\Viktor let out a low groan as he adjusted himself in his trousers. He tried, he really did. But he couldn't win against the impure thoughts that stormed his mind when he was near her. It had been like trying to hold back the tide with a spoon.
He couldn't stop thinking about Hermione, and how much he wanted her. He imagined her soft hands running up his chest, her breasts pressed against him as she kissed him deeply.
His cock throbbed at the thought of her touch, and he couldn't help but touch himself. He slid his hand down his stomach and gripped himself through his pants. The fabric was tight and uncomfortable, but the feeling of his own touch did the job.
He closed his eyes and imagined Hermione's mouth on him. He could almost feel her warm breath on his skin, her lips wrapped tightly around him. He stroked himself faster, moaning quietly as he envisioned her touch.
His body tensed as he reached his peak, and he let out a low cry as he spilled himself into his trousers. He lay there for a moment, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He knew this wouldn't be enough to satisfy his craving for Hermione, but for now, it would have to do.
Needless to say, he had severely underestimated what it would be like to live with the curly-haired witch. Who would have thought that living with the British witch would be so easy? Certainly not him. He enjoyed his seclusion, the peace that came to come home to an empty quiet house. Yet her presence was a welcomed sight. One that Viktor started to imagine in every empty seat next to him.
Viktor couldn't help but daydream about having Hermione by his side at his Quidditch matches, showing her off to the crowd and letting the world know how incredibly lucky he was to have her. He even considered bribing the Director with two new rehabilitation areas in exchange for allowing Hermione to stay with him, but he knew that she would never forgive him. The thought of disappointing her made his stomach twist into knots.
Viktor tossed and turned in his bed, unable to shake the thoughts of Hermione from his mind. He knew that he wanted her, craved her, but he was afraid to make a move. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable or, worse, push her away.
He remembered the way she had smiled at him earlier that day, the way her laugh had lit up her face, and the twinkle in her brown eyes. He wanted to see that smile every day, to hear that laugh every morning in his bed, in his arms.
But he also didn't want to push her boundaries. It seemed like most of the time she was holding herself back. The way her eyes roamed his body with want earlier tested the limits of his control. Yet even with eyes dripping with desire, she held back.
Viktor sighed and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He knew that he couldn't keep lying here, torturing himself with what-ifs. He would wait for her.
Viktor made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find something to quiet his rumbling stomach. As he entered the room, his eyes landed on Hermione, standing at the counter with her legs bare under a large Quidditch "Potter" shirt.
Fuck waiting.
His eyes trailed lazily from her bare feet, up her smooth legs, to the hem of the worn red shirt. She looked so beautiful bathed in the moonlight and it was ruined by wearing Potter's name on her back. Something primal within Viktor stirred. He wanted nothing more than to rip the shirt from her body, set it on fire, and fuck her on the counter.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, pushing the wild thoughts from his mind. He was not a beast, he could and would control himself.
As he approached her, he tried to act as though nothing was wrong. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked, hoping to hide the desire in his voice.
Hermione looked up and smiled at him, her eyes shining with happiness as she took a bite out of a small cake covered with chocolate. Viktor shoved his hands in his pocket as he eyed the counter. "No, I was just feeling a bit peckish. I hope I didn't wake you."
Viktor nodded his head and tried to return her smile. "No, I was just haffing some trouble sleeping myself. Do you mind if I join you?"
She shook her hand and pushed a box of "Jaffa cakes" at him. She returned with a steaming cup of tea. His fist tightened around the cup, his jaw locked in an effort to control the surge of anger welling up inside him. His gaze fixated on the scars marring Hermione's arms, one in particular igniting a fiery fury within him.
She quickly tried to conceal her arm, pulling her wand out but Viktor was quicker and clutched her wrist.
"I-" she began to mumble, trying to pull her wrist away. Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears, but Viktor's gaze remained fixed on the Mudblood scar etched on her forearm.
His rage continued to burn hot. How could he have not noticed it before?
She pushed harder against his grip and Viktor realized he was holding her wrist too tightly.
"I-I'm sorry," she stumbled out, her eyes brimming with tears. Viktor's heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest. He let go of her hand, and his own hands twitched with the urge to bring her into his arms.
She quickly hid her arm behind her back, trying to shield the scar from view. "I forgot to use a glamour," she muttered, looking away in shame.
Viktor ground his teeth together, trying to contain his anger. His hands twitched to hug her but–
Fuck it.
If she pulled away he would let her go and apologize until his mouth was dry.
He hesitated for a moment before pulling her into a gentle hug. She stiffened in his arms and he almost let go, thinking he had made a mistake. But then her head slowly rested against his chest and he could feel her relax against him.
The Seeker closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself before speaking. "Do not ever apologize for that Her-my-oh-knee."
Her hands clenched the back of his shirt. "I didn't want you to see them. They are ugly."
Who did this so I can skin them alive? What son of a bitch dared to touch you? When did this sick fuck do this? His blood burned. He knew the why. He knew that she had sacrificed so much, but Viktor never imagined the extent.
He took another deep breath, his chest expanding as he attempted to calm the storm raging within him.
"Your scars are not your shame," he said softly, "they are your story."
He carefully released his hold on her. She pulled back and looked up at him with a small, grateful smile. He threw caution to the wind and gently cupped her cheeks, his rough thumbs tracing the curve of her jaw. "And I love stories."
A tender smile played at the corners of her lips, and a gentle warmth filled her gaze. "Thank you, Viktor." She exhaled and her eyes twinkled like the stars. "You don't know how much that means to me."
"Your scars vill never hide the brilliance of your light, Her-my-oh-knee."
Viktor noticed a softness in her gaze, a warmth that seemed to linger as she looked at him.
"You really mean that don't you?" She asked softly, her voice full of hope.
"Винаги." (Always.)
At the end of the night, Viktor didn't get any answers, not that he asked for any. But something shifted in their relationship and he prayed to the Gods that it was for the better.
On a rare Monday off, Viktor visited Hermione at the stables. He found her perched on a desk in the corner, meticulously observing the interaction between the unicorn and his two horses.
"They are getting along." He noted, amused. It wasn't like he doubted the magizoologist, but it was rather strange seeing a unicorn with two horses.
Hermione's forehead creased into a frown. "What's that supposed to mean ?" She shot him a challenging look, daring him to say more. But rather than intimidate him, it turned him on.
Viktor shrugged his shoulders, trying to suppress his smile. He had grown to enjoy these playful spats with her. "Nothing," he replied.
"Right, well they are ."
Viktor smiled. Keeping a safe distance, he appraised the unicorn with a mix of curiosity and caution. The magnificent creature, its horn glinting in the sunlight, mirrored his wariness, its eyes never leaving Viktor's figure.
"Is Bluey doing better?"
"Yes! He's doing fantastic!" She nodded, looking at her notes. "He should make a full recovery soon."
A sense of urgency rushed over Viktor, but he shook it off. Bluey's recovery wouldn't necessarily mean Hermione would leave, but his stomach twisted at the idea of not having her around.
He walked over to pat the horses gently. They made happy noises in response. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, and he smirked. He had deliberately chosen a shirt that always seemed to snag her attention a bit too long to be proper.
"Do you like to ride Hermione?" His eyes held hers for a beat too long. A playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and his voice dropped to a low murmur knowing all too well her eyes lingered on his body.
She blushed and her eyes went wide. "I am decent."
It had become Viktor's little game to watch the witch get flustered when he caught her ogling him. Not that he minded.
He raised an eyebrow. "I am not too sure about that." He attempted to hide a grin as he noticed her exasperated expression.
She lifted her chin. "What are you implying?"
"I'm saying," he moved closer, "from what I've seen of your broom riding skills, you would have strangled my poor broom if it had been alive."
Her cheeks flushed with indignation, her eyes sparking with determination. "That's not remotely the same thing!" She crossed her arms. "Riding a horse is not the same thing as riding a flying stick!" It was moments like these that Viktor found himself admiring Hermione even more.
"But, Her-my-oh-knee," Viktor interjected, unable to resist teasing her further, "both involve balance, coordination, and control. It's essentially the same thing."
Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. "Flying on a broomstick is nothing like riding a horse, Viktor. You can't compare the two!"
Viktor raised an eyebrow, enjoying their banter. "Oh, really? Care to explain vhy?"
Hermione crossed her arms. "Horses and broomsticks are completely different! A horse is a living creature, Viktor, with a mind of its own. You can communicate with it, feel its movements, and work together as a team. A broom, on the other hand, is just... a stick. It responds to your will, but it doesn't understand you."
Viktor chuckled softly. "But riding a broom is the same, it requires communication with it, understanding its movements and cues. It's a dance," He peered into her eyes.
"Well, with a horse, you have actual control over them. You guide it with reins, not just lean and hope it goes where you want or doesn't impale you to your death."
The Seeker tried to hold his laughter, but Hermione noticed and her brows scrunched together. "But both require balance and coordination, no?"
"I suppose," Hermione conceded reluctantly. "But brooms are unpredictable! They're constantly twitching and jerking, nothing like the smooth gait of a horse."
The corners of his mouth twitched. She was unlike anyone he had ever met—intelligent, passionate, and fiercely stubborn. He walked over to Stara and Nova, "I haff to see to believe," he challenged.
Her spine stiffened as a competitive fire danced in her eyes. Rising from her seat, she strode towards the mares. She halted before Viktor, meeting his gaze head-on, her chest centimeters away from his. "Fine! I'll prove how good I am at riding ."
"Please do," he licked his lips and watched her snuggle the horses.
They took the horses and the unicorn who followed the mares around like a duckling out for a stroll. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the landscape. It was a perfect day for a ride.
At first, it was a nice easy ride, the horses moving at a leisurely pace, the unicorn content to follow behind. But as the miles stretched on, their competitive sides took over. They began to race, the horses picking up speed, their hooves pounding against the earth.
Viktor watched as Hermione's wild brown curls moved through the air, her face flushed with excitement. He couldn't help but think how beautiful and amazing she was. She was like a wild spirit, untamed and free.
As they raced, the landscape around them blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. The wind whipped through their hair, and Viktor's heart pounded in his chest. It was exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline that left him breathless.
Finally, they reached a small stream, its crystal-clear waters sparkling in the sunlight. They dismounted, the horses grazing contentedly nearby. Hermione took out her braid, her hair cascading around her back. She looked stunning, her face glowing and her brown eyes sparkling with life.
They sat down next to the stream and talked about their childhoods. Viktor gazed at the spirited witch with wonder as she recounted experiences with her Muggle parents and schooling. She shared a tale of a boy who had thrown something called "staples" at her hair, and how it had taken her ages to get them out. Viktor in turn told her about his first broom and consequently his first broken nose.
As they continued to speak, Viktor felt a growing sense of longing for more time with Hermione. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt like he could never get enough of her. She darted into his life like a snitch, wildly and violently. But he'd be damned if he didn't catch her.
