The palace reeked of desperation and perfume — sickly sweet, clinging to the air like a disease. Sukuna lounged on his obsidian throne, legs spread wide, eyes half-lidded and bored, while half-naked concubines draped themselves across his lap and shoulders like pathetic ornaments. His four arms rested — two on the carved armrests, two tangled in silky hair or trailing down trembling thighs.

They were beautiful, sure. Curved and eager, always whispering sweet nonsense into his ears, thinking they could charm a god. But they weren't you. They'd never be you.

"Your skin's burning, my Lord," one of the girls purred, daring to press her lips to his collarbone.

He grunted, jaw clenching. His body was betraying him — he could feel the slow pulse of arousal twisting through him, both his cocks already stirring beneath the heavy layers of his robes. Not because of them, no. Just the thought — the image — of you.

His wife.

His Queen.

His fucking obsession.

The only woman who had ever brought him to his knees with just a glance. The one who didn't tremble before him like prey, but stood tall, proud, royal. His equal. The only one who mattered.

He remembered the way you looked when you left — that sad, tired smile, your hand lingering on his face. That goddamn scent of your skin that wouldn't fucking leave his memory no matter how many bodies he buried himself in.

The concubines? They were a fucking joke. He'd asked you, like the bastard he was — "Can I fuck them while you're gone?" — and you'd said yes. Cold and composed, as always. But he knew what that meant. You hated it. Just as much as he hated needing it. But he couldn't fucking help it.

He needed something when you weren't here. Someone to choke when the ache got too much. Someone to scream your name into while trying not to fucking lose his mind.

Still, none of them ever did the job right.

He growled low in his throat, gripping the wrist of the concubine sitting on his knee — hard enough to bruise. She gasped, eyes wide. "Did I do something wrong, Lord Sukuna?"

He didn't answer. His four eyes suddenly snapped toward the door.

The air changed. Shifted. A shiver ran up his spine, and his cocks twitched violently beneath his robes, straining against the silk like wild animals.

A guard stumbled into the throne room, pale and shaking. "My Lord... she's arrived. The Princess has returned."

Silence.

Then—

"Get the fuck off me," Sukuna hissed, and all four arms moved at once — shoving, tossing, slamming warm bodies aside like trash. Girls screamed as they were thrown across the floor, sprawling on velvet cushions and cold stone. He rose to his full monstrous height, towering, terrifying — eyes burning with hunger and fury and something so raw it hurt.

Veins bulged along his neck. His claws flexed. His mouth split into a bloodthirsty grin.

You were home.

His Queen. His fucking wife.

The only one allowed to own him.

He tore off his upper robe in a single motion, baring a chest carved with demonic markings and twitching muscle. His twin cocks were fully hard now, tenting obscenely beneath his lower garments, leaking with anticipation. His breathing grew ragged. Each step toward the entrance echoed like thunder.

"Move," he snarled at the guards flanking the grand door, and they did — barely avoiding getting crushed.

When the doors opened, and your silhouette appeared in the torchlight, every fucking thought in his mind evaporated.

You wore your kingdom's royal garb — elegant, gold-trimmed, regal. Untouched. Distant. But your eyes met his, and that was all it took.

The rage, the hunger, the longing — it all surged like a goddamn tidal wave.

"You took your sweet fuckin' time, Princess," he growled, his voice guttural, feral, possessive.

His hands were already twitching with the need to grab you. Mark you. Remind you.

"You think I give a damn about those bitches?" he spat behind him, voice booming. "They're nothing. Fucking ghosts. I don't even remember their names."

His gaze dropped down your body, and his tongue dragged across his sharp teeth.

"You're the only cunt I crave. The only mouth I wanna fuck. The only throat I wanna hear scream."

He laughed — dark and unhinged — as he started toward you, arms spread, cocks already throbbing beneath his layers.

"Come here, wife," he said, voice thick with need. "Come show your filthy, unholy husband what it's like to breathe again."