𓏲ּ𝄢 𝗣ּ𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡D 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗚𝗘 𓏲ּ𝄢
You were just a child when you met a boy and played house and marriage with him, treating it like nothing more than an innocent game in the playground. It wasn't until years later that you realized that what you had taken so lightly was, in a strange and unexpected way, considered valid.
Pairings: Yandere!Prince!Gojo x Reader
Genre: Royalty AU (Still in modern era) (Though its not really focused on the royal part)
Warning: Psychological thriller themes / Kidnapping / abduction / Obsessive behavior / Stalking / paranoia / Manipulation and control / Memory loss / suppressed memories / Emotional distress and panic attacks / Possessive relationship dynamics / Mystery and suspense / Mentions of drugged unconsciousness (But for me or if you r use to this kind of stuff, this is just mild)
When you were young, you met a boy who seemed only a year or two older than you. Even now, you can still remember how unreal he looked, as if he didn't belong in the ordinary world. His snow-white hair glimmered beneath the sunlight, and his vivid blue eyes mirrored the endless sky, bright, clear, and almost impossible to look away from. Though he was still young, there was something untouchable about him, a quiet arrogance woven with natural authority, as if the world simply bent itself around him without question.
The next day, you waited for him at the playground just like you promised. Your small hands gripped the chains of the swing as you swayed back and forth, your shoes brushing lightly against the ground beneath you.
The afternoon breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass while your white dress fluttered softly around your knees.
The same dress he insisted you wear.
"It has to be white." he had said so confidently the day before, as if it were an obvious rule everyone in the world should already know.
You didn't really understand why.
All you knew was that the two of you had planned to play house together. You had happily suggested being husband and wife with children, thinking it was nothing more than another childish game. But he had looked at you with those striking blue eyes and calmly explained that husbands and wives had to get married first.
Apparently, married people signed contracts.
Because when he spoke, it always sounded like he was right.
Now, sitting alone on the swing set, you kicked your feet impatiently while waiting for him to appear, wondering if he would really bring the 'contract' he talked about so seriously.
When he finally arrived, he was dressed far too formally for a child his age. A crisp white button-up sat neatly beneath a dark coat, making him look less like a kid coming to the playground and more like someone important attending a ceremony. In one hand, he carried a stack of papers folded carefully against his chest.
The moment he stood in front of you, he held them out with the same calm confidence he always had.
You took the papers from him, your eyes scanning the countless fancy words scattered across the page. The letters blended together into things you couldn't understand, long and complicated enough to make your head hurt after only a few seconds.
Instead, your attention drifted to the elegant signature written neatly at the very bottom. It curved beautifully across the page like something printed from a storybook.
You looked up at him curiously.
"What's that?" you asked, pointing at it.
"It's a signature," he explained simply. "When important people sign things, they don't just write their names normally."
You stared at it for another moment before looking down at the blank line beside his signature.
You didn't have anything pretty like that.
So, after thinking hard for a few seconds, you carefully grabbed the pencil with both hands and slowly wrote your full name exactly the way your parents taught you. Messy little letters filled the line unevenly, each stroke made with the concentration only a child could have.
When you finished, you proudly lifted the paper toward him, your childish handwriting sitting awkwardly beside his elegant signature.
You tugged lightly at his sleeve, your impatience finally spilling out into a small whine.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on the paper in his hands, the corners of his lips slowly curling upward into a satisfied grin, the kind that looked oddly triumphant for a child, as though he had just completed something incredibly important.
Carefully, he folded the paper and tucked it away like it was something precious before finally turning his full attention back to you.
The moment he did, your face lit up with excitement.
Without wasting another second, you dropped onto the grass and quickly pulled out your favorite doll from the small bag you carried around everywhere. You cradled it carefully in your arms before proudly holding it up toward him.
"This is our kid." you announced happily, already completely absorbed in the game.
Meanwhile, he simply stood there watching you with an unreadable expression, the afternoon sunlight catching against his pale hair and impossibly blue eyes while you babbled on about names, bedtime, and what your 'family' was supposed to do next.
Days passed, then weeks, and eventually, months. But he never came back.
At first, you waited for him every afternoon at the playground, sitting on the same swing with your doll tucked against your chest, hoping to catch a glimpse of white hair in the distance. You kept expecting him to appear with that calm, confident look and those strange papers he treated so seriously.
But the playground stayed empty.
No goodbye. No explanation.
As the years went on, his face slowly blurred within your memories. The vivid blue of his eyes became harder to recall, and the sound of his voice faded into something distant and unclear. Eventually, you couldn't even remember his name.
The only thing left was the strange feeling that, once upon a time, someone important had existed in your childhood.
Now, years later, you were a college student pursuing the dream you had worked tirelessly for. Your mornings were filled with rushed schedules, unfinished assignments, and half-drunk cups of coffee balanced beside stacks of notes. The childish memories of playground games and imaginary families had long since been buried beneath adulthood.
At least, that was what you thought.
You had just grabbed your bag and slipped your shoes on, preparing to leave for another ordinary day, when the sound of a car pulling up outside caught your attention.
Moments later, there was a knock at your door.
Standing on the other side was a woman dressed in immaculate formal attire. Her posture was straight, composed, and professional enough to make her seem completely out of place in front of your home.
The moment your eyes met, she gave a polite bow.
"Good morning," she said smoothly. "I apologize for appearing so suddenly."
Then, after a brief pause, she held out a familiar-looking document toward you.
"We are here regarding your marriage contract with the crown prince."
You ignored the woman in front of you, assuming she was just another scammer or someone trying to sell you something you didn't need.
"Look, I don't really have time for this," you said sharply. "Try someone else or whatever."
The words came out harsher than you intended.
Lately, everything had been piling up at once—studies you couldn't afford to fall behind on, student loans hanging over your head like a constant weight, and the growing pressure of finding a side job just to keep yourself afloat. Rent, electricity, water, food… every basic necessity felt like another problem you were slowly losing control of.
And the worst part was knowing you weren't the only one trying. Every posting you checked had dozens of other students competing for the same few openings.
The woman didn't respond right away, but you were already halfway ready to walk away, convinced this was just another dead end in an already exhausting day.
Finally, you arrived at your university and settled into your seat, carefully laying out your notebooks and pens, making sure you had everything ready for the lecture ahead.
You began writing your notes when, for a brief moment, you caught sight of silver-white hair somewhere in your peripheral vision.
Your hand paused slightly.
You almost turned your head to look, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at your thoughts, but before you could, the professor entered the room, and the lecture officially began.
Still, something lingered.
Every now and then, your eyes would drift unconsciously, noticing that same snow-like hair again, even if only for a second. It wasn't just recognition. It felt deeper than that, like a memory you once had but couldn't quite reach anymore.
A quiet nostalgia settled in your chest, unexplainable and persistent, as if someone from a forgotten part of your past had brushed past your life once again… and left without a name.
"Hey, that new guy is cute, isn't he?" one of your classmates whispered beside you, nudging your arm lightly.
You only shrugged in response, your eyes still on your notes as if you weren't interested.
But deep down, your gaze had already drifted toward him.
Of course he was the new transferee.
The moment you saw that familiar silver-white hair, something in you quietly confirmed it before anyone even said a word. The rumors had already spread through campus like wildfire—some said he was royalty, others insisted he was just unbelievably wealthy. Either way, everyone agreed on one thing, that he didn't belong in an ordinary classroom.
He walked in like he owned the space without even trying. Calm, composed, and strangely distant from everything around him. Like the world was something he observed rather than participated in.
You walked down the quiet street with exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders, already planning out the rest of your night in your head.
Eat whatever was left in your apartment. Review your notes until your eyes hurt. Then sleep for as long as your responsibilities allowed.
At least, that was the plan.
Until you caught sight of snow-white hair again from across the sidewalk.
Your steps slowed instinctively.
The silver-haired guy stood a short distance away beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, hands tucked casually into his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world.
But your first thought wasn't why is he here?
Why is he wearing sunglasses when it's practically nighttime?
You stared for a moment longer than you probably should have. The dark lenses hid his eyes completely, making him look even more out of place somehow. Most people would've looked ridiculous dressed like that after sunset.
But on him, it strangely suited him.
As if the sunglasses weren't a fashion choice at all, but something he simply refused to take off.
Then, almost like he felt your stare, his head turned slightly in your direction.
You immediately looked away the moment he turned his head, pretending you hadn't been staring at him in the first place. Tightening your grip on your bag, you continued walking down the street, trying to brush off the strange feeling crawling beneath your skin.
You glanced around casually as you walked. People were still minding their own business, students laughing together near the convenience store, workers hurrying home, cars passing beneath the dim evening lights.
Normal. Fine. Calm down. Calm down. Everything looked completely normal.
And when you risked another quick glance toward where the snow-white-haired man had been standing earlier…
Your brows furrowed slightly.
You should've felt relieved, yet for some reason, the uneasy feeling in your chest only grew heavier. The back of your neck prickled uncomfortably, like invisible eyes were fixed on you from somewhere just out of sight.
You looked behind you again.
Still, Why did it feel like you were being followed?
Ever since that night, it felt like snow-white hair followed you everywhere.
A glimpse near the train station. A figure across the street. Someone standing at the corner of your classroom building.
And every single time you looked properly he was gone.
At first, you convinced yourself it was just paranoia lingering from that strange encounter. Stress could do that to people, right? Between sleepless nights, financial problems, endless studying, and the constant pressure weighing on your shoulders, maybe your mind was simply playing tricks on you.
That explanation sounded reasonable enough.
Still, a small part of you started wondering if there was another reason.
Maybe you just kept noticing him because you found him attractive.
It wouldn't have been surprising. Half the university practically talked about the mysterious silver-haired transferee like he had walked straight out of a movie. Maybe your brain had simply latched onto his appearance so badly that you started imagining him everywhere you went.
But the more you thought about it, the less sense it made.
Because liking someone wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Every time you thought you saw him, your stomach tightened painfully. Your pulse quickened. Panic curled beneath your ribs so suddenly it made your breathing uneven. Instead of wanting him closer, every instinct inside you screamed to leave before he noticed you.
No matter how many times you tried to rationalize it, one thing became painfully clear that this wasn't a crush.
And whatever this feeling was is terrifying.
But apparently, today had decided your suffering still wasn't enough.
The professor adjusted his glasses at the front of the classroom while announcing the next major requirement, a paired essay project worth nearly half your grade.
A collective groan immediately filled the room.
You barely paid attention at first, already mentally preparing yourself for another exhausting all-nighter, until the professor began reading out the assigned partners.
Then you heard your last name.
Followed by his last name.
The entire classroom seemed to pause for a second before whispers instantly erupted around you.
"She got paired with the new guy?"
Your grip on your pen tightened. Then you slowly lifted your head and there he was.
The silver-haired transferee sat only a few rows away, sunglasses still resting lazily on his face despite being indoors. One arm was propped against the desk while he looked completely unbothered by the attention surrounding him.
Then, as if sensing your stare yet again, he turned toward you.
Your heart immediately dropped.
That same strange panic clawed up your chest so suddenly that you almost looked away on instinct.
Why? Why does he make you feel like this?
And he didn't even seem surprised about being paired with you. If anything, the faint grin pulling at the corner of his lips made it seem like he had expected it all along.
The moment class ended, the room exploded into noise.
Chairs scraped against the floor, conversations overlapped one another, and yet somehow, you could still feel him before you even looked up.
You stayed seated longer than necessary, pretending to organize your notes while secretly hoping he would leave first.
Soon a shadow fell across your desk. "Partner."
That voice. It was Smooth, calm, familiar in the worst possible way.
You lifted your head to look at him up close, he looked even more unreal. Snow-white hair framed his face carelessly, soft beneath the afternoon light pouring through the classroom windows. The dark sunglasses still hid his eyes completely, reflecting your own startled expression back at you.
"We can just divide the work," you said quickly, avoiding his gaze or at least where his gaze should have been behind those glasses. "You do your part, I'll do mine, and we won't have to meet up that much."
For a brief second, silence settled between you.
"Won't have to?" he repeated softly, almost amused. "You talk like you're avoiding me."
Your chest tightened instantly.
"I'm not." you replied a little too quickly. The words left your mouth sharp and defensive, but even you could hear how unconvincing they sounded. A terrible lie. And judging by the faint curve tugging at the corner of his lips, he knew it too.
"You've been avoiding me since the first day."
Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist uneasily. Not the first day at university. Not the first day you met as strangers. Just… the first day.
Your fingers curled tightly around your pen as an unfamiliar sense of dread crept beneath your skin. "We literally just met." you said carefully, almost cautiously.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed softly.
The sound wasn't mocking or cruel. If anything, it carried a strange kind of fondness, quiet amusement wrapped around something deeper you couldn't quite understand.
"You really don't remember." he murmured, almost to himself.
The words sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine.
He simply looked at you in silence, those hidden blue eyes behind the dark lenses making it impossible to read what he was thinking. Yet somehow, it still felt like he was seeing far more than he should. Like he was looking at a version of you that existed somewhere beyond your own memories.
"We should work at my place." he said casually, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.
Your response came immediately.
Not even a second of hesitation.
The corner of his lips lifted slightly, amused by how fast you rejected him. "You answered too fast."
"Because absolutely not." you shot back, clutching your notebook a little tighter against your chest.
A quiet laugh escaped him at your obvious distrust. "You think I'm suspicious."
You stared at him flatly. "Aren't you?"
Silence settled between the two of you before his smile widened. Not offended in the slightest, but entertained, like your suspicion was far more amusing to him than it should have been.
That finally earned a genuine laugh from him, low and warm enough to draw curious glances from the students around you. For the first time since you met him, he slowly reached up and removed his sunglasses.
Bright blue eyes met yours, clear, endless, and painfully familiar. Then it hit you all at once, a forgotten memory crashing into your mind, a child proudly holding out a paper contract saying, "Now we can play house properly."
Your breath caught. Across from you, the silver-haired man smiled like he had been waiting years for this exact moment.
The moment those words left his mouth, you stood up so quickly your chair nearly scraped harshly against the floor.
You didn't even say anything.
You just turned around and walked away.
Calmly. Controlled. Its ok, its ok, don't be nervous, calm down.
At least, that was how you tried to appear. Your steps were stiff, forced into something normal despite the panic violently clawing inside your chest.
And the strangest part was that he didn't stop you. He didn’t call your name or chase after you like you expected him to. He simply stayed where he was, watching you leave with that same unreadable expression, as though he already knew you would run and was letting you.
The second you stepped outside the campus gates, whatever composure you had shattered completely.
You ran past crowded sidewalks and dim streets blurred by the thoughts occupying your mind. Your lungs burned painfully with every breath, yet your legs refused to stop moving.
Run. Run faster. Get away from here.
But no matter how far you went, that voice still echoed in your head.
Your heartbeat pounded violently in your ears until eventually your legs gave out beneath you, forcing you to slow down. Gasping for air, you finally looked around properly for the first time since fleeing.
Empty swings creaked softly in the evening breeze while fading sunlight painted the rusted metal in gold. No children. No laughter. No people at all. Just silence.
Your breathing slowly faltered.
"Out of every place I've could've run to… why did my feet bring me here?"
Something twisted painfully inside your chest as you stared at the playground, a strange familiarity settling over you like a forgotten dream.
You took a slow step back, unease crawling deeper beneath your skin. The empty playground suddenly felt far too quiet, the rusted swings creaking softly in the evening breeze like a warning you didn't understand.
Then theres suddenly a hand clamped over your mouth and nose from behind.
Your eyes widened in panic as a cloth pressed tightly against your face, the sharp unfamiliar scent instantly flooding your senses. Before you could properly struggle, strong arms pulled you backward and shoved you into a vehicle parked just beyond the playground.
Your blurry vision darted around frantically until it landed on a familiar woman seated across from you, the same woman who had approached you before, rambling about marriage and things you thought were nonsense at the time.
Fear crashed through you violently.
You tried to move, tried to fight, but your body already felt unbearably heavy. The strange smell soaked into your lungs, dragging your consciousness downward no matter how desperately you tried to stay awake.
Your eyelids slowly began to fall shut.
And just before darkness completely swallowed you, you heard his voice.
"Tsk, seriously? I told you guys to be gentle with her." A soft chuckle followed, warm enough to send chills down your spine. "She's your future queen, you know. At least treat her a little more carefully."
The last thing you felt before slipping into unconsciousness was the faint brush of fingers against your forehead, almost affectionate.
"Theres a chance, dear butterflies, that I could write Satoru perspective when he was a child, bringing the documents to his parents and see the reactions."
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