Karasu always claimed to be a morning person—up at the crack of dawn, out for a run or already halfway through his first workout. Discipline and routine—that was his thing.

But ever since you came into his life, that routine sometimes…shifted.

Now, there were few mornings where he chose to stay, to sleep in with you tangled in the sheets beside him, to press lingering kisses as you peacefully slept, to let your warmth seep into the cold edges of his world.

And waking up with Karasu meant unpredictability.

Some days, he’d be sprawled over you like a smug, overgrown cat, limbs heavy and clinging to you as if you were his personal pillow. The tips of his hair brushing against your warm skin, as soft as the sheets that clung on both of you.

Other times, he’d hover beside you with an unreadable look, staring deep into your soul, brushing his fingers through your hair. His gaze sharp but softened by something he’d never say aloud. And always smirking the second he notices you waking up.

He always pretends he doesn’t like cuddling, rolling his eyes whenever you tease him about it—though you always knew he loved it. Especially when you feel his arm snake around your waist, instinctively pulling you closer the second you try to roll away, making sure your face is tucked in against his chest.

Or the way his fingers twitch with the urge to touch you even in sleep? He’s clingy, so clingy. Only for you.

And today morning was just that.

Karasu is already thinking of whatever excuse he can formulate, to convince you that the only reason he’s still in bed, is not because of you.

You’re still tucked in, face buried in his pillow, when you feel the weight of his arm drape over your waist. He is staring at you, waiting patiently for you to wake up.

Even though he did have the urge to just shake you awake and to then tease you the second he sees the frown seep in, to then poking your cheek and annoying the heck out of you.

He smirks seeing you shift closer to him, only to move away and turn your back from him, and he never once felt his smirk flatter this quickly.

He lets out a quiet sigh, pulling your body back against him, his breath fanning against your neck as he closes the space between you two. His lips brush softly against your skin, a whisper of affection in each kiss as if trying to coax you awake.

“Wake up, brat,” he murmurs against your neck, voice gravelly and low, a trace of mischief curling at the edges.

His teeth graze your skin lightly, more playful than serious—his tongue slips out to taste your warm salty skin. He tightens his hold around your waist, not planning on letting you go anytime soon.