Otayuri Oneshots

Leather, Spikes, and Orange Tutus

Thank you to the Superfan Discord server who essentially planned this entire fic! The Otayuri chat has never been the same! No promises for how cohesive this is, but I crammed in every HC mentioned in the discussion, so pat yourselves on the back for inspiring this insanity!
Love to you guys. ♥

~~~~

The beginning of the end, as Yuri came to think of it, came in the April of 2019.

The end of what, specifically, you ask? Nothing big. Nothing important. Nothing earth-shatteringly impactful. Only the end of Yuri's sanity, his good reputation, his self-respect. And, frankly, the fact he had any left to lose after three years of The Wonder Couple was something worth celebrating in and of itself. Which was why, he supposed idly, in a desperate attempt to console himself, people had made such a huge deal out of these losses.

Still, though, he thought miserably, it would've been wonderful if it could've happened after he'd confessed to Otabek. Yeah, that would've been nice.

***

At first, Yuri was wary. It was only fair. After having borne witness to the two Hasetsu ice shows of the past and the results of Katsuki's friend's ice show that the idiot allowed Victor to help produce, anyone sane would be at least mildly cautious when invited to participate in the third Katsuki-Nikiforov production. See, the ice shows done by this pair of goons were not normal ice shows; they were not the tame, star-packed, slightly lackluster ice shows of the sport. No. They were full of big names boasting bigger medal lists, yes. They were slightly lackluster, in Yuri's opinion, yes. But were they tame? Hell fucking no.

They had themes.

The first? Predictably: love. Yuri had done Agape, and was only bullied into it because Grandpa's car had needed repairs and his back a surgery. And Yuri had missed Yuuko and her horde of demons, but that was entirely beside the point.

The second, also predictably: new beginnings. Yes, Katsuki, we got it, you were reaching for the stars now, not letting your anxiety control you, taking hold of life and kicking it in the balls until it bent to your will, blah blah blah, whatever. Marriages and the magic dick of Victor Nikiforov were fairly standard topics in the skating world, so, regardless of what the fans thought (a pack of wild hyenas, the lot of them), this hadn't exactly made a splash.

The third ice show-that-was-technically-the-first-and-Katsuki's-friend's had been slightly more interesting. They wore hamster hats in a giant stadium that looked like it was trying to be a pastel, knockoff onion dome. And failing.

Yuri had never said the third was better.

But now, now came the fourth, and the fourth was a lot to handle-- even for Yuri, with his considerable-by-now tolerance for idyllic bullshit.

See, Victor had just retired for the second time. And instead of fading into oblivion to never be seen or heard from again, like a good little Russian star, the prick had decided to do a farewell ice show.

The man had done more farewell shows than Bono and it really seemed more prudent -- even to Yuri, with his apparent "lack of common sense" -- to actually stay off the ice when one retired, but whatever.

Now, Yuri, upon hearing about this, hadn't wanted to touch it with a nine-and-a-half foot pole. But Yuri, hopelessly whipped as he was, had not anticipated being fucking double-teamed. And, really, how was it fair that the old man had gone to Otabek to broach the idea first? Knowing that Yuri would agree to fucking anything when lost in those warm, brown eyes? Fucking bastard.

"It really does seem like a cute idea, Yura," Otabek said over video call, four days after Tweedle Dumb had first had the idea. How he'd moved so quickly, Yuri would never know; did he not grasp the idea of planning? That was probably what Katsuki was for, he conceded. "I don't know why you're so against it."