Alan Rickman x Plus-size Reader One-shots

You're A Father, Alan

*** I don't own the picture, Alan or any other places/things mentioned.
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Alan steps out of the rented town car and heads up the 3 small dimly lit steps to his front door. 

It's chilly outside and the London wind has a bite to it as he clears his throat, tightens his jacket around his neck and proceeds to unlock the door. 

The townhouse is dark and quiet. For the fifth time this week, he is home late.

Or early.

It depends on how you look at it. The digital clock on the sideboard in the entrance hall shows it's 01:45.

Alan knows his wife is asleep upstairs. He also knows she probably waited up for him until she could fight the darkness of sleep no longer. His behaviour is unacceptable, he knows, but this week's filming requires him to work ridiculous hours.

Alan comes home in the early hours of the day, still asleep by the time (Y/N) awakes to get ready for her busy day as Professor and Executive Dean at Central Saint Martins. He knows she kisses him on the forehead each morning, he can feel it, but he is just too tired to wake himself up and greet her properly.

Before she returns home again at dusk, Alan has already gone to work onset in inner-city London. And so the cycle continues for the past five days.

They do check up on each other throughout the day via messages, but no face-to-face interaction occurs. (Y/N) sent a message two days ago saying she needed to discuss something with him, but they never got around to that.

Alan shuffles tiredly and frustrated through the still dark living room and into the kitchen. He switches on the warm yellow light and slings his bag over his head, plopping it onto the nearby kitchen counter. He sighs theatrically while rubbing his tired, red eyes.

Filming has been tough. The recent scenes required over three hundred extras and, although the main actors knew their lines, there are always a few extras who manage to screw things up. It's time-consuming and costly and Alan is just about fed up with the lot.

He walks over to the kettle, switches it on and prepares himself a cup of steaming hot tea.

While standing in front of the sink, sipping his tea and staring out of the window into the dark abyss, he feels a pair of warm, tender arms slink around his waist from behind.

Ah, she's awake, he thinks to himself.

"Did I wake you?" Alan asks sweetly.

"Not at all. I was coming down for a cuppa myself," she says muffled, leaning with her cheek against his back.

"Sit and I'll prepare you a cuppa," Alan turns around in her embrace and presses a long kiss against her forehead.

God, he misses her.

(Y/N) scoots into a barstool at the edge of the counter and gently pushes Alan's satchel bag out of the way.

He places a steaming mug in front of her and she sniffs the wonderful aroma of chamomile through her nostrils as Alan leans next to her on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"I need to talk to you," she says quietly.

"Everything alright?" he asks cautiously.

She nods timidly. 

"This might not be the best time or place to tell you. I mean, I've planned this so differently in my head. But we've just been so busy lately... The both of us... We haven't seen much of each other and I'm afraid if I don't say something now then it might be too late and I don't want you to get upset because I didn't tell you in time..." she rambles on and on, clearly nervous about something.

Is she fed up with me? Is she going to leave me?

Thoughts race through Alan's mind and a frown settles deep between his eyebrows.

"(Y/N), darling, you're rambling. Don't be afraid, just tell me."

"Alanimpregnantandiwantedtotellyousooner..." (Y/N) utters in one long breath.

Alan blinks a few times, clearly not understanding the words that just left his beautiful wife's mouth.

"Repeat that, please, but in English. And slower, much slower," he says baffled.

(Y/N) releases a breath she didn't know she was holding and takes his soft and tubby hand in hers.

"Alan, darling, I'm pregnant. I wanted to tell you sooner, but..." she starts, but Alan cuts her off by crushing his lips against hers.

Tears start rolling down her face and Alan pulls back, cupping her perfect face in his large hands.

"Are you not happy?" He asks cautiously.

"I am. These are tears of joy, my love."

Alan pulls her against his chest and speaks close to her ear.

"You've just made me the happiest old fart in all the land!"

She gives a watery chuckle and she can feel the vibrations from Alan's laugh through his chest. 

He gently lets go of her and takes her hands in his.

"When did you find out? How far along are you? How did this happen?"

"Hold your horses, Mr Rickman. One question at a time," she chuckles lightly and Alan wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of his hand.

"I found out two days ago. I'm nine weeks pregnant. And as for how it happened, you can take your pick - we've been at it like rabbits!"

Alan quickly looks down at her flabby, yet protruding stomach. Nine weeks.

She's just starting to show more curves in the stomach area. How did he not notice this? Oh yes, he hasn't been home that much lately.

(Y/N) pulls him out of his trance with a squeeze of his hands.

"You okay?" she enquires timidly.

"...I didn't even know my soldiers still worked. By some miracle, I'm still married to a sex goddess of a woman literally twice my junior. I'm fifty-six and I'm going to be a father. Darling, I'm more than okay. I'm- I'm..." Alan blows out a sharp breath.

"I'm the luckiest man alive," he says as small tears start rolling off his cheeks.

(Y/N) stands up and presses a heated kiss against Alan's full lips.

"Let's go to bed, my love," she says while standing on her tiptoes.

She takes his large hand in hers and leads him quietly up the stairs to their bedroom. Tonight, for the first time in five days, they will sleep together as husband and wife with (Y/N) safely nestled in between Alan Rickman's strong arms.