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Chaos- Jacob Frye x reader

Codextober day 11 (late as usuallll, y’all know you’re girl)

Summary: Jacob takes reader on a date, and nothing goes to plan, so they make the best of it.

*Jacob literally is just a magnet for chaos lmao*

A/n: this was painful as heck to write, but I wanted to continue reader and Jacob’s story a lil

The gaslights of London flickered with their usual mellow, golden glow, casting long, dancing shadows down the cobbled streets. The scent of rain and coal hung thick over London, its unpleasant odour clung to everything around it.

Jacob felt the frantic, exhilarating beat of his heart that hammered against his ribs, as he stood in the shadow of his carriage. He was currently leaned back against the door carriage, with his arms crossed, directly across the street from (y/n)’s townhouse.

It was now 7:55 PM.

Jacob checked his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. He wasn’t late. In fact, he was unusually early. This, in itself, was a miracle of biblical proportions. (y/n) had undoubtedly expected him to stroll in at 8:30, flashing that charming, apologetic grin of his while offering some half-assed excuse, or that he had confused a carriage route as per usual.

But tonight, Jacob had a plan. It was a solid plan in his opinion, crafted with the a strategic precision he’d only reserved for hunting crime groups, and the occasional Templar (but he usually left the planning for Evie, or (y/n) ). He'd spent the entire day meticulously planning, a feat that would normally send Evie into a fit of disbelieving laughter. He had planned to take (y/n) out to dinner at one of London’s most exclusive establishments, complete with a private dining alcove and a menu given to him by a very, well-bribed manager.

Jacob and (y/n)’s shared bond was an intricate tapestry woven from years of shared dangers, whispered secrets, and an understanding that transcended mere words.

They fought side-by-side, their movements a deadly dance of coordinated precision.

He had engraved the memory of her bodies curves, the steel in her gaze, the way she hummed to herself when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Jacob also admired her intellect, her unmatched agility, her fierce loyalty, and the quiet strength that simmered beneath her composed exterior. More than admired, he adored it, cherished it even. And he knew, with a certainty that hummed in his very bones, that she felt the same way about him.

This date, their first date, was merely the official acknowledgement of something already deeply, and beautifully established.

Jacob was currently supposed to be waiting outside, like a proper gentleman would, but the thought was far too… boring. Besides, he knew his partner. She, bless her punctual soul, always expected him to be late (which he usually was). She'd be taking her sweet time getting ready, probably assuming she had another fifteen to thirty minutes before facing the whirlwind that of a man that was Jacob Frye.

A mischievous grin spread across his face. This was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Jacob crossed the street, moving with the silence that was rare for the man. The carriage he had hired—a sleek, black conveyance with velvet interiors—had now moved up the street and waited discreetly at the corner. The driver, a loyal Rook member, tipped his hat.

"How long, boss?"

"Just stay put and keep look out until we come out.," Jacob called, his voice carrying over the noise of the street.

He scaled the drainpipe of the townhouse with practiced ease, his hands gripping groves and cracks in the stone work. He slipped over the ledge and onto the roof, dropping down to the first-floor balcony. Through the glass doors, he could see the warm glow of lamplight.

Inside, she was moving about her bedroom, oblivious to the handsome man watching her.

Jacob paused. He hadn't intended to spy, but the sight of her had him rooted him to the spot. She was humming a familiar soft melody—a habit she had when she was relaxed, a rare state for an assassin. She looked stunning as she wore a simple green robe, her hair unbound and cascading down her back in loose waves, waiting to pinned up.

Jacob felt a sharp pang of affection, a feeling so strong it almost hurt. They had fought side-by-side for years, surviving bullets, blades, and the crushing weight of London’s growing oppression, together.

He had saw private parts of her body before that no one else had, because he had intimately bandaged and held compresses to past wounds; he knew the small calluses on her hands because they mirrored his own. But seeing her like this—unarmored, domestic, soft—was something he rarely saw.

She had now moved to the vanity, picking up a brush. Jacob watched the delicate way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was beautiful, something rare.

He checked his watch again. 8:00 PM.

Time for phase two.

Jacob slid the balcony door open—it was unlocked, a bad habit he’d scolded her for repeatedly—and stepped inside. The thick rug swallowed the sound of his boots. He moved across the room, his heart hammering a rhythm against his ribs that was entirely unbecoming of a master assassin. He was close enough now that he could smell her perfume.

She was focused on fixing the green gown that she had hung up on the door, adjusting the collar of the dress. It was a deep emerald green, elegant but practical.

She was going to look stunning, he had thought to himself as he continued his sneak attack.

His mind was racing though, Jacob had seen her in worn fighting leathers, covered in grime and blood, her face streaked with dirt, and still thought her the most captivating woman alive. But now, seeing her getting dressed for an evening out, with a faint flush on her cheeks from the warmth of the room, she was utterly, breathtakingly magnificent. The confidence he’d felt earlier solidified into a possessiveness that Jacob had never held before. This woman, his woman.

Unable to resist the urge, he crept forward silently. He reached her just as she was securing an earring, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest tightly.

“Keeping a gentleman waiting, are we, love?” he murmured, his voice sounding deeper than usual against her ear, playfulness lacing his tone.

The effect was instantaneous and, to his immediate regret, painful. Jacob expected a gasp. Maybe a playful shove, followed by her giggles. He did not expect the brutal violence that followed.

(Y/n) did gasp, a sharp, surprised sound. Her body tensed, not in fear, but in pure, instinctual defense. In a blur of motion, a lightning-fast elbow had connected with his ribs, followed by a swift, precise knee to his groin – a move perfectly executed to disable a larger male opponent.

Jacob doubled over with a groan of agonizing pain , his grip loosening as he stumbled back, clutching his tender groin. “Bloody hell, (y/n)!” he choked out, gasping for air.

“It’s just me!”

"Jacob!" (Y/n) cried, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Her lethal grace vanished instantly, the moment she saw him, crumpled and gasping, her expression shifted from startled assailant to concerned partner in a heartbeat.

“What in the… you daft idiot!” She drop to on her knees above him, her hands hovering, unsure whether to comfort or scold. “Why would you sneak up on me like that? I thought it was an intruder! I almost killed you! Are you alright?”

Jacob held up a hand, trying to regain the breath he knocked out of his lungs. Pain continued to radiate through his entire body, but his pride stung worse.

"I’m... alive," he choked out, straightening up with a grimace. "Just... reconsidering my life choices."

He straightened up slowly, wincing. “Christ love, you hit with the force of a bloody siege engine. And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

She crossed her arms, though a faint blush was creeping up her neck. “It’s called situational awareness, something you might benefit from, Mr. Frye. And reflexes. I thought you were supposed to appreciate those. But I am sorry though." She rested her hands on his chest, as she kissed his cheek. "You can be such a bloody idiot sometimes. Why were you sneaking up on me like that? You know better!"

He managed a smug grin, despite the ache in his groin. Jacob caught her wrists, pulling her close. "I wanted to see how good your assassins skills really are without me having your back. Obviously you don’t need me around."

Jacob looked her up and down slowly, his gaze lingering over her body. "Though, I must say, you look absolutely lethal tonight, love. Truly. If I had to die, I’m glad it was at your hands."

She flushed, a rosy hue dusting her cheeks. She tried to frown, to maintain her annoyance, but he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "You’re ridiculous."

“And here I thought you looked stunning in blood and grime,” he continued teasing, taking a step closer, his eyes twinkling.

“Turns out you’re even more captivating without it. Who knew?” He reached out and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers brushing her soft skin.

“Besides, love, you also kept me waiting," he teased gently, "If I were to knock, I’d have to wait. So I have to break in just to hurry you up. Very rude."

"I thought you’d be late per usual!" she protested, flustered. She wasn't used to being caught off guard, and she certainly wasn't used to feeling this fluttery, uncharacteristic embarrassment. "I was taking my time."

"Well," Jacob said, resting his large hands on her waist, his voice taking on a teasing tone. "Our carriage awaits. And I assure you, I am always impeccably on time when it comes down to the special woman in my life."

She looked at him, really looked at him, taking him all in. He was wearing a dark waistcoat that actually buttoned correctly, his hair combed (relatively) neatly, he had his nicest top hat on hand.

He was really trying to make an effort, and that made her stomach flutter.

"You clean up nice, Frye. Give me a few minutes to get the dress on and we can leave." she smirked.

"Don't sound so surprised, I know how to present myself to a lady. But are you sure you don’t need some help with that?" he teased, as he lead himself out the door.

The evening was off to a rather eventful start, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Outside, the gleaming black carriage waited at the corner, its horses occasionally stamping impatiently. Jacob opened the carriage door before helping (y/n) aboard, his hand lingering on the small of her back for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

The carriage ride was smooth, the rhythmic clop of hooves a soothing counterpoint to the bustling city. Jacob sat opposite her, his legs sprawled apart comfortably, and his arms resting on the top of the carriage seat, but his eyes were intense, tracking her every movement.

(Y/n), who could feel his intense staring, smoothed the emerald fabric of her dress over her knees. "So," she said, breaking the silence. "Where are we going Mr. Frye?"

"A place." Jacob said, his smug grin widening. "A place with real silverware. No chipped plates. And waiters who don't spit in the food."

"High standards."

Jacob chuckled. “Indeed, I have my moments. And of course, only the best for my preferred partner in crime… and dinner.” He leaned back, a picture of relaxed confidence.

“But before that…” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, pulling out a medium sized, leather-wrapped package. He presented it to her with a dramatic bow of his head. “A small token of my… regret for our rather enthusiastic training session earlier.”

(Y/n) took the package, her brow furrowed in curiosity. She unwrapped it carefully, her eyes widening as she revealed its contents: her hidden blade.

“Jacob!” she breathed, genuine surprise and joy lighting up her face. “You actually fixed it! Already?” She looked up at him, a genuine smile transforming her features.

"I did."

“I… I thought you were joking. I didn’t think you’d manage it by the end of the week, let alone before our date." she admitted, running her thumb over the metal casing. "I thought you’d forget, or try and use it to pry open a crate of beer. I was just planning on stealing yours."

"Ouch," Jacob pressed a hand to his heart, feigning injury. "The lack of faith. It wounds me deeper than that blow to my genitals earlier, love."

She was clearly blushing as she looked up at him, her eyes bright with genuine happiness. "How did you convince the blacksmith to finish this so quickly? It looks brand new!"

"I may have threatened him with a very detailed description of what I would do if he didn’t." Jacob said casually. "But yes. He did a fine job if I do say so myself."

"You didn't have to," she said, her voice softer now. She strapped the blade to her wrist, the familiar weight a comfort. "Thank you, Jacob. Truly."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression turning uncharacteristically soft. "I told you I’d fix it. I’m a man of my word."

He held her gaze as they both inched closer together, the teasing now replaced by something deeper, more serious, something that made the carriage feel suddenly smaller. "I’d do anything for you, (Y/n). You know that."

Their faces were now only inches apart, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “For you, love, I’d do anything. Even face the wrath of a blacksmith who charges exorbitant fees for last minute jobs and threats.” He winked, and (y/n) felt a familiar blush creep up her cheeks once more. Jacob lived to see her blushing red, especially just for him.

His words, though delivered with a characteristic Jacob smirk, held a sincere weight that resonated deep within her.

She was a killer, a leader, a woman who had stared down death without flinching, yet this man could dismantle her composure with a single sentence. She looked down at the blade, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I'm beginning to believe you."

The moment was perfect. Soft, intimate, and promising.

But just as the romantic ambiance reached its peak, a harsh jolt sent them both lurching back into Jacob’s direction. The screech of wood grinding against cobblestone echoed through the cabin before the carriage came to a harsh halt, followed by a disgruntled shout from the driver.

They could hear a cacophony of shouts erupted from outside.

“Well, well, what have we here boys?” a coarse voice sneered. “A fancy carriage, all alone. Looks like Christmas came early, lads!”

Jacob’s eyes snapped to the window, his expression shifting instantly from lover to assassin.

(Y/n) exchanged a look with Jacob. Annoyance, more than fear, was etched on her face.

“Our luck,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I just want to dine already, can’t a woman catch a break?”

Jacob let out a frustrated grunt. “They have no respect for romance.” he sarcastically remarked.

"Stay here," he ordered protectively, his hand already reaching for the cane-sword tucked beside him.

He didn't wait for an answer.

He threw the door open and launched himself out.

Outside, the street was dimly lit, the fog curling around the gas lamps. A group of men surrounded the carriage, armed with rusty knives and makeshift clubs. Their grimy faces grinned with predatory intent. They wore the tell-tale colours of the Blighters.

"Wrong night, lads!" Jacob shouted annoyed, while landing in their midst.

He didn't wait for them to react. He drove the pommel of his cane into the first man's jaw, sending him sprawling. He spun, the cane extending into a sword, slicing the air in a deadly arc.

The Blighters were aggressive, but sloppy. They were street thugs, not trained killers. Still, there were ten of them.

The carriage door opened swiftly again. (Y/n) stepped out. She had her dress sleeves rolled slightly up, and her hidden blades ready to go.

She didn't look like a damsel in distress. She looked like a true assassin.

Jacob felt a surge of pride (and arousal) as he watched her join the fight.

While he engaged with brute force, crashing into the group with the impact of a runaway train, (Y/n) was like a phantom. She ducked under a swinging club, her movement fluid and low. She prioritized disarming and disabling, her attacks surgical and swift, designed to remove threats without unnecessary fuss.

She was currently taking down another Blighter, her blades flashing as she disabled his tendons with surgical precision.

Jacob found himself momentarily distracted, watching the way she moved. Jacob couldn't help but admire the sheer poetry of her combat style. The way she spun, blades extended, a blur of deadly grace, it was the most attractive thing he had ever witnessed.

She was poetry in motion—elegant, deadly, and utterly captivating. “Bloody hell, she looks good when she’s angry”, he thought to himself as he took a hard blow to the shoulder for his lapse in attention, a reminder to focus, but he just grinned, shaking it off.

"Watch your back, Jacob!" she called out, parrying a knife she had hidden under her dress, aimed another poor souls ribs.

"Oi! I'm watching your back!" he retorted arrogantly, grabbing a Blighter by the collar and hurling him into a stack of nearby crates.

(Y/n), also couldn’t help but admire her partner, as she watched him give a powerful uppercut that sent another Blighter flying, she herself, couldn't help but feel a the same familiar thrill and admiration. Jacob was a true force of nature, all primal energy and raw power. He might be utterly incapable of her subtlety, but his strength and ferocity were undeniably captivating (and sexy). The way his coat tails flared as he spun, the sheer impact of his movements… a warmth spread through her whole body.

This was a dance they knew well. He was the storm; she was the lightning within it. They moved around each other without collision, anticipating the other’s rhythm.

His movements were raw, unrefined, but undeniably effective. He reveled in the pure physicality of it, a wild, untamed energy his hallmark.

(Y/n), however, was a study in controlled elegance. She weaved through the fray like a ghost, her double hidden blades flashing in the dim light.

Within minutes, the street was littered with groaning bodies.

Jacob stood in the center of the carnage, breathing heavily.

He looked at (Y/n). She stood proud and tall, her blades still out, her chest heaving slightly less than his. He could already see a smear of dirt marred her cheek, and the hem of her emerald dress was torn.

He couldn't help but look at her, admiring the fierceness in her eyes.

She caught his gaze and lowered her blades, retracting them. She looked down at her dress and sighed. "Well. So much for the fancy restaurant."

Jacob’s expensive tailcoat was ripped down one sleeve, a smudge of dirt marred his pristine white shirt, and his perfectly shined shoes were scuffed. Upon further inspection, (Y/n)’s poor dress had tear in the skirt, and a splash of mud stained the delicate fabric.

Jacob let out a short, barking laugh. "I suppose mud and bloodstains are out of fashion this season. They might frown upon us gracing their establishment looking like we’ve wrestled a badger.”

She looked at the wreckage, then at him, and despite the adrenaline, she began to laugh. It started as a chuckle and grew into a full, bright sound that seemed to cut through the London fog.

"You," she said, wiping her eyes, "are a magnet for trouble, Jacob Frye."

"Me?" He feigned innocence. "I was merely enjoying a lovely carriage ride."

"You provoked them by just existing," she countered, walking over to him. She reached up and brushed a speck of dust from his beared jawline.

"So. I guess that fancy dinner is off the table, so now what?"

"We definitely aren’t getting in anywhere high ended, at least not in these clothes," he admitted. "But…I will tell you what. I know a place." He grinned, his earlier frustration completely forgotten in the face of her amusement.

“There’s a decent enough place around the corner – cheap ale, passable food, and no one cares if you’ve got a bit of mud on your frock.” He gestured to her torn dress.

The "place" was a pub in Whitechapel called The Bloated Lady. It was loud, smoke-filled, and smelled of stale beer and fried fish. It was the polar opposite of the high-society establishment Jacob had previously booked, but as they pushed through the doors, the warmth felt more welcoming than any fancy crystal chandelier ever could.

“A pub?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on her lips. “From a fancy restaurant to a pub? You certainly know how to make a girl feel special on her first date, Jacob Frye.”

There was no malice in her tone, only teasing affection.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replied, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her close as they looked for a table.“Besides, this is far more authentic. More… us.”

They ended up finding a corner table in the bustling, smoke-filled pub, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and smoke, but at least it offered a modicum of privacy. They ordered two pints of ale and a plate of fish and chips, and leaned back, surveying the scene with a shared sense of bemused contentment.

“So,” (y/n) began, taking a sip of her ale, “this has certainly been… memorable. A surprise entrance, an accidental assault, a near-perfect hidden blade reveal, and a street brawl. And all before the main course.” She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “I must say, Jacob, you truly outdid yourself for a first date.”

Jacob sighed halfheartedly. “I do apologize, love. I truly did have a perfect, un-chaotic evening planned for us.” He looked genuinely contrite for a moment, though his brown eyes still held a mischievous spark. He took a long pull from his tankard. "I had a whole speech prepared. Candles, wine, the works."

(Y/n) reached across the table, her soft hand briefly covering his. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said softly, her teasing tone was now being replaced by genuine affection. “I’m having a wonderful time. And honestly? The chaos… I wouldn’t have it any other way. It reminds me of home…of my family.” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Turbulent. Intense. Never a dull moment.” She chuckled. “Goodness knows, being from a long line of both Templars and Assassins, ‘dull’ is a word I’m not acquainted with. And I certainly wouldn’t want a boring man, life is too short for that.”

(Y/n) continued enjoying the meal, it was simple but tasty.

Sensing that he was stuck in his thoughts, she looked at Jacob, her eyes soft.

"Jacob, look at me," she said softly. "Do I look like a woman who needs crystal glasses and porcelain plates?"

"You look like a woman who deserves them."

"I’d break them, that lifestyle isn’t for me. I'm having a lovely time," she insisted, reaching across the table to squeeze his calloused hand. "Honestly. The fancy dinner... that would have been you trying to be someone you're not. This?" She gestured to the rowdy pub, the brawl-weary patrons, the chaos. "This is you. And I like this."

Jacob felt the tension in his shoulders release. "You seem to thrive in chaos."

"I love it," she said truthfully. "My life... my lineage is complicated. You know that. We have Templars and Assassins in our blood. Chaos is all I’ve ever known. My great-grandfather, Shay... he was a man of conviction, but his life was never simple. My great-grandmother, the love of his life, always said that you cannot separate the man from the mission." She smiled wryly. "I know for a fact that, a boring man would be a terrible match for any of the women in my family, there is no such thing as boring where I come from. Besides if I was with someone normal, I’d be constantly worried they’d faint at the sight of a bit of blood."

Jacob laughed loudly, a genuine, deep laugh. "I don't think I could be boring if I tried."

"No," she agreed. "You really couldn't. I’m a lucky woman to have a man like you as my… partner, Jacob Frye."

His heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and loved everything about her, from the mud and the torn dress to the incredible woman beneath all of that. The chaos, the danger, the unexpected turns – it was all part of their shared life, part of them. And she embraced it, embraced him, entirely.

Slowly, Jacob leaned across the table, his eyes never leaving hers. The pub noise faded into a distant hum. “We both know I’m the lucky one.” he whispered.

The air between them continued to grow heavy, charged with the same electricity from the carriage earlier. Everything around them faded into the background. Jacob leaned forward, slowly to gauge her reaction. But (Y/n) slowly mirrored him, and leaned in towards him.

He didn't hesitate this time. He closed the distance between their lips, his hand coming up to cup her jaw gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek softly.

It was short and sweet, and it was also their first kiss. Years of unspoken words, shared glances in the heat of battle, and the tension of the last few hours all poured into that single point of contact. They had both had tasted of ale. But her lips were soft, and his were slightly chapped, but she didn’t mind. Her hand, still resting on his, tightened ever so slightly.

They had broken apart before anyone could really notice their little public display of affection, a comfortable silence now settled between them. Jacob was grinning, that insufferably smug, self-satisfied grin that usually annoyed her. But tonight, she found it endearing.

"Finally," he said, his voice a slightly now more huskier than before. “That went rather well, you seemed to have enjoyed yourself.”

"Don't get cocky," she whispered, though her cheeks were flushed. "It was one kiss."

"One excellent kiss, probably the best kiss of your life." he corrected.

She playfully rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed a bright shade of crimson. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Frye.”

“Whatever you say.” he conceded, though his smug smirk didn’t waver.

He then pushed himself up from the table. “Tell you what, all this excitement has given me an appetite for some fresh air. And perhaps somewhere a bit more… private.”

Jacob drained both their tankards impressively quick, and then stood up, offering his hand to her. "Come on. Let's get out of here. The smoke in here is starting to kill the mood."

They stepped out onto the street. The cool night air hit them like a bucket of cold water, refreshing and sharp.

The gaslights flickered as usual, casting their long, dancing shadows on the cobblestones.

Jacob didn't let go of her hand.

As soon as they were away from the prying eyes of the pub patrons, pulling her into a nearby alley next to shuttered shop front, before spinning her around to face him.

Jacob pulled her into him with a sudden, irresistible force. His hands cupped her face, and his lips descended feverishly on hers, this time with a deeper, more urgent hunger. This time the kiss from Jacob was possessive, demanding, and utterly intoxicating.

(Y/n) responded immediately, her fingers clutching his lapels, her body pressing firmly against his. The world around her disappeared, and for a glorious moment, there was only the taste of him, the feel of him, the intoxicating rush of their shared desire.

Jacob turned them around and pinned her gently against the brick wall, never breaking the heated kiss.

This kiss was different than before, it was heated, demanding, and hungry. It lacked the chaste sweetness of the first kiss inside the pub, replaced by a raw, burning need. She slowly slid her hands up his chest until her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

Jacob was the one who broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, both of them now breathless.

“Couldn’t do that inside with everyone watching, could I?” he roughly asked, his calloused thumb stroking her cheek.

She smiled and enjoyed the intimate moment. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and sparkling, met his. “You absolutely should do that more often, Jacob Frye,” she purred.

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of time for that,” he promised, his grin returning, “after the match.” He winked.

(Y/n) pulled back slightly, her brow knitting. "Match? What match?"

Jacob’s grin returned, wider and more mischievous than ever. He straightened up, adjusting his collar with a flourish. "The fighting match I’m participating in. Tonight. In approximately twenty minutes."

"You..." (Y/n) stared at him.

"You scheduled a fistfight into our date? Jacob, darling, we just came from a fight. Plus, we are covered in mud and other debris." (Y/n) looked at him skeptically, before letting out a laugh, a genuine, joyful sound.

“Oh Jacob,” she said, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. “You couldn’t possibly just be happy to watch a fight instead, could you?” She playfully questioned, even though they both knew the answer. “Well, you better win, Jacob, if I’m going to stand there, and watch your antics.”

"I need to let off some steam somehow," he said with truthfully, "And I thought you might enjoy watching me win. I also know you enjoy watching me fight, love. And when I do win, you owe me another date.”

She scoffed, though a smile played on her lips. “Already planning the next one, are we? Confident, much?”

"Just being honest."

"You're unbelievable," she said, shaking her head, though a laugh bubbled up in her throat. "You better keep true to your word and win. Like I previously stated, If I'm going to stand in a dirty building and watching you brawl, you better make it worth my while Jacob Frye."

"I'll win, we both know it." Jacob said confidently. "And when I do, you’ll owe me another date. A proper one this time. No Blighters, no tears in your dress, just you and me. I’ll even buy you a new dress."

"Deal," she smiled warmly.

“And on the way to the match, while our adrenaline’s still pumping… you can continue to tell me about that mysterious grandfather of yours. The one who passed down those two hidden blades. You promised, remember?”

(Y/n)’s expression softened. She remembered the training session earlier that day, her broken hidden blade, the quiet conversation they had about her heritage.

"Shay Cormac…" Jacob spoke with genuine intrigue. "The assassin turned Templar."

(Y/n) paused, a thoughtful, almost wistful look on her face.

She still surprised he remembered that small detail from their morning conversation, but also rather touched. “He wasn’t my grandfather, Jacob. He was my great-grandfather, I don’t personally remember much, only the lore my great-grandmother told me about him. And it’s… a rather long story. A complicated one.” Her gaze met his, a knowing glint in her eyes. “It’s going to take a while, I think. A lot longer than the short walk to your match.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper. “You might need to invite me back to your place, after you’ve won, so I can give you the wholestory. Every last, chaotic, Templar-Assassin detail.”

Her eyes were glinting with a mix of mischief and seduction.

“You may need to invite me over after the fight. It’ll take time… and maybe a private space to tell the whole story. The details are important." She was hinted, hoping he would catch on.

Jacob felt his pulse quicken, and his breath hitch. He knew exactly what she was implying, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"We could always head to my place after, lot’s of privacy." Jacob said, his voice dropping an octave. "Plus, I'm a very good listener, just ask Evie."

"I doubt Evie would agree with that statement, but I’ll definitely take you up on your offer." She joked back, as she stepped closer to straighten the collar of his suit jacket.

“Courting you, Jacob Frye, is pure, unadulterated chaos,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

He took her much smaller hand in his larger ones, lacing his calloused fingers through hers, squeezing tight.

"And yet," he smirked, leading her toward the direction of the fighting ring, the rowdy cheers and shouts already echoing in the distance, "you're enjoying every moment of it."

"Every single, thrilling moment of it.” she admitted happily, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder as they walked. "Now come on. Let's go watch you win that date.”

A/n: here is the link for the first part of this little storyline :-)

💬 1 🔁 11 ❤️ 58 · Weapon · Jacob Frye x reader Codextember day 3-Weapon Rating: G / gender neutral Summary: Jacob has a thing for the ne

#assassin's creed #ac #assassin's creed x reader #assassin’s creed x reader #assassins creed headcannons #assassins creed #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye core #ac syndicate #syndicate #ac jacob #evie frye