#these are three consecutive slides btw

[glitterypin]

God, I love Doctor Who. Where else are you going to get end credits as bananas as these?

[joontier]

4:23AM | drabble

–> Pairings: jimin x reader

–> Rating:  R

–> Genre/warnings: established relationship!au; swearing; pwp basically, smut (grinding, explicit sex, exhibitionism, slight boob play, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex – male and female receiving, cum swallowing, daddy kink, clothed sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms)

–> Word count: 2k

–> A/N: Happy Fathers’ Day y’all! Here’s a drabble to show some love for Daddy! Jimin~ btw, this is heavily unedited too jeezhus I just had to post this BECAUSE I FINISHED THIS JUST THIS MORNING ASFSIDFJASIF

bts m.list | navi

It’s freezing.

A shiver runs through your body, the goosepimpled skin of your legs rubbing against each other at the cold. You pull the duvet over you and the smaller person asleep beside you. Shifting your position on the bed, you turn to face your daughter, gazing at the little girl as light snores escaping her pouted lips snuggling her stuffed toy closer to her chest.

Your face crumples at the endearing sight. With a wide grin plastered on your face, you brush off a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She looks so much like your husband – pouty lips, round cheeks and all. As she shifts in her sleep, you see her giggle a little all the while mumbling incoherent words.

You leave your daughter be, rising from the bed and tucking your daughter under the sheets. Padding through the carpeted floor cautiously, you exit the room you’ve shared with Hanbyul for the night. As you close the door, your line of vision focuses on your husband who was currently sprawled out on the couch, back facing you as his arm is slung over the back rest and a leg dangling off the side.

There are clothes and toiletries strewn across the place, resultant of your late arrival at the hotel last night. In fact, the entire trip had been a major headache for you. If it weren’t only for Hanbyul’s excitement for her sixth birthday celebration at Tokyo Disneyland today and Jimin’s mutual enthusiasm for it, you don’t think you would have endured yesterday.

As you find Jimin’s wonderfully round ass particularly inviting, you join your husband on the couch, spooning him and looping your arms around his torso. You start planting tender kisses along his neck and across the expanse of his exposed collarbone due to the loose shirt he’s chosen to sleep in. “Mhmm…” Jimin groans against the couch, readjusting himself so he’s facing you.

Humming with delight, you let the pads of your fingers trail over his face, tracing his cheekbone down to his jawline. He’s so beautiful, even if he’s like this, half-asleep with a small grin etched on his face.

Jimin peels one eye open, blindly retrieving his phone from a nearby table and checking the time. “Baby, it’s 4:23AM. Look.” He twists the device in his palm to show you the screen, the white digits blending in with the background picture of the three of you taken during a recent holiday trip to New Zealand.

Frankly, time had never been an issue before when it came to both your private needs, but ever since Hanbyul came to your lives, you consider yourself lucky when you get at least five hours of sleep in a day. Having second thoughts, you decide that this probably wasn’t the best time for sex, so with a contented sigh, you turn your body over to the other side, letting him spoon you.

You close your eyes, letting your fatigue lull you back to sleep. Jimin pulls you closer using the arm slung over your waist until your ass meets his crotch – his rather…hard crotch. Your breath hitches.

Honestly? Fuck sleep, rest be damned.  

Arching your back even more so your ass grinds against his boner, Jimin’s hands find your thighs, occasionally squeezing as they go trail irregular patterns on them. “Honey, I thought you said it was 4:23AM?”

“I know, love. But I didn’t exactly tell you stop, did I?”

Next thing you knew, you feel pillowy lips attach themselves on your neck, nipping and sucking on that sensitive spot just under your jaw. The action already has you whimpering, and Jimin takes this opportunity to let a cold hand travel under your shirt, squeezing at your breasts.

You likewise slide a hand between your bodies, grabbing at his already throbbing length underneath the confines of his sweatpants. Lust courses through your veins as you see his cock straining against the cotton of his Puma sweats, clearly wearing nothing else underneath. Ah, bless Jimin and his sleeping habits.

As you get on your knees on the floor, you adjust the faux fur rug under your knees so they won’t be too sore later. You tug on the garter of his sweatpants, Jimin lifting his hips a little so you can pull them down to his meaty thighs. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“How ‘bout we put that mouth to good use, hmm?” With one hand at the base of his shaft, he gently tap the tip of his cock on your lips, goading you to open them. “Be a good girl for daddy.”

“Yes,” you mewl, obeying in an instant. You replace his hold on his length with yours, placing kitten licks on the bulbous head. Ever so slowly, you take him in your mouth, his cock smooth yet hard and heavy on your tongue. Looking up through your eyelashes, you see your husband gazing at you intently, eyes clouded with lust.

His staring only encourages you further, taking more and more of him until he reaches the back of your throat, trying not to gag at the full feeling of your mouth enclosed on his. Jimin inhales sharply as you swallow. “Yes…fuck, baby girl, just like that.” Your pussy clenches on nothing at his words so you resort to rubbing your thighs together, hoping that the friction will help ebb your raging hormones.

It doesn’t. It never works.

You find your rhythm as you bob your head up and down his cock, swirling your tongue around his length as you do so. Jimin begins thrusting up to you as holds your hair, fingers forming a makeshift ponytail. “Shit, baby…I-“ Reaching one hand up, you take his balls into your palm and knead them sensually, making him come undone at your will. Soon enough, Jimin’s hips stutter, his cock throbbing inside your mouth.  

“That’s right, swallow for me, kitten.” Rope after rope of cum travel down your throat as you comply, Jimin gently carding his fingers through your hair in praise as you milk him completely.

Jimin pulls you into his lap to kiss you feverishly, his tongue languidly moving against yours. Moaning wantonly, your hips undulate, grinding your clothed cunt against Jimin’s once-more hardening cock. “God, you’re so wet, baby. You’ve always loved sucking Daddy’s cock, don’t you?” You know he feels how drenched you are even with only the thin cloth of your boyshorts separating your sexes.  

You only take your bottom lip between your teeth in approval, wanting nothing else but his cock inside you, now. Jimin coos at your evident desire, but he tells you he’s not going to fuck you until he gets to taste your pussy first.

He lays you down on the couch, tugging your underwear down, the cold air hitting your bare pussy making you shiver. Jimin’s mouth makes contact with your core, immediately assaulting you with his tongue. He slips the wet appendage through your folds and into your pussy, thrusting deeply.

Hooking his arms under your thighs, he pulls you closer to him, your cunt under constant abuse as he licks, sucks, and nips at your clit. You’re a writhing mess on the couch, cold beads of sweat starting to form on your forehead. The moment he lets a finger slip through your folds, you almost come undone, clenching all over his digits as that coil inside your stomach tightens. A fresh wave of pleasure courses through you when he adds another finger, body quaking as your orgasm hits you.

Just as you let your body fall limp on the couch, your husband places a chaste kiss on your lips, telling you that he’s not done with you just yet. Letting out a squeal in excitement, Jimin revels in your mutual eagerness, already lifting your shirt off your torso.

“No, no. Leave the shirt on.”

Swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him, you give him a reply. “Mhmm, kinky.” Jimin chortles at your comment, telling you that keeping your shirt on served another purpose, just in case your now-six-year-old daughter comes barging out of the room. You pause midway, surprised at how you totally forgot that your daughter was one door away from discovering how babies were made.

“It’s fine,” Jimin reassures you, rubbing at your thighs. He slowly guides you to bend forward for him, hands gently squeezing your waist. “It’ll be fine if you stay quiet. Can you do that for me, love?”.Placing the back of your forearms on the armrest for support, you brace yourself for Jimin’s girthy cock, ass wriggling in anticipation. As you nod your head, Jimin gets to work, grabbing hold of his cock and sliding it against your wet folds, lubricating his dick with your own essence.

“Daddy, p-please…” You’re starting to get impatient with his ministrations and before you tell him to fuck you already, Jimin plunges his cock to you in one smooth motion. You let out a loud cry at his action, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Your husband places a hand by your nape, bending you forward even more. This angle only allows him to sink himself deeper into your cunt so you cup a hand over your mouth, struggling to keep your moans at bay. Jimin thrusts languidly against you, each snap of his hips enough to graze the sweet spot inside.

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin resonates throughout the room, your cunt squelching loudly as Jimin relentlessly fucks himself into you. He bends forward in an attempt to get closer, deeper into your cunt. As he cups your clothed breasts, consecutively pinching and tweaking your hardened nipples over your…his shirt on you, Jimin maintains his pace, reveling at the sensation of your velvety walls tightly wrapped against his cock. You chase after your second orgasm, sliding a hand between your legs to play with your clit. Your elbows give in under the pleasure combined with Jimin’s weight on you. Body quaking endlessly, Jimin whispers praises by your ear, egging you to go one last time, as if to make up for the month-long drought you both had to endure.  

Your husband flips you over with ease, muscles rippling as he hooks an arm over your waist, making you lie on your back. Cheeks flushed and hair a little matted with sweat, your tongue darts out to lick at your lips, delighted at the sight of your husband looking just as wrecked as you are.

Slamming into you once more, Jimin continues to toy with your clit, bringing you to another orgasm when you still haven’t properly recovered from how strong the previous one was. “Last one, baby girl. C’mon, cum one more time for daddy.” You hands find a throw pillow to hold on to for dear life, knuckles turning white as your grip tightens, just as tight as how your pussy clenches around his cock, completely milking him for all he’s got. Jimin stills as he reaches his climax, balls pressing heavily against your ass.

Your husband pulls out seconds later, breathlessly falling to your side. As you both lay there on the couch, chests heaving as you pant heavily after your climaxes. Your ears catch onto a soft thud coming from inside the room, signaling that your daughter had woken up,

“Chim, Hanbyul!”

Jumping in alarm, your husband quickly pulls his sweatpants back up just in the nick of time, while you cross your legs, pulling your shirt lower to cover the evidence of your intimacies, yours and Jimin’s cum now trailing down your thighs.

“How’s my little princess?” Jimin calls out with a smile on his face, standing to greet your daughter as Hanbyul sleepily rubs the back of her hands against her eyes. “It’s still early, darling. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Jimin guides Hanbyul back to the room, before turning on his heel to face you. “Bath. Round 2,” your husband mouths, turning around again to lull Hanbyul back to sleep.

Despite the soreness you feel between your legs, you obey Jimin nonetheless, heading towards the bathroom with a spring on your step. 

All rights reserved. hhyungz 2020

[sylveon-official]

back at it again with the mpreg trash

title: Stay Gold rating: T pairings: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki warnings: abo, mpreg, childbirth

btw y’all have no idea who i am but thanks @tomakehimfree and @n-s-f-w-sportsbaes for high key inspiring me to start writing this shit again but now just for the yoi fandom lol

read on archiveofourown��or under the cut.

At age 18, Yuri Plisetsky certainly expected to be back at his fourth consecutive Grand Prix Final since making his senior debut. As the current defending three-time gold medalist, he has a title to uphold after all. So needless to say, Yuri certainly belonged on the side of the rink watching the free-skate unfold beside the rest of the GPF finalists – the problem was, he wasn’t actually one of them. Yuri’s pretty the ISU would have disqualified him as early as the five month mark when he started showing – now that he’s a healthy eight months and some change into his pregnancy, he’s quite sure his globe of a belly would get in the way of some of the more technical requirements involved in his free-skate routine. 

Not that he hadn’t seriously thought about how he could start adjusting the elements to accommodate his growing belly when he found out about his pregnancy a good couple of months into fine-tuning what would have been his new routines for the current season.

But alas, Yuri’s baby-daddy extraordinaire and favorite for GPF gold in Yuri’s absence, one Otabek Altin, had shut down any and all innocent fantasies Yuri had of even so much as stepping foot on the ice for the rest of the season. By principle, Yuri understood, of course – the ice isn’t exactly a forgiving surface when you’re baking a vulnerable human child inside of you. The last eight months hadn’t exactly been a breeze when, on top of the moodiness and the weight-gain and the nausea, Yuri wasn’t even allowed to use the ice as a means of stress-relief.

So yes, after Yuri’s second gold medal-win at Worlds eight months ago, he had all but planned to return and defend what should have been his fourth senior division GPF win in a row. But after a wild night of celebration with a certain Worlds silver-medalist, which may or may not have been so spectacular it triggered Yuri’s heat a solid month early… Yuri guesses maybe he should have foreseen his current position on the sideline of the rink rather than in it.

Yuri supposes he should at least be grateful that he’s here now, that the skating Gods decided to take pity on him by conveniently hosting this year’s GPF conveniently in Saint Petersburg. Arms folded on the edge of the barrier, Yuri eyes his mate as he reaches down to remove his skate guards. Otabek was at a comfortable 3rd place, 2 points ahead of the pork cutlet bowl after the short program yesterday. Yuri is confident he can at least snag the silver, depending on Katsudon’s performance today – to be fair, he’s supposedly retiring this year, so he’s been more motivated than ever to grab the gold in order to fulfill Victor’s stupid wedding pact. Yuri knows they’ll get married regardless of the results, but he guesses it’d be kind of romantic if the piggy could actually pull it off.

Yuri wrinkles his nose once he realizes he’s just had a thought that’s included “Victor”, “the piggy”, and “romantic” all in the same sentence, but just as easily discards it under the pretense of pregnancy brain. Yuri Plisetsky hasn’t been getting soft in his journey to accidental parenthood, not at all – his brain is just getting all messed up because of the hormones, he thinks, even has he returns the friendly peace sign Katsuki throws at him from the other side of the rink.

Otabek must have noticed, because a second later he’s shooting a small, wry smirk at Yuri that his him rolling his eyes.

“What, Beka?”

Otabek merely catches his hand in his from where he’s kneeling on the ground getting in a quick calf-stretch before his turn on the ice.

He presses a soft kiss to Yuri’s fingertips before teasing, “Conspiring with my competition?”

Yuri huffs and snatches his hand away, flicking Otabek softly on the side of his cheek.

“The old man’s finally retiring this year. I’m just cutting him some slack. 

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the help he’s been to you the last eight months?”

Yuri pulls a face that has Otabek chuckling to himself. Sure, the Katsudon has probably frequented Yuri and Otabek’s Saint Petersburg apartment more than his and Victor’s own in Yuri’s third trimester, but wasn’t like Yuri was begging for the other omega’s constant doting on. Even if he didn’t mind the weekly pork cutlet bowl meals he’d been spoiled with, it wasn’t necessary – except for when he’d called the pork cutlet bowl himself over to the apartment at 5 in the morning on a Sunday to satisfy his craving for one, but that was only one time. Okay, maybe two. Three tops.

Otabek pulls himself up just as China’s Guang Hong is wrapping up his final step sequence.

“Well. Don’t fuck it up.” Yuri allows a small smile to tug at his lips as he drops a hand to his mate’s hip.

“Hey. Language.” Otabek chides, patting the side of Yuri’s belly.

“Ugh, let me live while she’s still in there feeding on my organs.” Yuri heaves a dramatic sigh and runs a hand across the back of Otabek’s undercut before bringing their foreheads together.

“Stop making her sound like a zombie. Feasting on organs… very un-ladylike.” Otabek frowns faintly then presses a chaste kiss to Yuri’s lips.

“Hey, I know your family’s traditional, Otabek, but if our princess wants to be a flesh-eating zombie, she’ll be the best damn brain-eater in all of Russia, fuck your gender roles.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Otabek shakes his head, but he’s smiling that half-smile he does when he’s trying to contain an even bigger one, one of those rare, toothy grins he only does when he’s about to say something really sappy.

Before he can quite get to that point, Guang Hong is taking his bows and the announcers are getting ready to call Otabek out to the ice. 

Yuri presses one last kiss to Otabek’s lips and pulls a simple thumbs-up.

“Davai, Beka. 

Otabek nods his head once and returns the gesture, a determined glint in his eye. He fondly rubs his hand over the side of Yuri’s belly, a habit he’s taken to lately before heading onto the ice that leaves Yuri feeling vaguely like one of those big-bellied Buddha statues people rub for good luck at temples in Japan. He’s almost affronted enough to say as much, but the next moment the announcer is calling Otabek’s name and he’s skating out into the middle of the rink to start his program.

Yuri sighs into his palm as he watches his mate glide across the ice and into his starting pose. Impending fatherhood has inspired him more than ever to skate a solid program – “It’s because I’m skating for the two now”, he’d said after his Rostelecom Cup win before embarrassingly kissing Yuri’s forehead, then leaning down to kiss his belly – the resulting video had stayed viral for weeks. Yuri had smacked him upside the head and told him to stop taking flirting advice from Victor. Training under the skating legend this past year had done wonders for Otabek’s actual skating, but been questionable for his personality, and Yuri made sure to tell his mate as much 

Otabek is coming out of a perfectly rotated quad toe-loop combination when he fumbles and just nearly gets by without touching the ice as he transitions into an arabesque. Yuri finds himself tensing up along with his mate.

“Beka, davai!” His cheers probably get drowned out by the noisy stadium, but it’s basically tradition by this point that he root for his mate from the sidelines. “Come on— ugh.”

Yuri’s screeching comes to a sudden halt as a familiar stab of pain shoots through his lower back and creeps down into his lower belly.

“Not now…”

Yuri grits his teeth together and rests his palm on his lower back in an attempt to massage out some of the tension. At eight months, he’s no stranger to false labor pains and the intensity has only been building the closer he gets to the real thing. Yuri places his arms back onto the barrier and bends at a ninety-degree angle to stretch out his throbbing back, belly hanging heavily between his thighs. He slides his feet outward so that his legs are resting in a half split – he may be about forty pounds heavier, but he’s still managed to maintain his flexibility for the most part. This was a fact that he was sure to rub into the Katsudon’s face during the off-season this year when he’d gotten a little bit soft and a little less flexible.

Usually his flexibility does wonders to soothe away the tightness, but this time Yuri jerks when it’s back just as suddenly as it had gone. The shock of it makes him bury his face in the arm folded on the barrier, his other arm shooting down to cradle the underside of his bump.

“Ah, what the fuck, baby…” Yuri whines into the crook of his elbow and rocks backward on the balls of his feet to stretch out the cramp.

He’s on his toes, pushing his backside out when he feels more than hears the distinct squelching of liquid in his favorite tiger-print maternity pants. Panicked, Yuri looks out into the rink where Otabek is executing a perfect camel spin, then to the audience behind him who are too busy cheering to notice his embarrassing predicament, before he catches Yuuri’s concerned gaze from across the rink.

Victor is working on tightening Yuuri’s laces, prepping him for his turn on the ice after Otabek. Yuri must be making a rather troubling face though, because the next moment, other Yuuri is waving off a confused Victor and jogging over to the other side of the rink as fast as his skate guards will allow 

Yuri is busy groaning through what he now clearly realizes is a real contraction when Katsuki makes it to his side.

“Yuri?” he ventures, placing a hand to his back and rubbing soothing circles onto it. “Are you—oh.”

Yuri figures he must have spotted the fluid leaking steadily down his pants and onto the floor.

“Yeah, oh. What the fuck am I— what do I—haah, fuck…” Yuri hates how pathetic he sounds even to his own ears, but he’s kind of at a loss here. He’d had a C-section scheduled for two weeks from now and he is sorely unprepared to face a genuine labor, especially when he’s in an ice skating arena with thousands of screaming fans and the world’s top figure skaters to witness it.

“I-I don’t really…” he hears Yuuri suck in a deep breath, steeling himself, before placing a firm hand on Yuri’s lower back and grabbing the crook of his elbow with the other one. 

“Here, let’s sit down first.” As he’s guided into an upright position, Yuri breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Otabek is still fully concentrated on his routine, prepping for his mid-routine jump combination. 

Yuri practically melts into the other skater’s side the moment he sits them down on the bench behind them. Yuuri brushes on hand through the side of Yuri’s hair that isn’t pulled back into French braids, working out a few tangles that have already managed to gather there.

Yuri moans, long and low, as another contraction rips through his lower belly and back. He muffles the end of it into Yuuri’s neck, drawing in a deep breath and finding his nerves somewhat calmed by the scent of another omega.

“That’s it. I’ve got you, Yuri, you’re okay.” Yuuri whispers into his hair, hand cupped firmly to the base of his skull. 

“I’m not, though!” Yuri wails, sliding down into Yuuri’s chest. The increasing pain is becoming too much for him to process coherently, and he fists a hand in Yuuri’s jacket to take off some of the edge as the other skater shushes him softly, gently rocking them back and forth.

“Yurachka?” Yuri briefly recognizes the sound of Victor’s low, concerned voice as he places a comforting hand to his trembling shoulder before directing the rest of the conversation to other Yuuri.

“Yuuri, you’re up any minute now. Why don’t you let me take care him—,” but Yuuri cuts him off before he’s able to finish the suggestion.

“Get medical.”

There’s a short, but weighted pause.

“Is he in…-?”

“Yes. Get medical.” Yuuri repeats more firmly and then the sound Victor’s feet pounding on the concrete resonates vaguely in Yuri’s mind, hazy from his pain-addled state. 

When the latest contraction has passed, Yuri looks up at the rink just in time to lock eyes with a very conflicted-looking Otabek, poised in a lazy spread-eagle that Yuri knows by the swell in the music he’s holding out for a few beats too long. Otabek’s about one minute out from finishing his program and Yuri swears he won’t let him hold their newborn for a month if he gives up the podium when he’s this far in.

“Otabek Altin, don’t you fucking dare get your ass off that ice!” Yuri screeches loudly and suddenly enough to make other Yuuri flinch in surprise and for Otabek to tear away from his gaze and into a triple flip Yuri knows he’s just made the snap decision of adding in for technical points to make up for the short step sequence he’d just omitted.

Post-outburst, Yuri collapses against the other omega once more, but this time it’s accompanied by a puzzling sensation in his pelvis.

“Ooh…” Yuri breathes out shakily, thighs trembling along with it as they try to accommodate the growing pressure in his hips.

“Yuri?”

 “Ah… It feels… It feels like…” Yuri’s head lolls against Yuuri’s shoulder as he tries to piece together the sensation, but a second later, and the pressure is culminating into a stinging pain that instantly has him in fat, wet tears.

“God, she’s-she’s coming now—,” Yuri starts, chest heaving with the weight of his sobs.

“I know, I know, help is on the way, I can see them heading over—” Yuuri assures, hurriedly, but he doesn’t understand.

“No you stupid Katsudon! I can feel her— coming out— ahh, fuck! Fuck!”

Yuri sees brown eyes widen in panicked understanding before he’s being hauled up without warning. 

“Okay, up we go!”

“What are you doing—ow!”

Yuri cries loud, wet sobs as the other man guides them into an alcove that leads to the stadium lobby. His weight starts to give out from under him when they’re about halfway down the hallway. Yuuri allows it, helping him to the floor with control. 

“Sorry. I thought you might like some privacy for this.” Yuuri explains before yanking off Yuri’s shoes and hooking his fingers into the elastic band of his pants.

Yuri doesn’t ask questions, just helps him by shimmying his hips until the pants are discarded. Yuuri quickly replaces them with his own Team Japan jacket draped over his knees. Yuri at least has enough energy in him to bitterly note that he’d much rather his baby be born underneath his own Team Russia jacket – isn’t this some form of skating treason?

He doesn’t have much time to think about it before the pressure intensifies more still with the assistance of yet another powerful contraction that’s telling his body to push now. He’s screaming so loud he doesn’t even register when the hallway begins to fill up with paramedics and camera flashes.

“Give the boy some privacy, da? Have some respect!” Yuri peaks through sweaty bangs to see Victor quite literally shoving at the press that have invited themselves to witness the birth of Yuri’s child, which has apparently turned into a public event right alongside the Grand Prix Final itself.

The medics and some guards step in to form a barrier against the flashing of cameras and clashing of microphones as Victor makes his way to Yuuri’s side.

“I talked to the ISU reps. They’re taking a break in the set. Can’t be good press to continue the competition when the reigning champion is giving birth next to the rink…” Yuri hears him whisper to his mate as paramedics start to make themselves present on Yuri’s other side and between his legs.

“Little Yurio here just couldn’t bear to give up his Grand Prix Final glory even when he’s unable to compete, hm?” Victor teases which earns him an audible smack in the chest from the Katsudon and mouthful of Russian expletives from Yuri.

“Mr. Plisetsky, I’m going to ask you to push on the next contraction. The baby’s crowning, so this shouldn’t take long, okay?” the medic between his thighs explains calmly, lifting up the jacket over his knees just slightly. 

Yuri braces himself by clasping hands with the omega beside him and biting his lip, eyes flitting briefly to the opening of the hallway, crowded with medics and guards and ISU officials. Otabek is obviously done with his program by now so why isn’t he—

Yuri catches the flash of Otabek’s red sequin-patterned shoulder pads pushing his way through the crowd just as he’s hit with the next contraction.

“Beka!” Yuri screams at the top of his lungs as he pushes, blindly reaching out his other hand and narrowly avoiding smacking a medic in the face as he makes a grabbing motion intended for Otabek’s arrival. His hand is occupied on the second push, accompanied by a familiar hand pushing sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, Yura…” Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s forehead and the sensation is relieving enough to make Yuri heave out a sob completely unrelated to the immense pain he’s currently experiencing.

“Thank God…” Yuri sobs on the next push as Otabek whispers sentiments of what must be encouragement in Kazakh close to his ear.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re saying, Beka… but…” Yuri gasps between more words of encouragement from the medics, Victor, and Yuuri that just one more push is all it’ll take.

“… but you fucking better have won gold for me and our princess.”

Yuri’s fiery emerald gaze pierces Otabek’s own slightly taken aback hazel.

One more push is indeed all it takes for the Altin-Plisetsky heir to come kicking and screaming into the world, perfectly in tandem with Yuri’s own flailing and screeching.

 * 

“What took you so fucking long back there, anyway?” Yuri asks hours later at some ungodly time in the morning when he’s nestled in a hospital bed with his newborn sleeping soundly against his bare chest.

“Language.” Otabek sighs, tenderly stroking his daughter’s cheek from his seat at the side of Yuri’s bed.

“Oh… right.” Yuri blinks down at his child and absently brushes back her impressive brunette curls with his thumb. He did say he’d stop once she wasn’t leeching off of his innards.

What took you so… freaking long?” Yuri rasps out, voice scraped raw from the excitement and anxiety that comes with birthing your child in the middle of a major national ice skating championship competition.

Otabek gives him a long look before sighing and digging out his phone from his pocket.

“I’m assuming you haven’t seen the news.”

“No, sorry, was too busy sleeping off the exhaustion of pushing of a fu-freaking miniature human from out of my body with zero preparation or pain medication in the middle of an ice skating arena.” Yuri deadpans and Otabek responds with a fond smile and a full kiss on the lips.

“I know. I’m very proud of you.”

Yuri feels his entire face and neck heat up and he wonders how the hell Otabek still manages to make him feel like he’s being courted all over again, even now when the evidence of their bond is softly sighing into the skin of his chest.

Otabek must know exactly what he’s thinking because he’s got that smirk on his face that Yuri would love to smack off if it didn’t mean jostling his sleeping infant.

The next moment, Otabek is tapping something into his phone before wordlessly holding it up under Yuri’s nose. Yuri grabs it with the hand that’s not supporting his baby’s back to scroll through the article. The first image on the page is an overhead shot of a massive hoard of people surrounding what looks to be the alcove he’d given birth in. Oh. He guesses that’s a sufficient excuse.

There are a few obscured shots of his red, sweaty, screaming face, body contorted on the ground in painful-looking angles that make him grumble in annoyance, but what grinds his gears the most is the title.

Gold and Silver for Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin at Most Drama-filled Grand Prix Final in Figure-Skating History 

“Yuri Plisetsky’s surprising pregnancy might have rendered him unable to compete at this year’s Grand Prix Final, but that didn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight yet again and bringing home the gold in the form of a precious new baby girl.

Otabek Altin, Plisetsky’s mate and father of the newborn, managed to snag silver with his performance as Plisetsky’s unexpected labor occurred just off the ice.”

Yuri hands the phone back to his mate and sighs dramatically.

“You know, ‘gold’s all around for the Altin-Plisetsky family’ would have made a much catchier title…” Yuri smirks and Otabek pulls a face.

“I’d say I did alright all things considering.” Otabek raises a challenging eyebrow that has Yuri laughing quietly.

Once the tension is broken, Otabek cracks and sighs forlornly into his hands. “This is why I hate social media… they’re already making me out to be the monster who chose the competition over supporting my mate through labor… and I still didn’t get a gold medal out of it.”  

Yuri smiles softly, reaching out to run his fingers along Otabek’s back.

“At my next interview I’ll tell them I would have choked you mid-labor if you didn’t finish the program.” Yuri can tell the gentleness of his tone combined with the expected crassness of his words makes Otabek’s body wrack with silent chuckles. 

“Besides, Katsuki was more motivated than ever when I promised him godfather privileges if he didn’t follow us to the hospital and finally got that stupid gold instead.” 

“Victor’s going to be jealous.” Otabek observes, lifting himself back into a seated position.

“Yeah, well, seeing as I basically handed him the reason he and his precious piggy needed to finally tie the knot, his entire head should be up my assho—”

“Oh, Yurio!”

The hospital door is kicked open with gusto as Victor and Yuuri make their presence known with an impressive array of Congratulations balloons, bouquet assortments, and gift boxes.

“Congratulations!” Victor singsongs in a voice entirely too loud while in the presence of an infant. His fiancé frantically shushes him a fraction of a second too late, and Yuri quickly finds himself with a chest full of red-faced, crying newborn child.

After Yuri’s gone red-faced himself with a barrage of Russian expletives that Otabek is familiar enough with to call him out on and twenty more minutes of calming down their screaming child, all thanks to a very understanding nurse, the group has managed to situate themselves comfortably in the room with baby sleeping soundly once again, this time against her new godfather’s chest.

Yuuri suddenly gasps as he watches the baby suckle gently at the golden medal against his chest.

 “I have an idea!” he whispers, carefully returning the bundle of newborn to Yuri’s own arms.

Yuri narrows his eyes, but doesn’t question it as the other omega takes off his gold medal and gently places it around Yuri’s own neck.

The silver medal two men had earlier delivered to Otabek hangs proudly from his neck.

“Oh, how nice!” Victor stage whispers loud enough for the baby to squirm in Yuri’s arms. Yuri shoots a warning look to the other Russian who puts his hands up in defeat.

Yuuri takes out his phone and counts down.

* 

After some much needed rest, Yuri is up later that morning, bottle pressed firmly to his daughter’s lips after a few failed attempts and assistance from yet another nurse.

Otabek is at his side, dutifully checking Yuri’s Instagram for “any important updates”.

Yuri catches his thumb pause in its scrolling and a slow smile spread on his lips from the corner of his eye.

“What?” Yuri prompts, leaning slightly in Otabek’s direction. 

Otabek simply turns the screen to face him. When he sees the image on the screen, Yuri is overcome with the sudden urge to cry, scream, and envelope Yuuri Katsuki in a hug so bone-crushing, he actually cracks a rib. 

It’s the picture he’d taken earlier when he’d put his medal around Yuri’s neck, Otabek with an arm around him as they smile proudly and tiredly into the lense, captioned:

Here’s to the real winners of this year’s Grand Prix Final. Congratulations @yuri-plisetsky and @otabek-altin on Yuri’s 4th and most precious GPF gold – Alina Altin-Plisetsky.