#sinbad fluff

he was used to beauty.

the kind that could tip cities into chaos. the kind that could end wars with a wink. the kind that bowed when he passed, hoping for a glance, a favor, a night.

but you weren’t that kind.

or rather, you were, but not in the way he understood.

sinbad first heard of you in whispers. soft ones, from men who sounded haunted. they spoke of the way you looked at people when they spoke, how your silences made them say too much. how your touch was light, barely there, but they felt it for days. how you could make a man cry with a smile.

they said you were still a maiden. untouched, though heavily desired. a strange contradiction in a world where power often pressed up close and personal.

he didn’t believe it at first. he’d been called many things, but never naïve.

he’d met sirens with sweeter tongues than truth. queens who weaponized their vulnerability. girls who cried in his arms with one eye open.

but you.

you weren’t building an empire with your beauty.

you were ruining them quietly.

when he finally met you, it was not at a royal banquet or behind silk curtains.

it was in a garden. dusk.

you were kneeling in the dirt, hands stained with soil and moonlight, humming to yourself.

and when you looked up at him, it wasn’t with expectation. it was with curiosity.

you smiled. not like someone who wanted something.

like someone who had everything already.

he should have said something clever. instead, he said, “you’re not what i thought you’d be.”

you tilted your head. “neither are you.”

he laughed then. off balance. interested. irritated.

he watched you rise, all soft grace and unbothered silence, brushing dust from your skirt like a queen who’d forgotten she wore a crown.

they said your gaze unraveled men.

he believed it now.

because when your eyes found his again, he forgot his favorite lies.

you didn’t once touch him that night.

you didn’t have to.

he went back to his chambers with his chest aching.

days passed.

he saw you again. and again.

you listened when he spoke, but not like the others did. not like you were waiting for him to impress you.

you asked him things no one else dared to.

did he ever tire of being wanted?

what was it like before the power?

and he thought he could seduce you like he had others.

a glance, a grin, a step closer than necessary.

but you didn’t melt.

you just looked at him like you were trying to see past his skin.

it rattled him.

he could feel the pull of you, slow and deep. not heat. not hunger.

a longing he didn’t recognize.

one that had nothing to do with the body.

when he asked why you’d never taken a lover, you said, “i’ve seen too many people mistake being touched for being loved.”

then you looked at him. really looked at him.

“haven’t you?”

he didn’t answer because it was true.

and suddenly, he no longer wanted to charm you.

he wanted to be honest with you.

which was infinitely more terrifying.

and maybe that was the beginning of it.

not desire. not conquest.

but the quiet, blooming ache of being seen.

you seduced without trying.

and sinbad, king of seven seas, breaker of hearts, found himself hoping you’d let him be yours.

not in a bed. not in a moment.

but in the way you took your time.

the way you made him want to stay.

tags: @kaidostwin @yvanilaa @shifter-101

sinbad was tired. not the kind of tired that came from battle or sleepless nights, but the kind that came from endless nagging.

“you need to find a wife, sinbad,” ja’far lectured for what had to be the fifth time that morning, shuffling papers like the fate of sindria depended on sinbad’s love life.

and maybe, to everyone else, it did.

“you’re not getting any younger,” sharrkan added from across the room, smirking. “if you keep waiting, the only thing left to marry will be your paperwork.”

sinbad gave a dry laugh, the kind that meant i’m done with this conversation but you’re not letting me leave.

later that night, he found you on the balcony, leaning against the railing, watching the ocean. you didn’t look at him when he joined you, just handed him a cup of wine.

“you look like a man being hunted,” you said, and he huffed out a laugh.

“by my own advisors, no less.” he mutters

you smiled into your cup. “so what’s the grand plan, king sinbad? surrender?”

he turned to look at you then, eyes sharp even in the soft moonlight. “actually, i was thinking of… negotiation.”

“oh?”

“i need a distraction. someone convincing enough to make them back off.”

you raised an eyebrow. “convincing how?”

he smirked. “convincing enough to make them believe i’m taken.”

the words hung between you, sweet and dangerous.

you laughed, shaking your head. “you want to fake date me? you’re serious?”

“very,” he said, too quickly.

and somehow, a week later, you were sitting beside him at a banquet, his arm around your shoulders, his laugh a little too real every time you said something teasing. ja’far looked relieved, which was both funny and terrifying.

you played your part well. you smiled, you touched his hand, you even let him steal a kiss on the cheek once for show. you didn’t mean any of it.

but sinbad did.

he told himself it was the act. that the way his heart beat faster when you smiled was just performance. that he only watched you because he had to make it convincing.

but then you’d laugh, soft and genuine, and he’d forget anyone else existed.

the act went on for weeks. everyone bought it. ja’far stopped pestering him, sharrkan made less jokes. it should’ve been perfect.

except every time you said “we can stop whenever you want,” something inside him twisted painfully.

one night, after another staged dinner, he walked you back to your quarters. the halls were quiet, candlelight flickering gold against the stone. you turned to him, that familiar easy smile on your face.

“you did great tonight,” you said. “they’re all eating it up.”

he smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “yeah. we make a good team.”

“we do,” you said softly. “don’t worry, i’ll keep my promise. no feelings.”

you said it lightly, like it didn’t sting.

he nodded, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at your mouth, or from whispering, “yeah… no feelings.”

and then you were gone, slipping inside your room, leaving him standing there, heart pounding like he’d just lost something he never really had.

sinbad leaned against the wall and laughed quietly to himself, the sound rough.

some king he was. conqueror of the seven seas, what a joke.

and here he was, completely undone by a fake lover who didn’t even know she’d taken his heart, and he had no one to blame but himself.

tags: @kaidostwin @yvanilaa @todorokiskitten @estrnrea @happyfoxtechnomancer @manic4mangoes @vayvayyy @aziaraei