Chapter Text
If Atsumu knew what love was, he might have used the words “love at first sight” when he saw you.
He first notices you from the window of some other woman’s apartment, walking home with your head down and hands stuffed into the pockets of your cardigan. He doesn’t exactly remember what caught his attention first—was it the way you walked with an angry purpose? The way you didn’t look at anyone who passed you by? Or maybe the way he knew, without a doubt, that you were single, lonely, and the perfect prey?
His job is to notice things—little bits and pieces of women that normal humans would miss. Little signals that tell him exactly who will have the most delicious dreams. That’s why he slips out the window of the woman’s apartment and follows you back to your place. It’s a decent-sized apartment not too far from the subway station. It’s on the fifth floor, but that’s easy enough to slip into. (He’s had far worse anyway. If that woman on the 12th floor hadn't had absolutely perfect visions, he never would have scaled the building for her.)
Atsumu doesn’t enter your apartment at first. He watches for a few nights where he knows you won’t be able to see him. He follows you to your boring desk job at some office building. He watches you as you leave much later than the sunset as the week goes on. You definitely don’t have a boyfriend (or a girlfriend, he notices. Even if you did, he could make it work.) You work; see your scarce amount of friends; work some more; go home to be by yourself; work even more.
You're the perfect target for him. An overworked woman with no love life usually has the most delicious dreams. It’s something he’s come to figure out during his entire existence. That’s why he sticks with mostly younger, career-driven women, then moves on when they eventually find an actual lover. It’s a fun game for him, like cracking a code or figuring out a puzzle.
This time, you’re the riddle he is begging to solve.
Atsumu waits a week before he climbs up the brick of your apartment building and slips inside an open window. You probably thought it was safe, didn’t you? That no one would come through the fifth floor? Certainly you didn’t expect an incubus of all creatures to slip into your living room, with his sharp nails leaving divots in the windowpane, and his wings pressed tightly against his back. Your apartment is cute anyway, full of little succulent plants and photos of friends and family on the wall. But he doesn't really care about that, not when your bedroom door is open and inviting him in.
It’s cute that you don’t sleep with the covers on, even in the spring. Your sheets pool at your feet, with your little cotton shorts riding up so he can see the whites of your panties. Your tank top is askew and he can see your areolas and your cute little nipples. Yes, he’s going to have a lot of fun with you.
He slips into your bed, trailing his nails up your exposed thighs as he watches your face for a reaction. Nothing. When he leans down and licks your nipple, you don’t even move. The pads of his fingers pushing aside your shorts and running up the length of your panties don’t do anything either. No matter. He can see into your thoughts, see what you most desire and—
It’s work. You’re dreaming about work.
Atsumu takes a step back, crinkling his eyebrow in confusion. You just came from work and you’re dreaming about work, even when he started touching you? He tries to touch you again, caressing the insides of your thighs with the pads of his thumbs, and you have the audacity to think about paperwork.
Maybe it’s just your mood tonight.
When he comes back the next night and slips back into your bedroom, you’re wearing the same clothes and in the same position. And when he starts to touch you again, you give him the same thoughts. Copying, faxing, papers. It’s the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Nowhere in your brain are there any thoughts of debauchery or sex or even kissing.
“Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
Atsumu Miya may have found the one riddle he can’t solve.