Werewolf Jacob Frye - Tumblr Posts

Werewolf Boyfriend: Jacob Frye HCS

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✰- Author's Note: Hello, my assassins and templers this is my first AC story and I choose Jacob Frye since he's my favorite assassin from my favorite game. And since it's Halloween I decided to make Jacob Frye a werewolf because if he was a monster then he would definitely be a werewolf, I'm writing this from my phone late at night so there is no word count and who knows when I'll post this Remember to eat a meal or a snack, drink some water, get some fresh air, take your medicine, and remember that you are loved. If you loved this story remember to comment, click or tap that heart button, reblog with tags, and blaze if you can. Always remember to support your local writers. ♡♡♡

✰- Story Contains: Werewolf Jacob Frye, Fluff, Kissing, Gender neutral reader, protective Jacob, Romance, smut, violence, kissing, and long post.

✰- Posted: 11//2//2023

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Jacob Frye and Evie Frye the Frye twins who are werewolves and are from the brotherhood of monsters who work in the dark to protect the light. Jacob met you through the brotherhood and you told him what kind of monster you were and he found that fascinating, he found everything about you fascinating. He would always follow you around when with his tail wagging around him, excited to hear about your day or the mission he gets to go on with you. He's quite protective of you on these missions. Biting and clawing through any templers or enemies that dare try to hurt you.

Evie has to scold Jacob to not get distracted by you on these missions to never let missions interfere with the missions. But she quickly drops what she is saying whenever Jacob brings up Henry Green. But she still wishes for Jacob to stay focused so that he doesn't get hurt, she loves and cares about her brother. So she hopes that you are watching out for him when he gets distracted which you do have Jacob's back.

Jacob loves to lay across your lap as you run your fingers through his head. He just loves your head and back scratches. They feel like heaven to him, sometimes he'll fall asleep on you and you are just stuck there with him laying on you. At least he's warm so you eventually fall asleep and Evie or Edward come across you both and just chuckle at this adorable sight of how you to look falling asleep together on the couch.

Jacob loves to do combat training with you. But will do his best to go easy on you. He won't go to fast or rough but he also won't go to slow or soft. You are both assassins after all so no need to treat each other like glass. But Jacob loves to pin you down that it's awkward when people walk in especially Evie and Arno who were going use the training room.

" That whole silver bullet thing is just a bunch of rubbish. " Jacob would say before biting and tearing into the necks of a blighters and a templer who decided to mess with. You sat there on top of some boxes watching your werewolf lover just devour and shred a bunch of blighters and the templer. Giving him a bath wouldn't be easy but you did enjoy watching this scene.

He likes to sniff you a lot which means you can't hide anything from him. Because he'll sniff it out even when you aren't in a room anymore, he'll know you are there so whenever you hide from him. He'll know where to find him. Once you wanted to take a nap without him because it was too hot to cuddle with him. So you went somewhere else to nap, you told Evie to tell Jacob that you were out doing errands. She tried to tell you something but you quickly walked away. And before you knew it when you woke up feeling hot and aweaty. There was Jacob asleep right next to you and not letting go. You eventually gave up and just bought a fan.

Jacob will go out of his way to make sex with you amazing especially when he's in heat. He wants to have your back pressed against his chest as he pounds into you. His hand gripping your neck as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His thumb pressing against your tongue. Biting and licking your neck wanting to leave marks so people know who you belong to.

Never will let you go or let anyone hurt you.

Imagine - Jacob Frye suffering from a werewolf curse.

Frye Cottage, Surrey, October 1873

Softly, you're roused by the ambient sounds of the forest encompassing the house: owls hooting, tree branches rapping on the windows, fierce winds howling into the night.

You couldn't say what time it is. You doubt you could even hazard a guess. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness consuming the room, rendering any attempt to read the clock a fruitless endeavour.

A brief glance at the window confirms that dawn is yet to break.

Perfect.

Sitting upright in bed, you fumble in the dark for a moment until your hands happen upon the knob belonging to the drawer of the nightstand. With only a trickle of moonbeams lending you the faculty of sight, you open the drawer, reach for the only object inside, and strike a match.

You hold it by your face, tilting the matchstick downward and watching as the flame dances and swells. Using the light the match provides, you ignite the oil lamp atop the nightstand, extinguishing the match with a shake of your hand as the room is bathed in a warm, amber glow.

The cottage, for all intents and purposes, is without ornament - and rightly so. The single-storey cabin may be the only building for several miles, as per your intentions. The interior is functional, pragmatic, an open-plan room comprised of a bed tucked away in a corner and a kitchenette. A chimney and burning stove looks across from your sleeping area, supplementary to a table and two chairs.

A Welsh dresser is half-filled with plates and mugs, its cupboards and drawers stowing bits of food and medical goods - bandages, a needle and thread, a bottle of gin, though you're yet to use any of it, thank the Lord.

A wolf howls in the distance, prompting you to take a peek outside from behind the curtains. The full moon is fading, you note, compelling you to rise and begin your preparations for the long day ahead.

After making the bed, you cross the room and burn wood at the stove, boiling herbal tea in a cast-iron kettle. You fix some cold cuts of bread, cheese and meat, managing to eat a little yourself while saving a second portion.

A short time later, a figure comes stumbling in through the door, slamming it shut. You're hesitant to look up, knowing from previous months the heart-wrenching sight that awaits.

A creature paces with convulsing legs, looking ready to collapse at any moment. It bears the form of a man, but the mental state of a wolf. A blanket is draped around its heaving shoulders, its naked, hairy body shivering violently. Brown hair is thoroughly dishevelled, small sticks and leaves clinging to the strands. Sickly pale skin gleams wet with sweat, dirt markings littering its face. Wild, glassy eyes frantically dart around the room.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rise from your seat as slowly as possible, yearning to draw the weeping man into your bosom.

He's still an animal, you have to remind yourself, though it does little to patch your broken heart.

You avoid prolonged eye contact, letting your eyes look past him instead of lingering on him.

"Jacob," you murmur, your voice soft and quiet so as not to alarm him further.

Taking a miniscule step forward, you approach him gingerly, repeating your internal mantra of stay calm. You shrink your body and repeat his name while observing his body language, keeping an eye out for any signs of injury.

He's panicked, hysterical, gripping his head and yowling, those wide eyes reminiscent of an animal caught in a trap.

You hold your hand out palm down, and croon, "Jacob, it's okay. I'm going to help you."

By now you've crossed the room, though a good distance remains between you. His back stiffens, the air shifting around him, his nose crinkling as he picks up the Scent. He visibly calms somewhat, blinking as his eyes soften to their usual melliferous hazel.

Watching him stagger towards you, you take a few final steps towards him, catching him as he falls into you, the blanket falling from his shoulders as his arms crush you into a tight hug. You remember to hold your breath, to remain perfectly still as he buries his nose in the dip of your shoulder.

He inhales sharply, memories of his human life flashing behind his eyelids. Merry laughter rings in his head like a bell, faces of loved ones appearing and overlaying one another at the speed of lightning.

In verifying the Scent, his arms loosen around you, his breathing heavy against your skin.

The Scent comforts his wolf form, he'd once explained. It's a blend of your smell and his, a product of your... prior carnal union, so to speak, serving as a catalyst that completes the reconstruction of his brain.

You continue to shush him, now free to move your hand and stroke his damp hair, pacifying him until the shaking subsides.

Lifting his head, he meets your gaze and wets his lips in an attempt to speak.

"Hi."

You cup his face, tears forming in your eyes at the humanity present in his face, at the way his eyes gleam in recognising you.

"Hi." Your response comes with lumps in your throat.

He chuckles to break the ice, immediately wincing and breaking out in a fit of coughing. Prying yourself from his embrace, you help him hobble over to the table and take a seat. Working swiftly, you pour a cup of the tea, retrieving the laudanum from a drawer in the dresser and setting it down in front of him.

He tests his coordination for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist and wiggling his fingers before trusting himself with handling a cup of hot liquid. He blows the drink before sipping, swallowing quickly to avoid the bitter taste.

His speech is slow, hesitant. "Is that, the same, same stuff as last time?"

You nod. He grimaces.

"Doesn't work."

"It's the highest dose the doctor will prescribe me." It took little effort convincing the physician that the pills were for you - dramatising your menstrual pain is far preferable to telling the truth. "Please, take it. Something is better than nothing."

Jacob glances up at you, taking in the sight of your eyes glossy with tears, your forehead creased with concern, your brows angled upwards as you plead.

Agreeing silently, he takes the tablet and swallows it down with the bitter brew, spluttering as the taste lingers on his taste buds. You rub his back to help him keep it down, drawing his attention to the plate of food; perhaps it could cover the horrid taste.

He takes stock of the plate's contents, sniffing tentatively. The cuts of meat smells appetising at the very least, and he almost reaches for it before his head swims with intrusive images of sleeping deer, the sound of snarling wolves surrounding him as though they're present in the room. Nausea rises from his stomach, he heaves and retches before pushing the plate away with a forceful shove.

"I need to lie down."

He staggers in standing up, knocking cutlery to the ground with a clatter. He grits his teeth, distributing a little too much of his weight onto you as you help him limp towards the bed.

Every step is pure agony for him; although you haven't experienced his curse, you can imagine the torture he must go through - his skeleton changing shape, his organs moving position, his flesh and muscles being torn to shreds by his own claws.

All that, and probably far more that your imagination simply cannot comprehend, three nights a month.

He doesn't peel the duvet back to clamber into bed, instead laying himself on top of the bedclothes. And judging from the heat radiating from his body, you can understand why.

You get a proper look at his face for the first time: his skin is off-colour and boiling hot to the touch, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot. Sweat trickles down his forehead, red welts marring his skin. You dab his forehead with a cold, wet towel, conscious of the pressure you apply.

He grunts, a fresh wave of throbbing spasms coursing through his jerking body.

"Shhh, Jacob, you're okay. You're alright."

It's silly, but... Despite all of the ways you help him, you feel helpless, wishing you could do more to take his pain away for good. Watching on as he pants and yells, his body convulsing like a seizure, you find yourself singing a lullaby, stroking his cheek in hopes of pacifying him even a little.

"I love you," Jacob manages to wheeze when your song comes to an end.

"I love you too, my darling man."

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