Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

It takes a stranger (Altaïr x Reader)

This was a request made by the lovely -astronomi

Hope this lives up to your expectations~!

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I've been everywhere, man
I've been everywhere, man
Crossed the deserts bare, man
I've breathed the mountain air, man
Travel, I've had my share, man
I've been everywhere.

Your oil-stained palms drum the steering wheel in tune to the weathered, gravelly bass-baritone belonging to none other than Johnny Cash. The hula girl atop the dashboard jiggles her hips to the rhythm, the painted smile on her face highlighting her enjoyment; despite her long and frizzled black hair, chipped bikini top, and frayed hula skirt, you could never find it in your heart to dispose of her – much to the dismay of your colleagues. Occasionally you'd sing and sway along with the music, but you were more focused on the winding road laid out before you; the mountain roads were difficult enough to navigate on a sunny day, but due to the snow, traversing this particular route was frightfully hazardous.

During the warmer seasons, you rarely travelled these roads – they were mostly used by tourists who wish for a more scenic journey – but in the Winter, you've taken it upon yourself to scour each and every backroad and unmapped highway; a mechanic’s work is never done.

You crank up the heat to demist the windscreen before your view of the road was wholly obstructed. “What have we here?” You lean forward partially, eyes narrowing at the sight of blinking orange lights in the distance.

Hazard lights.

Good thing you followed your instinct rather than the advice of your boss.

Slowing down, the truck inches closer to where an old Buick LeSabre lay idle on the side of the road, the owner of the car kneeling on the bonnet with his arm extended towards the sky. Were you to guess, you'd say that he was seeking a signal for his phone, but unfortunately he's not going to find one out here.

You roll down the window and lean out. “Car break down, sweetheart?”

Annoyance is radiating from him in waves and his arm falls limp at his side upon removing himself from the bonnet. “What does it look like?” He barely issues through gritted teeth – or maybe it was the scarf blocking his mouth which caused the muffle of his tone.

“It looks as though your car has broken down.”

The abrupt shift of body language from mildly irritated to unmitigated rage clearly expressed that such attempt at humour was greatly unappreciated. It was to be expected, you suppose; breaking down in such lousy weather has a tendency of entrapping people in a semi-permanent foul state of mind.

You hop out of the truck. “Today's your lucky day, gorgeous.”

“This is what you deem ‘lucky'?” The gentleman releases a harsh and derisive snort. “For twelve hours I have been stuck on a plane sandwiched between two morons who clearly were unaware of the existence of deodorant. Upon reaching the airport, I was left waiting at baggage claim for twenty minutes only to later discover that the airport had ‘misplaced' my luggage. And now...now I'm stuck with this stupid piece of shit in the stupid snow, in the middle of nowhere, with no phone reception. Now, unless Oxford has changed the very definition of the term ‘lucky' in the past twenty four hours, then please, refrain from referring to this situation as such.”

A flash of darkness in those unusual golden orbs has you withdrawing. Just a step.
Though understanding the reasoning behind such burning vexation, it was near impossible to determine how a person will respond whilst under the influence of perturbing negativity. Most tourists relax once realising help had arrived, but this particular individual seemed...unstable.

A sliver of you wished to retreat to the safety of the truck and leave this man to fend for himself. But whatever reservations you held were quick to ebb away in the face of duty; this man sought aid, and you were there to provide it.

“You misunderstand, sweetheart. It's your lucky day because I'm actually a mechanic.”

“A mechanic?”

The need to reiterate had been common practice for many years – mostly from tranches of the male population which remain arrogant enough to believe that a woman has no place in a male-dominated industry. There have been numerous occasions where you have been spoken to with condescension by men who thought you unfit for the job; It was a common and rather offending misconception, especially when the vast majority of them would deem it necessary to offer unwarranted advice on how to fix the vehicle they couldn't.

“Come on.” You usher the irritable foreigner towards the tow truck whilst maintaining a reasonably safe distance. “I'll give you a lift into the city and fix up your car.”

He stares forlornly at his comatose vehicle. “I've had that car for years.” He informs in a tone normally reserved for a significant other. You understood the bond between human and vehicle rather well – that tow truck was your baby. It brought more pleasure to your life than any man ever has.

“And you'll have her for many more.” You assure upon shepherding him into the passenger seat of the truck. “Sit tight, handsome.”

You leave him alone in the truck whilst you attend to hooking up the hoary LeSabre and securing it onto the truck. There didn't appear to be any exterior damage, which was always a perk for both yourself and the customer; an easy fix for you, affordable for the client.

The door was slammed shut with a hollow clang after you positioned yourself comfortably behind the wheel. After readjusting the rearview mirror, you steal a glance at the foreign traveller, suppressing the desire to laugh as he struggles with the seatbelt. Not surprising with the amount of layers he's chosen to conceal himself – the puffer jacket alone added unnecessary bulk.

You reach over, silently offering to help, but at his sudden jerk you pull away. “I don't need you to buckle me in.” He insists, anger rising in the face of embarrassment.

Such a stubborn individual.

“Perhaps removing those mittens would make this task easier.” You try with an even tone, hoping to keep from infuriating him further.

“I'll manage.”

He persevered, and after many failed attempts, finally fumbled long enough to be rewarded with the satisfying click of the tongue being accepted into the buckle.
A smug smile tugged on his lips. “Piece of cake.”

You shoot an unimpressed glance his way but remain silent. You would never understand the ‘alpha male’ mindset where accepting help was considered an act of weakness.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you; it is as though he's sizing you up, searching for answers to unasked questions.

“You wanting a picture or something, handsome?” You tease him.

“No, nothing like that. I just can't help but wonder why someone like you have taken a job such as this.”

“Someone...you mean a woman?”

He has the decency to look at least a little abashed at his assumption. “I mean no disrespect. I do not think you incapable of doing this job, but willingly offering lifts to strange men...is it not dangerous for you?”

The question had you freezing momentarily. It was a fair question, but not one typically asked.

Logically, there is zero reason why it would be more dangerous to be a woman providing a towing service than a man. And yet...there have been multiple occasions when you have been thrust into precarious situations involving men – usually drunk – with revoltingly inquisitive hands. The first time a customer touched you inappropriately was rather frightening; you had considered quitting right there and then, but at the time you needed money else you risked eviction. Over time, these dangers faded into the background of every day life, shamefully becoming what you convinced yourself to be ‘normal'. 

Regathering your wits, you are quick to brush away his concern with false bravado. “It's no more dangerous than an attractive foreign traveller accepting a ride from a total stranger.” You fix him with a playful smile. “I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

He does not appear the least bit convinced – but you can change that.

One hand reached underneath the seat and withdrew a decent sized handgun. You watch, deliriously amused, as the gun is set on the dashboard and a pair of exotic eyes flicker uneasily from the handle of the passenger door, to the belt keeping him confined to the seat, and eventually settling on the gun.

You shift the gear into drive before reassuring him. “Relax, sweetheart. There's no way I'm gonna shoot you and risk losing a pay cheque.”