Alan Rickman x Plus-size Reader One-shots

Mother's Day

"I'll talk to you later, Mum. Alright, love you, too. Happy Mother's Day, once again. Bye," (Y/N) ends the call and blows out an exasperated breath.

Talking to her mother has never been easy since they've never had a very good relationship. (Y/N)'s mother is bipolar and has been physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive in the past towards (Y/N).

Being the oldest of three siblings, (Y/N) would always make sure their mother's abuse was targeted towards her instead of her younger siblings.

That said, her mother - being bipolar - would usually only be abusive when she was experiencing a fit of rage or a 'black-out', resulting in her never remembering anything she did towards her eldest child.

After years of therapy, (Y/N) realised that there is no point in holding a grudge against a person who has no knowledge of anything, and that it would only negatively impact her own life rather than her mother's if she holds onto such anger and resentment.

It's difficult when the abused is the only one who knows what happened, who gets to live it through memories and physical scars, while the abuser gets to live the rest of their life peacefully. Which is why these calls on Mother's Day are so incredibly hard for (Y/N).

Her hands tremble slightly as she wipes away a stray tear from her cheek and sits back up on the couch, slowly placing the home phone back in its holder on the side table.

She can do with a long hug from Alan.

She wonders where her boyfriend is, remembering that he went out for a walk earlier before she called her mother. She vaguely remembers hearing the front door opening and closing.

Being it a Sunday, and she's in no rush to get anywhere, she lazily wanders up the stairs in search of Alan. She deliberately drags her heels across the hardwood floor, her mind wandering to past days. She passes by his office upstairs and stops after spotting him hunched over his desk with his back towards the door.

"There you are, I was wondering where you've been."

She shimmies towards him, slinging an arm around his waist as she rests by his side. She hears a sniff, and upon looking up at him, sees him fervently wiping away tears. He shrugs sheepishly and ducks his head, hiding the flush in his cheeks from his girlfriend's gaze.

"Darling," her tone immediately changes to worried. "What's the matter? What happened?"

He clears his throat before turning away from her, walking over to the bookcase.

"Nothing, I-I uhh..."

Clearly, he feels no need to finish his sentence.

She looks down to see what he was looking at on his office desk when she approached him seconds earlier.

Her hand runs over the layer of protective plastic covering the age-old photographs in the album. Photographs of what (Y/N) can identify as Alan and a much older female.

She attempts to read the handwriting below the photographs:

Alan and I. 1994. West London.

Wow, that's from before I was born...

The woman in the photograph has shoulder-length waves of hair, although she can't tell what colour it is since the photo is taken in sepia. Neither can she tell the colour of her eyes. But she can tell that the wide smile and cheeks resemble Alan immensely.

The realization hits her and she gasps silently. It is Mother's Day, after all.

"Is this... Al, is this your mum?" She veers on the side of caution.