Alan Rickman x Plus-size Reader One-shots

Alone Time

"Oh, hello," (Y/N) greets as a flustered Alan hurriedly makes his way through the front door at noon.

He pops in only to throw his satchel bag haphazardly on the sideboard and grabbing a change of coat. Within seconds, he's headed out the door again.

"W-where are you going?" She calls after him, warming her hands with the cup of tea that she's cradling.

"Out," he opens the door quickly, about to shut it again.

"Yeah but where?" She presses.

"I have a meeting at the pub with an old friend," his head sticks back into the house as he teeters outside on the front step.

"I haven't seen you all day..." Her voice reveals her sadness, falling deaf on Alan's ears.

"Sorry, I gotta go. I'm running late."

And with the harsh shut of the door, she stands there, alone in the front room.

A defeated sigh escapes her throat before she finishes off her tea. She misses him. With the children still at school, and between their busy schedules, they used to come home during lunchtime to spend a few minutes together catching up. These days, Alan's schedule takes him out of town for the most part of the day.

They only get to see each other at supper, but then they have the children who won't stop talking about school-related topics. She misses having adult conversations with her husband. Nowadays, all they talk about while cuddling in bed are school fees, activities for the kids, and doctor's appointments. She misses being intimate with Alan.

With a tinge of anger starting to build within her, she places her cup in the sink and reluctantly heads back to work. She could have just stayed at work, she figures.

The remainder of the day drags on. Alan made arrangements for the girls to be dropped at home after school, and he made sure their homework was done in time for the three of them to take a stroll through the garden square before supper.

Finally, (Y/N) arrived back home after a rather unsatisfied day at work. At first, she wanted to confront Alan for having wasted her a trip home and for not telling her that he would be meeting up with a friend instead of having tea with her. But after seeing him interact so lovingly with their now ten- and thirteen-year-old girls, made her forget about some of her previous resentment towards him.

Supper went by uneventfully. Alan, as usual, told a ludicrous story which made Amelia fall off her chair in laughter. He went upstairs to help Alyson with an English assignment while leaving (Y/N) alone downstairs to clean up the entire kitchen.

For a family who only spends evenings in the house, we sure can dirty up the place, she thinks to herself as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows.

Her previous frustrations and anger start returning as she washes the third crusty pan. She looks over at what has already been cleaned: four plates, four glasses, and a truckload of utensils. She looks around the kitchen, mentally noting what she still has to clean: one more pan, strainer, stovetop, sink, wipe down countertops, place leftovers in fridge, vacuum, and wash the floor.

With each item added to her list of things to do, frustration and unappreciation boil withing her. Angrily scrubbing at the surface, she lets the pan deliberately fall and clatter in the sink.

Oh, screw it. He isn't downstairs to even notice my passive-aggressive behaviour.

She keeps the feelings bottled up, in check, and soon finishes with cleaning the kitchen. Although it is mid-winter, she still wipes at the perspiration on her forehead and temples. She pours herself a glass of red wine after hearing Alan finally make his way into the downstairs area again.