100 Marvel One Shots✔️

Father of the Year >> Father!Logan Howlett (Wolverine) X Child!Reader

Title: Father of the Year

Paring: platonic Father!Logan Howlett (Wolverine) X Child!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, sadness, father/daughter fluffy happiness too. 

Spoilers: not really, just know a bit about Wolverine first

Author's Note: I based Young!Wolverine in this from the age of Troye Sivan when he was in the movie (14). Also, thank you for the 5K!

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When most parents find out they are about to become one, they usually cry. Logan Howlett, the amazing Wolverine, a teacher at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters (who even came up with that dumb name?), a tough man, cried. He cried hard, and within the brief window of ten minutes, he had wiped the salty remains from his cheeks, and got on with the day. It's what he got for having a three month stand with the busty redhead from upstate, and it was probably the worst thing he could think of. 

Ten years later, and Logan hadn't had any sleep. You tend not to when every second you are living in a nightmare. From the first days his little ________ arrived in a bundle in her bassinet from the agency officials (a couple of men who looked like they had BB guns up their asses), Logan was undoubtedly terrified. Not of the prospect that he would be a terrible father (he would), or that he knew nothing of parenting (true), but that maybe all those lectures Charles "Wheels" Xavier gave about mutant genetics were true.

And his little girl would be something like him.

He watched her grow; from those first steps, first day at school (the kindergarten teacher insisted if he did not leave, he would be forced to call security on him); the first time you brought a friend over, and ended up playing Jenga on carpet until their parent came. All the while, he never really told you much about what you were. 

You knew what everyone else was; there was no explanation as to why else Christmas cards arrived from the impressive lecturer Professor Xavier. You knew Ororoe could make any sort of weather happen, and that poor Scott had to always wear glasses because his eyes were so powerful. The students who you'd run into (sneaking in on slow afternoons at your own school to hang out with your father) became the brothers and sisters you'd never had.

Logan liked it. You were sheltered, comfortable, but not too sheltered, and there was nothing wrong. Hell, half the mutants in the world got their genetics unlocked before puberty, and his little girl ... the only thing you'd unlocked had been his liquor cabinet to try Jim Beam and Johnny Walker. 

Logan was convinced. You had to be normal; a civilian, genetically human being produced by the most notorious mutant and the most scrumptious fling seventeen years ago. 

Until now.

"Dad...!"

Logan sat upright in the bed. It hadn't been a long time since you had called out in the night for him; those days passed when you were nine, and finally managed to stay the night in your own bed through a storm. But, your voice; it didn't sound right. What if it was a nightmare? It could be a nightmare. He'd check in a m-

"Dad, what's happening to me?"

He was at your doorway, breaking through in seconds. A good thing he insisted in living in a small apartment, not the big house Xavier proposed to pay for. But as Logan entered, his breath was held, his nose was catching a scent he hadn't smelt this much of since his last mission, his eyes -

"Dad, what's happening to me?" you repeat. 

You hold your hands to your face, seeing them at both angles. From the knuckles of your fists, are three protuberances that Logan has not seen since his trip back in time to funky old 1973. You have claws, just like his own, his natural, mutated claws. Bone claws. And they've torn your duvet and the first breakthrough to the surface has left blood spotted all over, like a poorly executed murder.