#spawn movie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

apocalypse-shuffle · 2 years

Text

AL SIMMONS | SPAWN (spawn 1997)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“Healing” (Al Simmons x Fem!Reader)

| When Al dies it’s Terry who helps you heal through his absence. Too bad he’s in love with you though.

| Reader is always black unless I say differently

| SFW, mentions of a character burning to death obviously, widowed and pregnant Reader

| Who gave Michael Jai White the right to be so fine?

| 2k+ words

It’s Terry who comes to break the news to you.

You’re in one of your favorite dresses, the one Al likes the most, heels on and hair done up waiting for your boyfriend to come home.

You’d talked a few nights ago. Al had gotten more sentimental than usual when while laying around after sex. He’d rubbed up and down your sides talking all about wanting to slow down soon, maybe add to the family outside of Spaz, move into a bigger house outside of the city.

There’s a beep outside and you smile to yourself, setting down two wine glasses next to your best ceramic plates and rushing to the door. You fix up your jheri curls in the reflection of one of the decorations on the wall as you wait.

It seems like tonight would be the beginning of you both settling down. You pick up the positive pregnancy test you left by the key bowl and hide it in your hand behind your back.

Rocking on your heels with a grin on your face you start to build yourself up. Al’s going to be so happy, you can’t wait to see the excitement take over the usually stoic man’s face.

It’s when the light from inside the house illuminates a face that’s not Al’s that your smile careens into a confused frown.

“Oh,” you put the test back by the keys. “I’m sorry Ter. Where’s Al?”

You look over his shoulder for him but when that doesn’t reveal your boyfriend and Terry still hasn’t spoken you turn back to the white man.

The look on his face makes your insides twist.

“Terry? Where's Al?”

Your voice wobbles and your face heats up as he only stands there searching for what to say.

That night becomes one of the worst of your life. Terry stumbles through his words, tears glistening in his eyes as he talks about a solo mission, about it not going well, how he was caught in a fire.

After that it starts to feel like the only time people engage you in conversation is to talk about the planning for Al’s funeral service.

You go to the viewing you mainly worked to set up and there’s hardly anything to “view”. It’s a closed casket out of necessity, and when you’d read the report and were sent to further identify his body you fully understood why. The sheer severity of the damage, the fact that the report uncovered signs of struggle meaning that your boyfriend had died being burned alive, had made you sob into Terry when you’d completed the identification.

That night you had curled up in bed angry at the fetus growing inside you because it seemed like a trade off. A baby girl was what your doctor said, for your husband’s soul and suffering.

It takes two months for you to get over that line of thinking and be happy for the little mixture of both of you. Your Cyan.

At the funeral Wynn tells you about how the mission that killed him was supposed to be Al’s last. He tells you he loved you till his last breath. It feels like salt in the wound. The way he’s eyeing you is as malicious as it is inappropriate.

You brush him off and walk over to your best friend. You’ve got a checkup to go to.

Cyan, you and Al’s little girl, comes into the world barely breathing and premature.

When you finally get rolled out by the nurses you watch her in the NICU with shaking hands clasped over your pendant and hope to everything that she doesn’t get taken from you the way Al did.

In the end Cyan makes it, you sign for your parental nights with the first speck of real joy you’ve felt in months, and then go home. She came two months early, six months after Al’s death and had to stay a month at the hospital before she was cleared, but your friends and family throw you a baby shower once she’s in your custody on the actual day she was due and you cry as you dance with her.

She’s beautiful, brown skin and a full head of soft curls on her head with the biggest most aware brown eyes. The first time you got to hold her she was barely bigger than your palm and looking at her now, nearly two months old and finally healthier, it makes you smile.

Cyan’s one and just barely talking, better at baby sign than you by a mile, and she’s giving you a run for your money constantly reaching for crap she can’t even see on your counters and shelves.

Her and the dog Al brought with him, Spaz, are constantly running around too but you love their connection.

Cyan is messily rubbing a stick of butter around a baking pan while babbling to you, only a few of her words actually cobbling together intelligibly, but you answer her back conversationally while completing your own task.

You’re stirring two bowls, one with cornbread batter and the other with brownie. Terry’s coming over for dinner at seven and you and your girl are more than happy to host him for the night.

Cyan because she gets to have some chocolate, and you because you appreciated the check-ins Terry made with you every few weeks.

You pour chocolate chips into the batter and pop one in your mouth afterwards. It’s as you’re going to fold the chips in that a pan gets shoved onto the counter and a tiny hand waves in your peripheral.

“Some peas?”

You huff but a smile tugs on your lips and you get a piece of chocolate and place it on her hand.

“Just one.”

Cyan gives you a look, lickerish lil girl, but thanks you regardless before putting it in her mouth. She sucks the chocolate while placing the second pan on the counter on her tiptoes. You help her push it further up before shooing her out the kitchen with the dog so you can get both items into pans and then the oven.

You’re slipping the basting pan out the oven to make room for the smaller ones when there’s a knock on the door.

Wiping your hands off on a towel you hurry to greet Terry. You hug, he’s sweet about it as he compliments you. In jeans and a shirt you swat at him and laugh before taking him to see Cyan where she’s playing with her wobbles in the living room.

The night goes easily after that. Terry’s lovely as usual and having an extra set of hands with your kid is always a plus. You guys eat and he compliments the hell out of you and you duck your head. You’re glad he’s here, you guys helped one another through Al’s death and he was a nice reminder of before.

You could admit that you didn’t mind that now. It didn’t send you into a rut anymore when you thought about all the things Al was missing, and you were thankful for that.

At the end of dinner, after dessert, Cyan’s all messy and so you go to bathe her. She only had some of the spinach, shredded chicken, a few bites of your cornbread and subsequently your brownie but she’s somehow still sticky. Terry talks about random things with you through the door and as soon as you’re done, and your girl has on her pajamas, the itis hits her and she falls straight asleep.

You put her on the couch as you and Terry keep talking. He’s stressed. Wynn has him covering a supposed smear campaign on him, fighting against nasty allegations (you make sure not to roll your eyes) and he’s been working around the clock running behind his boss.

Terry’s hand slides a bit too close to your thighs while he’s laughing, and he tries to put his arm around your shoulders while you’re watching a kids movie, but both times you easily shrug him off and keep it pushing without much thought.

When you suggest wrapping things up for the night, thoughts of Al swirling in your head and dampening your mood some, is when Terry makes a move you can’t actually gloss over.

You hand him his coat as he’s standing by the door.

“Thanks for coming, again.”

He lingers as he passes his hand over yours to take the coat.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/n. A good home cooked meal is always nice,” you blink down at his hold and he lets go. “So, uh, maybe we can do this again at the end of next week?”

“Sure,” you smile at him and his hand goes to the back of his neck as he bites his lip.

“Well goodnight,” he murmurs.

“Night,” you say. “Stay safe on your drive-”

You freeze at the feel of lips smashing against yours, hands coming halfway up to push him away before stalling. He’s kissing you, lips moving against your still ones, trying to coax you into action. Terry, Al’s best friend, is kissing you right now.

In the end you back away yourself, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“What…?”

Terry’s eyes are a fun mixture of pleading and excited as he tries to get closer to you. You take a step back and he finally gets the memo and stops, brows furrowed.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, Y/n. I make you happy, you smile more when I’m here, and I can be a great father to Cyan,” he gestures to your daughter and something in you clenches in disgust. “I’ve always been fond of you, you're gorgeous and a great mother, and I think if you give us a chance you’ll love it.”

Finally you find your nerve.

“Terry, I appreciate the help you’ve given us, I really do. But the love of my life died barely a year ago and you’re hitting on me right now,” you move your hand to indicate the space between you. “You were my husband's best friend, there is no “us” and there never will be. I’m surprised you think I’d go for that with you at all.”

Terry reaches for your arm and you scowl, snatching it away.

“I know you miss him, I do too, but you shouldn’t let his death stop you from living your life.”

“You say that as if me healing implicitly has to happen with you.”

“It could. It has been.”

You roll your eyes, “The answer is no Terry.”

He runs his hand over his face as he watches you. Cyan starts to stir where she was left on the couch and you walk over to lift her up. Curled around her Spaz shifts his eyes up to watch as you take her before sitting up to follow you back to the front door.

Cyan babbles some before cooing softly and settling down on your chest. You hold her to you and sway softly as you walk. She’s got her father’s eyes as she blinks up tiredly. You smile down at her.

When you glance back towards Terry you notice the poor look he’s giving the both of you and give him a hard stare in turn.

He sighs, “I can still help you take care of Cyan…even if we don’t…you know.”

You shake your head.

“I think it'd be best if you gave us some space actually.”

Terry looks at you, eyes going big and glossy but all you do is adjust your daughter in your arms.

“Get out, Terry.”

“Y/n please-”

“I said what I said, Terry. You knew it was inappropriate and yet you tried it anyway. Me and Cyan will do just fine. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Somewhere standing in between your legs Spaz starts to growl. You glare at Al’s former partner as he holds up his hands.

“Alright, I’m gone. Just look out for yourself, Y/n, you never know what kinds of assholes could be lurking around every corner.”

“Mhm,” you watch him until he’s finally closed your front door and don’t take your eyes off until his car pulls away.

As if you didn’t fucking know how dangerous it was for a single woman with a child, let alone a black one. Y’all would do fine though, you’d do your damndest to make sure of it.

Cyan shocks you out of your thoughts as her little hand starts to play with the pendant around your neck. You think of the matching pendant you buried Al in and give her a small smile.

“Hi Mama, you hungry?” At her seemingly answering coo you laugh and make your way to the kitchen. “Let’s go make you a baba then.”

NOTES: Yes, I know how unfortunate the dog’s name is. I also know the reader inserts for Spawn are nonexistent basically but I wrote this anyway so…who cares. I was just watching the movie again and had some ideas and low fandom engagement hasn’t stopped me before.

#spawn 1997 #al simmons x black!reader #al simmons x reader #black!reader #black y/n #widowed!reader #mom!reader #al simmons #spawn movie #spawn x reader #spawn

86 notes · View notes