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dollarstoreparadise · 4 months ago

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being the kindergarten teacher for boothill's daughter (pretending nothing bad happened) and him lowk crushing on u

✧ a/n: (using the name boothill's eng va gave his daughter btw.... clementine... also like we dont know boothill's og name so im just gonna call him. boothill. yeah.) THIS WAS GOING TO BE FOR FATHERS DAY BUT IT IS JULY SECOND AND IM SUPPOSED TO BE UP IN SEVEN HOURS AND I HAVE BEEN PLAYING FFXIV A LOT. anyways. enjoy. this was a blast to write tbh :P

✭ pairing: boothill x gn reader

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.8k

Clementine was quite the rowdy girl. She would get her hands dirty any time she could, much to your dismay. You would wash her hands after recess and the minute they were washed she’d find some craft that would make her hands dirty again. You didn’t blame her, she was energetic and always wanted something to do, and if her hands were not occupied, then she felt lost. She was the kind of kid who would excitedly look for worms after it rained, and then giggle when her classmates squirmed.

You had only met her dad a handful of times, a man who was equally rough and rowdy, Atleast, what you’ve heard about him. From him. And Clementine. She had a habit about boasting about her dad, none of her stories less fantastical then the last. Some of her classmates believed that they were just fairy tales, stories to make her father seem like the hero, but given his reputation,– that you were quite aware of– you believed them. For all the stories she spins, you read about much more… brutal circumstances that he has been in, in the paper.

You honestly did not expect him when you thought of Clementine’s dad. Her grandfathers were normally the ones who dropped her off and picked her up, and you weren't quite sure what to expect when you first met Boothill. But when you did meet him, he was quite the gentleman. When you expected a rather foul-mouthed cowboy, you got a polite man who was all smiles and positive energy. And from that first meeting, he slowly started showing up for pickup regularly.

Around two months before summer, you noticed Clementine becoming a little more… clingy to you. Always proclaiming you were her favorite teacher, bringing you apples almost every day (most likely set up by Boothill himself or her grandfathers), and asking you what you will do for the summer, where you will be, if you’ll be out of the continent, and many more questions like that. You couldn’t help but read it as cute, and perhaps it may be your ego, but hearing you were her favorite teacher definitely boosted your mood. Although, no matter how many questions you answer, she always has more for you.

However, one of the most surprising questions she asks you comes around during pickup that day. Boothill was waiting for her, chatting idly with the other parents as the children scattered to find their own. Clementine practically drags you over to Boothill by your pinky, which would be cute if it didn’t kinda hurt. When Boothill sees her, he beams, only for that smile to falter ever so slightly, a soft, barely noticeable blush gracing his cheeks as he realizes his daughter is dragging his own crush (that he had been yapping about for weeks to his siblings, and Clementine decided to play matchmaker) towards him.

Before he can even say anything, Clementine decides to share her wisdom. “Pa has a crush on you! You should have dinner with us!”

A stunned silence fills the very public space between you two, and you can’t help but stumble over your words. Boothill is equally surprised, his entire face red as he scampers to pull Clementine from your hand. Some parents snicker around you while other kids laugh, and thankfully, some of the other teachers did not hear anything.

“I– I am so sorry about her!” Boothill pipes up, trying to smooth over the situation despite the embarrassment that creeps into his voice and every move. "She’s just sayin’ stuff! No need to–”

“It’s true! Papa’s lying!” Clementine shoots back, appalled that her father dare question her word. Boothill looks frazzled, perhaps even despaired as he desperately tries to cover her mouth.

You yourself are just as embarrassed, to have a kid so proudly declare that their parent has a crush on you, surrounded by parents, coworkers, and kids. Your coworkers may joke with you later on, and the parents may gossip, but you can’t even begin to fathom the amount of questions the kids will ask. You do not mind enduring literally anything else, but you can see yourself being bombarded by questions, asking if you two are together, if you’ll get married, and all other questions kids will ask. While you find Boothill to be quite handsome, part of you even questions the morals of a parent-teacher relationship. While the School Board had never mentioned anything against it, it still felt odd. And yet…

“I would love to have dinner with you.” Your mouth betrays your thoughts, deciding to take matters into its own hands (teeth? lips?). You feel your face immediately heat up, and can’t help but hide it.

While you and Boothill wallow in your embarrassment, Clementine is absolutely beaming, clapping practically. Her journey as matchmaker is complete, despite the fact that both you and Boothill are bright red, and refusing to look at eachother. By now, most parents were hurrying their kiddos off, and some teachers stayed back so they could collect some juicy gossip. You can hear your coworkers snickering already, but that did nothing to abate the heat rising in your body, wanting nothing more than to just leave early, and hide away for the entire summer.

“You should come over tonight! Pretty please–?” Clementine chimes in, before turning to her father. “Please, papa! Can they? Please? Please? Please? Pleasepleaseple–”

“Noooo…” Boothill whimpers, finally clasping a (gentle) hand over Clementines mouth. He looks absolutely distraught, as if he can’t believe that Clementine would just spill his secrets like that. “I’d have to clean the house, kiddo. Can’t just do it… now…” His voice trails off, and yet his voice sounds steady as if he had recovered quickly from his shame.

“Awh, please?” Clementine tries so desperately to get her plan to work, giving Boothill the cutest puppy eyes while you recover from your own foolish decision.

“Are you gonna clean the house?”

Slowly, a look of fear sets into Clementine’s features, and she fervently shakes her head. Boothill scoffs and pats her back with a soft ‘’s what I thought’. Defeated, she groans, kicking up dust and crossing her arms. Boothill untenses and lets out a sigh of relief, ushering Clementine away hurriedly. Before he realizes he missed a very, very crucial step. Begrudging– or perhaps it is just a facade– he trudges back to you and asks for your number all too quietly. He acts all flustered when he walks up to you, voice low, eyes avoiding you. Yet, when he walks back to Clementine, he’s practically… skipping. Frolicking, if you will.

You two text rather formally, while Clementine gives you more direct updates. She practically beams every time she sees you, more bold than her father, asking you all kinds of questions– which are mainly related to dinner and food. Some students had the audacity to ask if you were her new parent, and all you could bring yourself to saying was ‘not yet’, you feared that the word ‘no’ was too harsh. All in all, it felt as if you were digging your own grave. Too prideful to admit that you were quite okay with your date, yet too ashamed to turn down or speak against your own wishes.

You set the date for a Friday, which gave you enough time to wallow before, and after. But Clementine is impatient, every day, she hounds you on coming right then and there, while both you and Boothill tell her that you’ll be there soon, to not rush this. All she can do is huff and complain about it, but she was giddy nonetheless. Unfortunately for you, the next couple of days had gone by so quickly. You found yourself antsy on Friday, stumbling over your words, and ultimately just pulling out the tv and playing a show for the kids.

Clementine is dragging you out once more the minute the bell rings, all too happy, while Boothill stands rather… anxiously. Even if he saw you coming he still stumbles over his words, which are quickly shut up when you tell him you’ll need to come later anyways. He visibly relaxes, and it seems that he himself hasn’t had enough time to comprehend the fact that his little girl took everything in her own, tiny little hands.

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

So, there you are, in Boothill’s cabin, nervously fidgeting with your hands as Boothill cooks in the kitchen, and Clemetine eagerly runs between the living room and the kitchen, ferrying very important information for the both of you. (His favorite color is red. His favorite animals are wolves. He might burn the food. Very, very important information.)

You can’t help but feel nervous, almost nauseous, as you listen to the sizzling and shuffling in the kitchen. The most you could distract yourself with was the thought of how cute the cabin was, before you realized you were on a date. With one of your students' parents. That also happened to be a renowned outlaw. You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, reasoning with yourself that people meet people all the time, and that perhaps it isn’t such an odd thing, anyways. You weren’t scared of him, not one bit, and he was quite kind. You realize your nervousness is attributed to your embarrassment, which is attributed to the fact that Clementine, little 6 year old Clementine, had been the one to set you up on a day. In essence, at least. Her father was too scared to do it, and she decided he needed to ‘giddy up’. (in her words. She didn’t understand the term ‘man up’, but she does understand ‘giddy up’.)

Just as you gain some semblance of calm, Boothill emerges from the kitchen, holding two plates with magnificent looking sirloins. Your nausea is pushed away so swiftly when the smell hits you tenfold, and you can feel your mouth watering. You straighten up and shake off all your thoughts. If the date turns out to be a bust, at least you got a good meal out of it.

At your starry-eyed look, Boothill blushes, before setting the two plates down in front of you and Clementine’s seat, before hurrying back into the kitchen for his own. Before he even sits down, he begins cutting up Clementine’s food, as she finally takes her seat at the table. You two say nothing, while you are unsure what to say, other than a small ‘thank you’, before you start cutting up your own steak.

“I’m, uh…” Boothill starts, breaking the silence. He simply looks down at his plate. “Sorry for how inappropriate this may be.”

You pause, and look up at him, shaking your head. “How so?”

“Well it ain’t exactly… I dunno. Definitely didn’t want Clem sayin’ that stuff,” He sighs, poking at his food with his fork, avoiding eye contact once more. “It wasn’t polite, is what. Didn’t mean t’ cause a scene.”

“Can’t help it though, right? She’s just a kid–” You look over to Clementine who’s still beaming, “And she just wanted to help her dad out.”

“I guess. I dunno. It’s really on me, I mean.”

“Well sometimes people feel–”

You have to catch yourself before you go full on teacher mode, knowing you were going to say something cheesy and overly simplified that you would to a kid. You take a deep breath and hold it for a second before exhaling, although it sounds more like a sigh.

“It’s fine, y’know? I mean, we wouldn’t be here if I didn’t… well, share the same feelings.” You shrug, finally taking a bite of the steak he had made. By the Aeons is it delicious, cooked exactly the way you wanted it, oh, the praises you could sing.

Boothill is quiet for a moment, watching you savor his cooking. His eyes dart to Clementine, catching her fiery gaze as she stares him down, wordlessly begging him to just say more, make this scenario become one of a fairytale.

“Well, I’m glad. And also I’m glad ya like my cookin’.”

You smile softly and nudge his shin with your foot while you chew. Clementine has been so absorbed in the semi-tense energy that she hadn’t touched her food, and yet she knows she’s the only reason her father’s flustered. Despite that, she’s eager to get this show on the road.

“You two should kiss! Tell them you love them, pa!” She bursts out with a giggle, pointing at Boothill then you.

You choke on your food, turning your face away from her to hide your blush, while Boothill can’t help but laugh. Still, he himself is bright red, and doing his best to shush her.

“Too early for that, Clem. ‘S too dang early. First date doesn’t mean none of that, you know that kiddo?” He pokes her arm, playfully sticking out his tongue. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like all that kissin’ stuff.”

Boothill clears his throat and decides that now is the best time for Clementine to be quiet. You place your hands over your face, while Boothill’s squabbling with his daughter does nothing to quell the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He’s trying to coax her to eat her food, and after a couple minutes of back and forth, she finally complies, either satisfied with how flustered she has you both, or her work. Either or, the rest of the night is relatively calm, as you two talk out your feelings. It had felt so… childish at first, but perhaps you were simply stuck in the fact that everyone could know. It seemed that Boothill was more embarrassed than yourself.

Before you leave, you help Boothill put Clementine to bed, reading her an overly long and complicated bedtime story. Before she had truly fallen asleep, she decided to knock your pride down, telling you that ‘Pa tells better stories!’ midway through the book you were reading. It hurt. Just a little.

You decide to help Boothill with the dishes when she does fall asleep though, and in that kitchen it is quiet. But not awkward. The silence is warm and comforting, only broken by running water and occasional complaints about a rather tough stain that Boothill can’t get rid of. You take this time to admire him, out of his normal rough ‘n tough cowboy attire. He himself is softer, perhaps even more kind-looking. It is quite the sight. Of course, he catches you staring.

“Can’t get enough?” He prods, elbowing you softly.

You blush. “I don’t really see a lot of you. Or sometimes I’m too zoned out to notice.”

“Really now?” He scoffs. “Ain’t you the first. I see some of your coworkers eye’ me y’know? Lot of ya like the ‘bad boy’ type, I’m sure.”

“Well if you’re so interested in them, why not ask them out? Get Clementine to ask them out for you?” You challenge.

“I ain’t interested in them, I swear!” He raises his hands in mock surrender, acting offended. “Can’t help tellin’ my little girl these things. My dads are worse. They’d make me court you, I’m so sure they would.”

You two share a laugh, shifting your focus back on the dishes. It doesn’t feel as embarrassing as before, comfortable, and quaint. He walks you out to your car after, ever the gentlemen, as the stars twinkle above. The galaxy seeps through the night sky, shining down on you, as his hand takes yours. His hands are calloused, a little scarred, but warm. So. Damn. Warm.

“Next time, I’ll hire a babysitter. And take you out on the town.” Boothill beams at you, his voice kind.

“Next time?”

“Yeah. Next time. I’d like another date. If you would like?”

“Of course I would.”

He smiles even wider at that, tilting his head ever so slightly. The moonlight frames his face in such an ethereal way, makes him look as if he is not one of the roughest outlaws you’ve read about, but simply a man, graced with a simple life, and that makes him beautiful. As you admire him, he leans in, you are no stranger to what he is doing. Your eyes fall onto his lips, before you close them. His lips are warm, just as his hands are, ever so slightly chapped, yet soft all the same. The kiss is chaste, and it feels as if he pulls away all too quickly. But you know better than to chase.

“Don’t tell Clem about that, ‘kay?” Boothill winks, before he finally lets go of your hand and watches as you get into your car.

As he is walking back to his cabin, you look up to see the light in Clementine’s room is on, and her little figure is pressed up against the window. She is staring right at you. And she looks appalled. As if you (or Boothill, in this case, he was the one who told you not to tell) would dare to live out a fairytale like that without an audience. An audience of her.

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