what is it like being married to Rabastan Lestrange? 💭
cw: MDNI 18+, mentions of trauma, wizarding war, death eaters
you were the first thing Rabastan ever cared about more than his family
as soon as he laid eyes on you in the Hogwarts corridors, he knew that you were the love of his life, his soulmate, his wife
and thankfully, he's so charming, so infuriatingly handsome, that he had no trouble winning your affection
though, he makes a point to keep that flame burning every single day
Rabastan is unwavering in his loyalty, entirely devoted to you and his duty as your husband. he may wear the dark mark on his skin, but your name is etched onto his heart.
his entire life was spent on his brother Rodolphus’ shadow. he was second at everything, no matter how hard he worked, how ambitious he was, Rodolphus had done everything first.
but you…you were just his. Not his brothers, not his fathers, his. you are his greatest accomplishment.
he's deeply romantic with you, candlelit dinners, bubble baths, chocolate and flowers when you're feeling down (mind you, they're gourmet chocolates and fifty long-stem red roses. only the best for his darling.)
you don't care about his money, and you tell him so constantly. but that doesn't stop the lavish gifts and luxury dates, custom-made jewelery and designer clothing.
once on a trip to Paris, a piece of art at a the Louvre made you well up, and when you returned home the following week, it was hanging in the library by your favorite chair.
but he also brings you smaller trinkets and treats, a stone he found on a walk of the grounds that reminded him of your eyes, a peeling, sun-bleached book he saw in a thrift store by your favorite author, the cherries out of his old-fashioned, the coat off his back
he loves to play the piano for you, a secret passion of his, and you'll stretch out across the top of the instrument in the study, watching those dexterous fingers fly across the keys, playing whatever your favorite song of that week was, or the song you danced to at your wedding that he composed himself.
he tried to teach you once, his hands resting gently over yours, but you were too distracted by his heat at your back and the architecture of his forearms to learn a damn thing.
which was his preferred outcome anyway. he never gets tired of seeing you moon over him the way he does for you.
he also loves to cook for you despite the army of servants. he’ll give them all the night off, pay them extra to ensure they don't disturb you, and whip up your favorite meal. you always sit on the counter by him, a glass of the vintage wine he'd selected from the cellar in hand, watching him putter around in his pressed button down and tailored slacks, an apron around his waist and a towel thrown over his broad shoulder
he feeds you bits of cheese and crusts of bread dipped in imported olive oil, stealing lush, wine-stained kisses between stirring pots and chopping vegetables
kissing Rab is like sinking into the fine leather seat of a luxury sports car. plush and decadent presses, indulgent to an almost excess, but when he hits the gas, it's exhilarating, heart-pounding, wildly fun. (more on that later)
hes a busy man, always in meetings with his family while running your household with an iron fist.
Rab will accept nothing less than perfection in nearly all things…except you (bc you're always perfect to him)
you can be as wild and carefree as you like, run around the gardens barefoot, finger paint a mural in the library, write your name over every piece of priceless art, and he'd only kiss the top of your head and praise you for your creativity.
but on the odd occasion he does get upset with you (usually because you put yourself in some kind of danger), he goes radio silent. avoiding you for two, three, maybe five days until he feels calm enough to talk to you without raising his voice.
he would cut out his tongue before speaking to you unkindly
he's a passionate man and feels things very deeply despite his calm, collected demeanor
and the thought of losing you…it shakes him to his core.
after an incident with a rogue death eater, Rab didn't leave your side for a week. he barely slept, barely blinked, until he killed the fucker himself…twice.
your husband was protective, possessive, his initials RL hanging on a solid gold chain around your throat.
everyone in London knew who you belonged to, and what the consequences were for coming at you sideways.
he wasn't jealous, per se. he knows he's usually the most attractive and powerful man in any room, and he knows how much you love him.
but when some fucking bastard has the audacity to speak to his wife out of turn, it's a a crime he simply cannot abide.
Rabastan is a strong man, built tall and broad like his older brother and father, and was unmatched with a wand, but he preferred a subtler approach. ie dismantling their self-esteem one bladed insult as a time.
you'd lost count of how many grown men he'd made cry and roll over like whelped dogs.
and it never failed to shock you when he'd verbally rip someone to shreds, then place the most tender kiss to your temple, murmuring his affection in your ear until you smiled and kissed the sin from that wicked mouth.
like his father, he can be cruel, callous, cold. you've seen on more than one occasion just how vicious he can be when provoked, but he's always always soft for you.
with you, he sheds his armor like a coat. loving to lay his head on your chest to feel the steady drum of your heart, your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers combing through his dark hair.
he has a lot of trauma from his upbringing (though he'd never admit it). and nightmares and flashbacks are a regular occurrence. in those moments, you are the only thing that can soothe him, bring him back to himself and not the monster they made him.
he loves it when you hum for him, sing or read aloud. anything that fills the quiet with you, your presence. surrounded by you. drowning in you. mind, body, and soul.
he revels in your softness, your kind heart, and it soothes something sharp in his chest, rounding the edges of him until he feels more human than weapon.
ok…now the good stuff 🌶️
when you first met Rab, you assumed he'd be super dominant in bed, rough and claiming, but the reality is a bit different
the first time, he coaxed the orgasm out of you like the sun coaxes a flower to bloom, gentle, deliberate, and with absolute certainty.
he’s dominant, one hundred thousand percent, but it's a quiet kind of dominance. sweetened with praise and hazy affection, murmuring sweet nothings while he ravaged your body.
thats my girl, just like that.
I know you can take it, you're doing so well.
just a bit further, pet.
there you go, baby.
he could play your body like an instrument, knowing you almost better than you knew yourself, pulling orgasms from your wrecked body with relentless precision, using his cum and thick fingers to keep you slick and pliant for round after round
you can give me one more, I know you can. don't deny me what's mine.
he loved to mark you, leaving indented crescent moons across your tits and thighs
for all his pretention and neatness, he loved making a mess of you. spitting on your tongue and drooling pussy, seeing your slick coat him to the wrist, shining the leather of his Rolex watch. smearing his spend across your puffy lips and angelic face
so fucking pretty like this, baby. only I get to see you like this, yeah? my innocent lamb to ruin?
Rab's a giant munch, sloppy while he devoured your pussy, nuzzling your clit with his nose while he tongue fucked you, using his big hands to spread you open, nursing your clit with hard, rhythmic pulls until you were screaming and thrashing beneath him, soaking that gorgeous face with your honey
you loved to ride him, having all those rippling muscles and thick cock to play with, to use however you like. he'd run his hands over your body, lazy and languid, while you rode him with abandon, perfectly content to savor the sight of your eager, pleasure-drunk face, your perfect tits bouncing on his face while your greedy pussy sucked him deeper.
doing so well, love. you feel me all the way up there? don't worry, darling, you can have it all.
he also absolutely loves reminding you that you're his wife, that you're his, especially when your choking on his cock, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes
show me what a good wife you are. so eager to please, aren't you? that's it, baby. open that little throat for me.
his other fav positions are doggy and up against the wall, anything that has you at his mercy, where he can fuck you steady and deep, pushing you to your limits by the sheer intensity of pleasure, the unrelenting glide of his girthy cock in your tight, drooling hole, gripping his length with every withdrawal. like you wanted him to stay buried in your gooey heat forever
and there was nowhere that was off limits, a lesson your house staff and his brother learned the hard way on more than one occasion.
he particularly loved fucking you in his office and the dining room, using your body as his own personal stress-relief, or spread out like his favorite meal.
fucking your throat under his desk after a tough meeting, or licking whipped cream off your tits for dessert, before bending you over the wood, legs spread, pussy dripping.
Rab would always clean you up with his tongue, soothing your raw and ravaged cunt with tender, lush licks and open-mouthed kisses. so sinfully self-indulgent it made you melt every time.
he's the king of aftercare. lavender-scented bubble baths, peppermint tea for your abused throat, a warm compress for your aching pussy.
he'd perch on the edge of the tub, tending to your bedraggled hair with the utmost care and precision, cooing and fussing until you were sound asleep in your shared four poster bed.
Rabastan is a glutton for pleasure, and you are his favorite indulgence.
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