ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Claws (A. Morgan x fem wolverine! Fem! Reader)

Summary: Wild and badass

Warning: WOLVERINE READER, Laura Kinney version, claws, injuries, death, platonic, trust

Based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It wasn't that Arthur came across you, he stumbled upon you when he was hunting near O'Creagh's run. He was supposed to join Hosea in hunting a bear which he heard some shouting . A female voice. Hosea saying that there's something wrong making him and Hosea looking for the source of the sound.

Later, they came across you who clutched your side that was covered in blood. Not to mention your whole figure covered in blood. Arthur didn't know if those blood was yours or someone else's but the wound in your side was clearly yours. A bullet wound he said to Hosea.

Hosea the one who stepped forward, calmly like trying not to scare a rabbit. You're like a rabbit that's afraid of the hunter cowering behind with caution. Eyes wild, your wiry hair full of dirt and blood, in fact your whole body is dirty with dirt and blood. It's like you're running from hell itself.

Hands streched forward, Hosea muttering something like. 'that's okay, we mean no harm" or something similar to that just to make you calm down.

Arthur observe the whole thing in front of him. He sees you who are like a wild animal that is afraid and wary of humans. He sees your wild eyes looking at him and Hosea. Your face is tight, your hand is tightly gripped on your injured side. The way you pressed yourself against the tree hoping you could hide by doing so when in fact you didn't.

He sees everything in you. But then all change when Hosea really did triggered something in you that you suddenly lurched forward with hands towards Hosea. Hosea quickly stepped back and yelled. You yelled angrily. Arthur quickly took Hosea behind him and protectively in front Hosea.

But what he saw was what was in your hand. There were no sharp knives or weapons but they're a very sharp things that came out of your fist. It's like a knives buried itself into your fist. Both your hands have the same things. four pairs of knives buried in your two hands.

Arthur was stunned. His hand hovered over his revolver. Hosea grabbed his shoulder and stepped out from behind Arthur who stiffened. Upon seeing that, Hosea was also stunned.

Both in their minds thought the same thing.

"what are you?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three weeks later…

You weren’t quite one of them, but you weren’t a stranger anymore.

You still didn’t sleep in the main camp, preferring the edge where the trees could hide you, where your back could press to something solid. The others kept their distance, mostly. Tilly offered a quiet smile sometimes. Kieran, too awkward to say much, gave you a pair of gloves without asking questions. Arthur… he was the only one who spoke to you without fear behind his eyes.

You didn’t talk much. Only when you had to.

But Arthur knew your eyes now—he knew the tension in your shoulders meant you were listening, that the twitch in your hand meant you were on edge, that when you disappeared into the woods, you were scouting. Always scouting.

The others didn’t realize yet, but Arthur did.

You were protecting them.

Especially when the Pinkertons got close.

It was just past sunrise when Dutch’s voice called the camp to attention. Not frantic, but firm. A pair of horses had been spotted down the trail, weaving too slow, staying just far enough not to be seen proper.

“You sure?” Arthur asked, hand already on his gunbelt.

Dutch didn’t answer right away.

Hosea did. “They’re watchin’ us.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to your tent.

You were already gone.

He found you crouched in the trees past the ridge, face low, clawed hands half-drawn but not out yet. Like a wolf scenting blood on the wind. You glanced at him when he knelt beside you, your nostrils flaring faintly.

“They’re coming,” you said quietly.

“How many?”

“Four. One’s already ahead. Smells like tobacco and whiskey. Old boots. Same trail as two days ago.”

Arthur looked at you. “You tracked ‘em?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Arthur followed you when you stood and moved silently down the slope. You were like mist in the trees—silent, quick, deadly. You paused at a vantage point where the trail dipped, hiding behind thick brush.

Arthur saw them then. Pinkertons. Four men, just like you said. One was already further ahead. You were right. About everything.

But what he didn’t expect was what happened next.

You stood, slow and quiet, and walked out onto the trail.

Arthur was about to yell. About to grab you. But he didn’t. Something told him not to.

The Pinkertons saw you.

They raised their guns.

But not fast enough.

Your claws came out with a metallic shhnkt, and then you were on them—silent and furious. One lunged for his revolver. You caught his arm mid-draw and dragged the blade across his throat. Another raised his rifle but stumbled back, eyes wide, before you pounced like a shadow, burying your claws deep into his chest.

Arthur watched. Frozen. Horrified. In awe.

You didn’t fight like a person. You fought like a storm. Controlled and brutal.

Two of them were down before the others even shouted. The third tried to run. You leapt. Tackled him. Screams echoed through the pines before silence swallowed everything again.

Blood soaked the trail.

Arthur stood, stunned.

You looked at him, breathing heavy, blood on your arms and face.

Then you said the one thing he didn’t expect.

“I don’t like doing this.”

Arthur stepped forward slowly. “You… you saved the camp.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t do it for them.”

Arthur raised a brow.

“I did it for you.”

He swallowed hard.

“Why me?”

You turned away, claws retreating into your hands.

“Because you looked at me like I was still human.”

A long silence passed between you.

Then Arthur said quietly, “That’s ‘cause you are.”

The wind blew through the trees again. The blood would fade with time. The tracks would vanish. The gang would never know the danger they nearly faced—or the thing that stood in the dark to keep them safe.

Only Arthur knew.

And for the first time in a long time… you let yourself believe maybe that was enough.