tom riddle x reader arranged marriage au
fluff and slight angst if you squint
after the war your marriage with tom becomes almost domestic
The manor had never felt warm before.
It had always been polished marble floors and tall windows that let in cold moonlight, endless hallways, silver cutlery, quiet voices. Beautiful in the sort of way statues were beautiful — untouchable. Empty.
But after the war your marriage with tom changed that, you were seventeen when you found out you where to be married to one of your closest friends it was a smart match of course you both cared deeply for each other and gradually that turned into love.
tonight there was laughter echoing through the drawing room, a fire crackling too loudly because Blaise had insisted on making it “dramatic,” and someone — likely Draco — had already stolen expensive wine from Tom’s private cabinet.
Christmas lights glowed softly around the dark green garlands draped over the banisters. Snow fell beyond the manor windows in slow, heavy flakes.
And for once, Tom didn’t mind the noise.
He stood near the doorway watching the room with that same composed expression he always wore, though the edges of it softened when his eyes found you curled into the corner of the velvet sofa beside Daphne and theodore.
Daphne Greengrass was midway through telling a story about one of her Ministry coworkers embarrassing themselves at a gala while Draco interrupted every ten seconds to “improve” the details.
“You weren’t even there,” Daphne snapped.
Blaise laughed from where he lounged across an armchair while Regulus quietly hid a smile behind his glass.
The war had changed all of them.
Not in obvious ways. None of them spoke about it directly anymore.
But there was a carefulness now. A sort of quiet gratitude that settled beneath moments like this. They stayed longer at dinners. Let conversations wander. Let silence exist without needing to fill it.
As if they all understood how close they had come to never having this again.
You looked up then, catching Tom standing in the doorway.
The smallest smile crossed your face.
He crossed the room without a word, long strides effortless against the hardwood floor. Even now, even after years together, there was something unfair about how striking he was — tall enough that everyone else seemed diminished beside him, dark curls slightly messy from Blaise shoving at him earlier, black sweater sleeves rolled to his forearms.
At twenty-one, Tom Riddle had grown into something intimidating.
You barely had time to tilt your head before he stopped behind the sofa and slipped both arms around your waist from behind.
The conversation around the room continued uninterrupted — no one reacted anymore. They were all painfully used to it.
Because after the war, Tom had become almost embarrassingly attached to you.
Tom Riddle would probably die before admitting he needed affection.
It was impossible to miss.
A hand at the small of your back. Fingers brushing yours beneath dinner tables. Pulling you against his side during conversations. Sitting far too close whenever you were together.
Like he needed constant reassurance you were still there.
Now he rested his chin gently on top of your head, his arms tightening once around your middle.
You leaned back against him automatically.
“There you are,” you murmured.
“I was gone for four minutes.”
Draco made a visible face of disgust.
“Merlin,” he muttered. “You two are revolting.”
“You’re only upset because no one loves you that much,” Blaise replied lazily.
Daphne snorted into her drink.
Regulus looked deeply interested in the fireplace suddenly.
Tom ignored them entirely.
His hands stayed spread against your stomach, fingers absentmindedly flexing against the fabric of your sweater. You could practically feel the exhaustion lingering in him even now — months after the battle.
He carried himself like someone invincible. Everyone believed he was.
But late at night, when the manor went quiet, he held you like he was afraid the world might take you away while he slept.
You reached up, touching his wrist lightly.
His shoulders loosened beneath your hand almost instantly.
It still startled you sometimes, how touch-starved he truly was beneath everything else.
Growing up without softness left marks on people.
Tom just hid his better than most.
“You know,” Daphne said carefully, watching the two of you with amusement, “when your families arranged this marriage back at Hogwarts, I genuinely thought one of you would murder the other.”
Draco nodded immediately. “Specifically him.”
“I still might,” Tom said flatly into your hair.
You smiled. “He’s lying. He likes me.”
Tom turned his head slightly, pressing his face further into your hair for a brief second before answering.
“She’s unfortunately correct.”
Blaise placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “And he admits it publicly now. True love is real.”
The room dissolved into overlapping laughter again.
And standing there wrapped in Tom’s arms while snow fell outside the manor windows and your friends filled the house with noise, you realized something quietly.
For the first time in his life, Tom had built something that wasn’t based on fear.
The conversation eventually dissolved into comfortable chaos.
Draco and Blaise had moved to the floor beside the fireplace arguing over wizard chess while Regulus quietly cheated on Blaise’s behalf. Daphne sat curled into one end of the sofa with a book she definitely wasn’t reading, occasionally looking up just to insult Draco.
The manor felt alive tonight.
You stood in the kitchen balancing two mugs of tea in your hands when you felt him before you heard him.
Tom’s presence had become familiar in the strangest way — the subtle shift in the room whenever he entered it, the quiet sound of his footsteps, the warmth that appeared at your back seconds later.
His hands slid around your waist immediately.
Like it was instinct now.
“You disappeared,” he murmured against the side of your head.
You smiled softly. “I walked twenty feet away.”
“You’re needy after the war.”
Tom made a low unimpressed sound at the accusation, though his grip tightened slightly instead of loosening.
You leaned back against his chest with an amused sigh. Even at nearly twenty, you still felt small compared to him. Tom was unfairly tall — all long limbs and broad shoulders and quiet intensity — and he used it constantly.
He rested his chin on top of your head again while you stirred sugar into the tea.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
The kitchen lights were dim, golden against the dark marble counters. Snow drifted beyond the windows in slow spirals.
From the drawing room came the muffled sound of Draco yelling that Regulus was “psychologically manipulative.”
Tom’s fingers brushed lazily against the fabric covering your stomach.
“You’re tired,” you said quietly.
“You nearly fell asleep standing up earlier.”
You laughed softly, turning slightly in his arms until you could look up at him.
Beautiful, still — devastatingly so — but tired around the edges in ways only you ever noticed. His curls were slightly messy, his dark eyes heavier than usual.
Tom met your gaze silently.
Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed you.
Not dramatic or consuming like he kissed when the two of you were alone.
His hand moved from your waist to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while he kissed you like it was second nature now.
Like he’d spent years memorizing exactly how you responded to him.
You melted against him almost immediately, one hand curling into the front of his sweater.
He exhaled quietly against your mouth at the feeling.
That subtle thing he did after the war.
Like affection still surprised him.
Like every time you touched him gently, some part of him still didn’t entirely believe he was allowed to have it.
When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that your noses brushed.
“You’ve turned domestic,” you whispered.
Tom’s mouth twitched slightly.
Then he kissed you again — shorter this time, almost absentminded — before resting his forehead against yours.
“You know,” Draco’s voice called suddenly from the doorway, “some of us are trying to lose gracefully in peace.”
You turned your head enough to see him leaning against the doorway with Blaise beside him.
Neither looked remotely ashamed for interrupting.
“Don’t encourage him,” Blaise added. “He’s become unbearable since getting married.”
Tom didn’t even look at them.
“You’re in the kitchen,” Draco pointed out.
Tom finally turned his head slowly.
Draco visibly reconsidered every life choice that had led him here.
“Right,” he said quickly. “Terrifying. Forgot for a moment.”
You laughed quietly against Tom’s chest, and immediately his attention shifted back to you entirely.
Like everyone else disappeared the second you made a sound.
It was still strange sometimes, realizing this was the same Tom Riddle who’d once terrified half of Hogwarts with a glance.
Because now he followed you around the manor late at night while you made tea.
Now he pulled you into his lap during long evenings by the fire without even thinking about it.
Now he kissed your shoulder absently while reading reports in his study because you’d sat beside him on the sofa.
Domesticity looked almost unnatural on him.
And yet somehow it fit perfectly.
Later that evening, after the others had settled back into conversation, you ended up tucked sideways against Tom on one of the drawing room sofas.
Or rather — half on top of him.
One of his arms wrapped securely around your waist while the other lazily turned pages in the book resting open in his lap that he definitely wasn’t reading anymore.
Your legs draped over his.
His fingers traced idle patterns against your side beneath the fabric of your sweater.
The fire flickered warmly across the room.
“You know what’s disturbing?” Theo said from across the room.
“No one asked,” Tom replied immediately.
Theo ignored him. “He used to threaten people for speaking too loudly around him.”
Tom glanced down instinctively when you shifted closer against him.
His hand slid up your back automatically.
Theo looked disgusted. “Exactly my point.”
You smiled sleepily against Tom’s shoulder.
“You’re tired,” he murmured quietly.
“we’ll go upstairs in a minute.”
The way he said it was soft enough that nobody else in the room probably even noticed.
Because Tom only sounded like that with you.
Like the sharp edges in him disappeared for a few seconds at a time.
You tilted your head up slightly, the quiet way you asked for affection.
Draco made the loudest suffering noise imaginable from the armchair.
Tom ignored him entirely.
He leaned down without hesitation, one hand moving to tilt your chin upward gently before kissing you slow enough to make the entire room collectively regret being there.
“Oh, for the love of—” Draco groaned.
Blaise threw a cushion directly at his face.
Regulus looked deeply entertained for once in his life.
Tom barely even noticed them.
Too busy kissing you like he’d spent his whole life touch-starved and only just discovered what tenderness felt like.
