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Kafka Asagiri I WILL strat World War 5!

This is my first post and I want to say...KAFKA ASAGIRI I WILL NOT FORGIVE YOU FOR MAKING ME FALL IN LOVE WITH BSD THEN KILLING OFF OUR FAV CHARACTERS AND MAKING US WAIT FOR OTHER MONTH TO PASS JUST FOR US TO FOUND OUT YOU LOVE WATCHING NOT ONLY YOUR CHARACTERS SUFFER BUT US AS WHILE...! Anyway I'm strating World War 5 and if ANYONE wants to join me put "KAFKA ASAGIRI IS THE REASON FOR WORLD WAR 5" in the comments! BYEBYE XD!

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Relationship: Edward Elric x F!Reader Content Warnings: Post-Story Events, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Angst to Fluff, Aged-Up Edward Elric Summary: Years after the events that took place in Central, Ed still struggles with nightmares. Word Count: 1,300

A/N: I had taken this down from Tumblr and left it up on AO3. Since I've made my works only accessible to registered AO3 users in the past week, I thought I would repost it here as it started as a tumblr request.

Four years later and it still affects him as though it were yesterday. The mounting anxiety and anticipation in the week leading up to it, the concern he held for Al, the frustration he felt at seeing Hohenheim一at first, anyway一working alongside Scar and the chimeras. Some parts are a blur, like how they got into the underground tunnel or the way they had to fight those mannequins, but others? Others are ingrained so deeply in the folds of his brain that, when he closes his eyes, he can still see it, still feel it.

Like no time has passed.

But it has passed. It’s passed marvelously. Al is visiting Mei in Xing right now, whole and in the body he had been deprived of for so long. Winry and Granny are in Resembool, happy and healthy with increased business thanks to Winry’s time in Rush Valley. And now he has you.

Constant. Patient. Brilliant and luminous, just as your paintings.

Each time he finds himself reliving that day, you are here to remind him of the present. Each time he wakes from a nightmare, you’re right beside him, content to hold him to you or to nestle closer in his arms. You’re here.

But this dream is so vivid, so real, it muddles the line of distinction, making it difficult to discern dream from reality. He calls it a dream一a persistent, desperate hope more than anything一but he can’t quite tell.

His heart thunders in his chest, rewatching the familiar scene in horror一Mei sobbing over what remains of Al’s armored body, too destroyed for Ed to do anything; the rebar pierced through his left arm while his right is achingly malnourished, disgustingly weak; the acrid smell of smoke that fills the air, mixing with the dust raised from the destroyed buildings.

Everything is too familiar, but it makes it easier to go through the motions, to do what needs to be done, to end this fight. Because he does. He knows he does. He knows what it’s like to see Al in his body again. He knows that day is coming where you walk into his life and irrevocably alter it.

Except that, when the time comes to make the trade for Al, he can’t quite remember what he trades. He knows that this is a problem that he’s already solved, but the answer is sitting at the back of his throat, just out of reach.

In that moment of hesitation where his mind blanks, he hears the sardonic laugh that’s taunted him in nightmares for longer than he cares to admit and two things happen.

The first is that Al stands before him, completely healthy, unlike his appearance on that day. He wears a look of concern, confusion, eyes not meeting Ed’s, instead focused on something just behind him.

The second is the scream, terrified and in immense pain. He knows the voice, even if he’s never heard the sound.

He seems to freeze in place, unable to turn and look at you, unable to accept that you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, that you’re hurt, that something is very, very wrong. It’s the way Al calls out your name, pushes past him to get to you that snaps him out of it, that makes him turn around.

The air surrounding you is purple as metaphysical hands pull at you, unraveling you, mirroring the scene from years ago. Your eyes find his as you reach out, pleading for him to help you, to make the pain stop, to save you.

It’s the breaking of his heart as your hand falls into his just before you’re gone, the aching of his soul at your absence. It’s the immeasurable pain that wakes him, that finally allows for his consciousness to win out, to pull him back to reality where you’re okay and here and 一

You’re not.

You’re not here.

The sheets cling to him, weighing him down as he jolts up, as he tries to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness in an attempt to find you. Outside of the warmth on your side of the bed一which isn’t comforting given how the summer heat is making everything so damn warm一there’s no indication that you were here.

His throat seems to close and it becomes impossible to breathe, to think. Just as in his dream一at least, he’s desperately hoping it was a dream一his heart is pounding, the sound of his blood pumping the only thing he can hear.

Maybe… maybe you stepped out? You like the heat just as much as he does, and, according to you, he’s a furnace when asleep. That’s a very real possibility. Or maybe you went to the restroom and are about to come back?

Whatever it is, wherever you’ve gone, he feels the nerves building up within him, the need to find you, to ensure that you’re safe and whole. He needs to be proactive, can’t afford to wait. He’s never been good at waiting, at sitting still, even less when the people he loves are at risk.

Potentially.

Assuming that you’re in danger. Which you’re not. You can’t be. There is no danger to be had, not anymore. Right?

Stumbling out of bed, he makes his way out of the room, scanning it once more before opening the door. The bathroom door is open, revealing a dark, empty room devoid of you. He releases a shaky breath and turns to check outside before he hears a faint click! and is faced with his diffused shadow, illuminated by the kitchen light that’s now on just down the hall.

“Ed? What are you doing up?”

Swiveling, he finds you illuminated by that same light, almost creating a glowing halo around your being. You’re leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, tired eyes taking in his appearance. Before he can truly process it, he’s stepping forward, wrapping his left arm around your waist as his right hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you to him, letting him crush you against him.

A puff of air escapes you, surprised by his reaction, but you’re quick to wrap your arms around his middle, quick to offer some kind of relief. His hold on you tightens and you seem to understand his unspoken need for reassurance, for the harsh reminder that you’re here. Mimicking the strength with which he holds you, you press him to you, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Wanna talk about it?” you mumble into his skin.

“No—not right now.”

A small nod is all he gets in response and you’re in no hurry to be let go. You wait, as you always do, allowing him to calm down as you hum a nonsensical little melody for him. When his grip starts to loosen, you explain.

“I woke up because it’s hot. I thought you might want a glass of water when you wake, so I came to the kitchen to get it. ‘M sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that you di— disappeared in my dream. I panicked,” he replies, unable to even admit that in his dream, you died. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Not really.

“Oh. Well, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” It’s a promise, one he’s heard many times before. “The truth is that you’re stuck with me, Ed.” You press a kiss to his cheek, releasing him to grab the aforementioned glass of water. Offering it, he drinks the water, remembering the conversation you once had about how water helps with panic attacks.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” It’s his truth, the one that harmonizes with yours.

Please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it!

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mazibukobear

1 year ago