Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6010639.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      妖怪ウォッチ_|_Yo-Kai_Watch
  Relationship:
      Fumi/Keita_(Katie/Nate)
  Character:
      Kodama_Fumika, Amano_Keita
  Additional Tags:
      Growing_Up, POV_Multiple, lots_of_yokai_interference, sex_is_gentle_and
      between_the_humans
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-14 Words: 4737
****** Ataraxia ******
by Tokine
Summary
     Ataraxia - a state of serene calmness
     The clouds will dance and the wind will sing for us, so let's laugh a
     lot, okay?
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The first thing he notices is that she's incredibly annoying. She's absolutely
perfect, from the effortless twist of curls in her ponytail to the
authoritative tone she takes when the teacher calls on her in class. She's
always right, of course. She's charming and sweet and possesses a quiet
intelligence and propensity for critical thinking that leaves Keita undone. How
does she do it?
 
The first thing she notices takes a while for her to notice. Whenever graded
tests are back and the teacher announces the average mark, a classmate-
Barnaby, if she recalls correctly, and she most often does- will nudge him and
snicker and ask what he got, which will result in a shove and a hiss to be
quiet, bear, we're in class! But what's incredible is how incredibly average he
is- the mean and his score are perfectly aligned each time. He's nothing to
write home about (though she might for the practice- she’d just finished
learning her letters after all, and she couldn’t enter first grade without
completely mastery of the language), and so she's absolutely entranced by him.
How does he do it?
 
"We'll be friends for always, right?" Keita couldn't have that, his very
bestest friend in the entire world wasn't smiling. Running his tongue over his
gum where he'd freshly lost his teeth (but Fumi already had two adult teeth-
the stinker), Keita pulled his biggest smile.
"Of course!" And Fumi smiled back.
 
They both receive yokai watches at the same time. She rolls with the punches,
threading hers through a silver chain, while his remains strapped at his wrist:
clunky, heavy. Keita takes the change in a fashion he considers to be
admirable: after a few days, he didn't even scream after waking up and
realizing Whisper was still there and not an incredibly bizarre nightmare.
Every time he sees her, she's made a new friend. Powerful yokai seem to flock
to her, recognizing the confidence in her grin and the equations of friendships
and trajectories and strategy dancing just behind her eyes as what they were:
power. Even Snartle, known for his belligerence towards youth, offered a
respectful nod as she passed (as the traffic light dictated her to, of course).
For some reason Keita appreciated but could not understand, she treated him
with the utmost respect, and she had never once seen a disrespectful thought
pass through her eyes, even as he pitted his common partners against her pseudo
legendary ones. He supposed it was just her faultless good nature, and the fact
that their situation was more than a little bit weird. There's few that could
really understand her position, and add the ability to form friendship with
yokai onto that and she's pretty much isolated, sequestered into her world and
forced to be an enigma. Keita at least is a splash of normalcy in her abnormal
world. They can laugh about mischievous Wazzat's antics and share strategies
for the nightmare Oni, or spend hours flipping through their medallion
collections, reveling silently in the fact they shared a connection they'd
never have with Bear or Eddie.
Fumi is more than a little envious of Keita. She spends two hours a day reading
about yokai, along with maybe another tacked onto that at the library searching
for a text she hasn't read yet on the subject, yet he makes his friends with
relative ease. The yokai he surrounds himself with revel in his smile and his
warmth, his relaxed attitude that betrayed no distress even when taking on an
enemy far greater than himself. His panic, when shown, was endearing, and
easily rectified by her stepping to his side, summoning one of her friends,
offering support and a life jacket when he got into stormy waters. His yokai
liked to nap with him, even Baddinyan, while Fumi's would bow respectfully and
disappear when not battling for her. She may have impressed them with her
knowledge and tactical know how, but in the end, she was someone to fight for
and then leave a respectful distance between: she simply wasn't approachable,
by spirit or human or otherwise.
 
Call it what you may, but there's no denying Keita has faced some terrible
yokai in his lifetime. The Slimander was one; he'd been wholly unprepared with
his d rank yokai and naive take on battling. He'd had enough close calls with
the nighttime Oni to last a lifetime, and he certainly was not complaining when
Kyubi was on his side and not trying to kill him. There's only been one that
Keita thought he had a chance from dying from though. After all, his friends
couldn't protect him from his own mind.
 
He's running some errands, nothing too strenuous for a leisurely morning. He
remembers feeling indulgent, slipping into Grandma Edna's candy store and
buying some chocolates for his mother and a cola for himself. Edna herself was
working the till, pinching his cheeks when her old eyes recognized his face.
Then he'd left, pedaling his bike absentmindedly before seeing a familiar face.
"Fumi!" He'd yelled, because she was far away, but for some reason the sound of
her giggle was clear and ringing. After the fact, he'd attributed that second
fact part not to be important, because he was always listening anyway. He’d
stowed his bike away, surprised to be met with a hug.
“Come on, let’s take a walk to the park. I want to go on the swings.” Well, she
must be feeling reminiscent this morning. That wasn’t odd, it was the sunny
sort of day perfect for pondering happy things, like grade school and swing
sets and popsicles. He didn’t realize the discrepancy in the normal script:
Jibanyan hadn’t appeared, pawing at her legs until he received scratches, nor
was she the type to not consider the convenience store bags he’d been toting,
offering to drop them off at home before going. He could barely think at all,
with her smile so content and her pinky finger brushing his ever so often, not
enough to be an overt gesture but enough for him to suspect she had a purpose
to her actions.
“It’s a beautiful day isn’t it?” She hummed in response, slipping onto the
swings with enough glee for him not to mourn the lack of touch.
“Push me?” And how could he refuse? They played for a childish two hours,
chasing each other around the park. The grandmother on the bench regarded them
with bittersweet eyes, thumbing the ring on her left hand with an absent-minded
frequency. She finally took cover under the large oak in the corner of the
park, with Keita following three paces behind. He’d sat down, and it took all
of his willpower not to squeak when she laid her head down in his lap. Fumi
tempted him unconsciously, because he could not stop himself from wanting,
wanting to run his fingers across the soft streak of skin that was her chin, or
even being so daring as to hold her hand, feeling the steady pulse that would
juxtapose his own jumping one.
“Keita,” A whisper. A trick of the wind? It had picked up considerably, yet the
girl in his lap had failed to even shiver. “Keita,” The hoarse voice of someone
who had been yelling, but at a volume below a whisper. Not his father, nor
Fumi’s either. “Ke-a!” It’s choked off now, but louder. Keita whipped his head
around, but the voice seemed to be coming from every direction, and then none
of them. A ghost? His hand flew of his own accord to his watch, but it wasn’t
there. When had he taken it off? “Tr-. It’s a -ik!” More yelling, more panic.
Why didn’t Fumi have her watch on? Why wasn’t she waking up? The truth ripped
through Keita’s panic.
“This isn’t real.” The wind kept swirling, Fumi remained asleep, and the swing
set that had facilitated so much joy seemed menacing now, the chains rattling.
Once more then. He tried to pry Fumi off, but her weight seemed infinitely
stronger than his measly arms. “Alright yokai, you’ve had your fun. Send me
back to the real world now!” In desperation, he sunk his teeth down into his
arm, ripping the flesh in jagged edges, but he didn’t stop until he was
bleeding.
“Keita!” He’d continued clawing, continued biting. He was not going to be
surpassed by a stupid yokai who thought they could possess him, seduce him with
a Fumi that was a mere mockery of his best friend. He’d show them and save
himself. “Keita! Stop it! Stop it you’re bleeding!” Whisper? Whisper wasn’t in
his dream. “I’m sorry,” He heard, before a lower whisper. “Do it.” A small mass
barreled into his stomach. Keita forced his eyes open.
“Jibanyan? What the hell?” He looked down at his arms, finding several bite
marks and a disturbing quantity of blood. His bags of groceries were strewn
across the pavement. “What the hell just happened?”
“Have you heard of the yokai Illoo?” Keita shook his head. “It’s the illusion
yokai. Normally known for playing mischievous pranks, but it seems like you
caught a more bad tempered one. Come on, let’s get you to Mr. Goodsight.”
Whisper led the way, anxious even as Mochismo and Minochi supported him from
either side.
“Keita! What happened to you?” Even Babbalong was silent, his normal coloration
a shade paler at the sorry sight.
“Bad tempered Illoo wouldn’t lift the illusion. Can you help us patch him up?”
 
She’s seen some terrible yokai, but her least favorite by far is Cuttincheez.
She’d been training in Nocturne Hospital and lo and behold the literal stinker
had decided to spray her. That was the only time she remembers running away
before even fighting for a chance for a metal. She’d taken shower after shower
at Keita’s place at his insistence when he was out running errands, for mutual
fear of what her mother would say if she dropped by Fumi’s apartment for a
surprise visit. But what a stench! The incident had occurred during the school
year, and she’d been stuck between missing class but avoiding the social stigma
of smelling like a bad encounter with a tin of beans, or going to school but
barely being able to focus. She’d managed at school, with more than a little
help from Dimmy. It wasn’t often that she hated yokai, as she tried to
sympathize with their coping mechanisms for being dead as mischief as a way to
manage, but this was too much.
 
"My grandmother wants me to be a lawyer but my mother wants me to be a doctor."
She’s sitting on the rooftops but she’s not smiling. It’s one of the few times
Keita can ever conjure up from his memories that she’s cast her textbooks
aside.
"Yeah, okay, but what do you want?" She’s thinking now. It’s not rare by any
means, but it is odd to see it being directed towards her own health.
"Sleep. Maybe some control over my eating habits." Her bento is untouched, for
the fifth time this week. He’s too young and too dumb to the ways of the
tortured psyche to take note of the tell tale signs: her hair looks thinner,
her skin is pulled tight over her bones. But then she smiles, pulling the books
onto her lap. For all his obliviousness, Keita can understand when there was a
moment and the precise second it was over, and he’s more than lost on what to
do. He goes to open his mouth, but she’s quicker, asking him questions to the
quiz that he knows she knows the answer to.
“Fumi, I,” She’s looking at him apprehensively now, fearful of what he’ll say,
what sleeping dog he’d try to shake awake. He cowers. “I got the same answer
for problem six too.” And not for the first time, he can’t tell if that’s
happiness or regret her eyes are trying to convey.
 
Three days. She hasn't slept in three days. Well, more specifically, it's been
seventy six hours and thirty eight minutes, but who's counting? Even Baku
whines a little when she refuses his aid, and she knows it’s not for lack of
being well fed and pampered. Soft chimes from the clock announced it was now 2,
and Fumi scrubbed at her eyes, pulling on a sweatshirt and resigning herself to
a couple hours of mathematics practice until dawn. The national tests were
coming up at the beginning of the school year, after all. She pulled her
brightest smile as she scratched under Baku's chin, resolving to text Keita at
a more sensible hour about a joint study session. And even as she arrives there
thirteen hours later in a state as disheveled as she'll ever be, he betrays no
sign of recognizing this, just inviting her in with the promise of tea once the
kettle had boiled. Fumi was not so audacious as to steal Keita's desk from him-
it was a study session, after all- and sat primly on the edge of the bed. She
did not realize how terrible of a mistake that was until ten hours and twenty
one minutes later.
"Fumi, do you feel like peppermint or citrus today?" Surprised at the lack of
words that normally chimed out in response, Keita stuck his head into his
bedroom. "Fumi, what's," The words fell flat upon observing the girl. A couple
of chocolate strands had wrestled their way free from the ponytail and were
framing her face that looked utterly blissful in sleep. Her shirt had slipped
up just in the slightest to reveal the hard outline of collarbones jutting into
her skin. God, did Fumi even eat? Was that just another menial lifesaving task
that she'd deemed too low on her priority list to bother getting to? He didn't
have much in his apartment, but at least he had enough to make some stir fry.
She wouldn't be leaving without a meal and a box to take home with a strict
warning on what he'd do if she decided eating wasn't important again.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" It took a minute to put the pieces together, but when she
did her skin flushed a bright pink. A bed that was definitely not her own,
Keita's scent, and the yokai that had arranged herself in her arms was
certainly not her own. "Oh, you have Noko?" She recognized the little cuddler
as an incredibly rare yokai, known to run at the sound of footsteps even a
quarter of a kilometer away. "I mean, I am very sorry. This won't happen
again." Thank goodness it was summer, Keita was just too polite to wake up a
sleeping lady.
"Not a problem. I made stir fry, come on down. You can bring the little devil
with you, Noko will just keep pestering you if you don’t carry him." He refused
to give her polite refusals the time of day, instead making pleasant small
talk: the mischief little Noko enjoyed creating, the several kids he'd seen
around with bug nets, a new recipe for udon he'd like to try. Still, beneath
that, she felt him silently appraising her, sizing her up in a way he hadn't
before yokai entered their lives. Keita was more clever now, she was sure, but
he was just as adept at hiding it. She refused to shift under his gaze, and she
was glad for the yokai in her lap that squirmed happily as she scratched.
Dinner passed by as a pleasant affair on the surface, but Fumi’s hand jumped
into her lap of it’s own accord as their knuckles brushed when they reached for
the rice bowl simultaneously. He’d given her one of those looks again, the one
she realized to be heady and full of meaning, and felt an unfamiliar twinge of
weakness.
“Take my sweatshirt,” He’d insisted after dinner, and tossed it at her before
she had the chance to refuse, stepping out of the room to give her privacy to
change.
“I have to be heading home,” And oh, if Keita could insist that she’d stay he
would in a heartbeat but he knew better than to push her any farther out of her
comfort zone tonight. What he wouldn’t give to wrap his arms around her and
sleep, knowing that she’d be safe from her self-destructive tendencies when he
was around.
“Take care,” He’d said in lieu of what was on his mind, and she was gone before
he had a chance to reconsider.
 
They meet again at Frostia’s. She’s spent about seventeen minutes more than the
appropriate amount of time on her hair for what will be a non-date, but she
still can’t control the twitching of her hands as she tries to restrain herself
from fixing nonexistent stray hair. Her mother’s training had been in vain
after all. If she couldn’t control herself when she was nervous for a not-date
with her best friend, how could she even manage to deal with an actual
stressful situation? She arrives three minutes before the scheduled time, which
she calculates to be enough before to show that she cared, but not early enough
to seem weird. The Croonger in the corner makes her blush and then giggle at
it’s antics. A snake in a pot doing a Barry White impersonation just happens to
have that effect, she supposed. Either way, it sets her mind at ease, and she’s
once again thankful for her foresight to have chosen this place for their meet-
up. That is, until the boy in question actually showed up.
“Hey, what’s up?” Fumi appraised the boy, her nose that was so ruined by
Cuttincheez’s antics picking up the faintest hint of gel. Did he manage to pick
up on the subtext in her call? Did he guess what “it’s really important” meant?
“Oh, you know,” She did her best to smile. Judging by the singular raised
eyebrow, she could discount her attempt as a fail.
“Are you here to discuss your feelings?” She winced. Keita had grown more adept
at hiding it, but he was still the same blunt boy she’d grown to… have feelings
for. And that was all she had to say on that subject, thank you very much.
“Don’t give me that look, we’ve known each other since pre-school. I think I
know what you look like when you want to talk about something that makes you
uncomfortable.”
“I, well,” Fumi cleared her throat. “That may have been the subject I wanted to
discuss. It’s just, you see,” Why couldn’t she talk? Why did she sound like a
complete idiot? She’d spent the entire night before planning every word, cross
referencing the poetry she’d read so that she sounded both suave and
intelligent. Why, oh why, hadn’t she let Casanuva inspirit her before doing
this? Right, Keita had a yokai watch, and it would be quitting if she took the
easy way out. And she was not a quitter.
“You want to know what I think?” Keita didn’t wait for a reply. “You’re trying
to tell me you have feelings for me, but your mother left you so emotionally
stunted you’re unable to say anything. You’re hoping that I’ll bail you out,
but I can’t with this.” He stood up, but not before she saw Tattletell’s smirk.
Well, she was revealing his inner thoughts. She couldn’t fault him for his
frustration or his anger. Hot tears burned at her eyes, but she refused to
submit to them. It didn’t hurt, she wasn’t upset, and this whole situation
could’ve been rectified if she was just strong enough to say something, but the
words just wouldn’t come. She slammed her fist on the table, trembling.
“I like you okay? I admire you a lot. You’re so gentle with me even though I’m
an emotional wreck and you have such a kind nature that even yokai can’t deny
and you’re just so good to me, you piece of shit. So come find me if you want
to make fun of me or whatever. I’m leaving.” Two could play at this game of
anger. She whipped around him, her unholy beauty clashing with her untameable
rage, and her feet set the course for her house. Blandon summoned himself of
his own accord and she felt his presence at her back, a silent guardian. He’d
bowed as she arrived safely, and soon as she unlocked the door Schmoopie
barreled into her arms. She felt a curious tickling sensation and laughed
before scratching the ball of fuzz. “Sorry to inform you buddy, but your powers
can’t do anything about this kind of hurt.” Fumi turned on the tap, settling
into a hot bath that the little yokai was happy to join into. She woke up to
the pattering of Draggie’s paws and Schmoopie’s yowls showing how disgruntled
she was with the interruption.
“There’s something you need to see,” Draggie peered up at her, the light
glinting off the crystal ball on top of the dragon’s head. The knock at the
door startled them and the orb faded to cloudy again, but not before she caught
a glimpse of a very familiar boy. She looked at the clock, realizing she’d home
for a little over an hour.
“I wonder who would come calling for me this late at night,” She voiced her
thoughts out loud, but a large part of her was not surprised at the response.
“Fumi, open up, it’s me.”
 
She made him tremble. It was not the cold rain seeping into his clothing. It
was her, all her. Her words still rung in his head, taunting his inaction. What
did she expect him to do, receiving guests, and him in particular, of all
people, dressed so casually just in his sweatshirt and lacy socks that gripped
her thighs in a way he'd only dreamed of with the night and a guilty conscience
to bear witness? And she'd invited him in and offered him food and drink and a
hot shower but there was only one thing he wanted and her words didn't offer it
but her smile did: coy and in control. She had to know what an impact her
confidence, her grace, had on him. She’d lifted the burden of her confession
off of her chest, and was Fumi again, but renewed. He was not in control of
himself.
He initiated their first kiss, tipping her chin up. "Fumi," he'd exhaled, more
of a prayer than a call to her, really, but she responded all the same, meeting
him for another kiss, and then another, and then he lost track. He grabbed her
by her thighs, depositing her messily onto his lap before starting again,
leaving a trail of kisses down her neck and nuzzling at the prize beneath,
thrilled as she slipped one of his hands up to touch inside of her shirt. God,
she was amazing. He reveled in the darkness of her eyes, the tangle of her
curly hair making her seem feral, leaning into the thumb that brushed its
padded underside past the underside of her breast. More, he could have heard
her hiss, but then she said it again and once more and he wasn't about to deny
an order from a lapful of horny Fumi. He lifted the sweatshirt off of her,
tasting the new skin she offered to him, taking each nipple into his mouth and
giving it the same treatment her mouth had received just moments prior. "God,
you're so beautiful." He whispered it into her skin, kissing through the swell
of her breasts, toying with the lace at the top of her stockings. She quivered
visibly at that and Keita screeched to a halt, removing his hands to find the
sweatshirt he'd discarded. "I'm so sorry I took it too far," or at least that's
what he tried to say. She kissed him, much more chaste than the sloppy, tongue
heavy imitation they'd done before, and eased the shirt out of his hands,
tossing it onto the floor.
"I'm nervous, but I am also very willing to keep going. See?" She grabbed his
hand, trailing it up her thigh, brushing it against the underside of her
panties. Keita felt something inside of himself roar at being presented to as
such. He gripped her ass with enough force to bruise and sucked at her neck,
Fumi's gasps music to the ears of his lust.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered into her ear, grinding her hips down to meet
his own rising up. He cursed the sweatpants he had on for stealing some of the
friction she'd most generously gifted to him, feeling her now move of her own
accord into his lap.
He laid her on her back, feeling her heartbeat race as he rubbed her lightly
outside of her clothing, not applying nearly enough pressure. "Tell me if I've
gone too far," he mumbled into the crook of her neck, neither advancing nor
retreating but waiting, ensuring her consent.
"You haven't gone far enough," she challenged him, reaching for her panties but
he was quicker. He pulled them off in one movement, positioning his head at her
core.
"Thanks for the meal," he mumbled, barely hearing her giggle before licking in
swipes around her entrance and plunging in. Her hand snaked down to his head,
not firmly keeping his head there but applying enough pressure to know his
actions were well received. Her other hand rubbed lightly at her clit, not
enough to overpower his actions but to keep her on the edge, breathless, and
that wouldn't do. She didn't have to work here, he was trying to make her
happy. He licked his way back upwards to lavish attention on her clit, slipping
a finger into her as well to show no part of her was forgotten. Fumi was
exhaling curses, pleading, and it made for a sight Keita would sooner die than
forget.
 
“I love you.”
 
There are two pairs of legs dangling of the roof of the school. Fumi uncrosses
and recrosses her absentmindedly, her movement a contrast to his stillness.
Keita is still the only one who can relax, and she can't stifle the memories
that pop up in her head like a cinema.
"Remember how in preschool I'd always get in trouble for not napping?" Keita
looked over, found the girl in her own little world and decided to indulge her,
turning back and smiling for a bittersweet moment before replying.
"Well I always got in trouble for sleeping, so I guess we made a good match." A
good match- that was the closest he was willing to dare reference that
conversation from before. Fumi would address it, or she wouldn't, but the
choice was entirely up to her. The sun had dipped into the horizon, but its
colorful tail still remained, a testament to the journey it had taken before.
Again, she was silent, not reminiscing but something else entirely, running
over a thousand possibilities in her head of what he'd admitted and what he'd
deciphered her feelings to be. The leg crossing and uncrossing had increased in
intensity now, with the slight drumming of her fingers besides.
"Keita, I," The man in question debated himself briefly on what was quivering
more: the girl or her voice. With the gentle touch of one approaching a scared
animal, he raised his hand slowly, allowing it to rest between the shoulder and
nape of her neck, letting his thumb brush into the skin with a butterfly's
pressure. Fumi leaned in unconsciously, her nervous tick forgotten as she
stretched in a feline fashion, settling into the light touch. She seemed to
have given up on vocalizing whatever sentiment she had in mind, but that's
fine, because there were things that hadn't been said for these first eighteen
years that could wait for another eighteen. They shifted slightly, Fumi
allowing Keita's head to fall into her lap as she dragged her fingers through
his hair absentmindedly, considering the stars that had wandered in while she's
been pondering. “I wonder if we’ll be friends forever.”
“Hey,” She looked at him, and he gave a small, embarrassed smile before going
on. “Friends for always, no matter what. I promised, remember?”
“Oh,” and she laughed, and he’d never felt so calm, at peace, before. “Of
course!” And Keita smiled back.
End Notes
     oops what is a fluid timeline who needs things to go in order? not me
     I hope it's clear they're teenagers for the majority of this btw
     comments appreciated
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!