Otayuri Oneshots

Rearranged

~ Sequel to Arranged, please read that first, though you might be able to understand this without it.

21-year-old Yuri Plisetsky never wanted to buy into the government's, frankly creepy, arranged marriage program. After finding out that his mate was rich, though, and desperately in need of funds for his grandfather's new medication, Yuri takes the plunge and agrees to be wedded to an alpha he's never met. And, naturally, since the universe hates him, he goes into heat on his wedding day.
Directly following Arranged, join Yuri and Otabek as they stumble their way through their new relationship, the fallout of an unplanned heat, and, fuck, maybe a baby, too?

Or: It takes me 21 pages to get to the main plot of the story and the entire damn thing is only 32 pages long-- three times the intended length, and three weeks past the intended posting date. XD

This is the birthday gift of venom_for_free on AO3. She writes amazing Otayuri, so go check her out!

***

The aftermath of an arranged marriage was weird. That was nothing abnormal: when you got married to some person, fucked each other's brains out, and only in the morning learned each other's middle names, things were bound to be a little awkward. The aftermath of Yuri's arranged marriage/accidental heat, was decidedly different.

Which was to say, much, much worse.

Yuri came to in bed, curled into damp, sticky blankets, and covered in crusted sweat. At first, Yuri struggled to remember anything other than his own name, the fact that he was covered in something decidedly disgusting, and the fact that he, and his bedding, for that matter, were covered in a scent that was not his own.

And then, as things so often do, with that one, tiny tidbit of sensory input, everything came pelting back at him, clobbering him over the head with fragmented pieces of information that made absolutely zero sense.

Snippets of orchestral music, a gown, and a groom chased each other around his fuzzy mind, banging into the sides of his skull and worsening the headache steadily blooming in his temples. He already felt like shit, his limbs weighted down with lead, his hips sore and his back stiff, so, really, this new type of pain went less than appreciated.

Yuri's eyes flew open. His back hurt, his hips hurt, all of his limbs were far heavier than one would expect, and he could feel himself covered in several sticky somethings that he knew all too well.

Slick and cum were dried onto him: his stomach, his thighs, even the blankets were an absolute mess. Yuri's stomach turned.

He was in heat. Or, he had been in heat, but was not anymore, judging by the noticeable lack of arousal burning through his veins. Swallowing down the nausea quickly growing in the restless, rolling pit of Yuri's stomach, he exerted far more effort than he appreciated having to expend moving his arm, and grabbed his phone from where he could see it lying on the bedside table.

Fear and panic clawing their way up his throat, Yuri eyed the display. He remembered hardly anything, but he could make out enough to know that he had been at the wedding, and for that reason desperately hoped that it was any day after the tenth of September, because if it was the tenth of September, then he had a very good reason for not remembering anything past the altar at the wedding, a reason he desperately wanted to be invalid.

Yuri swore. Colorfully.

He had gone into heat at the wedding? At the wedding of the arranged marriage he did not want to a man he had never met?

Yuri felt the bile rising in his throat as the thought of the groom returned and oh shit, a distinct scent accompanied it. A scent that Yuri remembered clearly. A scent that Yuri was currently covered in.