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winxanity-ii · 28 days

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UNCONVENTIONAL ALLIES

ship: deadpool!gojo x fem!mutant!reader x wolverine!geto warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.3k a/n: Writing this was so much fun! I just love blending different worlds and seeing what kind of chaos unfolds 😂. Hope you enjoy this wild ride! 💖

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You were sitting at a dingy, neon-lit bar tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city.

The place smelled of stale beer, fried food, and something musty that clung to the faded upholstery of the worn-out bar stools.

A jukebox in the corner plays a muffled tune, the kind that barely competes with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of pool balls.

The air was thick, not just with the haze of cigarette smoke but with the weight of a thousand stories that had soaked into the cracked wooden walls over the years.

You were hunched over a dog-eared copy of your Anatomy & Physiology textbook, muttering terms under your breath like some sort of desperate mantra—brachialis, trapezius, sternocleidomastoid—trying to cram as much information as you could before your brain decided it's had enough.

You had read the same sentence three times now, and each time the words made less sense than before. Frustration bubbled up in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you sat back and threw your head back against the creaky barstool, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

The looming specter of your upcoming exam was like a shadow over your thoughts, a constant reminder of how much was riding on you passing this class.

Your mind raced, not just with the material you were supposed to be studying, but with the overwhelming tide of stress that came from being swamped in thousands upon thousands of dollars in student loans.

Every page you turned felt like another reminder of just how deep you were in. And as if that wasn't enough, the thought of returning to your messy, noisy dorm made you groan inwardly.

Your roommate had been a nightmare lately—blasting music at odd hours, leaving her stuff everywhere, and treating the place like her personal dumping ground. It was impossible to find peace, and it was driving you insane.

You reached over for your drink—a grapefruit High Noon, the only small comfort you had allowed yourself tonight. The cold, fizzy liquid was a slight balm against the headache building behind your eyes.

You took a long sip, letting the bitterness wash over your tongue as you tried to drown out the noise around you and the noise in your head.

Just as you were about to return to the same sentence you had been trying to absorb for the last ten minutes, you noticed movement at the far end of the bar. Two guys slipped in, almost unnoticed, except for the way they carried themselves—like they weren't just walking into a bar, but onto a stage.

One was wearing a skintight red and black suit that clung to his lean, muscular frame, showcasing his agility and strength. The suit had a dark, almost tactical look, with black patches accentuating the deep red fabric. It was all about practicality and style, with twin katanas strapped to his back in a sleek 'X' formation, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

His mask was a full-head covering, stretching tightly over every contour, leaving no part of his face nor hair exposed. The eye areas were reinforced with black outlines, creating a stark contrast against the red, giving the impression of expressive eyes even though they were hidden.

Overall, he looked like he was dressed for battle, but even then, there was a playfulness in his stance, like he was just waiting for the fun to start.

The other guy was in all black. His outfit fully leather, tough but flexible, perfect for someone who needed to move fast and hit hard. It was sleek, with subtle detailing that caught the light when he shifted. Over his eyes, he wore a sharp mask, a slim black visor that added to his already intimidating presence. His long black hair is tied back into a neat bun at the back of his head, adding a touch of elegance to his otherwise rugged appearance. His hands were gloved, with a weird alteration that freed his knuckles on up.

The whole look was one of power and precision, every inch of him screaming danger, but in a way that was somehow... controlled. Like he was the kind of guy who didn't make idle threats.

Together, they were an odd pair—one dressed like he was ready for a chaotic spree, the other like he was here to end a war. And yet, there was a strange harmony between them, like they had been through this dance a hundred times before.

"What's with these two?" you muttered under your breath with a snort, flipping a page in your textbook without really seeing it. "Comic-Con isn't for another month."

The two men walked further into the bar, their steps measured and purposeful. A few patrons glanced their way, curiosity flickering in their eyes for a moment before they turned back to their drinks and quiet conversations, uninterested in the newcomers.

You silently watched from your tucked-away spot, noting how out of place they looked against the bar's grimy, dimly lit backdrop.

They made their way to the bar, their movements fluid yet distinct—one with a swagger that screamed "look at me," the other moving like a shadow, quiet and precise.

Thinking this was the end of it, you forced yourself to refocus on your textbook, trying to absorb the intricate connection of human muscles that had been eluding you all night.

Just as you started to get a grip on the complex anatomy, two shadows fell over your book, fully obscuring what little light the dim bar offered.

You sucked your teeth with an annoyed "tch," glaring up, ready to tell off whichever group of men thought they'd get lucky tonight. But your words got caught in your throat when you realized who was standing before you—the two men from earlier.

The one in red, who now sat in the seat next to you, had a vibrant galaxy cocktail in hand, stirring it with a straw like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the surreal scene, but quickly got back on track. With a disinterested, sarcastic tone, you asked, "What could I possibly help you two gentlemen with?"

The man in black opened his mouth to speak, but the one in red jumped in. "Oh, there's a lot you could help us with! Cooking, lending us some cash, maybe even—"

"Deadpool," the one in black interrupted, his tone flat but carrying a note of irritation.

The man in red's head snapped towards him. "Huh? What's up?"

The one in black groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose with clear exasperation. He turned to you, his demeanor shifting to something almost apologetic. "We don't mean to interrupt your evening, but we're looking for 'Y/N.' We've asked around and heard that she often frequents this bar."

For a moment, you just sat there, heart pounding in your chest. Your mind was racing, but outwardly, you kept your expression cool and passive.

You tilted your head and nodded realistically, pretending to be unfazed. "Oh, Y/N? She's my roommate. We come here sometimes to study for our exams, but she flaked on me tonight. Guess she got caught up," You paused, then asked casually, "What do you need from her? I can pass along a message if you'd like."

The two men exchanged a glance, and the one in red burst out with a long, drawn-out "Wow, you're good!" He turned to his companion, still twirling his straw in his drink. "Bro, if we didn't have a pic, I'd 100% believe her," he said, holding both hands up in mock surrender.

You froze, your breath hitching in your throat. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts per second.

Before you could think of a way to escape or talk your way out, the man in red turned back to you. "Look, toots, I'll be honest—we need you. Now, I understand how scary this may be, two men coming in and searching for little ol' you, but you have no worries, I promise."

The man in black spoke up, his tone more measured. "Yes, like he said, we're not here to harm you. We just—"

His friend cut him off, leaning in closer. "You want to trust us? Look," he said, before abruptly reaching up and pulling off his mask. "Bam! Face reveal!"

Underneath the mask, his features were striking: bright blue eyes that practically glowed in the dim light of the bar, and a handsome face with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. His hair was cut short in a buzzcut, white as freshly fallen snow, adding a stark contrast to the dim, smoky atmosphere around him.

His skin was marked with faint burn scars, lines and patches that wove across his face like a map of past battles and close calls. Yet, these scars didn't detract from his appearance; they only added to his rugged, mysterious allure, hinting at the untold stories and experiences that lay beneath the surface.

The one in black sputtered, "D-Deadpool, what the fu—"

"You can stop with the code names, Geto," the man in said with a smirk. "We gotta get her to trust us."

The one in black—Geto—groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose again in frustration. "At my expense, though?"

Deadpool shrugged nonchalantly, leaning on his hands and tilting his head down to take a sip from his drink. "Why wouldn't I? You expect me to call you 'Wolverine' all night yet we know her name? I wouldn't trust us either."

Geto groans again, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Again with the 'trust us' bullshit. That still doesn't give a good reason why you revealed my fucking name and not your own.”

Deadpool just lets out a giggle, shrugging again with a carefree grin. "Oops?"

Geto stared at him blankly for a moment before bluntly stating, "Fuck you, Gojo Satoru."

Gojo's mouth dropped open in mock shock. "W-Wha… why… my entire name, bro??? Even the damn Japanese format???"

Geto just ignored his outburst, turning his attention back to you, his expression serious once more. "Now, as I was saying, we've been searching for you."

You blinked, snapping yourself out of the mini-panic swirling in your mind, now acutely aware of the two men surrounding you—Gojo sitting casually beside you and Geto standing in front of you with a more guarded stance.

"And why would that be?" you asked cautiously, trying to mask the nervous energy coursing through you.

Gojo, never one to let a moment of tension linger, cut in with a playful grin. "Because our jobs tend to get really messy, and we need a pair of healing hands for quicker recovery times. Besides, something's telling me you might be up for a little adventure."

You raised an eyebrow and snorted, unimpressed by his casual tone. "And why would I want to do that?"

Geto finally spoke up, his voice gravelly and weighted with a seriousness that cut through Gojo's playful demeanor. "You look knowledgeable in the medical field," he said plainly. "And like Gojo said, our line of work tends to need that kind of expertise."

Before you could even think of a response, Gojo jumped back in, his grin widening even more. "Plus, we've got a feeling you'd make a great addition to our little team. It's not every day you find a cute healer; most tend to be old crones."

And there it was. The mention of your healing powers.

You're not sure how, but it seemed like no matter where you went, that knowledge always managed to catch up with you.

Being a mutant wasn't something you advertised; it wasn't something you wore on your sleeve. Especially not in a world where the line between acceptance and fear was still razor-thin, where prejudice against mutants ran deep.

You'd learned early on to keep your abilities under wraps.

The hate and mistrust toward mutants had only grown more intense over the years, with some humans seeing you as a threat rather than a person.

Sure, there were heroes and vigilante groups like the X-Men who fought for mutant rights and tried to prove that mutants could be protectors, not dangers. But still, the divide remained. A silent, persistent wall between those who could heal and those who only knew how to fear.

It wasn't just about staying safe. It was about maintaining some semblance of a normal life, of blending in.

The last thing you needed was to be dragged into the chaos of someone else's fight, to be seen as a tool rather than a person. Yet here you were, once again, your secret laid bare before these strangers who seemed to know more about you than you were comfortable with.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your expression neutral, ready to tell them you had absolutely no interest in whatever scheme they were trying to pull you into. But before the words left your mouth, the door to the bar slammed open, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

A group of burly men stormed in, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone present. The leader—a rough-looking guy with a missing hand, which was poorly wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage—scanned the room with a snarl until his eyes landed on Gojo.

His face contorted into a scowl as he pointed his bleeding nub directly in your direction. "That's them!" he growled, his voice filled with fury. "Get those bastards!"

Before you could even react, the men charged forward, but Gojo's grin only grew wider, like he had been waiting for this exact moment. Suddenly, he threw a hand up, shouting, "Wait!"

The men paused, looking confused, their momentum halted by the unexpected command.

Gojo stood up slowly, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smirk as he loudly slurped down the rest of his cocktail.

He released an exaggerated "Ahhh" of satisfaction, savoring the last drop before shoving his mask back on with a quick flick of his wrist. He turned to the men with a gleeful expression and said, "Okay, I'm ready, boys~."

Without missing a beat, he launched himself into the fray.

The bar erupted into chaos.

Gojo moved like a blur, dodging a punch with a fluid twist of his body, then delivering a quick jab to his attacker’s gut.

It was almost like a dance, his movements graceful yet deadly.

He ducked under a swing, flipped over a table with the ease of a seasoned acrobat, and landed a perfectly timed kick that sent one guy crashing into the jukebox, which sputtered and then blasted out distorted music. "Nice try, but you're gonna have to do better than that!" he quipped, his voice filled with that unmistakable humor.

Geto was a stark contrast. All raw power and precision, he grabbed one of the men by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.

The impact left a dent in the plaster, and the guy crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Geto didn't waste a single movement—every punch, every kick was delivered with a calculated brutality meant to incapacitate. "Stay down, monkey," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous, as he drove a knee into another attacker's stomach, sending him reeling backward into a table, which collapsed under the weight.

As the fight intensified, bar patrons started scrambling for the exit, knocking over chairs and tables in their haste to escape.

The bartender, a burly man with a grizzled beard, stepped out from behind the bar, shouting above the noise. "Hey! You're gonna pay for this mess! Take your fight outside, or I'll—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the leader with the missing hand growled in frustration. "Shut up!" He grabbed a glass from the bar with his good hand and hurled it at the bartender, the glass shattering against his skull.

The bartender stumbled back, eyes wide with shock, before collapsing behind the counter, blood pooling around his head.

The violence seemed to escalate, everything becoming a blur of fists, broken glass, and shouts.

A chair flew across the room, smashing into the wall near where you were crouched, and you instinctively threw up your arms to shield yourself from the splinters. Heart racing, you knew you had to get out, but the chaos was overwhelming.

One of the attackers swung a metal pipe at Gojo, who effortlessly sidestepped and countered with a spinning kick that knocked the man off his feet and sent him sliding across the bar’s sticky floor. "You guys really know how to make a guy feel special~" Gojo laughed, eyes alight with adrenaline.

Wide-eyed, you stuttered, "H-Holy shit," as your flight set in. Hastily, you tried to pack up all your things, shoving books and papers into your backpack with trembling hands.

Just as you threw the bag over your shoulders and turned to make a run for it, a rough hand reached out and grabbed your puffed ponytail in a tight grip.

"Where do ya think you're going, girly? Leavin' your crew so soon?" a gruff voice sneered.

You looked up to find one of the thugs grinning down at you with a mouth full of yellowed teeth.

Desperation bubbled up as you blubbered, "L-Look, I have nothing to do with this, I swear! I'm just a struggling college student!" You weakly rubbed your hands together, hoping to somehow appeal to his sense of mercy—if he even had one.

The man let out a wet cackle, but just as dread washed over you and you thought your life was about to end, his eyes widened in shock. An arm had looped around his neck from behind, pulling him back with surprising strength.

It was Geto.

"That's no way to treat a lady, now is it?" he growled into the man's ear, his voice low and dangerous.

With his free hand, Geto shot his arm out, and you watched in stunned silence as three sharp metal claws extended from between his knuckles with a sharp "snikt."

In one swift motion, Geto slashed upward, driving the claws through the man's head with a sickening gurgle. His movements were methodical, almost surgical—each strike designed not just to disable, but to finish his opponent swiftly and efficiently.

"This is getting messy," he muttered, casting a quick glance your way. "Stay low and keep your head down."

A small splatter of fresh blood dotted your face, hot and sticky. Too shocked to speak, you could only nod wordlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

A flash of metal cut through the dim light as Geto disarmed another attacker, the weapon clattering to the ground.

The jukebox, now playing a scratchy rendition of an old rock song, suddenly exploded into sparks as another attacker was thrown against it, his weight too much for the old machine to bear.

The smell of burning circuitry filled the air, mixing with the scent of spilled alcohol and the coppery tang of blood.

Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, the leader of the group grabbed a table leg and charged at Geto with a wild roar. He swung the makeshift club with all his might, but Geto sidestepped, letting the momentum carry the leader past him.

Geto turned and delivered a punishing elbow to the back of the leader’s neck, sending him crashing to the ground.

With a few men down, Gojo turned to you, his eyes sparkling with amusement despite the chaos. "Looks like you're coming with us, whether you like it or not," he teased, and before you could argue, he rushed over, scooping you up over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. "Hang on tight, princess!"

You began shouting, "Wait—what!? You can't be serious!!" just as your world flipped upside down in an instant.

Gojo's grip was surprisingly firm, and you were jostled around like a ragdoll as he darted through the chaos of the bar, cackling like a madman. Chairs and debris flew past, and you clutched onto him, trying not to lose your dinner.

Geto, maintaining his composure amidst the chaos, bent down to grab your bag and textbooks. He gave you an apologetic glance, his expression almost soft despite the situation. "Sorry about this," he said, his voice calm amidst the madness.

The three of you burst through the bar's front door and into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast between the smoky, dim interior of the bar and the crisp, open night sky made everything feel surreal, like you had stepped out of one world and into another.

Gojo's laughter echoed in your ears, wild and free, mingling with the distant sounds of the ongoing brawl behind you. "Trust me," he shouted over his shoulder, not slowing his pace even a little, "we're gonna have a lot of fun!"

As Gojo sprinted down the street, weaving through narrow alleys with you still slung over his shoulder, you let out a small, incredulous laugh.

It was half at the absurdity of the situation and half at the exhilarating sense of liberation coursing through you.

Because at the end of it all, against all odds...

...he might just be right.

A/N: hi guys! just wanted to post this after watching the new deadpool wolverine movie and binging on SatoSugu x reader fics, so hope this wasn't a too bad of a read; not sure if i'll actually do more of this or not 😩also, sorry for being gone for so long, finally dug myself up out of my lil ball of anger/sadness. now that i'm back at the dorm, i hope to bring you guys more of the lil delusions i have swimming about ❤️❤️

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