wildest dreams [] a ryan x dylan fic

𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙

⋆ dylan POV ⋆
413 words
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"oh my god, SHUT UP." a pillow flies across the room, towards the window in a feeble attempt to silence the birds chirping loudly outside of the bedroom. dylan groans as he sits up, hair messy and dishevelled as strands of it lay lazily in front of his eyes. as he squints into the air, dylan turns his head, facing his side table clock. 3:56 pm it read. without another thought, he springs from his bed, pulling on a large t-shirt as he stumbled out of the room. "shit shit shit. kaitlyn's gonna eat my face." miss ka and mr lenivy agreed to meet about 2 hours before the 'cute lil get together thing' just to hang out a bit, and dylan was more than a couple minutes late. the article of clothing hung past his bare thighs, swaying as he hobbled into the bathroom.

he ripped it off, stepping into the shower as the hot water dripped down his shoulders, shimmering between the dips of his back, and his sharp hip bones, gliding down his tattooed arms. after a few moments of obnoxious singing and a few too many hazy daydreams, dylan climbs out.

"hey girl." on the way back to his bedroom, dylan was stopped by a large tuff of orange. he leans over, holding his towel against his lissom frame, stroking his beloved cat, scratching behind her ears as she purred against his hand. he grins at her gestures, as she wraps her tail around his arm. "stop distracting me." he croons, as she meows in response, as if to say, but whyyy, where're you off to? she was curious, so as to follow him into the room, "shrö, baby no. i really have to go." he could hear the whine in her throat, looking up at him with sad eyes, as dylan shuts the door. he giggles, hearing her meow and scratch on the other side.

after drying off, and putting on a killer outfit, dylan pulls his black carbon shell prosthetic off his bedside table. he clips it onto the base on his wrist, listening for a tap as he twisted it against hydroelectric plastic.

click!

it immediately powers on, white turning bright green as electricity runs through its cables. he flexed his fingers, getting used to the familiar feeling, before checking his watch on the other wrist. fuck. he speeds out the room, tope bag in hand, as he kisses his cat goodbye.

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"mary on a, mary on a cross."
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