♡ Original Request: Hello! Can I request douma with the 'there it is, there's that smile!' prompt?
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Douma's love was excessive. Mountains upon mountains of gifts; lips constantly kissing your skin; affectionately speaking your name with each breath he took...the simplest of gestures were never quite simple with him. In exchange, he wanted your unwarranted attention in return.
Douma was always needy, and he had no shame in expressing it.
He sat cross legged on his throne, thigh sturdying his arm, face supported by a palm. Staring at nothing in particular, his eyes flittered between you and different corners of the room. Per request by Douma, you sat in the corner—the sight of you put him at peace during the mundane hours of conversing with his followers.
But today, it was awfully barren. It had been almost an hour since someone came, leaving him with nothing but a lonesome silence, despite your presence. You'd usually make some small talk with him to fill the space, but you were busy tending to other things—things that didn't involve him.
He didn't like it one bit. The distance between you felt more than a few feet. It was a nuisance, really. All he desired was for you to look his way—to focus on him instead.
The constant shower of love and attention by his followers must've gotten to his head, because he'd hoped you'd drop what you were doing. Sure, call him possessive—he had no shame in admitting it. He detested the way jealousy crawled under his skin, like it was an itch that refused to leave. Emotions were supposed to be dream-like; his love for you was proof of it. So why did his fastened heartbeat feel nightmarish?
"(Y/N) dear..." he sweetly cooed. Those two words always hinted at one thing: he desired your attention. Not to mention, his gaze was heavily fixated on your back, neediness oozing from each hole his eyes bore into you. You're already on your feet before he can finish, watching as he pats his outstretched leg, motioning you to sit on his lap.
So you do. Grasping his shoulders, you take in his expression. It's almost pathetic the way his eyebrows raise, pouting his lips to emphasize his desperation. He looked like a lost puppy. You roll eyes, refusing to outwardly admit you're slowly caving into his charms.
"Yes dear?"
A hand gingerly holds your face, warmth proliferating throughout the cheek he's holding. His touch is gentle, reminding you that you're his most prized possession—so beautiful that he didn't dare taint your beauty.
"I missed you~"
Laughter almost escapes your lips, but you refrain. Although it was entertaining to see how far he went for your attention, it would further encourage his needy tendenices. So you keep a composed expression, mentioning how you've been in the same room for him for the past hour, but he insists that even the smallest of distance causes rifts in relationships.
Douma's hand retreats, the cool air hitting your once warm skin. His iridescent eyes watch as his thumb caresses your bottom lip, slightly tugging at it to form a pout. You presume he's leading up to a kiss, but instead, his index fingers replace his thumb, tugging at the corners of your lips—eager to see you smile.
So you do. And he can't help but revel in your beaming expression.
