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gdotsand · 4 years

Text

Que sera, sera

Pairing - Armitage Hux x Reader (Modern Au)

Summary - Coming home for Christmas with bad news is nerve wracking, but coming home to you is all he needs.

Word Count: 2,700 (ish)

Warnings - Nothing, I wrote something without the word fuck in it so y’all should be proud

A/N - Well, this whole lockdown situation is getting to be a little bit. So I did a thing! This might be slightly self indulgent but I just, i’m soft for husband Hux and I love him and wanna protect him. So I guess that’s where this comes from at almost 6am.

It was late when Armitage arrived home. Granted, it was always late, very rare was it to see your husband walk out of the office earlier than around 7:30 pm. Yes, he always made exceptions for birthdays, ballet performances and the like (even if there was the odd missed violin recital but to be quite honest if you heard another kid old play twinkle twinkle little star again you were going to lose it yourself, so you couldn’t quite hold a grudge for his absence for too long).

Armitage always made time for the important moments, however, the memories that when he was old and grey, he could look back on wistfully and remember a time when he loved nothing more than coming home to his girls. Especially on Christmas eve. Because unfortunately, there was always a small part of his brain that knew kids grow up and go off to university and he wasn't yet ready to wish for the fantasy of having you all to himself again. Just as he had as a younger man. When there were no hints of grey, when he wasn't such an important partner at the firm, his name never gracing an office door. An all together simple time. Armitage was finishing up his law degree and you were halfway through your own in English Literature and everything seemed to be possible.

Your lives could have taken you anywhere, you could have done absolutely anything and boy did you take that as a challenge. Never once taking for granted the memories that made their way into photographs that now littered your house. Filled with bright smiles and younger faces, without laugh lines and any sign of sleep deprivation or hesitation of any kind. Vacations and trips captured and kept within trinkets you had collected on the way, sat on bookshelves and kitchen countertops as though they weren't a lifetime ago.

He took a moment stepping out of the cab into the stark white-covered streets, the bitter coldness of the snow seeping through the very sole of his dress shoes making his teeth chatter together just a little bit more as he watched the soft glow through the front window.

He half expected to see the house in darkness and have to unwrap his various layers whilst holding onto the substantial pile of paperwork that was nestled firmly in the crook of his arm without a single shred of light and he was almost positive if he knocked over the fern to the left of the front door one more time you would kill him. So, he let himself, there at the bottom of the driveway, watch the gentle flicker of a clearly dying down fire and thanked the stars that he would not have to babble out apologies whilst cleaning soil of the tiles once more.

It's at least a minute more before he completed his journey home for the holidays, pushing through the front door as he shook the soft white flakes out of his slicked-back hair, damped at the ends by the elements. The snow melting away before it even had a chance to settle on the floor.

Firstly, his scarf, unwrapped from around his neck and placed on the hook closest to the door, then his coat and suit jacket, shrugged off his shoulders however caught in firm hands numbed from the cold before being placed on the same hook.

Armitage was always methodical, routine centered at the very core of every action he made, something from his childhood with a military father that he just could not shake for the life of him. Everything had a place and every place had a thing. Which is why he toed off his shoes firstly left and then right, never right then left, and lined them up with yours on the mat by the door.

It truly did smell like Christmas, soft notes of cinnamon and vanilla somehow not drown out by the overwhelming pine and firewood and the scent filling his senses as he padded his way into the living room. Nimble fingers rolled up the tight sleeves of his once crisp white shirt exposing strong forearms as he called out your name softly, it was dangerously close to midnight after all. All of this before catching sight of the bundled up trio. All softly breathing, light snores falling from your eldest's (if only by 18 minutes) open, drooling mouth as she clutched her tiny hands into your jumper. A spray of bright red ringlets fanned out over your chest and she slept deeply.

Of course, they had his hair, as if some higher power was adamant that everyone who laid eyes on the girls needed to be reminded that they were Armitage's pride and joy. When the twins were born they were completely bald, not a single hair graced their head and you mostly overcompensated by colorful headpieces and bows and then they got older only for bright red ringlets to form after a few months and Armitage couldn't have been happier.

Soft blue eyes fell to your youngest, tiny thumb firmly pushed into the roof of her mouth as she used your hip as a pillow. All rosy-cheeked. Her other hand gripping onto a stuffed bunny's ear with more force than you would think a 6-year-old was capable of.

Finally, he looked over you from head to toe. From the fuzzy socks still encasing once cold toes, to the book that now lay ignored against your stomach. Of course, you were reading 't'was the night before Christmas', you had read it to them every single year since they had been born and although the book which was once a gift from your own mother to you now had a broken spine and dog eared corners you could never bring yourself to part with it. You'd always say that most loved books were battered, tear-stained and torn in places but treasured none the less.

It was only as he plucked the glasses from falling off the tip of your nose that you woke with a groan, only cracking one sleepy eye before being met with your husband's gaze.

You hummed a greeting as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss against your brow.

“They really wanted to wait up for you” you gestured with your only free hand to the small bodies entangled in your limbs to which Armitage just gave a soft huff. “long day?” you asked, all soft in the eyes just happy to have him home.

"Something like that, we should probably untangle you from these two" and he ruffled the curls on top of Fliss's head before gently prising her sleeping figure away from you and into his arms before she started to stir awake. Armitage shot you a look of panic, thinking he had made an absolutely terrible mistake and awoken the sleeping dragon as it were. However, Fliss just buried her nose further into her father's neck, smacked her lips around slightly and once again became a dead weight in his arms. You huffed out a chuckle and Armitage exhaled dramatically enough to get the point across before turning and making his way upstairs.

You followed behind, carefully lifting your youngest to be placed against your chest before following closely on his heel.

After you respectively flicked off nightlights, placed gentle kisses against cheeks and whispered wishes of sweet dreams, bedroom doors were closed and the real work would begin. It took around half a second, your hand still clutched around the metallic knob before you felt your husband's palms run around your waist, resting his chin right on top of your head. Needy fingertips making themselves known against your hip bones. He wasn't a man with a lot of words, not really into small talk, Armitage was always a man of touch. To be honest, it's all he needed to get by, there was nothing that man could say that could not be conveyed through the smallest of actions.

You know somethings playing on his mind, however, you know there’s a pile of paperwork and documents on the sideboard by the door with confidential, bold and red spread across the top page because you eyed it on your way up here. But you’re also aware that the grandfather clock at the bottom of the staircase has informed the pair of you that time has steadily crept past midnight and into Christmas Day and this conversation isn’t one for this very second.

So he breathes you in for a moment longer than necessary and lets you pull him back downstairs and into his office.

He didn't use it all that often to be quite honest but it still housed dark woods and floor to ceiling bookshelves all the same. Still had his favorite wedding photo set in a golden frame, it's not his favorite for aesthetic reasons. No no, it's his favorite because every time he sees you in that white dress, arms draped around his neck, cheeks rosy from one too many glasses of champagne it really hammers home the fact that he found such love and stability in you.

It's only then that he spots the mountain of presents that need to be arranged around the tree. Golds and rich browns of wrapping topped with any kind of bow or decoration you could think of and he side-eyes you from the corner of his vision.

It was cliché that you always said you 'aren't going crazy again this year' and yet there was always an abundance of gifts, always cookies in the treat jar that sit on the counter, always some form of chocolate or candy piled into a cheesy decorative bowl you would never part with and most importantly always a good bottle of scotch hidden at the back of the drinks cabinet, only to be opened once the clock struck midnight and there was no more preparation to do.

You know what he's thinking as you move across the room and start gathering boxes into your arms, careful not to tread on anything that may have fallen from the pile that you look up and say "next year, next year I promise I will" and Armitage just rolls his eyes, smiling whilst he does and moves to help you gather everything together to take into the living room.

You're carefully filling the last stocking hung high on the fireplace, and the familiar squeak of a cork leaving a bottle almost brings you out of a trance. Before you can fully acknowledge how tired you are a rocks glass is being pressed in your hand. You take it, looking up at your husband with an all too knowing face, he's trying his most damn to find words in the back of his throat that just won't seem to string together. You bring your face close to his and whisper a soft 'Merry Christmas' against pink lips before pressing him into a kiss.

The sentence is bearly audible but the kiss not quick and it's not lacking in any form of understanding or love, and it's definitely not simply out of habit. You did this a lot, whenever something plagued the back of his mind you would simply result in kissing it out of him, and Armitage, always the man who firmly believes that actions speak louder than words, lets you.

He lets you with all the enthusiasm in the world.

"Ren's taking over from Snoke, he's out, there are going to be newly named partners" came out all at once, when you pulled away in an attempt to catch your breath and in all honesty, the confession did nothing except knock the wind right out of you. All together you thought it would take a little more coaxing, a little more of the brown liquid burning his throat before he fully let go of whatever was bothering him.

You take in his creased brow and watch as a half sigh half huff passes through his lips. You're all too eager to find out what this means, what this means for the firm, for him, for you and the girls and the only thing you can do really is rub a small pattern on his shoulder and let him spill out every bit of information he has. So you offer him some expression close to pleading and slowly take a sip of your scotch.

"He wants me to head up the London office full time, he says he's going back to New York. Something about tensions in the family, I didn't really press for too much intel. I don't really think it's my place" and he punctuated his continuation with another sip.

You hum something that vaguely sounds thoughtful to his ears, really just trying to let more time pass so you can gauge his opinion on the situation. It's not hard, from the grip on his glass to the strands of red hair that is no longer slicked back but messy because hands have been raked through the locks over and over again. He's indifferent, as always, this isn't his normal shade of indifference. It's careful and it's still trying to be calculated because you can quite frankly see the cogs in his head turning ever so slowly. but You press.

"Well, how does this affect us"

He pauses and a small smirk plays against the corner of his mouth, it's small but its there and you focus on that before he explains. "It means that my name, our name, will be above the door" A beat. "next to his". Its information that has you whistling on a downward key and mouthing a 'wow'.

Your tentative about your next question, not because you're afraid of the answer, because you know what being a named partner at such a big firm will mean. It will mean that his schedule will be wilder, his business trips longer and stress levels too boot. You know all of these things but his eyes, those ever so muted blue eyes are saying more than his mouth could ever speak because he's staring at you carefully, almost as if he's trying to anticipate the worst possible reaction his brain could come up with. So you decide to put him out of his misery and lay it all out there.

You're trying not to let the partial sadness be shown in your own delicate features in the soft lamplight but evidently, it's not working.

He's instantly reaching his hand in search of yours, instantly needing your soft warm skin to ground him into the moment because he knows he's about to break your heart. Because from his perspective taking this position means leaving the only thing he loves in this world without him. It means that he will miss things, he will be so late home that the house will be in darkness and he will knock that damn fern over. He knows this. But part of him, the small piece of him deep down that craves the power his new position will come with wants him to accept blindly and ignore the fact that you will wake up next to a cooling dent in the bed and fall asleep with the same empty pillow next to you. He knows, Armitage knows that this would be good for business, he knows it would be good for the family's future in the long run but right now it's tearing him in two practically in front of your eyes.

So you adjust your gaze, run your soft thumb over the back of his hand and press another kiss to his lips. With the same message as always. Unweaving support, unconditional love and a fierce commitment to your family that's etched into the very DNA of you.

His gaze softens slightly, and he knows. Knows in his heart that all of it will be okay when you look at him like that when you kiss him like that.

And just in case he's wondering, you add your trademark saying to seal the deal.

"Que sera, sera"

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