#shirox reader

Here you were, just a couple of minutes ago, minding your own business, when Shiro knocked on your door and announced that you had to play his partner for a week. In three days, he was supposed to be at a family dinner with his parents, and he was supposed to bring a date. He’d decided that you were just the person to ask.

Which got you a bit conflicted. You had been actively trying to ignore any eventual feelings you might have developed for Shiro over time, stuffing them away in the deepest parts of your soul and not acknowledging their presence. It was easier that way. It was easier to pretend that you wanted to be nothing but friends, like you had been for the past twelve years, than to try to deal with feelings that could possibly rip all of that apart, should they not be reciprocated.

You hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t worth the risk of losing twelve years’ worth of friendship. You loved Shiro more than anyone, and you would take the safety of your friendship over all else, even if that meant one-sided pining for the rest of your life.

But pretending to be in a relationship with him‒just so that he could prove a point to his parents‒could throw your whole head upside down. Your head was spinning, your mind a hurricane of thoughts. You didn’t know what to do.

Shiro had been very clear: it would be pretending, and nothing but pretending. No more, no less. You had to admit that even though you knew that he didn’t like you that way, the words still stung a bit.

But as you looked back up at Shiro’s face, his hopeful expression, you sighed in resignation and cursed your apparent inability to say no to him. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Shiro’s face lit up and he opened his mouth, but you held up a hand to silence him. “On one condition.” Shiro raised an eyebrow, caution creeping into his expression. You grinned. “I get to pick your outfit.”

--

You straightened Shiro’s tie, its purple standing out starkly against the black shirt he wore. You fiddled with the buttons on his blazer, furrowing your brows in concentration and nervousness. Your fingers were trembling.

It was stupid; you had been at Shiro’s for dinner just about five thousand times, especially as you grew older.  You were very good friends with the entirety of the Shirogane family: after all, you had known them since you were six years old. You couldn't remember a time when they weren't a huge part of your life.

So why were you nervous, almost scared, now? You knew, even though you weren't ready to admit it to yourself, that the nerves probably didn't have a lot to do with the Shirogane family dinner, but more with the one Shirogane that was standing beside you at that moment. You shook your head as if the gesture could possibly rid you of any nerves coursing through your veins.

"Are you done?" You jumped. You hadn't realised that your hands hadn't left Shiro's blazer, and were now resting against his chest. You quickly drew them back, feeling your cheeks go red with embarrassment. As you stepped back, you turned your face away and smoothed down your own clothes, even though they were already impeccable.

“Yeah. It’s‒it’s good.”

You spun on your heels and started towards the front door, letting Shiro jog to catch up with you. “Are you nervous?” he asked, bumping his shoulder to yours. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were a little tense; you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling nervous too.

“No,” you lied. Your voice came out a little higher than usual and you were sure that Shiro would notice that you weren’t telling the truth. If he did, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he grabbed your hand, startling you.

“What? We gotta make it look at least a bit real,” he said, averting his eyes and pursing his lips. You hummed, not trusting your voice to stay steady. You hoped, in the very back of your mind, that your hand wasn’t too clammy in his.

As the two of you approached the door, Shiro's grip around your fingers tightened.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey. It'll be fine. It's just pretending, right? It's not like it means anything.” The words stung in your throat, but you forced them out anyway.

Shiro cleared his throat. “Yeah. Of course,” he said softly. Avoiding each other's gaze, Shiro rang the doorbell. The meal was about as awkward as you expected. Which was to say, not very awkward at all, as long as you avoided questions about you and Shiro's ‘relationship’. You chatted away with Shiro's parents, trying to seem as relaxed as possible.

The evening trickled by, and if you didn't think about the circumstances you could almost imagine that it was a normal night, just you and Shiro's family having dinner and talking. Nothing special about that. You thanked them for the delicious meal and sat back in your chair.

“Takashi, Y/N, I know you have probably dreaded this moment, but we're gonna have to get to it sooner or later.” Mr Shirogane said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands. Your blood turned to ice. Here you'll have it, you thought, and braced yourself for “the Dad talk”.

“Dad-” Shiro started, his face bright red, but Mr Shirogane shot him a raised eyebrow and he swallowed back whatever it was that he was going to say.

“You'll sleep in Takashi's old room. I'm trusting you to not do anything…” he suppressed a smile. “... inappropriate.”

You were positive you were about the shade of an overripe tomato by now and you resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands. A glance to your right told you that Shiro probably felt the same way; he flushed a deep crimson from his ears to the base of his neck. “Thanks, Dad. We'll keep it in mind.” Mr Shirogane pretended not to notice the death glare his son sent his way.

Then, thankfully, Mrs Shirogane changed the subject by cheerfully announcing that there was cake to be had, and on the way to the kitchen she pinched Shiro in the cheek and cast you a knowing smirk.

“So, I can sleep on the couch if you want. I can go into the guest room or something?” Shiro awkwardly stood in the doorway to his room, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, shifting his weight from one leg to another. You were sat on the edge of his bed, inside the room you had spent so many hours as a child, and later, as a teenager with your best friend, combing knots out of your damp hair with your fingers.

You bit your lip. What you were about to suggest was dangerous‒especially now, when you couldn't very well keep your emotions in check. But you also didn't want to think about what would happen if Shiro's parents walked in on him sleeping on the couch. You sighed. “Don't be ridiculous. We'll share the bed. Done it plenty of times as kids, why should it be different now? Besides, as you said, we gotta make it look real.”

Shiro cocked his head, hesitation clear on his features. You rolled your eyes now, slightly annoyed at his reluctance to just sleep beside you. “C'mon. I won't eat you.”

Finally he gave in, sighing as he slipped beneath the covers next to you.

Even with Shiro's back turned to yours, you couldn't help the slight acceleration in your heartbeat. That was when you knew you were a goner. You shifted onto your back and stared at the ceiling, wondering how you would ever get to sleep.

You woke up to Shiro spooning you. His arm was slung over your chest, pulling you closer to him. His face was nuzzled into the back of your neck. You felt his warm breath wash over your skin. You counted to ten, needing the time to steady your breathing and clear your thoughts. When Shiro sighed in his sleep and tightened his grip on you, you stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your heartbeat to steady. Careful not to disturb Shiro, you slipped out of his embrace and immediately regretted it: the morning chill sent shivers down your spine. It was early: outside, the sun had barely started to rise and the house was still silent. Shiro's parents must still have been asleep. You took a deep breath and headed for the bathroom. You needed to clear your head.

Gripping the edge of the sink, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes had a slightly panicked glint to them, your hair was dishevelled. You splashed some water in your face. The cold temperature brought you somewhat back to reality. You looked back to your reflection again. You recalled the feeling of Shiro's body pressed against yours. Then you regretted it, feeling your face go red and your heart speed up. You sat down on the edge of the bathtub and lowered your head into your hands. "This can't go on," you muttered to yourself, your voice muffled by your fingers.

"What can't?" You jerked your head up and immediately made eye contact with Shiro, standing in the doorway and leaning against the frame. His hair was as dishevelled as yours. He squinted slightly, not fully awake yet. You cursed internally. Great. Amazing timing, Shiro.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," you said, standing up, mustering a smile and smoothing down your clothes. But you knew that lying to Shiro wasn't a good idea: he'd see right through you. You were right.

Shiro frowned, stepping forward. "No, I'm serious. It's six a.m, Y/N. What is it?"

You wanted to sob. Seeing him with such a caring expression on his face only intensified your desire to kiss him right then and there. His eyes held a warmth you would never get tired of. But he saw you as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet you'd just shared a bed with him.

"Look‒I don't think this is a good idea, all right? I don't‒I can't‒" You cut yourself off, uttering a frustrated grunt and waving your arms around, trying to grasp for words you couldn't find.

Shiro raised his hands, taking another hesitating step towards you. "What do you mean? You can tell me."

You breathed a bitter laugh. You can tell me. You knew, because you always told each other everything. Everything, except the one massive secret you'd kept from him for over six months. But you were tired of hiding your feelings, and maybe the eerie silence that still filled the house had you sitting on edge as well. "I don't want to go on and pretend that all I want to be is friends!" you whispered furiously, careful not to wake Shiro's parents.

Shiro sucked in a breath. Here you'll have it, you thought. I fucked up. You tried to hide your flinch, a whole new kind of silence falling upon you like a thick blanket. Forcing back tears, you tried to push past Shiro, but he grabbed your wrist and gently said, "Wait."

You waited, because how could you not? Shiro deserved an explanation.

"For how long?"

You didn't ask what he meant. With an awkward shrug, you mumbled, "Couple months? Half a year? Don't know. Didn't‒I didn't count." You refused to meet his eyes until he breathed a laugh.

"So you mean I could have asked you out months ago and you would have said yes?"

You almost choked on air and you felt your cheeks heat up once more. You turned to face him. If you'd had the balls to ask me, you thought wryly, but only responded with a quiet, "I guess so."

"So," Shiro chuckled, a baffled smile curling his lips, "you mean I could have done this months ago?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours. You froze, surprised by how perfect his lips fit on yours, how nice it felt to have his hand cup your cheek and tilt your face that little bit upwards. Then you melted into his touch, arching your back and pressing your body flush to his. Your hands came up to rest on his chest, and then tentatively one hand crawled up his neck and you buried your fingers in his already dishevelled hair.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle. Still, your chest seemed to be on fire, the feelings you had ignored for months now crashing into you. Shiro finally pulled away, just enough for both of you to catch your breath, but stayed close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek and you gently laid your forehead against his. A laugh bubbled past your lips. Shiro raised an eyebrow at you, a grin of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"It's nothing. I just‒I love you. Very much."