Dyanasaur - LUNA

This man and his bad ass dog :,^)

“It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.”

— Angelina Jolie

“Battinson needs a Robin” “Battinson needs a Superman” “Battinson needs a Harley” I agree with all of that, but do you know what else Battinson needs? An Oliver Queen.

Jason had a "bad" habit of calling you before he went to sleep. He couldn't help it, your voice brought a deep sense of comfort into his disturbed and haunted life.

He didn't care for the time or the fact that you could be asleep; he just needed to hear your voice and to make sure that you were safe.

He always called after his patrol, just a few hours before sunrise. He would dial your number as he made his way to the mess of pillows and blankets from the prior night. He'd huddle onto his bed, patiently waiting to hear you on the other end of the line.

When you'd answer, he'd greet you with excitement, his voice sweet and gentle as if it were doused with honey.

The quite hours of the night often laced his voice with an overwhelming amount of exhaustion. It made his voice sound deeper and huskier; his accent occasionally made an appearance during this time. His tired voice was warm and filled with immense emotion. It made him sound attractive, and you'd wish to hear it in person.

Jason always asked about your day and usually responded by humming or by asking short follow-up questions. Your voice felt melodic to him, like a ballade of a soothing song; Jason could listen to you all day.

The late-night conversations never lasted long though, Jason often fell asleep listening to your stories. You'd call out his name and wait for an answer, only to be surprised with a small snore. You'd giggle to yourself before wishing him good night.

You would stay on the line for another minute or so before finally deciding to hang up and letting your own slumber take over.

jason couldn’t quite wrap his head around it when you told him. you hadn’t been on a museum date, not even once. never hiked with someone, no quiet walks up hills, no sharing the weight of silence and breath between trees.

he leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring at you like you were the punchline to some bad joke. “wait, so… no one’s ever taken you to a museum? or on some lazy hike through the woods? not even to pretend like they’re deep?”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “mediocre romance,” you said, almost offhand, like it was just a fact of your life. “i’ve been romanced, sure. just… nothing like that.”

jason exhaled, shaking his head slowly, a flicker of something like frustration sparking in his gaze. “unbelievable,” he muttered, then, after a beat, softer, “i don’t do half-assed.”

he pushed himself off the counter, taking a step toward you, his presence always heavier than his footsteps. “museum on saturday. hike on sunday,” he said, his voice low, but with that rough edge of certainty. “and i promise, it won’t be like anything you’ve had before.”

you felt the weight of his words, not in the grandness of them, but in their simplicity. jason didn’t need to try too hard. it was the promise in his voice, the way he made you feel seen in ways that didn’t demand the spotlight, just the quiet recognition that you deserved more than ‘just enough.’ and with him, somehow, you believed it.