Author’s Note | I’m really sorry for the super long wait.
CW/TW | Al Haitham’s mean :(
Synopsis | Flinching away from him during an argument.
The line between distance and disregard is a fine one, something that Al Haitham seemed to have overlooked. The Scribe -who lives off of rationality as if it were air, found that space seemed to be the most efficient means towards a peaceful resolution during conflict, yet it all turned sour somewhere down the line and worst of all, its toxicity was so steadily progressive that it only became noticeable when it was nigh impossible to ignore it.
Several arguments had passed without any form of resolution and with every person in the Academia five seconds away from an aneurysm, as Acting Grand, Sage Al Haitham was not in the best of moods.
~~
“Haitham.” You called from behind the door, patiently waiting with his lunch in hand, yet silence was all that ensued in the following moments, thus you called again, a little louder this time…still nothing.
Deciding to try your luck at entering you turned the handle, perhaps he had an errand to run and was out for a bit, you thought.
Fortunately, the door was unlocked, and lo and behold sat Al Haitham at his desk, hair slightly tousled and his cape laying on the couch. He looked up at you questioningly. “Can I help you Y/N?”
“I knocked to see if you were in.” You explained, “I guess you didn’t hear me.”
He remained unmoving for several seconds, his eyes trained on the papers in front of him and after he placed the page down he allowed his gaze to briefly flicker towards you. “I heard it.”
Taking a few steps towards into the office, you took note of the cold atmosphere surrounding him but decided against commenting. “Why didn’t you answer?” You asked instead, placing his favourite meal on his desk.
“I was busy.” He deadpanned, eyes glued on the new page in front of him.
Your gaze drifted across his large frame, “When was the last time you slept?” You inquired, noting the dark circles on the skin surrounding his turquoise eyes.
“I took a little nap some few hours ago.”
A frown took form on your lips. “A nap in your office doesn’t count. When was the last time you got over five hours of sleep in your bed.” You urged, your frustration growing at his dismissive attitude.
He sighed, laying his papers on his desk with a loud ‘slap’ and looking up at you with a slight glare. “What is it you came for Y/N, unlike you I’m busy.”
“I’m here to check up on you Al Haitham.” You felt your aggravation grow in spite of your efforts to remain level-headed. “You’ve been working non stop and I’m worried about you.”
“Well, as you can see Y/N I’m perfectly well. Now, if you would kindly leave my office—“
“Why are you being like this?” You finally sighed, your patience beginning to waver.
“Because I have work to do. I don’t have time to laze around with you.”
“Laze around with me?” You echoed. “I may not be the Acting Grand Sage, Al Haitham, but that doesn’t mean I’m not working. I stop what I’m doing every day just to see if you’re alright…because Archons know that if I don’t, you’d be skipping meals daily!”
“I’m not some child Y/N, I don’t need you to look after me, now if you would please leave my office, I’m wasting time with this discussion.”
“How on earth do you think it’s right to treat people like this?” You snapped, the festering heat in your chest reaching its peak. “I’m worried about you because I care!”
“If you really cared…” He rose from his seat, approaching you with a steadiness that left you uneasy. “you would have left Y/N instead of wasting my time!”
His last words echoed throughout the room, but what was truly deafening to the man was your reaction —the way you stepped away from him as if preparing to flee.
Groaning at his actions, he lifted a hand to his already dishevelled hair in a poor attempt to calm his racing mind but watched in horror as you flinched.
Disgust soon washed over him like a tidal wave.
You thought he would hurt you?
Archons, he did hurt you… though not physically. It dawned on him that he had been treating you abrasively for the last few months, yet you still remained nothing short of kind and patient towards him.
He didn’t deserve you, he thought, yet a part of him selfishly feared that you’d leave him after today.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed, and although his voice had grown soft, his eyes trembled with unspoken words of guilt and regret, the sight stubbornly pulling at your heart until you bridged the gap between the two of you and quietly took him into your arms.
He hesitated to reciprocate, worried that he’d cause you more alarm, but all it took was you tightening your hold around his torso for him to wrap his arms around you, settling his head against the crook of your neck.
I was rewatching HTTYD and Mammon and Asmo would DEFINITELY cry when Stoick and Valka reunited (*cough* *cough* and when Stoick died). And when i say cry i really mean SOBBING. (me too)
“shut the fuck up! you don’t know what you’re saying, shut up!”
your voice is thick with anger as it bounces off the walls, bitterness echoing through. mammon feels his blood boil before he can even see you, hoping for the best though fearing the worst. his talons have begun to peak through, sharp claws digging into the meat of his palms as his hands close into tight fists, and he feels his shoulder blades stiffen as his wings strain and ache against his shirt.
rounding the corner, the older brothers bear witness to you shouting at a group of lowly demons, teeth bared and gaze sharp. your pacts are glowing, piercing through the night as you let loose, emotions controlling you. beelzebub stands protectively in front of you, expression vicious though solemn, and belphegor holds a wary arm before you, though his tail whips behind him in similar anger. the brothers wonder with churning stomachs just what had been said.
“oh look,” one of the lesser demons dares to sneer, clearly thinking high of itself as a ugly smirk rises onto its face, having caught sight of the others, “maybe the avatar of greed isn’t so stupid after all, he can come when called. though, you better put him on a leash before he wanders off and fucks everything up again.”
the brothers don’t bother to hide their demon forms any longer, turning into a fearsome flurry of wings and fangs and claws. lucifer takes a furious stride forward, ready to quash anyone who insulted his younger brother and a terrifying aura rolls off of him in suffocating waves.
you beat him to it.
“sounds like you’re stupid, so thick you can’t even listen when someone tells you to shut your fucking mouth,” you snarl, entire body pushing against belphie’s arm, “you’ll never be worth a shred of what mammon is. he’s not an avatar for nothing. he’s reliable and dependable - he completes his duties, protects his brothers through everything and takes care of me too. you dare speak about mammon whilst you’re trying to amount to anything and i promise i’ll be there to stop you getting anywhere near his level.”
your breath is ragged when you finish, venomous threat weighing heavy in the air. you finally take a step back from belphie’s hold, decidedly having said enough. still, your expression doesn’t relax, eyes fierce and teeth on show.
the group of lesser demons begin to cower, shuffling uncomfortably as their ringleader swallows thickly, suddenly realising what it’d done as your severe words sink into its skin and the seven avatars of sin surround you. it opens and closes its mouth a handful of times, lower lip quivering as its earlier confidence abandons it. it’s only a second after that the demons scramble away, feet panicked as they slap against the floor. they’re slower than the avatars that follow them.
a call of your name dissolves the remaining tension, gentle and familiar and only just above a whisper.
“oh, mammon,” you turn, eyes softening at the only brother who remained with you. “oh, my mammon,” you murmur again, wrapping yourself around his torso, as tight as you possibly can. his open arms quickly return the hold, your body still trembling ever so slightly against his. but the anger soon gives way to relief and mammon lets out a sigh of his own as it floods through his pact.
“it’s ok,” mammon hushes, “i’m ok.”
against your every fibre, you pull back and the loss of your cheek against mammon’s chest leaves him uncomfortably cold. your hands snake up to cup his face, stark tenderness so blatant it’s hard to picture that you had been snarling and spitting a few minutes ago. “you sure?” you ask, staring straight into mammon’s eyes that glimmer gold at the contact.
mammon nods, taking the chance to lean into your touch, “course i am, you and my brothers look after me too. i’m your first man and you’re my first human.”
“you promise?” your tone is adamant and unrelenting, despite how mammon’s words had left you melty warm.
mammon lets the smile break onto his lips, lets your hands pull him downwards until your foreheads are pressed against each other. “promise,” he hums, “i’m ok as long as i’ve got you.”
