#although i'll admit i've stormed out of a classroom more than once

[brohood-assassins-imagines]

Of Essays and Vending Machines

Anonymous: Altair x reader soulmate au where they have each other’s first sentence to them on their skin? And reader is a mouthful and mean? I love your writing by the way, and I hope you will get the job of your dreams :)

A/N: Took a bit of a while, but if finally came through! Thank you for your wishes and your honesty, sadly it didn’t work out… But I’m still looking and some responses have been positive, so I plan to keep going! I’d like to say that the situation where I have stormed out of a classroom never happened, but I can’t say that. In fact, this happened two months ago, so. Oh, and warning for lots of swear words! Have a good read!

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]>

“You what?!” you snapped, eyes wide and angry as you turned to look at your political science tutor from across his desk. The man gave you a tight smile, nodding as his gaze shifted downwards to your papers; eyes critical and analyzing.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you turn this… essay in.” The way he said the word didn’t go unnoticed by you — as if the work you spent hours into was little more than a poorly made joke. Letting go of the pages and pushing your essay back to you, Mr. Keane tilted his head to one side and sighed heavily. “I know you worked hard in this this, although I can’t simply accept your work. It is well-written—“

“But?” you interrupted with an angry hiss, lips tightening as he sighed again.

“Look, Y/N.” Mr. Keane started, pushing his graying hair back “I know you have lots of potential and it breaks my heart to see all of this go to waste because— Where are you going?!”

You slipped one of the slings of your backpack in, snatching your jacket from the chair as you sneered at him “Out.”

You walked briskly out of the classroom, huffing and frowning as if someone had accused you of cheating on a test you clearly hadn’t — although you couldn’t say you never did cheat on a test. “Fucking college, I can’t fucking believe this. Lazy and sloppy?” you grumbled alone, walking down the grassy path out of the building without a look over your shoulder “I’ll show him lazy, that stuck-up asshole. Can’t believe I’ll have to write all of that shit again, I swear…”

You wandered towards the cafeteria, mood closer to the center of earth than any human could possibly ever hope to approach one day. As if waking up late wasn’t enough, you still had to deal with stupid Mr. Keane giving you his “I have such high hopes for you, don’t give up now” speech before 8 in the fucking morning. You weren’t even supposed to be up that early but, apparently, college professors — specifically a certain political science professor known as Jonathan Keane — did not have any other purpose besides making their students lives miserable.

Luckily, the cafeteria was nearly empty — not more than a couple of students having breakfast —, so you approached the vending machine, dropping your backpack on the floor with a dull thud as you fished your wallet from your back pocket.

“Can’t believe I’ll have to go back and check all the fucking sources again, what does he take me as? A stupid and clueless college girl who doesn’t know her business?” you kept ranting, taking a note and pushing it into the slit of the machine. “As if I need any guidance in writing an essay, I didn’t land into this hellhole yesterday” you pressed the buttons with a little more force than necessary, the machine shook slightly and started, unceremoniously, pushing a can of soda to the edge and you watched, powerlessly, as it got stuck midway. “Un-fucking-believable.”

This day just kept getting better and better.

You groaned, throwing your arms up, walking around the vending machine. “That’s great. Simply great!” You pushed it, doing little more than shaking the huge thing slightly. “It just has to be me. Are you satisfied now, Universe?!” you asked to no one in particular, pushing the machine again “because, believe me, I’m having the time of my fucking life!” You grunted, kicking the infernal thing one last time before realizing people were likely staring. Sighing in defeat, you rolled your eyes up, moving to pick up your hoodie and proceeding to slip into it as you caught eye of someone staring at you — staring judgmentally at you. His ambery eyes shining with mocking interest at you and, suddenly, you didn’t care.

Oh right now, you couldn’t care less.

“What you staring at, pal?” you grumbled “take a fucking picture!”

The man’s eyes widened slightly and, for a moment, he seemed genuinely surprised before one eyebrow went up, his deep voice coated in sarcasm as he spoke. “I never expected you to be such a little ray of sunshine.”

Your jerky movements came to a brisk halt.

Now, of all the times. It simply had to be now.

You could hear the cosmical laughter coming from somewhere far away in the galaxy as the Universe mocked you. “This just… isn’t happening.”

The man huffed, one hand sliding into the pocket of his sweater. He had black, short hair and deep ambery eyes — almost like liquid gold, if you dared to say so. He didn’t have a dark skin, but it wasn’t fair neither; you deemed it to be the color of coffee when you put too much milk in it.

“Believe me, I did not expect to meet my soulmate as they kicked the shit out of a vending machine” he mocked, walking past you and pushing a few coins into the machine himself. Wasn’t he a smug little bastard?

You suddenly felt your face burn in embarrassment, an ungodly and unstoppable need to hide yourself from everyone else as you finally took in the show you put up for yourself. You tsked and look the other way before he came back with two identical cans of soda — yours that got stuck and one for himself — and offered one of them for you. “Care to tell me your name as we start our day in the most healthy way known?”

You scratched the back of your neck, taking one of the cans from his hands after scooping up your battered backpack “I’m Y/N” you started, with a small smile, eyes quickly closing in frustration and you gave out a breathy laugh “I can’t believe I met my soulmate while beating a vending machine, I’m sorry. This is just… I didn’t expect that, not even from me.”

He smirked at you, chuckling slightly before speaking again. His voice was oddly attractive “not what I had in mind for our first meeting, no. I’m Altaïr, by the way.” He sat down at one of the tables of the cafeteria, motioning towards the seat in front of him. “I would really like to know what troubles you this early in the morning.”

You smiled in a gawky way, opening your own can of soda and tried to ignore the idiotic flutter in your stomach. “It’s just… an essay.”

Altaïr quirked an eyebrow up at you, lips tugging up slightly and you noticed he had a vertical scar on the right side of his mouth. “I doubt the essay obliged you to try to murder the only vending machine of the cafeteria that has decent drinks.”

You rolled your eyes up, gingerly sipping your drink as the conversation carried on. You doubted your whole life you’d be able to get along with someone you’ve just met, that being the main reason why you never trusted this soulmate bullshit; but there were, talking with a stranger and already acting like a fumbling teenager all over again. “Have you had political science already?”

He tilted his head to one side and took a sip of his own before grimacing and looking at you “Keane?”

“Keane” you agreed, voice weighing as if a death sentence had just been spoken. “He’s been nagging at me because my ‘work is very well-written, but sloppy and lazy’” you quoted, signaling his words as you moved your fingers in the air for comical effect.

“You know,” Altaïr started, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you “I have this afternoon off. What do you say we meet at the library to work at this essay of yours? Maybe we can go grab a bite afterwards.”