some of the Romance Options/Flirtmances from @keeperofthesunandmoon !! made using this picrew by alohasushicore!
top (left to right): Kol Foster, Thalia Sato, Yakov Vasilyev
bottom: Katia Meyer, Jarrod Lin, Dominic Blanchard
BONUS: my lightning elemental mc, julio “juli” hernandez (any pronouns!)
"That's it, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up when the monster's gone."
keeper of the sun and moon / victor blackwood
what's the most logical thing to do when you're forced to enroll in a magical college full of supernaturals? become a hunter, of course. never let it be said that victor blackwood lacks self-preservation
wanting to escape from new world magi academy since day one, the only thing that makes him stay is his siren best ex-girlfriend & his hunter mentor. oh and the occasional chance of destroying public properties and killing monsters
Summary: Sparring makes up around seventy percent of your time with Jarrod, but all this training hadn't prepared either of you how to deal with feelings.
Fandom: Keeper of the Sun and Moon; Keeper of the Day and Night; Choice of Games
Characters | Ships: Main Character/Jarrod Lin
Tags: Pining, Also Pinning (Literally), Denial of Feelings, Almost Kiss, Sparring
Notes: Happy birthday, Jarrod! This is set during book 2, [spoilers] after MC's deathbed love confession. Also, the options below are meant to look like the different choices in the game, hehe.
Dedicated to my amazing twin, Jamesio, who dragged me into this universe!! Ily bro <3
Special thanks to my darling Kristi for helping me improve as a writer and as a human <3
---
"And thats why... hah... I can totally... handle a gun!"
You punctuate that sentence with an overhead strike of your blade — one that Jarrod is quick to block with his own sword.
The situation is reminiscent of the very first time you met Jarrod: the same bright training lights illuminating the hard lines of Jarrod's muscles as he punches and parries; except now, a silver short sword gleams ominously at his side.
You're proud of yourself. You've grown and learned so much that he actually needs a weapon to defend against you this time.
Jarrod is an excellent teacher, if incredibly hard to please.
At the moment, Jarrod appears severely unimpressed by your combat skills as much as he is with your impassioned speech about carrying a celestial gun.
(You don't really care about owning one, not really, but you've missed the silly banter between mission briefs about monsters, researching about anti-human evil organizations, and the resigned way Jarrod tears your heart into tiny pieces each time he rebuffs you.
Weapons are, ironically enough, a safe zone for the two of you.)
"Are you done?" Compared to how badly you're out of breath, Jarrod sounds way too composed as he stabs at your chest.
You knock his hand aside, spinning around to slash at him. "Not even close! Still got... a couple more... lines for you."
(It's nice. Normal. He's always been a better hunting and sparring partner than a conversational one, anyway.)
Predictably, frustratingly, he leaps out of your grasp. The whole dance begins once more, with you seeking him out as Jarrod nimbly ducks and weaves out of range.
(The tension outside of training is similar. He keeps you at a distance, only to sneak past your defenses with a tender touch.)
Dodge, strike, parry. Lather, rinse, repeat.
"Okay, but... long range fights find the celestial gun to be very useful—"
"If they can actually aim," counters Jarrod with a well-placed kick that should've knocked you off your feet. You know him so well at this point that you manage to dodge, if barely.
"I can aim! I'll have you know, I have 100% accuracy! You just don't know what I'm aiming at."
"...The answer is still no, [MC]." Jarrod once again crushes your hopes by knocking his hilt against your stomach. Oof. "Look, I love how determined you are, but you have to know when to quit sometimes."
It's not even really about the gun anymore, you think.
(You would quit if he told you to, would keep to stolen glances from afar and hapless daydreams, if you didn't see the way he stares at you when he thinks you're not looking. If you didn't know the weighty concern behind his words. If you weren't aware of the minute way he tenses when you touch.
You know him well enough by now.)
"Sometimes, it's worth to take a risk, Jarrod!" Gritting your teeth against the pain, the frustration, you raise your sword and charge right at him. The force of your conviction nearly manages to knock him over, but Jarrod being Jarrod, manages to turn your momentum against you.
The training mat is harsh and unforgiving when you land, both your swords clattering to the side in a last ditch effort to turn the tide.
It's not a foreign feeling. Jarrod and Thalia have pinned you to the floor numerous times, often with some snarky remark or cheeky taunt. Bracing yourself for the biting sarcasm, you look up and meet Jarrod's eyes.
For a second, time stops.
For what seems like a minute, you question the existence of temporal magic, unsure if you should thank or curse the user who trapped you both.
For what feels like an hour, you find yourself lost in flecks of gold and black in the dark, warm brown of Jarrod's eyes.
Your heart races, beats wildly in your chest. Heat creeps up your cheeks. Self-preservation and training kick in: you're seized by the urge to escape and throw him off you, but this is at war with the instinctive feeling of safety and security you've come to associate with Jarrod.
Jarrod, who's had your back in a fight more times than you could count, fighting by your side like you're both parts of a well-oiled machine.
Jarrod, who's held your hand tenderly as he brought you back from the brink of death, scarred hands as gentle as ever.
Jarrod, who's tirelessly helped you prove yourself and fight back against confusing, complex world of monsters and mayhem.
The same Jarrod who remains unmoving, lips parted in shock as he stares down at you.
Possibilities bloom as the distance between you diminishes, as you wonder, not for the first time, how Jarrod's lips must feel against your own.
With his warm weight pressing down on you, you decide to:
> Speak amidst the hammering drum of your heartbeat in your ears. "...Jarrod?"
The sound of your voice tears through the still-born quiet.
All thoughts of closing the gap between you two disappear, shimmering in the air like mist as Jarrod shakes his head, gaze shuttering close once more.
He gets up.
> Wink at him. "Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
Jarrod groans. He pointedly ignores the way you've been waggling your eyebrows and rolls off you in one fluid movement.
"It's a knife," he says flatly, bringing out a switchblade from his pocket and flicking it with finesse.
(Now you're convinced he's just showing off.)
"But you're still happy to see me?"
Tucking the knife away, Jarrod rolls his eyes and doesn't bother to reply (or deny that allegation.)
> Stay completely still.
You don't even dare to breathe as seconds, minutes, perhaps even hours tick by.
The feel of his skin, flushed and sweaty from multiple sparring rounds, pressed against your own.
The weight of his stare, drawn and intense, softening the slightest bit.
The heat of his breath, so close yet so far. Anticipation grips you as his lips are hover inches from yours—
"Ahem."
The sounds of polite coughing crash through the moment, splintering it into a thousand pieces.
In a flash, Jarrod rolls to the side, leaping to his feet. You're left bereft and extremely irritated at the onlookers who should've minded their own business.
He offers out his hand to you, face turned away.
You immediately take it, sparing a second to relish in his soft, steady grip against the rough, battle-worn calluses of his hand.
The next second is spent nearly crashing into Jarrod's chest when he pulls you up and close — too close. Brown eyes widen in surprise as Jarrod realises the scant sliver of space between you two. Clearing his throat, he quickly drops your hand and folds his arms over his chest. Under the harsh lights of the training room, you swear you can see a tinge of pink on his tanned cheeks.
"Let's go again," he says eventually. "No more distractions this time."
(A distraction. That's what he says, but you know you're more than a measly distraction to him.
You know he cares about you. You wonder if he knows how much.
You know him well enough not to hold your breath.)
