Sorry it’s me again I live in this inbox. Thinking about copia la creatura. Thinking about being his long-suffering spouse - the first time he succumbed to the curse it was terrifying, but you realised his dog like devotion to you stuck around even when he wasn’t fully human any more. Then the second time it comes about you’re ready for it, there’s a domesticity this time. La creatura copia who snuggles at your feet while you watch tv. Who escapes his cage at night so he can nuzzle into your neck, bc scenting you calms him. Who pins you to the nearest surface when you’re at your most fertile, bc he can smell it, and wants to put little monsters in you. Just some thoughts here 🥰
Avocado, do you play dodgeball?*
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you always wake up with Copia curled around you like a sleeping cat, his long, gangly body wrapped over your limbs and tangled up with the blanket. he has his own bed, a nest that he’d made by stealing nearly every pillow and blanket in the house and piling them on top of a mattress topper, but he seemed to love to sleep with you.
it isn’t as though you mind it— he’s just warm. warmer than normal. you wake up in a pool of your own sweat when he sleeps with you, his body heat radiating through the blankets that you always have to kick off in the middle of the night.
but it’s a small price to pay, to wake up with your favorite monster. you turn over in bed, coming face to face with him, and watch as he wrinkles his nose a little at the movement. Copia cracks one eye open to look down at you, a low rumble starting up in his chest once he sees that you’re awake too.
“morning,” you tell him. he doesn’t say much but leans down to lave his tongue over your neck, licking at the place where your scent is the strongest. Copia spends a few moments nuzzling you, making sure you’re thoroughly coated in his smell, before he allows you out of his grip.
sitting up in bed, you stretch, popping a few cracks out of your back. Copia mimics your movements and you hear the snapping of his spine as it bends out of alignment. you watch, fascinated, as he twists and bends from side to side before snapping back upright.
“i’m forever amazed at how you do that,” you say and he smiles at you, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your cheek. you go sputtering backwards, hand coming up to wipe the trail of spit as he laughs quietly at you.
“oh, is that how we’re playing the game this morning?”
grabbing a pillow from the head of your bed, you smack it solidly into his face. La Creatura goes reeling back from the blow, more startled than anything, eyes widening as you come in for another swing.
but he ducks in time to avoid it. Copia slams into your waist, knocking you back onto the mattress with enough force to momentarily drive the air from your lungs. he grins down at you, teeth bared playfully.
“game!”
you try to wiggle out of of his grasp but his hands come down to pin your arms in place, leaving you absolutely no room to move. he ducks his head down to lick at you again— but this time, he’s in your hair, on your face, all over. you laugh as he takes the opportunity to do what you never let him do, covering you in his spit.
i keep seeing that Hobbs and Shaw movie floating around and every time i see it there’s that split second where my brain reads it as Calvin and Hobbes and every time i’m so disappointed that a live-action action flick about the adventures of a boy and his stuffed tiger doesn’t exist yet
