hello this is my first time requesting udgshshshs can I get an arranged marriage au with Fyodor x fem! reader where she has massive crush on him but he doesn't like her one bit, she tries to win him over with presents and things but to no avail until one day Fyodor has enough and snaps at him. Reader is like super hurt obvi and finally distances herself away, Fyodor thinks he'll be fine but he's uncomfortable with how distant the reader is and tries to find out what's wrong by getting closer to her. Slowly, she's falling out of love of him while he's falling for her.
feel free to ignore this :>
this was SO fun to write!! sorry for the delay, and thanks for requesting! hope this meets your expectations :3
𖦹 Don't Overcomplicate
fyodor dostoevsky x fem!reader
It was obvious Fyodor didn't like you. You doubted he could even stand your presence.
You didn't expect him to love you. You knew he wouldn't.
From the start, you made yourself aware of what your relationship was—nothing. A simple move for money, for status. You shouldn't have expected anything.
To him, it was nothing more than a convenient arrangement, part of a plan.
To you, it was much more.
You didn't remember when or how you fell for him. Maybe it was months after your wedding, the domesticity of sharing a home messing with your head. Or perhaps it was the same day you got married. You weren't sure.
What you did know, however, was that you loved him.
Everything was confusing. It wasn't like he tried to be a good husband. He was just polite. Careful.
But there was something about his cold, detached nature that attracted you.
You knew you couldn't make him love you back. But you still tried. Every day, you tried.
Mornings greeted with breakfast already on the table, quick checkups when he worked too much, a blanket over his shoulders when he fell asleep at his desk.
He never said thank you.
"I brought you some tea," you said, voice soft.
You left the teacup on the desk, offering him a tiny smile.
"You shouldn't have troubled yourself," he said, smiling back, though it never reached his eyes.
You dismissed his words with a quick shake of your head.
"Are you, uh... going to bed soon?" you asked, unsure of your own intentions.
Fyodor and you shared a bed, but you were never close enough for your bodies to touch.
Actually, the only time you'd touched him was during your wedding ceremony.
"I'm afraid I'll take a while," he replied, his gaze already back on the papers in front of him.
You nodded shortly.
"Alright. Good night," you muttered, deciding not to wait for him. It was pointless, anyway.
"Good night."
As you changed into your nightwear, you felt that familiar pit in your stomach.
You got in bed, letting the sheets envelop you completely, as if they could comfort you.
It was a shame they couldn't. Nothing could.
You felt frustrated.
How could you have someone so close yet so far at the same time?
You had to live with the desire to touch him, to hold him, to tell him everything you felt, but you were forced to simply watch him.
You kept trying, with the hope that, one day, he'd acknowledge you, maybe even love you back.
But each time you did something for him, or tried to start a conversation, his jaw seemed to tense just slightly.
Until one day, he snapped.
He hadn't meant to, really. But you were constantly on him, trying to talk to him, to tend to his necessities.
He didn't want that. He wanted you to understand what all of this was.
"We are not an actual couple," he said, and the way he said your name afterwards broke you.
"I, eh, I know," you muttered.
"Then stop this."
His tone caught you off-guard. It was sharper, more intimidating.
"... Stop... what?" you said, your voice faltering.
"Do not play dumb with me," he warned, and you felt a chill run down your spine. "You and I only married because of convenience. Do us both a favor and quit whatever you are poorly trying to attempt."
"... I don't..."
He cut you off by calling your name, again.
"Let's not overcomplicate things."
You were quiet for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes. Sorry."
Since then, you stopped trying to show him you cared, like he'd asked.
No more thoughtful details in his breakfast, no more surprise checkups, and no more warm blankets when he fell asleep working.
You stopped trying to start conversations, stopped asking when he'd go to bed.
Just like he asked.
At first, it was relieving. He didn't have to worry himself with an enamored fake wife whose feelings were definitely unrequited.
He could work, read or simply exist peacefully without interruptions. No footsteps outside his office. No soft voice calling his name. No cups of tea cooling on his desk.
You took his words seriously. Too seriously.
Fyodor didn't realize when, but he started to feel a discomfort he couldn't quite describe.
It was as annoying as when you used to come greet him with a smile when he came back home, maybe even more.
It became worse when he sat on the couch and you weren't there trying to make conversation, and when he sat at the table and the notes in your handwriting that came along with lunch were gone.
You still spoke to him, of course. But the warmth in your voice was missing.
"Would you like dinner?"
"Later," he'd answer.
And that was it. That was all.
He told himself it was ideal. Finally, things were simpler. He didn't have to worry about your feelings anymore.
But every time you passed him in the hallway, not even sparing him a glance, he noticed.
One evening, he returned home to find you asleep on the couch, a book still open in your hands.
You looked peaceful.
For some reason he couldn't explain, his chest tightened.
He walked closer, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. Then, a hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your skin was warm. Comfortable.
He quickly withdrew his hand. What was he thinking?
That night, he couldn't sleep.
Everything made sense, suddenly.
Why he'd been less productive lately, why it irritated him so much that you didn't talk to him, why his heart beat a little faster at night, when your back was almost touching his.
He couldn't admit it until now. He'd fallen for you.
Since then, he noticed everything.
How you hummed a soft tune when you cooked. How you put mascara on every day. How expressive you were when reading.
He finally noticed you.
He also noticed that you'd now avoid any unnecessary interaction with him. And it bothered him.
How could you switch from barely letting him breathe to ignoring him completely so easily?
"You're awfully quiet lately," he remarked one day.
You hummed softly, your gaze still on the book in your hands.
"You asked me to be."
That only made him want your attention even more.
He started talking to you. Subtly, he thought, but you quickly caught on.
He never asked how your day was before, or if you'd eaten, or if you had any plans.
Now, he wanted to know everything.
You stayed true to your word. You said you'd stop, so you did.
Each time he tried to start a conversation, you replied with short, one-syllable phrases. When he offered to cook dinner, you simply shook your head. When he brought you tea while you were reading, you smiled politely.
"You shouldn't have troubled yourself."
You were exactly what he'd asked you to be, and he hated it.
He'd asked you to stop loving him, to stop chasing him.
Now, it was his turn to chase someone who no longer looked back.
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