough,” she says, and shifts her angle again. She spreads her thighs for good measure, manoeuvring Katsuki so that his dick hangs heavy between her legs with nothing to grind against.
“I thought you were supposed to be making me feel good,” he says, and Rumi laughs. The forest laughs with her: the shaking of the canopy of leaves, the chorus of the birdsong, the way the daffodils sway. The acolytes at the edge of the glade shift nervously again. They’re good at that, Rumi thinks. They need to loosen up.
“Bite me,” she says, and presses against his prostate for one, two, three thrusts before pulling back again. Katsuki’s feet kick against the stone. Sweat sticks the robe to the muscles in his back. “Or beg. I might listen.”
She doesn’t stop to listen to another litany of curses upon her, her family, and her honour. Rumi jerks at his collar and gives him another one, two, three thrusts before stopping, but lets go of the collar to press a palm between Katsuki’s shoulder blades before he wiggles off the table.
“Nothing is touching your cock until I say so,” she says.
“What happened to crying and coming in thirty seconds?” Katsuki growls, voice low and dangerous.
“Once I get my hand on your cock,” Rumi says, and gives him three quick thrusts again. Katsuki slams the tops of his feet down in frustration. “You can beg, if you like. It might help, who knows?” Rumi presses against his insides, just long enough that Katsuki starts to relax, lean into it, let his impending orgasm wash over him—and then she stops.
“Just—something,” Katsuki gasps out.
“I’ll take pity on you just this once.” It’s no effort at all to scoot Katsuki off her lap and roll him over until he’s splayed out on his back. She hops off the altar, calls upon a helpful vine to secure his ankles, and meets Katsuki’s wet, shining eyes. No tears have fallen, but he’s getting there.
“Hi there,” she says, pins his hips down with her hands, and swallows his cock whole.
“Oh my god, what the fuck, god,” Katsuki keens, and when Rumi looks up at him with her chin resting on his balls, his eyes roll back. His hips flex and, just as his cock starts to twitch, Rumi pulls off. She doesn’t go far. A long strand of saliva connects her tongue to the smooth head of Katsuki’s dick, and Rumi watches it as she lifts her head.
“There’s only one god here,” she says, and flattens her tongue over Katsuki’s tip. He writhes, caught between the restraints at his wrists and ankles and Rumi’s strong hands at his waist, unable to escape. She licks one long stripe up the length of him before mouthing at his balls, and he breaks a little.
“Please. Please, god, Miruko, please.”
“That’s it,” she says, pausing to press a kiss to his hip.
“You said I’d come when you touched me, please,” he begs, and he begs so prettily, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut.
“The bet was you’d come so hard you’d cry within thirty seconds of my hand, baby.” She traces a pattern on his hip with her thumb and swallows him again, just to hear him groan. Katsuki’s hips haven’t stopped rocking since she flipped him over, and Rumi sticks her tongue and to let him fuck into her open mouth. Just a little, as a treat.
Katsuki looks down at her, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ as he takes in the sight of his cock sliding into her eager mouth. Rumi knows she’s a sight to behold like this. It’s almost unfair to unleash it upon unsuspecting mortals, honestly. She looks into his eyes and raises a hand to make a circular ‘keep going’ motion, and dear god, he gets it.
“Please,” Katsuki begs, “I need to fucking come. I need to come, I need it, let me come in your mouth.” Rumi rolls her eyes and, as the crease between his brow deepens and his hips lift off the altar, pulls back out of reach.
“No no no, what the fuck,” he groans.
“You’re not very good at begging, are you?”
Katsuki glares down at her, takes a deep breath, and says, “I will be the best fucking sacrifice you’ve ever had. I would do literally anything you asked of me, but right now, I really, desperately, am begging you to please let me come before I brain myself on this table.”
Rumi looks back up at him. “Close enough,” she says, and vaults onto the altar to crawl up his body. She releases her vines, plants a hand on the stone beside Katsuki’s head, and holds her other hand up to Katsuki’s bitten, spit-slick mouth. “Lube me up, baby.” Katsuki scrunches up his nose.
“Don’t say it like that,” he says, and opens his mouth dutifully. Rumi pushes four fingers in, stretching the corners of Katsuki’s mouth and pressing down on his tongue until he gags.
“Good boy. That’s a good look for you.” She expects a glare in return, but is instead treated to Katsuki’s blissed out, faraway gaze as he wraps his fingers around her wrist to guide her deeper. “You’re such a good little whore,” she says in wonder, and Katsuki groans around her.
She rocks her fingers back and forth for the joy of watching him strain his neck to swallow her deeper, and damn. She could get used to this. “You’re so good for me, baby,” she coos against the shell of his ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth so that Katsuki stays still as she withdraws her fingers.
“Yes, please, please, please,” Katsuki chants. Rumi trails her fingers over his chin and down his neck, dragging saliva down his front, but the desperate buck of his hips tells Rumi that he doesn’t mind too much. She mouths down his jaw as she lightly scratches her nails down Katsuki’s chest, his abdomen, using her tongue liberally.
“You like it wet and sloppy, huh, baby?” Rumi digs into soft flesh covering the hard muscles of Katsuki’s stomach, scoring thin lines that well up with blood. She could heal it, but she won’t. After this is over, Rumi will send Katsuki off with something to remember her by.
She strokes her hand across his hip, down his thigh, dipping down to his inner thighs to cup his balls and the sound Katsuki makes in return is sinful. He’s gasping and each little ‘uhn’ sounds as though it’s been punched out of his chest by force. Katsuki’s nails dig into Rumi’s shoulders, and she doesn’t mind—she’ll have something to remember him by, too.
Katsuki’s heels kick into her backside as his legs lock around her. “What do you want, baby?” She asks, running the pads of her fingers over the sensitive skin of his balls.
“Touch me, please,” he chokes out. Rumi hums.
“Touch you where?” Rumi meets Katsuki’s fucked out, despairing gaze in time to see a tear fall over his lash line and streak down to his temple.
“Please,” he says. Not quite what she wants but worth it for the single tear that gathers in his hair.
“I’ve got you baby,” she says, tucking Katsuki’s face against her neck as she wraps a hand around his dick. He wails, bucking up immediately, and Rumi holds on tight. “There we go, right there, come for me baby boy,” she murmurs and Katsuki obeys with fervour.
She strokes him through the crash of his orgasm even as it looks as though it’ll never end, as he keens and twitches against her for a glorious eternity, and she only stops when he flails to knock her hand away and tip his head back against the stone.
Katsuki is breathing hard, looking stunned, and there it is, as he blinks, tears fall freely down his face. Rumi could live in this moment. She wipes her hand off on Katsuki’s robe—it’s covered in cum anyway—and leans down to snuggle into his side while he catches his breath. She strokes his hair and kisses away his tears with little kitten licks until Katsuki wraps an arm around her.
“You,” he says.
“Me,” Rumi says. Katsuki looks at her, carnelian-red eyes burning.
“Get the fuck up here,” he growls, pointing to his face.
And she’s not going to turn that down. She sits up and throws a leg over Katsuki, scooting herself forward as Katsuki’s hands around her waist guide her and pull her closer. He pauses a breath away from her cunt and looks up with wide, wet eyes.
“Guide me,” he says, and licks up into her.
Rumi has been ignoring herself, but she’s not immune to the way Katsuki has been keening and squirming, and his tongue on her clit is the static before a bolt of lightning in a spring storm.
“God, fuck, right there,” Rumi praises. Katsuki maintains eye contact, gives her a feral grin, and stops what he’s doing to fuck his tongue up into her. “You little shit,” Rumi says, and tugs on his hair. Katsuki laughs and licks over her hole. He says something, but Rumi can’t tell what it is with how he’s buried between her legs, and she doesn’t care to stop and find out. Katsuki’s hands have a death grip on her hips and that’s good enough for her.
She could yank his hair until he’s back where she needs and getting her off… or she could go along for the ride. Let this man have his fun. “Alright, baby,” she says. “Take me for a ride.”
And Katsuki is a diligent learner. He learns when to use light flicks of his tongue and when to suck, when to back off and when to dive in until Rumi is squirming with overstimulation. She comes against his tongue and he holds her there, soft pressure and hard nails until she can move again. And again. She doesn’t hop off of Katsuki’s face so much as she collapses and has to be pushed off so he can breathe again.
“Well,” she says, wiping herself from Katsuki’s mouth as she lays on her altar and catches her breath. “Same time next year?” Katsuki says nothing, but does consent to being pulled in until he’s tucked up under Rumi’s arm.
She lets him doze until the sun has risen higher in the sky. The watching acolytes have been shifting restlessly for the past hour but, well, she’s about to bless them with healthy births and good forage for the spring, so she doesn’t feel too guilty.
And they did get a good show.
Rumi waits until Katsuki begins to fidget as the early spring chill sets in before sitting up. “How’re you doing, bud?” He gathers the remains of his sheer robe into his lap as a blush stains his face.
“Good,” he replies. “Thank you. How are you?” And isn’t his sudden shyness adorable? She wants to just pick him up and put him in her pocket.
“You were amazing,” Rumi says, not above stroking her partner’s ego. “I’d happily take you as a sacrifice next year, if you’re up for it.” The blush spreads to the tips of Katsuki’s ears.
“Okay. Yeah. I’d like that. But if the great Miruko can find time in between all the godly duties…” Katsuki clears his throat. “I’m around, you know. In the town. If you’re free.”
Rumi sits up, stretching out her shoulders because a god is not immune to waking up stiff from a post-coital nap. “I’m down for being your booty call, baby,” she says just to watch Katsuki fluster. She stands and pulls Katsuki up to sit, his legs either side of hers, and wipes away the mess they’d made together with a thought and a flick of her hand.
“I’ll let you in on a secret though,” she says, and leans forward to press her lips to his ear. “My name is Rumi.” He takes a quick breath in as her magic works, and when she pulls back, an elegant silver diadem sits upon Katsuki’s head. “A mark of my favour. It should start to come off in a couple of days.”
“Wait, what—” Katsuki says, patting his head to feel the crown and finding himself unable to remove it.
Rumi steps back so that the power of her proclamation won’t overwhelm him. “The contract is complete,” she says in her god’s voice, the one that makes the trees sway and the daffodils stand up a little taller. She calls the forest for a blanket of moss to drape about Katsuki’s shoulders, which he accepts with a small nod of thanks.
The blanket is partly to keep away the chill on his walk back to the town, partly to provide a dark contrast to the shining silver diadem that sits among his pale hair, and partly to hide his brand new bunny tail long enough for Rumi to manifest herself out of the human realm and let his fury at the realisation be someone else’s problem.