Summary: When journalist Castiel Krushnic goes to a Dodgers game with his actor boyfriend, his man bun, and his bros, the last thing he expects is a scoreboard proposal. Saying no isnât the hard partâtheyâve only been dating for five months, and the fool canât even spell his name correctly! The hard part is the silence after shocking a stadium full of disappointed fansâŚ
At the game with his family, Dean Winchester comes to Casâ rescue and rushes him away from a camera crew. Heâs even there for him when the video goes viral, when Casâ social media blows upâin a bad wayâdoing his best assisting with damage control.
Cas knows the wilds of LA (heâs part of it) so thereâs no way a handsome, up-and-coming doctor like Dean is looking for anything serious. That doesnât mean they canât embarks on an epic rebound as Cas gets his life back on trackâright?
As time goes on, their glorified hookups start breaking the rulesâit wasnât supposed to happen! One of them needs to be smart enough to speak up, to slow them down, if not end it completely before theyâre too far goneâŚif that line hasnât been crossed already.Â
Major Warnings and Tags: no ao3 warnings apply; Rom-Com, Journalist Cas, Doctor Dean, Comedy of Errors, Awkward Situations, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Romance, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean, Fluff, Humor and Light Angst
Where to find more work by this creator: ao3 and tumblr
Castiel knew there might be paparazzi at the game, but seeing them pursue interviews during downtime was tackyâhis boyfriend a celebrity or not. Â Still, it unbelievable they had the balls to rush in and additionally distract the other VIPs!
âThis is ridiculous. Â Iâll handle it,â Cas assured and stalked off, scanning for trademarked logos. Â There was nothing delicate about how he pushed the group back and crowded them towards the sidelines. Â âWho the hell do you work for? Â Star? Â In Touch? Â Fuckinâ Fox News?â
He seized the boom pole, knocking it down as subtly as possible. Â âFrom one journalist to another, this is an inappropriate time to fish for a story. Â If you insist on invading peopleâs personal lives, keep your distance, orâ"
His boyfriend insisting from behind, âItâs okay, babe, Iâve got a good story for him,â was both as frustrating as it was confusing when he took Casâ hand.
What the hell? Â He was advocating for him! Â Cas didnât get involved with movie deals, why should he interfere when Cas dealt with the press? Â One thing was certain: he was finished being well-behaved today.
Cemented in staring down the camera crew, he ordered, âYou better pray I donât find out what network youâre with!â
He was weighing the options of dismissal or threats of bodily harm when suddenly, something else very, very perplexing happened.
The, âHey, Cas,â flanking him grated more than usual. Â The quality was offâwrongâwithin the words themselves.
They wereâŚ.well, everywhere.  Booming, echoing, surrounding him completelyâprojecting from the stadiumâs loudspeakers.
An explosion of applause, cheering, and other odd noises erupted from the crowd. What the hellâ?
âWhy wasnât the camera crew leaving? Â Why his wrist being tugged? Â Why was the sound guy gesturing backwards, making Cas want to punch him in the fucking faceâ?!
One yankâthe brute-force typeâforced Cas to spin back. Â His boyfriend was grinning like a loon.
âIâm protecting you, your privacy,â Castiel hissed, but he wasnât being heard, nothing was sinking in!
âI gotta say somethingââ  This continual attempt silencing him wouldnât end well⌠ âCheck it out, gorgeous!â
âWhat, is your team up?â he scoffed sarcastically, tearing his grip away.
As the field fell quiet, Cas realized his own voice was amplified. Â Desperate for answers, Casâ attention darted where heâd been pointedâthe scoreboard.
On the massive jumbo screen, it read: âCasstile - Will You Marry Me?â
The camera crewâs persistence. Â His boyfriendâs finicky behavior. Â The volumeâthey must have micâd him during the breakânow in proximity to pick up Casâ wordsâ!
Cas turned to see him bow down to knee, âCastiel Krushnic, marry me?â audience âoooâing and âawwâing.
The sad thing wasâŚmaybe he loved Cas.  But this was fakeâthat smile was for the cameras.  Not Castiel.
He shouldâve acted like an adult: agreeing publicly and handling their affairs privately. Â But he was riled up and war-torn for todayâs shitfest, hitting his breaking point.
Castiel unleashed the bitter snarl of, âLearn how to spell my fucking name!â ignoring the crowdâs shocked gasp.
Only after heâd furiously sent the box flying out onto the field with a well-aimed slapped, did he realizedâ
The game was live. Â The cameras made sure the world was watching. Â And real life didnât cut to commercials.
POSTING IN AUGUST TO AO3 & TUMBLR