Heya, it's oc anon againnnnn. I saw that your requests were open sooooo.... May I request specifically Shadow, Auron and Noah with a teen reader that loves fighting with them (not out of hatred, but mostly just because they're reckless, often get injured and want to test how much the character will let them get away with)?
Like, basically, the character could be out on a stroll, doing errands or just chilling and the reader would just try to take them off guard by randomly jumping out of nowhere in an attempt to catch them off guard.
Unstoppable Mischief
Tags: Noah x Reader, Shadow x Reader, Auron x Reader, Teen!Reader, Fluff, Banter, Playful, Sparring, Casual Violence, Slice Of Life, Fantasy Elements, Found Family, Mischief, Mischievous Reader, Protective Characters.
Warnings: Mild Violence, Reckless Behavior, Minor Injuries, Play Fighting, Slight Dark Themes, Supernatural Abilities, Touch of Sadistic Humor.
A/N: Omgg hiii!! <33
You don’t really have a reason for it, not a real one anyway. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s because you know Shadow will always react in some hilarious or unpredictable way. Or maybe it’s because you just like pushing people’s buttons, especially hers. Whatever the reason, the second you spot her walking down the street with a grocery bag dangling from one hand, you crouch low behind a parked car and smirk.
She doesn’t notice you. Perfect.
You spring forward with a wild yell, arms outstretched like you’re diving into battle.
Shadow doesn’t even flinch.
In one smooth motion, she sidesteps and plants her bag on the hood of the car. Her other hand catches you by the scruff of your clothes mid‑air, like you weigh nothing, and lowers you onto the pavement with exaggerated slowness.
“You really thought that was gonna work?” she asks, raising a brow. “On me? Again?”
You grin up at her from the ground. “One day it will. You’ll let your guard down, and then bam—I win.”
She laughs, shaking her head as she helps you up. “Sweetheart, you don’t get it. I never let my guard down. That’s kind of my thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. Everyone says that right before they get destroyed by the underdog.” You dust yourself off dramatically, puffing your chest. “And I am the underdog.”
Shadow crosses her arms, smirking. “More like the underachiever.”
“Rude!”
You jab at her ribs, but she sidesteps again, quick as lightning. The playful glint in her eyes tells you she’s enjoying this more than she lets on. “You’re lucky I didn’t dropkick you into the street,” she teases. “What if I’d been carrying cake ingredients? Do you know how expensive flour is these days?”
“I would’ve heroically caught them mid‑air,” you shoot back. “Slow motion. Epic music. Everyone claps.”
Shadow snorts. “Yeah, right. You’d trip over your shoelaces and faceplant into the bag.”
The banter continues as you walk beside her, every few steps trying to swipe at her arm or shoulder. She dodges effortlessly, never spilling her groceries. By the time you reach her house, you’re sweaty from trying to catch her off guard, and she’s completely unbothered.
“You’re hopeless,” she says fondly, unlocking the door. “But also kind of funny. Like, I should start charging you sparring fees. You’re basically my entertainment.”
You grin, leaning against the doorway. “Worth it. One day I’ll land a hit. Then who’ll be laughing?”
Shadow taps your forehead with one finger. “Still me, sweetheart. Still me.”
And even though you didn’t “win,” you can’t help but feel like you kind of did. Because she’s smiling—bright, genuine, and just for you.
It’s raining lightly when you see Noah outside, leaning against the sleek black car parked in front of his office. He looks untouchable, as always—tall, sharp suit, gloves hiding the truth of what lies beneath. People hurry past him with nervous glances, but to you, he’s just Noah.
Which makes him the perfect target.
You sprint forward, launching yourself from behind a lamppost with all the grace of a feral cat. “Sneak attaaaack!”
Without even looking, Noah shifts one step to the side. Your arms close around empty air, and you stumble forward, nearly colliding with the car. Before you can faceplant, a gloved hand grabs the back of your collar and yanks you upright.
His voice is calm, smooth, but with that edge of dominance that always makes your stomach flip. “You’re reckless.”
You grin, rain dripping from your hair. “And you’re slow. Almost got you.”
Noah tilts his head, one eye gleaming beneath his dark hair. “Almost doesn’t count. And if you ever try that when I’m in a real fight, you’d be dead.”
You stick your tongue out at him. “Then I’ll haunt you. Forever.”
The faintest twitch of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth, though he hides it quickly. He pushes you back a step with two fingers on your forehead. “Why do you insist on testing me like this?”
“Because it’s fun. And because you never let your guard down. What’s the point of being around you if I can’t try?”
He studies you for a long moment, then sighs like he’s surrendering to your antics. “Fine. Try again.”
Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?”
“Mm.” He straightens, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Hit me. Surprise me. Show me what you’ve got.”
Adrenaline rushes through your veins. You dart to the side, feint left, then leap forward with everything you’ve got. For a split second, you think you actually might land it.
Then you blink, and Noah’s gone.
A cold shiver runs down your spine as his voice murmurs just behind your ear. “Too slow.”
You whip around, swinging an elbow, but he catches it easily in one hand. His grip is firm but not painful, his golden‑brown eye watching you like a hawk. “You fight with heart,” he says softly, “but no control.”
You glare up at him. “So train me, then.”
For the first time, Noah actually chuckles. It’s low, dark, and kind of terrifying—but also warm, in a way only he could make it. “You’d regret that, little one. I don’t go easy.”
“Good. I don’t want easy.”
Something flickers in his gaze, pride maybe, or amusement. He finally lets go of your arm and steps back, giving you space. “Very well. Next time, come prepared. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll surprise me.”
As you walk back inside, soaked but buzzing with energy, you can’t stop grinning. Because for once, Noah didn’t just dodge you. He challenged you.
And that means you’re getting closer.
The market is crowded, noisy, full of chatter and the smell of street food. Auron stands out like a wildfire in the middle of it all—tall, crimson hair tied back, golden eyes scanning the stalls. He moves with that predator grace, every step calculated, like he owns the ground he walks on.
Which is exactly why you decide to mess with him.
You duck behind a fruit stand, heart pounding with mischief. He pauses to inspect a tray of pomegranates, tilting one in his hand, the faintest smile curling his lips. That’s your chance.
You leap from hiding with a battle cry, aiming to grab his shoulders.
But the world spins before you even make contact. Shadows coil around your wrists and ankles, binding you mid‑air, suspending you like a fly in a web. Auron doesn’t even glance up from the fruit.
“Darling,” he drawls, voice smooth as silk. “You wound me. Did you really think you could take me by surprise?”
You wiggle helplessly in the shadow‑ropes, scowling. “One day I’ll get you! You’ll slip up!”
Finally, he looks at you, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “And what a glorious day that will be. But today…” He releases the shadows, letting you drop unceremoniously onto a crate. “…is not that day.”
You land with an undignified thud. “Ow.”
Auron crouches beside you, resting his chin on his hand. “You’ve got spirit. Reckless, foolish spirit. It’s… charming.”
You roll your eyes, rubbing your sore backside. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Never.” His grin is wicked. “If I wanted to patronize you, I’d clap and tell you how brave you are for failing so spectacularly.”
“Rude!” You swing at him, but he leans back effortlessly, dodging with infuriating ease. His laugh is low, rich, and annoyingly attractive.
“You tempt fate every time you do this,” he murmurs. “You must know that one day, I might not hold back.”
You meet his gaze, defiant. “Then I’ll just have to be strong enough to handle it.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, then something softer, almost fond. He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you can hear. “Careful. You’ll make me believe you mean it.”
You grin. “I do mean it.”
For a long moment, Auron just studies you, his predatory mask slipping. Then he straightens, tossing the pomegranate into the air and catching it lazily. “Very well, little warrior. Keep trying. One day, perhaps, you’ll catch me.”
He turns away, blending into the crowd with infuriating grace. You watch him go, a spark of determination burning in your chest. Because maybe he’s right—maybe you’ll never catch him.
