A Little More Than Human

if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the sentence starters are being sent for .

fluff

“ [Name], will you marry me? ”

“ I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband / wife. ”

“ Happy anniversary, my love. ”

“ Can you believe it’s been a year already? ”

“ I made us some dinner. It should be edible. ”

“ I still get butterflies when I look at our rings. ”

“ I’m proud of the life we’ve built together. ”

“ We really need a bigger couch if we’re going to keep cuddling like this. ”

“ You know I’m legally obligated to steal your fries now, right? ”

“ I married you, not your terrible taste in movies. ”

“ I love you, but if you snore like that again, I’m filing a complaint. ”

suggestive

“ Are we arguing or flirting right now? I can’t tell. ”

“ Close the door. I need my husband / wife to myself. ”

“ You still make my heart race like we just met. ”

“ I love how you still look at me like that. ”

“ Remind me why I fell in love with you - slowly. ”

“ If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not doing the dishes. ”

pregnancy

“ What do you think about us having kids? ”

“ I'd love to have kids with you. ”

“ I don't know how I feel about having kids… What if I do something wrong? ”

“ What if I'm a horrible mother / father? ”

“ I'm pregnant. ”

“ Wait. Are you pregnant? ”

“ We should think about a name for our baby. ”

“ Our son / daughter has your eyes. ”

“ I don't think my genes had any chance of winning. They're a spitting image of you. ”

“ It's your turn with the baby. ”

angst

“ We’ll get through this. We always do. ”

“ I married you for better and worse, remember? ”

“ It’s okay to fall apart. I’m not going anywhere. ”

“ Do you ever think about our wedding day? ”

“ I love you, but I don’t know how to fix this. ”

“ We can’t keep pretending everything is fine. ”

“ When did we stop talking like we used to? ”

“ I’m scared we’re becoming strangers. ”

“ Do you still want this? Us? ”

“ I don’t regret marrying you - but I regret how we’re hurting each other. ”

Dean didn’t move right away. For a second, the bar—the noise, the hunters, the weight of a dozen loaded guns—just faded. All he saw was his kid in front of him. Not the werewolf. Not the problem. Just his son, worn thin and trying like hell not to show it. His jaw tightened, something sharp flickering behind his eyes before he forced it down, locking it behind that same iron control he used on everything else.

“…How long?” he asked, voice low, steady—too steady. Not accusatory. Not yet. Just measured. Dangerous in a quieter way. His gaze dragged over James again, taking in the exhaustion, the way he held himself like he was bracing for impact. Dean exhaled slow through his nose, then jerked his head slightly toward the back. “C’mon. You’re not having this conversation in front of an audience.”

"Six and a half weeks. Been looking for her for five." He'd given Emma a week before he'd taken off after her. They'd stayed in contact, always talking about something. Never about Dean or what they were missing, but the day to day. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the tone. It was the enforcer tone, not the comforter tone. Fine, he wanted to repeat the bullshit past, they would.

closed starter for @occxltis ; barkeep!Dean verse

The Dead Man’s Hand was crowded, the kind of night where the air was thick with gun oil, sweat, and whiskey. Every booth was full of hunters, scars, and stories traded like currency, laughter riding just a little too close to the edge of violence. The door creaked open, and the whole mood shifted. James stepped inside, tall and steady, but it didn’t matter. To most of the room, he wasn’t just another face, he was a werewolf. And hunters didn’t see gray. Half the bar went for their weapons before his boots even hit the floorboards.

Dean’s hand slammed down on the bar, the sound sharp enough to cut through the scrape of chairs and the hiss of metal. “Guns stay down.” His voice was low, dangerous in that way that didn’t need to be shouted. A few hunters hesitated. Dean’s eyes burned as he swept them over the crowd. “You so much as twitch wrong, you’ll be the ones bleeding on this floor. That’s not a threat, that’s a promise.”

He came around the bar slow, wiping his hands on a rag, every step measured. His gaze fixed on James, and for just a flicker, the mask slipped, something fatherly cutting through the steel. “This one’s mine,” he said flatly, letting it carry through the room. “My blood. My rules. You got a problem with that, door’s right there. But if you think for a second you’re gonna draw on him in my bar? Then you’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet.”

His hair and clothes were disheveled, like he'd been on the run for months (he had). He may be hunter royalty, but he as also a werewolf, and they didn't tolerate that in their midst. So he ran and he tried not to die and he tried to find his sister.

He was doing his best to look tough but he must have looked like the little boy he felt like.

@occxltis

The morning had started the way most of them did now — quiet, warm, and full of the kind of stillness Dean spent most of his life thinking he’d never deserve. The sun wasn’t even all the way up yet, just brushing the tops of the fields in gold, when he stepped out onto the porch with a steaming mug and a yawn that cracked his jaw. The old German Shepherd at his heel trotted down the steps first, nose to the wind, doing his usual patrol even though the only thing out here worth worrying about had four legs and chewed on the siding.

Dean leaned against the porch railing, elbow braced on sun-bleached wood, watching as the pickup he didn’t recognize rattled down the drive. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Didn’t get visitors much, not unless you counted the mailman who hated his rooster almost as much as he did. The truck rolled to a stop, engine ticking in the heat, and when the door swung open—

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dean muttered, eyebrows lifting as Sophia stepped out like she owned the sunrise behind her. “If I’d known you were comin’, sweetheart, I’d’ve at least put on somethin’ clean.” He straightened, pushing a hand through wind-tussled hair, something between amusement and genuine surprise tugging at his mouth. “What brings you all the way out here? Don’t tell me someone sent you to make sure I’m not lyin’ dead in a ditch. I’ve gone, what, three whole weeks without blowing somethin’ up? That’s practically a record.”

Except then he did and suddenly Sophia was by herself in a too big house with no kids and no husband. A too big house with too much time to think.

And she got pissed.

So she sat around for months and planned and schemed and tried to figure out her life without him. It was long and painful, but she knew this would be the end of their long and happy marriage.

Sophia stepped out of the car. She looked good, fuck you, you lost me, good. Her jeans were skin tight and her white top showed the swell of her breasts without looking trashy.

Bobby’s brow furrowed deep as he listened, jaw tightening with every word that came out of her mouth. For all her stubbornness, for all that Winchester fire, she looked so damn small standing there, trying to sound older than she was. He blew out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Don’t you start comparin’ yourself to your brother,” he said, voice low but firm. “Jay ain’t you. Never will be. And Sammy sittin’ in the library with a stack of lore doesn’t mean you get to go pickin’ fights with things twice your size just to prove a point.”

He bent down a little so his eyes met hers, no room for her to look away. “This ain’t about bein’ royal blood or earnin’ your stripes. This life don’t care what family you come from. It chews you up, spits you out, and don’t give a damn about fairness. You think you’re ready, but I’ve buried more hunters than I care to count who thought the same damn thing.”

His hand came up, rough palm settling gently against her cheek this time, softer than his words. “And don’t you ever tell me you ain’t gonna die, like you can promise that. No one gets to promise that in this life. Not me, not your daddy, sure as hell not you.”

His words stung her pride. She was good. She could absolutely be legendary. This generation's Winchester. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

If he wasn't going to let her off the hook, she'd have to bring out the big guns. She pinched her thigh through her jeans, her eyes filling with tears. "Papa, I was just trying to help." It was a weak defense, once that was probably slimy, but it couldn't be helped.

Bobby held her for a beat longer than he meant to before setting her back enough to see her face. The cut, the bruises, the way she was trying so damn hard to stand tall. It all made his chest ache. He let out a long, tired sigh. “Damn fool kid,” he muttered, thumb brushing a streak of blood from her cheek. “You’re fourteen, Emma. You don’t ‘have it’ against three shifters twice your size. Don’t matter that you’re a Winchester. You ain’t invincible.”

The echo of her mom, dead before her kids had reached two, filled the conversation. It didn't help that Emma resembled her, if Jo's hair had been darker. She frowned at his words. "Papa. If you tell Dad, he's never gonna let me go anywhere. Jay's already hunting by himself," which was mostly because James did what he wanted, "and I'm stuck with Uncle Sammy in the library. I come from hunting royalty, I should be able to hunt if I want."

@occxltis liked for a one-liner starter

"I ain't y'er dad, but somebody's gotta keep you safe."

“Thanks, Papa. I had it! I really did, but then more showed up and…” she gestured around herself. At 14, she was still small for her age. She just hadn’t been able to fight off a grown man.

Sophia glanced at the clock, 8:02. “Well, they haven’t slept this long all week so, maybe?” She’d meant to grab a thing or two during grocery runs during the week but had been juggling the babies.

Dean was gone for at least thirty minutes, trying to get enough things for both Emma and James' baskets and tried to make them as equal as possible because God forbid one of them had an extra piece of candy or a better toy than the other. Slowly rolling up to the bunker, Dean pulled into the garage and killed the engine, sitting for a long moment before he pulled out his phone to text Sophia.

[Text: Soph:] if they're up, take them into the kitchen or something so i can set their baskets up

[Text: D]: Sent them back to their bedroom to get dressed. They’ll be there for a minute.

Sophia glanced at the clock, 8:02. “Well, they haven’t slept this long all week so, maybe?” She’d meant to grab a thing or two during grocery runs during the week but had been juggling the babies.

"Do you wanna see them before you leave? It's going to be--" There was a knock at the door and seconds later, Emma barged into the room. They'd been working on getting the twins to knock on door before they entered a room. Apparently, she needed to add 'wait' to the list of instructions.