🍭Missy🧁

He stood there like he had just risen from a tragic ballad, clothed in layers of black that clung to him like shadows. His hair fell like a curtain across his face, intentionally dishevelled, like he’d wrestled with heartbreak instead of a comb. A long, tattered scarf coiled around his neck like a noose he wasn’t quite ready to pull. Studded belts dangled uselessly, not even looped through his pants—just hanging there for the aesthetic, clinking with every brooding shift of his weight. Spiked bracelets hugged his wrists like restraints, as if each spike was a declaration of pain turned accessory.

He looked like he wrote poetry in graveyards and cried only to obscure emo bands.

You really didn’t know what to expect from someone named xxxshadowlord420xxx. Honestly, it could’ve gone either way: basement-dwelling troll or full-blown chaos sorcerer. But when he emerged from the mist (where did the mist even come from?), all you could think of was a massive, blinding neon sign flashing above his head: #NEEDTHAT.

You stammered, “Uhm… Shadow?” The name tasted ridiculous on your tongue—like saying “Abyss” with a straight face in public—but what else were you supposed to call him? That’s how he introduced himself. Shadowlord. Like he was a Final Fantasy boss and not someone who looked like he just rage-quit a Dungeons & Dragons campaign over creative differences. Your voice cracked, meek and uncertain, and instantly you wanted to crawl into the nearest coffin and close the lid. Why did you sound so shaky? So soft? So embarrassingly mortal in the presence of… whatever this was? You wanted to punch yourself.

He didn’t respond right away. Just slowly—agonisingly slowly—turned his head up toward you, dark bangs parting just enough to reveal one heavily eyelinered eye. It looked like it had witnessed the fall of kingdoms and at least three high school breakups.

You felt your spine straighten in pure panic. You tried not to shrivel under his gaze, but the second-hand angst radiating off him was palpable. Like, you could taste the Linkin Park in the air. God. You sounded like a scared freshman trying to ask the goth senior for a pencil. You hated it. You hated yourself. And yet, somehow—despite the cringe—you couldn’t help but lean in just a little.

Because if Shadow was ridiculous… he was also ridiculously hot. In a doomscroll-core, 'writes poetry in blood' kind of way.

He looked at you, clearly disappointed, like you’d just failed some important test you didn’t know you were taking. “As I suspected,” he said dramatically, “you wouldn’t recognise my form as it is now.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, lifting his chin slightly.

“It’s me!” he announced, his voice cracking into a weird high pitch at the end. There was an awkward pause. He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again—lower this time, more serious. “It’s me. xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx.” He said it like it meant something. Like, it should’ve clicked. Like you should’ve gasped and fallen to your knees.

But you just stood there, still not sure if this was real life… or a very elaborate Discord RP gone too far.

“But my real name is Skips,” he said with a casual shrug, like he hadn’t just shattered every gothic illusion you’d built in your head.

Skips???

Your brain short-circuited. You stood there, blinking, mouth slightly open. This guy—this shadow-drenched, chain-covered, eyeliner-heavy enigma—was named Skips? Like... a cartoon rabbit? A kid's cereal mascot??

He looked away, clearly feeling the weight of your disbelief. His shoulders hunched just a little, hands fidgeting with the ends of his scarf like he was used to that reaction. Like it stung a little every time.

You didn’t even realise your hand had flown to your face, fingers splayed dramatically, half covering your expression like you were in a shoujo anime. Eyes wide. Heart in shambles.

Because despite everything—despite the name—he was still so hot.

You finally blinked. You had to—your eyes were starting to dry out. You couldn’t keep staring at him forever… Though, honestly? You would like to. Still, you summoned every ounce of courage you had, straightened your spine, and opened your mouth to finally say something. Anything.

“I—uh, uhm… Mmm…”

… Or not.

You immediately wanted to crawl into the floor. You sounded like a microwave buffering through emotions. Your tongue was a traitor, your voice lost somewhere between panic and overwhelming thirst.

And then he frowned—an actual frown, not the cool, brooding kind, but one tinged with genuine concern. His dark eyeliner only made it more intense. He raised a hand slightly, hesitant. “Are… are you okay?”

You straightened up like you’d been caught in the middle of a crime. “Yes! Yes. I, uh…” you gulped, trying to wrestle your thoughts into something coherent. They refused.

He leaned in just a bit, cautious but kind. “Do you need a moment—”

“No, no, I just… I need…” you started, then stopped yourself so hard your soul nearly left your body. You were definitely not about to say ‘I need you.’ No. Absolutely not. You would rather evaporate. “…Actually, yeah, I might need that moment…” you muttered, flushing so hard you could feel the heat radiating off your face.

He paused. His expression softened. “Oh… okay.” He said it gently, like he wasn’t judging you.

You turned your head away from him, unable to handle the weight of his gaze any longer. The heat in your face was unbearable—you were practically boiling from the inside out. You stared off into the middle distance, somewhere safe, somewhere not him, and quietly muttered to yourself under your breath, “Calm down, calm down, calm down…” over and over again.

Like a mantra. Like a prayer. Like if you said it enough times, your heart would stop doing cartwheels every time he so much as blinked.

You could still feel him watching you, his presence like a heavy velvet curtain—warm, dramatic, slightly suffocating in the best way. And it only made things worse. He hadn’t even done anything. He just stood there existing in all his dark, broody glory while your brain had a complete emotional meltdown.

“Calm down,” you whispered again, more desperately this time. You were not going to fall in love with someone named Skips. You were not. Probably.

Poor Skips, however, was thoroughly confused.

He stood there, scarf slightly crooked, one spiked bracelet digging into his wrist as he fidgeted—watching you whisper “calm down” like you were being haunted. Which, to be fair, he might’ve looked like the ghost. He had prepared for the worst. Truly. Rejection. Laughter. Maybe a dramatic, “You lied to me!” followed by storming off into the distance.

What he didn’t expect… was this.

You, turning flushed like your body had forgotten how to regulate temperature. You, covering your face like that, would somehow hide the storm of emotion in your eyes. You, muttering to yourself like he’d knocked the breath out of you just by being there.

This wasn’t the kind of reaction he’d rehearsed for in the mirror. This wasn’t disappointment. This was… something else entirely. He blinked, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“…Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time. There was a tiny crack in his armour now—something hesitant, maybe even a little hopeful.

He didn’t know what kind of reaction this was. But he kind of wanted to find out.

“Yes! Again… yes.” You turned back to him, trying so hard to look composed, but you were still visibly hot and bothered—flushed cheeks, uneven breath, the whole deal. You prayed he wouldn’t notice. Maybe the dim lighting and his oversized scarf would distract him from the chaos that was you.

“I… uh, needed that moment… to process,” you mumbled, clearing your throat like it would somehow push the embarrassment back down your throat. Then, as if on autopilot, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear—slowly, nervously, like you were in a bad high school romance movie.

Why are you acting like a teenage girl?!

You wanted to kick yourself. You were a grown person! You had taxes! You had responsibilities! And yet here you were, practically melting because a guy with a username like xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx looked at you with soft eyes and said his name was Skips.

Internally, Skips felt… weirdly light. He wasn’t used to this kind of reaction. He’d braced himself for disgust, awkward silence, maybe even pity. But instead, here you were—blushing, stumbling over your words, looking like you were about to overheat just standing near him. It made his throat feel tight. Not in a bad way. In a way that made his heart beat faster, his hands feel a little too big, and his usual gloom-and-doom persona crack just a little around the edges.

You were nervous. Because of him. And that thought alone made something warm bloom in his chest—foreign, soft, and kind of terrifying.

He glanced at you, then down at his boots, then back up again. He cleared his throat and shifted, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands.

“O… okay,” he said, his voice lower than before, like he was trying to keep his cool. “Uhm… do you still want to hang out?”

It came out more hesitant than he meant it to. Like the question mattered. Like you mattered. And somehow, for once, he really hoped the answer would be yes.

You couldn’t help it—your lips curled into a small, nervous smile. The kind you tried to suppress but slipped out anyway, soft and a little shaky. “Yeah… Yeah, absolutely,” you said, voice still a bit breathless, but steady enough to count. Your heart was doing backflips, but at least your mouth was cooperating now. Kind of. You rubbed your palms together awkwardly, still trying to collect whatever dignity you had left. “Uhm… what do you wanna do?”

“We can do whatever!” he said, suddenly grinning—an actual grin, full of teeth and mischief, the gloom momentarily lifting from his features like morning fog. “After all,” he added, eyes gleaming a little too brightly, “we don’t have to worry about time anymore!”

You chuckled. "Why’s that?”

He stepped just a bit closer, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “Because… I’m gonna turn you into a shadow."

“… I’m sorry?” you said, your smile freezing halfway into confusion.