GILDED, daniel larusso x reader

16 | between the lines

"Go ahead, Jersey," Daniel says, and the way he says it, with that cheeky grin, makes me feel like I'm about to be roasted alive.

I groan dramatically, huffing out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Stop calling me that." I roll my eyes, trying to appear unaffected, but inside, I'm already panicking about what I'm about to say.

Embarrassing stories are my least favorite thing in the world. I start running through them in my head—there's the one about the time I tripped over a rock in front of an entire crowd at a track meet, or the one where I couldn't figure out how to work a blender at a friend's house and ended up wearing half the smoothie.

Finally, I settle on one. "Okay, I was at a party once, right? Trying to look all smooth and cool, and I ended up knocking over a whole punch bowl. Like, a full punch bowl. I could've sworn it was a sign of the universe telling me to never dance in public again. So, naturally, I just walked out of the room like nothing happened."

Daniel's jaw drops, eyes wide with surprise as a grin spreads across his face. His hand instinctively covers his mouth, but it's not enough to stop the laughter bubbling out. "You're such a dumbass," he says, shaking his head with an amused smile.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but I can feel my face getting warm. "Shut up. Your turn."

I grab the cup and flip it toward him, my fingers trembling slightly.

Daniel takes a moment, like he's picking out a story from the vault of his past. When he finally speaks, it's with an unexpected sincerity. "When I was younger, I thought I could pull off a mullet. It didn't work. And to this day, I regret it."

I blink, unable to process. "How much younger?" I ask, leaning forward, practically on the edge of the bed. This is gold.

"Like two... three years ago," he says, and I can practically see the mental cringe happening. I burst into laughter, unable to contain it, picturing him with a mullet. It's ridiculous—and yet, I can't stop laughing.

We spent the next couple of hours talking, playing the game, laughing, and getting to know each other. It felt strangely comfortable, like a layer of tension I didn't even realize I'd been carrying had slowly started to dissipate.

I guess I could thank that Dorito for this.

It was getting late. I glanced at the clock, knowing I'd have to leave soon, but there was just one more question that had been gnawing at me. I was sitting on Daniel's bed, one leg tucked beneath me, while he sat on the floor in front of me, leaning back in a relaxed position.

In fact, he was practically sitting right between my legs, but I didn't mind it—mostly because my focus was somewhere else.

Somehow, we'd found ourselves here. I'd asked if I could play with his hair again—he'd let me—and now my fingers were buried in it, massaging it, tugging at the soft strands. It was ridiculous how good it felt to have him so... relaxed. Daniel LaRusso, Mr. Karate, always with the edge, now soft and pliant under my touch.

It was like I was seeing a whole new side of him. His breathing was steady, and I found myself getting lost in it, in the way he smelled like soap and something else I couldn't quite place. I didn't want to think about how much I liked the scent of him.

"I have another question," I say, breaking the quiet hum of the room. Daniel makes a soft, barely audible sound in response, lost in relaxation.

His eyes are closed, and his head is tilted slightly back, exposing the smooth curve of his neck.

I can't help but notice how close we are. My thumb brushes his forehead, grazing his skin just a bit, and for some reason, my breath catches in my throat. But I force it down. Keep it cool, Y/N.