GILDED, daniel larusso x reader

16 | between the lines

"Yeah, you can snoop in my fridge," Daniel calls from behind me, his voice floating into the kitchen, a little too casual, like he's just given me the green light to take his life savings or something.

"Thanks," I reply with a wink, as if I'm stealing treasure, and I pour myself a glass. After downing a sip, I wander toward his room, my eyes scanning the space as I make my way there.

I've never been inside before.

"Yeah, I give you permission to snoop through my room." His voice is almost daring, like he's waiting for me to judge him.

"Thanks," I throw back over my shoulder as I take my first step inside. His room is... well, it's exactly what you'd expect from a guy like him.

A little messy but in the way that suggests he's too busy to care. Posters with frayed edges, the faint smell of cologne mingling with old sheets. It's almost cozy. Comfortably lived-in. And for some reason, that makes me feel oddly—invited.

I make a beeline for the bed. It's like something out of a teen movie—a bed just waiting for some dramatic sit-down conversation.

I sit, the mattress giving a loud creak in protest as I settle down, feeling the weight of the moment in the air. And then Daniel follows me in, and the bed shifts beneath him as he sits down next to me, the springs groaning under the pressure. The whole thing is oddly... intimate.

"Wait—I'm allowed to drink in here, right?" I ask, a little more unsure than I'd like to admit.

Maybe it's the way he's looking at me, or maybe it's the fact that I'm suddenly very aware of my own clumsy existence.

Daniel blinks at me, clearly a little confused. "Yeah, you are." His smile softens, a little surprised by my need for approval. It's almost endearing. Almost.

I sip the juice, but it's gone before I even realize it. Without thinking, I hand him the empty plastic cup. He grabs it with ease, his fingers brushing against mine in the process.

It's a fleeting touch, but it makes the air feel thick. For a second, I wonder if he notices, but then I shake the thought away.

"Well," he starts, shifting beside me, "let's play... spin the cup."

"Spin the cup?" I ask, my eyebrow arching in mock horror. "With just us? Yeah, no thanks—"

"Let me finish," he cuts me off, his tone sharper now, not in anger, but in that challenge I know too well. The one where he dares me to say something stupid. And, naturally, I take the bait.

I place my hand over my heart, feigning innocence. "Okay, okay, go ahead. Tell me your genius plan."

A glint of mischief lights up his eyes as he leans in slightly. "Let's play spin the cup—but with a twist. Instead of kissing, we tell each other something embarrassing."

I pause. Blink. Stare. "Well, what's the point of spinning the cup, then? We're just going to take turns embarrassing ourselves anyway."

"Okay, game over," he says, his tone deadpan as he throws up his hands in mock exasperation.

"No, no! Wait—I'm sorry!" I scramble to backtrack. "I'll play. It's a good idea. Promise. I'm in."

He shoots me a quick, almost amused look, before sitting beside me. The bed dips under his weight, and I feel the warmth of his body just inches from mine. There's a second of stillness—uncomfortably quiet—before he picks up the cup and spins it with purpose. It turns lazily, mocking the tension between us, until it finally comes to a stop, landing squarely on me. Of course.