Title: Boyfriend of The Century

Paring: Logan Howlett & Reader + Peter Maximoff X Reader

Warnings: fluff and cutesy

Sequel to: Father of the Year and Daughter of the Month

Requested by: lots of people! you know who you are!

Spoilers: none :-)

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Logan always dedicated Fridays to his friends, his family, and getting out of all the responsibilities of the weekdays. The smartass Bobby would tell him that Friday was still a weekday, but dammit, if he was Wolverine or not, as soon as the bell rang for the last class at the school, he dismissed those mutant kids, and was off on his bike homebound. No Mr. Howlett, no strings to the school attached until Monday came around. He was Logan again, and was going to crack a cold one on the porch, watch some football, maybe catch up on his to be read list. His daughter assigned him that, after noticing that he wasn't the biggest fan of doing nothing, the page full of an assortment of classic war books to modern biographies of assholes who he respects enough to read about.

But as his bike pulled up in the driveway, he noticed, once his helmet was off (yet again, a piece of apparel insisted upon by his daughter) that there were an extra pair of shoes by the doormat. Logan stood beside his bike a second, staring at the extra pair of Chuck Taylors. Intrigued, yet miffed, he made his way inside the house, dumping the keys in the bowl, his helmet on the peg, making way to the fridge for a beer.

"________?" He called out, cracking the cold one open between his teeth, spitting the lid into the sink. "You have a friend over?"

Instead of a reply, he was met with the sound of mirth from the next room. Logan was never a really cheerful person, and neither was his daughter – a girl after his own heart – and once again curious, he followed the sound of laughter and simulated beeps to the lounge room.

"________?" He repeated, entering the doorway.

Inside, laying on their stomachs, were ________, and the silver-haired Peter Maximoff he begrudgingly taught history to every Monday to Friday. They wore matching headsets, and in their hands, had consoles to a game he'd bought for ________ last birthday, along with a game about car racing and plumbers. They're not wearing the school clothes he saw them in hours ago, but in pyjamas, and are underneath a large blanket.

He clears his throat, and at the guttural, bestial growl, the teenagers spring apart, the go-karts on the television screen crashing into objects, losing their place in the race.

"Hey, Dad," you grin foolishly, bashful. "You're home!"

Beside her, the twin of Wanda the scarlet witch swallowed something thick in his throat. "Hello, Mr. Howlett." It was as clear as day that the boy saw him as both the Wolverine, and the guy who graded his last World War One history paper, and looked at him in the same sort of fear he aspired to strike into the hearts of ordinary men upon the battlefield. "I – we –,"

He shook his head, "Please. Call me Logan." Taking a sip of his beer, now lukewarm, he added, "I'm off duty."

His daughter laughed. "Ignore him, Pete. He's just spookin' you."

He cocked an eyebrow at that, "Yeah?"

________ pushed the headset down to her shoulders, and looking at him square in the eye with those tough-as-nails (e/c) eyes, rebuffed, "Yeah. Peter has no reason to be afraid of you, Dad...not when I'm just the same as you, except I won't hold back if I get a broken heart."

Beside her, Peter nodded along with her words. Taking advantage of his approval, Logan hummed. "So, this mean you like her for everything she is and is worth? Or just agreeing with my little girl here?"

Peter found the smart mouth he was known for, retorting, "With you, it's cool but it's disgusting. ________'s kick-ass, and a great fighter, and the coolest in my class and I'll never hurt her, because I know she's stronger and better than me, and I love her." He replied. Realising what he'd just said, that smart mouth just as fast as his feet, and not as fast as his brain, clamped his mouth shut, a rosy blush overtaking his face.

"You what?" ________'s eyes were wide.

Logan looked at the kids on the lounge room floor with an amused gaze, and took another sip of his drink as he watched the teenagers scramble for a handhold in this situation.

"I – you – he –," Peter stammered. "I –,"

Logan watched as his daughter sat in astonishment. "You love me?"

"Yeah," The speedster nodded, "Do – you?"

As he heard the kids realise they were interested in each other like that, Logan took another gulp of beer, and finishing the drink, pitched it into the bin in the other room, where it thunked! with a final sort of noise. He pointedly ignored the teenagers in his lounge room as he went down the hall to the office, where he was sure to IM Ororo about the latest development.