Hello again! I was wondering if you can write a fanfic, maybe it’s a Beau Arlen x reader where they’re married, they have a teen daughter, and the daughter got asked out to prom. The daughter ls telling them about the promposal her boyfriend did, Beau is scoffing at the story, and that’s when they told their daughter how Beau proposed to Y/N, promposal and the actual proposal. A dual POV of the flashback would be really cute. If you could make it a longer fic, that would be great, if not, that’s okay. Please and thank you!
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Pairings; Beau Arlen x reader
Genre/Warnings; fluff, family, humor, romance, mild language, mentions of underwear, food mishap (burnt pancakes), teenage embarrassment
Summary: When Emily shares her promposal story, Beau and Y/N reveal the hilariously unromantic way he once proposed—boxers, pancakes, and all—leaving their daughter with only one reaction: “Ew, gross!”
The late afternoon sunlight slanted across the kitchen, warm and golden, pooling across the table where Emily sat with her phone in her hands. She was glowing — cheeks flushed, eyes wide, that smile she only wore when she was bursting with something too big to keep in.
You leaned against the counter, drying a plate, watching her like you always did when she was excited. Beau was at the table with her, half-distracted with his coffee, but you could tell he was paying attention in his own way — brows arched, mouth twitching like he was already unimpressed with whatever was about to come out of her mouth.
“So,” Emily began, voice bubbling, “he did it in the cafeteria today. Everyone was watching.”
That got Beau’s attention. His chair creaked as he sat up straighter, squinting. “The cafeteria?”
“Dad.” Emily rolled her eyes, exasperated but still beaming. “It was sweet! He got his friends to hold up signs, and then he came out with a bouquet of flowers, and the marching band started playing—”
“The marching band?” Beau repeated, incredulous. He set his coffee down with a thunk. “Good lord, that poor boy dragged half the school into it?”
You bit back a laugh, setting the dish towel aside. “Let her finish, Beau.”
Emily, undeterred, carried on. “And then he held up this huge banner that said, ‘Emily, will you go to prom with me?’ Everyone clapped! It was so cute.” She sighed dreamily, sinking back in her chair.
Beau scoffed outright. “Cute? Sounds like a circus. Bet it embarrassed the hell outta you.”
“It did not!” Emily’s glare could’ve cut steel. “It was romantic. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it.” Beau leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Boy’s makin’ a spectacle. That ain’t romance, that’s showboatin’.”
You nudged him lightly as you walked past, shaking your head. “Don’t mind your dad, Em. He’s just jealous no one ever did something like that for him.”
Emily narrowed her eyes, clearly intrigued now. “Yeah, well… how did you ask Mom out to prom, huh?”
Beau froze mid-sip of his coffee, coughing as the question landed like a sucker punch. You pressed your lips together, fighting a grin as he slowly set the mug back down.
“That’s… not the point,” he muttered.
Emily smirked. “No, I think it is the point. Because if you’re gonna rag on my boyfriend, then you better have some big romantic story of your own.”
You finally let your laugh slip, sliding into the chair next to Emily. “Oh, he does. It wasn’t marching band dramatic, but it was unforgettable.”
Emily turned to you, eyes shining with curiosity. “Wait — really? You have to tell me.”
Beau groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Darlin’, you don’t gotta—”
“Oh, but I think I do,” you cut him off sweetly. “Because your dad isn’t giving enough credit to how charming he actually was.”
Emily leaned forward. “Story time. Both of you. Now.”
You and Beau exchanged a long look across the table. He sighed like a man defeated, then muttered under his breath, “Fine. But don’t expect it to sound like one o’ those fairytales.”
Emily squealed, already pulling her knees up on the chair like a little girl again. “This is gonna be so good.”
Texas spring was already too warm, the kind that made the air ripple above the pavement outside the high school. The front lawn was crowded with students spilling out for lunch, laughter ringing across the quad, the faint hum of trucks idling in the parking lot.
Beau Arlen was standing just beyond the shade of an oak tree, nerves bunching in his shoulders. He tugged at the brim of his ball cap, wishing his palms weren’t so damn sweaty. In his hand, crumpled slightly from his grip, was a sheet of notebook paper with words he’d rewritten three times until the ink smeared.
This is stupid, he thought, though his chest thumped like he knew it wasn’t.
He spotted her—Y/N—standing near the steps with a group of friends, her laughter carrying above the crowd. It did something to him every time. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and started walking before he could chicken out.
Students called his name, a couple whistled when they saw the paper in his hand, and Beau felt his ears turn red. This was not supposed to be a spectacle. He hated eyes on him, but he hated the thought of not asking her more.
Y/N caught sight of him, brows knitting. “Beau? What’re you doing?”
He stopped in front of her, shoved a hand into his pocket, and thrust the paper out with the other. His voice came low and rough, the nerves making him sound gruffer than he meant.
“Would you—uh—go to prom with me?”
The paper unfolded in her hands. Written in his blocky, nervous handwriting were the words:
PROM?
And below it, a doodle of a little sheriff’s badge.
Her friends squealed immediately, some clapping, others whispering about how cute it was. Beau felt the heat creep all the way up his neck. He shifted on his boots, ready for her to laugh—or worse, say no.
But she didn’t. She looked up at him, eyes soft, smile blooming across her face in a way that knocked the breath from his lungs.
“You drew this?” she asked, teasing but touched.
He shrugged, trying to act casual. “Ain’t much of an artist. But…"
The simple, vulnerable words hung there.
And then she laughed—bright and warm—and nodded. “Yes, Beau. I’ll go with you.”
Relief crashed over him so strong he almost staggered. The corners of his mouth tugged into a grin he couldn’t fight. Someone in the crowd hollered, and Beau swore he was going to regret this kind of attention for weeks, but for the moment, all he could see was her.
“Good,” he muttered, ducking his head but unable to hide the smile. “Real good.”
The kitchen was quiet when you and Beau trailed off, lost in the haze of memory. For a second, it was like the smell of Texas dust and the sound of teenage laughter still clung to the air.
Then Emily broke it with a groan so dramatic you thought she might actually fall out of her chair.
“That’s it?” she demanded, wide-eyed. “You just… handed her a piece of paper?”
Beau frowned, defensive. “It wasn’t just a piece of paper. I put a lotta thought into that, thank you very much.”
“Dad.” Emily slapped her palm against the table, incredulous. “You didn’t even use glitter pens or balloons or—”
“Glitter pens?” Beau echoed, deadpan. “Sweetheart, I was seventeen years old, not runnin’ an arts and crafts fair.”
You laughed, leaning against the counter again. “It might not sound flashy, Em, but back then it meant the world to me.”
Emily squinted between you both, clearly struggling to reconcile the romantic glow in your eyes with the plain, notebook-paper proposal her dad had offered. “You really said yes to that?”
“Yes,” you said simply, smiling. “Because it wasn’t about how big the gesture was. It was about him. He could’ve asked me in the parking lot with a stick of gum and I probably still would’ve said yes.”
Beau’s ears pinked at that, though he tried to hide it by taking another sip of his coffee. “See? Your mom gets it.”
Emily groaned again, dropping her head onto her folded arms. “Ugh, you two are so sappy. I can’t.”
“You asked,” Beau reminded her.
“I thought I was gonna hear some epic, movie-level promposal!” she whined, muffled against her arms. “Instead it’s just Dad being… Dad.”
Beau smirked, smug as could be. “And yet, here we are.”
Emily peeked up at you with narrowed eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe it worked for prom. But what about the real proposal? Dad couldn’t have just handed you another piece of paper for that, right?”
Your lips curved slowly, and you felt Beau stiffen just slightly beside you. Emily’s curiosity was locked on tight now, and there’d be no escaping it.
“No,” you said softly, gaze flicking to your husband. “That one was different.”
Emily perked right back up, chin in her hands. “Okay. Spill.”
Beau sighed through his nose, already bracing himself. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“You love me,” she shot back without missing a beat.
And Beau’s smirk softened into something gentler, eyes warm as they landed on her. “Yeah, kiddo. I sure do.”
The tiny trailer kitchen smelled like butter and batter, the air already hazy from steam curling up off the skillet. Saturday morning sunlight filtered through half-bent blinds, painting the counters in pale stripes.
Beau stood barefoot on the linoleum, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid boxers. He had the spatula in one hand, tilting it back and forth like he was weighing whether to flip the pancake or not.
Y/N leaned against the counter in her bra and underwear, nursing coffee in a chipped mug and smirking at the way he squinted like he was handling fine china instead of a frying pan.
“You’re gonna burn it,” she teased, voice still rough with sleep.
“Am not,” he muttered, eyes narrowing at the edges as he tried to coax the pancake into flipping. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Sure you do,” she said, amusement bubbling as she sipped her coffee.
Beau finally attempted the flip. The pancake half-folded, landing with a splat that made batter drip onto the stovetop.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, hell. That ain’t how it looked on TV.”
She laughed, warm and bright in the cramped space. “That’s because they use props, Beau. Nobody actually makes perfect pancakes.”
But Beau wasn’t listening anymore. Not really. He was staring at her — hair a mess, makeup smudged, laughing like the morning was theirs alone. Something hit him then, solid and sure in a way that flipped his insides harder than any pancake.
Before he could talk himself out of it, before nerves had the chance to chew him up, he set the spatula down, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and dropped right there to one knee on the linoleum.
The mug froze halfway to her lips. Her eyes went wide. “What?”
He shrugged, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t got a ring yet. Didn’t plan a big thing. Just—” He swallowed hard, eyes locked on hers. “I don’t wanna wait anymore. It’s you. It’s always been you. So marry me.”
For a moment, the world was still except for the faint hiss of the skillet. Then she set the mug aside, covering her mouth with her hand as laughter spilled out of her — startled, overwhelmed, happy in a way she couldn’t cage.
“Are you serious right now?” she asked, breathless.
“Dead serious,” Beau said, lips quirking but eyes earnest. “Even if I can’t flip a damn pancake to save my life.”
Her laughter turned to something softer, choked with tears, and she sank down to her knees in front of him, cupping his jaw with shaking hands. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
He kissed her right there on the kitchen floor, both of them grinning into it, both of them half-dressed and wrapped in the kind of joy that didn’t need fancy speeches or fireworks.
And then — the smoke alarm shrieked.
They broke apart, blinking, before realizing the pancake had officially caught fire in the pan.
“Oh, hell,” Beau muttered, scrambling up in his boxers to grab the skillet while Y/N dissolved into helpless laughter.
He shoved the smoking pan into the sink, coughing through the haze, and when he turned back to her, she was doubled over, clutching her stomach, tears streaking her cheeks.
“This is our proposal story?” she wheezed. “Half naked, with burnt pancakes and the fire alarm screaming?”
Beau grinned, reaching for her and hauling her against him despite the smoke swirling around. “Damn right it is. Nothin’ more us than this.”
And she laughed again, kissed him through the chaos, and knew he was right.
The kitchen was thick with the warmth of memory, the lingering scent of toast and coffee from their morning rituals. Beau had finished retelling the proposal, shaking his head at himself in amusement while you laughed along, eyes sparkling with the kind of affection only years together could build.
Emily’s jaw was hanging open. “Wait… you dropped to your knees in your underwear?”
Beau raised his brows, smirking. “Yep. Boxers. Ain’t nothing fancy ‘bout it, but it got the job done.”
“You’re telling me…” she started slowly, pointing between you, “that Dad asked you to prom with a doodle on notebook paper…and then proposed to you in his underwear while burning pancakes?”
You and Beau exchanged a glance, lips twitching.
“That’s about the size of it,” Beau said, leaning back in his chair like he was proud of himself.
Emily threw her hands in the air. “And you said yes? Twice?”
“Yep,” you said cheerfully, resting your chin in your hand. “Without a second thought.”
“Mom!” Emily groaned, flopping dramatically across the table. “That is not romantic. That’s… that’s—”
“Real,” Beau cut in gently, his eyes softer now as he looked at you. “It wasn’t big or flashy. But it was us. And that’s all that mattered.”
Emily peeked up from the crook of her arm, her expression torn between disgust and amusement. “You guys are so sappy.”
“Yeah,” you teased, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “But one day you’ll realize that sappy lasts longer than marching bands and glitter pens.”
Emily wrinkled her nose but couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Still think Dad could’ve at least worn clothes for the proposal.”
Beau chuckled, standing to set his mug in the sink. “Hey, I was comfortable. And your mom didn’t seem to mind.”
“Ew, Dad!” Emily squealed, shoving her chair back with a screech as you burst into laughter.
Beau came to stand behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he leaned down, brushing a kiss against your hairline. You tipped your head toward him, that same warmth from years ago curling low in your chest.
“Guess I did alright with my proposals,” he murmured.
You reached up, catching his hand, threading your fingers through his. “More than alright.”
Emily groaned, burying her face in her hands for a second before poking her head out with narrowed eyes. “Ew, gross!”
You and Beau exchanged a glance and laughed, Beau’s arm sliding around your shoulders instinctively.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing you gently, “you can’t deny it was perfect for us.”
Emily rolled her eyes again, but the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “You two are literally the worst. But… I guess it’s cute or whatever.”
“‘Or whatever’?” Beau echoed, mock offense in his voice. “I’ll take it.”
You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’ll take it too.”
Emily groaned again, shaking her head, but you could see the fondness in her eyes. Even if she was embarrassed, she loved her ridiculous, wonderful family.
And that was exactly how it was supposed to be.
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