A/N: This is a collection of Victuri one shots. Just a gathering of quick thoughts, prompt fics, and gift fics. Summary will change with the addition of each new one-shot.

Ch 1 Summary: (Soulmark AU) In which Yuuri is Viktor's soulmate, but Viktor is not Yuuri's

This chapter is a self-indulgent one-shot heavily inspired by the Code Geass fanfic "Forget me not" by crescenttwins over on AO3.

Sorry, Axel, Lutz, and Loop. I couldn't imagine Yuuri with anyone else but Yuuko when not with Viktor so… this blecked out of my brain.

Hope you enjoy!

It isn't enough, Viktor thinks as he watches from the table, to be this close and not be able to touch, feel, have. Yuuko steals Yuuri's attention so easily. It's always her name on Yuuri's skin, never his. The ugly gaze of jealousy pierces her, but she never feels it. All she feels is Yuuri's love, so ready, so firm. Precious hands tendering her heart.

Takeshi is next to him, drinking his mind into dark oblivion as he shares Viktor's view. He's a blubbering mess, cursing into his shouchuu as he blathers on about his conflicted feelings towards them both - his best friend and his lifelong crush. Viktor cleaves him with a sharp cut of his eyes. At least Takeshi has a mutual soulmate, some shrine maiden sweeping the season from stone steps by a lake two towns over, a woman that never fails to give him affection and a healthy litter. He always has someone waiting for him, and still he wastes that destiny on the fragile driftings of a child's love.

Viktor doesn't allow himself to stew in his bitter anger. He's used Takeshi's position to his advantage a few times. He wonders if he'll ever use it to drive it all home. Viktor's twisted desire snakes around them, but it's slain before the first slither passes his lips. Yuuri's laugh is loud, choppy and hiccupped with glee. His besotted face makes Viktor want to scream.

Yuuri is so happy, fingers crisscrossed with hers.

Viktor pulls back. He pours Takeshi another cup, deposits the man in one of the rooms of the inn when he thunks his face on the table.

And then he sits, in the absence of sound, reminded again of his fate.

All Viktor can think is that he's a mistake, a hiccup in the fabric of time. He's only here to tear the two lovers apart. If they're meant to be together, what is his purpose but to drive a wedge between them? He can't live without Yuuri, yet he's done it so many times.

As he looks back out at the bound pair, he thinks

Once more can't kill him.

This time he's done it, taken treachery to a new level. He manipulated the pieces long before anyone had even noticed the game had been set. Gave Takeshi the right push, whispered suggestions to Yuuko, stole Yuuri away until he could see. The tears are ugly, predictable, and Viktor knows now that he deserves every stab of guilt they serve him.

Takeshi and Yuuko are intertwined, kissing and folding into each other in the middle of the rink. Yuuri stares until events unfold further and the two leave, still wrapped in each other's presence. Yuuri doesn't move, rooted to the spot as the love on his skin flits away with another.

Viktor doesn't smile, but he feels it behind his teeth, open and jagged and well-sated having gorged itself on bonds that were meant to be. Yuuri is his now. Yuuri will love him and forget about the woman that has caused Viktor so much turmoil.

It doesn't quite work out that way.

Yuuri mourns until he forgives. He always, always forgives, but Yuuko doesn't forgive herself.

Yuuri finds solace in his arms, as expected, as planned, and it's only with mild nausea that Viktor ignores the truth stirring in his mind. Yuuri still wants her, would be with her if she'd let him. Viktor allows himself this little victory, cheat he may be, because it is his right after all.

Why else would he be blessed with Yuuri's characters upon his skin?

He hates her, but it's hard, she's such a good person, heart of gold, a perfect match for Yuuri. The reality of that stings because it all but assures him that he is a mistake. He is the outlier here, not meant to be.

Destiny bites into his chest. A half-truth that scars.

He doesn't care if it's a lie. His feelings for Yuuri are a permanent fixture, and he's tired of bottling them up.

This time, he confronts her.

Yuuri's name is brandished on his chest, curled perfectly over his heart. He yanks the fabric from his form until his soul mark is on display for the girl's eyes. Viktor feels competition stirring again, a rampaging storm in his chest, heat burning through skin to breathe tears of pain, desperation, need. Victory is on the horizon if he just pushes, yanks the last of the air from his lungs, and bloodies his body and soul. He can hear the clamor of cheers, feel millions of eyes like dead weights clamped on every muscle. Viktor is a champion. He will win.

Her hand slowly glides to her clothed forearm, no doubt caressing the mark of Yuuri left on her.

He doesn't know where this is going. It's the first time he's shown anyone but Yuuri this mark, and it's been three lifetimes since that happened.

She steps back and all but gives him the gold. He grimaces at the thought of Yuuri as a prize to be won. It's almost as disgusting as the thought of winning by default.

"I wonder what her name is, Viktor. I bet she has a pretty name."

Yuuri's staring at Yuuko, trying to get up the guts to talk to her with three going on four cups of alcohol. Viktor has the advantage this time. This time, it's him that is the long-time friend, and Yuuko that comes in late. They're at a frat party, tipsy off of whatever stained the red punch purple, some caustic mix that has even Viktor a little muddled, tripping into languages that are more home to him than the English he uses to get Yuuri to turn around. To look at him, not her.

She's not from their university. Not from their town. She's an outsider. Doesn't belong at this party. In their lives. Viktor takes the chance and kisses him. Yuuri's mouth halts its ramblings about the girl's glittering eyes. He stutters. Stumbles as some idiot dances back into him.

Viktor moves around him, protects him from the chaos the party has become. From the hold that Yuuko always has on him.

"Viktor, I-"

"I love you, Yuuri."

It steals Yuuri's words, his train of thought, his virginity as they move to one of the unoccupied rooms in the house. Viktor's name isn't on Yuuri's body. He's never surprised, but it never fails to sting. So he leaves his own physical imprints in the form of teeth tracks across his hips, indents on his thighs, love bites on every rib.

Yuuri fingers his name on Viktor's chest, a wispy stroke that consumes Viktor's breath and pops his skin. Yuuri apologizes, shame contorting his features, because it's not his name on Yuuri's side. A prickle of tears form with the words, dripping down from his heaven above him.

Viktor envelops him in his arms as he sits up, sheets spilling between them. "It doesn't matter, Yuuri. It never matters. I love you. I always love you." He chants this every time. To Yuuri. To himself. It bounds out of his throat even when things don't work out this well.

"I love you, too," Yuuri replies with a watery laugh, eyes rimmed red and a drunk flush to his cheeks. He's a mess, his beautiful mess. "I don't need a soulmate. I just need you."

Those words mean more to Viktor than any name could.

Viktor watches Yuuri's son and wonders, for just a moment, what their child would look like. He stares down at Vicchan - named after him, Yuuri couldn't have been more sweet, more cruel - and tries to imagine if it was his blood running through his veins. How his dimples would look with Vicchan's smile. How his brow would curve on Vicchan's face.

It's too hard. The image is too distorted by reality's impressions. Because Vicchan is not his.

He is hers.

Vicchan looks like her. Those chestnut eyes, the heart-shaped face. Even the way his hair falls steals from Yuuko's gene pool. Viktor can't stand it, doesn't want to see it. So he looks again, finds solace in the fact that the black of those locks, the round to his cheeks, and the curve of his smile are all Yuuri. He hangs onto those, the bits that are Yuuri, as he spins circles around the rink with his soulmate's child.

The child that will never be his.

"Faster, Uncle Viktor! I can go faster!"

He can't go faster. His six year old legs stumble, skates fleshing ice into snow as they click together. He ends up face planting on the ice, knocking out his latest wiggly tooth with the impact. Viktor braces for tears, already taking him into his arms and holding him close.

He should have expected more from Yuuri's child.

Vicchan pouts for only a moment before a fire sparks in his eyes. He pulls away from Viktor, an "I'm okay, don't worry," muffled as he holds a gloved hand to his bleeding mouth. He looks back at the ice, mind whirring. Viktor can see his mind working through those all too familiar orbs, reworking his steps to find his mistake and figuring out how he could get better.

He gets better. After a few more tries, blood racing down his lip, tooth in Viktor's hand. Viktor's jaw nearly unhinges as he watches him not only skate through his routine faster, but uses his momentum to execute a jump that he's not due to learn for another three months. Vicchan gets so excited. "Did you see, Uncle Viktor? I looked just like daddy! Soon I'll be as good as he was!" Viktor's heart warms, because although Yuuri's run on the ice with him has passed, his legacy lives on. Right beside him. Gripping onto his hand. And then, "Soon I'll be as good as you!"

Vicchan races off, already trying another jump. He doesn't see how Viktor cries.

It's sick. There has to be something wrong with him. He shouldn't derive so much pleasure from a grave. A dead body. A lost life.

Yuuko is dead. Viktor feels the horrible desire to wear a T-shirt, string up a banner, and celebrate. He's spent years, years, being a shadow, a transient presence. He let them have their love, their life, and now it's his turn to love.

To live.

He spends the flight wondering how this will play out, jittering in his seat and smoothing out his receding hairline. He's put himself on leave from his skaters, leaving them in Yuri's very capable hands until he gets back. If he ever goes back.

He sacrificed his career to be with Yuuri, all those years ago as they spent that year high on the wings of something that was never built to last.

He's prepared to make the sacrifice again.

He helps Yuuri through it all. The wake. The funeral. The cremation. The ash gathering. The first week memorial. The sobs at night - mid-morning - every day. The panic attacks that leave him shaky for hours. The listlessness that withdraws him from Viktor's touch.

It's a slow process, but she eventually fades. Memorialized only in her enshrined face in the corner.

Yuuri brightens, falls back into the strong-willed blossom of sweetness that Viktor knows. Viktor worships him, carves passion into his body like he was made to. He pays special attention to the creases in his forehead, the roundness to his stomach. Time has not changed Yuuri, just added new bits of him to love.

Viktor loves him. He can almost fool himself that this is enough.

It's not.

Yuuri's sleep is disturbed by her memory. It's Yuuko's name he whispers, a prayer into the night. A kiss blushed passed his lips. Viktor hears it, swallows against the growing despair.

Yuuri is his now. Why? Why is she still here? A goddess of death that looms over his happiness. Isn't he allowed happiness? Yuuri is the only happiness he's ever wanted.

But Yuuri still begs for her in his sleep.

Something breaks.

It's when he thinks about carving his permanence into Yuuri's skin that Viktor realizes that there is truly something wrong with him. He would never hurt Yuuri. Not intentionally. Not physically. Not in a way that he couldn't fix afterwards.

But he stares. At that name. At her daintily pressed mark on crystal skin. A blemish that ripples still waters. He imagines wiping it away, with bleach, and a scouring pad. Shredding through skin and muscle and bone until the words no longer speak. He couldn't possibly be satisfied until he'd demolished every inch of her from their existence. He could bite his own name into Yuuri, dig the sharp of his nails in and bleed devotion out of him.

Sometimes, Viktor terrifies himself.

It's with maddening need that Viktor kisses him. In the middle of everything, in front of everyone. It's Yuuri's wedding day and Yuuko cries, mascara stained tears stark against the white of her shiromuku. The audience erupts. Yuuri stands there, gaping, silent. Viktor's hands plead along his face, drifting longingly across his neck.

Yuuri's mind eventually kicks to life. He apologizes to the crowd, to Yuuko. He doesn't look at Viktor as he excuses them.

"Just a moment! I'll be back in just a moment!"

It's a foretelling of the rejection Yuuri serves him in private.

Yuuri kisses him, but it's parting, a goodbye that's hellfire in Viktor's heart. He whispers things, sweet but heartbreaking things, that dig down into Viktor and suck out his hope. Viktor's heard the words before. They lay engraved somewhere unseen, lost in the tides of time. In the end, he's left discarded by the shore, Hasetsu's sea breathing salt against his face. The wedding continues without him, its sound a murmur amongst the rolling waves.

It's with Yuuri's name on his heart and his impression on his lips that Viktor heaves his own goodbye. He bows his head to the sky, a begging question tearing through his destiny. He doesn't know if it will work, if it will help. But this is the last time he can attempt to rip them apart.

He can't do this anymore. Not to himself. Not to Yuuri.

Yuuri deserves his happiness. And Viktor is only hurting him.

With these last thoughts stirring, Viktor asks to be released.

Every day he feels like something is missing. His chest feels empty, naked. His fingers brush across his plain skin, expecting to see something that is not there. There's an echo that ripples across his skin every once in a while. It's the gentlest touch that leaves him gasping into nothing, goosebumps rising to a call that was never made.

Viktor closes himself off to the feeling, even as his heart mourns for something it does not remember.

Soulmates are everywhere. It's all he sees. But it is a destiny he was not born with. He is blank. Unattached. Unburdened.

The ice is the only thing he needs. Its crystal clear pallor is a mate to his own.

He watches a skater from the sidelines, sees him burn his name into the ice with quiet, undeniable passion. Something stirs inside Viktor, emotions he long ago thought he shed.

Yuuri is the world's newest fascination. Viktor's too. They meet. They talk. They laugh at their mutual stock of fan swag, both embarrassed but too exhilarated with the meeting to care.

Viktor doesn't know how the topic rears its head, but he finds his gaze roving over Yuuri's form as they talk about it. Soulmates. Disgust climbs up Viktor's tongue and it's weird. He's never felt much for soul marks. Certainly not the hatred that swells with each breath he takes in. Viktor eyes Yuuri, wondering where his soulmate's impression lies, whose name beats with his heart.

"Oh… no one," Yuuri replies, feigned nonchalance tripping on his tongue. "I wasn't born with a soulmate. My skin's blank."

Viktor blinks. "What a coincidence," he says as he takes Yuuri's hand in his. The sensation is so familiar, the feel of his fingertips zinging straight to his chest.

It's like coming home.

"My skin's blank, too."