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stayevildarling · 8 months ago

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can you write a hurt/comfort (w happy ending) fic reader x billie dean with the angst prompts „of course i‘m here, where else would i be?“ and „i missed you so much“♥️ love your work

Billie Dean Howard x Reader- The Haunting of your medium

A/N: Hi everyone, I wrote this with @lucyintheskywithxanax and I'm so excited about this. It was an honour to write with you woman <3 you are a genius

word count: 3.4k

tw: mention of death, cursing, angst

taglist: @lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay,@whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson,@isle-of-earlee,@paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime

It’s late as you wake up, the sun already reaching the top of the birch tree in the backyard. Still consumed by your sleepiness, you stir a little as a shiver runs through your body, searching for any sign of warmth in the large bed. However you are met with emptiness as you can’t find the comfort of your girlfriend. Vaguely remembering she is filming her show at the moment, you sigh a little before checking the time. As you reach for your phone, you are blinded momentarily by the bright sensation. The absence of any messages or calls startles you a little. Usually by now, Billie would have called a few times or at least texted you about her day. However there was nothing, no notification, no messages, no missed calls. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion a little as you make your way out of bed and into the kitchen as the lack of food sends little hunger pains through your stomach.

Walking towards the kitchen through the large hallway, you smile a little at the various artworks on the walls, some of Billie’s favorites that she purchased from one of her favorite artists. As you brush past the last one of them, you chuckle a little as you see a framed photo of you and Billie, your favorite one so far.

It was an unusually cold day, the kinda unusual that all the news were reporting and talking about it. And when the first snowflakes softly coated the trees outside, you knew somehow that this was going to be a good day. It was one of Billie’s days off and you assumed as you woke and slowly started the day with the medium, that you were going to spend it inside the warmth of your apartment. Hours filled in the embrace of each other and soaking in each other's warmth. Billie eventually beamed after making you and herself a cup of coffee, lazily scrolling on her phone.

You knew this meant she had one of those genius ideas that you couldn’t refuse. In the end she took you to a building, refusing to tell you beforehand where she was taking you. ,,Wrap yourself up nice and warm babydoll’’ was all she gave away. As her car pulled into the parking lot you still had no clue. It was some sort of entertainment center but you had no idea what the two of you were going to do there. As she takes you inside excitedly, her features beaming with pride, your heart fluttered.

,,Howard, I called ahead’’ she explained to the man at the front desk. The pieces connected after the person asked for your shoe sizes and Billie was handed two pairs of ice skates. You had never been before and as you stepped into the cold ice rink, you felt a little nervous. However as the music played through the speakers, Billie held your hand and dragged you onto the ice. She was certainly not the best at this but the two of you managed to steady each other out. After a while she noticed your shivering and retreated a Beanie from her handbag.

And so in matching beanies the two of you danced around the ice, hearts tapping against each other’s chest full of excitement. ,,Here babydoll’’ she beamed as she dorkily took the selfie. And thats the story of your favorite photo with the medium that made it inside a frame of your apartment and the lockscreen photo of your phone.

As you heat up some leftovers from the day before and make your way to the sofa, flipping through the channels of the tv you can’t help but miss the medium. From the start you knew she was a busy woman, filming her show and traveling all over to put her gift of being a medium to good use. However, you couldn’t help but miss the little sunshine in your life always making you smile with her antics and dorky self. Always making you feel safe as her brown eyes would meet yours and her hands lingered on your body somewhere.

Startled by the sudden noise, you are interrupted by the sound of your phone and you can’t help but smile, your heart warming up a little as you expect Billie to finally call. However as your eyes meet the screen, you see an unfamiliar number. Hesitantly you press the green button and wait for the other person to speak.

,,Hello, is this Y/N?’’ the voice speaks, a serious tone. You nod before realizing the person can’t see you, as you try to think about where you heard that voice before.

,,Yes, who is this?’’ you ask a little confused, your heartrate picking up by the minute.

,,My name is Tristana’’ she starts and suddenly the name rings a bell. ,,One of Billie’s producers’’ she carries on explaining.

,,Oh hi’’ you exclaim, a little less serious now, realising who is on the other end and Billie having talked about her before plenty of times.

,,I’m afraid I have some bad news’’ she begins to explain and your heart seems to get caught in your throat.

,,Something happened while filming the last episode’’ she begins and as she talks you through the details you feel yourself drifting away. ,,I’m so sorry’’ is all you hear before you completely zone out.

As your phone falls into your lap, tears begin to flood from your eyes. This couldn’t be real. The medium was always so careful, never going into anything alone, always reading situations and sometimes even deciding against certain gigs in order to keep her and her crew safe. You think back to the times where she told you she was filming in a hotel and the horror stories that caused you to have nightmares for weeks.

You stand up, walk up to the kitchen to make yourself more coffee. Through the window you can see that the sun has climbed a little higher up the sky.

She couldn’t be gone, you think, pouring coffee into your mug, your Billie couldn’t be gone, you keep thinking to yourself before your vision eventually fills with little stars and black spots at the same time, the crying and hyperventilating causing your body to shut down. Protecting you from the grasp the awful news has had on you.

There’s a burn then, on your hands. You look down to see your mug lying in pieces on the floor, something dark trickling down your fingers. Oh well, you think. Billie’s dead.

When you come to your senses next, you’re standing in the living-room yet again. The TV is still on, and on the screen you see someone smiling and then another person is running on a beach. It would be nice, you think, to go to the sea this summer with Billie. You both enjoy the sea air and you would love to see again what Billie looks like in the Mediterranean sun. Maybe Italy, you think, making your way back towards the kitchen. Billie loves Italy. And the light there - so bright and intense and pouring gold onto her face so you could see every small detail of it, and weaving gold into her hair, and flashing gold into her eyes, and -

Oh well, you think. But Billie’s dead.

A sob tears through your throat as the depth of the news slowly begins sinking in. You can’t breathe, you realize vaguely - and then it hits you all at once - you can’t breathe.

Panic shoots through your veins as you lean against the kitchen counter for support, fingers scratching at your shirt collar, trying to scratch through it at bare skin to maybe let some air in because you can’t breathe and Billie isn’t here and shouldn’t she be here by now? But Tristana had said, and Billie was -

A gasp.

You wake up with a jerk. It’s like being pushed into the world for a second time, or reality reclaiming its place. The solid bed under your body, the walls of your room, the sunlight streaming in through your window. It had all been a terrible dream.

You sink back into the bed with a breath of relief.

Your chest feels tight, your cheeks damp from crying. The birds outside your window are chirping happily, not remotely matching the deep sadness you are feeling, the shock still very present, rippling through your body. Trying to open your eyes, you immediately squeeze them shut again, the reality of facing today way too terrifying. Usually Billie and you would spend your Sunday mornings together, cuddling in each other's arms, having coffee together before Billie would sneak to the balcony for a smoke and you would sneak up on her to scare her before hugging her. Today, even this feels like too heavy a task.

Heavily, you roll over to reach for Billie on her side of the bed. Your fingertips brush against the sheet only to find emptiness.

Your eyes flash open.

“Billie?” you call out, weakly. It doesn’t make sense : Billie likes to sleep in on Sunday mornings. She would never miss an opportunity to cuddle in bed with you while the world outside slowly stirs. It doesn’t make sense, you think again, and panic gives another wild, violent kick in your chest.

“Billie?” You sit up on the bed, arms shaking. “What…? Billie?” It’s merely a whisper, a frightened little thing, too scared to carry. On trembling legs you quickly cross to the door and call out again.

Billie isn’t in the living-room either. The kitchen is empty. So is the bathroom, and all the stupid corridors in-between, and the backyard basks lazily in the sun.

“Billie where the fuck are you?” you croak out. The birds sing something lovely and sweet back at you.

But it was just a dream, you think, leaning against the wall for support as you try to suck air in. Billie’s gone out to buy some fancy breakfast, or she got an emergency call, or - it was just a dream.

Is she away for work? You can’t remember. You can’t think through the panic. Is she actually working? You could have sworn she was lying in bed with you just a few minutes before. But is she actually somewhere off chasing spirits, some haunted mansion you can’t remember facing death and risking her life and dying?

In the living-room lies one of Billie’s spring coats, lazily draped over the back of a chair. You could swear she had worn it just the day before, had dropped it there somewhat carelessly because It was but an old thing, worn, with a frayed sleeve anyway, and she had said it would be so nice to take you shopping with her so she could get a new one. Numbly you reach for it, press the fabric between your thumb and index.

You close your eyes, try to take deep, slow breaths instead of the pathetic, frightened little huffs that are hurting your chest. You try to think through the panic - is Billie actually at work? The panic closes in on you with a horrible smile.

And it’s too much, too much space that Billie should have occupied but doesn’t, and too much sun and too many lovely bird songs. Half sobbing, half wheezing, you stumble back to the bedroom with Billie’s coat clutched to your chest, pressing the soft fabric to damp cheeks and breathing in the scent that still clings to it. Cigarette smoke and lemon.

You collapse on the bed and draw the cover over your head and in the dim light you close your eyes. If the world refuses to make sense then you would block it out till it got reasonable again.

You curl in on yourself and bury your face in Billie’s coat and breathe in the cigarette smoke and lemon scent as you cry.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sound of heels fills your ears, the all too familiar sound immediately makes you feel sick, your face growing pale and tears continuing to stream down your cheeks. You squeeze your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth, head shaking as the tapping of the heels comes closer with each second passing.

,,Babydoll?’’ you hear, her voice still sounding so real and her features very visible in your memory.

As you eventually come to your senses and peek out from under the cover, you see the medium walking in, the soft glow from the sun rising behind you, coating her perfect features. ,,Billie’’ you begin sobbing uncontrollably.

The tapping of the heels starts again as she approaches, her features filled with concern and confusion.

Suddenly you feel the bed dip a little, as she tries reaching out for you. You back away, into the comfort of the sheets wrapped around you. Billie had told you about her work a few times, the ghosts that had haunted the families she worked with, and of course you believed her, watching her show frequently and her asking you to be on set with her but this was something else.

,,Sweetheart, look at me’’ she coos, again trying to reach out. But you back away again, the tricks your mind is playing on you too vivid, too real.

,,I already miss you so much Billie’’ you choke on a sob, unable to face the haunting of your medium in front of you.

,,Darling, please look at me’’ she demands, unable to understand your sobbing form and her concern growing by the minute.

Finally, you muster the courage to look at her and as you do, she cups your cheeks. You gasp at her touch, unable to believe this could be so real. She was dead, right?

But exhaustion was creeping up on you slowly, you couldn’t do anything besides hyperventilate and cry and so as a result, Billie scoops you into her arms, shushing and holding you gently until unconsciousness takes over once again.

Stirring from sleep, your eyes widen as the confusing events from the past few minutes creep up on you. However, a soft set of arms is wrapped around you, shushing you and meeting your gaze. ,,Hey baby’’ the blonde coos softly, wiping some sweat off your forehead and tears from your cheeks.

,,Billie?’’ you coax out, blinking the confusion away. ,,Are you really here?’’ you ask, unable to understand the differences between reality and dreaming anymore.

,,Of course I’m here, where else would I be?’’ she reassures, a little confused herself and lost in her concern about you.

,,Billie?’’ you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper as you fiddle with her hair. ,,Can you kiss me?’’ you ask shyly, needing the confirmation that this wasn’t another dream in your never ending circle of nightmares.

Billie chuckles a little before cupping your cheeks, leaning in closer and capturing your lips into hers, a soft kiss, filled with reassurement and realization.

,,A nightmare’’ you coax out as the two of you pull away from the kiss, in search of oxygen.

,,What was that sweetie?’’ she asks confused before you fill her in on what had happened.

,,I had a nightmare’’ you confess under tears.

,,Oh sweetheart, what happened?’’ she coos, rubbing soothing circles on your back to comfort you.

,,You died’’ you begin, tears streaming down your cheeks ,,I woke up and got a call and then.. phone call and .. told me you died’’ you carry on, your words coming out rushed, your voice filled with panic.

,,Sweetie, hey hey, I only went to get some breakfast for us, sweetheart’’ she explains. “Some croissants from the bakery around the corner, it was just a nightmare’’

“Oh,” you say. Your cheeks flush pink, eyes stinging with mingled relief and embarrassment.

Billie smiles, her eyes a little clouded with worry still. “I thought I’d surprise you. Cozy breakfast in bed, what do you say? I got your favorite coffee, too. I thought we could be lazy today.”

You swallow in shame and look down at your hands. Through the sheen of tears they blur. In a flash you realize - the skin there is immaculate. There’s no red angry burn stain from the coffee you thought you had spilled on it earlier. You blink to try and see better, force your tears back. You run, shaking fingertips over the back of your left hand, just to be sure, but there’s no pain, not even an itch, and it fills you with sudden joy that almost makes you drunk with relief.

You jerk your head up again, triumphantly. A small smile plays on Billie’s lips, hesitant as she searches your eyes, trying to interpret your quick shifts from fear to triumph to fear again. Her palm rubs one last soothing circle on your back before moving away, but before you have time to protest she takes your hand in hers.

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m not sure I know what’s real anymore,” you say. You look down at your hands again, tears falling from your cheeks. “I’m not sure I can trust whether you’re really here.”

,,Pumpkin, I promise you I’m real’’ Billie coos, brushing her hand across your cheek to wipe away the tears.

“But how do I know that?” It’s louder this time, and you dare a glance up at her, despair making you brave. “How can I be sure?”

“Well,” Billie starts. She shifts a little closer to you on the bed, and you feel yourself leaning towards her, seeking out her warmth. There’s a pause, as Billie thinks. Her thumb is running across your knuckles, slow, repetitive movements, meant to soothe.

“How can I be sure?” you urge her. You clench her hand tighter, refuse to look away from her now, because you need to know, need her to save you.

Billie hums a little comforting sound and presses one warm palm against your cheek. She tries to pull you into her, but you pull away, unwilling to break eye contact with her for now. You need to see her, need to see for yourself that she is real. Through the fear and confusion flashes the idea that maybe, if you blink, she’d disappear, be dead again, and you out of her reach.

“Well,” Billie starts again. The caress of her thumb over your knuckles is grounding, and you try to focus on that, and the smell of spring and sunshine that clings to her clothes. Surely the dead don’t smell like that. “At work sometimes the people I help have trouble remembering their world is real, too. It can get a little bit messy when you spend too much time in the company of spirits. Sometimes your mind gets confused. It used to happen to me as well when I was younger. Stumbling across your cousin sipping Bloody Marys on your couch when you buried him two weeks ago can be quite a shock.”

You chuckle at that, but stay silent, urging her to go on.

“When that happens, I’ve found anchoring yourself in facts does wonders. Whatever they are, the most random of facts, like stating the color of the sky or explaining how sexy your girlfriend is.”

“Billie,” you chastise, trying to bite down on a smile. Billie gives your hand a squeeze, flashes a grin at you.

“Do you remember the day I took you ice skating, sweetheart?’’ she asks softly, trailing her fingers through your hair.

Your gaze meets the medium’s, as you think back to your favorite day with Billie. ,,Do you remember the dorky selfie we took that you adore so much?’’ she chuckles a little now as you simply nod again. And just like that, Billie takes you back to that day, that moment.

Tears brim in your eyes. ,,It’s me baby, I’m right here, it was just a very nasty dream’’ she carries on, before kissing your nose.

,,I love you Billie’’ you whisper, slowly coming back from your daze and into the real world. ,,I love you so much pumpkin and I will always be here for you, right here’’ she promises before squeezing you in a big hug.

‘’Now, want me to show you how real I actually am?’’ she smirks suggestively, before leaning in to capture your lips in a very much real kiss.

#Billie Dean howard #Billie Dean Howard x reader #Sarah paulson #Sarah paulson x reader #ahs #American horror story #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse

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