deanpunchester:

Dean Winchester is a damned good witch. He is twenty-three, handsome and fast on his way to being the most popular wiccan at the club. The only setback is that he still hasn’t met his familiar. Everyone knows that magic gets stronger, more stable when the witch in question is bonded with his or her familiar. They’re basically the most important part of a wiccan’s life, and Dean feel incomplete and itchy without his. He isn’t sure if that’s normal.
On a drizzly Saturday, Dean realizes he’s being followed. Surreptitiously, he glances behind himself, because he’s going to the club and it wouldn’t do to have some crazy stalker human finding a way in. The man following him is tall, but shorter than Dean, has dark hair and a flavor to his aura that Dean has never tasted. No one else is in the area, and Dean is tempted to just hex the guy right there, but the man’s eyes light up when he sees Dean looking so he must not be trying too hard to be discrete. Dean stops and turns to wait for the man. He bounds up to Dean and plows through his personal space, and tries to rub his head all over Dean’s body.
“Whoa, man! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dean objects and the man steps back a little but is still firmly in Dean’s bubble. His eyes are electric blue and have an excited, slightly maniac gleam to them.
“You are mine.” He declares in a voice made of rough velvet.
“Huh?” Dean replies intelligently.
“I am Castiel, you are Dean and I am yours and you are mine.” He sounds like a toddler, the way he says it, like he knows English in theory but not in practice. “I will show you, yes?” Castiel says, and then he’s gone. Dean looks around, and jumps when something warm and soft is weaving between his legs. Castiel-the-apparent-cat is rubbing his sleek black body along any part of Dean he can reach, purring and mewling like an excited kitten.
“You’re my familiar?” Dean whispers in awe and Castiel meows back, almost sarcastically. “Hey, man, don’t give me that. I’ll have you know I’m the smartest cookie in the jar!”
Cas -he’s Cas now if they’re gonna spend the rest of their lives together- is standing in front of him again, eyes half-lidded, smile dippy and drugged up.
“So, what you’re high on catnip?” Dean hopes he doesn’t make a habit of that
“You call yourself catnip?” Cas squints and tilts his head like a confused cat. (Which he is) “That is alright, I suppose. You seem to be taking a very strong effect on me.” Castiel grinns, his smile wide and gummy and the most endearing thing Dean has ever seen.
“I don’t call myself catnip, Cas. Come on, let’s get out of the rain and you can tell me why you speak English like that, huh?” Dean says, guiding Cas forward with a hand just a teensy bit too low on Castiel’s lower back. Castiel makes the human equivalent of a purr and cants his ass up into Dean’s palm. He plasters himself to Dean’s side and nuzzles at his neck.
“Mmm, there’s a good boy, Cas,” Dean finds himself murmuring to the familiar, petting his hands through his boy’s silky hair. “So gorgeous, baby, must’ve worked so hard to find me,”
Castiel preens. “You should take me home, Dean.” Castiel rumbles, his lithe frame practically vibrating with the force of his purring. Dean moves back a little to see his face. There’s a blush high in his cheeks, and his lips are parted; his breath so heavy he’s almost panting. Castiel pushes against him insistently, making those same little mewling noises in the back of his throat.
Dean decides to keep him.