#1 Goober

Because Bullseye?

That Bullseye?

Bullseye, human weapon? That Bullseye was clingy? He followed you around the apartment like he had imprinted on you? He stood in the doorway when you brushed your teeth because apparently watching you do mundane things soothed him? He would pretend he was just “checking something” in the kitchen and then end up pressed against your back with his chin on your shoulder?

No one would believe it.

Still, Dex’s clingy affection wasn’t casual. It wasn’t sane. It was not, “Hey, babe, can I sit next to you?” affection.

You would be sitting on the couch, reading your book, maybe tucked under a blanket, maybe with your knees pulled up, enjoying your quiet evening. And Dex would walk into the room, see you existing without him touching you, and immediately decide that was unacceptable.

Like, it was genuinely upsetting to him.

He would stand there for a second, staring at you.

You would look up from your book. “What?”

No answer. Dex would just look at you like you had abandoned him by sitting six feet away.

Then he would come over and climb on top of you.

And no, not cuddle, and not sit. What? Did you think he was gonna ease himself into your space like a normal boyfriend?

He would collapse, full body, dead weight. His face would press into your chest, arms around your middle, one leg thrown over yours like he was trying to physically prevent you from ever leaving the couch again.

“Dex,” you’d say, already sighing.

He would make a tiny noise into your shirt.

“You’re crushing me,” you said, but really, you were fine. You got used to this weighted blanket routine long ago.

He made another sound, even louder this time.

Dex knew. He was too aware of his own body not to know exactly how much of his weight he had draped over you. He just didn’t care, because this was where he wanted to be, and therefore this was where he belonged now.

He was so cat-coded, and not a cute little kitten cat-coded either. He was a big, feral, half-socialised alley cat who would hiss at everyone else and then crawl into your lap like a spoiled baby the second no one was looking.

Still, you secretly loved it so much it made you stupid.

You would never tell him that, obviously. God forbid. You had to keep some dignity.

So you’d complain the whole time.

“You’re so needy.”

He’d tighten his arms around you.

“You know that, right?”

Dex would just burrow closer, like he was trying to get under your skin, into your lungs, somewhere where nobody could take him away from you.

And then, like muscle memory, your fingers would find his hair. The second you started combing through it, Dex was gone.

His shoulders would loosen. His grip would turn less desperate and more sleepy. His breathing would slow down. He would go heavy and boneless in the way that made your heart do flips in your chest.

This was the same man who could hit a target without looking. The same man who could clear a room and barely blink. The same man who looked at most people like they were either threats, obstacles, or background noise.

The second you start scratching gently at his scalp, he would melt into you like he had been waiting all day for permission to stop being a person.

He wouldn’t purr, because he was a grown man. But he would make a sound very close to one. It's like a little hum in the back of his throat. It. Was. So. Fucking Cute. 

So you’d do it again and again and again.

And if you stopped, he would notice.

Oh, he’d notice. 

His head would lift up just enough for one eye to open, giving you this judgmental little look full of betrayal. Like, excuse me? Why did the hand stop? Who authorised that?

So you’d go back to combing through his hair, because you were weak to his little antics and he knew it.

Then you’d start reading your book aloud.

He didn’t even ask you to, but he would just get quieter when you did it. He’d pepper kisses on your chest and your neck because he loved hearing your breath hitch as you tried to say a long word. His grip would loosen, then tighten again, like he was trying to hold onto your voice as much as your body.

You could be reading absolute nonsense and he would listen like it was sacred.

It didn’t matter what the book was. Romance, horror, some old paperback you bought secondhand, a paragraph describing curtains for way too long, eventually, Dex would fall asleep to it anyway.

So no, Dex didn’t love halfway. When Dex loved you, it was with his whole obsessive, desperately loyal heart. And yes, if he were actually a cat, he would absolutely scratch the shit out of anyone who looked at you wrong.

Someone made you uncomfortable? Claws.

Someone spoke to you too sweetly? Claws.

Someone tried to take your attention away from him? Eat fucking claws, dipshit.

So yeah, you could be reading the most boring paragraph in the world and Dex would still fall asleep like it was a lullaby, because it was your voice. Because you were there. Because nobody was taking him away from his sacred couch time. 

And you’d keep reading even when he started snoring his cute little snores, one hand holding the book, the other buried in his hair, pretending not to notice the way he nuzzled closer, even in his sleep. 

Your clingy, surprisingly domestic, loverboy boyfriend.

Your murderous little rescue cat.

Fast asleep on top of you like he had finally found the one place in the world where he didn’t have to bare his claws.

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