Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

Row Your Boat (Jacob X Reader)

Hello, everyone~ I've been away for a long time, but I'm back...again xD I haven't written in a while, so I'm a little out of practice, but hopefully you still enjoy this chapter~

Thank you to all who still support this story - it really means the absolute world to me.

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It was a little past noon and the wind provides a pleasant caress as you stroll through St James Park. The sun, a luminous yellow sphere, is high in the sky and directly in front of you. Its warmth seeps through the heavy fabric of your gown and brings a smile to your perfectly painted lips. The gravel pathway crunches beneath your boots with every leisurely step, a picnic basket swaying back and forth in one gloved hand.

A cricket ball stops by your feet and you stoop to pick it up, tossing it back to the group of expensively dressed gentlemen before continuing on your merry way. A group of children scamper across your path with a greyhound playfully nipping at their heels. The gazebo nearby offers shade to an amateur band which gathers here at the same time every week to entertain others with their classical music.

Truly there was no better way to spend a free afternoon.

Stepping off the path, you cut across the grass towards the lake. Small ripples form when a leaf breaks away from its branch and chooses the water’s surface as its resting place. A rowboat sits waiting for you, the bow soaking in the water whilst the stern nestles into a patch of dirt, keeping it from floating away.

You set the picnic basket down inside the boat and remove the oars before boldly climbing in. The hard heels of your buttoned boots create a hollow banging, the boards still damp from last night’s unexpected downpour.

As you struggle to click the oars into their locks, a commotion can be heard not too far away. It wasn’t polite – or wise – to stare, but you cannot control the drifting of your eyes; they fall upon a few of those horrible Blighters chasing after a lone individual.

An individual that is running straight for you!

You can barely comprehend what is happening as this highly peculiar man gives the boat a shove forward before leaping in alongside you.

“What...what is the meaning of this?!”

Too busy focusing on his pursuers, the man had failed to notice you – at least, that’s what his expression suggested. The man abruptly sits, casting continuous glances over one shoulder as the Blighters grow closer to the edge of the lake.

“This isn’t a kidnapping,” is the first thing he says. “At least, not an intentional one.”

“Is that supposed to be a jest?” You question incredulously, fearing for your life as you drift further across the lake, away from civilisation, trapped in a small boat with a heavily armoured miscreant. There are two policemen in the distance whom you briefly considering shouting to for aid, but you doubt they’d be able to reach you before your throat is slit and body discarded into the lake.

You shudder at such a horrid thought.

The man’s lips quirk upwards at one corner, “Perhaps a little.” He extends a hand, “Jacob Frye, at your service, ma’am.”

Your eyes widen a fraction at the splattered blood staining his hand. “I’m not touching that,” you tell him, keeping both hands firmly planted in your lap. “And don’t call me ma’am.”

Jacob’s brows raise in mirth and he chuckles, as if what you said was amusing. “As you wish, lady.”

Lady? Lady?! That was even worse than ‘ma’am’!

You scowl in the face of his cheerfulness, “My name is (F/N) (L/N), and I don’t appreciate your cheek, Mr Frye. I also don’t appreciate having my boat stolen, especially whilst I’m still in it!”

“You posh girls don’t appreciate much, do you? What sad little lives you must lead.”

What an aggravating brute of an indecent and arrogant scoundrel! To think, he commandeers the boat you rented for the afternoon without so much as an apology and then goes on to insult you! The idea of knocking him into the water crosses your mind but you’re quick to repress it. You are, after all, a lady, and ladies do not solve their disputes with violence. Besides, you doubt any amount of force would be able to move him; he was so muscular...heavy set...probably perfectly defined underneath all those heavy layers.

Ugh, no. That’s inappropriate. Highly inappropriate.

Your pulse quickens when a pair of striking hazel eyes capture your own (colour) eyes. Oh no. Had he taken notice of your appraisal?

He smirks.

He had!

Your eyes flitter away, which earns another laugh from this roguish individual. “Don’t look away on my account. I rather enjoy the attention.”

The man certainly has some cheek to think so highly of himself - acting as though women simply fall at his feet. Why, he speaks of himself as if he is some prize breeding stallion on show that women would just love to get a piece of.

Instead of giving voice to a jibe one might consider inappropriate and mildly sexist, you instead choose to change the topic. Urgently.

“Don’t you think you’ve attracted enough attention?”

Jacob at least has the good sense to notice the rising fear in your eyes and gapes backwards over one shoulder to find that the Blighters had procured a boat for themselves and were now paddling towards the pair of you with furious speed.

Jacob clicks his tongue and readjusts his top hat. “Relentless bastards,”

He rises from the seat to confront the attackers, which you find to be a terrible idea. Not only was there four of them and only one of him, but the middle of a lake, in a rowboat, was not an adequate place for a brawl. And was the brute even taking your safety into consideration?! Not likely. He did put you into this position after all.

“If you really want to fight, come over here then!”

Your eyes grow to the size of supper plates when Jacob begins bellowing at them like an enraged ape – you half expect him to begin tossing faeces. “Please!” You beg, clutching the side of the boat as it began to rock from one side to the other.  “Don’t encourage them, Mr Frye!”

Your pleas go ignored as Jacob continues to antagonise them.

“I can take you all on with one arm tied behind my back!”

“Come at us then! Faster!”

“I’ll give you a right walloping!”

It was time to come to terms with the fact that this was to be the time and place of your demise. One would argue that you had lived a good life, one which was privileged and free of regrets, though you would have preferred for it to be a little longer.

With impeccable balance, Jacob plants one muddied boot firmly atop the gunwale, the other remaining rooted to the seat opposite your own, and removes a revolver from within the confines of his heavy overcoat. He aims at the largest Blighter and shoots. People scream in the distance at the distinct sound and begin to scatter. You scream, however, due to being an unfortunate witness to the man’s death; his body remains standing for a few seconds, shock carved into his disproportionate features as a line of blood trickles from the bullet hole in the centre of his forehead to his chin, before falling backwards, rigid, landing in the water with a daunting splash.

You have the sudden urge to vomit but the bile gets caught halfway in your throat. You end up gagging instead, trying your darnedest to avoid staring at the swift reddening of the water.

Jacob casts a glance in your direction but does nothing to console you. Wait. Was he...smirking? Bastard. Your nausea is suddenly gone and replaced with anger. How could someone get so much satisfaction from taking the life of another human being?! And to practically gloat about such barbarism!

“Take me back to the shore.”

You didn’t want to spend another second on this floating death trap with a man who clearly possessed a sadistic streak. For all you know, once these Blighters are knocked off, you were to be next.

Jacob has the nerve to look at you as though you were the one who was insane. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a little busy right now.”

“Oh, believe me, Mr Frye, I’m fully aware of what you busy yourself with. That doesn’t change the fact that I wish to be taken back to shore immediately.”

“After I finish up here.”

“No, not after. Now.”

But your demands are brushed aside with a wave of his hand. Right then. It was time to take matters into your own hands and get yourself safely back to shore.

Hiking up the many frilled layers of your gown, you scoot forward until your bottom is perched on the edge of the seat, and grasp both oars. Jacob’s foot slips off the gunwale when you begin struggling back to shore, his eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing?”

“I am getting myself safely back to land.”

“No, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

The man looms above you like an irritated father scolding their disobedient toddler. Was that stare supposed to frighten you? As if. You stare back at him with defiance.

Seeing you weren’t about to back down any time soon, Jacob makes a grab for one of the oars. You’re faster, however, and slap his knuckles. His hand recoils and cradles against his own chest – the man acts as though you belted him with a yard stick!

“Give me the oars,” he says again, out of patience.

“No.”

“Give them-“

“Noooo.”

He makes a grab for your wrists and you slide ungraciously from the seat, having not anticipated such an attack; a rather one-sided struggle ensues in the rowboat. It was too cramped a space for such nonsense, and your gown was in no way making this any easier, but you struggle on, not wanting to make this brute’s job easy.

Unfortunately, your strength is no match for his own, so he winds up overpowering you fairly quickly; strong thighs keep your hips glued to the floor whilst calloused hands pin your arms above your head.

This does nothing to stop your incensed writhing and screaming obscenities at him.

Jacob appears slightly out of breath and slightly more dishevelled than he was when he first commandeered your boat. “You’re a bloody handful,” he grumbles. “How does your husband cope?”

You can’t help but huff. “I’m not married.”

“Shocker,” comes his sarcastic retort.

Glaring mutinously, you are tempted to kick the misogynistic pig’s feet right out from under him as he moves off of you and claims his previous seat. He extends a hand to you, offering aid, but you slap it away; you’d rather suffer the indignity of falling again than take that bastards help. However, the stiff corseted dress doesn't make for a smooth or refined disengagement from the floor, and the boat rocks violently from one side to the other.

Before you can take your seat, something grabs the back of your gown and tugs with an unnecessary force. You wind up sprawled in Jacob’s lap – and in a most unladylike fashion, you may add. And yet, you choose not to berate the rough handling he gave you.

“You saved my life,” you end up breathing.

Jacob hums in response and lifts the outer layer of your skirt, poking a finger through the bullet hole which would have struck flesh had you not been yanked off your feet.

The knowledge that you could have been shot dead had Jacob not acted with such velocity leaves you understandably shaken. Jacob is speaking but the words don’t make a lick of sense to your rattled brain. You are unable to focus on the events which come next, but they involve plenty of rocking, grunting, and splashing.

After a short period of sitting huddled in one end of the boat, there is a groan as Jacob takes a seat beside you, legs pulled up to his chest and elbows resting atop both knees. Splattered blood stains his clothes and cheeks, shoulders heaving as he panted.

“You’re welcome,” Jacob says eventually with his arrogant smirk back in place, appearing much like a puppy that has performed a clever trick and is seeking a reward.

All you can do is stare at him whilst your mind struggles to catch up. This man...saved your life. Yes, he is responsible for placing you in danger but he still saved you even though you had been nothing but discourteous.

“You...”

“Saved your life,” he finished, shaking his head slightly with an amused smirk. “You know what that means, don’t you? I’m a hero.”

“I can’t deny that, Mr Frye.”

You offer a small smile for the first time since encountering this mysterious individual. Perhaps your initial judgement of him had been erroneous; never judge a book by its cover, as people like to say. The smile slides from your face, however, and you’re left staring uncomfortably as the body of a deceased Blighter bobs along in the water. Jacob notices your discomfort and acts a little more like a gentleman this time...well, almost; he picks up one of the oars and gives the body a nudge, sending it floating in the opposite direction.

After a few minutes of simply floating across the lake in silence, Jacob’s hazel orbs flicker curiously to the picnic basket tucked securely underneath one of the seats. “Have you got any sandwiches in there?” He smiles, a glimmer of hope appearing in his eyes. “May I have one?”

“After what you just did...you can have the whole damn basket.”