#dad!bur

the only constant in Wilbur's daughters life (besides him, he figures he doesn't count) is the floral assistant at the local grocery store.

picture this.

it's a long day. wilbur finishes up practice, runs to pick his daughter up from daycare (no, literally-runs, he's running behind schedule) straps his daughter into the car and races to the groccery store to try and find something to feed her.

and it's later than he'd like; he's not proud of how late it is, how late his kid is eating-and she's dragging her feet behind him, pathetically, as little kids do, her little hand tangled in his as he gently shushes her, practically begging her to cut him a break-when you just kind of stumble into their life.

you're at your desk, pushed in the corner of the store, and wilbur's kid insists on seeing the flowers, running her hands over them, sticking her nose into the bouqets-usally, it's cute; makes him step back for a second, enjoy the little things, snap a picture of her-but he's frantically thinking about dinner, about bed time for her, about the stream he promised-

"Darling," Wilbur says gently, as she gasps and pulls him by the hand to the bouquets, never gets old for her, even if she sees them at every store- "C'mon, love. We gotta go, I promise we can come back later this week and look-"

You stick your head around the desk, seeing the little girl pulling her frazzled father around, his arms full of various ingredigents and think: fuck it, i'd rather be doing anything than this order-and stand up to see them.

"Those are my favorite too!" You say as you round the corner, her nose first into a bouqet of sunflowers, her hand still tangled in Wilbur's.

"They're so pretty!" She gushes immediately, always friends with everyone, a 'pleasure to have in class' but 'talks a lot' according to her teacher. "Papa said sunflowers means you adore someone." she giggles into her hand.

"Your Papa is very smart, that they do. I personally love the tulips, here." And you reach next to you for the bouquet, giggle as she sticks her face into them to smell.

She gasps. "Those are so nice. Wilby, try this!" She pulls at his hand until he bends down more, is towering over his kid (and you) but a gentle giant suddenly, sticking his nose into the flower.

Wilby plays over in your head-like, what a cute fucking name- "Those are beautiful, sweetheart." he pulls his nose out, finally looks at you:

"Sorry, uh-I hope we aren't in the way. She loves smelling the flowers, you do, uh-a great job with them."

She giggles at his side, and he doesn't know if it's at his expense or not-

"Thanks," You giggle back. "This little stand is like my baby. Not great, but-" "Wilby says i'm his baby!" His daughter speaks, weaving in and out of his legs, pulling at his pant legs, can feel her fingernails in his pant legs.

"That's right." he tickles her side, usually his job as the father to embarrass her, not the other way around-

You look up at him, seeing him all heart eyes over his daughter, and it's making your face flush, feeling frazzled over this.

"Sorry uh-" He shakes his head, "We can get out of your hair. We're running late for dinner, but we had to smell the flowers, y'know."

"You aren't bothering me!" You say quickly, quick enough that you worry it's creepy- "I was trying to avoid paperwork anyways."

"Oh," Wilbur giggles, "Uh-it's nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Wilbur. This is my daughter, Aurora."

You drop down, offer your hand to Aurora, who's running around at all the flowers, stopping only long enough to shake your hand, before you stand back up, introduce yourself back to Wilbur.

You two stand in front of each other, the radio playing the top fifty pop hits, interrupting for the current deals of the day, the beeping of the registers scanning, the yelling from various customers-and there's so much you want to say, this insta-crush, but no words come out.

luckily-or unluckily, depending on who you ask-Wilbur has a young kid, who always speaks their mind.

"Papa." She tugs on the bottom of his shirt, and he bends down, offers his ear, "Ask them out already"

And she's little, so she's not whispering, his face immediately turns bright pink as she giggles and wraps her arms around his leg.

"I'm so sorry-"

"I'm free tomorrow."

you both speak at the same time, cutting each other off, before laughing at one another.

"Yeah?" Wilbur asks, like he can't believe his luck, and you aren't sure where this confidence comes from, but you aren't complaining.

"Yeah, sure." You shrug, trying to play it cool.

"Nice. Ok-sure, yeah. Here." And he scrambles through the backpack over his shoulder, pink with hello kitty, obviously his kids, hands you his phone number on the back of a take out menu, "Text me? Or call me? And we can make plans? If you aren't busy-"

You nod, fold it up and put it in the front pocket of your apron with a nod. "It's a date. I get off at 9. I'll call you, yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles, "Yeah, it's a date."

He has this silly smile on his face as he calls Aurora over again for a last goodbye, even though she doesn't really know you, she's hugging your legs, and you're plucking a sunflower from a bouquet, tucking it behind her ear and she's squealing and showing Wilbur with this big toothy smile and he's oh-ing and awing over her, and it's cute

wilbur teaches next door and while the students know you two are together, are married, expecting a child-you try and keep the PDA under wraps

wilbur, is the opposite

he loves to embarrass you. like not actually embarrass you, but send a kid over with a stapled close note that says IMPORTANT on it, only to open it and see like: i love u so much ur so sweet with a little piece of hard candy in it?

walking to lunch at the same time? his hand is going to knock into yours until you finally lace your hands into his

your teaching and feel a kick for the first time and you gasp like you arent expecting it and a kid gets up, like ready to run to "Mr.Soot" and you're like: for the love of god, don't, he'll freak out if you run in like that

so you have a kid (calmly) get him but he still comes over, looks frazzled, and he's like: "babe??? you good??" and he's immediatley going for your bump, because that's where his hands comfortably go, and you beat him to it, put your hand on the side of the bump, and he's immediately kneeling on the floor, like, doesn't care how filthy the floors are, or anything

and youre like: "Just wait-" and your eyes travel to the ceiling as you wait, and he's so patient, like you're afraid you'll have to tell him to hold on, to forget it, to come back later-

instead, it happens again and he gasps?? he's like teary eyed when he stands up, holds your face in his hands and he's like so proud of you? and he's kissing you, doesn't care about the kids around him before he's back at your belly and is like: "hi bub! it's your papa!" and he's rubbing your belly and he kisses your face again before you have to tell him to get back to his class

him walking around the edge of the pool wit them, life jacket and floaties on, holding his hand as they double check to make sure everything is okay.

wilbur tries to get them to jump in before him and they freak out, realize they’re far too scared to. like, full freak out, wilbur realizes he fucked up, is holding them

finally, they’re brave enough to try it (if wilbur walks in with them) and he’s standing in like, waist deep water, his arms wide open, this smile on his face as he’s like: “c’mon darling! you can do it, sweetheart.”

until they finally jump in.

they spend the entire trip with them on his hip, spinning them around, throwing them into the water and dunking them-

packed a lil bag lunch for the two of them, sits pool side with them and forces them to eat at least a little of it

they make quick friends with someone and they spend the rest of the day with them while wilbur watches carefully, reading a book on the side of the pool-

kid messing with his kid? his baby? absolutely not. you and him butt heads over if fighting is ok, but wilbur insists he wants his kid to be able to handle themselves, take care of themselves, doesn't ever want them to be scared-so they practice defending themselves in the front room and they're like so itty, like whatever elementary school, and he towers over them, so he kneels on the ground, his hands up, lets them take little punches into his hand and he's like, "Yes, good! Go on!" doing those exaggerated shakes like their little fists actually hurt (of course gives them a speech this is only if they need to do it, to defend themselves, not just to do willy nilly)

ok but he would be a total PTA dad. and with pta comes karens. and he'd have the kid on his hip, in the meetings, and a karen would try and come at him, say something sly and he would immediately shoot it down. just straight: "no, actually, we aren't doing that" and he'd give the attitude back like "sorry the kids dont like your shitty snacks, karen. be better, if you dont like it."

listen. kids are cruel. so when a kid is making fun of wilbur for whatever-streaming? playing video games? whatever. and they come home misty eyed and upset but won't tell wilbur why (which destroys him, he's like beside himself with worry, brings them ice cream to their room and is like: hey bud. you wanna talk? and when they refuse, turn their back to face the wall he tries to act like he isnt sad) and when they finally indulge, he's like: you dont need to stand up for me or your parents or anything-they dont matter (he also definetly tries to talk to their parents, tell them to leave his kid alone) which doesnt work so when he gets a call from school that they socked a kid in the face during recess he's like: do you have the right number?? and he picks them up, gets them out of school early, and they go out for ice cream and he holds ice onto their face if the other kid got a punch in but routinely tells them how proud he is, like is smiling so big. thinks his kid is so brave (waits until they go to sleep to call the parents and absolutely go insane on them-yells at them so loud that you're scared for them?? wilbur never yells so you know it's serious)

him getting up early with them and insisting on doing their hair, they sit cross legged on the vanity and he’s behind them, messy, mismatched piggy tails (that you’ll have to fix later) that he insists on doing because he use to do them every morning, and it's routine.

they're talking his ear off about how excited they are, and he's happy they aren't anxious, because the two of you are anxious all the time, didn't want it to rub off on them, and thankfully, it hasn't yet. and he's listening to their every word

only interrupts when doing their hair to squeeze them close to them in a bear hug, and he's like: "stay with me. I don't want my baby to grow up. stay with papa, you're too big now."

you help them get ready and wilbur is downstairs making breakfast (and you all will act like you don't hear him sniffling throughout the day) going downstairs and they have like their special little first day of school outfit on, and wilbur gasps like runs around the kitchen, breakfast forgotten and has to take a million pictures. of them, of him and them standing in the backyard, all three of you guys together-he has one of those firsy day of school blackboards made with your help that they hold up in all those pictures, wilbur getting progressively tear eyed in them.

both of you guys holding their hands as they walk in, talking your ear off about the school, and the kids, and all these things they can't wait to learn, and wilbur is shooting you worried glances the entire time

getting in and wilbur, who towers over them, hunched over, as they gently lead him by the hand around the room, even if they've never been there before they're showing them the cubby with their name on it, their seat etc

both of you two kneeling on the floor next to their seat, taking turns telling them how proud they are of their baby, and how they'll be back to get them soon-like, expecting them to freak out like the kids around them are, but they're waving goodbye as they go to the rug with their teacher

wilbur holding it together until you both are in the hallway, halfway down the hall, and you look at each other and you're just both crying. he goes in first for the hug, pulls you into a tight squeeze and you both are just. standing in the hallway crying

sitting on the play ground as you wait for their day to be over, glad you packed coffee, sitting at the bench and swapping favorite stories about your child growing up until you two are laughing and sharing pictures with each other, like you two didn't experience it together but it helps

it's his one thing.

look, his family was never close growing up, a child of divorce, all the bad that comes with it, either traditions fell off, or it wasn't the same without the other parent, too sad, too pathetic-

so when he finally got his little family, he said he was going to do it right, indulged to you under covers in the middle of the night, pinkies hooked together, his lips pressed against your neck-he was going to get it right.

and he's so hard on himself about it.

like, he facetimes your kid multiple times a day on tour, when they wake up, wants to be involved in that routine as you prop the phone against the toaster and he watches as you two crack eggs into a pan, or in the middle of soundcheck, always plays a song for you two to dance around to in the middle of the living room-calling him literally seconds before he's due on stage-his in ears on, and he's dressed, his guitar over his back-the hallway is dark, but he'll find the quietest place he can, sing quietly into the phone until their eyes are heavy-

so yeah, traditions are pretty serious to wilbur, and him getting off tour a week early was planned months ahead of time, it was close to impossible to keep a secret from you, but he somehow managed-

a red-eye flight later, and it's 4am as he's poured into the streets of your town.

the first order of business, the coffee shop in the middle of town, the largest black coffee he can get his hands on for himself, a latte with all the sugar and cream possible for you-a chocolate milk for the kid-

and gas station donuts.

look, he doesn't get it either, but your face lit up more the time he brought these home, instead of the time he got up early, went to that expensive place downtown-

both in hand, he walks slowly to the home he made with you, needs repairs, has the list in his phone of various projects to do now that he's home-but as he puts the key in the lock, turns it as quietly as he can-this is home-peeling paint and all.

keys shoved on the crooked hook by the door (his bad, he'll admit it) figures he could crawl into bed where you no doubt are-

"Papa?"

a head pops up, a complete carbon copy of him-a mop of messy curly hair on top of a head, unruly no matter what you do to it.

for a second he thinks it's sad; whenever she hears a noise to pop up and think it's her dad, finally home, to be let down all this time-

"No, baby. It's just the house. C'mon, darling let's-" You're stirring, until your head pops up and he's standing in the doorway, crooked glasses on the bridge of his nose, his clothes smell, but it doesn't matter because you're stumbling out of bed, tripping over the cat in the middle of the floor-

"Wilbur!"

and you sound close to tears as you wrap him in your arms and he kisses' your forehead-you only pull away long enough to scold him for not giving you a heads up-

but your daughter has her arms wrapped around his legs, pulling at his jumper-she's wearing one of his old shirts, he realizes, and it practically eats her alive but he picks her up by her armpits, throws her in the air and catches her, peppering kisses on her face and raspberries against her cheek-his arms still around you-

and it's 5 in the morning, and your alarm is going to go off in thirty minutes, but he turns the kitchen light on for you, pulls your chair out and brings paper plates around, piles the donuts on them and sits down for an early breakfast with you two, your daughter on his lap, his hand tangled into yours, and he talks about tour, and all the new stories he has.